Chapter 30: She Never Felt This Way Before

Alicia called the day after the piercing. The girl's voice was unsteady — it sounded thick on the phone, as if clogged with syrup. She said the pain was much less now and that she used the special oils and salves on her bruises. Then, in her own ominous way and without introduction, she said she "didn't know..." "I really don't know if I..." she said. Angique stifled a sigh. With all the warmth she could muster she advised the girl to relax and get a lot of sleep. There was no need to think or worry. There was no hurry, none at all, really.

The line stayed mute for a long time before Alicia spoke again. She coughed and said she loved the gift. There was a sob in her voice. Angique assured her she'd earned it and that it looked wonderful on her. It would stay hers whatever she decided. She thanked her for the delicious gift of pain she'd given in return. There was no response to that again for a while.

"I have to think," Alicia then said, hoarsely.

"Take all your time, honey," Angique answered, secretly despairing. "All your time."

It was three weeks now since that call. When the days went by in utter silence, Angique's despair grew into near certainty that she had lost the girl — again. She wouldn't try and call her, although her thumb often hovered over the speed-dial button on her cell phone. She imagined what might be going on in the girl's mind. And she cursed herself for having been too greedy once again. She knew she would not have done it differently with an ordinary would-be slave. But in that case it would have been easier. It wouldn't have hurt her so much to see the girl run — not nearly as much as she suffered now.

Work was a disaster. The girls at the atelier gave her a wide berth, scared off by her grumpy ways and one-syllable responses. When another Friday came around she decided to call it a week and to spend the weekend in Villa, alone.

She was looking out onto the barren terrace, wearing a fur-lined robe. The sky hung like a sheet of gray metal, scratched by the naked branches of winter trees. The view made her shiver, although the blazing fire behind her should warm her sufficiently. Her purple-nailed fingers closed around a mug of steaming cocoa-and-rum. Then her phone rang; her heart leaped, it was Alicia.

There was no apology, no explanation. The girl's voice was clear and excited. It proved to be the festive wrapping of an ugly bomb.

"Angique," she said, sounding out of breath. "I am so excited! I was in New York for work yesterday and met with the most incredible woman. She took me to lunch and later on to a live concert in Central Park. It was all so wonderful — she is gorgeous and sweet and lovely." Angique folded her hand over the speaker, afraid to betray her reaction. She closed her eyes, taking deep, long breaths.

"Her name is Pam, Pamela and she is, she is ... blond and tall and so beautiful ... And she is so worldly and in control. She looks at me and I just ... I ... She is amazing. I have never felt this way before — about anyone, ever."

Angique's forehead sank to her hand wrapped over the cell phone. Her gushing breath dampened the white knuckles. Lights darkened around her as if all curtains were closed at once.

The tinny voice went on about getting to see the woman every fortnight and how scary that would be and how totally wonderful... "Are you there, Angique?" it said at last. Angique stared at the bluish square on the little machine. It showed the name she loved and would always love — so why did she hate it so utterly so suddenly; so completely?

The cell phone described a high arc leaving her hand. It bounced off the thick rug on the floor and slid over the marble tiles before hitting the opposite wall, spinning around until it came to a stop. The tiny voice could still be heard, twittering like a bird; a mocking bird.

"Angique? Hello?"

The phone rang three times before Angique decided to pick it up. She hid her swollen eyes behind her black hair, rubbing the tears and the snot from her nose before answering.

"I'm here."

"Are you all right, Angique?"

"What do you think?"

"I don't know..."

"Of course you don't."

"Are you ... are you mad at me?"

Silence. Angique arched her back, taking a deep breath.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I guess I'm mad."

"But..."

"Never mind, honey. So you feel for this woman Pamela like you never felt for anyone, ever. Anyone, ever, you say. I guess that means you love her?"

There was a silence on Alicia's side now.

"I, eh ... I guess I do, yes."

"Congratulations, darling."

"But you sound like you aren't happy for me?" There was a tremor to Alicia's voice.

"Honey." Angique's voice sounded weary, wrapped in a sigh. "When God gave out these little antennas all women have and use to sound out the feelings of their fellow women, were you in the bathroom?"

The silence was a puzzled one now.

"I... ," Alicia then said. "I don't think I..." Angique cut in at once, hardly able to control her anger anymore.

"Your crush for this woman must be overwhelming indeed if you don't see how this hurts me, but it does ... it hurts. But, well, what can I say and not sound like a fool? Let me say I appreciate your honesty. Get happy, but please, honey, don't call me again. Don't visit me again. Just don't."

She terminated the call and threw the phone on the sofa next to her, retiring as far away from it as she could. Not a minute later it pinged to announce a text message. She just crawled even farther away, distancing herself from the machine, curling up inside a huge and colorful blanket.

Minutes later there was a second message. She covered her ears, muttering to herself. Once again she'd been the fool. Like a teenager she'd assumed that loving someone would make that someone love her — ultimately. Like an amateur she'd supposed she could bully a girl into loving her. And like a first class idiot she'd put her head firmly into her ass, believing it was the universe.

So the girl had found true love and it happened not to be with her. So what? Hadn't Alicia assured her again and again that she didn't take love in here seriously? Hadn't she even rated the most casual affairs in her 'real' world superior to anything she might call 'love' at the Club? Even if all her 'real' love connections had failed?

"Stop blubbering, Angique," she mumbled. And she picked up her phone, opening its first message. It was from Alicia, of course. "Goodbye," it said. "You want me not to have a real life. I can't deal with that. Please don't call me or write me. I will not be back." She sighed. Was it true? Did she not want her to have a life? Was that it?

The second message read: "There is the Club and there is true life, and never the twain shall meet. The one doesn't affect the other, ok??? I'm sorry I got so angry. Miss you, kisses, l."

Balancing the small machine on her open palm, Angique stared at its merry little lights. Two worlds, the girl said, separate — one never affecting the other. Maybe she was right and had been right all the time. Her true world was for true feelings, this fake Club for fake feelings. Was it so clear-cut? It seemed it was, at least for her.

Angique decided to grow up; she succeeded in stowing everything away in some cobwebbed and dusty attic at the back of her mind. Being busy helped; having great friends helped. But she had to stay away from the Club. It was like quitting smoking — and that works better if you're not having a packet of cigarettes lying around, doesn't it?

It was a week later that she received yet another text message from the girl. "Amazing," it said. "You'd just throw me away like that. You never loved me. Liar."

She'd opened it without thinking, and after opening it, she wished she hadn't. The message stood at such a ridiculous angle to her own feelings that she only could laugh out loud. She and a few of her girls were having lunch at that moment, so her laughter caused a lot of surprised faces. She just shook her head and shrugged.

But later that day, while she had her one glass of wine with her usual salad, she reopened the message, and all her pent-up frustrations returned — more intense even because of the afternoon-long stewing. Her purple-nailed fingers danced over the cell's buttons and before she could check herself a message jumped through the ether to find its target. Reading back she doubted the wisdom of sending it.

"Licia," it said. "I can see why you'd want to turn things around. It is easier on the conscience to blame the other. But honey ... it was you who threw me away. It was you who told

me you never really loved me. I won't be another Sarah, Amber

or Gina even if it hurts like hell to end something in

which I invested so much.

Don't call me a liar. I don't deserve that, a."

The answer was instant and, like Angique's response, it showed the shallowness of a too quickly delivered message — the very stuff future regrets are made of.

"You are the one turning things around," it said. "You threw me away. You can't deny it, although I see you are trying. What you did was horrible."

Angique stared at it, once more feeling sorry she'd responded at all. As she reached for her glass, the phone pinged again. Was it out of hope for a better answer that she picked up? Or was it plain old curiosity? The edge of her thumb's nail hit the opening button and a gulp of vitriol hit her eyes.

"I mean, really," it said without greeting. "This takes my breath away. You said ... I don't want to see you, and now it's that I left??????? I am not stupid ... I am many things but I am not stupid ... and I know what happened. You sent me out ... and for what????? For nothing, cuz I thought we were close enough that I could talk to you about my private feelings and you would understand. Well ... I guess I am stupid at that."

Angique knew that another glass of Sancerre would heat her blood even more and seduce her to answer with the sarcasm she had until now kept in check. But she poured the wine and drank it. And sure as hell she got her laptop out and started typing — faster with every sip from the tall, elegant glass.

"Honey," she typed as a start. It still felt right to call her that. "It seems," she went on, "that you need to see what happened the only way you can handle. For me that is just another disappointment, but I can understand why you have to do it. Seeing it differently would mean that you have to regard yourself as the narrow and selfish creature you are."

Angique stopped and stared at the last line. Was it true? Was it selfishness? She shrugged, typing on.

"You are unable to imagine the hurt you dealt me. And on top of everything you even deny me my pain by ridiculing it and calling it overreaction."