Clichéd Love: A Satirical Romance Read online

  CLICHÉD LOVE

  A Satirical Romance

  BY LYNN GALLI

  PENIKILA PRESS

  CLICHÉD LOVE: A Satirical Romance. Copyright © 2016 by Lynn Galli. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions of the publisher.

  Cover photo © 2016 Masson / Shutterstock.com. All rights reserved. Used with permission.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, uploaded, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without the publisher’s permission. For information address: Penikila Press, LLC at [email protected]. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America.

  ALSO BY LYNN GALLI

  VIRGINIA CLAN

  Forevermore

  Finally

  Blessed Twice

  Imagining Reality

  Wasted Heart

  ASPEN FRIENDS

  Life Rewired

  Something So Grand

  Mending Defects

  OTHER ROMANCES

  One-Off

  Full Court Pressure

  Uncommon Emotions

  Synopsis

  Vega, a journalist by trade and a cynic for life, came up with a brilliant pitch for a series of articles. Recount the tales of lesbian and gay couples to assure the heterosexual population that the institution of marriage isn’t at risk now that gay marriage is legal. Her editor loved the idea. Vega loved the notion of a long-term assignment that paid regularly. What she didn’t realize until too late was that she’d have to sit through every one of these often banal, regularly nauseating love stories without wanting to hurl herself off the nearest cliff. So much for her brilliant idea.

  By the time she arrives in Seattle, she’s already had enough of interviewing couples, but she’s determined to see it through. After all, if the readers of a national newspaper can recognize a love story as a love story, regardless of sexuality, she might change a few minds out there. Helping to temper the discontent is new friend Iris, who seems to know everyone’s story and, more importantly, shares Vega’s take on them. As the interviews continue and her friendship with Iris grows, Vega wonders if her lifelong cynical attitude toward love might be softening a bit.

  Table of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Also by Lynn Galli

  Synopsis

  1 |

  2 | Fran & Yvette

  3 | Blake & Kerry

  4 | Jay & Dakota | Montana & Mac

  5 |

  6 | Alex & Alex

  7 |

  8 | Gayle & Paul

  9 | Shawn & Wesley | Drew & Finn

  10 | Bailey & Dusty

  11 |

  12 | Max & Carter

  13 | Lee & Emerson

  14 | Hunter & River

  15 | Eduardo & Norris

  16 | Dale & Kennedy

  17 |

  18 |

  19 | Helen & Joe

  20 |

  21 | Nykos & Mariah

  22 |

  23 | Marty & Tate

  24 | Lorraine & Simon

  25 | Pat & Marlowe

  26 |

  27 |

  28 |

  29 |

  30 | Hayden & Billie

  31 |

  32 | Kelly & Vic

  33 | Emory & Robin

  34 |

  35 | Jamie & Glen

  36 |

  37 |

  38 |

  39 | Dylan & Reese

  40 |

  41 | Alice & Neil

  42 |

  43 |

  44 |

  45 | Tristan & Presley

  46 |

  47 |

  EPILOGUE | Iris & Vega

  About the Author

  Other Publications by Lynn Galli

  1 |

  Entering the bar, I wondered again if this was the most ill-advised pitch I’d come up with in my career. Sure, it was a job. A good paying one. One that would no doubt be interesting and, done well, important. Yet in only my fourth city, I was already mostly tired of these interviews. I hadn’t thought through the whole thing when I’d pitched this assignment. How often these women would say the exact same thing over and over. How much I’d feel like those characters on Airplane while listening to Striker’s long-ass, boring story.

  A nice looking brunette wearing what seemed to be the ubiquitous lesbian bartender uniform of tight tank and hip hugging jeans was using both hands to make four drinks behind the bar. My head shook, rejecting her as the owner of this establishment. She was too young and pert to be the raspy-voiced owner. Not barely-legal young as is often required for bartenders in an establishment like this. Late thirties, possibly older, petite height and slim with nicely shaped shoulders and arms. She was the only one working on this slow Thursday night. Dead Thursday night, more like. All of seven patrons were scattered around the tables, on bar stools, and at the pool tables in the back. Perhaps I’d chosen the wrong place to use as my home base.

  The bartender caught my eye and smiled like any good food service rep who mostly depended on tips to live. Adjusting the strap on my messenger bag, I headed over.

  “What can I get you, babe?”

  Babe? In San Francisco the women in the bars had used more sexually charged endearments. I’d been downgraded. “Is Charlie in tonight?”

  “She’s in the back. She expecting you?” Brown eyes swept over me, slowly inching back up to meet mine. In a matter of seconds, she’d sized me up and probably knew more about me in that time than all of my college roommates combined. At my nod, she asked, “What’s your name?”

  “Vega.” I placed a twenty on the counter and pointed to the tap for a local draft. She poured the beer for me and smiled extra bright when I waved off the change. It was a write off, and I’d be using one of their tables often over the next few weeks. Plus, she had to leave her post to track down Charlie for me.

  My eyes roamed over the interior. A few more people had entered and were settling at a table. Another couple came up to the bar and gave me a glance, then another. Seattle was a nice sized city, but a new face in a gay bar, no matter the population, always garnered a second glance. I just hoped the offbeat reputation of the city applied to the people who lived here. I was counting on it for my assignment.

  “Vega?” The gruff voice startled me from my evaluation.

  I turned and shook hands with the owner. She was in her fifties, possibly sixties, with skin that wore the marks of someone who didn’t understand the damage sunshine can inflict. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out she and I were both forty-six, but I looked like an embryo compared to her. Excessive exposure to the sun aged many a beauty before her time.

  “What do you think of my place?” Charlie asked.

  “Very nice. I appreciate you letting me set up shop here.” My eyes slid back to an empty table near the center of the bar. Anyone interested would take notice if I camped out there.

  “I’m counting on it bringing in some new faces.” Her dark eyes, possibly blue but really not distinctive other than dark, skated out over the small crowd. A frown appeared as if she hadn’t known how dead it was out here.

  “I’ll do
what I can,” I assured her, having posted this trip to Seattle on my social media accounts and received a few enthusiastic responses already.

  “Any place you want to get comfy is fine. Lane is here for whatever you need.”

  My eyes flicked to the skilled bartender. Lane. Nice, fitting. She cut her boss a glance. It didn’t take a mind reader to spot the annoyance at having her unspecified services offered, but Charlie remained clueless.

  “Thanks. I’ll try not to bother you with drink orders when you’re slammed.” I spoke directly to Lane instead of about her. I needed her on my side. One bad word from her might influence potential interview subjects.

  The left side of her mouth quirked up. A practiced move she must’ve perfected before she tried it out on the lesbian population. It oozed sex appeal while ramping up her attractiveness, and she knew it. Probably filled her tip jar every night.

  “I know a perfect couple for your article,” Charlie made another unsolicited offer.

  I felt my head nod to save my mouth from having to decline. Her couple could go either way. If they didn’t make the article, she might be upset. “I’ll just take a look around and get settled in for tonight. Thanks again for letting me become a barfly at your place. I really appreciate it.”

  Beer in hand, I wandered over to watch as one woman attempted to make pool appear interesting for the three who couldn’t play. One television screen showed the Storm game and the other showed the Sounders game. Both teams were losing, one pretty badly, but the one fan in the foursome only cared if the “smoking hot guard” was on the court at the moment. Her date didn’t seem to mind the open lust this woman was showing.

  All four were in cargo shorts, two in tank tops and the other two in novelty t-shirts. Tank Tops both had short hair, one brown, the other almost black. Their companions had longer hair in blond and medium brown. Despite the cargo shorts, the women in the novelty tees were both quite feminine with dangly earrings, highly styled hair, and made up faces.

  I began to rethink my appearance. Perhaps dressing down was the way to go. My slacks fit my slender, five-seven frame nicely. Under a lavender top, I wore a white camisole that showed off my prominent clavicle bones and a hint of cleavage. Tonight I wore a trace of makeup to even out my T-zone and eyeliner to highlight my olive green eyes. Golden blond hair hung to my shoulder blades in one straight length. No curls, no waves, it was one of the things I didn’t like about my appearance growing up. Thankfully, puberty added the kind of volume that women paid hairdressers to dry with a roll brush. I might have wanted curls growing up, but I was okay with the blanket of straight locks now. I’d cut it short once, but with my oval face, narrow nose a touch too long, and high forehead, it looked better long. In the stifling Chicago heat of the past two summers, I’d kept it perpetually off my neck in a ponytail or bun. If today was any indication, I wouldn’t need to employ the bun once during this Seattle summer. Overall, I was going for professional without looking too dressy.

  “You want in?” the best player asked me.

  “You’re new,” the blond one who thought the guard was smoking hot said. “First time?”

  First time in a gay bar or first time in town or first time getting hit on by a woman who should be paying more attention to the woman who brought her here?

  “Baby,” the low voice of her companion spoke volumes with the one word. Guess she had cared that her flirty girlfriend noticed anyone with a pulse.

  “Just being friendly, sweetie,” the woman pouted, pushed out bottom lip and all.

  “She is that.” The butch girlfriend relented at the fake pout. Her brown eyes flicked to mine expectantly, thinking I’d melt at her girlfriend’s obvious antics.

  I was getting too cynical for my job. For life, really. I saw right through this couple. Butch partner let femme partner wind her around her finger and thought femme would never look elsewhere because butch was a goddess in bed. All the while, femme was keeping her options open in case butch lost her job or stopped succumbing to her whims.

  “In town for a month or two. Thought I’d check out the local flavor.”

  Butch partner nodded approvingly. Femme partner gave me a second swipe of her eyes.

  “You got a name?” Butch Two asked after taking an abysmal shot.

  “I don’t. What’s your preference?” I realized I was jerking her around. The day had been trying so far. My two-hour flight this morning had been delayed three hours. The hotel didn’t have my room ready when I finally arrived, and the property agent couldn’t see me at the later hour to search for a short-term rental. It probably wasn’t the best night to start this assignment here.

  But the foursome thought my snide comment funny and chuckled in various volume levels and laugh types. Once again, I’d been saved by the good nature of lesbians in a gay bar. It was why I thought this article might fly. The sisterhood seemed happy to let me invade their privacy. Happy to have their stories published for the whole world to see. I’d always differed from my peer groups on many things. On this matter, I was in a completely different universe.

  “She looks like that hottie from Alias,” the first femme told her butch.

  “You’re getting your actresses mixed up again.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  Yes, she was. I didn’t look like the hottie from Alias, unless she meant the hottie that came in during the last season because the original hottie was pregnant. Even then, I didn’t look like that hottie, who went on to some science fiction show and wasn’t as hot as the original.

  “You’re thinking of another show that guy did,” the other butch offered when it looked like first femme would get snippy at her girlfriend.

  “What guy?”

  “That guy who does all those shows, only he doesn’t really do them. He works the first couple of seasons and then abandons them to direct some sci-fi movie. Anyway, he had another show with another law enforcement hottie. That’s who she looks like.” Butch Two’s convoluted explanation didn’t immediately register with her friends, but I was pretty sure I knew which hottie she was talking about. While it was flattering to be compared to her, no possible way. She was the definition of hottie.

  “I’m Vega,” I said to stop the comparisons to various kickass chicks on cancelled TV shows. People weren’t comfortable unless they placed everyone in boxes.

  “I’m Riley.” First butch stuck out her hand. “What brings you to town?”

  “A little work,” I answered with a handshake and turned to meet her girlfriend, Adrian, and their friends, Devon and Sawyer.

  “What kind of work?” Second femme spoke up for the first time.

  “Have you all lived here long?” I deflected, not ready to get specific. If I could learn more about couples before I let on to my purpose here, I could save myself a lot of grief or boredom in listening to stories that would never fit in my article.

  They responded with various numbers, none of which equated to their whole lives. They all worked together and have been couples for a while. By a while, I meant the first butch got the number of years wrong, which incited the pouty girlfriend into a tirade about how she clearly didn’t care enough to remember how long they’d been together. Second butch gave me a look of exasperation, but her hesitation at answering the question told me she’d barely escaped the same fate with her girlfriend. So far nothing about them was individual enough to make my article, but I’d keep them on the back burner in the event of a slow night.

  “I’ve enjoyed the company.” I escaped before first femme started with the crocodile tears.

  Lane’s eyes tracked me back to the bar. Her beautiful mouth held that sexy lopsided smile as if she knew exactly what I’d just witnessed even way over here out of earshot. “Another?” Her glance shifted to my half empty beer.

  “A different one, please.” My hand indicated another tap. The one I’d chosen had been too bitter. I set the glass on the counter and placed another bill beside it.

  “Are they going t
o be your first?” Lane’s head tipped in the direction of the foursome. My eyes went back to see first femme being comforted by the beefy arms of first butch.

  “Don’t.” A woman spoke up from my left. “I don’t know what you’re talking about and it’s none of my business, but they are not to be the ‘first’ of anything unless you’re looking for a fantastic demonstration of drama.”

  A laugh slipped out as I swiveled to take in the voice’s owner. Tall and lean, the woman wore nicely fitted dark jeans, not too tight or stark, not worn and frayed, not dress up, jeans that she stepped into many times for a night out. Her top was a short sleeve button-down in checks of green, not plaid or western style, unfussy checks. It too fit nicely, no cleavage, partly because her bust was fairly flat, but also because she left only one button open. She had a tan that took me all summer of controlled sun exposure to obtain. If she was close to my age, I’d guess this was her natural skin tone as opposed to time in the sun. It wasn’t just that her skin didn’t have the same telltale signs that Charlie’s bore. It was more that I hadn’t seen the sunshine yet today. In late May, when it was sunny in every other city in America.

  Blue eyes peered at me from beneath sandy brown eyebrows. Her short, layered hair stopped just below mid-neck in a wash-and-go style with wisps pasted into chaotic order. The cut followed the frame of her heart shaped face. Like Lane, she had an interesting mouth that was precisely symmetrical to her teardrop nose and understated cheekbones. If she had a practiced smile as well, she might never spend a night alone.

  Force of habit had me trying to pin down her type. Apparently I wasn’t comfortable unless I had a box for everyone, too. She had a similar athletic build to mine. Amazing posture, no slumping at all. Not femme. Nothing about her said femme, but she wasn’t anything like the butches I just met. They’d been solid, short haircuts, baggie clothes, and probably hadn’t even walked down a makeup aisle before. This woman exuded authority without aggression and zero masculinity.

  Lane smacked her arm and tsked at her comment. The epitome of a good bartender. No bad words would be spoken about her paying clients, but the affectionate grin she flashed said they were friends. Possibly more. “Don’t listen to her.” Lane waved her off. “You need all sorts, and you’ll get all sorts in here.”