"When I was a girl I went to Catholic School," Natasha starts, not really sure why she's telling this story. "We had these stupid little boater hats. After school me and my friend used to just ride loops on the T. There was this guy who used to get on at Harvard Square and he'd always be fully pulling the padge."
Natasha wheezes with laughter, remembering the way that Fiona had shouted, "If that's all you've got, you should put it away!" Natasha remembers Fiona pulling her down the stairs into the T-stop, the gust of hot sooty air that would hit them at the bottom of the stairs. How she would always fall back on her heels, holding her hat, as the subway carriages flew past her. She was so scared of those underground monsters, scared of falling on to the track, scared off getting off at the wrong station. Fiona had always seemed so fearless.
Sawyer makes a face, "That sounds fully disturbing. One time up nort' my grandpa took me down the field to see two of his cows fucking."
They were on the other side of the bridge now, but still stuck in traffic.
"I have some CDs," Natasha says, groping in her bag. She's embarrassed by the state of her CDs now she's in Sawyer's pristine car. Most of the hinges have snapped off, the plastic cases cloudy with scratches and bits of the sleeve had been torn off long ago to make roaches.
"Christ, you brought CDs? How old are you? My car has Bluetooth. I haven't even bought a CD in five years!"
Natasha starts stuffing them back in her bag.
"No, no, come on – let me see."
The traffic on hold, Sawyer grabs them back. She shuffles through them and starts throwing them one by one back to Natasha.
"I think this was the soundtrack of two of my break-ups with straight girls at high school."
"My grandmother has this - "
Sawyer smirks and pats Natasha's knee, "Honey, I already believe that you're gay."
"You'd have to be on drugs to listen to this," Sawyer laughs at her own joke and Natasha lets her gaze slide out of the window.
"Ooh, this is good." Sawyer takes Natasha's ancient copy of The Teaches of Peaches and slides it into the CD slot, "You're popping my car's cherry!"
Sawyer starts tapping the beat on her steering wheel, and Natasha remembers what Sawyer invited her over to do. She takes in the way Sawyer's big thighs spread out on the seat, the golden hair twisting over her shoulders, her pink grin. Natasha feels a bit more confident. She's always been good at seduction, and she can feel herself pulsing as the car rumbles over the road.
Natasha knows Cambridge well, she remembers coming to visit her parents at their offices. She's still impressed by the double fronted, ivy coated building that Sawyer parks up outside of.
"We can leave most of this here, but I want my set box," Sawyer grabbed Natasha's bag and her own toolbox, and leaves Natasha following behind with the scale model of the theatre balanced in her arms.
While Natasha found the outside of Sawyer's building warm and welcoming, Sawyer's apartment was anything but. It was open plan, white and sparse. There were only a few hints that anyone lived there at all. Most of the living room was taken over by large stacks of carefully labeled plastic boxes.
Sawyer suddenly seemed a bit lost and confused, hovering in the white tiled kitchen. She wrapped her arms protectively around her middle, a little frown between her eyes.
"Come here," says Natasha, and makes short work of the distance between them. She cups Sawyer's face in her hand, her cheeks plump and hot against Natasha's palms. When Natasha kisses her, Sawyer kisses back urgently. Natasha kisses forcefully enough that eventually Sawyer's mouth goes slack against hers, and she starts making little humming noises into Natasha's mouth. Sawyer pulls away and looks a bit dazed, holding on to Natasha's biceps.
"Can I get you a drink?" Sawyer asks, gesturing to the fridge. Sawyer's got a box of wine, some Wisconsin beers and a bottle of sparkling water with pomegranate juice that's masquerading as rose wine.
Natasha's eye is taken by a framed photograph of some trees by a lake, "Where's this?"
"Oh, it's in the Northwoods in Wisconsin," Sawyer says while fixing their drinks. Sawyer pours herself a wine and Natasha has a "wine."
"It's beautiful," she says.
"I told you, I'd have rather grown up in a city, 'n' so?"
Natasha senses that Sawyer doesn't want to discuss it, and she wanders back over to the set box and peers in. It’s a scale model of the theatre made of wood, painted in matte black. Inside is some tiny doll's house furniture styled like an old aunt's house. It's set out on three levels and at the back there's a very intricate frame like a pointed window, in front of a mini LCD screen.
"What's it for?"
"The designer makes them to check what the set looks like, and I can use it to see how my lights look. I can pop in a little torch with a gel and see what the colors are like. I moved to Boston because this director I work with a lot is Artistic Director here now, and she wanted to keep her creative team. Basically, I'll be getting to know this space very well. The next production is probably going to be like a long prism going to the back
