Chapter One

Hilton Withers pulled up in front of her old Victorian house in Seattle’s university district. It was pale yellow with a faded red shingle roof. The house needed a paint job and the yard was a mess. Hilton ignored these facts. Her pea-green Volkswagen bug barely squeezed into what was left of the driveway. It was Friday night and the house was filled with Queer Nation people and who-ever else wanted to come. This was party zone central. Shannon, her great white Pyrenees, licked her lips, having just finished her McDonald’s cheeseburger. It was her Friday night treat.

“You know, those things are bad for you,” Hilton told her.

Shannon barked.

“I know I do bad things too.”

Shannon licked Hilton’s face.

“Ick! I find leftover burger juice offensive.”

Shannon barked again and her black lips curled up in a smile.

Hilton laughed. People who did not know animals would think her crazy to believe a dog could smile and have opinions, but Hilton was convinced that Shannon was more intuitive than most of the women she knew. She kept this information to herself.

Hilton and Shannon went around back and nearly tripped over a couple of shaved-headed, seriously pierced women fornicating in the wisteria bushes alongside the house. They were stepping all over the Japanese peonies. It was going to be one of those nights, Hilton thought as she unlocked the door to her garden cottage. Set back twenty yards from the house, the cottage had once served as the mother-in-law quarters. It had large lead-paned windows on all four sides. When the long burgundy velvet curtains were open Hilton felt like she was living in a giant fishbowl. The cottage was surrounded by her grandmother’s overgrown rose garden. Gran had died two years ago and ever since then everything had slid into a steady decline. Every once in a while, Hilton would get a wild hair up her ass and do a bit of trimming. The entire backyard was overgrown and it had occurred to her to hire a gardener but she wasn’t certain she could handle the commitment.

She unlocked the door and Shannon bounded through it and jumped up on the king-size waterbed.

“Be careful,” Hilton warned. The waterbed, complete with a velour comforter, was a throwback to her teenage years. She was hard put to part with it. The mattress had been patched several times due to Shannon’s exuberant leaps. A hundred-and-twenty-pound ball of fur with huge toenails was not a waterbed’s best friend. Hilton told herself when the mattress flooded the place she’d buy a new bed.

She wondered if this was a holdover attitude she had gleaned from her grandmother along with the house mantra, “Follow the straight and narrow.” As a child Hilton had looked for straight and narrow pathways thinking this was what her grandmother meant.

Her grandmother, Nettie Ella Withers, had grown up during the Great Depression. At the age of thirteen she had started selling pickles on the streets of Seattle during those lean years before FDR put the whole country on the dole, as her grandmother put it. She grew the cucumbers, saved the seeds, perfected the recipe and went on to make more money than her son, Percy, or grand-child, Hilton, would ever need. Hilton hated pickles and so did her grandmother. There was never a jar of Withers Homegrown Pickles in the house. Despite all this money, Gran never threw anything away until it had completely exhausted its lifespan.

Hilton pondered whether she was subscribing to this doctrine when it came to the waterbed.

Shannon whined.

“Oh, get over it,” Hilton said, rubbing Shannon’s soft ears.

Hilton rustled around in her closet for something to wear.

Finding nothing she liked she was forced to rummage around the cottage. She found a pile of clean T-shirts neatly folded on the countertop of the kitchenette that took up one wall of the small cottage. Her roommate Liz must have taken pity on her and done some laundry. She never used the kitchenette although it did have a small gas stove and an old porcelain sink. She had installed a stainless steel dorm fridge. The cottage was basically one big room with a bathroom off the kitchenette. Hilton had taken up residence in the cottage after Gran died because the big house, which Gran had left to her, had become too populated with parties, activist planning groups and all-night study cram sessions.

Digging through the pile she opted for a black T-shirt that said Teach Masturbation and a pair of camouflage shorts. She gazed longingly at the claw-footed porcelain tub. The pipes were so cor-roded that she would be collecting Social Security before the tub filled enough to take a bath. She scooped up her clothes and told Shannon to stay. The house would be too crowded and she was an overprotective parent. Shannon put her head down on the side rail of the bed and looked perfectly pitiful.

“I won’t be gone long,” Hilton said as she slipped out the cottage door. Shannon barked once to indicate her displeasure and then Hilton knew she’d settle down for a nap. That was one of the things she liked about her dog—she was predictable, unlike most of the other creatures in her life.

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Hilton snuck in the back door of the house, through the kitchen, which was only mildly populated, and up the back stairs of the house. The back stairs had once been used as the servants’

entrance to the rest of the house. The other set of stairs with its dark oak railings and balustrade had been used solely by the family members unless the maid was dusting it. There was no cleaning staff now but Hilton still preferred the back way.

The old Victorian house had three proper stories and then the attic. Each floor had its own bathroom, all in various states of dis-repair. Her three roommates each had a bedroom and a bath on one of three floors. This allowed all of them some privacy and more than enough space as there was a sunroom on the third floor and several smaller storage rooms and various alcoves spread throughout the house. The house was actually quite large although they didn’t use that much of it anymore. She was hoping to make it to the third-floor bathroom, which was in the best state of repair, without being noticed by anyone, including her girlfriend, Natalie.

Natalie was currently infatuated with someone new and Hilton always had trouble with these liaisons. Although there had been plenty of them, they still bothered her. This one’s name was Sherry and she was a biker chick. Hilton felt totally inadequate in dealing with this one. With most of Natalie’s girlfriends she had a chance of outshining them, but aside from donning leathers and buying a Harley she was out of luck. She was almost to the second-story landing when Nat caught up with her.

“I brought you a beer and something special,” Nat said. She handed Hilton a bottle of Rolling Rock and a hit of ecstasy. “It’s a little something to take the nip off the day.”

Hilton scowled.

Nat kissed her cheek. “Lighten up.”

“She’s coming tonight,” Hilton said, knowing it was more a statement than a question.

“Who?”

“Don’t play with me.” Hilton studied Nat’s face, trying to read what was written there. Nat was a petite woman, with short brown 4

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hair, pretty blue eyes and a pirate’s smile. It was times like these that Hilton suffered from what she called her caveman complex.

She wanted to lift Nat up on her shoulders and carry her off somewhere safe where they could live their lives out in quiet seclusion.

Nat was in her last year of college. The only reason she was going to college was to get her rather substantial trust fund. She had to graduate to collect. Nat had chosen her major accordingly. She was studying art history because, as she put it, “All you have to do is memorize paintings and dates. I can do that.” That was Nat’s basic philosophy on life. Do as little as you can to get most of what you want.

“Sherry’s coming tonight and I just wanted to warn you,” Nat said. She didn’t meet Hilton’s gaze.

“Just don’t bang her in front of me,” Hilton said. She clenched the Ecstasy in her coiled hand.

“We’re not doing that.” This time Nat looked at her.

“Not yet,” Hilton said, turning to leave.

When she got upstairs, she ran the bath and deposited the Ecstasy in an empty dark brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide with all the other pills. Hilton had a stash to be envied. She should really flush them but they served as a testimony to all the times Nat had wanted her pacified. Nat was a lot like the shrinks Hilton had seen while she was growing up who always thought she needed drugs to lessen her intensity and dilute her personality, to make her into somebody else.

She also kept the pills as part of a revenge fantasy she had going. One day she would take all those pills to Olympia and stash them in her father’s medicine cabinet, then she’d tip off the National Inquirer. Her father’s political career as a senator was squeaky clean except for his gay daughter and dead wife. Through the years, Hilton had come up with elaborate revenge scenarios as a payback for being made an orphan.

Hilton slipped into the bath and thought about the one and only adult conversation she and Gran had had about her mother.

Gran told her that her father, Percy, was a horrible prick who had 5

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killed the one beautiful thing in his life, her mother. Gran loved Hilton’s mother, Louise, like the daughter she’d never had. When Louise died at age twenty-eight, Gran snatched Hilton and told Percy if he had any ideas of fighting for custody, she’d cut him off without a penny. Percy was just beginning his political career and needed the money.

By the time Gran died, all Hilton remembered about her father was that day on the beach when they found her mother drowned.

Now, he viewed her as a political liability despite the fact that she retained the keys to the family fortune. Gran had cut him out of the will. This did little for any hope of reconciliation.

Hilton finished bathing and got dressed. When she came downstairs the party was in full swing. The stereo was blasting techno tunes and the living room had become a dance floor. Hilton scanned the crowd for Nat. She was nowhere to be found.

Someone touched her arm. It was Liz.

“She went for a ride with Sherry,” Liz said.

“Great.” Hilton made her way through the crowd to the kitchen for another beer. Liz followed her. Hilton offered perfunctory greetings to the women she knew. Most of them were Nat’s friends. She always thought of that Counting Crows song with the line, “I don’t know anyone at the party, but I’m always the host.”

“Are you all right with this?” Liz asked as Hilton poked around in the fridge for another beer, which was like a world tour of beers, all of them left from other parties. She chose two Red Stripes.

Tonight, they would go to Jamaica.

Hilton handed Liz a beer.

“Thanks.”

“All right with what?” Hilton asked. She took a sip of beer. It was ice cold. It had obviously been in there for a while.

“You know.”

“Isn’t this the tenth or eleventh time?”

“I lost count,” Liz replied.

Hilton watched Liz pick at the label on the beer bottle. It was a 6

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favorite tactic of hers to avoid eye contact when something uncomfortable came up. Liz was very protective of Hilton and if she had any brains she’d dump Nat and date Liz. She had met Liz in her computer programming class. She was a tall, dark-haired, long-legged beauty from Missouri. She had moved to Seattle to go to graduate school. Her longtime lover had dumped her rather abruptly upon their arrival and left her destitute. The lover owned the pocketbook. Hilton took her into her home. “Hilton’s home for wayward women,” Liz liked to joke. Gran had been adamant about philanthropy and Hilton had taken it to a more personal level. Liz had been there two years and was on the verge of graduating.

“The label’s painted on, so you’ll just have to talk to me face-to-face,” Hilton said, reaching out and lifting Liz’s chin. She had long, chestnut brown hair and the most amazing blue eyes. She was wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a white blouse. She looked like the all-American college girl and Hilton couldn’t help wondering how she’d come to be part of this dysfunctional group.

“All right, it’s twelve. There was the plumber, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. I had forgotten about the plumber. That’s why my tub doesn’t work and the toilet still runs.”

“Exactly.”

Jessie came up to them breathless. “Liz, I think I’ve found you the perfect girlfriend.”

“I can only imagine,” Hilton said, watching as mortification danced across Liz’s face.

“There’s no such thing,” Liz said.

“No, look, she’s sitting right over there on the couch,” Jessie said, pointing to a blond woman with a teddy bear sitting on her lap. Jessie was another one of Hilton’s roommates. She was a complete nymphomaniac and was instantly in love with anyone who went to bed with her. Jessie was cute. She had spiky, black hair, olive skin and sparkling green eyes. She spent a lot of time at the gym, mostly in search of prey, but had a nice body as an accidental consequence of going there five days a week. She had a job as the 7

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receptionist and towel girl. She was trying to get her phys ed degree so she could be a trainer. Unfortunately, studying was never a priority with Jessie so she often had to drop classes and then retake them.

“What’s with the bear?” Hilton asked.

“She’s her constant companion. Her first lover gave it to her and the bear’s been with her ever since.”

“Where’s the girlfriend?” Liz asked.

“Oh, long gone, but if you talk nice to the bear you’re in like Flynn,” Jessie said.

“Let me guess, the bear’s name is Amelia Bearheart,” Liz said.

She finished her beer. Hilton noticed she’d still managed to scrape off part of the painted label. She put the bottle down and was digging white paint from underneath her fingernail.

“How’d you know? See, you’re halfway there,” Jessie said, obviously impressed with Liz’s ability to name bears.

“The bear’s got a flight jacket on and goggles,” Hilton said, having reached the same conclusion.

“Why aren’t you going after her?” Liz asked.

“I want her friend, the tall blonde over there,” Jessie replied.

“Oh, so I’m supposed to entertain the freak with the bear while you cruise her friend,” Liz said snidely.

“Well, I mean, it would help. Couldn’t you just go and talk to her?”

“No.” Liz left to get another beer.

“What’s up with her? The woman looks nice.”

“I gotta go,” Hilton said.

“Where are you going?” Jessie asked.

“To check on Shannon. I’ll be back and then I’ll talk to the freak while you line up your next conquest.”

“Really?”

“What are friends for.”

Jessie smiled and disappeared back into the crowd.

Hilton went out back to discover that Shannon had gotten out 8

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and was playing ball with a woman she had never seen before. She must not have closed the door tight. Shannon was pretty good at nudging the door open if there was half a chance she might be successful at escaping. She always stayed in the yard but she seemed to do it as a protest that she’d been left behind. Shannon came romping up to her.

“Is she your dog?” the woman asked.

“Yes, and she’s supposed to be in the cottage taking a nap right now,” Hilton said. Shannon rolled over as if to apologize. Hilton sat on the grass next to her and rubbed her soft white belly.

“Oh, so she’s a fugitive. Hi, my name’s Emily. I’m your new neighbor. Jessie invited me over but it was a little too crowded inside, so I thought I might get some air.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Hilton.”

“You’re the pickle heiress.”

“I love that introduction. Jessie told you that.”

“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve never met a pickle heiress before.”

“Am I everything you imagined?”

“That and more,” Emily said coyly.

Hilton smiled. The woman was obviously flirting with her, and for once Hilton didn’t mind. Emily had dyed pink hair and was wearing cutoffs and a man’s undershirt with no bra. Both her nipples were pierced and she had nice, small round breasts. She was nothing Hilton would normally date.

“So are you from here?” Hilton asked politely. She sat down on the porch steps next to her. She’d rather talk to a punk rocker than a woman with a teddy bear as a constant companion. Jessie would get over it.

“No, I just moved here from Vancouver. I’m going to school.”

“What for?” Hilton took the last swig of her beer and wished she’d grabbed another one on the way out. Emily was also out of beer, she noticed.

“I don’t know yet. I’m still doing basic courses right now. I must’ve changed majors five times now. It’s hard trying to decide 9

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what you want to do with your life. I’ll probably just get a bache-lor’s in liberal arts and then slave away in a coffee shop somewhere.”

Hilton laughed. “Hey, do you want to get another beer?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve got a private stash in the cottage. We could avoid the crowd.”

“Great,” Emily said. She followed Hilton and Shannon back to the cottage. Emily sat on the bed because the only two chairs in the place were old cracked leather wingbacks where Hilton stacked her records.

Hilton watched to see if having to sit on the bed made Emily uncomfortable. Obviously not, she thought as Emily kicked her shoes off, fluffed up one of the big pillows at the headboard and looked around inquisitively.

“My, you’re quite the collector,” Emily said, taking the Corona beer that Hilton offered her.

“Got any requests?” Hilton asked, kneeling in front of the record player.

Emily put her forefinger to her lips and appeared to be lost in a quick search of her mental files. Hilton waited, wondering what she’d come up with. She seldom met anyone whose musical tastes even bordered on eclectic. Most people, even Nat, simply chose the latest tunes, which meant Hilton had to resort to CDs to fulfill the request. She preferred records. She liked the scratchy sounds and the feel of the vinyl as she put them on the player.

“How about Van Morrison’s ‘Brown-Eyed Girl,’ Patsy Cline’s

‘Three Cigarettes’ and maybe a little Bob Marley, ‘No Woman No Cry.’”

“Music lover, eh?”

“Avid,” she said, sitting up on the bed and crossing her legs. She took a sip of beer.

Maybe tonight wasn’t going to be so bad after all, Hilton thought as she put on Emily’s first request.

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They spent the next four hours listening to songs and drinking beer. They had ordered pizza and now Hilton was looking in the fridge for more beer. “I could go foraging in the house,” she offered, not relishing the idea.

“No, stay here. I think I’ve exceeded my daily limit anyway. You might disappear into the crowded void of your house party and I’ll never see again.”

Hilton laughed. For the first time in weeks she felt relaxed. She looked over at Shannon, who was sleeping peacefully in the corner. “So what’s next?” Hilton asked innocently.

“I’d really like to kiss you,” Emily said.

Before Hilton had time to protest, Emily had taken Hilton’s face in her hands and kissed her ardently. Emily’s soft lips brushed against hers and her tongue was doing the most amazing things.

Hilton wasn’t certain she would have protested anyway. What little resolve she may have had died away as Emily pulled up her T-shirt and kissed her stomach. Emily ran her tongue just under the waistband of Hilton’s shorts. She tugged at the button and looked up at Hilton.

“Please,” Hilton said, feeling a shiver run through her.

Emily undid the button and zipper and pulled her shorts off.

She ran her finger down the center of Hilton’s underwear and parted her lips gently. Hilton moaned. Emily pulled her underwear off. Hilton thought of Nat for three seconds as Emily took her in her mouth, inserting her tongue and sort of fucking her. Hilton didn’t know if her thought of Natalie was guilt or revenge.

When Emily rolled her over and took her from behind she had completely forgotten about Nat. Hilton arched up to meet Emily’s fingers. Emily had taken off her shirt and Hilton could feel her breasts as they met her back. They rocked against each other.

“Is this good?” Emily asked as she ground against her.

“Fabulous,” Hilton said. She couldn’t hold herself a moment longer. Her orgasm shot through her like a lightning storm coursing through her veins. She gasped and lay still for a moment. She could feel her own jagged breath in unison with Emily’s.

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“That was nice,” Emily said, rolling off her and scooping her up in her arms.

“Very nice,” Hilton murmured, her face buried between Emily’s soft breasts. She licked the beads of sweat that lay there.

Emily pulled off her shorts and rolled Hilton on her back. She slid her thigh between Hilton’s leg. Hilton could feel her wetness.

“Come here.” She pulled Emily on top of her. Hilton tugged at Emily’s nipple rings. Emily leaned in toward her and Hilton sucked her nipple and the nipple ring. She could feel Emily shudder. “You like?”

“Oh, yes,” Emily said, offering up her other breast. She kept rocking toward Hilton with her breasts while Hilton nipped and suckled them. Hilton cupped her hand between Emily’s leg and thrust her fingers inside. Emily moaned and then ground against Hilton’s hand. “Oh, just like that.”

Hilton thought there was nothing quite so erotic as watching a cute girl move against you as you ran your hand across her breasts.

Hilton knew it would be the wee hours of the morning before Emily would leave.

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Date: 2015-04-20; view: 826