THIRTY-NINE

"(SHE) LOOKS UP GRINNING LIKE A DEVIL!"

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August 24th, 2018 - 11:07pm

Lenox Hill, New York City

...Twelve Hours Earlier - Chelsea, New York City...

"I'm never going to be able to eat peanut butter again."

"Great! More for me."

"In that case, I'm also never kissing you again."

"Worth it."

"I'm serious, Dorothea Jane. If I have to inhale it on your breath one more time, I'm most definitely going to gag."

Dorothea smiled to herself as she dipped her spoon into the jar of nut butter. "Sticking your tongue in my mouth isn't the only option, you know."

Taylor laughed stiffly, sipping her coffee. "Sorry, not taking the bait. Find another stupid fish in the pond."

"Tempting. But I think I'll just stick to the gutter where I found you—" Dorothea gasped at the sudden smack of searing pain radiating from her ass. "AH! Fuck, Taylor—"

"Sorry, just fishing in the gutter—"

"I don't think that's how you catch a fish."

"Oh? Would you prefer me using something other than my bare hands?—"

"Ladies."

Both Taylor's and Dorothea's attention shot to the sound of Tree, who suddenly appeared in the singer's penthouse kitchen. The manager stopped a few feet from the couple, letting the silence reach a level of awkward for her own entertainment yet simultaneously made the other two want to melt into the floor. She watched Dorothea draw a breath to fill the void and immediately cleared her throat. "Sorry to interrupt—"

"You're not," Taylor assured.

"Well..." Dorothea hummed.

"You're not."

"Okay..." Tree folded back a smile and turned to Dorothea. "Just coming by to say that hair and makeup will be here at three. But more importantly, how are you feeling? Any more cramps or other things I should be worried about?"

Dorothea chuckled, "I think my mom's got the worrying thing covered. No need for you to stress about it, too—"

"Um—hello?"

"Right." Dorothea glanced at the singer. "My mom and your client."

Tree chuckled, "Well my client should be focusing on tonight." She turned towards Taylor. "Your turn. How are you feeling? Anything I should be worried about?"

"Besides the threat of surprise interruptions from psychotic narcissists?" Taylor asked. "Don't think so."

"At least you can joke about it," Tree mused.

"Yeah, it's amazing what disappearing off the face of the earth does for your perspective," the blonde replied dryly.

Dorothea twisted the plastic straw in her iced chai cup. "And the people who truly deserve exile are always the last to go."

She could feel the other two now looking at her. Dorothea lifted her gaze from the counter to the singer's. There was a look of understanding that went deeper than the bottomless floor of her dark ocean hues. There weren't words to put to it. It was a feeling that Dorothea could only grasp because she had once —or twice— felt it too.

Taylor broke her gaze and sighed loudly, "Well. I was going to wait until three, but I think now's the perfect time for Drink Number One."

"The fact that I still can't say that is devastating," Dorothea groaned.

"Some might say tragic," Tree chimed in flatly, not looking up from her phone.

"Punishment is perhaps the most accurate term!" Dorothea exclaimed, flopping down against the island counter and burying her face in her arms. "Why can't babies have champagne?"

"Something to do with what's going on in there," Taylor, who had moved to the bar cart by the window, waved arbitrarily in her direction while she scanned the bottles beneath her. "I've heard they're quite fragile."

"Maybe I'm fragile!"

"Are you doing some kind of bit right now?" Taylor laughed, "Or do I actually need to console you about this?"

"I never got to have Dom with you the night we met!"

"Hang on. Let me open Twitter and get prayersforThea trending," Tree sighed.

Dorothea pouted, slumping onto the barstool beneath her. She looked up at Taylor, trying—but failing—to keep the expression as their eyes met. She watched the singer grab a glass from the bottom shelf of the cart and then turn towards the fridge. Her wandering eyes had just made it down to the blonde's backside when Taylor spun around with a bottle of Pinot Grigio.

Taylor smirked as she slid onto the seat next to hers. She glanced at Tree, who was obliviously deep in publicist-mode and then met Dorothea's eyes. "When the timing is right, there will be champagne," she whispered.

Dorothea's thoughts floated to that winter night nearly nine months ago. Shaking and crying in that lavish restroom. The reflection of the green-glass bottle with its unbroken gold-foiled top as it sat next to the soap dispenser on the marble counter. The hem of a red gown emerging from one of the stalls and the shock of coolness against her palms as she yanked the bottle off of the counter and sucked back the few tears that hadn't already escaped. Feeling the eyes of the woman that she would come to know as intimately as a creak in a staircase or the sound of a loved one's returning footsteps, as they followed her out the door.

She suddenly felt a surging desire to launch into the singer's arms, but instead she cleared her throat. "How long are you willing to wait?"

Taylor swallowed a sip of wine. Gently, she slid her free hand against Dorothea's thigh and laced their fingers together. "As long as it takes."

Dorothea smiled, eyes falling to her lap. She then lifted the hand clasped with the blonde's and placed it on her stomach, quirking an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'm not that patient."

"Yeah, well, she's sort of on her own schedule," Taylor chuckled.

"Tell her to hurry up."

"When we're going to be on a red carpet in less than six hours? I don't think so."

"At least make her aware that she's on a deadline!" Dorothea reasoned.

"Ivy you are on a deadline," Taylor parroted, "make sure to put it in your calendar."

"You sound like Tree,"

"You sound like you need another smack on the ass,"

"Is that a threat that publicists make?"

"And now I'm questioning why I didn't start drinking after breakfast."

"At least you had the choice,"

"Oh my god, we're not doing this again—"

"But I'm fragile!" Dorothea exclaimed, wrapping her arms around the blonde.

"And this is my apartment, not Broadway." Taylor rolled her eyes.

"Are you telling me I should ditch photography in pursuit of greater talents?" She hummed against the singer's neck.

"How about you brush your teeth instead?" Taylor grimaced.

"It's not that bad!"

"Pretty sure you'd murder anyone with a peanut allergy within five feet,"

"Sounds like a superpower,"

"It really doesn't."

"Pass me my spoon."

"This is bordering on an addiction."

"Yup," Dorothea agreed, grabbing the spoon and sticking it in the jar, "and so is sticking your face in my tits."

"Dare me to stop?"

"I dare you to do it when the audience camera lands on us."

"Absolutely not."

"Imagine all of the GIFs!"

"I'd be mortified."

"You'd love it!"

Taylor took a long sip of her wine as Dorothea laughed at her side. She then slowly, almost imperceptibly, leaned towards the woman's stomach.

"Hurry up."