“Shit, Bonnie, did you forget your ID again?” I asked. I thought this would be a good save.
“I’m an old lady, I can’t even remember the last time someone asked me for it!” She laughed at her own joke as enthusiastically as possible, and I jumped in and laughed too.
“You might be old Aunt Bonnie, but you sure are young at heart!” The turn of the century door guy was incredibly confused. While we weren’t kissing or making out, the nature of Bonnie and my hand holding was a little too provocative for an aunt and a niece. I don’t know why I even said that. I just thought the back story of a girl out on the town with her aunt and she innocently forgot her ID was believable.
“Please let us in, we drove an hour to get here—she’s definitely of age.” I gave him a sad look, trying to connect with him, hoping he might pick up on it and either have sympathy for the fact that I desperately wanted a night out with my aunt, or I desperately needed to get my new lover identifying with a different gender this evening. Not sure which was more relatable.
“I was born in 1978, when Jimmy Carter was president. Does that help? Would a twenty-year-old even know who Jimmy Carter was?” She laughed again and the Boardwalk Empire reincarnated door man actually cracked a smile, too. Bonnie was quite a charmer as a lady!
The door guy looked around, and surrendered. “All right, go in. Just bring your ID next time, and tip your bartender, please!”
“Thank you!” I said. I almost went to hug him but I stopped myself because I realized that would be kind of strange.
We walked in like we were Bonnie and Clyde, all confident and cool. Or actually, more like Bonnie and Taryn.
On entering the bar we found the old-fashioned flapper theme was kept to the utmost extent. There was a lot of exposed brick and dark wood, multiple kinds of syrups, bitters, and herbs, and brands of liquors I hadn’t ever heard of. This was nothing like a frat party.
On the opposite side of the bar, toward the wall, there were velvet couches and tables and they were enclosed with dark curtains that could remain open or closed, like little pool cabanas.
“Where do you want to sit?” I asked.
“Let’s get one of these private tables,” she answered.
A sexy flapper hostess came up to us, with a fringed dress, short hair, a shiny sequin headband around her head, and a feather in her hair.
“How can I help you ladies this evening?” she asked.
“We’ll take one of those tables if that’s okay,” Bonnie said.
“It’s a three-hundred-dollar food and drink minimum, as long as that’s fine—I can get you set up right away,” said the hostess.
That was the amount of money I usually budgeted for groceries the entire month! If I’m not mistaken, I thought Coca-Cola cost a nickel in the 1920s. This bar definitely picked and chose what vintage elements to keep and which to ignore.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Bonnie said. She handed her credit card to the hostess. While it goes against some of my feminist ideals, I will guiltily admit that I have always dreamed of being properly wined and dined by someone and I was aroused by the fact that it was someone in a dress and pretty lace panties, and not a suit and tie.
We sat down. The seats were plush and incredibly comfortable. The lighting was seductive and dark, with just enough candlelight to read the menus and each other’s lips.
“Would you like to start off with a shot of absinthe?” the pretty flapper asked.
Was that the poisonous beverage that Edgar Allan Poe drank? I wasn’t really into poisoning myself (more than your average cocktail would), but if Bonnie wanted shots, we’d do shots. I nodded at her, indicating it was her decision.
“Yes, we would,” Bonnie said, “and what’s your name?”
“I’m Janine! And what’s yours?”
“Bonnie.”
“And I’m Taryn!” I said.
“Nice to meet you, ladies! I will be right back with your aperitif!” Janine said.
I assumed this was the street name for absinthe, or something along those lines. I was incredibly confused but so excited; I just took it all in and did my best to blend in here, in a long V-neck T-shirt and Converse sneakers.
She returned with two long, skinny glasses filled with light green liquid. It looked like something out of a science lab.
“Cheers!” Janine said. Bonnie and I clinked our glasses together and chugged the liquid in the shot glass. It tasted like fresh-cut grass and licorice. It was cool and crisp in my mouth, then burned when it got down to my stomach. I wasn’t hallucinating (at least not yet) but I did feel pleasantly buzzed.
“So how are you feeling?” I asked Bonnie. “I feel really powerful and beautiful. I can’t believe this is finally happening,” she said.
“I’m glad!”
I didn’t completely understand how Bonnie felt on the inside, but I felt like we were both figuring out how to be ourselves in different ways. I could openly buy heels, dresses, and lipstick anytime I wanted and I chose not to. I suppose I took it for granted. For Bonnie, putting on a dress and being out in public made her feel powerful. For me, well, learning that I could squirt liquid out of my vagina while a fist was inside there is what did it for me. I wondered if she would fuck more daintily as a woman. Would she want me to gag on her cock? Or would she be more soft and passionate? Would she always want to be Bonnie? Or would she go back to being Billy tomorrow? I shouldn’t ask. I should just indulge in the moment we currently exist in and let the future reveal itself as it happens.
Janine came back with three more drinks. She dropped two on the table.
“What are these?” Bonnie asked.
“Bartender’s special! Try it!” she smiled and answered.
It was a short glass with a large ice cube in the middle, a lemon peel and some fizzy liquid inside of it. It tasted like an Orange Crush, but with a lot of alcohol in it. Oddly enough, the first time I ever got drunk was in a park with a few friends, who poured vodka into a half-filled bottle of warm Orange Crush. Apparently all we were missing was a lemon peel and some oversized ice.
But the drink did taste quite good. I drank it quickly and I liked the way the large ice felt on my lips.
“Easy there!” Bonnie said. She barely had a sip to drink.
“Oh—I wasn’t supposed to chug this?”
“No, silly, you’re supposed to savor the taste!” Janine said.
“Like a cup of coffee!” I answered.
Bonnie laughed. “Yes exactly, like a cup of coffee,” she said as she daintily sipped from her glass.
“So, what are you ladies up to tonight?” Janine said. Was it part of her job to make me feel like she had some kind of a crush on one of us or both of us? Or was that the orange fizz and the light green liquid getting to my brain? She had bright white teeth and matte red lipstick on. I felt like she had a twinkle in her smile, like someone out of an old-fashioned toothpaste commercial. She had on satin gloves, and she too had on a garter and stockings. I didn’t even have panties on. I didn’t know that when I got dressed for work forty-eight hours ago that I would be going to a speakeasy on a date with a cross-dresser. Perhaps I should always be prepared for this type of surprise to come up.
“Come over here!” Bonnie motioned for me to come to the same side of the table with her. Two people sitting side by side at a table when no one was on the other side is definitely romantic. No one does that unless they just can’t keep their hands off one another. I obliged and made my way over there and jumped right into her large arms.