Gladys was sure of a few things. One, that she was the heiress to a not-always-ethical food company; two, that her father ultimately wished her brother had survived teenagehood instead of her; and three, that Betty had never once looked at her in the way she looked all the time at Kate.
The first two she had no control over, but the third was a niggling thought that just wouldn't go away. Just observations, like the way Betty watched Kate walk away and her eyes would slip downwards for a second or two, just long enough for Gladys to be sure of what she was looking at. Or late at night, Betty would walk Gladys out of the boardinghouse and to James' Packard and look up to where Kate was watching from the window. It didn't matter what Gladys wore, or how 'clumsy' she was when she got into the car, it didn't matter the length of creamy thigh or stocking displayed, Betty's face would be turned upwards, hand half-raised.
When Kate left with her father, Gladys managed to get Betty to talk. It took some drinks and verbal prompting but the story spilled from her lips and Gladys had seen Betty's defenses up so many times that the tears caught her by surprise. It was all she could do to hold her and murmur soothing phrases into Betty's hair and when her tear-streaked face raised itself to look at Gladys, she, being an opportunist, took the opportunity.
With one hand on Betty's cheek, she leaned in, not much, just enough to brush her mouth against Betty's. Betty's lips caught hers and there was a flicker of her tongue before Betty pulled back with a sigh.
"You get it, don't you," Betty asked, resting one of her hands on a too-soft cheek. "You understand."
And Gladys wasn't quite sure what she was understanding but nodded anyway because it looked like nodding meant that Betty would let Gladys lean in and kiss her some more… and she did.
Gladys was sure of a few things. One, the way Betty tasted when she moaned; two, that Betty had been paying attention to her stockings after all; and three, that while they were going to find Kate and rescue her from that madman, that could definitely wait until morning.
Title from Sylvia Plath's poem 'Mad girl's love song'.