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“We are. You’re gonna love it. Just follow my lead. We’ll be here thirty minutes—an hour, tops.”
“Have I reminded you lately that you have two strikes?” Gia walked beside Roxi and draped her arm over her shoulders. To onlookers, they must’ve looked like a couple out for a nightcap and community. Not two people in a sobriety program who weren’t dating walking arm-in-arm into a place full of temptation.
“Lo sé. I know. Trust me. This will be fun! After that afternoon, we need some fun.”
???
“I’ll be right back. Are you okay here?” Roxi raised her voice and spoke straight into Gia’s ear. A dance beat pumped through the high-ceilinged, Amalfi-Coast-meets-the-Vatican styled bar. Oversized timbers appeared to hold the roof up, but were likely decorative. Booths and couches were lit in a soft yellow akin to the glow of a firefly in the heart of a pitch-black summer evening. And there it was again, with the reliability of a desert sunrise—raspberries.
“Sure.” Gia scanned the vast room and its outdoor patio in search of a place to blend in. Ornate chandeliers dangled above. A massive bar ran the length of the room. The back edge of a plush leather couch provided a place to lean. “I’ll wait here.”
“Hang out in bars when you can,” was not the motto of her sobriety program, but then again, neither was “befriend a heavy smoker,” or “spend lots of time with someone on whom you have a huge crush.” Those were not choices she’d made so much as the way the universe had provided. Gia’d surrendered to the paradox. And as she took in the scene—pretty people chatting up pretty people contrasted with introverts tucked into corners hoping to see, but not be seen—Gia realized how far she’d come. OG wouldn’t believe it. Six months sober, holding a steady job, weekly social interaction that involved a healthy hobby, and a couple of genuine friends. New Gia had interests beyond partying and escaping pain.
In a bougie bar in West Hollywood, she’d come full circle. On her own. And with help. She wasn’t out of the woods—would she ever be?—but she was on a travelled path that was going somewhere beautiful.
“Here you go.” Roxi handed over a soda and lime with a little umbrella in it. “What do you think? It’s quite a sight, huh?”
“I like the Palmeranian better. More relatable. This feels like Vegas for gays.”
“It kind of is.” Roxi nodded. “You’ve gotta see it to believe it. If I have a reason to come to L.A., I swing by. Just to feel young and beautiful—and part of the community, I guess.”
The ample sound system boomed “Shake it Off,” and well-coiffed men were dancing a choreographed routine in front of them. Roxi joined in the dance, shaking her hips and hands in time to the tune. Gia thought Roxi was beautiful every day—but wouldn’t go there. Instead, she mouthed, “nice moves,” nodded her head to the beat, and pretended soda water was the most delicious beverage ever invented.
When the mood shifted from upbeat pop to a slower, better-to-have-a-partner song, Roxi pleaded her case. “Let’s dance.” She raised her shoulders and looked back over them, a la Marilyn Monroe’s famous pose. Was this her attempt at being coy?
“Oh, I don’t—I can’t.” Gia chewed ice and shook her head. She reallydidn’t.Dance, that is. Even in the kitchen when no one was looking. Even in a room full of people only thinking of themselves. Even, if Roxi asked.
Adele crooned in stereo, and when she hit the bridge, “Someone Like You” had packed the open floor space with couples swaying in slow-motion.
“What do you mean you can’t? It’s slow dancing.”
“I’m a terrible dancer.”
“So?”
“So, I can’t.”
Stubbornness and insecurity were powerful forces. Gia wasn’t budging. Nothing Roxi could say would sway her to—sway—period.
"That's totalcaca.You can. Do it for me, before the moment is over and you’ve lost your chance.”
Okay, therewassomething Roxi could say that would sway her. When she looked at it that way, time was precious and Adele was fleeting. They’d been in the bar nearly an hour and only one slow song played. Perhaps Gia’s own coyness was backfiring—this was an opportunity for a preview. A sneak peek at what it would feel like to hold Roxi close. Someday. If she could keep her shit together for another half year. And if Roxi was still available. And interested. Damn, there were a lot of contingencies built into a simple request to dance.
With eyes cast on her running sneakers—not ideal dancing shoes—Gia lifted her arms, and then her head. One shoulder-height hand, dangled in space. One waist-height. An invitation.
“I thought so,” Roxi whispered as she slid into place. One hand found Gia’s hip, and the other, her raised hand. “Just follow me.”
For the last minute of the ballad, they moved as one. As promised, Roxi led. Gia tried to follow, only stepping on her dance partner’s feet once. It wasn’t the insurmountable feat she’d imagined, but wasn’t easy, either. The song was faster than it seemed. When the music faded, their eyes met. In the split second between the poignant ballad and the next high-energy dance song, the dark of espresso met the light of gold. Longing mixed with rules and a dash of tempestuousness to create a cocktail of dissonance. In another bar, on another night, they’d kiss and think nothing of it. In that bar, that night—they’d want to, and Gia would back away with an awkward smile. And she wouldn’t stop thinking about that frozen moment—the split second of silence and closeness, the scent of raspberries and the warmth of Roxi’s body against hers—for days, maybe more.
“Let’s get you back so you’re not in trouble with your coach. I gotta get back to the Springs anyway—still a long drive tonight.” Roxi broke the trance and led them toward the front of the bar, with its tall arched doors opened wide. Though they’d been inside, it had felt like outside, the mild Los Angeles fall air comfortable in its comfortable-ness. Wasn’t that the draw of L.A., anyway? Year-round comfort?
“Okay.” Gia nodded. Was it? Okay? In a single day, she’d competed in a rock-climbing event, met someone who helped in the search for Emily Mitchell, and shared an intimate moment with Roxi. Sensory overload. Times ten.
“You alright?” Roxi wondered as they passed through a worn crosswalk. The white lines had faded to near invisibility.
“Yeah, just tired. It’s been a long day. Thank you for taking me to Pasadena—you really saved the day. I don’t know if I’d have gotten that info without your help.”
“That’s what friends are for.” Roxi clicked the key fob to unlock the Mini, which came alive with a beep and headlights that double flashed a hello. They really had parked close. “Thanks for dancing. I know that was a lot for you. Did you have fun tonight?”
