“What happened?” Kath asked. “I know something happened.”
The streetlight was behind Kath, so Lily couldn’t see her face clearly, but she could hear the concern in her voice and, beneath that, the hurt that Lily wouldn’t tell her what it was. Lily wasn’t sure she understood it herself, this combination of burning embarrassment and outright fear. Those strange women at the party seemed to see her much more clearly than she saw herself, and it was disorienting—as if her body were not her own, but capable of acting without the conscious direction of her mind, which was screaming at her to let go of Kath’s hand, to go home as fast as she could, to crawl into her bed and pull the covers over her head and forget about this entire night, forget about Tommy Andrews and the Telegraph Club and all those women who looked at her and saw that she and Kath were . . . what?
“Did Tommy do something?” Kath asked, her voice hardening.
“She thinks I’m a child,” Lily said, the words bursting from her mouth before she could stop them. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”
“No,” Kath said, stepping closer to her, still holding Lily’s hand. “You’re not stupid. Do you . . . do you have feelings for her?” Kath whispered.
“For Tommy?” Lily wanted to laugh, but she had started to cry and her laughter came out of her in a choked sob. “No, I have feelings for you.” Her words came out too loud—they seemed to reverberate in the empty street, and she forced her voice into a whisper as she said, “Everybody can tell. Even Tommy! I’m so stupid. So stupid.”
Kath exhaled in a startled burst.
“I have to go home,” Lily insisted, trying to pull away, but Kath wouldn’t let her go.
“Wait,” Kath said. “Please.” She glanced around nervously. The steep street was deserted, but the lights and noises of the city seemed to rise up in warning: a car engine rumbled and streetlights flickered and down the block, a lamp burned in a bay window.
Kath pulled Lily toward the edge of the sidewalk and into the shadow of a building. There was a narrow opening there, an alleyway, and Kath tugged her inside, past the reach of light from the main street. The buildings on either side shot up several stories toward the night sky, their windows all black. All sound seemed to be swallowed up here, leaving the two of them in a velvety, dark quiet.
“I wasn’t sure you felt that way,” Kath said, and came closer to Lily. “I mean, I hoped.”
Lily’s heart raced at that word and what it implied. “Really?” Her embarrassment at her own obliviousness was abruptly replaced by astonishment. It made her reel—the speed of this, the way her feelings rushed in, pushing one emotion out and shoving in another. “I thought—I thought you were just being nice to me, I mean, you can’t possibly—I’m so stupid! Don’t you want someone like—like Rhonda?”
“Rhonda?” Kath sounded dumbfounded. “No, why would you think that?”
“I don’t know. Because at least she knows things. I don’t—I don’t understand the way this works.”
Kath let out another breath, a hint of laughter. “I don’t either. I just know—”
She didn’t finish her sentence, but she took another step toward Lily, closing the space between them. Lily could feel the warmth of Kath’s body radiating off her, could smell the traces of cigarette smoke and beer on her breath, along with a new fragrance she didn’t recognize, something clean and bright. It made Lily’s skin tingle.
“Lily,” Kath said softly.
“Don’t say anything,” Lily whispered. She felt as if speaking would ruin everything—then they’d have to put a name to this feeling between them, this rapidly growing heat and longing that made the sliver of air between their bodies charged with electricity. She could swear she felt the air humming.
She had never noticed before that she and Kath were the same height. If she leaned forward just a little bit, her nose would graze Kath’s, and then they were touching noses gently, practically nuzzling each other, and it was funny and startling, and Lily giggled nervously while Kath let go of her hand and, deliberately, touched Lily’s waist. The feel of Kath’s hands sliding around her body silenced her laughter. She stopped breathing, and Kath’s mouth touched hers, feeling its way in the dark. Her lips were cool and dry at first, but quickly, so quickly, they bloomed into warmth and softness. Her body was close against hers, the shape of her like a shock, her breasts and her hips and her hip bones against her, her hands pulling her closer, closer.
Lily had not known, had never imagined, how a first kiss could turn so swiftly into a second, and a third, and then a continual opening and pressing and touching, the tip of her tongue against Kath’s, the warmth of her mouth and the way that warmth reached all the way through her body and raised an indescribable ache between her legs. She had to push herself closer to Kath; that was the only thought in her mind. She put her hands on Kath and slid them beneath her jacket and clutched her back, and there was an awkward fumbling as they moved in the dark alleyway together, seeking something to press against, until the wall of the building was at Lily’s back and she could pull Kath into her.
She didn’t know how long they kissed—not long enough—but at one point Kath drew back to take a breath, and Lily opened her eyes and saw to her right the dim glow of the street beyond their dark alley. She realized with a start what she was doing and where she was doing it and whom she was doing it with, and she knew she should feel ashamed, but all she felt was the heaving of Kath’s chest against hers, and the tenderness of her lips where Kath had kissed her.
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