I was once at a dinner party where one of the guests − a gay man − asked me in all sincerity, “Is it true that when lesbians go out clubbing they always end up beating the crap out of each other?” I laughed and said, “No, of course not, you dumb homo. What do you take us for?” He was the same guy who had earlier confided in us that when he rents out his house in P-town to a group of lesbians, their favourite after dinner pass-time is moving all the furniture to the side and competing in wrestling matches on the carpet. There and then I may have giggled with the rest of them, but it did trigger a nasty memory of that night I slapped Katy in the face. To this day, I still feel ashamed but at least now I can see it for what it was: an act of utter powerlessness.

Obviously I shouldn’t have hit her but I was drunk, angry and I wanted to hurt her. Katy didn’t run away or turn around, she just stood there looking at me in disbelief. Alex was speechless. It was quite a scene. It was safe to say my inner dramaholic suffered a serious relapse. I did have the decency to ask Katy if she was alright, but she just kept staring at me. Alex then took charge and put us all in a cab. Fortunately, the ride only took a couple of minutes but the icy silence inside the cab made it seem like three hours. Before allowing me to set foot in his place, where Katy was also staying, Alex warned me to keep my temporary violent tendencies firmly under control, and then he hugged me. He sat us both down at his kitchen table and solemnly spoke, “I believe you ladies have some matters to discuss. I suggest you do it over this bottle of water. If you need me, I’ll be in the other room. And do try not to break anything.”

And there I was, face to face with Katy, the unavoidable woman, the bisexual Judas, my ex-girlfriend who I had just smacked in the face for all the lesbian club to see.
“I’m so sorry for hitting you. I shouldn’t have done that, but not because you don’t deserve it.”
“What kind of an apology is that?”
“The only kind you’re going to get from me.”
“I had no idea you’d be at that club. Alex could have said something. I really didn’t go there to taunt you.”
“Yeah well, you know what Alex is like. He’s not the most organised of gays.”
“So things didn’t work out in Paris, I hear.”
“Funny you should mention that.”
“I know you blame me for what happened with Claire, but you really shouldn’t.”
“That’s good to hear, Katy. You always have my best interests at heart.”
“I admit to chatting her up a bit. I instigated the conversation and the direction it took. But I never thought she would go for it.”
“That’s your excuse? You believed she wouldn’t go for it? After all this time you couldn’t come up with something better?”
“I’m just telling you how it went down.”
“Well, here’s how I see it, Katy. You recognised her, you made your move, you never told her who you were, and you fucked her against the bloody wall. And then, only then, after you were done with her, you told her you were my ex. How is all of that not your fault?”
“Usually when someone is in a long-term relationship they don’t respond to the advances of another woman.”
“We had an open relationship.”
“Yeah, and how did that work out for you?”
“Fuck you, Katy. I’m done listening to your sad excuses. If you can’t tell me why you tricked my girlfriend into sleeping with you, then I’m done here. Tell Alex I’ll call him tomorrow.”
“Bye, Lee.”

To be continued…