Disclaimer: I don't own The Rocky Horror Picture Show
A/N: Thanks for reviewing chapter 2, Guest!
By the time I woke up we were already in the city...
It was already the next afternoon. About 3 or so, to be more exact. We seemed to be in a busy part of the town with lots of people shopping or chatting cheerfully on street corners. Oliver soon parked the car outside a nearby hotel. We went inside, Vicky spoke to a tired looking man at the front desk, and soon enough
"You need something to wear that's less messy," Oliver said once he'd carried all our bags upstairs.
"I've got something that'll fit you," Dad said.
Though it was weird to borrow a dress from my father, I didn't say so. I just put it on. The dress happened to be made of pink-and-white polka dotted cotton, with a flared skirt. Once I'd donned that, a crinoline, and a pair of white stockings I looked perfectly respectable. Despite my protests, Vicky made me where a bit of makeup and carefully styled my hair. Apparently I had to look especially nice now that I was in the city.
"Why don't you go look around for a little while?" Dad suggested, when he realized I was sort of getting in the way.
So that's what I did (after he handed me some money). Since I was thirsty I first walked into a bar of some kind a few doors down from the hotel. It looked a lot less fancy than a lot of other places nearby. That meant it was less expensive I thought.
It wasn't very well lit. Near the door was a woman dressed in clothes that looked somewhat like what a young man might wear.
When I walked by, she muttered: "another lipstick."
After a bit of wandering through this place I saw a couple kiss – a girl dressed very girlishly and a girl dressed almost just like a boy – then leave a few minutes apart. That was odd… yet somehow right. It wasn't weird or bad or anything. Just normal. They I began to notice more and more couples like that. It looked like some sort of place people usually went to on dates.
Soon enough I ordered a soda, paid the ten cents, and then sat down at a nearby table.
At a nearby table – the one closest to me – two woman in their 30s or so were sitting very close to each other. At the end of the same table sat a very cheerful young woman dressed in the sort of clothes James Dean or Marlon Brando might wear. You know… a leather jacket, a loose t-shirt (that didn't properly disguise her bust), jeans, and heavy motorcycle boots. Despite being alone, the girl still looked quite cheerful.
"Hello!" she said to me, after a moment. "My name's Terry. What's yours?"
"Laura," I replied.
"Cute! You know, I've never been here before. It's all very interesting I think," she said, still quite happily.
"Neither have I. It's really quite odd."
"Why do you say that?" the girl asked.
I shrugged. "All different reasons. For one thing, there are only women here. And they're also dressed strangely."
Then, Terry's eyes widened in surprise. "You don't know where you are, do you?"
"What do you mean?"
"This is a place for, um, female homosexuals to meet each other. If you aren't that sort… well, I think you'd better leave. You've gotten lost it seems," Terry explained nervously.
"Oh."
We sat there in silence for a while. Then she finally spoke again.
"It's dangerous here. There are often police raids, which are especially dangerous for butch girls like me. That's because we're less feminine and people don't like that." At this point her tone had become somewhat bitter. "Though it's not like the lipsticks are any better off in the opinion of your average copper. No, they still don't make good housewives. That's all people seem to care about."
I was thoroughly confused by much of what Terry said. Then I remembered the previous evening, what we'd escaped from. So at least I sort of knew what she probably meant by 'raids'.
"My Papa was a policeman but he quit because he didn't like the raids he had to do, I think. He wears dresses in his spare time."
"Is that so? Well, at least that sort of explains why you're here in this part of town. And what you said about your father probably means I can trust you…"
"You can," I replied.
"Lovely. Anyway, I can't believe they let you in so easily. I suppose it's because you look very lipstick dressed the way you are," Terry said conversationally.
"What's 'lipstick' mean?" I asked, confused.
"Ah! You don't know anything, do you? Well it's not like you've got a reason to. Lipstick is when you're dressed up very girly. Some people call that femme. Now, other gals – like me – dress very boyishly. That's called butch. It's a bit more dangerous to dress up butch but I find it much more comfortable. Being a rebel like James Dean is more fun than dressing, if you ask me. More practical – if nobody who's against it catches you. That's the real trick. This part of town is very into this little subculture of ours so we're mostly safe.
"Anyway, a butch and a lipstick can date. It's not exactly right for a lipstick to date another lipstick and I couldn't date a fellow butch. Don't ask why, that's just how things are."
"That means we could date," I said, quickly adding: "Not that such a thing could happen! I mean, there's nothing wrong with-"
Terry laughed. "Aren't you cute? Very polite, very mainstream. When did you find out about your father's little habit?"
"Yesterday evening."
"Ah! That explains it. You aren't yet used to us. So what are you doing here, in this part of the city, then?"
"After the police raided a place Papa was at we left with his friend Vicky and his driver Oliver," I explained.
It was at that moment that somebody grabbed me by the collar and dragged me out of the building. For some reason Terry followed us.
The person who'd grabbed me turned out to be Oliver.
"What're you doing here?" I asked.
"We're supposed to be going to get dinner now," Oliver said coldly. "And what are you doing here?"
"I don't know, but I'm hungry. What's for dinner?"
Oliver rolled his eyes.
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