The first chapter of a planned longer story, posted here in appreciation of the Writer of the Year nomination in a year I didn’t contribute that much at all. And here’s a challenge – can a man write a lesbian story? Well, I’ve started it, so let’s see how it goes. I guess I can repost it in the appropriate section if the story develops.
The Bravest Girl
The fifteen minutes were up. Scarlett looked at the small rectangular capsule and saw one red line. Negative.
Her phone buzzed on the benchtop and she could hardly believe the name on the display. Grace Bennet was calling her!
“Um, hello?”
“Hi Scarlett, it’s Grace.”
“Y-yes.” Oh god.
“You heard about Emma? She’s got Covid. I’ve just done a test and it’s negative.”
“Mine is negative too,” Scarlett said.
“Okay. It’s too late to cancel the cottage and get a refund. Do you still want to go?”
Scarlett took a deep breath and crossed her fingers. “Yes. Um, I-I mean, if you’re okay with it being just us two, so if you don’t want to… it would be okay… but it’s okay with me if you do want to go, because I’d like to, and um–”
“Scarlett, stop. Just say you want to go.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry.”
“And don’t apologise. It’s a cottage in the Blue Mountains for two nights, not a two-week holiday in Bali. This weekend has been planned for ages. I can’t imagine you have anything else to do. It’s a shame Emma can’t come, but that’s how it is. Anyway, it’ll be fun. And it’s an opportunity to get to know each other.”
“Sure.”
“Okay, pack a bag and text me your address. I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
“Okay Grace, I will. See you then. B-bye.”
God, Scarlett felt such a dork. She’d probably literally gone scarlet as she spoke. What would Grace, the most popular girl when they were at high school, think of her now? Grace Bennet, former head girl, studying law at the University of Sydney, destined for a brilliant career, stuck with Scarlett McDermott for the weekend. Quiet, slim, dark-haired Scarlett, the girl everyone laughed at in Careers class one day when she said she wanted to be a writer.
There again, Scarlett had the last laugh when she won that short story contest. Everyone noticed her then. Even Grace stopped her in the corridor and gave her a hug and said congratulations. Before that she had no idea Grace even knew who she was. And how she had replayed that hug over and over in her mind for weeks afterwards; the feel of Grace’s hands tight around her body, the honey blonde hair that tickled her cheek, that wonderful smell gorgeous girls have. And now Grace was coming to pick her up for a girls’ weekend away, just the two of them. Scarlett and Grace. Grace and Scarlett. She took another deep breath. Okay girl. Calm, calm.
*
Scarlett jumped into the passenger seat and Grace leaned over and planted a kiss on her cheek. “Hey hon.”
“Hi,” Scarlett said.
Grace’s blue eyes stared at her, and then squinted, as if appraising something. “You look nice.”
“Thanks, so do you. Cool car. Is it new?”
“Thanks, and yes.” Grace said. She turned the car and headed towards the highway. “You heard about my good fortune?”
“Emma said you inherited an apartment in Potts Point.”
“It was my uncle Jimmy’s. My mum’s brother. We were his only close relatives, and when he died he left everything to us in his will. I’ve been there six months already.”
“Wow,” Scarlett said. “Potts Point is Kings Cross, isn’t it?”
“Near enough. There’s an alternative vibe about the area, but in a good way. Anyway, what’s been happening with you? You’re at uni too?”
“Yeah, at UNSW. Bachelor of Arts, majoring in English literature.”
Grace smiled. “Of course you are. You’re going to be a famous writer one day, aren’t you?”
“It would be wonderful to make a living out of writing, but I’m not so sure.”
“If anyone can do it, you can,” Grace said and smiled.
Scarlett’s heart leaped when Grace reached over to hold her hand. But Grace had only meant to pick up her phone in the middle console and, mortified, Scarlett snatched her hand back quickly.
Grace glanced at her and smirked. “Let’s put on some music,” she said.
Scarlett was happy to just watch the road and listen as they escaped the city heat. Oddly, the silence didn’t feel awkward or strained at all. Soon the city was behind them and the bends in the road became more common as it narrowed and wound upwards.
“How about you choose the music now?” Grace asked. “Connect to my car on Bluetooth.”
“Sure.”
“Bluetooth is a funny word, when you think of it.”
“It’s named after a tenth century Danish king,” Scarlett said. “Harald Bluetooth. He united Denmark and part of Norway into a single kingdom, and…” She looked over.
Grace stared at her with eyebrows raised and an amused smile.
“Um, sorry,” Scarlett said.
“That’s okay.”
Scarlett jerked when the music suddenly blasted out. “Oh god, sorry.”
“Stop apologising,” Grace said. “What is it, opera?”
“Yes, I was listening to it earlier. Let me find something better.”
“No, leave it on, it sounds lovely.” Grace lowered the front windows and a fresh cool mountain breeze wafted into the car.
Scarlett watched the city recede into the distance as Graces’ beautiful blonde hair shimmered in waves. She looked so elegant. A model. And that wonderful perfume.
“Who is it?” Grace asked.
“A French composer called Delibes. This piece is ‘The Flower Duet’, from an opera called Lakme.”
Grace glanced over. “The Flower Duet. You impress me more and more as I get to know you, Scarlett McDermott.”
Scarlett blushed. The road wound higher and higher and she watched Grace press the button to turn the volume up. The voices of the two female singers, soprano and mezzo-soprano, soared as if in response, as if the music had been made for this time and place, for them both. It was perfect. And, unable to help herself, Scarlett glanced over at Grace again and thought that she had never looked so beautiful. Scarlett McDermott was most definitely in love, and Grace Bennett had no idea.
*