Secret Bird
by Politic X

Part 4
See part 0 for header information.


It's funny because Raney's such an old-fashioned
guy.  He's 34 going on 90.

"A little-" Stephanie breaks off, laughing
hysterically.  "A little S&M, Raney?"

He blushes.  "Well, yeah.  She looks like she'd be
into that a little too much for my taste."

Anything out of the ordinary is too much for
Raney's taste.

"If she is, she's hooking up with the right chick,"
Stephanie says, winking.

It's Raney's turn to choke on beer.  "What?"

"Isn't she, baby?"

I'm laughing too hard to answer.

"What?"  Raney gazes at me incredulously.  I don't
think he could look more shocked.  This makes me
laugh all the harder.

"S&M," Stephanie says.  "Dana's got it wrong if she
thinks she's going to tie this one up, though.
Monica's a regular dominatrix."

Stephanie's not just an actor; she's a director, so
she knows about timing.  She pulls me by the hand
and we make our way back to the dance arena.  It's
time for some disco.

-----

I wish Dana would join us.  No such luck.  We're
dancing to Donna Summer, and when this song ends
and ABBA begins, Raney comes over for a little
disco action.  Apparently, he's recovered from his
embarrassment.

"Hey, you remember how to do the Hustle?" he shouts
at me over the music.  His brown, wavy hair is
sprinkled with gray, but it doesn't make him look
any older.  He looks like a baby, even though he's
my age.

Stephanie comes up behind him, her hands on his
waist, beer bottle almost empty.  "Of course she
remembers, darling.  I taught her."

Raney's familiar enough with Stephanie to overlook
her sexual innuendos.  "Remind me," he says.  "I
can't remember."  When Raney says 'can't,' his 'a'
is hard, and it sounds like "faint" with a 'c.'

"You can't?"  Stephanie mocks.  What she doesn't
realize is that her accent is almost as thick as
Raney's, and that when she mocks him, no one can
really tell she's doing it but me.  It's my own
little joke.

"No."

"Come on, baby."  Stephanie grabs my hand.  "Let's
remind him."

Raney's referring to the California Hustle, the
line dance, and it takes us a few minutes to get it
sorted out.  Stephanie keeps putting too many moves
in it, and I keep looking around for Dana.  But
I've finished my beer, and hers is long gone, and
ABBA's gone off and Alicia Bridges has come and
gone, too.  We've taught Raney the steps, and we're
headed away from the dance area toward the kitchen
for more refreshment, but a sudden sound stops us.

It's KC and the Sunshine Band.  Stephanie and I
look at each other, and then we're in the middle of
the crowd again, dancing our hearts out, throwing
some Latin Hustle into our routine.  Our hands are
pressed together, arms stretched out, and we look
like we're about to tango.  We always get silly
doing this, and Stephanie embellishes with
kickbacks and air kisses.  When the music ends, I'm
disappointed, because we're having a blast, and so
are our friends.  But a new song's coming on, one
I'm not familiar with.

Just when I'm walking away, Stephanie grabs my arm.
"Oh, baby, baby!" she says loudly in my ear.
"Strike a femme pose for that butch queen!"

I look to where she's looking, and Dana's stepped
into the middle of a crowd of women that are moving
to a line dance.  My mouth just drops open, because
I've wanted to dance with her all night, and while
I'd rather tango with her, I'll settle for this, if
I can figure out the steps.  They seem simple.  I
can't pay attention to them, though, for watching
her.  She's the most beautiful woman I think I've
ever seen.

She turns my heart, and I love her so much that I
feel I'm suddenly on the outside, wanting in.  I've
always been inside others' hearts, but I don't know
her story.  She's locked up tight and always has
been, I imagine.  I've seen her faade crumble a
couple of times, but never completely.

So I don't know what her secret is.  Maybe it's a
wish like mine, a bird that she keeps trapped in a
gilded cage.  How does she hold it in?  I'm about
to burst to free mine, to let it rush to her, a
little red robin of love.

"Get OUT!"  Stephanie crows.  She sticks her
fingers to her mouth and whistles.  She nudges me.
"That's your girl, sweetie.  Ain't no doubt now.
Ain't no doubt at all," she says gleefully.

"What do you mean?"

"It's the shuffle."  She grinning, pulling my hand.
"Remember that time we were at that bar in New
Orleans and this song was playing and all the dykes
were dancing to it?  Remember?"

It was years ago.  I remember being overwhelmed by
hundreds of women in such a small space.  "No."

She does the basic steps of the dance in front of
me.  "It's your California Hustle in a box.  So
pick it up, baby, because if your chick's out here
now, it means she's a dyke.  This is like the dyke
anthem or something.  Or it was that night.  At
that bar."  She surveys the women gathered on my
makeshift dance floor.  "Gotta be a dyke thing."

She has her hands on my hips from behind, walking
me through the shuffle and singing along.  "'Why
should I feel uptight?'"  Her breasts press against
me.  Her entire voluptuous little body presses
against me from behind, and I feel Dana's eyes on
me.  I know I'm turning red.

Stephanie's loud.  At least she can carry a tune.
"'Love had to show me one thing...'"  She's shuffled
over to Dana and I can't take my eyes away, she's
so dangerously close to her.  Steph leans nearer
and says something to Dana that causes her to look
my way immediately.  I just grin at both of them
like an idiot.  I've picked up the steps by now and
I'm growing comfortable enough to move in their
direction.

Stephanie's shouting catcalls and she's not the
only one.  The first feminist I ever met is
shouting, too.  It's Raney, and he's sidled up to
me, batting those long lashes like a girl.  I smile
my love for him.  He's amazing.  How many preachers
know any dyke anthems?  How many preachers know any
dykes?  He's a constant reminder that old-fashioned
values don't necessarily mean narrow-minded
principles.

He and Stephanie fill in the musical interlude
while Diana Ross takes a break.  I know it has to
be Diana Ross, even if I don't know the song,
because there's no mistaking her voice.  I side
step over to Steph and swap places with her so that
she can dance with Raney.  And I can dance with
Dana.  My hand reaches out to her and she takes it
without looking up at me.  I slip my other hand
around her waist, and we're rocking on our heels,
on our toes.  Dancing with Dana.  Sounds like a bad
movie, feels like a heart attack.  But a quick one;
this dance doesn't invite much cuddling.

Stephanie's turned in a square - I was supposed to,
too, but didn't - and she and Dana and everyone
else are facing me.  I catch Stephanie's eyes.
She's having a blast.  "'I was so right, so
right!'" she sings.

I can't tell if Dana's singing or not, because her
hair's fallen in her face.  She's looking down at
her feet and seems to be taking her dance steps
very seriously.  Raney's off-key, but he knows the
song, and he sings it with gusto.  "'Thought I
could turn emotion on and off!  I was so sure-'"

"'I was SO, SO SURE!'"  Stephanie yells.

"'Til love taught me who was-'"

Raney's voice is twangy, but Stephanie drowns him
out.  "'WHO WAS!'"

"'The boss!'" everyone screams.  Even some of those
who aren't dancing scream it.

I look at Stephanie, Raney and Dana, at the women
around me, and my heart fairly bursts with joy at
this happiness, this togetherness, this healing
moment.  Yeah, this is a party and we're drinking
tonight, flirting and laughing, but this dance
isn't about anything so frivolous.  It's about who
we are.  It's about unity and pride.  It's about
supporting each other.  It's about us.

I join in the catcalls.

------------

It was a hell of a sight, Monica in the midst of
all the dykes, clapping, whooping.  Dancing.  God,
she can dance.  Even simple little moves like the
shuffle look fluid and pretty when she does them.

I'm headed out of the dance area so that I can
watch her more.  I hope she and Stephanie will give
me another show.  There's nothing quite like two
feminine women dancing together, and I've never
seen anything like them.  Stephanie's all long
strawberry-blonde hair flying and pale skin flushed
at her cheeks, a porcelain little doll.  But
Monica's bare legs, bare arms, and that magnificent
bare back steal every bit of spotlight away from
her friend.  I wonder if they're lipstick lesbians
or if they're bi.  I wonder if they're two straight
girls who like to experiment.  They were twisting
and tangling together like they've done it a
thousand times, and the way Monica holds her says a
lot about their relationship.

They've got something going, something more than
friendship.  I don't think it's sexual, despite
Stephanie kissing her earlier.  I think it's
history.  I think Stephanie is to Monica what
Mulder is to me.  I pass Stephanie and she slaps me
on the back.  "Sweet moves, baby."  She grins
devilishly.

She called me 'baby' and I didn't even punch her in
the face, because Monica's right behind her,
walking my way but not seeing me at all.  Her eyes
are moving over the people who are nearest to
Stephanie, I see as I glance back.  I wonder if
there's trouble.  Monica looks serious, and her
walk is purposeful.  But she smiles and her breasts
brush my shoulder as she passes me.  Her fingers
brush by me as well, dangerously low, and catch my
hand.  She pulls me several feet, back to the dance
floor.  Oh, God.  The Bee Gees.  This is not
happening.

She stops and turns around, grinning.

I'm shaking my head.  "I can't dance to this,
Monica."  But my smile is going to split my face in
half.

She leans and I catch a whiff of eucalyptus leaves,
and her lips are so close to my ear that her breath
sends chills down my spine.  "Sure you can," she
says.  Her nose is in my hair.  "Just follow me."

"No-"

"Look."  One of her hands is already on the small
of my back; the other is still grasping mine.
She's using her height on me.  "I bet you'd like to
lead," she says.  She pulls me in even closer,
impossibly close, and once I wrap my brain around
the idea that she may be talking about more than
dancing, I cling to her like I'm lovesick, which I
am.  Still, I'm not known to cling.  "But give me a
shot at it."  She pulls back and looks down at my
face.  "Okay?"

I wonder if she tries to be sexy or if it comes
naturally to her.  "You like taking charge, Agent
Reyes?"

Her face bows, and I think she's going to kiss me,
but she only murmurs, "Of you?  Yeah."

Her eyes remain fixed on mine, and I've forgotten
that we're supposed to be dancing until someone
jostles me.  "You think you can turn me into
Stephanie?"  I ask.  "You think you can whirl me
around and make me look graceful?  It's not going
to happen.  Two left feet here."

"Follow my lead."  Monica pushes me away, holding
my hand with her fingertips and this is absolutely
crazy.  I'm not accustomed to being led.  I'm not
sure I like it.  She draws me back in again.  "Eye
contact.  Don't look at the floor.  Look at me."

Why would I look at the floor when I can look at
her?  This is what I ask her, after she turns me -
it's weird, being turned - and holds me to her.
The look on her face is priceless.  She's working
her mouth, pressing her lips together and pulling
the bottom one in to rub her tongue over it.  Her
cheeks are a nice pink, and she's so focused on me
that I think I'm going to explode if I don't touch
her.  Why can't this be a slow song?  I could run
my hands up to her shoulder blades and scrape my
fingernails all the way back down.

She pushes me out, turning me and then herself,
drawing me back to her.  She finally says
something.  She's off on a whole tangent, talking
about a movie.  Apparently, she's seen 'Saturday
Night Fever' sixteen times and knows every move
John Travolta makes.  "Every turn of the hip," she
says, stepping back to place one hand on her
pelvis, gyrating, and pointing at Stephanie, who's
several feet away, with the other.  Stephanie sees
her and breaks away from her own dance partner to
do the same.  They wag their fingers at each other
and smile.  This is one of the most hilarious
things I've ever seen, and sexy as hell.  "Every
mop of the brow."  She makes a dramatic gesture of
wiping her forehead and slinging the sweat away.
"Every smooth move."  She looks cocky, pulling me
to her as she turns.  "Every dip of the girl," she
says in my ear, and she's somehow manipulating me
into this position.  She has her hands on my waist
and I'm finding myself being arched backwards, but
I'm fighting it all the way, chuckling and
protesting like the weak person I've become.  She's
dipped me so far backwards that the people are
upside down, and when I think of how we must look,
I start laughing uncontrollably.

Monica pulls me to her, but I can't stop giggling.
She takes advantage of this and clowns around more,
spinning me away from her so that she can do some
solo moves.  And the more I laugh, the more
exaggerated all of these moves become, until I'm
laughing so hard that I can't stand straight.  Then
her arm is around my waist, her hand holding mine
tightly, and she's pulling and carrying me through
the dance.  "Stop," I beg her.  My face is fire
engine red.

She does, and I lean against her.  My chest is
still heaving from laughing so hard, and then I'm
aware of her lips in my hair.  She's kissing my
head and holding me.  "See how much fun it can be
when someone else leads?"

I look up at her, slow motion stupidity, and I know
I've been duped by this girl.  There's nothing
straight about her.  Her eyes peer right down into
mine, merry, winking.  It's clichd and trite, but
I want to look into those eyes every day for the
rest of my life.  Her hand's on my bare back, where
my blouse has ridden up, and her thumb is making
lazy patterns on my skin.  This is the woman of my
dreams and she might even be coming on to me.  I'm
amazed.

The music has changed, even though I can't remember
it changing, and it's about to change again, and
Stephanie brushes by.  She's singing, and I know
it's Sylvester's song about feeling mighty real,
and I know Stephanie's twirling around us, and I
know there's a young man in her arms, and I know
Stephanie's asking to cut in on the dance, but all
I feel is Monica holding me greedily to her.  All I
see is Monica laughing and shaking her head.  All I
hear is Monica telling Stephanie "no way."  I wrap
my arms around her.

And the slow song I want begins.

I don't know what it is; I can't remember the
title.  But I do remember skating around the
hardwood floor of the roller rink when I was
thirteen years old to this song.  I went there
every week for one entire summer, just to watch the
other girls skating, especially the older ones, the
ones that could skate backwards.  I remember
watching the girls with their boyfriends.  I
remember the sound of the skates on the floor, the
soft flash of disco lights, how the rink went dark
at the perimeter, and how I kissed a girl for the
first time in that darkness.  She was taller than
me, a cheerleader.  Brunette.  Brown eyes.

Monica's smiling.  "Are you okay?"

I nod.

"You disappeared there for a minute."

(Continued in part 5)