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“If you say so.” Roxi cut the gauze she’d wrapped around Gia’s arm and neatly tucked in the tail end. “See, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“Except the part where you tried to scorch my skin off, no.”
“You’re fine. And you’re going to thank me later. Andsí—you can buy me a drink. Let’s go to Palmeranian. You haven’t seen the Springs if you haven’t been.”
Gia’s inner child told her to run and run fast. OG told her one beer wouldn’t kill her. And new Gia—the one who showed up and did the work and didn’t walk away from conflict or temptation—stayed present.
“I saidcoffee,” Gia insisted.
“They have coffee. Let’s go. Hop in—I’ll drive.”
“I’ll meet you there. Gotta be at work at 10—I don’t want you to have to bring me back here.”
“I thought we’d been over this? It’s okay to let someone do things for you. I’ll drive. Get in. And grab that shirt off the backseat. You don’t want to go in all sappy.” Roxi had the A/C blasting on high and the AC/DC blaring. “You shook me all night long,” rang through the speakers. Against her better judgment, Gia hopped in.
Stay a little longer
“I’m guessing that’s the Palmeranian?” Gia asked as Roxi parallel parked her girlfriend’s truck on the street a half-block from the most famous—or infamous—gay bar in town. There was nothing discreet about it—the bar flew every available LGBTQIA+ flag off its front façade.
“The one and only. Rumor has it Marilyn used to hang out here back in the day.” Roxi shifted into park, flipped the visor down, and smiled into a tiny mirror. She applied a fresh layer of lip gloss—bright pink to match her shorts—and puckered her lips. “What?!”
“Nothing.” Gia willed her raised eyebrow to fall. “Just been a long time since I’ve seen someone put on lipstick. It’s very early 2000s.”
“It’s lipgloss.” Roxi fluffed her ponytail before flipping the visor back in place. “Let’s go in. Tuesdays are dyke nights, and last I checked, you qualify.”
“I see,” Gia said as she hopped out of the passenger seat, borrowed shirt covering her tank. It was an old concert T from a band she’d never heard of with the sleeves cut off. “Iqualify.”
“Yep. You absolutely do. I flyunderthe gaydar.”
“Sure, you do.”
“¡Sí!I do.”
“Mm-hm.” Gia grabbed Roxi’s hand and swung it lazily as they walked. As if they’d done that a hundred times—held hands—but, of course, they hadn’t. Roxi’s was soft and fit hers naturally. Intermingling their fingers sent a charge of electricity straight to Gia’s heart. She’d only wanted to prove a point—the spark was unexpected. “This oughta get youonthe gaydar. You’re holding hands with an obvious dyke. Who’sobviouslybeen in a fight to win your love.” Gia grabbed her shoulder with her free hand. “I have the bandages to prove it.”
“Phsst. They all know about me—and you’re not obvious. I was just giving you shit.” Roxi laughed and kissed Gia’s cheek. There was that electricity again, but this time, it went places other than her heart.
The bar was tucked off the main drag downtown and based on the quantity of rainbow flags displayed on buildings that weren’t The Palmeranian, Gia pieced together where she was—the queer district. She hadn’t sought out a place to find camaraderie in Palm Springs because she was avoiding bars. Avoiding bars was critical, and working graveyard helped with that mission. But there it was, plain as a rainbow in the plains—and far as the eye could see. She was on home turf. And, aside from being surrounded by temptation to leap right off the wagon that had kept her contained and moving forward for nine weeks, she felt comfortable. Accepted, without seeing or speaking with anyone else. Funny how a simple display like a flag can do that. Colorful low-rise building after low-rise building flew them, and they said everything while saying nothing: “Welcome. We’re glad you’re here.”
“Rox?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know if I should go in.” Gia stared at the darkened front door from the sidewalk. The building’s salmon-colored stucco was inviting. The sign in the door read, “Everyone’s welcome.” Her head said, “Danger.”
“It’ll be fine. You’re gonna have to deal with this eventually. Booze is everywhere,chica, not just bars. They have a drag king show on Tuesdays. Let’s get our coffee, stuff dollar bills in some trousers, and we can go. I promise I’ll get us out of here in time for your shift.” Roxi covered her heart with her hand, wrinkling her top, but not flinching. “Lo prometo.”
“Okay, but—”
“No ‘but.’ It’s gonna be fun.”
???
Roxi dragged them to a high top at the front of the bar, whose dance floor had been converted to a cabaret for the evening, complete with twinkling landscaping lights strung around the perimeter. The stage was draped with an ornate rug, the kind someone’s grandma would have in her living room and forbid walking upon. Curtain backdrops were black sheets hung from the ceiling and lit with faint purple downlighting. Gia assumed the sheets covered the regular bar art—neon signs, posters for local events, a bulletin board.
“It smells funny in here,” Gia sniffed the air around their table. “I can’t place it, but—”
“Patchouli. The owner’s an old hippie. All peace and love and that shit. You get used to it.”
