Work Text:
“Hey, sis,” Lip says as he ambles into the kitchen, through the backdoor. “Up for some fun tonight?”
Fiona looks up from the cutting board. She’s happy that he seems to have forgiven her for Liam. She’s not sure she has forgiven herself, but it’s good that Lip is home.
“Sure, what do you have in mind?” she asks. She thought Sean might have said something about tonight, but he hasn’t texted or anything.
“New club. Supposed to be wild.”
Fiona snorts. “Because we don’t get enough of ‘wild’ at home.” She finishes chopping the onions and starts on the carrots. A moment later, she looks up. “You’re not thinking about selling stuff!”
Lip takes a deep drag from his cig. “Nope. Well, maybe a little. You know, as long as we don’t get caught.”
“Lip, I can’t afford to getting caught.”
“No one’s asking you anything. It’s my business. I just thought you might like a night out, after all the shit with Jimmy-Gus-Steve.”
Fiona winces. Why the fuck does it pinch her guts hearing Jimmy’s name when she had just been thinking about the new guy and hasn’t even signed divorce papers from Gus? Lip doesn’t even know about Sean, yet, other than she has a boss and that she has a crush on the boss.
“Alright, okay,” she answers. Lip is a big boy, knows how to do his thing and it’s not like she plans on carrying weed or anything else into this club. “It will be just like the old days,” she says, as she dumps the carrots and the onions in the pan.
The club is nice, but nothing even close to wild. Lip seems disappointed as he scores the crowd, but Fiona does her thing and mingles. Vee didn’t want to come, so she’s alone. She dances, has a drink some guy buys her, dances some more. She’s wearing her slinky stuff and feeling fine, just fine, as if she’s not a 25-year-old adulteress, ex-con, mother-of-five, almost-sleeping-with-her-boss mess. Not that she’s thinking about that. She doesn’t think at all. She’s not introspective, at least that’s what everyone has always said. And maybe she’s a bad person because of that. Like when she didn’t think through sleeping with Craig even though he was married. She winces at the thought. Lousy lay, not worth the trouble at all. Or when she slept with fucking Robbie, screwing over nice, decent Mike.
Fiona heads for the bar, trying to smile. This was a bad idea. There’s a sort of a hole where Jimmy/Steve was and she can’t bear to think of all the horrible things that happened because she did the wrong thing. She remembers Frank laughing as she ran from Craig’s wife, saying ‘You’re just like me’. Maybe she is?
She can’t spot Lip, so she heads for the ladies room. It’s crowded, but the cold light of the fluorescents gives her a sense of isolation, as if time and thought can be suspended for a moment. She checks her phone. There’s a text from Sean. It reads ‘hey’. Who the hell just texts ‘hey’? Fiona pees, washes her hands, looks at the mirror and tests a smile. Tonight is about fun not wallowing. She needs to shove the shit away in some compartment of her mind like she always does. She goes up to the second level, to watch people dancing below from the catwalk. She’s not ready yet to go back to the dance floor and she needs to keep an eye on Lip to see if he’s not fucking up.
“Hey, gorgeous,” a big, blonde guy says. Wasp, trying to score a slum girl, Fiona immediately assesses. She notes the brands of his clothes, the manicured fingernails, smells the expensive cologne, and a lot of bourbon.
“Hey,” she replies, turning back to watch the dancing crowd.
“How about I buy you a drink and then we get out of this place?”
“No, thanks,” Fiona replies, not even looking at him. Another time, that might be just what she’d have done. Either that or start a fight with the over-presumptuous ass. But tonight she’s off her game.
The guy grabs her arm. “Come on, honey,” he says, pulling her. She yanks free and walks away, but the guy follows and tries to grab her waist.
“She’s with me,” someone says, stepping between them. Fiona turns, surprised. Even with the blaring music, the voice is clearly not male. She’s always had her saviors, knights in shining armors. That’s how she met Jimmy-fucking-Steve. But this is a girl. She’s tall but very slender, not at all someone with imposing physical bulk, but the drunken asshole backs away, flipping them the finger.
“Dykes,” he shouts over the music, as a friend pulls him away.
“Thanks,” Fiona says. “I owe you one. Let me buy you a drink.”
The girl smiles. She looks remarkably like Angela, pretty in an exotic way. “You’re welcome, but I was about to leave. I’m not really enjoying this place.”
“Sure,” Fiona says, slightly disappointed. The girl is the most interesting thing she’s seen all night. “Just let me know how you pulled that off,” she adds, on an impulse. They are standing close, talking almost in each other’s ears.
The woman smiles. “It’s just a little mental judo thing,” she says in Fiona’s ear. “But you look like someone who can stand up for herself,” she adds, pulling back. “I just gave you a hand up.”
Fiona watches her wink and go away. As she follows the Angela lookalike with her eyes, she spots Lip. He nods towards the door. Time to go. ‘All the better,’ Fiona thinks. The club seems to have lost half its sparkle.
Lip is doing his thing and Fiona is working double shifts. Vee and Kev are too wrapped up with each other and the babies, so there’s no clubbing for a couple of weeks. Sean is being Sean, neither here nor there, keeping Fiona on the hook but never reeling her in. Gus is somewhere. He doesn’t want to see her, understandably. She has a row or ten with Debbie and she visits Carl in juvie twice. Gods, what has she done? Her brother is in juvie. Her baby sister is trying to wreck her life. Ian fucked it up big time with Mike. Thankfully, Liam seems to have fully recovered. Fiona’s heart sinks whenever she considers it might all be her fault that her family slipped through the cracks while she was chasing some pair of pants.
But Fiona is not introspective and she certainly is no Mother Theresa, so when Vee shows up and challenges her to a night out, she’s game. They dress up, have a couple of warm-up beers while trying to choose a place to go. When Vee suggests that new club, Fiona practically leaps. And no, she’s not thinking of the Angela lookalike.
“Was it that good, huh?” Vee asks, suspicious.
Fiona just winks and changes subject.
She’s there. Fiona sees her almost as soon as she walks into the club. She’s wearing a sequined black halter-neck blouse and tight white pants. She looks like a runway model. She’s facing Fiona, but she’s deep in conversation with someone, some blonde chick, and doesn’t seem to notice her. Fiona goes to the bar and, predictably, some guy buys her a drink. She drinks and giggles with Vee, then both go onto the dance floor and let it all hang loose. Drink-guy comes around too, and starts getting really handsy with her. At first, she takes it lightly, trying to escape his groping with her dance moves, but he’s persistent. Fiona’s about to find a way to jab a stiletto heel into his foot, when out of nowhere, she comes and stands in between her and the groper. The woman dances hot and sexy, placing her hand on Fiona’s waist and pulling her closer. The guy tries to rub off against her, but she does that little mental judo thing of hers, Fiona figures, because after a glacial look the guy withers away.
“Looks like I owe you another one,” Fiona shouts. “Do you have a name?”
“Carrie.”
“Well, thank you, Carrie. Will you let me buy you that drink this time?”
Carrie smiles and moves closer. “Later.”
They dance. Fiona knows it’s racy and that lots of eyes are fixed on them. She has done this little show often with Vee, sometimes with Jasmine, before she turned into a nightmare. But this feels different, not an eye feast for the boys but rather something hot and dirty and all the kinds of wrong that makes it right for Fiona.
“Let’s get out of here,” Carrie mouths. She pulls Fiona by the hand along the dance floor, then through the foyer and out. Fiona barely has time to wave Vee goodbye. A cab stops as soon as Carrie lifts her hand.
“What do you know,” Fiona says, as she follows Carrie in. “Unicorns do exist.”
Carrie giggles. “Someday I might just tell you about that mental judo thing.”
They’re quiet during the ride. Carrie leans into Fiona and secretly yawns. Fiona relaxes in the faux leather seat, turning her face so that her lips brush Carrie’s hair. She smells good, really good. They stop. Carrie pays, leaves a lavish tip, and they go into a nice apartment building. It’s only in the awkward silence of the elevator that Fiona really considers what sex without a cock might be like. She fidgets a little. Carrie smiles, and takes a slow step, then another, and Fiona shifts until her back is pressed against the mirror. Carrie’s smile widens and she comes close, almost kissing, holding her lips just an inch away from Fiona’s, until Fiona moves forward, unable to resist.
“12, that’s us,” Carrie says, pulling back, leaving Fiona gaping at her back.
Turns out sex without a cock is not complicated, awkward, or lacking in anyway. Fiona doesn’t think of anything or anyone really, except how nice and firm Carrie’s breasts under her hands, are and how insane Carrie’s tongue feels in her clit, and how badly Fiona wants to rub their cunts together. They take a long time. Fiona’s surprised and isn’t at the same time. It feels as real and thrilling as any guy, so good that it can only be fucked up later, as every good thing always is.
Later, just before falling asleep, she registers how nice Carrie’s place is. Rich girl. Rich people are always either trouble or boring. ‘Never mind,’ she drowsily thinks. ‘One-night stand.’
Carrie drapes an arm around her waist and mumbles something that might be ‘good night’ against her hair as she spoons her. Fiona feels warm, safe, happy.
When Fiona wakes the sun is high already. ‘Shit,’ she thinks, as she scrambles for clothes. She has a shift starting at noon. Just before she leaves, she spots the post-it note on the pillow.
“Call. 732-757-2923. Coffee in the kitchen.”
A smile that starts in the pit of her stomach forces its way to Fiona’s lips. She tucks the post-it in her purse as she dashes out to work.
Finis
October 2015