One Bad Night

I spend Friday night in, feverishly cleaning. Just in case, you know. It's a small place--studio apartment, what else can I afford living on my own in a city with crazy rent prices--but it's mine. And besides, when you have a small place, you really have to keep it neat. That's what my mother always told me.

Saturday morning I do laundry, change my sheets, do the daughterly thing and call my mother. She can sense the giddiness in my voice and teases me for it. Longing for Lupe has turned me into a silly girl again. I feel ridiculous, but I can't help it.

I wish my mother well and put my phone in my pocket. I crack open my window to poke my head out: it's a beautiful day. The summer air is fresh; there's a light breeze to cut the humidity. The sunlight hits the buildings and the treetops in just the right places. It's so lovely I can't stop smiling. I feel like singing, so I do. Some song I remember from the family CD collection when I was a kid.

I lean out the window and sing the chorus, again and again. I don't really know the rest of the song. Just a swooping chorus, hopeful.

I go for a walk in the afternoon. I go sit in the local park, watching everyone go by. A friendly dog pulls its owner over to me. It's some sort of mutt with a boxy head, brown fur, and bright markings. It wags effusively as it drags its owner toward me.

"Sorry," the owner says. She's a woman in her early forties, dressed in casual clothes. "He just wants to be everyone's best friend."

"No worries. I love dogs." I pat my thigh. The dog lays his head on my lap, staring up at me with those soft brown eyes. He wags and wags all the while. "What's his name?"

"Drake."

"Like the rapper?"

"Yup. My teenager named him."

"Ah. Well, thank you. Have a good one." I give the mutt a couple scritches on the head before the pair--human and pooch--have to head off.

I wonder if Lupe likes dogs. If she grew up with one. If maybe she had a bad experience as a kid, and now she's scared of them. I'll have to ask. I've always had a dog in my life; when I'm more settled and can afford a place with a yard, I definitely want another dog. Whoever's dating me should know that.

I scoff. Oh, God, I'm getting ahead of myself. I've barely met this woman and now I'm planning our life together. Embarrassing.

I lean back on the bench and look up at the sunlight filtering through the trees. I bet she likes dogs. Yeah, I'm sure she does.

Evening finally comes, and I'm taking stock. I've had dinner and done the dishes. The apartment is spotless. I just showered this morning. I apply a fresh layer of deodorant, make sure to put a chapstick with my housekeys for when I head out. What else?

Ah, yes. The classic matter of what to wear. I go through my closet, fretting. I have no idea where she's taking me. A bar, yeah, but how should I dress? I tear through my clothes.

I'm wearing my nicest briefs, because I have high hopes for tonight...although I really shouldn't. I finally settle on a plain black shirt tucked into blue jeans, a thick leather belt, and my good old brown boots. And of course, my watch.

I clip on my keys. Then I shove my phone, wallet, and pocketknife into my jeans before heading to the subway station. That's where she's gonna meet me. Lupe, finally, a second chance. I can't wait.

I walk through my neighborhood, a grin spreading across my face for all to see. The night breeze carries children's laughter, the smell of a backyard barbecue. I shouldn't even call it night: it's that part of summer when the days seem to last forever, when schoolchildren stay out long past their bedtimes playing tag. There's something blooming, a sweet smell in the air.

I pass the little shops and restaurants I've come to know so well on my way to the station. Already, I'm thinking of where I might take Lupe on our next date--if I make it that far. Maybe the Chinese restaurant on the corner right next to the subway stop. Yeah, that's an idea.

I head down the steps leading to the subway. There's an employee watching the turnstiles, so I pay with my farecard to pass through. Any other time, I'd jump them.

I go sit on a bench and wait for her train to come in. I don't have anything to do. I didn't bring a book. I pull out my phone and reply to some messages from friends, but I don't feel like checking social media or the news. I put my phone back in my pocket and wait, listlessly people-watching and looking at the ads posted around the station.

Finally, I see lights from down the tunnel. Then the train comes rumbling in. I watch it pull up to the platform; I look inside, impatient to see Lupe. A small part of me worries that she's forgotten about me, or that she decided not to come see me after all.

But my fears, it turns out, are unfounded. I spot her coming off the train, an easy, cool expression on her face. This time her high tops are white, and she's wearing a leather jacket. Lupe likes shoes. Not in the way lots of women like pretty heels, but in the way that guys care about their kicks and collect name-brand gym shoes.

She spots me, and a grin breaks across her handsome face. Lupe's teeth are a little crooked in a charming way. She doesn't seem to be embarrassed of them. "Hey!" she calls.

"Hey yourself!" I walk over to her. More accurately, I try not to run to her.

Lupe pulls me into a hug and cranes her neck to kiss my forehead. I chuckle, softly, if only to hide the fact that I'm blushing. She still smells lovely. Her hair is gelled back just like it was the day I met her at the bar. Mine, on the other hand, is floppy and maybe a little disorganized; I don't care enough to put product in it.

"You look great," I say. It's the truth. I feel like I should've gotten her roses. Would that have been to cheesy? Probably.

She takes my hand and guides me toward the other side of the platform. The feel of her hand in mine still makes my heart soar. "C'mon, the place is two stops down the line from here."

"Why didn't you ask me to meet you there? You're doubling back for no good reason."

"Correction, it's for a very good reason! I wanted to personally escort you." She smiles in that way of hers. It would look arrogant on anyone else, but on her, it's disarming.

I grin and meet her eyes. I lean over to kiss her again, this time on the cheek. God, she smells even nicer up close. "Hey, thanks. You're sweet."

She chuckles. "What can I say, I'm a gentleman."

"Monsieur." I bow dramatically.

She goes up in a fit of giggles. I'm not that funny; she's probably just nervous. It's good to know I'm not the only one worried about this. Looking at her gives me butterflies; when she meets my eye, I feel like I'm going to faint. She's turned me into a lovesick kid again.

The train pulls in. We sit down together, hand in hand, and talk about our days. I hardly register any of the conversation. I'm too busy staring into those soft brown eyes. She's incredibly handsome.

Two stops down, we get off the train and step onto the platform. It's close by, but I don't know this neighborhood as well. Some of the ads in the train station are in Spanish. When we surface, I notice some of the stores have Spanish signs hanging in the windows, and a few also have rainbow flags. Music pours from somewhere down the way.

It's darker than it was when I left. I move a bit closer to Lupe, partly to flirt and partly for comfort. She walks with poise; she knows this place better than I do. "Some of my friends live around here," she says. "Alejandro's apartment is down that street there." She gestures toward a street a little bit behind us.

"Oh, cool. Why not you?"

"I wanted to be further downtown so commuting would be easier. But I really like this neighborhood. Especially the bar." She winks.

I smile. She leads me in the direction of the music. It's Latin pop, with the kind of beat that makes you want to dance; I notice an extra spring in my step.

"You know what made me notice you, the other night?" Lupe asks.

"What?"

She looks at me, then down at the ground, suddenly shy. "You're such a natural dancer." She smiles to herself. "I mean, just watching you...It's silly, I know."

"No, it's not. I love to dance. And I remember you being pretty good too."

"Once again, I'm shocked you remember anything from that night."

"Yeah, yeah." I grin.

We turn a corner onto a side street, and the music grows louder. It's pouring out of a bar with a rainbow flag above the door. The door is wide open; we watch a slightly sloshed friend group spill out before we make our way inside.

Inside, there's a big dance floor under strobe lights. The floor is packed with bodies, all moving to the beat. It's a young crowd. Women and men alike sweat under the hot lights and sip drinks. Friends cluster in groups; couples dance together or steal deep kisses. Singles fill the room, too. I watch a guy my age dance flirtatiously close to a stranger before backing away, a glimmer in his eyes. The other man follows him, dancing in his direction.

"Wow, this place is busy tonight," I shout to Lupe over the music.

"Yeah! Not great for conversation, but perfect for dancing." She flashes a big grin and takes my hand, pulling me onto the dance floor.

I let go; I let myself melt into the music. Even though I'm a little nervous around such a handsome girl, even though my heart is pounding out of my chest, I can let the music take over. My feet form little patterns on the floor as I step, ducking in and out of Lupe's space. She laughs and matches me, moving from her hips. Her movements are loose, easy; she seems perfectly in her element.

As the song fades out, she raises my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles. It feels more intimate, somehow, than a kiss on the lips. Something surges in me--an instinct to pull her close, kiss her, never let her go.

I must have quite the look on my face, because she gives me a big smile and playfully claps me on the shoulder. "Don't freeze up, now. It's just been one song."

I chuckle. "You're the one distracting me."

"Fair point."

The first chords of the next song play, and I light up. "Oh, I love this one!"

"Me too! Nothing beats reggaeton."

Lupe shakes her hips and pours her body into the dance. I mirror her, dancing up close next to her, brushing against her when I can.

Bodies move around us; not too close, but close enough to notice. With few exceptions, the girls dance with the girls and the boys with the boys. Most of the patrons are Latino. I see lots of women with short hair and men's clothes, like Lupe and I. The men, on the other hand, are invariably showing a lot of skin. I see a guy wearing a jockstrap, blue jeans sagging down to his hips so you can see his whole ass, and a cross necklace. Nothing else.

Lupe sees me staring and laughs. "Not like a dyke bar, is it?"

"Nope. Real different." I smile at her. It feels so easy to smile with Lupe. "But I can see why you love this place."

"It's great."

We both lose ourselves to the music. For a couple minutes, under the bright lights, all the butterflies in my stomach dissolve.

At the end of the song, we go up to the bar to grab drinks. Lupe buys us both a beer. "I'm taking you out, I'll pay," she insists.

We sit down at the bar, sipping our drinks. I look at Lupe over the bottle. She looks so handsome. Maybe a little nervous, too. She bounces her leg and smiles at me.

"¡Oye, Lupe!" someone calls.

Lupe glances over. A tall woman in heavy makeup waves at us from across the bar and makes her way over.

"Oh, boy," Lupe says with a grin.

"Who's that?"

"Remember that friend I was telling you about? Alejandro? Well, this is his alter ego."

The woman approaches. I realize that the bouncy black and pink hair is a wig, and that she has a very squared jawline and flat chest. So this friend is a drag queen.

"Lupe, ¿quién es ella?" she asks, before turning to me. "¿Que tal?"

"Sorry, I don't speak Spanish," I explain, right at the same time as Lupe says "No habla español."

"¿Tu novia nueva? Debiste decirmelo. Es hermosa, pero muy baja." She sizes me up, all the while glancing back at Lupe.

"No me importa--¡Carlita!"

"Um, rude. I don't speak it, but I can understand enough." This chick just called me short. Which is true, but come on.

They both give me blank looks.

"My mom's Brazilian. I speak Portuguese."

"Shit, sorry," says Alejandro, or Carlita.

"Te voy a matar," Lupe mutters, cutting her eyes at her friend.

"Hey, no worries. I know I'm short. I think Lupe told me about you." I nod at Carlita. "I didn't know Lupe was friends with a drag queen."

"And I didn't know Lupe was seeing somebody. You should've called!" Carlita says.

"We're not exactly--" Lupe bites her tongue, looking over at me.

"We only just--I met her the other week. This is my first time meeting one of her friends."

"Yes, and this is just the way I wanted you to meet my friends," Lupe says. It's hard to see in the artificial light of the bar, but her face is more than a little red.

"Sorry. Buy you ladies a drink?" Carlita signals for the bartender.

"Sure." Lupe manages to smile, although she keeps bouncing her knee. It's kind of endearing.

"So, Lupe," I say, trying to take her mind off the situation, "is that short for Guadalupe?"

"Sí, pa' la Virgen," Carlita cuts in, clasping her hands together and looking toward the ceiling as if in prayer. "Although Lupe is hardly what I'd call a--"

"Can it," Lupe says, kicking Carlita in the leg. "Yeah, it's short for Guadalupe. I'm from a big Mexican Catholic family, what did you expect? But I think Lupe rolls off the tongue easier."

"It fits you." I lay a hand over hers, which makes her smile.

"Thanks."

"Well, you two enjoy your drinks. I think somebody's checking me out." Carlita grins and waltzes off into the crowd.

As if on cue, our drinks arrive. I clink my glass against Lupe's and take a sip.

"I am so, so sorry about that. He's a complete idiot, and about the biggest gossip I've ever met."

"No problem. Seems a bit like a nosy older sister to me."

She laughs. "Yeah, that's Carlita. She embarrasses me, but we've always got each other's backs."

"That's nice." I'd love to have a good friend like that. I have friends, sure, but I'm not as close to them as I want to be. "And hey, she's funny. Just like you."

Lupe grins. "Thanks. You too. And you've got a contagious laugh."

"Really?"

"Whenever you laugh, I just gotta laugh too. And your smile makes me smile."

I smile, warmth spreading across my cheeks. I watch her eyes soften.

I squeeze her hand and reach out to touch her cheek.

Lupe lets her face rest against my hand. She looks at me from under lidded eyes, which I'm tempted to call bedroom eyes. "What are you waiting for?" she asks.

"What?" My heart beats a bit faster.

"Kiss me. I know you want to."

And without a word, I do. I brush her cheek with my thumb, softly, before leaning in to kiss her lips. Her mouth is warm against mine. The feeling is electric, running through my body. It's like I'm melting into her. I feel her take a deep breath, reach out to touch my shoulder.

Just kissing her feels lovely. This is something I really couldn't appreciate when I was drunk. Her scent envelops me; I want to bury my face in her hair, in her neck, to drink it in.

I open my mouth a bit and poke my tongue out to slide against her lips. God, will she let me--?

She parts her lips to kiss me back. I meet her tongue with mine, gently feeling out her mouth, her lips, her crooked bottom tooth. My eyes are closed. The music fades away; all I have is this sensation, her smell, the electric touch of her hand on my shoulder.

Lupe reaches up to tousle my hair, pull my head closer. She sighs happily against my mouth. It feels so lovely. Time seems to dilate, each second stretching out so I can savor every bit of kissing her.

I scoot closer toward her. I slot my leg into the space between Lupe's, and she does the same. Her knee presses up against the crotch of my jeans. I feel that same electricity running through me, excitement building between my legs. I resist the urge to grind against her knee. I couldn't do something like that--not in public, anyways.

Lupe lets her hand slide down from my shoulder to my chest. Her fingers drift over the curve of my breasts, then down my waist, coming to rest on my hip. I need her to touch me.

I squeeze her hand, cup her chin to pull her closer to me. Her mouth is so warm. She tastes just a little boozy.

Finally, I pull back, out of breath. Her lips look extra soft and wet. Her brown eyes are so warm.

"Lupe," I manage.

She drains the rest of her drink and places it on the counter. "Yeah?"

"That was so much better than when I was drunk." I grin sheepishly.

"Good. Finish your drink," she says.

I do as she says, not needing to ask why. We both hit the bathroom before we head out, sneaking a quick kiss in front of the mirror.

Then it's back on the street, her hand warm in mine. We walk fast, wanting to catch the train sooner rather than later. It's finally dark. In the subway station, we both hop the turnstile, giggling like schoolgirls.

We kiss during the few minutes it takes for the train to arrive. It's like I can't get enough of her. Her hands, her lips, her scent. I find myself sitting on her lap on a bench in the subway station, burning up inside.

We hop on the train. "Mine's closer," I tell her.

"It's about time you took me home." She winks, and I can't help but laugh.

"God, you're perfect." I fall into her arms again, kissing her all the way back to my stop.

We leave the train and walk up to street level. Lupe looks around, taking in the neighborhood: the shops, the restaurants, the bar. The lone busker playing a tune on his guitar. We leave some change in his guitar case as we pass by him.

I lead her around a few corners until we're at my street. Big, leafy trees reach for the sky. They cover the moon. Our steps on the sidewalk are the only sound, besides the occasional whoosh of a car going down another street. My neighborhood is pretty quiet.

We get to my building. By now I've got my arm wrapped around Lupe, and I tug her left to indicate where we're going. I fumble with the keys, suddenly nervous. I'm really gonna bring this girl into my home. I haven't had a girlfriend over in months. She's not even my girlfriend yet. I'm so out of practice. God, I can't even think straight.

I open the door for her, and she gives a dramatic bow. "Thank you, thank you," she says. I have to smile.

I grab her hand and lead her toward the elevator. The minute the doors close on us, she kisses me, and I wrap my arms around her, feeling the curves of her back. She pushes me up against the wall. I let her press on my shoulders, kiss me deep.

All too soon, we reach the fourth floor. The elevator dings to let us out; we hastily disentangle ourselves, just in case anyone was waiting. But the hallway is empty, thank heavens. I don't know if I'd ever be able to look at my elderly neighbor, Mr. Jones, again, if he saw me feeling up a girl in the elevator.

I lead her by the hand to my door, fumble with the keys. Just to be the gentleman, I let her in ahead of me. I follow her inside and close the door behind us.

We kick off our shoes in the vestibule. I empty my pockets out onto a small shelf, and I motion for Lupe to do the same.

I reach for the switch so we can see what we're doing. It's small, but it's tidy, and it looks just like home. There's houseplants, posters, a cramped bookshelf, little tchotchkes from friends and family. A lopsided wall hanging, which my friend made during her macrame phase, gives the place a domestic feel. That, and the old-lady quilt my mother gave me when I moved into my own apartment.