Between Lovers Read Online Free Page B

faces.
    The light at 13th catches Nicole. I catch up and ask, “Why does she want to meet me?”
    â€œBecause. Curious, I guess. I love you; she knows that. Sometimes she sounds intimidated.”
    â€œBecause I’m a man.”
    â€œMaybe. After seven years, we have a solid history, don’t you think?”
    That makes me feel good. The simple, five-letter word solid makes me feel good.
    The signal coo-coos three times. We run north.
    We race the incline toward Telegraph, a liquor store-lined street that leads into good old Berkeley.
    At 20th, under the shadows of a sky-high Sears and World Savings building, she turns right toward Snow Park. We avoid a million chain-smokers who are congregated out in front of Lake Merritt Plaza, the black-lunged outcasts of a politically correct world, then cross several lanes of fast-paced traffic and head toward the children’s park and petting zoo called Fairy Land.
    I maintain a steady pace and ask, “This hooking up, is this for her, or for you?”
    â€œFor me. Because I’m in fucking purgatory.”
    â€œWhere do you think I am? I’m standing next to you.”
    â€œFeels like I’m dancing naked on the sun.”
    â€œThat sounds painful.”
    â€œWanna see my blisters?” She clears her throat, spits. “It’s important for her because she needs to get comfortable with my needs, and wants, with my love for you, to be secure. And it’s for you.”
    â€œHow in the hell is this hooking up for me?”
    â€œBecause I see how much it hurts you. You’re an open book.”
    â€œDon’t go cliché on me.”
    â€œYou put it in all of your books. Especially the one with the orange cover. The one where you wrote about the wedding.”
    â€œA fictional wedding.”
    â€œSave that bullshit for your fans. I read your books and I see me, hear the things I’ve said, see you, your words, hear your voice, feel sad and bad because I know that all the pain you write about is us.”
    â€œMaybe you should write a book. Let me know how you really feel, what’s going on with you.”
    She goes on, “Be honest. Would you be this, I don’t know, well, for lack of a better word, understanding if I were—”
    â€œI’m not understanding; I don’t understand this whole lesbian shit.”
    â€œI’m not a lesbian,” she says with force. Then she backs off. “Sweetie, I’m not a lesbian.”
    I tell her, “Look, I’m being patient. Waiting for you to get through this ... this ... this phase.”
    â€œOkay, patient. Would you be acting like a stunt double for Job if I were having a relationship, okay, even living with another man?”
    â€œHell, no. I’d break his neck. Go Left Eye and burn down the house. Not in that order.”
    She says, “Going Left Eye. Now that turns me on. That evil side you try to hide.”
    â€œTry me.”
    â€œI’m serious. I want you two to meet. We have to. I want both of your spirits to be at ease. I want my spirit at ease. I want all of us to be able to lunch together from time to time, have conversations, run races together, that way I don’t have to be stressed and trying to figure out who I’m going to be with. It’s a lose-lose for me, and I’m trying to make it a win-win for us all.”
    â€œSo, she’s scared of me.”
    â€œYou don’t see her as a threat, not the way she sees you as a threat.”
    â€œNothing that menstruates is a threat to me. Ain’t scared of nothing that bleeds.”
    â€œOkay, Mister Macho.”
    Nicole has immeasurable passion when she talks about her soft-legged lover. I wonder if when she’s talking to her friend about me, if she speaks with the same heated tongue, one that drips adjectives made of sweet mangos, verbs made of ripe kiwis, says my name as if it were a fresh strawberry.
    I say, “So, this is for