Put Me In a Skirt and Hurt Me: The Strictly Lesbian Adventures of Mistress Sophia by A.L. Bryce Page B

and leapt in. Her heart was racing. She gave the address then settled back to collect herself. A few moments passed before she realized they weren’t moving very fast.
    “If you take ... ”
    “Lady, please, I been driving taxi here for twenty years ... ”
    “Yes, but if you take ... ”
    “Lady, trust me, I know the best route to take.”
    “But ... ”
    “You want me to take Carleton—am I right? Well, Carleton is jammed right now because of the game. Whaddaya think all this fuckin’ traffic’s about? Relax. I’ll get you there.”
    Sophia looked at the bald head of the driver. She looked at the folds at the back of his neck, at his shirt collar, at his ears. She looked at her watch. There was still time, but just barely. He was right, she needed to relax.
    Finally, the cab pulled up in front of the bar. Sophia leapt out, throwing cash through the window, and sprinting in her four-inch heels for the door. She glanced for the millionth time at her watch: 5:32 P.M.
    Whew! She had made it!
    She entered Happy Betty’s and quickly glanced around. There were a few lesbians scattered around, watching the game on the bar’s TV—just as she entered a roar of approval went up as someone scored or fumbled or something—and a couple, deep in conversation, at one of the little tables. She had beaten Mrs. Pea there. Everything was going to be fine. She’d decided she was going to let Mrs. Pea take charge, but had promised herself to hold back just a little, just enough to remember who she was in this town. Like Mrs. Pea herself had said, she was known . She’d built a reputation. She wasn’t some newbie who could be completely ...
    Chance was approaching from the far end of the bar with a baby-blue envelope in her hand.
    “For you.”
    Sophia took the envelope. No ... no ... She opened it and pulled out a single slip of light blue stationary. On it were three words:  Late. Too bad .
    Two minutes! She’d been two minutes late! No! This couldn’t be happening. She’d been gearing up for this meeting all week, going over it in her mind, replaying it like a scene she had to memorize. She’d thought of all the possibilities for how it could go—but not this. She hadn’t thought of this. And she knew, knew that, on the dot of 5:30, Mrs. Pea had handed Chance that envelope. Had maybe even hoped Sophia would be at least a second late so that she could leave. She knew, because she’d done it herself. Punishing the poor girl who hadn’t set her clock to Greenwich Mean Time. Punishing the girl who ... the girl whose taxi was caught in pre-game traffic.
    All right, hold it together. You are in Happy Betty’s. They know you here.
    Sophia crumpled the thin blue sheet in her hand and threw it on the bar, then she took a seat and ordered a martini. She made small talk with Chance about the game, the weather, and then, when she could, she got away from there and went back to her own place to weep with self-pity.
     
    Willow sat cross-legged on Porsche’s bed, a small mountain range of credit card statements, past-due utility bills, parking tickets, and collection agency letters littering the powder-blue comforter.
    “You have got to be kidding me!”
    “I ... it’s ... ”
    “How could you be this far in debt? What are all these charges?”
    “Well ... clothes for one. And shoes . And I bought you presents!”
    “I never would have accepted those things if I’d known you were living on credit cards! Oh, Porsche!”
    “Oh, come on! You have a big salary! You can go into fucking Barney’s and you don’t even need to look at the sale rack. You can go straight to the latest shit they’ve put out and get whatever you want!”
    “First of all, stop the swearing. We talked about that. Second, yes, I can pretty much buy whatever I want, but I don’t. I have a 401k and a portfolio—which is in the shitter right now, but which I hope will recover by the time I’m ready to retire ... and I earn that money. I work hard