The One That Got Away Read Online Free Page A

Dad.”
    He nodded then said, “Well, just be careful.”
    I knew what “be careful” meant. His cousin had died of AIDS, although of course no one in the family would say that. I had a strip of three photographs of the two of them, taken in one of those booths you find in arcades—my father, a dark-haired adolescent, and his cousin, a fair-haired, angelic little boy. But I felt sad that the first association that came to my father’s mind when I told him I was a lesbian was disease.
    â€œThere’s something I don’t understand,” my mother said. “You had that crush on Jerry Greenblatt all through high school, remember?”
    Of course I remembered. I had a special portrait gallery in my memory for people who’d rejected me. But I suddenly thought of Jerry Greenblatt’s sister, Judy. We’d been friends, and she had actually been more attentive to me, more appreciative of me, than he had. I wondered where she was now and what she was doing.

    When I returned to my apartment there was a message from Ellen.
    â€œHi, B.D. We thought you might want to go with us to Lesbian Film Night at the community center. Give us a call.”
    I fed Truffle and changed his water, then dialed Ellen’s number. We chatted briefly, and I said I’d like to go with them.
    I could hear Annalise in the background. “Tell B.D. to go to the community center and find out what film is on the program.”
    â€œBut Lisey, B.D. can get that from the community center’s web site; she doesn’t have to go there,” Ellen said.
    Over the clatter of pots and pans, I heard Annalise say, “I want her to go there. B.D. is a dyke-in-training. She needs to check out the community center. Tell her to ask about the dances too.”
    â€œDid you hear that?” Ellen asked me.
    â€œYes,” I sighed.

    Entering Ozmosis had been a bit unnerving, but walking down the sidewalk to the community center’s doorway was like running a gauntlet. Men and women leaned against the side of the building and clustered at the edge of the sidewalk, chatting in couples and groups, some smoking cigarettes. I wondered whether the women were looking at me, and if they were, what they were thinking.
    In the lobby, people gathered around a small board propped up on the reception desk. A lanky young man with bleached hair and an inch of dark roots sat behindthe desk. A short, older woman with a tangled coif pushed her way through the crowd, the hem of her raincoat skimming the floor. “Where is the meeting?” she asked.
    â€œWhich one?” the man replied.
    â€œThe meeting. There’s supposed to be a meeting here,” the woman said peevishly.
    â€œThere are several groups meeting here tonight. What is the name of your group?”
    â€œI just want to know where the meeting is,” the woman whined. She turned to me. “Do you know where the meeting is?”
    â€œNo, I don’t. I’m sorry.”
    A younger woman in a tailored navy pantsuit approached the desk. “Excuse me, but what room is the adoption group in?”
    â€œWhich adoption group?” the man asked. “Lesbian Couples Committed to Each Other and Contemplating Adoption or Lesbians with Issues About Being Adopted?”
    I noticed a bulletin board with lots of flyers. There was one for Lesbian Film Night. I dug around in my purse for paper and a pen to write down the information. A man with thick, curly black hair came and stood beside me. I looked up at him, and he offered his hand.
    â€œAhmed.”
    â€œB.D.”
    Ahmed showed me an index card with “Cook for hire” plus a phone number, and pointed to the bulletin board. “May I?”
    I shrugged. “I guess so, if you can find a spare thumbtack.”
    Ahmed seemed puzzled, so I just nodded my head, and he smiled. I wondered where he was from, and if he knew just where he was.
    As I began jotting down the