The apartment door burst open and the hallway filled with vocal venom. Lisa Fantelli in Apartment 2162 opened her door slightly; there was nothing more exciting than a domestic fight. And this one was between two high-profile lesbians!
“You’re a scum-bag! A lousy cheating bitch!”
A tall, attractive woman launched a volley of items out of the apartment. They hit the hallway wall, and bounced off Fantelli’s partially opened door. She closed it quickly. Two tough Amazons doing battle could hurt a fragile senior citizen like her.
Jazz walked straight past the British pro golfer who filled up most of the doorframe. She hoped her reflexes would be fast should the large woman decide to throw a punch. Jazz got safely by and retrieved a few of her belongings. Jenny Robinson folded her muscled arms, and her six-foot-four body blocked any chance of re-entry.
“Jenny,” Jazz pleaded. “Can’t we settle this inside?” She nodded towards several neighbors’ doors that were ajar.
Jenny remained in her spot, unwilling to budge; her face was red and her anger was far from contained.
“You cheated on me, Jazz!”
“You checked my mobile phone! That’s an invasion of my privacy!”
“I knew you were cheating on me. I just needed proof.”
“You knew the score, Jenny. You’re constantly bedding your female fans on the Ladies’ golf circuit.”
Jenny tightened her fists and let out a cry, through clenched teeth.
“Aaah! It’s me that does the dumping!”
“Alright, tell everyone you dumped me. I don’t give a shit!”
That seemed to momentarily appease the golfer.
Jazz gathered up her courage and barged straight back inside, past Jenny. Once in the bedroom, she locked the door. This move infuriated Jenny. She cursed and pounded the door while Jazz hastily grabbed the rest of her stuff.
For Jazz, getting kicked out by girlfriends was a relatively small price to pay for her carefree and uncommitted relationships. Jazz ignored the commotion from the other side of the door.
Now, she was busily planning her next move. It was Friday night and London’s Candy Bar would be in full swing. She was always a hit there. Getting kicked out by Jenny simply signaled the beginning of a new adventure. The yelling suddenly ceased. There was a lull in the fighting. The silence made Jazz uneasy. Was Jenny ready to pounce? Jazz took a deep breath and, in a determined and loud voice, she shouted:
“I’ve packed my things. I’m coming out now! Think of your career, Jenny. Assault is a criminal offense!”
Jazz gently unlocked the door and opened it with trepidation. To her relief, Jazz saw Jenny sitting across the room. She was crying softly.
Jazz walked slowly past, and then turned her.
“We did have fun, Jenny!”
Jazz had moved just a few steps on when a glass figure of a naked woman crashed above the door.
“Jazz, you’re sewer shit!”
Jazz hurried out towards the elevator door and quickly pushed the button. With a sense of relief the lighted button revealed that the elevator had left the floor above and was on its way down to rescue Jazz.
A flurry of activity caught Jazz’s attention – Jenny was rushing towards her, armed with a wooden box. The elevator opened just as Jenny launched her final missile. It crashed over the head of Wilma Winnot, the fiery evangelical pest whose mission was to convert everyone in the building and save them from Satan’s clutches.
Jenny’s voice still could be heard as the elevator made ready for its descent.
“You can keep your bloody gift!”
The door closed, and Eddie Winnot picked up the box as his wife composed herself
“Nice jewelry box, Jazz. Did you carve it for her?”
Before Jazz could answer, Wilma adjusted her glasses, screwed up her nose and pointed.
“It’s not natural.”
Jazz took the jewelry box from Eddie.
“Yes, look at it, Eddie.” Jazz held the box up for him to see. “There’s nothing unnatural about this box at all. It’s crafted from the finest natural woods. It was quite difficult to carve.”
Eddie smiled. “Jazz, it’s lovely. You know, I watch your show on the telly. I’ve learned many good tips about carpentry.”
Wilma growled. “Edward, she’s on the telly dressed in a men’s plaid shirt.”
Jazz chuckled, “Don’t forget my tool belt, my hard hat and safety glasses!” Jazz made a noise. Brr, brr, brr! “And, my sexy, electric power tools!”
Eddie laughed, but Wilma kept spewing on.
“Some gay executive must’ve employed you. It’s unnatural, and it’s unfair for women to be taking on men’s roles. You’re taking the bread right out of a family man’s mouth!”
Eddie put a hand on his wife’s arm.
“Wilma, she’s very popular. The show is in its third season.”
“Fourth actually!” Jazz corrected him with a warm smile.
The elevator door opened to the parking level.
Jazz walked out, but not before Wilma let off her last volley:
“It’s never too late to walk the straight and narrow,” she yelled.
Jazz turned to face them again.
“Eddie, it’s not too late to walk away from her. You seem like a nice fellow. You need some fun in your life!”
Jazz strode spiritedly past the state of the art security system, towards the stunning, slim black body that beckoned to her.
Jazz unlocked the Jaguar XK8 convertible and reveled once again in its luxurious interior. She had been seduced by Jaguar’s slick advertising campaign. The luxury sports car had spoken to her like a beautiful lover, revealing its seductive black body. It had urgently whispered: Take me- Control me and I will give you untold pleasures!
Jazz entered her lover’s realm and became one with the soft-grained leather upholstery. She stroked the hand polished wood as she eased herself behind the steering wheel. She gently touched the ignition button and the 4.2-liter V8 engine burst into life. It purred and, like a filly contained in a race cage it strained with anticipation, eager to compete with other cars on the road. Jazz reined in the power and took control of the dashboard ablaze with lights. This lover had extraordinary charms. Jazz chose to activate a series of navigational aids, air filtration and sound systems. She adjusted the climate control. It was a balmy September night, so Jazz overrode the heated Recaro sports seats. Getting kicked out of a deteriorating relationship had whipped up her sense of adventure and freedom. Her feet were in the stirrups, but before she would allow the Jag her freedom, there was the matter of attending to her own appearance.
Looking good was vital to Jazz. She glanced in the mirror, and recognized why people often told her she had the ‘Halle Berry Look’. The image that smiled back at her had jet-black, short hair and attractive dark eyes. The reflection met with Jazz’s approval. Feeling elated, she directed the car onto the night streets and towards her prestigious penthouse. Living permanently with someone was definitely out of the question. Her penthouse was her beloved playhouse.
Inside, Jazz checked her answering machine while looking down at the city through large tinted windows. She turned on the taps of the Jacuzzi and tossed in some Mango Dragon bath oil. Then, walking into the bedroom, she opened the ceiling-high closet doors. Tailored suits and casual jackets hung beside matching trousers. She had an entire drawer for belts and another that housed jewelry boxes and a display unit for watches and cufflinks. The next drawer held neatly folded ties and tuxedo bows. The final two drawers held socks of the finest weave, and soft, luxurious underwear.
Jazz lay out the clothes that matched her exhilarated mood and then proceeded to relax in the bubble-filled Jacuzzi. Life was good for a daughter of immigrant Indian parents. They were proud of her. Now that their daughter was a celebrity, their vision was for her to marry a man with an Indian background as well as considerable fortune and influence. The problem was getting their daughter to meet such men. She always seemed to elude such meetings.
Now, standing naked in front of a full-length mirror, Jazz scrutinized her body. She would have liked a few more inches but, at 5-foot-6, she was of medium height. Hand made shoes and boots were designed to give her the extra inches she desired.
She glanced at her lean figure and the strong biceps that were built both as a result of her carpentry job and by regular workouts at the gym. She selected an expensive men’s cologne and lightly dabbed it behind her ears. It never failed as an extra enticing touch from her bag of seductive tricks.
In the bedroom, Jazz took a second look at the clothes she had laid out on the bed. The choices were right. First, the bra that held her perky breasts. They were small, but a lover had once remarked that ‘any more than a mouthful was over indulgence’.
The white silk shirt felt sensual next to her light brown skin. She left the top buttons undone to reveal a 24 carat gold chain that adorned her neckline. Tight black pants and soft leather shoes followed. She looked once more in the mirror and was satisfied with the results. Jazz glanced at her gold Rolex – it was an hour before Lesbian Midnight!
Friday nights always drew large crowds to London’s bars, clubs and theatres. The convertible glided smoothly around Hyde Park, headed past Marble Arch and down bustling Oxford Street.
Tourists, window shoppers and partygoers were sidestepping one another on the crowded avenues, jostling as they turned into restaurants and clubs. Jazz took advantage of the stop-and-go traffic to woman-watch. She thoroughly enjoyed the steady parade of females in all stages of undress. This was her domain! Life was good!
At a stoplight, a mother and daughter both dressed in saris crossed in front of the car. Jazz remembered fighting against her parents, not wanting to wear the Indian garment. Her sister, however, enjoyed the admiring glances of the neighborhood Indian boys. Both Tapar girls were beautiful, yet so different. Avasa married an older man, an importer of Indian food and a friend of the girls’ father. Jazz, on the other hand, fled all attempts at being married off.
Jazz mused about her life growing up as a daughter of Indian immigrants. Her father saved enough money to open an Asian grocery mart. Avasa and Jasmine worked many hours to help out in the family business. When the store was quiet, Jazz and Avasa often looked through magazines. Fashion, boys, and celebrities fascinated Avasa. Jazz, on the other hand, focused on cars, soccer and women. She longed to kiss and touch the long-legged models.
“Why are you always staring at all those girls?” Avasa would pester and Jazz would quickly comment about a model’s choice of lipstick, her shoes or hairstyle- just to throw her sister off the scent.
The Tapar parents instilled solid work ethics in both daughters.
“We came from India with just the clothes on our back!” This was her mother’s all-time favorite expression.
Her father came up with vague, but intriguing expressions like:
“Jasmine, you must take the tiger by the tail, or he will devour you!”
After serving a customer, he might add, “Challenge the tiger, or sit in the dust!” One Christmas, Jazz received a soft plush tiger. Her father had written on the tag, “Live like a tiger!”
Jasmine’s mother, an extremely beautiful woman herself, had been an airline stewardess. She had met her future husband, dressed in his Indian Air Force uniform, onboard one of her regular flights. Jazz had inherited her mother’s jet-black hair, black opal eyes and slim figure. Good looks ran in the family.
“Stop all that nonsense about tigers,” her mother would object. “The girl needs to cook and sew.”
Jazz smiled as she drove on. On the dashboard she had stuck a magnet of a roaring tiger. It was ironic that it had been her roaring tiger attitude, (not to mention her utter inability to sew), that had got her kicked out of Home Economics class and into the boys’ Carpentry class!
Jazz was looking forward to her night at the Candy Bar. She knew she could always pick up a woman there, but instead she chose to phone her good friend and part-time lover. Paola-Renata was a gorgeous South American model working in Mayfair.
Jazz spoke into the self-dialing phone. “Paola-Renata, Carvalho-Mederios.“
A croaky voice answered, and mumbled out some unintelligible words. Jazz had woken up this beautiful woman.
“Paola, can you sneak out for a few hours?”
The sleepy Brazilian answered with a yawn. “I just got back from a shoot in Rio.”
“I missed you!”
“Liar! The big swinging golfer dumped you, yes? No?”
“Mutual dumping!” Then, Jazz spoke carefully in Portuguese.
“Sim, meu amiga! Paola, I need my best friend!”
“Jazz, you are truly a ‘Gato de rua’.”
“Gato is cat, right? I am a cool cat!”
Paola let out a sigh of exasperation.
“No! Gato de rua is an alley cat! You prowl too much, my lover”
“Alley Cat?” Jazz laughed. “Alright then. Can I come to your alley tonight?”
“Jazz, you treat me like a plaything!” Paola grumbled.
Jazz was all too familiar with this scenario. Paola’s fiery Latin nature was laced with a considerable measure of pride. Like Jazz, Paola could choose any lesbian she wanted, but she always had a soft spot for her young huntress. Paola was married to a wealthy gay Real Estate developer. They had met in a gay bar in Stockholm years earlier. Theirs was a ‘Boston Marriage’- a cover up that neither liked but both found advantageous.
Jazz waited. Patience and cajoling would be worth the reward. A vision of Paola walking out of Jazz’s Jacuzzi flashed before her eyes, and Jazz felt a surge of electricity pulse through her body. Paola matched Jazz’s healthy appetite for sex and it was always followed by a satisfying sense of bliss.
They had tried living together before Paola’s marriage, but it had not worked. Both women were headstrong, and both were unfaithful. They were never destined to be together long-term.
Paola was not finished complaining. She liked playing hard to get.
”Did you hear me? You treat me like a plaything!”
Jazz tried some humor.
“I’d like to ‘play’ with your ‘thing!”
Paola exploded. “You make fun of me. I don’t want to go out with you!”
“Fine. Stay in a bad mood then. I was looking for the Paola that runs naked in fountains. If you’re not up for a night of fun, then I’ll call you some other time!”
Paola didn’t answer. She moved to the edge of her bed. Being with Jazz was always exciting. No one else could give Paola that feeling of being on ‘top of the world’ after a night of inventive and passionate lovemaking! Even outside the bedroom, Jazz knew how to have fun! Dancing with Jazz was intoxicating. She had mastered every seductive move. Her entire body exuded life! Nearby couples often attempted some of her moves on the dance floor, and Jazz would sometimes help them out with the steps. The carpenter ‘star’ drew people to her with her bubbly, extroverted manner. Paola was realistic. She knew that if she did not accept this invitation, Jazz would simply make another phone call.
“OK, Alley-Cat, tell me more. How will you play with me? Make it hot, and I’ll think about your offer!”
“OK, we are in Brazil, Paola. I’m running my fingers through your ‘Amazon’ jungle. It is a thick rainforest of undiscovered delights.”
“I feel caves with water trickling down the sides. We are explorers, Amazons in search of treasure!”
“You are lucky that I cancelled out of a party earlier today or you wouldn’t have even caught me. So, where do I meet you, Gato?”
“Candy Bar. I’m on my way there.”
Paola responded in a stern voice.
“Jazz, I warn you. No messing around tonight. If you do, ‘Eu vou tirar os olhos!’ I will take your eyes take out!”
“Who me? My eyes will be on my drink. And on you!”
Paola hung up the phone.
Jazz popped a Cape Verde singer, Cesaria Evora, into the CD player. The sultry voice sang “Besame Mucho” (Kiss me, kiss me a lot!). She visualized Paola’s sleek body and could almost taste Paola’s firm breasts in her mouth. She imagined running her hands up those long model legs. Paola had been the right choice for tonight!
The Candy Bar was packed as Jazz edged her way through the crowd. She acknowledged several friendly nods and greetings, and smiled; but there were also several unfriendly looks. Jazz was aware of the butch stags, instantly ready to lock horns if an intruder threatened their females. Jazz waved to friends and made her way to the nearest looking glass.
The mirror in the loo seemed to blush when Jazz shot it an appreciative glance. Her face was familiar to many Brits as the beautiful and witty carpenter in the weekly television show, “If A Man Can”. Her renovation company capitalized on the show’s success. If the series was ever cancelled, Jazz still ran a lucrative business. Jazz and her female business partner, Ning, were socially minded and often turned down celebrities’ requests in favor of projects for women’s shelters and other community projects. These moves only enhanced their likeability in the public eye.
As Jazz settled at a table near the bar, Paola was applying the finishing touches to her makeup in the speeding taxicab. She ignored the conversation of the chatty driver. Her heart was racing. She squeezed her thighs together to intensify the pleasure of her throbbing insides. Paola put her lipstick back in her purse and removed a photograph. She glanced at Jazz standing at the helm of a boat with her baseball cap worn backwards.
Memories flooded Paola’s mind. They had rented a houseboat on the Thames. Jazz was dressed in a white tank top and black shorts and her strong arms were wrapped around Paola. The self-timer went off and captured the sheer happiness of the couple. They had just made love and their enraptured faces and shining eyes were caught forever.
The sound of light coughing interrupted Paola’s nostalgic thoughts. The cab driver was glancing in the rear-view mirror at her, and coughing deliberately. Paola soon discovered the reason for this attention, and she casually removed her roving hand from her breast.
Jazz remained seated at her table, graciously turning down invitations to dance. She couldn’t help but engage in a bit of subversive flirting, however, with the odd wink and her alluring Marlene Dietrich stare. It worked every time; an ebony woman dressed in African attire approached, smiling down at Jazz.
“Aha, there you are!” Paola’s greeting was boisterous and her angry glare at the intruder sent the African woman hurrying away.
Paola was dressed for seduction. Jazz looked her up and down, and her face flashed a delighted mark of approval.
“Ravaging! Paola, you look good enough to eat!”
“I just saw that my Alley-Cat was getting hungry? Who was that woman?”
“How would I know? She just walked over to my table and then you arrived.”
“Lucky for you, Alley Cat. I warned you…”
“Paola, I phoned you. That should tell you how much I want to be with you.”
Jazz followed this up with a playful growl. They locked eyes and the seduction was on! Jazz indicated the drink she had ordered for Paola.
“Let me thank you.” Paola said, grinning.
Jazz nearly choked on her drink as she felt a toe from beneath the table press into and stroke her crotch. Paola mouthed the straw in her drink and the seductive moves were not lost on Jazz. The toe pressed again and their eyes met while their bodies simmered. So intense was their foreplay that neither woman noticed the three young women approaching their table.
A Gay London Events booklet was unexpectedly thrust between the lovers.
“Excuse me, but could you sign this for us, Jazz?”
Paola muttered unhappy words in Portuguese. It didn’t take a genius or a translator to recognize what was clearly a string of quiet curses and insults. One of the girls, sensing Paola’s anger, complimented the Brazilian on her outfit and beauty.
The South American smiled and turned her attention back to Jazz. She snapped, “Sign, and then dance with me!”
Jazz produced some small glossy publicity photos from inside her jacket. She asked each woman for her name, then signed her own, and passed them out. The women glanced at the picture of Jazz on the filming set. She was wearing her signature overalls, work boots, plaid shirt and a tool belt. The women gushed their appreciation and went off in search of their next potential gay celebrity.
“Now, can we dance?” Paola was up on her feet. It was more of an order than a request.
Jazz took her time, slowly sipping her Black Russian. She shot Paola a hard look, then relented and took her outstretched hand.
Paola eased her body closer to Jazz.
“Baby, you know I hate these clubs.”
“You just don’t like to share me.”
Paola snorted. ”At least in private nightclubs people know who I am!”
“I know you well,” Jazz said softly, kissing her lovingly on the back of her neck. Paola shivered with delight.
“Why do I get so mad? You do this to me every time, Alley Cat!”
“There’s a lot that I’d like to do to you right now, Paola.”