It's Always Snowy in Manehattan

“So I was just sitting in the bar, enjoying my drink,” Octavia spoke, huffing as she paced the room, “when this, this woman - I don’t know if I can call her that - just turns on to me and asks me for my phone. Naturally, I think she’s asking me for a phone number,” Octavia pushed her hands against the wall in irritation, doing a bizarre sort of vertical push-ups, “and I say no, because hell, she’s been talking for hours about how her poor lesbian life is devoid of relationships, and you know how I feel about those, and, uh, she says something so, uh, disgusting, something something so tactless-”

“That she could have you in her bed, like, ten minutes ago?” Beatrice supplied, rummaging through the drawer in search for lipstick. “Where do you even hide the stuff? It’s impossible to find.”

“You know,” Octavia said seriously, “I think the problem is that, in some cities, including Manehattan, lesbians have just a tad too many rights. It’s like the neg-”

“Black people,” Beatrice quickly supplied. “What you wanted to say was ‘black people’.”

Octavia’s eye twitched. “This is what I’m talking about. If I’m to be shunned because I turned down some dyke! Well! If it were a man I’d turned down, it’d be all fine and dandy, but- uh! Why am I even thinking about her?” She turned towards her interlocutor suddenly, blinking her eyes in dismay. “I shouldn’t even be- ugh.”

“Maybe you should move to Stalliongrad,” Beatrice joked. “I hear they outlawed gay propaganda there.” She took up lipstick and a small mirror lying by her side.

“Oh no,” Octavia laughed, “I hear winters are dreadful there. I’m having enough cold here this winter. Fifteen below zero! Seriously, what the hell?” She looked out of the window onto the slate-grey, sunless city. “And that snow. When the hell will the bloody snow end?” She paused, looking at her friend, who looked attentively into the mirror, pressing the lipstick against her lips softly. “Well, so I slapped her across the face.”

“You did what?” Beatrice looked up in disbelief, holding the lipstick near her face.

Octavia shrugged with a tiny smile. “I slapped her across the face. Seriously, Bea, do you even know me?” She sat onto the bed next to her friend and, suddenly, hugged her tight. “Little silly Bea, can’t believe I can be firm when necessary.”

“Well,” the blushing woman replied, placing the lipstick onto the bed and returning the hug, “a bitchslap is certainly something I wouldn’t expect from you, Octavia.”

“Well, my dear Bea…” Octavia kissed the woman’s forehead with a jingling laugh. “I’m full of surprises. Now.” She stood up, regaining control, once again the prim, stately solo cellist, once again the face of the Conservatoire, once again the leader. “I’ll go make us some tea.”

“You would make an interesting lesbian, Octavia,” Beatrice called out as the host left the bedroom. She sighed, looking at herself in the mirror and picking up the lipstick again. Quietly, almost silently, she said to herself, wistfully, “If only…”

***

Vinyl Scratch woke up in a terrible mood. First of all, she woke up at half past two, a little before the sun was going to set, as it always did in such winters; secondly, she woke up thirsty and hungover; and last but not least, she woke up thinking about the woman that had haunted her dreams, that horrible, horrible sexy Octavia Philarmonica, that temptess, that, that…

Vinyl Scratch stood up, shaking off the remains of sleep, and looked at the old watch that was boasting half past four, always two hours off.

What to do? When hungover, read. That’s what they told me. The letters, hard to decipher. Brave them, and the headache fades away. That’s the way to do it. That’s the way. It will be fine, the beginning of The Lighthouse tells her. But it won’t. Ugh. Two pages. Four pages.

The solid, panoramic bookshelves. Why don’t I? A separate bookcase, sure. For other books. For my favourites, shelves within a large what do you call it? A case, a cupboard? Seven bookshelves, together, unglassed; two shelves for glasses, glassed; and separate drawers for cutlery. And books. And the old clock that was showing five, that is, three.

Vinyl closed the book and put it back onto the shelf. So many books, so few of them finished. Why can’t I finish a bad book? Why do I reread the good ones so much? To prolong the joy. Extend? She proceeded, out of the bedroom and past the corridor with the proper bookcases, into the kitchen. Water, water. The tap. Gulp gulp. Ah. Ah!

The waters of life! And maybe some beer? No, no. What t is it? Ah, cold, cold. Fifteen below. Gods blast this winter and everything it stands for! Always cold in Manehattan. Always snowy in Manehattan. Blasted city.

Blasted Octavia Philarmonica. If I were to meet her-! Hm. But how then… Ah, what if I just look her up and… Just, you know, maybe to see if there’s something to it… Something like a web page? Places she frequents? A way to contact her? To come, to conquer. To see. Shark shark shark towards the computer. Come on, load, you piece of. There.

Oc-ta-vi-a Phi-lar-mo-ni-ca.

Hmm. A cellist? Interesting! Plays Vivaldi in an orchestra. A soloist! Plays in the chamber orchestra. Hm! Hmm! Interesting.

Scratch scratch. That ass itches like mad. Ugh. Scratch scr- No contact info, then? Huh. Okay. Maybe I’ll visit one of your concerts, Octavia Philarmonica. Oh yes, you will play your cello and I will come up after the concert and give you that look and you will blush and I will ravish you there and then and never give you a rose as a goodbye. And you will remember. Oh! You will lament!

I’ve got a mixture of feelings for you, baby, right here in my back pocket. Just you come and get it.

***

Dusk had long fallen over Manehattan, and night was closing in on the majestic city, but Octavia Philarmonica was struggling to fall asleep in her large, comfortable bed, struggling with a white, red, screaming rage that was commanding her body at the moment. She had beaten her fists into a bloody red before she went to bed, she had done her breathing exercises, now her knuckles were hurting, and she was breathing laboriously, sweating under the blankets.

That Vinyl Scratch! How grand we are! Ha! Talking to me like that! Yesterday a day has passed already but a day isn’t that much to think about it yes only a day had passed and definitely what I mean is it is difficult to let go of such things especially since it happened just a day ago I shouldn’t have done that my poor knuckles but what can I do sometimes I just lose control I cannot deal with it anyhow well sure those pills help but sometimes you just keep it all inside you and then it just comes pouring out sure it’s not normal anger issues fury even but what can I do when the stimuli are there you cannot ignore the stimuli oh gods why be normal when you can be happy that stimulus that bloody-!

She would show her! She would show her just what she, Octavia Philarmonica, was like. Ice-cold. Unabated. Unconquered. No man had ever come close to claiming her, and definitely no woman!

Flushed, she remembered the advances made on her in school. How it had scared her, disgusted her, pushed her away. She remembered how she had punched one of the girls who’d kissed her. How she ran when four of the strongest girls on campus wanted to deflower her… Octavia stood up, tall and stately, and her eyes flashed at the mirror. No. She would not be conquered, less by such a disgusting, quaint, tactless woman as… what was her name? Vinyl Scratch. What a stupid, stupid name. Befitting such a stupid woman.

Nothing would give her such joy as putting her back in place. Nothing would give her such delight as seeing that Vinyl Scratch stammer, turned down, unable to comprehend what’s going on, let down, yes, terminated, laughed at, yes, made a full of!, yes!, she’ll do that, she’d give up her place in the orchestra just to see her fail. And fall.

Octavia, agitated, grinned, cracking her knuckles. Yes! That’s what she would do. If she is ever to meet that disgusting Vinyl Scratch again, she’ll show her, yes!, she doesn’t know how yet, but she will, by the gods, she will!

Why, in fact, she would just love to meet that terrible, terrible woman and just give her a piece of her mind! Oh yes, she would! Why, she would… Where would she, presumably, even meet her, just to give her a piece of her mind and lead her on and make her suffer maybe just a little but definitely not more than she deserved…

Oh yes she maybe could maybe check I mean maybe could just search her name up in the net see if she has a webpage or some of some sort and of course I’ll do it the first thing tomorrow it’s getting late already yesterday ha yesterday I met her seems like eternity no of course not an eternity it’s merely been a day and what I am trying to say I just gonna take this quick nap and then I’ll…