Darla, Darling, Dearest

Now, every small town in America, or at least every small town in America Darla had been through, has a place like Corker’s Saloon. A bar that also doubles as a burger joint, has an unreadable menu (specifically to dissuade non-townies from eating there) and an ambiance of collected detritus through the generations. There’s generally a busted pinball table, or a jukebox, or some other quarter-muncher shoved into a corner and being bogarted by a guy in camo. On the walls are various promotional neon signs for name brand beer. The atmosphere feels smokey even when there’s a no smoking policy.

Every man whose down on his luck in the town has been super-glued to a seat since happy hour which, of course is 4-5, to make sure only the unemployed get to take advantage. Perhaps if the town is really down on its luck there might be a guy nodding off on some opioid in a back booth, but thankfully, Twin Crossings was too respectable for that. People still had the decency of doping from the comfort of their own homes (or in the shooter motel two towns over).

Opening the door, as always, resulted in everyone glancing up to check who had come in, to nod at if you were friends, to sneer at if you had beef, and to ogle vacantly if you were from outta town. Darla saw the looks of incomprehension, the baffled tension of seeing a strange girl walk in like she’s from here, with an equally confident friend in tow.

Darla was not an idiot. She had made sure that the both of them changed into work clothes before they left, and parked away from the lot to not ruffle feathers about taking regular's spots. The worst thing at this point would be to be clocked as an urban elite. Unfortunately the stares meant they were firmly in the “rural people from out of town who just walked in like they owned the place” rather than the much more desirable “local loser who’s recovered from ‘Setts introduces a woman who saved her life to her barfly friends”.

The mug Mike was giving her was especially rancid. Fabein and Raymond had similarly dark looks. They sat there with their friends, clustered at the bar, wearing old military jackets, and in Mike’s case, his old BDU uniform, ready for a fight.

Darla played the dumb bimbo card. All doe eyed ‘did I do that?’s and half open lips with white tips of teeth on a bow shaped, deep red canvas. The “Oh dear, sorry for the ruckus!” was spoken in soft high breathy tones that still carried thanks to a pinch of vocal fry, the tone a lover would take for you if she woke you up making breakfast. The shift in poise and sex laden apology led the overall room toward a more lecherous angle. The sour grapes at the bar did not ripen, but the red-nosed-old-boys were too busy checking out the girls’ Tn’A to follow suit.

Darla realized that from now on, a bar like this would be a wolf den. One way or another. Suddenly getting beers and burgers with Lavender here seemed like a really bad idea. Then Lavender grabbed her arm and while guiding her to an out of the way booth whispered in her ear. “Holy fuck Darla that was so cool!” She had her slightly manic grin out in full force. “All you did was smack your lips and wiggle your hips and bam!” she mimed an explosion. “Whole room silenced. Like your fuckin’ Helen of Troy or somthin’!”

Darla sat and waved down Silvia Corker, the silver haired manager (and wife of the current owner) who was on server duty that night. She wasted no time ordering her old standby: a Blue Moon and a cheeseburger with extra pickles and red onions. Silvia, of course, did a double take as apparently that order was too weird and rehearsed for her not to notice. Darla and Lavender laughed, but Darla’s smile took on a pained aspect. “Yeah, I got ‘Setts...” She looked down deflating completely and mumbled “New name’s Darla.” Silvia’s eyes stayed owlish, but she nodded once. “I figured everyone would know by now?” Darla asked in confusion.

Silvia could stay calm under pressure at least. “No? This is the first I heard that.”

“Huh?” Darla was sure Darrow would tell anyone who would listen she was a ‘fucking faggot gimme’, was he respecting her privacy because of her father?

“Last I heard you got kidnapped by those dirty hippies who took the McDaniel’s farm.” Lavender had to clap a hand over her mouth to keep from busting out in laughter.

“Nah. Joan’s with them, so I slept over so she could help me with this.” Darla gestured at her body. “Me and Pop’s had a... misunderstanding, and blew everything out of proportion.” She looked down again. “It’s my fault, really.”

Silvia’s face softened.“Ah well, now’s not the time to pry into Kenton family gossip.” The best deal Darla could hope for, she guessed. “I’m just glad you're alive and not tied to a chair by maniacs.” Silvia gave a genuine smile to Darla, then turned to Lavender quickly flicking her smile from ‘I’m glad you’re ok since I’ve known you all your life.’ to ‘hello person I do not know, would you like to trade currency for my products?’

Lavender ordered a chicken burger with extra pickles and another Blue Moon, so the Corker matriarch hurried off to tell her eldest son what to cook. “So...” Lavender purred, leaning in conspiratorially. “How big was your lady boner when I DESTROYED that fuckers rearveiw?”

Darla could only splutter in response. It took a few beats for Darla to remember how to speak English. “You can’t just flirt like that!” She hissed. “We’re not in particularly friendly territory here.” She looked around the room to see if anyone was obviously listening in on them. She caught Mike snapping his head away from them.

Lavender chuckled. In a much lower voice she said “I bet half the geezers wouldn’t mind paying to watch us make out.”

“That’s not the first time you mentioned, uh...” Darla trailed off, embarrassed. This was so, fucking, out of her depth meal time conversation! You traded barbs about each other's lifestyle, or loudly discussed sports and which girl you wanted to fuck (but secretly just wanted to be). She didn’t want to ask why Lavender kept talking about selling sex like a hooker at the shooter motel, but holy shit it was making Darla uncomfortable.

“Kissin’?” Lavender asked smugly.

Darla blushed, blurting out “No! that’s normal!” Oh god, her stomach dropped, this was going to turn into a guessing game. Flashbacks to Evelyn trying to pry her open by force when she had hid her dense egg behind a wall of… what was the word they threw around on tumblr, toxic masculinity, maybe?

Lavender looked a little taken aback. “Man, normal doesn’t exist, and even if it did you left it long time ago, babe.” She rolled her eyes biting her tongue clearly still trying to parse Darla’s poorly phrased question. “Uh… exhibitionism?”

“No!” This conversation was clearly slipping from Darla’s control, but she was too flustered to find her footing thanks to the barrage of traumatic flashbacks. The endless prying into her strong silent type exterior, knowing that if she relented and showed Evelyn the truth only pain would follow. Finally, as Lavender licked her lips readying another salvo, she choked out a stronger denial “Nope! No comprende mi amore.”

Lavender laughed, then caught herself. Leaning back she smacked her forehead. “Oh! Duh! Sex work!”

Darla let off a big sigh. She picked at her napkin, glad to be free of the game. “Is that what we call it now?”

A weird mix of emotions played across Lavender’s face, pain, fear, excitement. She bit her knuckle for a second, looked away. She let out a breath and then leaned in whispering “I used to do it.”

“Oh.” was all Darla could manage as her brain was liquefied in order to better extrude through her ears.

“When I...” Lavender faltered, confidence draining from her face. She began to look around as if searching for a way out.

Darla knew she had to intervene, who even was Lavender without her unearned confidence? She touched Lavender’s arm, and said in a low, calming voice “Hey, it’s okay...” She had to stop herself from bushing the poor girl’s cheek. “I’m not going to hate you, and you don’t have to tell me, okay?” Maybe at another time she would have condemned from on high, but Lavender had just looked so… vulnerable in that moment. It was impossible for her not to reserve judgment. And… since she was questioning everything now anyway, there was no reason not to? Whatever.

Lavender furrowed her brow. “No. You need t’know this.” She put her hand on top of Darla’s ruthlessly edging public affection.

“Ok, let’s hear it then.” Darla daintily slipped her hand out from between, lavender’s comfort sandwich. She glanced over at Mike, who she caught glaring at the two of them. That… probably wasn’t good, but really what could he do? It was a done deal, it stung he didn’t accept her, but fuck him, she had her best friend back. Who needs guy friends anyway?

Lavender followed her gaze, but Mike had looked away again. She raised her eyebrows and smirked. “Well when I shot Davis, Texas A&M expelled me. They didn’t press charges, I hadn’t done anything illegal.” Her smile faded as she launched into full story teller mode.

“This was when I had just started transitioning. HRT isn’t over the counter in Texas, but basically you just need a doctors note. Once you start everyone assumes you had ‘Setts. You won’t be attacked like a gimme, you’ll just be shunned by the more conservative christens. Which I could deal with.

“When I shot a millionaire's kid in the shoulder, they did a background check and found I was trans. Technically they expelled me for violating the campus arms code, but it was really just because I was an icky tranny who shot Richie Rich. The board of trustees wouldn’t have it any other way.

“I took the rest of my student loan and bought an RV. Couldn’t bear to see Clair after I traumatized her like that. I was dealing with my own trauma, I couldn’t be there for her…” Lavender trailed off and sucked in her lips, clearly trying to hold back tears.

This night was really the first time Darla had ever seen Lavender this vulnerable, or really vulnerable at all. She reached out and rubbed Lavender’s arm, in a gesture she hoped was soothing.

Just then Silvia came back with the beers and burgers. Darla instinctually flinched away from Lavender, who immediately looked hurt. The old hostess said nothing, and Darla couldn’t tell if she had noticed the jerky motion or not. The thoughtful look on her wizened face while the girls thanked her for the food made Darla suspect she did.

Fucking.

Idiot.

Het Girls comfort each other all the damn time! You just made yourself look suspicious! She still smiled and said the proper pleasantness back, then turned on her heel and marched off.

When Darla refocused she noticed Lavender was staring into her. “That hurts, you know.” Lavender said the same low tone she had been telling her story in. “I prefer to be out and proud.” The venom she added to the words she emphasized was only enough to make Darla’s skin itch, but it was enough.

Chastened, Darla imagined dropping not one, but two bombshells on her community who already would be suspicious of her being a Gimme and trying to spread ‘Sett’s to the rest of town. She shivered, unable to keep up with the emotions the idea of announcing herself to the everyone evoked. There was fear mixed with arousal (??) and a deep yearning. She realized she wanted to be out- to do dumb couple stuff in public with Lavender, to have her pops be proud of her, for her community to know her and know who she was, hell she still kinda wanted to get married in the church.

“I...” Darla faltered, locked eyes with Lavender and rallied. “I want that too, I really do.” Lavender lit up and raised an eyebrow in what Darla had to assume meant ‘well then, lets make out now’. “...But can we wait until, people get used to Darla?” She finished.

Lavender deflated a bit, but kept her smile. “Well as long as you don’t mind me ‘slipping up’ a bit.” She raised her glass “To someday soon!”

Darla laughed and raised her own “I’ll drink to that!” They clinked and Darla took a heavy sip while Lavender chugged about a third of hers. Darla almost snorted the “craft” brew, realizing Lavender’s approach to food was the same as her approach to alcohol, as Lavender began to toss fries in her mouth like a steam ship heading down the Mississippi.

After Darla wiped her face clean, she looked back into Lavender’s eyes. She could already feel like she could spend her whole life with this girl. She wished that didn’t cast a creeping ominous pall on the back of her mind. She had thought another her soul mate, and been burned- What if this was no different?

Lavender stuck her tongue out, and Darla broke into giggles. She tapped the table between Darla’s beer and her burger-plate “T’sup space cadet?”

Darla panicked, the contents of that thought were not for Lavender consumption. When in doubt, redirect towards the subject of themselves. “They said you disappeared, what happened?”

Lavender grimaced between sucking up fries “Right, I was getting to that.” She took a hit off her beer and wet her lips. “I ended up in the Bay. Used to be the tranny capital of America before ‘Sett’s, you know? Lotta queers, lotta techie motherfuckers too. Topa the line ‘Sett’s recovery program that I was able to take advantage of. Problem is, my dear ol’ Baba refused to support me. Nothin’ in the Epistles of Wisdom about transitionin’, nor really about homosexuality. It was all that American nonsense in his head... Fucker.” She spat. “Well, okay you can’t live with salafi who think the punishment for “sodomy” should be death, and come out unscathed... but still! He fought them in the civil war!” Darla took a bite of her warm, slightly-too-dry burger like it was popcorn.

“Point is I had no fuckin’ money. I’m pretty and I got an asset setting me apart from a ‘normal’ woman. Now, there are plenty chick dicks in the Bay, but I’m nice and cream colored, just enough to get Orientalist Anglos goin’. What’s a girl to do? It’s before SESTA/FOSTA, I got a backpage. No idea why they want to role play Arabian nights, or get plowed by a terrorist, but fuckin’ A, all cash is green.”

Darla’s mouth opened and shut with a click. This was nothing like she had expected. The image of Lavender in Harem pants dicking down a silicon valley weirdo… She blushed for Lavender’s dignity. But honestly… The funnier the image she held in her mind about Lavender’s old job… The easier it was to laugh off. It was just a job right? That’s why she had called it ‘sex-work’.

“Anyhoo… Some fuckin’ Billionaire ends up as a client of mine. No Idea how, but I recognize him from the sorta leftist media sphere.” Lavender rambled.

Darla raised an eyebrow “You mean twitter?”

“Nope! Twitter’s a big ol’ circle jerk… I got… Sources...” Lavender stage whispered, flicking her eyes back and forth for dramatic effect.

“Sources.” Darla deadpanned.

“Yeah!? Sources, duh!” Lavender rebutted like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Darla snorted. “I’m not an academic, but I’m pretty sure you can’t just cite ‘dude, trust me’ when you make a claim like that.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Lavender smirked “Shut up or I won’t finish my dark and cool backstory.” She then leaned in to whisper in Darla’s ear “I wont have to make you once were in the truck.”

Darla lit up like a Californian fire. “F-fine... h-h-have it your way.” She stuck out her tongue in a desperate bid to regain some dignity.

From the slightly predatory look Lavender was giving her, it did not work. “The Billionaire.” She muttered trying to remind herself where she was in what seemed to be an oft practiced story. “God what a fucker.” She smiled as if she was remembering a cherished memory of a loved one. “I screwed him good, then I Screwed him good.” She chuckled drumming her hands on the table in excitement. “Told him our sex tape would get out if he didn’t gimme 25mil.”

Darla went bug-eyed and her heartbeat quickened. Stealing from a plutocrat like that? How was Lavender not dead?!

Lavender saw Darla’s concerned gaze. “Haha yeah… I had to leave fast after I got the cash, but the money makes this place possible.”

Darla spluttered “You’re a fugitive?”

Lavender laughed “pretty much, though not via the legal system. I gotta dead man switch with the tape, but plenty of private security companies have come for my data. Only way out is t’hide.” She gestured around her as if to imply that a small town like this was her chosen hiding spot.

Darla was confused. She remembered Joan saying coming here was a consensus decision. She wondered if having all the money to finance a project coming from a single person could ever be democratic. She looked at Lavender who was now going to town on her burger. At least things were never going to boring around her.

-

“C’mon.” Lavender said getting up leaving a 5 on the table in tip. The door jingled on their way out. Darla had always been bit of a cheap date but losing 50 pounds of mass had dropped her alcohol tolerance even further. Two beers over several hours was apparently enough to make her solidly drunk. Not exactly a fun revelation if you were used to about twice that. The flush of heat on her face sloughed off into the early autumnal chill as she was led by hand toward the truck.

The feeling of warmth as she leaned into Lavender for support and comfort made her mind fizz and froth like soda from a fountain. Lavender for her part held her up with almost maternal grace. They stared into each other's eyes as they loped haphazardly toward the truck. Darla was caught up in the wonderful sensuality of it all. She only vaguely heard the ding of another group of locals leaving the bar, or the lights of the Kenton General across the street.

“So…” Lavender started with that wonderful self-satisfied smirk of hers. “How was your first day out as a girl?”

Darla stopped for a minute to contemplate this. She hadn't thought of it that way. “That’s kinda what this is, huh?” She mumbled. Shoot. Shit. Whatever. “Okay? I wish it didn’t have an armed confrontation with my Dad’s church friend.”

Lavender howled with laughter. “It was bound t’go down sooner or later! Thesis and Antithesis must come to blows for meaningful Synthesis to happen!”

“What?” There it was- the fancy capital ‘V’ Vocabulary that slipped through her Texan mask. Darla would bet anything, Lavender didn’t use her country accent when picking up tricks in ‘Frisco. It was staged authenticity all they way down.

Lavender frowned, as if picking up how the phrasing had blown a hole in her facade. She seemed to lay it on thick as if to make up for her perceived slip up in playacting the Texan Desperado. “S’like when y’got two opposin’ idears or practical needs they either fight’t out until they reach a compromise, that’s synthesis, or they for whichever reason can’t fight s’they start t’define ‘emselves aginst one-another, an’ that’s Schimogenisis.”

That knocked Darla straight on her ass. Well, not literally, they were almost at the truck after all, but if Darla heard right, through the booze haze and Lavender’s ever thickening accent… “You… You wanna fight the fundies now, so you can come to compromise before things get entrenched?!” They had reached their destination and now stood facing eachother.

“Yuuuuup!” Lavender exclaimed in her manic self-satisfied way, fumbling for her keys. “Genius right?”

Darla shifted so that she was between the truck door and Lavender, who seemed surprised that she was taking the initiative for once. Darla on the other hand was surprised she could pull it off at all, given how drunk she was. “You’re fucking crazy. You pulled that win out of your ass, you think Darrow’s not suing you for property damage on his truck?” Lavender opened her mouth to respond, but she wasn’t done. “Fuckin’ A! Did you hear them in there? Did you see the stares?! They think y’all are a goddamn Cult!” Darla took a breath only to find it looked like Lavender was actually listening to her. “You’re not gonna get fucking ‘synthesis’ or whatever with swinging your dick around like you fucking own the place. I told you, we need mediation!” She had been shouting so she stopped to take a few gulps of air and steady herself.

Lavender grabbed her chin leading Darla’s face into hers, as their lips enveloped each other. She stopped talking and let it happen, lost in the softness of feminine kisses.

When they finaly pulled apart Darla whispered “Please. Please make sure you don’t throw your life away making some stupid political point.”

Lavender just laughed, and clicked the button unlocking her truck. Then after a good long while of Darla looking up at her, and blocking the door, she finally gave in with a sigh “Okay, I wont. I promise.” She looked Darla in the eyes. “I mean it.” Smiling she finished “Now let’s get home, I’ve been waiting to fuck you for far too long.”

“I’m afraid you Dykes are gonna have to wait on that.” Darla’s heart dropped as a voice cut into their conversation. Mike’s voice.

Mike stood across the street with his crew- Darla’s friends and drinking buddies, the losers of Twin Crossinngs. They’d been giving Darla and Lavender the stink eye all goddamn night. Fr-fuck. Of course they were gonna follow them outside to start shit. Was there anyone here who would have her back?

Lavender was whirling around and on them in an instant. “Hey buddy, me an’ my girl are just havein’ a nice time, so why don’t y’all back off!” She began reaching for her gun as she crossed the street to where they stood.

Faibein, voice of reason came in with his soft but firm voice, the voice Darla had seen deployed countless times getting local drunks to calm down. “Hey, cool it. We don’t want trouble.” Lavender slowed, then stopped, took her hand off her gun. She stood faceing them in the middle of town street, dead except for the lights in Corker’s. “We just want to know where Danny is. He’s our friend and people are saying you guys kidnapped him.”

Darla put her face in her hands. Had Darrow told everyone nothing!? Wait no, that made sense… The longer the town thought she was a kidnapping victim the more likely they were to stand by or support Darrow’s ‘war’. Hell, if he told Pops the truth the old codger would turn on Darrow in an instant. “Shit.” She muttered.

What could she do to show them it was her? She patted her pockets, finding her phone. She would call mike, scrolling to the number she pressed the green button. Only to hear Lavender absolutely whiff it with a “What on earth makes you think we kidnapped your friend?” Darla panicked trying desperately to end the call, so that it wouldn’t make Lavender look like the biggest goddamn liar, but her hand slipped, minimizing it just as the connection went through. Acting on instinct she rushed forward with her phone held aloft, if she wanted this to work she had to really sell that it was her, and not some asshole who stole her phone to taunt them. As she passed Lavender, Mikes phone began to buzz.

At first Mike looked confused. He slowly reached into his BDU pocket extracting a shitty old android. The first thing on his face was pure uncut relief, but as his eye flicked upward, he saw what was on Darla’s phone as she surged forward. From there, it drooped to one of absolute horror as he came to the exact wrong conclusion.

“Oh.” Raymond spoke for the first time seemingly just confused, and Fabian shifted uncomfortably. As Darla reached the group Raymond backed up, Fabian stepped forward as if trying to stop a fight, and Mike…

There is a specific feeling when you get hit in the mouth. A texture of pain the seems a unique sensory bouquet (and the reason some S&M classes offer proper slapping technique). Darla felt being punched in the jaw long before she was aware she was being punched. By the time she had landed on the curb, letting the worn cement scrape off some of her skin, she was thoroughly disoriented.

There was shouting. The sound of a gun being primed, but she really wasn’t able to process any of it. She just froze, playing dead, shoulder leaking into the street. She heard someone run off, and then Mike and Raymond hauled her up, stuffed a knotted bandanna in her mouth, and began dragging her towards Mikes truck. Throughout the operation Mike had his Desert Eagle trained on her. Darla couldn’t move her head very well but she could hear Lavender crying behind her.

Why is it always the friends who think they’re the best wingmen ever, end up being the ones who cockblock you?