Gender Bender

So how do you find the gallery? Bette asked, aware that her heart bristled lightly in anticipation.

She may have needed Marcels flattering admiration of her gallery, but this woman -Tina, was merely the girlfriend of a distant, if not economically important, acquaintance.

But Eric was definitely gone; flittering about with Alice in tow, entertained by her prattle precisely because it was undeniably humorous and entertaining in its astuteness. But here Bette was, waiting for an answer from Tina Kennard to top the evening with cherries.

Its A look of uncertainty.

Uncomfortable? Bette provided.

Tina smiled at Bettes preciseness. Well, yes. I guess it is.

I trust youve been to other art galleries?

Of course. I usually treat them in much the same way I treat a coffee shop. Observation of its inhabitants, quiet time, all that.

And how are you treating mine? Bette asked, her lips twitching in a bemused smile.

As Im treating you, was Tinas straightforward answer.

And how is that?

Tina shrugged. Confusion. A feeling of novelty, of otherness, of not belonging.

Then the gallery succeeded, Bette said, putting a hand on Tinas shoulder-blade and leading her to a picture. She surreptitiously placed a hand on Tinas waist and found that Tina noticed it only as a friendly intimation of ease.

See here? Bette continued, outlining the photograph with her hands and briefly retracting her touch. Oh, but for a moment only. The model is Catherine herself, expressing her ideology, the actual discourse of the exhibition. Its not so much gender per se, as it is the conflict within it: the core of it, the person herself.

To educate Tina was an exciting prospect, another gesture of aptitude to dazzle the unsuspecting blonde. Tina scrutinized the photograph and with her back to Bette, used a voice full of insight, soft and inviting, like a teacher to a student.

Ah. Well, heres what I think. The conflict seems to be external and internal, two-fold, Tina offered. So the effect is doubly discomforting for me. Not only do I have to struggle with gender per se, or what is external in the discourses point of view, but I have yet to perceive the conflict in it, as well.

You see, Ms. Porter, for you, Truth-in-conflict is easy to obtain with one glance at these pictures and that may be because you share Ms. Opies particular treatise. For myself, Ive lived differently, positioned at the other pole.

The observation man-handled Bettes gut and she stood watching Tinas back in avid fascination. Who was this woman? Had she so easily gleaned Bettes orientation so much by what she did not say as to the things she actually said?

What are you saying? Bette asked before she could halt her words. The sentence came out frazzled. This time, she had lost control of the conversation and the ball was in Tinas court. Bette, in the imagery, was wringing her hands in regret.

What Im saying, Ms. Porter, is that you have an agenda. Tina turned to Bette, suddenly aware that they stood but a hands breathe away. Her smile was tentative, as though her words held more meaning for her than it did to Bette. But one look into Bettes eyes made Tinas body rigid, pausing between doing and thinking.

There were so many things written blatantly in that gaze that nothing in her lips could express and Bette, gallantly accepting some form of defeat, leaned into Tinas space without thinking, her hands tender on Tinas elbows.

The world slowed, a film tottering to a stop. Its music tapered to a halt, to a murmur of romance, a tone of prodding. The angles, the shapes, the shades, zoomed into a space accommodating both their heads; it was in a scant two inches that Tina abruptly turned away and cleared her throat. If youll excuse me, Im sure Erics wondering where Ive run off to.

Of course, Bette sighed, reeling from her proximity. She had whispered into Tinas ear and now, felt Tinas shiver of acceptance with newfound elation. Im sorry. I shouldnt have

Tina frowned slightly and Bette felt a pang of regret that this anger -or confusion or whatever it was -should cross Tinas face on account of her.

Sorry for what? Tina said, her voice modulated to echo about the small space they had crammed themselves into. Breathing the same air, Tinas eyes dared Bette to articulate what had just happened.

What at first felt warm and exciting, was suddenly giving Bette a feeling of committing the forbidden, of guilty and subtler yet, sinful pleasure.

Tina Bette began, her voice cracking minutely, aware that this was probably the first time she had jumped headlong into lurching confusion.

A spell. She was under a spell. But she had ceased to believe in fairies since she was thirteen. And Tina was straight.

Her limbs loosened as Tina recognized someone over Bettes shoulder.

Eric! Tina suddenly said, relief flooding the whole of her. Tina was careful to avoid Bettes touch as she maneuvered to her boyfriends side. Bette took a deep breath, gathering her senses, assembling what Tina had thrown to the wind with neither caution nor deliberation.

Eric had somehow removed himself from Alices clutches and came approaching with Alice trailing in cheerful hesitance. Alice gave Bette a shrug, a look of apology, and instantly removed the tension by talking.

You must be Erics girlfriend, Alice told Tina. He cant stop talking about you, you know.

Yes. Tina Kennard. Tina held out a hand as Alice was careful to keep her greetings, her gestures, the peck on Tinas cheek, platonic for Bettes sake.

Alice Piezecky, a good friend of Bettes. Alice winked solicitously.

Oh, Tina said, reddening. She whispered an aside, Um, Eric? Can I talk to you for a moment?

Sure, Eric replied, gently pulling her to him. Excuse me ladies. Bette, always, its an honor. The exhibit is superb. Alice -its been great meeting you.

Same here, Alice said. She turned to Bette as they both watched Tina and Eric weave through the crowd. I hope you dont mind. I invited him -and Tina -to dinner.

Mind? Why would I mind?

You tell me, Alice told her.

Bette stood without uttering a word; Tina had left her blinking, wondering, maimed. For the first time in a very long time, Ms. Porter was completely, mysteriously speechless.

~*~*~*~

TBC