Power Trio

In the scant hours between the end of practice and her appointed time with Kell, Thekla bikes home and, for reasons she can’t vocalize, does her makeup. Severe geometrical wings, a ruby lip. She loves to go hard on this for dates or interviews; it’s her armor. Why does she need her armor for Kell?

Dalma is out again; a note on the fridge says that she’s in the Lumber District at an ayahuasca ceremony, and that Thekla is welcome to half an acai bowl she’s put in the fridge. Thekla eats it without really tasting it. Evan is presumably at Labyrinth, at his new assistant gig. Good. She doesn’t want to see him.

She bikes back to the Shed, taking the long route along the riverfront, past the memorial byways and Mosaic park. The skyscrapers of New Laytham’s midtown rise on the other side of Lake Champlain. It used to be New York over there, before they foisted the city on Vermont, neatly divvied up the fairfolk population across the redrawn border. Too many freaks in one state and their vote means something. Must ensure we have plenty of adults in the room to overrule the fairy tale people. The evenings still haven’t quite caught up with the summer days, and the sweat of Thekla’s ride is chilly on her arms.

Kell’s beaten her to Herbalism, and she can hear the drums from the hallway. The Shed is lit in its customary carnival twilight; Kell’s brought the same see-through red plastic cups as their first chablis night. She fixes Thekla with the same big, beautiful grin as the goblin comes in. She’s still wearing the same bike shorts and sleeveless tee she had on for practice, sweat rings at the pits from the effort of her musicmaking. Her sideshave is bound back in a ponytail to keep it out of her face. Thekla thinks, not for the first time, that Kell is the most beautiful woman in New Laytham.

“What’s up, girl?” Kell hops up from the drums and pulls a sloshing cardboard box from the fridge behind Neko-Chan’s pillowcase. “You ready to be a lush with me?”

Thekla’s returned smile comes easier than she thought it would. “Pour me some of that terrible white wine and let’s see.”

They spread out one of the amp coverings on the floor before they sit on it; neither woman trusts the horrendous carpets. There’s a vacuum rotation, supposedly, but Thekla is positive that she’s the only actual practitioner of it.

Thekla tunes up her guitar, and Kell takes the Shed’s ratty acoustic in hand, and the two of them play. And drink. And they talk about Glorie’s, and the songs they’re working on, and their most annoying coworkers, and Dalma’s art and Kell’s big weird family.

And Thekla’s heart unknots itself, slowly, because of course it does. This is Kell, her best friend in the world.

“What if it was like this?” Kell takes the riff Thekla’s been bouncing around and executes a sloppy double-stopped version of it. Guitar is far from her strongest instrument, and her rendition breaks down into a goofball flamenco strum.

“Exactly like that?” Thekla mimics her, even looser.

“Yeah. Yeah!” Kell slaps her palms against the acoustic and drums out an arabesque compás. “Fuck rock and roll, man. Let’s get classical and fuck off to Barcelona.” She spreads the “c” out into an exaggerated lisp, stubbornly keeps it going until she cracks Thekla up.

“And I shall be our hairy chested tocador. With dreamy eyes.” Thekla refills her cup. “And we will eat tapas.”

Kell giggles. “And fight bulls.”

“And dance the forbidden dance.”

“I’d have to get one of those box things instead of my drums. That the guy sits on and spanks. Whadyoucallem. A cajón.” Kell briefly demonstrates with the boxed wine, which sloshes haphazardly. “Fuck that, man. I’ve changed my mind. We have to stay rock.”

“Oh, well.” Thekla transforms her tocador strum back into the spiny post-punk riff she’d been working on. “I’ll cancel all the puffy sleeves I was ordering.”

“That’s okay. I think your eyes are dreamy, anyway. Look at those wings! Did you have those earlier today?” Her eyebrows shoot up as she takes Thekla’s face all the way in. “You did your whole face for little ol’ me?”

“Yeah, well.” Thekla’s cheeks feel hot suddenly. She takes another drink. “I just thought it’s been a second since it’s been just us, you know? What with the. Um.”

She is afraid to say his name.

Kell’s cheer goes brittle. She does that fluttery laugh she does when she’s anxious. It makes Thekla’s heart hurt. “Right,” Kell says, turning the wine nozzle her way. But her hand stills before she pours, and she sets her cup aside. “I have some things I need to talk about with you. That I’m kind of overdue on.”

Thekla’s good humor is flaking and peeling away, sharpening into something narrow and pointed.

“One second.” She drains her chablis in one long tilted gulp and pours another cup. “Well, someone needs to drink it,” she says, to Kell’s dubious look.

“Okay.” Kell closes her eyes, steels herself. “First, I wanna say that this has been a really great month for us and that’s mostly because of you, and how good you are at leading this band and how accepting you’ve been of Evan.”

“That’s me. Saint Thekla.”

“Thekla, can you not—can you give me a bit and wait until the end of my thing?”

“Sure.” Another gulp of chablis.

“And I know it hasn’t been exactly what you wanted. Me neither, really, like I didn’t assume that we’d be playing with a human and that he’d be crashing with us. But it’s working, right? Like the sound rocks, he’s not a head case...”

“Do I talk now?” Thekla interrupts. “Or was that rhetorical?”

Kell chews her lip. “I guess it wasn’t.”

“It’s working,” Thekla says. “It is. It’s working better than I thought it would, than I even wanted it to. Evan is nice, and he knows his craft and he takes direction and he’s handsome. Are you fucking him?”

Ambush sprung. She hates herself for it. Kell freezes.

“Because if you’re fucking him, then you shouldn’t.” Thekla follows her urge to stand up and pace. She’s gotten unexpectedly tipsy. “I think it’s gonna mess with the dynamic and bring in all this drama that we can’t afford, and it never goes right when a band gets incestuous. We spend too much time together and we expose too much to each other and critique and frustration get wrapped up in it, and it ends up like…” Thekla catches herself. You will not talk about Ragan. You’re not trying to hurt her. “It doesn’t end up good.”

“Thek. It’s not like that. I want—”

“Are you fucking him, though?” Thekla demands. Maybe tipsy is too tame a word.

“No!” Kell has shrunken in on herself. “I mean not yet.”

“Kell, you can’t.” Thekla hates how she sounds; she’s desperate, pleading. “It’s not a good idea. It’s not… it’s not fair.” She shouldn’t have drunk that last glass. “You and Evan can’t just leave me alone, okay? You can’t. I can’t just watch and be a wiseass like Sion. I’m not him. And I don’t want to fuck a pianist! I was kidding!” She leans herself on an amp/cab combo and sits shakily atop it.

“Thek—”

“I don’t want to hate him. I don’t. But how could I not if you…” She feels the sting of tears form at the edges of her eyes. “I’m your best friend, and he doesn’t know you at all, and he just gets to come in and take you? And ignore all the reasons it’s a bad idea and maybe hurt you? It’s not fair. It should have been me!” she blurts.

Kell is staring at her. Oh no. Thekla, you dumbass.

“On bass,” she continues, hastily. “We should have gone with the power trio. I know you keep saying it’s not my instrument—”

Kell moves very, very fast. In the blink of an eye, she is off the floor, inches from Thekla, massive and beautiful. She engulfs Thekla in her arms, squeezing the goblin tight. “I will never, ever, ever do that to you,” she whispers. “You are the most important person in the world to me. I love you, Thekla.”

Thekla finally lets it out, and weeps into Kell’s muscular shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m drunk and mean and I’m being weird. You should do whatever you want with him. It’s okay.”

“Thekla. I just said—”

“I’m serious.” She snorts outrageously, trying to get at least her mucous under control. “Fuck Evan. You’d have such cute half orc babies.”

“Jesus, girl, will you listen to what I’m saying, or do I have to pick you up again?” Kell straightens her arms out, stares Thekla in the eye. “I love you, Thekla Kamiyon. I’ve been in love with you for like half the time I’ve known you.”

Thekla blinks. “In love?”

“Evan finally got me to admit it to myself.”

“Wait. Wait.” Thekla's mind is racing. Surely she misheard. “Like, not just ‘I love you.’ You’re in love with me.”

“That’s right.”

“Like not just love but in love. Romantic, kissy love.”

“If you weren’t drunk, I would kiss you right now.”

“Oh.” Thekla’s tears dry as her brain attempts to piece the world back together with these new instructions. She gazes at Kell.

“My makeup is all over your arm,” she manages.

Kell chokes out another one of her anxiety laughs. “Is that your response?”

“No. No, I just.” She sniffs a gob of weepy snot back down her throat. “Do I look crazy?”

“You look beautiful,” Kell says. “You’re always so beautiful, Thekla.”

Thekla is light-headed.

“Look, I didn’t mean for you to get this tanked on boxed wine,” Kell says. “I fucked that part up. But I’m in love with you and I want to be with you. But there’s also this whole other factor we need to talk about, and I’m worried you’re a bit too blitzed now, babe.”

“I’m in love with you, too,” Thekla says, with a sudden clarity that, if it’s not quite sobriety, is the next best thing. A flood of relief and joy bursts the dam of her eyes all over again. “I’m in love with you,” she repeats, tears bubbling back up, in disbelief that she’s finally said it, spat out those words that were like coals burning her insides. She’s in love with her best friend, and the world hasn’t ended, and Kell hasn’t turned into a pillar of salt. The orc gives a shockingly feminine squeak of joy, sweeping Thekla back up against her chest.

Thekla gulps to dislodge her throat from the sobs that were racking it. “I’m in love with you and I am very drunk, but I am not sad anymore. I will be a big girl. Can you pretend I didn’t listen to you and pick me up?”

Kell does so. For a girl built like a lioness, her touch is so toe-curlingly gentle.

“And you can kiss me, too.” Thekla rubs her cheek against Kell’s thumb.

Kell giggles but shakes her head. “Let’s save that for when you’ve slept this off, okay?”

“Okay. Don’t change the subject.” Thekla wipes at her eyes with her wrist, streaking it with mascara. “You said there’s a factor. What factor?”

“I want to be yours,” Kell says. “I want to be Evan’s, too.”

“Ooh.” Thekla squirms in Kell’s arms. Now that the wine isn’t making her sad and angry, it’s exercising an altogether different effect on her. “Am I gonna be Kellax Falrak’s harem girl?”

“Whatever we call ourselves, it’s not gonna fucking be that.” Kell’s brow furrows. “It doesn’t bother you? At all?”

“Maybe when I’m sober, ask again. But right now I’m feeling kind of goblin-y about it.” She flashes her serrated teeth. “We were hive animals. That’s kind of how we’re wired. I mean, I don’t wanna be like Sion and his hippy fluid circle shit. But if you’re asking me to be your sexy little friat’va…”

“My friat’va?”

“It’s a goblin thing.” Thekla bites her lip. “From the old warren ways. It means favorite pillow.”

Kell laughs. “You were crying a second ago and now you’re this horny?”

“I’m not horny.” Thekla plants a kiss on her thumbpad, presses it further into her mouth. “I’m just curious about the possibilities you’re offering. I can share. I’ll be a good girl. Honest.”

Kell sits them down, and Thekla curls catlike in her lap. God, her thighs are so soft and her stomach is so taut. The smell of her is intoxicating — jasmine and clean cotton and the peppery scent of perspiration peeking through. Thekla’s body clenches like a fist.

“What if you weren’t just sharing me?” Kell strokes Thekla’s ginger hair, makes the goblin want to fall asleep pressed against her abs. “What if we were all a thing? Together?”

Thekla’s eyes snap back open. “Like me and Evan?”

“Three Good Reasons, okay?” Kell holds up three fingers. She’s doing that thing again. “One: you’ve been in a dry spell. Because you’re too busy with the band. So if you’re banging the band, there’s no need to split your time.”

“I do like efficiency…”

“Two: he’s cute. You said so yourself. And he’s extremely eager to please. And three.” Kell leans down, whispers in Thekla’s ear. “Haven’t you ever wondered what being a Thekla sandwich would feel like?”

“A Thekla sandwich,” Thekla repeats, mesmerized. Despite the incredulity she wants to feel, that picture comes back to her, unbidden, of her gasping and writhing underneath their bassist. “Are you sure that poor little rat man isn’t terrified of me?” she asks, to fend it off.

“I guess that’s a question to ask him,” Kell says. “But when we talked about it, he was willing to try.”

Willing to try. Thekla thinks about the smooth, pale skin of his chest, the dimples when he smiles, his quiet presence in her home she’s carved a tranquil little cave within.

“I will consider it,” she allows. “On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Take me with you tonight. Please.” Thekla takes Kell’s hand and presses it against her middle, feels the heat coming off it as it sinks into her body. “We don’t have to kiss or mess around. Just can I sleep in your bed? I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Kell’s hand is so big it stretches across her entire stomach, the longest fingertip brushing between the curves of her breasts. Her chest tightens. She could absolutely obliterate you with these fingers, if she wanted to. She could encircle your neck one-handed.

“Of course, babe.” Kell gives her a scratch behind the ear with her free hand. “What, I’m gonna let you ride your bike home tanked? I insist.”

“You better, Falrak.” Thekla puts on a tough guy voice. “And you better get used to it. And you better bring me breakfast in bed.”

“No eating in my cali king. That’s rule number one.”

“Kellll. I’m planning on spending the rest of my life in there. I gotta eat.”

Kell bears Thekla out of the Shed like a newlywed. “No crumbs in the room, girl.”

“And just let me starve?!” cries Thekla.

The door swings shut behind them.