They went back to the dance floor together.
The pool had grown crowded. Blake was in, looking wet and uncomfortable. Lee pointed him out to Bonita, who laughed. They danced.
After a few minutes, Bonita's eyes took on an intent look. She reached out and brushed Lee's stomach with her fingers. The touch was feather-light, barely felt through the rough fabric of the baseball shirt, but it felt strangely sharp and distinct. A shudder traveled up Lee's spine and down to her loins, her sexual reaction somehow tinged with warning. A seriousness overshadowed Bonita's easy advances, an intensity unfamiliar in the languid protocols of the Glory Hole. Lee backed up a few feet, into a corner formed by the wall and a stack of speakers. Bonita followed.
Lee set her beer on the top speaker and took Bonita's hand in both of hers. Holding it lightly, she guided the hand under her own shirt, so that Bonita's fingers brushed bare skin. Lee's stomach was slick with sweat, and Bonita's hand slid smoothly across the wet expanse. The lush feeling between Lee's legs became deep and sovereign, like the precursor to a change. She leaned back against the wall. Bonita drew closer and her hand went farther up Lee's shirt, pressing hard into her sternum, holding her against the wall. Then she took the beer bottle in her other hand, freezing cold and sparkling with condensation, and rolled it slowly across Lee's stomach. Lee gasped. As the cold cylinder spanned her stomach, white freezing sparks shot out of it and into every nerve.
There by the speakers, the short encounter seemed almost private. The intense volume of the music shut them off from the rest of the room.
When Bonita released her, Lee took a long drink from the beer. She leaned against Bonita, who took her weight easily. Her head was reeling. She tried to organize her body's resources to stave off the effects of the alcohol in her system, but she was too tired from the night before. She felt she had spent the day in only a half-sleep. She wondered if she'd picked up any speed from Freddie's body. It didn't make much sense, but it felt that way. She leaned against Bonita for a few minutes.
Kathy reappeared, the New Orleans people in tow. The five of them danced, waving for Lee and Bonita to join them. Bonita stroked Lee's neck absentmindedly as they rested against the wall. Kathy put her half-empty drink down as she danced, and someone took it away. The tall woman took her to the bar to buy her another White Russian.
Lee finished her beer and pushed Bonita toward the remaining New Orleanois. She needed to find a bathroom.
She worked her way up the narrow stairs. The crowd upstairs had grown thicker and more butch. Lee noted a number of dark green army coats with cutoff sleeves. It had originally been a separatist uniform, but a lot of women were wearing it now. There were a few shaved heads, one of which had a swastika tattoo. The women's room had a long line. She waited sullenly for a minute, then rapped once on the men's room door. There was no answer, and she slipped in.
It was huge and empty, cool and dry, a luxuriant waste of space. The floor and walls were decorated with the same mosaic tiles as the floor upstairs. The trickle of her urine echoed thinly, and the toilet flushed with a hollow roar. When it subsided, she paused for a moment in the huge quiet. More than just empty, the place felt unused. Even with the paper towel dispenser neatly filled, there was a sense of ruin. A men's room after there were no more men. She ruminated for a few precious moments.
Of course, the club was for lesbians only Sunday through Tuesday. It was gay men on Wednesday, bi-night on Thursday, and het on the weekend. For the moment, however, the silence was holy.
Before she left, she thirstily drank tap water from her hands. The water pooled in her palms with strange efficiency, the webbing a useful adaptation. At the bottom of the stairs, Kathy, another White Russian in hand, amorously kissed the tall woman from New Orleans. Bonita had disappeared. Lee made her way down the hall toward the downstairs bar, which had grown even more crowded. Bonita wasn't there either. Lee bought a beer with the last of her cash. The other New Orleanois appeared, and one angrily announced that Wendy was sleeping alone tonight. Lee assumed that Wendy was the tall one with Kathy. Lee doubted Wendy was sleeping alone tonight. She also doubted Wendy was getting back to New Orleans tonight. She headed toward the dance floor.
Kathy was in the pool. She saw Lee and yelled, "Come on!"
The pool was less crowded than the dance floor. Lee slipped out of her sneakers and put her smartcard and last dollar coin in one and her beer in the other. She left the brace on. She went in ankle-and then hip-deep. The water was warm and lush and licentious. She turned around and fell backward into Kathy's arms. Kathy laughed and pulled her across the pool. In the middle, Kathy let go, and Lee submerged into sudden and total quiet.
She stood up, and everyone was dancing.
One woman, whose pupils were huge, danced with a chemical light stick, green tracers arcing around her. A petite and beautiful woman in suspenders dragged her protesting girlfriend into the pool The girlfriend handed a silk jacket back over the rail. Her chest was bare underneath, and she was wearing bright nipple makeup, probably the flavored kind. Most of the women in the pool were in their underwear. One in suspenders was otherwise bare above the waist.
The sex was clean. It was innocent and unintrusive. Like the half-submerged dancing, it was all above the waist. Lee went down on her knees and shot across to Kathy, and was struck by the chemical light stick midway.
Kathy said, "Isn't this great? Isn't this fun?"
"Fun until someone loses an eye," she answered.
Her shoulder hurt from the blow. Lee looked back at the woman with the lightstick. Oblivious. Beautiful to watch.
Kathy laughed at Lee's joke. Lee pushed her down into the shallow water and gave her a watery kiss on the shoulder. Kathy fought back with a shove of water, scattering the dry women at the pool's edge. Lee suddenly noticed how many people were watching them; the pool was bathed in track lights that flashed in time to the incessant, unchanging beat. The sudden realization that she was on display made her feel strangely faint.
She pulled herself onto the poolside. Her pinstripe pants were tight around the ankles, and ballooned with trapped water. When she stood, the water deluged onto the floor. It was embarrassing. She tried to strip to her underwear, but the pants' zipper was soaked and unwieldy. The air felt cold, and her beer was missing. She checked, and the card and dollar were still there. She shrugged and returned to the warmth of the pool.