Winter 1999
Kristen was an actress who grew up on Nantucket and came from a very wealthy family, we worked together at a bar. I’m not sure why she worked at all, it was probably to practice acting. Tall hourglass bottle blonde that smelled like Chanel No. 5 and used her laugh as an insult. She had a ridiculously hot roommate who was a natural, airy platinum with perfect tits that everyone enjoyed because she was pleasant and easy in every way. We were in the same solar system but they were a lot closer to the Sun.
Maggie was the bar owner’s girlfriend. Another blonde, in curls; short and curvy like a compressed Scarlett Johansson- same mouth, same eyes. Maggie painted these enormous acrylic paintings that hung in the bar- colorful abstract gardens in mostly primary colors, an evening or two and a nice bourbon memorialized. She liked strong and varied drinks, always offering me sips of her mint juleps or Campari & soda, while I was working. She liked the little straws and rocks glasses; always holding the drink with her elbows bent in, drink close to her face. Maggie would show up and it was all hands on deck- the owner would tighten us all up- perfectly charming service delivered through hard work, bleach clean spaces. They both had such magnetic, wide smiles; they both had glittery eyes and the expansive vocabularies of the well bred. We were on the same ship but I was in the hull.
One night Kristen and I got drunk together after work and I seduced her in the bathroom. I vividly remember the taste and smell of her, greedy and insistent, pulling my mouth to her body on the bathroom floor, the sounds of her surprise and delight; the glow of oxytocin in her eyes as I dressed her before we went back out to the bar. I didn’t blink, nothing had changed for me.
How Maggie and I ended up in bed together I hardly remember. On a slow Sunday night, she invited me to have a drink with her and that turned into more drinks at a different bar, also owned by her boyfriend. The bartender was a gorgeous Middle Eastern man who knew both of us but did not realize we were lovers. Techinically, we were not, yet- but there was no differentiating her sex from mine and I’m sure it seemed like we were deep in the steam and slip of an affair. Maybe the owner knew, maybe he did not- the bartender didn’t care and was up for all of it- Maggie and I paid for nothing, the irony of being rich. I know she and I spent some time together on the leather couch in the office while he was downstairs closing the bar. There is very little I remember between there and being in the bartenders apartment on his Persian rug, pillows on the floor, Maggie refusing his penetration but wanting to do everything else that pleased me. In my memory he was more of an accessory, doing a lot of rubbing and watching, directing mouths and hands, she and I were only for each other. I have no idea when it ended or where I landed come morning.
Kristen started to hang around me more and told me she wanted to date. She would act like a jealous girlfriend, like a wounded adolescent, if I was not giving her attention which irritated the shit out of me, but then sometimes when I would get drunk and she was there, wanting to fuck, I did not say no. In my (few) undrunk moments, I was cold and clear in my lack of interest. Maggie, on the other hand, had my full attention and devotion, but she was still in a relationship with my boss, though that did not stop her from pursuing me sexually; most of the time we were too intoxicated to hide it. I remember many times stealing kisses, pushing her into a bathroom or a stairwell, biting her lips and pulling up her fitted thermal to reveal her unbound, beautiful breasts. Maggie would squeal at the first touch, every time, cradling my head to her body, unbuttoning her pants for me to pull them off. These moments tormented and broken, as I would have to get back to my job and she to being the first lady. Kristen would huff by me, rolling her eyes and saying something wounded and cunty- I would just adjust my clothes, take a drink and reapply my lip gloss, focused.
When it was contained in our workplace, we had to behave- then one night the triangle ended up at a different bar and some drama popped off. I got there first, with other friends- then Maggie showed up and stole the night. 
She captivated me every time, there was nothing I wanted more than more bourbon and more of her. From habit, I knew she was shaved and naked under her Levis, I loved the way she talked and her teeth behind her full pink lips, the way she would put her hand under my skirt while listening. We made frequent trips to the bar and to the bathroom- not having anything to get back to, any other way to be. No one else was there, really. We were in the back bathroom and I had Maggie leaning back against the wall, slid down on the toilet, her shirt up to her armpits and her jeans below her knees. We could hear the sounds of the bar outside, that music and glittering clinkiness, voices and servers moving past. I was on the floor; Maggie was purring and squirming, when someone started banging on the door. We were so drunk on bourbon and each other, Maggie giggled said ‘one minute!!!’ and held the back of my head, getting lost again before the door got a violent yank-tug-yank-tug and with all her might it ripped open, off the hinges, Kristen lunging in, flush faced and wild. Maggie and I sat up as Kristen yelled and flailed, demanding an explanation and not waiting to hear one, telling me what an awful person I was and noticing Maggie’s naked perfection, exploding into tears and running out, slamming the half hinged door behind her, Maggie’s giggle following her all the way home, into the cold night.
xxx
no i do not love you 