Stripped Down by Tristan Taormino Page B

surprised Katie’d come because she’d always been more Tori’s friend than mine—she and Jacqueline had just been people I’d see at parties or events. But Katie had nothing to worry about. I was very glad to see her; finally I’d have someone to talk to about the breakup, someone who wouldn’t get sick of hearing about it. I invited her in and we settled into the living room, her on the sofa and me in the armchair. “I don’t get it,” she began. “Things were fine between Jacqueline and me, but it’s like women can’t resist Tori.”
    â€œTell me about it,” I said. “It doesn’t matter what a woman thinks her type is; she’ll fall for Tori anyway.”
    â€œYeah, Jacqueline likes butch blonds like her, but she usually goes for someone not built quite so much like a brick shit house. You know, someone kind of wiry like me.”
    The two of us went quiet for a minute—a real “tear in the beer” bout of silence. “Katie,” I finally said, “I’m being a crap hostess. Do you want a drink?”
    â€œWhat’ve you got?” she answered, following me to the kitchen.
    I looked in the fridge. Tori’s pop had all gone flat, but two of her beers were left. Cracking them both open, I handed one to Katie and noticed she was looking down. Following her gaze, I realized my robe was sliding open, revealing the curve of my breast. I quickly adjusted it and Katie laughed. Then still smiling she pulled me to her, kissing me. Her lips and tongue were hesitant but precise, and I had felt so lonely
with Tori gone that now for a moment I melted into Katie. It didn’t feel right, though. I knew I was being pathetic—making out with Tori’s leftovers.
    â€œI can’t do this,” I said, crying. “I’m not ready.”
    Â 
    Breakups spur change. You know, people do stuff like cut their hair or move across the country. Me? I wanted to change jobs. After three years at university, I’d dropped out and gotten work at an art gallery. Still there seven years later, it was wearing thin for me, dealing with the same shit daily. Yuppies buying Inuit art. Yuppies buying abstract art. Yuppies buying something a little daring.
    About a week after Katie’s visit, I was once again scanning the classifieds for a new position. As usual there wasn’t much unless you aspired to be a babysitter, but finally in the right-hand corner I spotted it—a want ad for an assistant manager at Between the Lines bookstore. The very same shop where Jacqueline worked.
    For a moment I just sat there grinning with my coffee growing cold. Then I jumped up to find Katie’s number. I had a lot of things to do. I had the perfect revenge to execute.
    Â 
    The following evening I showed my hairdresser a picture of a seventeen-year-old skater boy and said I wanted his hair. My hairdresser, who had known me and my femme ways for years, clutched at my long locks—drama queen shock written on his face. “I’m serious,” I said, and I was. I’d spent hours milking Katie for information on Jacqueline’s turn-ons, and now I intended to live up to all of them—including the short hair.
    Since I hadn’t wanted Katie to know what I was up to, it
had been complicated getting information out of her. I’d had to pretend I wanted to know intimate details because I was nursing an obsessive jealousy for Jacqueline and, as a kind of give and take, I’d had to dole out similar information about Tori. Ultimately, the trouble I’d taken had been worth it. I now knew, for example, that Tori was not the ideal lover for Jacqueline, as Jacqueline liked both getting fucked and fucking. I knew there was no way Tori let Jacqueline strap it on or slip a finger in, but I was more than ready to play those games. To do anything, really.
    Just about finished, the hairdresser’s razor hummed against my neck