Page 22 of A Straight Line

Chapter 5

The Littleburg Lesbians

“Put your dicks away, you old queens! Us fucking ladies don’t want to see that shit!”

Boogie Shoes had just ended, and Bird had started to play some dance song that I’d sounded unfamiliar but was obviously more recently released than something K.C. and the Sunshine Band had recorded. We all jumped at the sound of the growling voice that had emanated from the back door. Harry and Vic turned to see who had announced their presence in such a way, and I rose from my chair for a clear view of the back door. Harry seemed to deflate, and Vic practically squealed and clapped his hands together as the person whom the voice belonged to made themselves known.

Bethany Babington—no shit, that was her real name—chef and owner of Babington’s Café, stood at the back door, her hands held aloft grandly to announce her presence. Behind her, bottlenecked in the doorway, was a gaggle of other women, ranging in age from senior—like Bethany—to mid-20s. A smile crept to my face at the sight of Bethany. She was loud, brash, just as quick-witted and salty as the elders, but always kind to me. Thick as a tree trunk, and just as sturdy, Bethany sported a bowl cut and wore no-nonsense clothes and shoes—even to a party. She was also unbelievably filthy-mouthed because it unnerved the elders to hear a woman say filthy things to them. She’d never met an F-word she couldn’t work into conversation. Bethany was my kind of lady.

“Oh, lord,” Harry grumbled, barely loud enough to be heard over the song. “Look, Vic. It’s the Aged Lesbians. I thought I smelled old shoe leather and men’s cologne.”

Bethany stepped out of the doorway, her arms lowering to rest at her sides, and a flood of women—about a dozen in all—poured out around her. Some headed directly to the drink troughs, others headed towards the side of the house to fetch lawn chairs, and others just wandered off aimlessly in search of a conversation partner.

The lesbians are such an efficient bunch, I thought to myself.

“Oh, look,” Bethany said, “it’s Hairy Mary. How are you, you crusty old whore?”

Harry’s hands went to his hips, and his head started to jiggle upon his neck rapidly—though I wasn’t sure if it was the Parkinson’s or rage—but Bethany ignored him and stomped over to accept Vic’s outstretched arms. Uncle Vic and Bethany gave each other back-slapping hugs that could probably be heard in the next county as Harry glared at Bethany. When the hug was finally over, Bethany turned to Harry, a bored expression on her face.

“I don’t see any food, Mary,” She said. “Still as cheap as you were when you carved those personal ads in the cave wall or what?”

“You get older every time I see you, Bethany,” Harry said. “Oil of Olay is just spackle for you at this point, isn’t it? Wait. Did you get that joke? Do you understand beauty products? I assume you know what spackle is.”

“Don’t get mad at me because you lost your apartment key,” Bethany said as she turned to Vic. “Hairy Mary here thought he was gonna get a visit in the middle of the night from some trick, but Benjamin Franklin just wanted to fly a kite.”

“Did you have to bring every damned lesbian in Littleburg with you?” Harry spat.

“Sorry to ruin your sausage fest.” Bethany quipped. “But you’ve been on a diet since Vic locked you down back before color T.V. anyway. Where’s Russy?”

Harry’s face turned red, and his fists dug into his hips. Before he could volley back some insult about being old, I sprang into motion. Bethany’s eyes landed on me as I approached, and she lit up, bouncing in place and throwing her arms out to pull me into a hug. Uncle Vic patted me on the back as Bethany and I hugged ferociously. I hadn’t seen the woman in several years, not since I had stayed a week with my uncles the summer before college started.

“Oh, sugar,” Bethany cooed, “I haven’t seen you in so long! Then I heard you’d be here tonight, and I could barely contain myself.”

“Hi, Bethany,” I said.

“I hear you’re staying with us for a while this time,” Bethany pulled back to look me over, her hands still on my arms.

“Vic and me.” Harry snapped. “Not us. You are not part of this family.”

Bethany ignored him, but I shot him a smile to placate him.

“How long will we get you this time?” She asked.

“Undetermined.” I shrugged.

“Well,” She said, “I’m glad we have you for however long we do.”

“Vic and me,” Harry said again, “not us or we.”

“Oh, loosen your bra straps.” Bethany rolled her eyes as her hands slid from my arms. “Where’s the food, Mary? Some stranger answered the door and you have a house full of people in uniforms, but all I see are some drinks and a bunch of busted lawn chairs.”

“Busted?” Harry hissed.

Before I knew what was happening, Harry and Bethany had launched in on each other, barely inches apart as they traded barbs and cursed each other from one end to the next. With a sigh, Vic reached over and grabbed ahold of my arm, pulling me close.

“Russ,” He said, “why don’t you go in and tell them to bring some food out for us? The last thing we need is these two at each other’s throats all night.”

“They do look hangry,” I said.