Pia wrinkles her nose. It’s the only part of her face that isn’t striking or intimidating. It’s small and round.Cute. A cute little button nose.
“And do you want to sing a song like that?”
I think about Stephan. I think about Melissa. I think about how, by the time this song comes out, everyone will probably know about the baby.
“No, not really,” I admit. “But that’s not the point?—”
Pia slams her palm down on the table. “That’s exactly the point!”
I blink at her. “I’m not following.”
Pia shifts forward, resting both elbows on the table. She uses her cigarette to point at me. “Listen, I don’t know if the rumours are true, about you and Stephan and some woman back in England, but I don’t think you want to play up to being the other woman right now, and frankly, neither do I. It’s bullshit. It’s anti-feminist. It’s making the man the fucking centre of the universe, yet again.”
My lips twitch, wanting to smile, but I rein them in. “I’m listening.”
“And let’s be honest, what are the actual chances of you and me ever falling for the same guy?” Pia scoffs before downing the miniature bottle of vodka in one big swig. She then stands up suddenly and returns to the minibar. She returns with two more miniature bottles and slides one of them over to me.
“Actually, it’s a bit early for me to—” I begin, but Pia continues as if I’ve not spoken.
“But of course, it’s too late in the game for us to come up with something completely different. And even if we did, I doubt they’d let us roll with it.”
“Roll with what?” I lean forward as Pia opens up a small bottle of what looks like gin. She takes a swig, and I wince again.
“I want to fuck with everyone a bit,” she tells me with a glint in her dark eyes.
“That doesn’t sound like you,” I tease before I can stop myself. It only intensifies the spark in her gaze, and before I know it, she’s smiling at me. And her smile … her smile is almost more dangerous than her when she’s scream-singing into a microphone or when she’s trashing guitars on stage or when she’s hitting one of my bandmates with her shoe.
“So, are you in?” she asks.
“I … I need more information first. What exactly do you have in mind?”
Pia blows out a long cloud of smoke and keeps her steady stare on me for many seconds. Finally, she speaks. “Tell me, Cassie, have you ever kissed another woman?”
I don’t know what stuns me more: the sound of my name in her mouth or the question itself. I tell myself I only let seconds pass as I sit there frozen in place, but it feels like hours, days, weeks. A lifetime.
“What … why…how…how is that relevant?” I trip over my own tongue.
“Oh, relax.” Pia taps the ash off the end of her cigarette. “Don’t get your fucking chastity belt in a twist. Just answer the question.”
“No,” I say, my voice small and unfamiliar to my own ears. “I haven’t.”
Another intense stare. “Maybe I asked the wrong thing,” Pia says. “Let me ask a different question. Have you everwantedto kiss another woman?”
I know if I try and speak, I’ll splutter all over again. So instead, I school my features into the most neutral expression I can manage and I consider my options.
I’ve heard the rumours about Pia. How she’s been with women. And men. I wasn’t surprised. I wrapped it up with all the other out-there things she does, all the other ways she pushes against society’s limits. It was just another way she rebels. But when I think about this on its own merits, when I actually imagine Pia in bed with another woman – limbs tangled, soft skin rubbing against soft skin, curves grabbed,nipples sucked, fingerseverywhere– it becomes its own story, its own adventure, and one I don’t immediately dismiss like I do everything else she does because that’s just who Pia is, and I am not the same.
What I said was true; I’m not a person who has taken women to bed or has ever planned on it. But am I a woman whowantsto be with a woman? Am I a woman who wants to kiss another woman despite everything I was told growing up? Am I a woman who has tried so hard to not want it, but still, my want persists?
I hold Pia’s gaze as I reply. “Yes, I’ve felt that … urge.”
Pia’s lips curve up into a deadly smile. “Interesting.”
“How so?”
Pia places both of her elbows on the table and gets closer to me. Through the thick stench of cigarette smoke, I can detect something else, which also reached me in the taxi. It’s a spiced scent: nutmeg, cloves, maybe even black pepper. I wonder if it would get stronger if I got even closer to Pia, if my nose were to run down the length of her neck … I’m so lost in this stupid, uninvited fantasy I nearly miss what Pia’s saying, but I tune in finally and get a very clear picture of what she has in mind.
“What if the song wasn’t about two women who want the same man? What if it was about two women who want each other? What if that was the true meaning of the song, but the lyrics weren’t clear enough to those who weren’t looking for it? That way we can get away with it.”