Coming Attractions: Author's Edition by Bobbi Marolt

Author:Bobbi Marolt [Marolt, Bobbi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Lesbian, Fiction, Lesbians, General, Contemporary, Women Pianists
ISBN: 9781602827325
Google: URr_ygAACAAJ
Amazon: 160282732X
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2012-08-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

If nothing came of Helen’s proposed cavalcade of stars, at least she’d made friends with Marty. They were almost inseparable when Cory was away. Shopping, dining, and even an occasional night of just two girls sitting around and shooting the bull over cocktails. Marty was fun, but brutal with her exercise, especially when she needed to burn some calories.

In Marty’s living room, Helen dropped to the floor, exhausted from their tyrannical workout. She panted and coughed. Her hair was plastered to the sides of her face. Sweat streamed down her back, between her breasts, down the back of her shorts. Vast wet spots soaked her underarms. She wiped her face with a towel, coughed again, and stared at the hardwood floor. Marty stretched onto her back and continued with cool-down exercises.

It took all her remaining energy for Helen to ask the big question. “Are we sweating or glistening?”

Marty laughed. “We smell like the Bronx Zoo. My guess is sweating.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled and watched Marty, who was obviously not sharing Helen’s near-death experience. “How can you do this day after day?”

“It’s my life, sweetheart.” She lifted both knees from the floor toward her chin, lowered them, and repeated the exercise several times. “Gotta do it to dance.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “What do writers do to keep their fingers in shape?” She made crawly spider motions with her hands.

“Hell, I still don’t know how to type.” Helen wiped her face again. “My eyes dart around that keyboard like I’m watching a miniature tennis match.”

“Really? Tiny Martinas and Gabriellas battling from A to L. Come on.” She grunted, pushed herself up, and yanked Helen to her feet. “Let’s get some fluids back into us.”

Helen plopped onto the kitchen chair and chugged her glass of orange-pineapple juice. She then dangled her arms, resigned to exhaustion. “Just shoot me now.” She wiped her mouth with her sleeve. “I must have a death wish. I’ve been doing this for three weeks with you. This isn’t a friendship. This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“You’ll live. Besides, we need you.” Marty took a Salem from the pack on the table, lit it, and inhaled deeply. “Do you mind?” she asked and blew out the smoke.

“No. What do you mean? Who needs me?”

She dragged again. “People listen when you talk. Do you realize that?”

“Well, yes, otherwise I wouldn’t have a column. What people are you referring to?”

“The gang. Us. That group of dummies you sliced your wrists for. We’re selling our souls for you, sweetheart. Hasn’t anyone called you?”

“No,” she said, dumbfounded from the sudden news.

“It figures. They think everybody can read their minds. Stardom does it.” Marty scratched vigorously at her scalp. “I need a shower.”

“I can see that. Now tell me what’s going on!”

Marty tapped ashes into the ashtray. “We figured you would take care of all that.”

Helen threw her arms into the air. “All of what? I didn’t even know—” The phone rang.

“I’ll be right back.”

“I don’t believe this,” Helen said with disgust to the empty kitchen.

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