Page 48 of XX Love Affair
Delia was inclined to shake her head, with or without someone touching it, but she hesitated. Normally, I would say yes. While Delia wasn’t opposed to a long-term relationship with the right person, she always imagined that woman being closer to her in age. Someone with a career already established or in a position to still take care of herself should the relationship explode. Good sexual compatibility was a must, but Delia wasn’t Helena’s age anymore – she knew there was far more to a healthy relationship than sex. But I do like sex… So did her partners. Like Helena.
Shit, Helena didn’t simply like sex. She loved it. The girl breathed it like it was nitrous oxide at the dentist’s office. She’d probably flirt with the dentist, too. What really struck Delia wasn’t Helena’s inhibitions being let loose every time they were together. It was that she didn’t seem to have a particular type, aside from “older.” Men, women… she lapped up attention from everyone, even those she probably had no intention of sleeping with. More than once, they had been out to dinner or a show and heads turned. Delia wasn’t silly enough to think they were staring at her. They were gaping at Helena, a young woman so confident in her sexuality that she flirted with everyone crossing her path. Other women would have hated this, but Delia found it intriguing. She wasn’t used to young women from the West Coast equivalent of Kansas knowing themselves so well already.
But she was still immature. She was barely in her twenties, which Delia had to constantly remind herself. Ten years ago, when she was that age, Delia would have been head over heels in love with Helena. She would have moved mountains, recoursed rivers, and lassoed the moon out of the sky for an out-of-towner who was so damn cool she made Delia’s knees shake. That was such a rare feeling. Spoiled, indulgent Delia Benoist had already been around the block a few times by the time she landed in college. It was why she pursued kink and rivalries to feel something when alcohol and drugs did nothing for her. Sometimes, the kink was with the rivalries, like with Mira Whitfield, a woman who had never forgiven her for the mind games.
I used to pay for her dominatrix services even though I’ve never been the submissive type. All because it amused her. Delia had wanted to see how much money it took before Mira was willing to switch roles. Delia paid more for Mira to sleep with her the old-fashioned way than she ever would have with a regular escort. Those women didn’t give me the thrill of “winning.”
At thirty, Delia cringed at her younger self. Not enough to grow the pair necessary to apologize to women like Mira, but she was making her way there. Until then, she got used to her radical acts of kindness, often under anonymity or assumed names. She was one of the biggest financial contributors to the local submissives’ guild, of which both Tara Staudenmaier and Mira’s partner Blair Thorne were members. The guild provided monetary and legal relief for “kept” women who relied on their rich and powerful partners to take care of them. Sometimes, those relationships blew up. Fantastically.
Some of Delia’s exes had been members, too, which was how she learned about it. If she and Helena became serious – for some inexplicable reason – she’d insist her girlfriend join as well. It made good sense. Cheaper than a prenup. Better, too, since it didn’t require marriage.
Stop getting ahead of yourself. It would never work with Helena. Even if she didn’t have to return to college that fall, she existed in a separate dimension from Delia, who had already seen a swathe of the world and wasn’t in a hurry to see more as quickly. Her thirties were here, and her brain, her body, her priorities were changing. What made her cringe now had been all the rage at Helena’s age.
Except I wasn’t as “active” as her… Partly because Delia vastly preferred women, who weren’t as numerous for sexual pursuits, but also because sex hadn’t been about…
To be blunt, it hadn’t been about validation.
That was what Delia meant by Helena being immature. She was at an age when sex was still so new. An adventure. She was young, knew it, and used it to her advantage. She had said as much at times. Maybe not directly, but enough for Delia to get the gist. I’ve known many girls like her… They thirsted for attention and, ultimately, validation. They yearned to know they were good. The best. Memorable. They weren’t heartbreakers as much as they were energy-drainers. And the more blood they suck out of you, the more it’s replaced with them. Delia was more impervious to it since she managed to keep her distance from those tactics. She recognized them for what they were and never allowed herself to think that she was floating through a fairy tale with a hot young woman who would do whatever she wanted. As long as it benefited them both, anyway.
Even if Delia wanted to fall in love with Helena now… that was the dumbest thing conceptualized.
But people knew they were dating. They had been seen out together enough times by now, never mind at high-profile club events where Helena won a bevy of green beads and had her ass slapped by half the house. A few nosy busybodies who had her in their address lists texted Delia to ask if it was true. Others claimed to have seen her with other women on the West Coast. But Delia had always maintained that it was an affair. A fling. Something two people looking for companionship got up to in place of a proper relationship.
“Luckily” for Delia, that meant she could still take Helena places where she required a competent +1.
“I’m taking her to Francesca Blake’s big garden party this weekend.” Delia already dreaded it. Francesca Blake was the kind of older woman she was entangled with entirely because her mother was in that social circle. The same one the likes of infamous women like Isabella Warren also frequented, and everyone knew that lady was a bitch of the highest order. Yet Delia didn’t mind a yearly appearance at the biggest garden party of the season if it meant keeping her mother happy. Since Lemon couldn’t make it that year, it fell on Delia, anyway.
“That explains why you had to get your hair fixed up.”
“Right? Couldn’t go there with these roots. My mother would never hear the end of it from Francesca. I mean, she already won’t hear the end of it because of… you know.”
“The fact you’re going to be as blond as a Swede?”
“God willing, I look like the fifth member of ABBA.”
Helena already knew about the plans to attend the garden party. Which suited her fine, since she had nothing else to do without that job she had talked about before. Apparently, winning ten thousand in New York covered her finances until she went back to college. What’s that like? My monthly bills are ten thousand dollars! Rent, insurance, phone, car, subscription services, memberships, grocery and eating out… sure, Delia could cut it down to seven thousand easily, but why would she? That sounded boring.
Delia had to sit still while Greta continued to work on her hair. It was the perfect opportunity to reflect on the decisions she had made so far that year.
Crap. Crap. Also crap. That was before she got to meeting Helena and agreeing to hook up with her… let alone dating her for more than a month.
Jury was still out on that.
Chapter 16
Ironically, the only person to comment on her new hair was Helena, who met up with her that same night and stared at her as if someone else commandeered the steering wheel of Delia’s car. Never mind I told her I was getting my hair dyed today! What did Helena expect? The same bronzish brown that Delia had when they met? She doesn’t know me very well. The only reason Delia had slowed down changing her hair color every two months was because time went by too quickly now. And because professionals like Greta gently suggested she be nicer to her hair.
So, she was blond now. Blond, bobbish, and biting to take Helena out so they could show off her new look. And buy Helena an appropriate dress for the garden party, because most of what Delia had seen her wearing so far was either too revealing or not designer enough. This kind of soiree required the classic floral patterned maxi dress that already looked fantastic on Helena’s tall and athletic frame. With her full, curly hair? She’d turn heads in all the right ways, therefore deflecting any criticism from Delia. Certainly!
They hit up The Crimson Dove, the same place most of the other attendees would shop from. Knowing this, Delia announced to their assigned helper that this was for Francesca Blake’s garden party, and it was imperative that Helena not wear the same dress as someone else. Boutiques like The Crimson Dove always inquired what event a particular dress was for and kept track in their files exactly for this moment. Some of the nicer springtime maxi dresses were bypassed simply because someone else had already bought them for the same party.
Helena was agreeable. She made her opinions known, but ultimately, she wanted something that looked good on her while also keeping Delia and the party hostess happy. She’s a pro at this already. People had been playing dress up with Helena for who knew how long already. She even knew what designers she was inclined to try on first, leading everyone to quickly settle on an Adrianna Papell off-the-shoulder chiffon dress. Delia wasn’t sold on the demure springtime palette at first, but she quickly warmed up to it once it was on Helena’s body, accentuating her chest, her waist, and offering a peek at her muscular legs.
“That’s the one,” Delia said after snapping a quick picture. “Looks like they only have to take up about a quarter inch so it’s not dragging on the floor. Unless you’re wearing bigger heels, which I don’t recommend.”
“A kitten-heeled sandal is perfect for this kind of dress,” the helper agreed. “I’ll take it up half an inch to be on the safe side.”
“Whatever. It all works for me.”