Secret Bird
by Politic X

Part 3
See part 0 for header information.


I have plenty of alcohol tonight.  There's nothing
appealing about getting drunk, but it's going to
take more than a couple of beers for me to relax
enough to talk to Dana.  I don't know how to begin
telling her how I feel.  I can't even get up the
courage to make small talk with her.  I can't even
look at her.

I catch a whiff of Stephanie before I ever reach
her with her drink.  She smells like the cologne
that I buy her every year.  It's the only classy
thing about her, and she wears too much of it.  And
because she's Stephanie, it's the only thing she
wears too much of tonight.  Except for makeup,
maybe.  And jewelry.

She looks smug.  "Found her."  She knows how I feel
about Dana.  She knows without asking.

"Yeah?"

"Hard to miss."  Stephanie nods toward the painting
she did forever ago and the woman standing beneath
it, beside Raney Pritchard.  "Red.  Devastating."

I blush.  She's right, and what a succinct way to
put it.

"So introduce me already."

I'm glad for the opportunity.  No small talk
required; Stephanie will take care of that.  She
walks straight to her without waiting on me, and
without waiting for the introduction she requested,
sticks out her hand.  "Stephanie Laos."

Dana shakes it with pursed lips and a small smile.
"Dana Scully."

"I know who you are.  I've heard all about you."
Stephanie winks at her.

Oh, God.  Don't.  Don't embarrass me.

"Really?"  Dana cocks her head.

"Yeah."  Stephanie's eyes run rampant over Dana,
from her astonishingly well-fitting bell-bottoms to
the blouse that's so wild (vivid and bold, just
like the woman herself) and so snug that there's no
doubt about what kind of body it contains.
Stephanie opens her mouth to say something else and
then uncharacteristically closes it.  "It's a
pleasure to meet you."

"It's a pleasure meeting the person behind the
painting."  Dana nods toward the wall behind her.
It's a big piece of art - 60" x 72" - and dwarfs
her, but it looks tiny in the loft.  This is the
first place I've ever lived in which it has looked
small.

Stephanie shrugs.

"Monica told me the story; you've captured it
well."

Stephanie doesn't accept compliments easily.
Dana's admiration pleases her, but she won't say
so.  "Whatever.  I'll paint pictures and pretend to
be people I'm not and you and Monica can go save
the world."

Dana looks at me.  "Unfortunately, I don't have the
pleasure of saving the world or doing even less
remarkable things with Monica."

I swallow hard.  Stephanie not too subtly nudges
me.  Dana sips her drink.

Raney shifts from one foot to the other, unaware of
the dynamic between the women he's standing with.
"I don't know why y'all want to go and be in that
kind of business.  You can do a lot more good for
our country by teaching."

He's making a reference to Stephanie, but she just
snorts.  "Yeah, right, Raney."

"Dana is a teacher," I say.  Her eyes are on mine
and I give her a smile.  "She teaches people how to
save the world."

This earns me an embarrassed grin.  Dana's cheeks
are flushed and she's so beautiful that she takes
my breath away, but Stephanie interrupts this
wonderfully awkward moment by grabbing my hand.
"Finish your drink and let's dance."

"Now?"  I ask, even though it's pointless to argue.
There's no denying her - she'll only make a scene
and whine and bitch and moan if I don't dance with
her - so I give my drink to Raney, who already has
his hand out.  He caters to us like this; he always
has.

Stephanie swallows her tequila and passes the glass
to the person who looks most like a servant at the
moment, Raney, of course.  He's juggling three
glasses.  Dana looks at Stephanie as if she's
seeing a circus attraction, and at me as if I'm a
pushover.  She even rolls her eyes.  Dammit.  "Come
on, babe," Stephanie says, and jerks me away.

I don't want Dana to see me dancing with Stephanie,
but what choice do I have?  I'm uncomfortably aware
that no one else is dancing to this song.  It's
Chicago.  It's one of their old ones and it's not
danceable.  "Where's the dance music?"

"It's coming."  CDs were her only responsibility
tonight, and I'm sure she's picked plenty of good
stuff, but for now we have to suffer through some
classic rock.  That the song's not easy to dance to
suddenly becomes my least concern, though, as her
left hand grips my bicep and her right hand clasps
mine.  This is our normal stance when we dance
together, and there's nothing sexual or intimate
about it, but Dana's staring at us and I feel ill
at ease.  "I love this song," Stephanie says, and
smiles up at me.

"Since when?"

"Mmm," she says, and gives no answer.

Our moves are straight from the New York Hustle,
which means that one of my hands stays in hers most
of the time, while the other is on her shoulder
blade.  She's gained a few pounds since I last saw
her.  Stephanie's weight fluctuates with her moods,
up and down, and she has to work to stay fit.  I
try not to look at Dana.

Stephanie notices.  "I'm thinking that this chick
is trying not to look at you, either.  She's got
that self-conscious expression on her face like she
thinks somebody's watching her."

"She always has that expression on her face."

"Maybe she knows you're always watching."

Good point.  I bring the subject back around to
Stephanie.  She's on caffeine again, which is not a
good thing for someone who's predisposed to
hyperactivity.  She's on caffeine and she's eating
a lot.  She's not exercising.  She's drinking.
"How's work?"  I ask, hoping that this is the
problem and not something worse.

"Fine," she says.

"Seeing anybody I need to know about?"

"Nope."  But she presses closer to me, hiding her
face.

"Stephanie," I warn.  "Tell me."

Instead, she sings with the song.  "'Life is
everything it's meant to be.'"

I draw back and look at her.  She grips my hands
and smiles radiantly.

This causes me great concern.  Stephanie's the
happiest when she's in dire straits.  "Who is it?"
She just smiles, trying to be mysterious, and I'm
not even sure she's seeing someone.  I'm not sure
what she's up to at all.

The music's pumping up, reaching a crescendo, and
Stephanie pushes away from me, still clasping my
hands.  "'Searching for an answer,'" she sings,
twirling, beaming, letting go.

We're great on the dance floor together; we've had
enough experience with each other to know how we
fit together.  She swirls and comes to me with
practiced grace, and I catch her hand and spin her
more.  I feel eyes on us, more eyes than just
Dana's, and I'm not surprised.  I know how we look
together.

"Damn, we're sexy," she says, reading my mind for
probably the hundredth time since I've known her.
"Think Dana's noticed yet?"

"Is that what you're up to?"  She's not fooling me
a bit.  There's more to what's going on with her
tonight than simply sparking a little danger.

"I just want to push things along a bit," she says.
"I'd like to see you hook up with somebody that
cares about you for a change.  I'd like it to
happen tonight, so I can watch."  She grins
wickedly.  "And I'd *really* like it to be a
chick."

"Stephanie," I hiss, because she's unduly loud.
Even her whispers are loud, like stage whispers.

She giggles.

"I don't even know if she - " I stop myself.  "I
don't think she's interested in me.  Like that."

"Damn girl, wake up.  Haven't we had this
conversation before?  You can't stop staring at
her.  She can't stop staring at you.  And I can't
stop staring at both of you staring at each other."
She turns to look at Dana, who is, indeed staring
at us.  "It's like a dyke soap opera.  All we need
is the bi one - that would be me - coming on to the
butch one - that would be Dana, who only has eyes
for the femme one - that would be you, who's
totally clueless at what's going on."  She checks
Scully out.  "I gotta say, she's got that butch
thing down pat for somebody who knows how to wear
makeup."  The music changes, and Stephanie twists
in my arms.  "Turn us around."

I do.

Raney's strutting up to us, rolling his arms over
each other and singing off-key.  "'Looking back on
when I.'" He claps.  "'Was a little nappy-headed
boy.'"

Stephanie ignores the Stevie Wonder wannabe.
"Okay, now don't look at her while I'm talking to
you, but dig this, babe: Dana's staring at you,
right?  She's marking her territory.  See, all the
other dykes in the room noticed you immediately, as
soon as they walked in the door."

I wonder how much she's had to drink.  She was in
the kitchen before the party started, while I was
dressing, clinking bottles.  She's not drunk yet,
but she will be before the night's over.  What
she's saying is made even weirder by Raney, who's
doing his stiff little dance around us, and still
singing:  "'Even though we sometimes - Would not
get a thing.'"  He concentrates on a little spin.
"'We were happy with the - Joy the day would
bring!'"  He claps.

Stephanie prattles on.  "And Dana's letting them
know that you're off limits.  She watches you and
strikes her butch pose, and makes sure all the
other dykes know that you're hers."

"You're crazy."  That's the craziest thing I've
ever heard.  I kind of want to believe her, though.
I push her away, until our arms are completely
outstretched, our fingertips touching.  She raises
her left hand in the air, snaps her fingers, and
comes whirling to me when I draw her back in.

"You think so?"  Stephanie's arms are folded
against my chest because I've pulled her that
close.  "Well, she's moved since I turned us
around, babe.  She doesn't want you to see her
looking.  She's standing right behind you.  She's
watching to see what I do with you."  Stephanie
looks at me conspiratorially.  "I'm thinking I
should make a pass at you.  We've got to light a
fire under that chick.  She wants you, anybody can
see that.  What the hell's taking her so long?"
Stephanie looks at me slyly again and motions for
me to follow her.  We step aside.  "Dare you to ask
her to dance."

"No way."

"Double dare you."

Raney does a little chicken dance beside me.
"Double dare you, Monica!"

He doesn't even know what Stephanie wants me to do.
He's back in his song, singing with Stevie Wonder.
I've said it before and I say it again: "What a
strange little preacher man."  Cute as a button,
though.  Stephanie pinches me for attention.
"Stephanie, I can't."  She pushes at me.  "No!"

Raney glances at us and heads off to the kitchen.
He probably thinks we're going to argue.

She stands back and looks at me for a moment.  I
can see the gears turning.  "Okay, be that way.  Be
lonesome."

"Don't get pouty on me.  Please?  Just let me take
my time, okay?  I'm nervous."

"Oh, baby."  She's in my arms again.  "Don't be
afraid."

"I don't want to lose her."  I swallow.  "What if I
tell her that I like her and she rejects me?  What
if I lose her friendship?"

She snorts.  "Yeah, go tell her you like her, maybe
you can hold hands during recess and - oh, baby,
I'm sorry.  I'm just teasing.  Tell her you like
her; tell her everything.  She's not going to run
away."

Her interest turns momentarily to Raney, who's
returned with beers for all of us.  He's too cute
for Stephanie to resist.  "I promise she won't,"
she says to me, then turns her attention to the man
she loves but will never marry.  "What do you
think?" she asks him.

He hands us the beers.  "About what?"

"Monica's girlfriend."

"Stephanie!"  She's so freakin' loud.

"Dana?"  Raney asks.

"See?  Even he knows.  And you know how vanilla
Raney Baby is."  Stephanie looks behind me, toward
Dana, I presume.  "Dig that butch walk.  Yummy,"
she says, smiling slyly.  "I sure wouldn't mind
having me some government protection tonight."  She
winks.

Raney shakes his head.  "Monica's still the
prettiest FBI agent I've ever seen."  He looks at
Dana and shakes his head again.  "Hands down."

"Well, of course she is," Stephanie says.
"Nobody's as pretty as our baby.  But goddamn.
Look at that chick."

I follow her gaze and Raney's to Dana, and she's
moved to another spot, farther from us.  At this
precise moment, she looks our way.  She catches my
eyes, and I want her over here with us.  I want to
be over there with her.

Raney shrugs.  "I don't see it.  She's all right,
but she's not Monica.  Or you, either."

Stephanie shakes her head in disgust.  "I'll never
get men."

"Oh, honey," Raney drawls.  "I think you've gotten
your share of 'em."

That little nugget pulls my attention back to him;
he cracks me up.  Raney sneaks them in now and
then.

Stephanie rolls her eyes.  "You know what I mean.
Look at that face.  How many people do you ever see
with a face that dramatic?  Damn.  I'd get roles if
I had a face like that."

"You get plenty of roles," Raney protests.  "Too
many roles."

I wonder if he's just encouraging her or if he
really doesn't know what a hard time she's had
finding acting work in the past couple of years.

"Yeah, whatever.  She has the perfect face for an
actor," Stephanie says.  "She's gorgeous."

Raney seems noncommittal in his agreement.  "Yeah,
I guess.  But she's kind of mean-looking or
something."

I chuckle.  "She's not mean."  What she is,
however, is 63 inches of intensity.

"Naw, that ain't the word."  He thinks.  "Severe."
He nods.  "Like she'd be into discipline."

I spew beer, choking, and Stephanie guffaws.  She
slaps my back, because I'm coughing like crazy, and
she thinks pounding me will help.  We're bent over,
laughing our asses off.

"What?  Why's that so funny?"  Raney asks, and he
really wonders.

(Continued in part 4)