Chapter 4

4

F our days and a number of disheartening Google searches later, Esme was still in such a thoroughly foul mood that nobody wanted to talk to her. She’d noticed Sasha and Natalie going out of their ways to not bother her unless they really needed help. There’d even been a day she saw them waving regulars off away from her. And normally when her open office door seemed like an invitation for everyone to come have a chat, for the last two days she’d been left alone to such an extent that she actually finished payroll and scheduling a week earlier than usual, an unprecedented feat.

It hurt her heart to know that she was exuding such a hostile air that nobody wanted to be around her. Esme prided herself on her welcoming spirit. She’d baked it into the walls of the Lounge; it was her entire ethos. But now the looming sale of the Fairchild Building had left her sleepless and out of sorts for two days and it did not appear that the black cloud over her head would be dissipating anytime soon.

Because the sale was looming. Inevitable, even. Oliver had confirmed it to her again when she approached them after this Nora person had walked out of the Lounge. Alexandra had rolled her eyes and simply left, and Esme was grateful for that. If she’d had to try and get answers out of her, Esme might have started pulling hair.

But Oliver, and even taciturn Matt to an extent, had both looked at her with sympathy as she pulled out the chair Nora had vacated and sat down herself, her hands in her lap. She didn’t say anything, only gazed at both of them steadily. It was a tactic that had paid off well for her in the past, and it didn’t fail her now.

“I’m sorry, Esme,” Oliver said, reaching over to pat her shoulder. “I think it’s going to go through with Nora.”

It was a hopeless thing to even think about, but she had to try. “How much are you all wanting for the building?”

Matt looked at her, an uncharacteristic pity in his eyes. Soberly, he pushed the long sweep of his bangs back from his face. “Esme. You’ve barely managed to profit the last few years.”

“Tell me, Matty.”

He sighed. “We’ve decided on a fifteen million dollar asking price.”

She had no way of raising that much money. The bar could have been fully profitable to an insane degree every year it had been opened and she’d still never be able to get her hands on fifteen million dollars. She certainly didn’t have enough of anything she could call collateral for a loan that high. Besides, what would she do if she could buy the Fairchild Building? She didn’t know the first thing about trying to rent out office space.

She was certain she was staring down the barrel of the Indigo Lounge’s closure. Someone like Nora Hartley was going to come in and wipe all of the last straggling tenants of the Fairchild off the map.

All Esme had ever wanted was to create a safe community space catering mainly to lesbian, bisexual, and queer women. Her nearly lifelong dream, and she’d achieved it, yet now some manicured shark in a designer suit was sailing in to take a sledgehammer to the walls.

She wanted to cry again. Instead, she’d simply gotten to her feet. “Thanks, boys.” With a curt nod, she’d turned and fled to her office.

Now, today, it was insane to her that something that was so, so important to her and so many others was now under threat because of money . It was so crass to her that the entire meaning of the Indigo Lounge was worthless next to cold, hard cash. The Fairchilds had no idea the blood, sweat, and tears that had gone into just creating the Lounge. No idea what they’d be taking away from people like Mia Cortés, whom Esme had supported until her now-agent and girlfriend Harper Nightingale had discovered her singing on the tiny stage here. Or from the people that Esme’s fundraising efforts helped—people with medical needs and no healthcare, women needing help to escape domestic violence situations, the soup kitchens in the LA area.

Ever since she was a sixteen-year-old runaway from Temecula, in shock after her parents had kicked her out for coming out, Esme had vowed that no one else who needed shelter, food, and community would go without as long as she could help provide it. The Indigo Lounge was so much more than just a café and bar, damn it. It was worth more in importance and sheer meaning than fifteen million dollars…

But money was what made the world go ‘round, as the saying went. Esme braced her elbows on her desk and thrust her hands into her hair so she could massage her aching head. Music drifted in from the Lounge through her cracked-open door; there was a folk-piano player from Kansas City who had come all the way to LA to do a week-long residency at the Lounge. An earnest twenty-year-old with glasses and a short, black and pink haircut, Chloe Riley had arrived with nothing more than a keyboard strapped to her back and a backpack in her hand. She was staying on Esme’s couch, and Esme was certain that she was the next big thing. Would she be the last lesbian breakout star that would be discovered on the Indigo Lounge stage? The thought made Esme’s stomach curdle like bad yogurt.

“E…” Sasha’s voice was all but a whisper, followed by a gentle rap of her knuckles on the door. She slipped through and held up a red plastic basket filled with an avocado mushroom veggie burger and garlic-parmesan fries. A Nalgene bottle full of what looked like pink lemonade dangled from her fingers. “I made you lunch. You’ve got to eat.”

Esme looked up and turned slowly in her desk chair. “I’m not hungry,” she replied, placing a hand over her churning stomach.

“You are, actually. You think you’ll be sick if you eat, but E, you’re going to be sicker if you don’t.” Sasha came around and carefully placed the basket and bottle on the desk in front of Esme. “Come on. Eat something for me. You’re no good to anyone, especially yourself, if you’re not nourished.”

Esme looked at the basket before her. This good old-fashioned comfort food was her favorite thing that Sasha made. And the sautéed mushrooms and grilled onions topping the burger patty did smell good. She picked it up and took a bite. This was the first real food she’d eaten in days.

Flavor exploded on her tongue. Esme let out a little groan and heard Sasha sigh in relief as she tore into the burger, demolishing it in just a few minutes. The fries, perfectly crispy and golden, followed in short order. She washed it all down with the perfectly tangy pink lemonade. At last, Esme leaned back in her chair, hand draped over her now-stuffed-full abdomen. “Okay. You were right. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sasha smiled. “Couldn’t have you waste away on me. I need you in peak form if we’re gonna start talking about how to save this place.”

“You think we can?” Skepticism didn’t normally have a place in Esme’s way of thinking, but it had been a rough couple of days. “I haven’t even told you how much they’re asking for the building.”

Sasha reached out and hauled her to her feet. “Well, get your ass up to the front of house so you can brief us, then.”

“Us?”

With a chuckle, Sasha pushed Esme through the door and down the corridor towards the main room of the Lounge. “I know you didn’t think you’d be trying to do this alone, did you? Come on, E. It takes a village, and all that.”

As they emerged into the big, bright main room, Esme’s jaw dropped to see a crowd of her friends and regulars around the bar, all of whom broke out into a cheer at the sight of her. Punky Mia and statuesque Harper, geek-chic Ruby, elfin Chloe… they were all there along with androgynous Cam Casey, a regular who moonlit as a part-time bartender for the Lounge so she could flirt with half the clientele. Esme’s friend Deborah, a TV executive who was usually too busy during the day to make it to the Lounge for lunch, was there next to Mia and Harper. This core group was surrounded by still more people—some of the drag queens and kings that often performed at Lounge drag nights were there, sans their greasepaint and glitter in the daytime but still glowing with delight to see her. Regulars who had been coming here for years, night and day, people whose health problems she’d heard about, relationships she’d given advice on, work challenges she’d helped them solve.

Esme had never asked any of them for help, had never thought she’d ever be in a position to need it. And yet, here they were, gathered here to save their community home. To help her. Tears sprang to her eyes.

That, of course, was the moment Nora Hartley chose to walk through the door, and Esme’s heart stuttered in her chest.

After her reception from Esme Bloom four days ago, Nora wasn’t sure it was a good idea to go back to the Indigo Lounge. If she was going to buy the Fairchild Building and kick the Lounge out, surely the best strategy was to simply conduct everything through legal channels and paper. That way would be clean, efficient. No messy emotions or having the scene where Esme’s sweet demeanor had given way to hostility and an order for Nora to vacate the premises continue playing in her head on a loop.

But something told her to go back. To have lunch, to try to talk to Esme. To see if she could get a feel for just how difficult the bar owner was going to make her life. So here Nora was, once again standing on the sidewalk outside of the Lounge, surveying the pride flags she was now well on her way to being able to identify, thanks to Laurie.

She felt it would be best to come in a bit more casually, not in her designer suit and carrying a Mulberry briefcase. Instead, Nora had opted for a blue silk wrap dress and carried only a simple black Launer wallet clutch in her hand. It was her hope that she would seem more approachable, although why exactly she wanted Esme to think of her that way was beyond her at the moment.

Nora walked through the door of the Lounge, and her eyes went straight to Esme. Esme, who was standing in the center of a knot of people at the bar, all of whom seemed to be trying to hug her and talk at once. Esme, who looked appealing in a simple long gray shift dress and dark red ballerina flats, her silver and brown curls loosely tied back at the nape of her neck. She was lovely, but she also looked very tired, and Nora felt a touch guilty about the dark circles under her eyes. It wasn’t hard to guess what had caused those.

Esme spotted her right away, and the happy expression on her face turned stony. The chatter around the bar died away, and as everyone there followed Esme’s gaze to Nora, the atmosphere in the room grew distinctly chilly. Nora tilted her chin up. “Ms. Bloom.”

“Ms. Hartley.” Esme disentangled herself from the group and walked over to stand in front of Nora, barring her further entry. She crossed her arms over her chest and stood hipshot, her chin lifted as well. “I believe I made my feelings clear four days ago.”

Nora wasn’t about to beg. It wasn’t her style. She kept things simple, spreading her hands wide to indicate she meant no harm. “I just came to have lunch. And maybe to talk with you.” She smiled. “Maybe there’s somewhere a bit more private?”

Esme stared at her for a moment before rolling her marvelous brown eyes and turning on her heel. She beckoned back to Nora without looking. “Come on.”

She had to bolt her smile on a little firmer and held her head high as she strode behind Esme, ignoring the hostile glares coming at her from the gang at the bar. The stocky chef broke away from the group and came to the booth Esme led Nora to. Her attitude towards Nora was somehow even less welcoming than Esme’s; she outright glared at Nora as she settled herself into the purple vinyl cushioning of the booth.

“Sasha, can you bring us two Diet Cokes and a medium plate of your Heapin’ Helpin’ Nachos?” Esme glanced at Nora. “Unless you have anything else you’d prefer?”

“Are the nachos chicken or beef?” Nora asked, wondering if she should be put out that someone had ordered for her. Nobody ever ordered for her.

“Neither. They’re black bean. I’m a vegetarian.” Esme sent Sasha off with a warm smile that faded as soon as she was looking at Nora again. “Well, here we are. What do you want?”

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot the other day.” Nora took in a deep breath and folded her hands on the table in front of her. To her dismay, Esme tossed her ponytail and scoffed.

“Given who you are and what you represent, I don’t see how there was any other foot to get off on.” Esme regarded her with a challenging glint in her eyes. “Oh, yes, Nora Hartley. I knew who you were before you told me your name. And I’ve had a few days to get to really know you.”

Nora felt her eyebrows lift in surprise. “I sincerely doubt that.”

“Do you? There’s a lot of information out there about you. I bet I know more about you than you know about me or the Indigo Lounge.” Esme smirked. “I’m surprised, really. A California girl like you coming in to close a Californian business. I mean, that’s going to be your goal for this place, right? You’re going to buy this building, throw all of us out, and strip the Fairchild of all its character, then sell it on to some other sucker who has no idea what got plowed under for his investment—am I right?”

Being disliked wasn’t a new thing for Nora; but being so profoundly misunderstood by someone she’d met once four days ago was, and it stung. “You really, really do not know me.”

“Maybe not. Or maybe I know what I need to know.” The once-over that Esme gave her was as sharp as an airport scanner and Nora felt like it might be just as thorough. “You come in here in your designer gear, dollar signs in your eyes, and you size this place up with no regard for its value beyond the wallet.” Esme crossed her arms and leaned across the table. “How many lesbian-owned businesses have you crushed under your Prada heel?”

“Wow. Wow .” The bitter laugh that burst out of Nora at being challenged and misunderstood this way was well out of her control. “Ms. Bloom, this is business. Not personal, not targeted. This is an amazing building in an amazing location. I didn’t even know there was a lesbian bar here until four days ago. I’m not coming for you.” She pointed at herself. “I mean, I’m a lesbian.”

“Oh, I know. Honestly, that’s what makes all of this even more incredible. You’re not even denying that you intend to close one of the last original lesbian bars in America.” Another scoff. “Amazing.”

“Now, hang on a minute.” Nora shook her head. “You’re not even giving me a chance to talk. I told you; this isn’t personal.” She looked around the bar, at the posters and décor. She avoided making eye contact with the group still clustered at the bar, all whispering heads together and looking at the booth where she and Esme sat. “Your bar is great, but yes, the likelihood is that I’m going to ask you to leave if I buy the building. I like to start fresh when I buy important real estate.”

Esme opened her mouth to reply, eyes glinting, but just then the chef came by with their drinks and a huge plate of divine-smelling loaded nachos. Nora’s stomach growled, and for the first time that she could remember in recent memory, she blushed. Esme rolled her eyes.

But she stayed quiet, not continuing with whatever she was going to say. Nora took the chance to leap in and continue explaining. “If you’re open to the idea, I can help you relocate. There are gay bars all over the city, we can find a place for yours.”

Immediately, she sensed that this had been the wrong thing to say, but she didn’t know why. Esme was quick to let her know her mistake, though. “This is not a gay bar,” she snarled, her hands curling into white-knuckled fists. “This is a lesbian bar. A sapphic hot spot. It is also a café. It is a safe space for queer women. It is one of only thirty-three bars in the entire United States that is a women-centered queer space. You don’t even know the basic stats of the community you claim you’re part of?”

Never in her life had Nora felt so unprepared and wrong-footed. “I…” she began, unsure how to respond. No, she hadn’t known that.

“Gay bars are great! I’ve been in dozens of them. But they’re not a space that is specifically centered around the experiences of queer women. Of course, everybody is welcome here, but I want to shine the light on those who get pushed aside.” Esme’s face worked in a combination of what Nora thought might be anger and sorrow and who knew what else. She clearly had a lot of feelings on the subject. “You truly have no idea what damage you’re going to do. How many people you’re going to hurt. You’re selfish, ignorant, and not welcome here .” With a noisy smack of her hands on the tabletop, Esme got to her feet and glared down at Nora. “This conversation is over. Enjoy your nachos and please leave.” She turned and stalked off, leaving Nora sitting in shock.

The chef walked over with a brown cardboard box in her hand. “Want me to box those up for you?” she asked, gesturing to the untouched plate of nachos. Although it was couched as a question, Nora got the distinct feeling that it was, in actuality, an order. She sighed.

“Yeah, go ahead,” she said, slumping back in the booth, feeling like she’d been hit by a freight train, and not knowing what she could do to fix anything.