“Yeah, but it wasn’t so bad. And I thought it would be worth it. Do you like me without any pubic hair? It’s not unnatural, is it? Or just plain dopey?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Or all little-girly? All pedophilia-creepy?”
“Daddy’s little soldier.”
“I swear I never even thought of that. Is it like that?”
“Kimmie, I love it. There’s no hair, everything’s all sweet and smooth and silky, I can just kiss and lick everything. I’m a whole forest down there. You must have been disgusted.”
“Yeah, right. I had to force myself to get anywhere near you.”
“But wouldn’t you want me to get it done?”
“For your sake, Ree. Everything’s more intense.”
“Really? I don’t know if I can stand that. But I
“Here’s a coincidence — so does yours.”
“Kimmie, this is all so
“Me neither.”
“I think there’s some more wine left. You want some?”
“Not particularly.”
“Some Poh-mahr. It was nice, but I had enough. The only thing I haven’t had enough of is you.”
“Ah, baby. Let’s see what we can do about that.”
And, a little later:
“Kimmie? I guess we’re lesbians, huh?”
“I suppose so.”
“But we’re still us, right?”
“Well, we don’t have to learn the secret handshake. Or deepen our voices.”
“Do we have to wear those plaid shirts from L. L. Bean?”
“No way. We don’t have to get a cat, either.”
“That’s a relief.”
“Or adopt a Chinese baby.”
“Kimmie? You’ll move in, won’t you?”
“If you can stand it.”
“You can have your old room back. But we’ll sleep here. Unless we try your room occasionally as a change of pace.”
“To ward off boredom.”
“You think we’ll get bored?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I want us to do everything.”
“We will. And Ree? There’s no reason you can’t have a guy anytime you want.”
“Really? You wouldn’t be jealous?”
“Why should I? I’m not jealous of the ones you’ve been with. You’re not jealous of my lovers, are you?”
“Kimmie, they’re all dead.”
“That’s a point.”
“But if they weren’t? No, I wouldn’t be jealous.”
“Because it doesn’t subtract from what we’ve got.”
“No, it adds to it. Right now I don’t want anything but you and me in bed, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want us to tell each other stories. And sooner or later we might want to have new stories to tell each other.”
“Right.”
“And I’ve always liked fucking guys, Kimmie.”
“Me too.”
“And now I’m thinking about doing some new guy and then telling you about it, and I don’t know what’s getting me hotter, the idea of doing him or the idea of telling you.”
“Over the phone?”
“Silly. Lying in bed, and feeling your breasts against mine, and looking into your eyes—”
“Like you’re doing right now.”
“Like I’m doing right now. And telling you all about it.”
“I suppose you realize that you’re sopping wet.”
“Like I’m the only one? And I am definitely getting a Brazilian.”
“But not right this minute.”
“No. Right this minute I’m busy.”
She spent the next several days settling in, and by Friday she had a working set of ID in the name of Kimberly Austin. She liked Austin for a last name, but she wasn’t crazy about the Kimberly part. Names had never mattered much to her when she’d used each one for such a short time, but maybe that was going to change, maybe she’d take a shot at being the same person with the same name for, well, as long as she could.
No problem. Kimberly could turn into Kim, and she’d pump up her new identity with a library card and some generic student ID cards as Kim Austin, and by the time she picked up a Washington State driver’s license, she’d be able to shrink Kimberly to Kim once and for all. And then maybe get a lawyer to have her name changed by court order? If she did that, she’d be able to get a passport. Not that she had any urge to leave the country, but suppose Ree wanted to see Paris?
Had to keep your options open, didn’t you?
It was all so easy.
Because she was usually the first one up, and because Ree always prepared the evening meal, she took over the role of making the morning coffee and putting breakfast on the table. Her first omelet was a failure, but all that cost her was a couple of eggs, and it didn’t take her long to get the hang of it.
“We’re getting so domestic,” Ree said. “I think we’re definitely lesbians. I think there’s no question about it.”
“I can see how upset that makes you.”
“Plaid flannel shirts and cats,” Ree said, “are just around the corner.”
“We’re lipstick lesbians.”
“No plaid shirts, huh?”
“Not even to sleep in. And no cats, either.”
“And no Chinese babies?”
“They’re cuter than cats,” she said, “and way cuter than plaid shirts, but not just yet, okay?”
“Okay.”
So easy.
Later that day she was sitting on the couch reading, and Ree was doing a crossword puzzle, and their eyes met. That was all it took, really, and half an hour later they were lying side by side in Ree’s bed in the shared afterglow.
And Ree said, “I guess I’m safe, huh?”
“Safe?”
“Well, nobody’s ever safe. Like earthquakes and tornadoes and, I don’t know, tsunamis? Not that I spend a lot of time worrying about tsunamis, but you never know, do you?”
Where was this going? “And there’s always sinkholes,” she said.
“That’s right! No warning, nothing, and the ground just opens up underneath you. Gone, no forwarding. Just like that.”
“But you guess you’re safe.”
Ree was looking off to the side. “What I figure,” she said, “is if you were going to kill me, you’d have done it
