Ava’s laughter is more musical than the electronic pulse playing through the speakers. ‘Do you ever give answers longer than one word?’
In spite of herself, Jean smiles. ‘Sometimes.’
‘You’re a tough cookie, huh?’
‘Yes.’ The drink is smooth and crisp, just the way she likes it. And Jean’s resistance melts just a little. ‘I’ve had to be, in my line of work.’
‘Don’t tell me.’ Ava’s eyebrows knit together as she takes in Jean’s clothes, her accessories, her bearing. ‘You make good money, but you’re not boring, so nothing in finance. No doctor has a manicure like that. And you’re careful about what you say. Lawyer?’
Surprise buoys Jean past reserve. ‘Yes! How did you guess?’
Ava smirks. ‘Takes one to know one.’
And Jean sees it then, how it could go if she stays with Ava. Relaxing into the evening instead of thinking constantly about how she’s perceived. Bonding over their shared profession. And more of this electric conversation, Ava curious and teasing by turn until Jean forgets to be standoffish. But it wasn’t the promise of conversation that lured her to this bar.
‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate the drink,’ says Jean. ‘But we’d both do better alone.’
Ava tilts her head, birdlike. ‘Better at what?’
‘Better at…’ Jean sighs. Flicks her gaze towards the booth where two young men stare at Ava with naked admiration. ‘You’d have a shot with either one of them. Or both, if that’s your thing. They haven’t stopped looking since you got here. The only reason they haven’t come over here is they’re worried the reject will get stuck with an old lady.’
‘I’m happy where I am.’ Ava stirs her drink, smile growing. ‘And I don’t see any old ladies here.’
Jean rolls her eyes. Nice as it is to be part of the sisterhood, she has no practical use for solidarity. ‘You might be,’ says Jean, ignoring the compliment. ‘But I’ll only get results flying solo tonight.’
‘And what results might those be?’ There’s a teasing glint in her eye that tells Jean she knows full well – but it’s not like she’s laughing at Jean, it’s more… an invitation of sorts, to be in on the joke.
But Jean has no patience for deciphering secret meanings. It’s gone half past. Even if Ralph Fiennes were to walk into this bar and whisper Shakespearean sonnets into her ear, she’d need time to detect potential serial killer vibes. It’d be ten before they got back to her place, unless he lives closer. And Jean has to be up by five if she’s to meet her trainer before work. Time is wasting.
‘I’m trying to get laid.’ And so far, all she’s managed to score is a pity martini. Jean takes another sip, washing away the taste of bitterness.
Ava’s smile grows wide, teeth gleaming. ‘I could help you with that.’
‘But that’s my point – you’re a hindrance, not a help.’ Jean closes her eyes. Only partially blunts the edge of her exasperation. ‘I was supposed to be on a date. I came here to meet a man. But he was a no-show.’
‘He stood you up?’ Ava’s voice is loud, carrying. Heads turn. And her look of sudden incredulity is so comical that Jean wonders if she’s being had – though what Ava’s game is, she can’t begin to guess.
‘Don’t act so surprised.’ Her voice has a bite of frost; the tone Jean uses to send her junior associates scurrying. And she means to teach this girl a lesson. ‘It’ll happen to you too. A lot sooner than you think, let me tell you. They hit forty and start falling for girls who were foetuses in your prime. So, take my advice: make hay while the sun still shines.’
Ava’s laughter is bright and sharp, a blade between the ribs. Her scorn cuts deeper than Scott’s indifference. Jean hops down from the stool, lifting her handbag.
Ava all but falls to the ground in her haste to block Jean’s path. ‘Oh! No, no. I’m not laughing at you. It’s n—’
‘Forget it.’ Jean tries to sidestep her, but Ava’s in the way, all bouncing curls and big pleading eyes.
‘I promise I wasn’t laughing at you, Jean. Please don’t go.’
Despite herself, Jean is intrigued. But she keeps her voice carefully flat. ‘Then what?’
The young woman runs a hand through her unruly mane. And for the first time she seems nervous. ‘A man won’t stand me up because he won’t ever have the chance. And that’s not because I’m special. I just… I don’t date men.’ Her lips twitch, and Jean gets a strong sense Ava’s trying not to crack up. ‘I thought it was obvious?’
The bartender’s cough sounds suspiciously like laughter. Jean glares at him before looking the young woman up and down. The boots are a little on the butch side, and the blazer. But the silky top, the chunky silver necklace, the gloss coating her plump lips… ‘Not really. At least, not to me.’
Ava’s nose wrinkles. A lone crease lines her forehead. ‘But I’ve been hitting on you for a solid fifteen minutes. I bought you a drink.’
‘But you don’t look—’ Jean’s brain short-circuits as she processes this last piece of information. The pity martini… wasn’t a pity martini.Oh.
Ava rolls her eyes. But – apparently – she’s not offended. At least, not enough to give up on Jean. ‘Not all lesbians are butches or studs. Stay for another drink and I’ll explain everything. The entire gay agenda and a dirty martini – what more could a woman ask for?’
