by S Berry

Ownership Disclaimer: I really don’t know why I bother; most you know the drill by now and don’t even bother reading these things. I only skim them myself, but on the off chance someone is bothering… Nope, you won’t recognize anyone, probably; all characters are straight from my twisted subconscious. Well, there’s one or two you might wonder about, but it’s not them, honest. I tried really, really hard to keep anyone from having any similarity to anyone living or dead, but as this came from a dream about real people it’s possible some similarities slipped in despite my best intentions. Sneaky little bastards, those similarities. I don’t suppose I really have to say don’t borrow them without my express written permission -- I’ve never had anyone borrow or steal anything before, so I don’t see why this would be any different, but it doesn’t hurt to mention you shouldn’t do it, I guess -- and that this is copyrighted to me, etc, but it’s all true, so pretend I did. The title song is also copyrighted to me, if you’re curious. Please don’t borrow that without asking, either. It’s the only decent song I’ve ever written; I want to keep it to myself as proof I occasionally *don’t* commit crimes against music.

Love/Sex/Language/all that fun stuff: Now, come on, of course there’s lots of love of the fun Sapphic kind and eventually there’s going to be explicit sex of the same sort, but you have to be pretty patient for that. Maybe Book Two… I’ll work on it. (Keep reading; I’ll explain in a minute, I promise.) Someone’s being shy and stubborn. There’s talk about sapphic and other diverse sorts of sexual expression, but nothing remotely explicit. Some secondary characters are just strange. They all tend to use rather coarse forms of expression at times, but really, no worse than anything else I’ve ever written. Which means they only use words the other kids taught you in kindergarten. (Or, if you grew up the way I did, you were the one teaching the other kids . Not that I did, but I would have had it occurred to me that there were actually people who didn’t know them.)

Series explanation/notes: Okay, as you’ve probably gathered by the ‘Book One’ in the title and my previous mention of further books, that this is not just a one shot deal. It’s the first book of what might be two books or it might be twenty; I have no idea. I’m not the kind of writer who can make outlines and oodles of notes and know right down to the last period exactly what is going to happen and how long it’s going to take. I’m the kind of writer who just sits down at the computer (or with a receipt and a ball point in the middle of the sidewalk… I’m not picky) and writes whatever enters my head until it feels done or I get bored, whichever comes first. I can’t make promises about when the next one might be done either; my muse is rather fickle. I wrote this over the course of about nine or ten months including a four month gap where I laid it aside completely. I’ve never written this much before, so who knows? It might only take me a couple months to write book two.

Violence: There’s a little here and there, but I suck at writing action, so not much and nothing as bad as you see in cartoons.

Suspend disbelief on everything: I’m not a musician, doctor, dentist, cop, or pretty much any other profession I’ve written about and I haven’t even played one on TV, so I’ve probably gotten lots of details wrong. Haven’t been to most of the locations I’ve written about, except St. Louis, which I’ve driven through twice and Kansas where I’ve lived in various towns the vast majority of my life. Creative license abounds, even somewhat about my beloved Kansas. If you want to tell me what I got wrong and what the right of whatever is, please do. I might not change it, but at least I’ll know better for next time. I like to get things right; I just don’t like doing searches. (I have the worst luck -- I have a positive genius for choosing the most innocent-looking entries and having them end up being truly depraved porn. Some things I really didn’t need to see. So I avoid search engines like the plague.) Oh yeah! I completely forgot -- I made up all books, authors, websites, etc too. Hopefully I didn’t accidentally mention someone or something real.

Feedback: Please, I’m pathetic and bored. I can be reached at sberrythebard@yahoo.com. My list is still groups.yahoo.com/group/SBerrysStories/ and I’d still be delighted if you joined the madness.

Note: Book Two is finished, just awaiting editing. It’s sitting all lonely in the files section of my list, but you didn’t hear that from me.

Copyright © 2006 by S Berry. All Rights Reserved.

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Prologue

I don’t like those “oh I met a rock star/celebrity and they fell in love with me” stories as a general rule. Occasionally one is written well enough for me to suspend belief enough to enjoy. I never wrote a fan letter or read a teen magazine to fawn over anyone. Sure, there are a few famous people I admire, but I kept it to myself and didn’t really think about it. Even if I ever *did* meet one of those people, they wouldn’t particularly care any more about me than they did about any other random stranger.

Well, okay, so I was wrong. One did. Does. I’ve been asked a million times for the whole story of how we met, fell in love, blah, blah, blah, so here it is. Quit bugging me about it already.

Chapter One: The Beginning

Underneath the Surface (mostly called just plain Underneath among fans) was my favorite band. They were lesbians and their music was fantastic; a masterful blend of social relevance and political commentary and just plain kick ass rock -- what was not to love? My best friend, Eric, loved them too and was always updating me on what they were doing -- or reputed to be doing. I was randomly surfing the net, not really looking for anything in particular. I clicked a link to some band trivia site for the hell of it -- you never knew when an odd bit of trivia might get a girl to actually talk to you. When the kindest way to describe your features is ‘unusual’ and you’re considerably over six feet and have more musculature than two thirds of the NFL, you need all the help you can get. Well, when you’re a woman anyway. They had a contest about Underneath, so I answered the questions for something to do. I’d already completed my day’s work and was waiting for a catastrophe to come up to give me something to do. I didn’t think about winning; I didn’t even look to see what the prizes were. I forgot all about it, really.

A couple days later, I was having the bad day from hell. I’d been at work until considerably past day break and I didn’t get to sleep ’til much later than that. Mom was on the warpath about the deplorable lack of chore completion amongst my younger siblings and she was yelling loud enough to be heard on Mars. I’d just barely fallen asleep when the phone starting ringing. After that, every twenty minutes, someone was trying to sell me something or asking for money I didn’t have for a charity I didn’t give two figs about or wanting me to switch long distance plans or they wanted me to buy a satellite dish, etc, etc. You know how it goes. After the first dozen, I was about ready to kill the next person who called, even if it was Eric (my best friend since forever) or work needing something (the only reasons I didn’t turn the ringer off). Now, I have several family members who do or have done that sort of work, so I try to be very polite to any sort of phone worker, be it sales or customer service. But there’s a limit to courteousness when you’ve been working your ass off for twenty straight hours and when you finally manage to sleep everybody and their second cousin’s pet turtle call you every twenty minutes. I think I can be forgiven for answering the baker’s dozenth call with “Goddamn it! What the fuck do *you* want?!”

“Is this a bad time to tell you that you won the Underneath the Surface Trivia Contest?” an almost familiar woman’s voice asked, kinda laughing.

“What contest?” I asked stupidly, trying to figure out why I should know who the hell the woman was.

“Maybe I have the wrong number. I’m looking for Clara Andrews.”

Oh, yeah, that’d be the other reason women weren’t pounding down my door to date me -- they were too busy laughing at my name. Who the hell named their poor defenseless kid *Clara*?! Especially in the ’70s?

“No, that’s me; I just don’t remember any con-- Oh! Yeah. Sorry, I just did it to kill time and forgot all about it. I didn’t even look at the prizes. What did I win?” I was expecting an all expenses paid vacation for two somewhere that would actually end up costing me twenty thousand dollars and a lifetime supply of free junk mail, but I was still half asleep and wondering who the hell it was.

She laughed sheepishly. “You know, I just realized I have no idea either. I didn’t even know there *was* a contest until five minutes ago when my manager handed me a slip of paper with your name and number on it and told me to call and give an interview ’cause you won some contest. He ran off before I could ask any questions like ‘what contest?’ I guess Lisa was supposed to do it, but she weaseled out of it. God, I hope you get something besides talking to me.”

I laughed. What she said wasn’t really that funny, but how she said it was hilarious. Or maybe it was just the sleep deprivation. I still had no idea how I knew her, but I was willing to stay on the phone long enough to find out. “Well, I hope it’s a year’s supply of cat food or toilet paper or something useful like that.”

“Maybe an autographed vacuum cleaner? Didn’t somebody on some talk show do that once?”

“Monogrammed hers and hers towels and linen set?”

“I guess someone will tell one of us eventually.”

“Probably. Not really a big deal except for curiosity reasons. I’m pretty sure this is a big ‘duh’ question, but um, who are you?”

“Oh, hell, that might help, huh? Sorry, I can’t believe I forgot to introduce myself. I’m Gail Sawyer.”

“I knew I should recognize the voice. I’m just having One of Those Days.”

“That makes two of us,” she laughed. “Maybe we should start over? Hello, may I speak to Clara Andrews, please?”

“This is she.”

“Hello, Ms. Andrews, this is Gail Sawyer, half of Underneath the Surface. Congratulations, you’ve won the Underneath the Surface Trivia Contest that I hope no one spent hours naming because that’d be horribly sad. I have no clue what you won, but you won *something* by god.”

I couldn’t help it; I cracked up. “It’s probably a pack of gum.”

“Nah, twenty bucks in pennies,” she giggled back.

“Slightly used flashlight batteries.” Remember, practically no sleep after being up for about 30 hours.

“Used Kleenex.” However, I have no idea what the hell her excuse was.

It deteriorated after that to stranger and stranger objects. I have no idea why, exhaustion made it sound like a good idea at the time. I don’t know how long we kept it up before her manager came back and she had to go.

“This has been the best interview I’ve never done; thanks, Clara. I’ll send you that Kleenex or something.”

We were still giggling when she hung up.

I didn’t bother telling anyone -- I wasn’t sure it wasn’t just a prank call. It wouldn’t have been the first one. The story sounded highly unlikely. But it had been fun. I just wrote it down as the oddest thing that’s ever happened to me. I didn’t think anything would come of it.

Then there was a knock on my door one day just after I got home from work. It was UPS with a medium sized box. It was from Rainbow Records. I had no idea why they’d be sending me anything; I hadn’t ordered anything and what kind of junk mail came in a box via UPS? I was still trying to decide if I should open it or call the police -- it didn’t seem likely anyone would send me a letter bomb or anthrax, but it was better to be safe than dead, right? Some of the religi-nazis could have decided to stop sneering and start ‘cleansing’. There was another knock while I was still standing there, debating. It was Eric. “Ooh, whatcha get?” he asked when he saw the box.

“I don’t know; I haven’t opened it yet.”

“Why not?”

“What if it’s a letter bomb or has anthrax or something?”

“Hey, I’m the imaginative worrier here. You’re the voice of reason. Letter bombs have string and anthrax comes in white envelopes. Open the box or I will.”

I laughed and pulled out my box cutter. The box was filled with Underneath CDs and cassette tapes… and a package of watermelon bubble gum. “Holy Hell! She wasn’t kidding!”

“There’s a she and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Okay, I guess I should tell you the whole story. Awhile back, I was surfing and filled out an Underneath trivia contest for the hell of it. I completely forgot about it; I found something more interesting and didn’t even remember to tell you about it. Sorry, buddy.”

“You should be! I could’ve won!”

“Um, well, maybe not… ’Cause I did. Gail Sawyer called me to tell me I’d won. Lisa Austin was supposed to do it, but couldn’t for some reason, so she got it shoved on her at the last moment. She had no more idea what was going on than I did, so we just joked around for awhile.”

“Gail Sawyer called you and you joked around with her and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Well, I didn’t think anyone, even you, would believe me. C’mon, it doesn’t sound a bit believable until you see the evidence,” I said, waving the gum.

“I’d have believed you,” he said, actually looking hurt.

“I’m sorry. Next time someone famous calls me, I’ll call you the moment we hang up, okay?” I felt like a jerk. I should’ve told him.

“Okay. Now, dish. What did you talk about? Is her speaking voice as sexy as her singing voice? Does she have a cool laugh or a dorky one?” He was so excited he was actually bouncing in his chair.

“Nothing really interesting, though I did swear at her. She woke me up. She thought it was funny. She’s got an odd sense of humor like we do. We competed to see who could come up with the most unlikely winning prize since neither of us knew what the actual one was. One of them was a pack of gum. Oh god yes. Her laugh isn’t dorky and her giggle isn’t either.”

“She giggled?”

“Yep.”

“Wow.”

I started pulling out my lucre.

“Ohmigod! There has to be every CD they ever made here,” Eric exclaimed as close to reverently as I’ve ever heard him.

“Jesus! Look, they’re autographed too. ‘Sorry it’s not a vacuum, Gail Sawyer and Lisa Austin.’”

“Oh my God! These are jam sessions… all labeled in her handwriting. You must’ve made one hell of an impression. Can I hang out for awhile and listen to them with you?”

“Of course… I’ll share them with you since I only won because of you.”

“You are the best best friend.”

“No, you are -- you’d have thought to tell me about it so I could win.”

“True, but Gail Sawyer wouldn’t have flirted with me.”

“She wasn’t flirting.” I blushed. Was she? “Oh, there’s an envelope,” I tried to distract him. “I wonder what it is?”

“Maybe it’s tickets to their next concert!”

I opened it. It was a piece of paper ripped from a spiral notebook and filled with Gail’s neat handwriting.

“Oh, what’s it say? Can I read it?” Eric was practically vibrating.

“Sure, you can read it aloud to me, okay?” I gave in, handing him the letter.

“Ooh, you’re the best!

“‘Dear Clara,’ -- She calls you Clara! Can I call you Clara?”

“Not if you want to live. I was too sleepy to think to correct her. Now keep reading.” I’ve long since become resigned to being called Tree from friends, family, and random acquaintances. I had no desire to add random famous musicians to that list. Plus, she made ‘Clara’ sound sexy as hell.

“Okay, okay. ‘Oddly, talking to Lisa was supposed to be your prize. That seemed pretty cheap to me, and while I’m big on cutting corners where I can, a contest prize didn’t seem the right place, so I talked Lisa into signing some CD’s. Since I had no idea which ones, if any, you already had, I figured I couldn’t go wrong with a complete set. I was assured any fan would cream their jeans over this stuff, but this was by people who thought a phone call was cool, so I hope they were actually right this time.’ She said ‘cream their jeans’! Ew! ‘I thought a vacuum would be better, but I couldn’t figure out how to wrap it. I know you were really hoping for that gum, though, so here it is. Sorry there’s no used Kleenex; neither of us have a cold for once.’ Ew! But she’s totally flirting with you! Gail Sawyer is flirting with my best friend! Can I tell the girls?”

I blushed. “You really think she’s flirting?”

“Totally!”

“I think she’s just friendly. I don’t want to make a big deal about this.”

“Okay, I’ll keep mum. Can I at least tell Dave? This is dump-worthy if I don’t tell him.”

“Okay, Dave, but if he tells anyone, I’ll go Lorena Bobbit on you.”

“Uh, maybe I should finish reading the letter,” he said quickly, crossing his legs.

“Good idea.”

“‘I know this sounds kinda weird and you probably won’t want to, but would it be all right if I maybe called or emailed you occasionally?’ And you said she wasn’t flirting! Honey, you need some remedial flirting lessons. A woman does not ask to call you again if she’s not interested. Especially not that shyly.”

“You think?” I asked, surprised. “It just sounds like a lonely woman wanting to make a new friend.” I know, call me Cleopatra.

“Definitely interest. Listen to this. ‘I had fun talking to you. Um, yeah, stupid, huh?’ She’s totally into you, Tree.”

“I still maintain she just wants a new friend. Does she give a number or an email address or something?”

“Yeah… ‘Well, you can email me at sawyer@rainbowrecords.com and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. They work me pretty hard so it may take me a few days. Well, Lisa is yelling at me to hurry up, so I have to go. Yours, Gail Sawyer.’ ‘Yours’… yeah, that’s how I sign myself to people I want to be my friends. Are you sure I can’t tell anyone that my best friend was given Gail Sawyer’s email address and asked to be her pen pal?”

“Or someone pretending to be her. It’s no one’s business but ours. I don’t want to be bandied about any of those rumor rag message boards. She’s just a woman and it’s only as exciting as any woman wanting to talk to me.” I pondered that a second. “Okay, so it is really cool, but I still don’t want anyone to know.” Women weren’t exactly pounding down my door to date me, remember.

“Hmm… true. I guess it could be someone pretending to be her, though I doubt it. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me too.”

Feeling bad, I made a peace offering. “Thanks. What do you want to listen to as we try to draft her an email that doesn’t sound stupid?”

“Ooh, I can help?”

“Yep. Now, nothing gushing, but appreciative and friendly.”

“Exactly what I would’ve suggested. Interested, but laid back so she can take it as simple friendliness or interested, however she wants to take it.”

After a little arguing, and a fiendish laugh or two, we finally were as satisfied as we were going to get. I wanted to sound funny, down to earth, and maybe sane. You know, like myself, yet not. She *was* a woman.

Gail --

Huh, that is weird. Don’t get me wrong; I liked talking to you, but jeez, you guys sing, not talk through burning bushes. Some folks are just strange, I guess. Thanks for the music -- I would’ve been happy with the gum. It’s my favorite kind, even.

I don’t mind if you email me. I’d like it, really. I had fun talking to you too. It wasn’t stupid. Surprising, but not stupid. Women usually don’t want to talk to me after I’ve cussed at them . I work pretty insane hours myself -- I manage a 24 hour bookstore -- so I completely understand.

Clara

I think Eric was more anxious for a reply than I was. We listened to jam sessions for a couple hours, checking my mail every other song. There was a lot of Gail and Lisa just talking and goofing around. They were even better playing for themselves than on CD. There was a reply much sooner than I expected.

“Ohmigod, she answered!” Eric exclaimed in my ear, hanging over my shoulder.

“I see that. Good lord, you’d think you’d never seen me get an email before.”

“Not from anyone cool.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Bill that,” I teased. Bill Seismore wrote his favorite gay erotica and did signings at my store a couple times. We emailed occasionally. Eric’s had a crush on him for ages.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Well, not right now… I want to read this first, but maybe later…”

“You know what I meant.”

“Yep, but will Bill…?” Giggling, I turned my attention to the email on the screen.

That’s pretty much how we started -- we emailed back and forth for months, and talked on the phone. That led to meeting and more calls and emails and just getting to know each other like any two people who like each other. Not really a big deal at all.

Continued in Part 2

Feed the Scribbler: sberrythebard@yahoo.com.