Page 2 of Strap In

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?’

A decent fuck. It’s on the tip of her tongue, but then she remembers the young woman’s offer: I could help you with that.

Jean’s scalp tingles. Best to avoid all mention of sex.

It might not be the night she’d planned, but Ava’s company appeals more than her empty house. She’s watching Jean, openly hopeful.

‘Fine,’ says Jean. ‘But I’m buying my own. Because this is not a date, or anything like one. And you can stop flirting.’

Ava makes a three-fingered salute. And Jean realises that, while her nails are painted a deep burgundy, they’re clipped short. ‘Scout’s honour.’

‘You were never a Scout.’

‘They let girls join. Especially the tomboys.’ A grin. ‘But no, I wasn’t a Scout.’

They take turns ordering at the bar. Ava darts off to claim a freshly vacated booth.

And Jean goes first, staring down the bartender, whose face remains carefully impassive.

He’s young, but surely he’s heard stranger things in his line of work.

He slides her sparkling water across the countertop.

If Jean’s going along with this, whatever it is, she’s keeping her wits sharp.

She weaves between tables and swaps places with Ava, breathing in the spice of cedar undercut with jasmine as she passes. It’s a curious scent for a young woman – masculinity softened by subtle floral notes. Something Jean could imagine inhaling from a lover’s neck as he moves on top of her.

Jean’s hand trembles as she reaches for her drink, condensation blessedly cool beneath her fingertips.

It’s been too long since her last hook-up, a dismal fumble with a CFO that left her frustrated and him sated.

Instinct tells her that Ava is anything but complacent about a lover’s pleasure, or lack thereof.

Then Ava’s sliding back into the booth as if summoned by the thought, carrying a fresh mojito and that same intriguing scent.

‘I hope you don’t mind,’ she says. ‘But I ordered us wings. And fries.’

Jean’s mouth floods at the thought. She swallows. ‘I agreed to one drink, not food.’

‘Do you want me to cancel them?’ Ava shifts, hovering on the edge of her seat. Ready to call Jean’s bluff. ‘I can still catch her.’

At that exact moment Jean’s stomach rumbles. Late home from the office and with a date to prepare for, there had been no time for dinner. Heat floods her cheeks, but her voice remains steady. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

Ava’s too clever to outwardly savour her victory. She nods in acknowledgement, betraying not so much as a flicker of satisfaction. And Jean sees it – how Ava must catch the opposing counsel off guard.

‘Which firm are you with?’

‘I’m not that kind of lawyer, Ms Corporate.’ Ava smirks, as if she can read Jean’s mind. And it’s not a lack of intelligence holding her back. Nor – Jean’s instincts tell her – talent. There’s a sharpness to Ava, a forwardness and charm that can’t be taught. Ambition, then, must be what’s lacking.

‘What kind of lawyer are you?’

Ava scoffs. Then she looks hard at Jean, gaze penetrating. ‘Is that really what you want to ask me about?’

Jean considers her next words with care.

And Ava seems content to let her, watching – always watching – but never pressing.

It would be safer to stick to work, certainly.

As a senior partner Jean is sure on her feet in legal discussions.

Mergers and acquisitions. Advice and crisis management.

And she’s well placed to offer a junior colleague pointers.

In this conversation, Jean would have the upper hand.

But she can have that conversation at any conference or function, where students and interns buzz around her like mosquitos. And it doesn’t make her blood quicken. Doesn’t leave any part of Jean curious about what’s coming next. She’s on autopilot then, not anticipating her opponent’s next move.

‘No, actually,’ says Jean. ‘It’s not.’

Ava leans forward, an elbow on the table, chin perched against her palm. ‘Go on, then.’

And Jean almost wishes she’d opted for a third martini, for the gin to burn her embarrassment clean away.

‘How do you do it? With women?’ Ava’s eyes pop cartoon wide, and Jean’s tongue trips over her teeth in haste to stop her seizing on this slip.

‘Pick them up. Other… females. Date them. Or whatever it is you do.’

She gulps at the sparkling water, draining half the glass in one go. And it’s as if the bubbles have entered Jean’s bloodstream, fizzing and popping just beneath her skin.

‘Apps mostly. I don’t have time for much else. Too busy with work – you know how that goes. Sometimes my friends set me up.’ A gamine shrug. Then her eyes lock with Jean’s, and there’s no mistaking Ava’s intent. ‘Occasionally, once in a blue moon, I’ll bump into a woman who steals my breath away.’

‘Oh?’

‘Doesn’t happen that often. But when it does…’ Ava trails off, leaving Jean to imagine all kinds of unspoken pleasures.

‘How do you know?’ Jean clears her throat. ‘When it’s like that with a woman?’

Ava frowns, considering. ‘Being near her is just… this intoxicating feeling. Like the first time I ever tasted champagne. And the closer I get to her, the more alive I feel. It’s an ache, only the last thing you want is for it to stop.’

Jean’s heart pounds, so loud in her ears it drowns out the music. She’s still scrambling for something, anything, to say when the server sets two steaming baskets down before them. And Jean has never been so grateful for a heap of wings.

Ever gallant, Ava pushes the basket towards her first. And Jean plucks a wing from the pile, tearing meat from bone.

The crunch of the skin, the tenderness of the chicken – it tastes so good that Jean doesn’t care how she looks, reaching for a second even as she chews.

There is no elegant way to eat food like this.

And it doesn’t matter how Ava sees her. Not one tiny bit.

Jean drops the glistening bone down onto her napkin and devours another wing.

Ava pops a fry into her mouth, flashing an appreciative smile. ‘I like a woman with an appetite.’

Jean doesn’t know what to say to that. But she doesn’t shoot Ava down, just lets the flirtation stand, which is a response of its own.

‘You know,’ Ava says, between bites. ‘People think of lesbian relationships as being butch/femme. And fair play to all the women living that life. But it’s not the only choice. Butches can be with each other. Femmes can be with each other. And plenty of lesbians don’t fit into either camp.’

‘Okay.’ And it is. Jean hadn’t considered any of those possibilities, hasn’t dwelled on the ways in which women might desire one another. But the thought doesn’t bother her.

‘Also, you don’t have to be a lesbian to want other women. There’s a whole spectrum of human sexuality.’ Ava grins. ‘I just happen to sit very comfortably at one end of it.’

Jean blinks. She’s heard of Kinsey and his scale.

But it had never occurred to her to question where she herself might sit on it; to imagine any other possibility than the life she’s mapped out for herself after graduation.

Joining a respectable law firm, marrying a man who could match her ambition, making partner by forty-five.

In every respect she’s succeeded, except the divorce – but that scarcely matters nowadays, outside of the church, even if it had sucked the wind from Jean’s sails.

‘You alright?’

Jean nods. Even knowing that Ava is not her competition doesn’t make it any more appealing, the thought of exposing this part of herself to a virtual stranger. ‘Tell me: is it very different to being with a man?’

A shrug. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘Of course. That was a foolish question.’

‘No, it wasn’t – not every lesbian has only ever been with women.’ Ava gives Jean a moment to mull that one over, getting stuck into a wing.

‘But if you’ve never slept with a man, how do you know…’ Jean trails off, realising that ‘ what you’re missing out on ’ may not be the most diplomatic way to end her question. She leans back in the seat, wondering when her curiosity outstripped all caution – and manners.

Ava’s smile is knowing, as if she can read the thoughts inside Jean’s head. ‘Do you want the honest answer? Or the PG one?’

‘Give it to me straight,’ says Jean. And right away she’s rewarded with that warm, husky laugh.

‘Honestly, my body’s only ever responded to women.

Back in school I’d kiss boys at parties now and again, so nobody would guess.

But there was no spark. No heat. Nothing.

Girls, on the other hand?’ Ava smirks. ‘I realised early on that what they called practice was the real thing for me. The thing that made my heart race and other parts… well. I didn’t get how they could just stop as if those kisses didn’t leave them aching for more, and go back to their boring boyfriends the next day. ’

Mouth suddenly dry, Jean drains the last of her sparkling water. But it doesn’t stop her from imagining what makes Ava ache now.

‘That was my misspent youth,’ Ava says, with an air of studied casualness. ‘But tell me. If you’ve never been with a woman, how do you know for sure that you’re not into it?’

She pushes the near-empty basket towards Jean, offering the final wing, not seeming to expect an answer.

And Jean takes a bite, savouring the final mouthfuls.

She doesn’t know what this is, in that strange liminal space between a date and not.

But – whatever it is – this thing with Ava is oddly comfortable.

Jean doesn’t have to put on the performance of a desirable woman; she can simply let herself be desired.

Her glass is empty, the basket left with only a few crumbs.

Jean had agreed to a drink, and has kept her promise – only, she doesn’t want this thing with Ava to end.

For all the night’s electric possibilities to dissipate into nothing.

‘You know,’ Jean says, ‘of all the ways this evening could have gone, I didn’t see this coming. ’

‘Same here. Ordinarily I spend more time bringing women up to speed with the practice than the theory.’ Ava’s eyes sparkle with mischief, and something else Jean isn’t ready to name. ‘But for you I’m willing to make an exception.’

‘Why?’

Ava raises a single eyebrow, sceptical. Then something unreadable passes across her face. And she looks Jean dead in the eye, says: ‘Because you’re a total fox. Smart, funny, beautiful – Jean, you’re a triple threat.’

Beautiful. The word hits Jean in the solar plexus, so earnest. And the way Ava looks at her, in that moment Jean feels it.

Which is why she’s bold enough to slide round the booth.

To lean into Ava’s curls; breathe in that intoxicating scent.

‘I’ve never been with a woman,’ she says.

‘But I’m starting to wonder whether I’ve missed out. ’

She’s close enough to hear Ava swallow. ‘Do you want to try it?’

‘I—’ Jean’s cheeks burn.

‘Does the idea of it turn you on? Even a little bit?’

‘I don’t know, exactly – what it is that I’m supposed to imagine.’ Beneath the table Jean wipes her palms on her skirt. ‘I’m just curious is all.’

Ava tilts back her head and laughs, though Jean doesn’t understand the joke. Not until Ava adds: ‘I’ve been with a few curious women. Once upon a time they were all I knew.’

Then there’s no more resisting it. Jean can’t stop herself from wondering what it would be like, to be known by Ava. To get closer still. And the opportunity to find out is within her grasp. ‘Would you like to be with another curious woman now?’

‘You sure?’ Ava pulls back far enough to look at her closely, teasing and not. ‘Curiosity killed the cat.’

‘Ah,’ says Jean. ‘But satisfaction brought it back.’