Undressing Tamara

This story just came to me in one of those waking dreams. I have no idea if a Black Tie club exists in New York, or anywhere else for that matter, but it seemed like a good backdrop for two women to meet and eventually fall in love. As the story is written by an American, I've had to change the spelling of some words to add authenticity. Finally, in editing the story I've paused over two minor characters, Dottie and Joan, who met in the 1950s, I may do a story on their first encounter at a later date. In the meantime though I hope you enjoy undressing Tamara.

*****

A couple of weeks ago I was asked a very familiar question. When did you two meet? Tamara my other half was sitting in a chair with a laptop balanced on her legs and a camera positioned to record this momentous occasion. She looked very elegant in a short purple skirt and white blouse, her purple jacket slung over the back of the chair.

Yours truly was lying on her back in a very inglorious position with my legs in stirrups while the ever efficient Dr. Caroline Wilson performed the procedure. All I was thinking up until then was thank God for modern medicine. In the bad old days if a lesbian wanted to get pregnant she had to get inventive and find a suitable donor willing to supply the necessary fluid. There were always donors now I think about it but they thought contributing semen involved inserting their man bit inside and doing their duty.

Why is it that men think a lesbian just wants a bit of cock? The clue is in the label you so thoughtfully gave us!

I looked at Tamara when Dr Wilson asked the question and she spoke through the surgical mask the clinic had provided.

"We used to work together at the Black Tie club."

I found myself telling Dr Wilson a little more. She has this lovely bedside manner and because of the situation I opened up a little more than usual. Tamara offered up very little information, not out of embarrassment, she was busy taking notes for a blog on IVF procedures, but afterwards when I was lying on the couch at home she perched on the edge and looked down at me.

"You should write about it, how we met."

When Tamara suggests I do something it's a code for just do it. I don't always do it straight away and some things I still don't do, but most of the time I find myself doing what she suggests even though she's a whole seven years younger than me. I'm the street fighter who only just managed a high school diploma but Tamara is now a doctor of literature. She's the studious type and one night for a joke we dared her to sit one of those online IQ tests. She scored just under genius level, which prompted Kerry to say, "it's the last time we'll dare you to do anything."

So here I am with my laptop and a blank document. Tamara has given me carte blanche to lay it all out, the good, the bad and the ugly.

So here goes nothing.

My name is Anna Jane Smith and I'm a native New Yorker, born in Queens and by the time I was sixteen I knew I was different to my girlfriends. I gravitated towards girls but not for the usual reasons, I loved their bodies and those slippery fumblings in the back seats of cars soon earned me the title of the Dyke. It was a title I wore with pride for many years right through high school and during my early twenties, but when I started working at the Black Tie club I had to tone down the butch side and modify my wardrobe a little.

My hair is natural blonde and it was always short back then, I'd started cultivating the Ellen DeGeneres look but when Tamara turned up that night my hair was a little past my collar.

The club was run by Dorothy, may she rest in peace, she was in her seventies when I started there and died in 2008, the year an African American entered the White House. Say what you want about Dottie, but she died with a smile on her face, she was a woman who lived through the Stonewall era but up until her dying day she was first and foremost a lady. I never saw her at the club without makeup and the outfit to match.

When I first met Tamara it was a cold November day in 2007, the day after the Democrats won the election and the atmosphere in the club was considerably lighter.

The Black Tie club wasn't exclusively for lesbians, Dottie always maintained that straights of both sexes should be allowed entry but she insisted on a strict code of etiquette. You could tease the patrons but don't push it too far and if you were caught making out in the bathroom you'd make it all the way to the street, which was one of my tasks.

Nevertheless, despite Dottie's open mindedness, it had the reputation of being a lesbian bar and for the most part the only straights in there were women, the curious and the women who just wanted a place where they wouldn't be subjected to inappropriate touching. The name Black Tie came from the uniform we all had to wear, a black tie, black trousers or skirt, and black jacket. The dress code varied throughout the year and we did theme nights where the staff would dress in period outfits. We had '50s, '60s, '70s, '80s and '90s nights as well.

Tamara turned up that evening just on opening time in a camel overcoat, woolen scarf, hat and boots. She was carrying a shoulder bag that didn't look cheap and she took out a plastic folder with a job application form neatly filled out, including references and peered around the room before focusing on me as I stepped away from the bar.

"Hi, I'm Tamara," she held out the folder, "I'm here about the bar tending job."

"Anna Smith," I took the folder from her, "and it's waiting on tables," I opened the folder and looked at a copy of her driver's license clipped to the front, it had a Chicago address.

"How long have you been in New York?"

"Three and a half months, I'm studying literature at university, I was out at Chicago State but New York was my original choice. My professor managed to get me a transfer here."

"Nice guy."

"Professor Keating is a woman," she played with the wooden beads around her neck.

I merely shrugged and told her to wait at the bar while I got Dottie.

"If you can survive ten minutes at the bar you're in with a chance," I smiled.

By the time I arrived back at the bar she'd draped the coat and scarf over the next stool and was smoothing out the hat while one of my friends talked to her. By the body language it was obvious Kerry was testing the waters. It was only then I got a good look at Tamara.

She wore a white silk blouse tucked into a black skirt and thanks to the position of the lights at the bar I could see the outline of her bra underneath. She had a perfect hourglass figure and when she stood up a few minutes later I judged her to be five feet five. She had one of those heart shaped faces and bow shaped lips, and when she smiled she exposed perfect white teeth. Her hair was jet black and fell in soft waves to her shoulderblades, her complexion was light brown and I felt a slight twinge of lust. I've always liked dark women.

She was listening to Kerry talking about the club as if Kerry was the only person in the room. Tamara has the ability to make you feel as if you're the only one there. My eyes fell to her hands and the engagement ring. My suspicions were confirmed when I casually asked the question as I led her back to Dottie's office.

"I'm engaged, to a man."

But of course she was and yet she seemed almost naïve, asking rather obvious questions about the clientèle and our rules and ethics. I told her what she needed to know and introduced her to Dottie and left them alone.

Tamara has always said it was just a standard interview and I believe her, but there's a part of me that thinks she cast some kind of spell over Dottie. We had women like her applying for waiting jobs and while she hired some she preferred the bisexual/gay women or gay men. Perhaps Dottie, despite her firm commitment to her partner, Joan, looked at Tamara and fell for her hook, line and sinker.

One of the women working the bar summed it up a few days later as she watched her taking drinks to a table of women.

"She's a lesbian's wet dream."

When I asked Tamara a few weeks after that why she wanted to work here she was a little more succinct.

"I have to live on tips and if I'm going to be tipped by customers I'd rather they were women than men, at least I won't have them slapping my ass."

And she got tips all right. The girls had to work hard to try and beat her to a table because she could pick when customers might be ready to order another round, but that's because she stayed sober the whole night. Tamara rarely drinks, I've only ever seen her drink twice.

"It fogs the brain and makes me forget things."

Because of her sweet demeanor and good-natured charm, the girls protected her from some who might try to push their luck, and some of our more out and proud patrons were always on the lookout for a curious straight. Tamara would step lightly around the 'friendlier than usual' types and serve them with a smile but I'd always signal one of the others to step in. She got on well with all the girls and more than one of our staff quietly murmured they'd love to be her first, but that ring was on her finger and Tamara is not the cheating kind.

Dottie died suddenly in her sleep on July 5th, 2008. It was funny that the woman who'd fought hard all her life for gay rights, and even been bugged by the FBI during the Hoover era should just slip quietly away in her sleep. For a few weeks the club was closed while management issues were sorted out, Joan was taking over so our jobs were secure but she wanted the place closed for a few weeks out of respect for Dottie.

I took the time to repaint the apartment and it was while I was out on my bicycle coming from the hardware store that I first met Tamara's fiancé. His name was Roger and he lived in England part of the time but he was based in New York working for a stockbroker. He seemed pleasant enough. They lived on the Lower East side and when the club was eventually reopened by Dottie's partner, Tamara told me Roger actually liked me.

"It's nice he likes at least one of my friends."

It was the first sign I had that their relationship was not as perfect as it seemed, although Tamara never spoke about her personal life. About all I knew was that she was from Chicago and studied literature, she lived in a tiny apartment with her fiancé but because he worked long hours, she spent most of the time with her cat. On her breaks she'd sit in a little dinner room up next to the office and study.

One time I came up to get something out of the microwave and found her studying Chaucer, in the original Middle English. When I asked her what the hell kind of language that was she looked annoyed and told me it was Middle English.

"So you can understand it?"

"Not how it's spoken, we can only make an educated guess but I can read it."

She could also read Latin and was studying Japanese, although she was just starting her studies in Introductory Japanese. Another thing I should mention is that while Tamara is polite, she doesn't do small talk very well. Talk to her about literature, history, politics, psychology or any other subject and you can be there all night, but talk about the weather or the antics of some reality star and you get the feeling she's not really there. I call it the thousand yard stare.

And now I think it's time to save this and go do my cooking routine. Tamara has gone shopping and I'm under orders to prepare the vegetables for when she gets back.

***

Okay, I'm back, potatoes are peeled, carrots peeled and sliced and peas shelled. It was one thing I was never good at, cooking but I've become quite the gourmet cook since we got together and now that I'm here I'd better get on with how we got together.

It was right after I broke up with Denise. I'd been with her three months and what had started as promising became problematic when she bought a dog, without even telling me. Now I've got no problems with dogs or cats, I love our dog but this damn mutt used to chew socks, underwear and anything else he could reach, which was pretty much anywhere. When he turned one of my work shirts into streamers I hit the roof but when you picked on that miniature horse you crossed the line with Denise. She loved that dog as much as me and as it turned out, more than me.

We did try to compromise but to be honest the dog was far too big for the apartment and it's not a small place, but with two women and a Great Dane it was just getting silly. She moved into another apartment to try and save the relationship and then one night after a few drinks with her new neighbor, they worked out their own rather intimate compromise. Her apartment was much bigger and Denise could keep her own place. Hey it's not that stupid, people break up over where to squeeze the toothpaste, we broke up over a damn dog.

I let it out in the lunch room a few nights later and Tamara looked up from her Latin textbook, the tales of some guy called Aeschylus.

"Tell me more."

I did, although not much more and it was only then I saw the ring on the table. Now that ring was something of a fixation with Tamara. Some people fiddle with watches, some with phones but Tamara constantly fiddled with that ring, it was a sign she was either thinking or nervous. You could sometimes tell by the look on her face but not always. Tonight however she was nervous because it was on the table, not her finger. She looked over at me and smiled nervously.

"It must be the week for broken relationships. Roger and I broke up on Wednesday."

"Fuck," I sat back in the chair, "I had no idea."

"Nor did I until he told me he was going back to London. His company want him to focus on the European market. I was excited for him because I've always wanted to see Britain and Europe but then he said I wouldn't be joining him," she blinked and dabbed at her eyes.

She looked at the ring, "but he said I could keep the ring and told me he was sorry."

My first thought was that perhaps I should ring Big Eddie who is pretty handy with a baseball bat because anyone who hurt this woman deserved to get hurt in return but then common sense took over and I held out my hand.

"Everybody hurts."

It's one of my favorite songs and she gingerly put her hand in mine and swallowed.

"Yeah, everybody hurts."

We held hands for a few minutes and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little turned on just sitting holding her hand. We didn't speak but then Kerry came into the room and saw us, she looked from one to the other.

"Oh my God, what's happened, between you two?"

Tamara stared into my eyes and I read her look.

"She's just had some bad news."

"Oh," Kerry looked at the ring, "oh shit, I'm sorry."

"Let's not tell anyone else," I looked at Kerry, "she's got it on while she's at work."

Tamara's eyes shifted and then she released my hand and nodded.

"It's true."

"My lips are sealed," Kerry squeezed her shoulder, "even if they waterboard me, unless they waterboard me with bourbon and then the secret's out."

Tamara smiled at that and Kerry drank a can of Diet and then left us alone but I did notice Kerry smile as she stepped out onto the landing. We could hear music from downstairs, it was Saturday night and the place was packed but my concern was for the woman sitting across the table from me and I came to a decision.

"Look, why don't you take the rest of the night off, hell you're not due back in until Thursday night. Go home and sort yourself out, we'll manage.

"You're wall to wall down there," she shook her head, "besides, I can deal with this."

"I don't doubt that but you were engaged for Christ's sake, it's a lot more traumatic."

"I can manage," her voice changed slightly, "I should have seen it coming but I've been too focused on my studies and work. This was never going to work."

There was something in the tone of her voice that made me sit back. She'd never seemed so firm and full of conviction as now and it's not like she was a pushover, she'd learned to take it with the best of them but when she was talking to me or Joan she was exceedingly polite. I merely nodded and threw my hands in the air.

"Okay, I get it. Sometimes you just gotta keep going and keep busy, I've been there before but seriously," I nudged her hand gently, "if there's anything I can do just sing out. We all love you here and not all of us for that reason either," I hastened to add.

"We named you Miss Congeniality for a reason, so be congenial and speak up."

Her eyes shifted and she adjusted the knot in her tie. "Thank you, I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome," I looked at the Latin textbook.

"There is one favor and I'm not asking you but perhaps you might know someone who can."

"Name it."

"I need someone to look after Garfield."

"Garfield," my eyes widened, "your cat?"

"Yeah, I have to go back to the apartment but Roger will be staying at a friend's place so Garfield will be on his own all day, I'm going to drop Japanese because I have to find a new place."

Ordinarily I would have said no, I've been burned like that before. I did hesitate but I was feeling mildly guilty over breaking up over a dog. Maybe I thought I could redeem myself, even if it was just on a personal level but I found myself volunteering to let Garfield stay with me. After all I was home half the day anyway. She looked surprised but then smiled.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," I stood up and stretched, "so, when's this happening?"

"Would tonight be too soon?"

"Um no, I can run you back home and we'll pick up Garfield. You do have a cat carrier don't you?"

"Of course," she smiled and started packing her books away, "I've got food and a litter tray, he won't poop inside and he just lies there most of the day watching cable."

"Okay then, I'll share my apartment with a cable-addicted cat."

I was just about to open the door when she grabbed my hand and I turned around. A moment later she wrapped her arms around me and dug her chin into my shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispered and then kissed my neck quickly and released me.

It took a few seconds to come to grips with that show of emotion. Tamara, because of her sexual orientation and her work environment was not given to displays of affection. The time I saw her with Roger she was definitely affectionate but around gay women she was always careful. Her way of flirting was a smile and a little conversation as she served them but touching was limited, I remember one time some woman at the bar questioned her about it and Tamara basically said she didn't want to lead anyone on.

The night was kind of surreal. I felt like I'd won the lottery although in reality I'd won a cat for a few days or weeks, but as she put on her seatbelt and I spotted two of the staff looking in my direction I felt a slight smugness.

Two things changed on the way to her apartment. The first was her sense of privacy. She actually opened up about her relationship with Roger and told me the whole goddamn truth.

"He's been seeing other women in Britain. He thinks I don't know but I got into his laptop when he left it on the night we broke up and I found several women. They were all wanting to know when he was going to be back in town because they missed him and it wasn't friendship either. He has them spaced all over the country. I guess he might have even bought them rings as well."

"So he's a serial love rat."

"No he's just a rat, love doesn't even enter into the equation with Roger. I've seen their pictures, he collects beautiful women the way some people collect beautiful works of art. I'm surprised he hasn't put me up on a pedestal for everyone to look at."

The other thing that changed was Roger. He had decided not to stay at his friend's place for a very good reason. He was fucking his friend's girlfriend or had been very recently because she came through to see who was there wearing a bra and doing up her jeans. Tamara's eyes narrowed when she saw the woman and I felt a chill in the air and the old fight or flight thing, I can sense a fight before it breaks out. It's a New York thing, trust me.