Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (novels to improve english .txt) 📗

“What was your plan?”

“I grow old, I die, in heaven I get married to Tallulah Bankhead.”

“Or you could use Tinder.”

“I’m not using Tinder,” Wendy said definitively. “If I get murdered by a psycho, I want it done the old-fashioned way.”

“Would you listen to yourself? I would never have gotten married if I had your attitude.”

“Maybe it’s your fault. Maybe you’re giving everyone unrealistic expectations. They look at you, they think ‘hey, it could happen’, then they look at me.”

“No one thinks I’m prettier than you. We’re two tens.”

“I look like Megan Fox about to sneeze.”

“You do not!”

Wendy grinned. “I look like the face Megan Fox used to have before the face Megan Fox used to have.”

“I think you’re pushing the Megan Fox thing too far.”

“I look like…shit.” After a moment’s hesitation, Wendy had one. “I look like the Megan Fox who would actually end up with Shia LeBeouf.”

“Now you just sound depressed. Do I have to take away your razor blades?”

“I need those to shave my legs. ‘Cause hair actually grows on my legs, unlike yours.”

“It’s a genetic disorder, I didn’t ask to be born with it, and it actually slightly raises my risk of leukemia. But come on, it’s not like people can tell the difference.”

Wendy could barely hear her. The music was too loud. Wendy was far too young for the music to be too loud for her. But she didn’t know if the current music would be safe at any volume; even with the volume turned all the way down, it might irritate dogs. It was loud, repetitive, and not much more than a beat when you came right down to it. Sounded like one of those comedy sound effect CDs being played inside a washing machine. Dubstep. What the hell was a gay club doing playing dubstep? The gays had David Bowie! You’d think people could take some pride in it.

And the lights were flashing, and there was some kind of mist being sprayed around and all in all, she’d have preferred it if someone changed the flickering lightbulb (oh, those were strobe lights), put on some damn pop, even Taylor Swift, and maybe just served coffee. Heck, she didn’t care how cliché she was. Tea. She’d take tea.

She knew that wouldn’t exactly make for much of a nightclub, but how was it only nightclubs had ended up being gay? Couldn’t there be a gay martial arts dojo? Gay bookstore? She could meet people like in a Meg Ryan movie.

Gay arcade! She didn’t care if no one went to arcades anymore, she would stay there all day playing Time Crisis, and when the only other lesbian who liked light gun games and Street Fighter came in, she would marry her.

Lesbian movie theater for showing lesbian movies. Shit, though—once they’d shown D.E.B.S. and Imagine Me & You, who would come? Maybe if it was winter, some hobos would sneak in for the central heating. Not if they were showing Bar Girls, but otherwise…

The bartender picked then to set a tequila sunrise in front of Regan. “From the lady in the back.”

They both looked over. It was from the woman with the afro. She waved and flashed a smile. Wendy groaned. It was a cute smile. Yeah. Wendy wouldn’t mind playing Time Crisis with her.

“Get up,” Regan stood, gripping the drink.

“What is this?”

Regan pulled her to her feet. “I’m being a wingman.”

“Oh God no—”

Regan gripped Wendy with a bouncer’s hold on her upper arm and ushered her toward the cute girl. She worked out surprisingly often. Had a weight set where other housewives would have a sewing room.

“Sit down beside her,” Regan ordered. “Don’t think. Just sit.”

“Abort. Abort. Abort—”

Regan stranded Wendy on one side of the cute girl, setting her drink down on the bar between them. “Hi!” she said brightly. She could talk to strangers as easily as a normal person might talk to a stray kitten they found on the road. “Thank you so much for the drink. I’m Regan.”

“Alice,” the cute girl said. Shit, she had a British accent. “I didn’t know you needed a stunt double.”

“This is my sister, Wendy.”

“Oh,” Alice said, her face doing some maneuvers it didn’t seem to be cleared for. “I’m not really into that. Don’t get me wrong, if I could be into that, you two would certainly have me into it.”

Regan let out a deep breath, and Wendy was somewhat gratified by her frustration. Even her sister wasn’t good at the lesbian dating scene. “I’m married, actually, but my sister here is single! Very single.”

Wendy elbowed her in the ribs. “Thanks, sis.”

“So, married—” Alice said. She sounded deep in thought.

Wendy supposed she would have to be, to get the conversation back on some kind of track.

“Do you and your wife…like to party, say?”

“Married and straight. Excuse me, I have to go to the bathroom.” Regan straightened and looked around theatrically. “Oh good, no takers. Last time I did that, the whole club came with me.”

“She thinks she’s funny,” Wendy told Alice. She gave Regan a look. “I’m gonna tell Keith you turned that one down,” she stage-whispered.

“Don’t you dare.” Regan headed off.

Alice picked up the drink she’d bought Regan and sipped.

Wendy wondered if that was a good sign. You know, a good sign, like sitting in silence with someone who wanted to fuck your sister. “So,” Wendy said, “you looking forward to the next Star Wars movie?”

“Excuse me?” Alice replied.

“Star Wars Episode 8. Rian Johnson’s directing it? He did Looper, Brick, The Brothers Bloom… Some people say Rey is going to go Dark Side, which I think would be really cool, because then maybe Finn—”

“I don’t watch Star Wars.”

By the time Regan came back, Alice was long gone.

“You know we have pretty much the same genetic code?” Regan asked. “I’m not sure how you can mess up with someone who’s already into you on a genetic level.”

Wendy held up a finger. “I opened with Star Wars,” she said defensively. “Not Star