Page 9 of Make Her Mine

She looked fantastic nonetheless, Esme noted in irritation. Wide bone-colored linen trousers and a matching linen vest top, secured with large, glossy wood buttons in a rich shade of brown. Her hair was a perfectly sculpted gleaming cap of gold, now streaked with pink from the overhead lights. Money, confidence, and security radiated from her—all things Esme had never felt in such abundance within her own life. As much as Esme almost envied that, she also admired it. What must it be like to be able to go through the world never having to worry about a thing?

And why in heaven’s name was she continually drawn and attracted to the woman? Of all people on Earth to make her feel anything like sexual interest in over a decade, it had to be the one who was going to take everything Esme loved away from her. Someone who was nothing like her at all, with whom she couldn’t possibly share any values.

And yet. Here she was, eyes fixed on Nora as she began to explore the party with interest.

Esme slipped away from Harper and Mia and began to cautiously wind her way through the crowd. She wanted to be near Nora, partly to figure out just what in the world the woman was doing here, and partly to…

Well, Esme wasn’t ready to talk about that, not yet. Not even to herself.

6

Nora leaned up on her toes to repeat her question into the drag queen’s ear. “What do you like about being here?”

The queen, teetering above the crowd in her six-inch platform stilettos and making 5’11 Nora feel like a pixie, smiled broadly. “What’s not to like, sugar?” she asked, sweeping her long-nailed hand to take in the entire room of exuberant revelers, all covered in glitter and feather boas. “Look at all the love here; look how full the donation jars are. We’re having fun and doing good.” Leaning down, she pressed her full pink lips to Nora’s cheek. “Enjoy the party!” she twittered out just before she danced off in the direction of the tiny stage.

Mia Cortés and her backing band were on the stage now, singing what she’d announced would be the last song of her set. She’d held the audience rapt with her sexy, torchy numbers, all spun out like a magical tapestry in her beautifully throaty voice. Even Nora had fallen under her spell for a good chunk of the set, catching herself swaying along to the sultry rhythms on more than one occasion.

Speaking of catching things… Nora looked out the corner of her left eye and spotted Esme lurking nearby yet again. She wondered if the woman somehow thought she was being subtle, trying to spy on Nora in that mile high pile of curls and barely-there silver sequined dress. It was kind of adorable, if so. She’d slipped and slithered through the crowd for the last hour while Nora danced, socialized, and feasted on amazing snacks. Nora felt she was certainly getting her money’s worth out of the $25 cover being charged at the door.

And judging by her impromptu canvassing of the crowd, they all thought they were, too. This was absolutely a deeply beloved place of sapphic community, Nora saw that now. There were huge donation jars all around the Lounge with signs reminding the crowd that all tips and donations were going to the thrift store chain, and they were all very full—but Nora had also seen one coated in deep blue glitter and affixed with a sign that read Damn the Man, Save the Indigo! that was positively overflowing with bills. And a lanky, androgynous-looking woman in an Indigo Lounge staff shirt had come by to empty that particular jar into a money bag three times already. As soon as she’d walked away, more donations were pouring into it, filling it again and again.

Oliver had been right. This place was important and did a significant amount of good, and neither Esme nor her patrons were going to go down without a fight.

Mia bowed and vacated the stage, and the Lounge speakers began pumping again with what Nora could now identify as Chappell Roan’s music. It was mixed in with other artists, of course, but the primary focus was Chappell, who’d even sent in a fond video message of gratitude to the Lounge that Esme had played on the big screen TV mounted near the ceiling over the stage. Nora had asked a few patrons and they’d waxed poetic over the young superstar’s salad days at the Lounge years ago. It seemed young sapphic musicians often found a launching pad in the Lounge, just another indicator of how important the tiny little café-bar was.

Nora ordered a dirty martini at the bar and sipped at it while she thought. There was no denying the enormous value placed on the Indigo Lounge by the people who called it home. And the more research Nora had done, the more she realized that it could never fit anywhere but here in Downtown LA, no matter what went in around it. It wasn’t slick enough for WeHo, posh enough for Malibu, or boho enough for Culver City. Downtown could clean itself up as much as it liked, but anyone could see it would still be a little gritty, grounded in reality. And the Indigo Lounge would be the queer beating heart of it.

Unless she closed it down. Something Nora was increasingly unsure she’d be able to justify doing. But she needed profitable businesses in the Fairchild. The Lounge had to make a case for the tiny, valuable space it took up. Nora frowned and drained her drink. Her mind was just going in circles. She decided to find the restroom.

The crowd bouncing to the song Nora now knew was Pink Pony Club was reluctant to let her through, but she kept squeezing and pressing herself along until she got to the dark little hallway she was sure held the restrooms. Carefully, she groped along the walls, squinting at the signs on the doors.

Nora gasped as one door near the end of the hall opened and a slender hand shot out and grabbed her by the wrist. Before she could let out so much as a squeak, she’d been dragged into a tiny closet of an office and thrust down into a rickety office chair. “What are you doing here?” Esme demanded, slamming the door shut behind herself and leaning against it. She crossed her arms over her bosom and scowled thunderously at Nora.

Where Esme’s bottom was pressed up against the door, the hemline of her absurdly tiny dress rode up and exposed more of her long legs. Nora swallowed and lost her train of thought entirely. “Sorry?”

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” Esme gestured back towards the main area of the Lounge. “Why did you come tonight? Why are you interrogating my guests? Snooping around my office? Are you looking for ammunition? Because let me tell you, Ms. Hartley, you’re messing with the wrong woman.”

Nora was usually unflappable, but between Esme’s legs and the outrageous accusations, tonight she couldn’t help it when her mouth dropped open with incredulity. “Jesus! Are you this goddamn bitchy to everyone who accidentally wanders by you while they’re looking for a bathroom?”

This seemed to throw Esme off for a second, but she rallied. “No, only the ones who want to hurl me out on the street.”

“I don’t…” Exasperated, Nora slumped back in the office chair and sighed loudly. “Damn it, Esme.”

“We are not on a first name basis,” Esme snapped.

“Fine. Ms. Bloom, I am not going to throw you out on the street. I told you, I can help you relocate.” Remembering how Oliver had reprimanded her for thinking a move would enliven the Lounge, she decided not to mention it. “Downtown LA is full of available spaces, I’m sure we could find one suitable for the Lounge.”

“The Lounge is fine where it is. It’s beloved where it is.”

Nora sighed. “I know you love this location. I know the clientele loves it.” She spread her hands wide and shrugged. “Love isn’t profitability.”

“Love is more important than money,” Esme snarled.

She was so tired of these spats. True, a part of Nora couldn’t refute Esme’s assertion. But the part of her that had in fact chosen her career success and money over love was louder. She stood up, drawing her shoulders back. For the first time, she realized how much taller she was than Esme, and that, momentarily, was a very distracting thought. She shook it away and tried to stand even taller. “Not in real estate, it’s not.”

Fire lit Esme’s wide brown eyes. “You are heartless, disrespectful, greedy, selfish?—”

“Your impression of a thesaurus is impressive,” Nora taunted, enjoying the way sparks all but crackled off of Esme’s halo of curls and flowers. “But unless you’ve got money behind it, I’m sorry, Ms. Bloom, the Lounge can’t stay here.”

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