Chapter 18: Live On-Set at the Curious Carob

Christmas had come and gone, featuring a truly excellent ham by Jake and only one phone call by Helen regarding the culpability of a toddler-poisoning varnish company. The snow had long since melted, the recovering children's parents had settled for a staggering sum, and all of Boston was alive with colorful roses and zinnias in the late June sun.

Daria watched Jane take off her shades as they reached the top of the stone steps, silently marveling at how she could make even this bland daily gesture sexy. Today, it had officially been one year since they had, well, made out all night in Jane's room. They had come to the Curious Carob Art Cubby, housed in a much larger old building, to mark the occasion and see the opening of a show purported to "celebrate women." Leaning over to peer into the gallery window, Daria noted that while the art indeed appeared to be celebratory (and heavy on vaginas), it had also drawn a fair number of pretentious, bearded hipsters who may already be engaged in explaining feminism to unsuspecting women. She remarked, "There's a solid chance we'll be subjected to social science dissertation recaps and the odd homebrewed beer recipe."

Jane smirked, gave Daria a subtle hip-bump, and pulled open the heavy wooden door. She held it as Daria entered and leaned in to whisper, "That's what the free wine is for."

They stepped into a swirling pool of voices in the surprisingly large room with its high ceilings and rough-hewn wood walls. It was like a kitschy scale model of a barn, if that barn had free-standing partitions featuring some truly horrific birthing scenarios. Daria turned her attention to the black-aproned attendant keeping watch (barely) over the bottles of drugstore-quality wine, admittedly tempting cheeses, and donation jar. She dropped a few bills in for her and Jane since it was her "turn," then they each secured a clear plastic cup of white wine and a small mound of gouda before waddling carefully toward the displays.

They were quietly discussing the physical feasibility of an erotic Sapphic piece ("Maybe if your arm was detachable," remarked Jane) when Daria's eyes flicked to the right and grew wide.

"Shit," she murmured.

Knitting her brows, Jane silently turned to see what had succeeded in flapping her normally unflappable girlfriend. At first she seemed to see nothing, but then her eyes narrowed to slits. "Who let that grape-groper in here?" Jane had always hated Wine-Snob Jeffrey. They saw him in profile, his chin held between thumb and index finger as he looked up at a seven-foot sculpture of a warrior huntress. He was one of the few people still carrying a torch for corduroy pants in the year 2008, and his tall, thin frame was clad in one of his favored short-sleeve button downs. Daria noted with amusement that the combination of his pale blond hair and recently acquired glasses with heavy plastic rims made him look somewhat like a baby chick in disguise. Then she remembered what an asshole he could be, and her smirk disappeared.

Jane was watched her face intently. "You know, we could get out of here if you want," she said gently.

Just as Daria turned her head and opened her mouth to say that yes, it might be a more pleasant anniversary if they did just that, Jeffrey turned away from the huntress. His eyes fell upon the pair and widened in recognition as he interrupted Daria's unspoken thought with a small wave. Jeffrey—never Jeff, unless you wanted to annoy him—moved swiftly through the crowd toward them and stopped a few feet away with a tight, uncomfortable smile on his face. "Daria, hi. And it's Jane, right?"

The lanky artist's cool stare did battle with her polite smile as she answered, "Yep, it's Jane," and extended a hand. He gave it a brief shake and turned to Daria with open arms. Awkward, mercifully brief A-frame hugging ensued.

Jeffrey pushed his glasses up on his nose as he took a step back. "So Daria, how is life as a journalist?"

"I'm sure I'll take down a cinema-worthy mob dynasty any day now. How's grad school?" She recalled he had gone straight from his bachelor's degree to a master's in something that sounded uppity and impractical, although she couldn't remember what.

"Oh, you know." He crossed his arms and smiled slyly. "Hiding out in academia while the economy goes to hell. What brings the two of you to the poor man's Lilith Fair?"

Jane tossed back the rest of her wine and said lightly, "It's a bit of a special occasion."

Jeffrey raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

Daria looked to the huntress for inspiration, but that stony bitch was no help. "Um." She forced herself to meet Jeffrey's gaze. "It's fitting that we're surrounded by…"

Jane came to the rescue. "Boobs?"

Daria checked Jeffrey's face for understanding. Nothing. Then a storm system slowly stole over his features, leaving his brows knit and his lips a tight line. He opened his mouth to speak and abruptly closed it.

Jane gave what appeared to be her best attempt at a laugh as she flung one arm around Daria's waist and exclaimed, "Who knew, right?"

Jeffrey's cheeks colored as he turned to face Daria. He let out a short, bitter laugh. "So much for that line you gave me about needing time alone, huh?" He shook his head and added quietly, "It took me a year to get over you." There was a seemingly endless pause as he stared at a spot on the floor, and when he met Daria's eyes again, his face was filled with quiet rage. He leaned in until his face was about a foot from hers. Then he whispered, "Why didn't you just tell me you were a fucking dyke?"

Jeffrey blew past them, and by the time he reached the front door, Daria was already a comet shooting toward the bathroom at the opposite end of the gallery. She could feel the tears coming; it was a race against time now. Jane's gentle hand came to rest on her shoulder just as she opened the bathroom door. The two women touching up their make-up at the mirror took one look at Daria's face and bustled out.

The couple slipped into the handicapped stall and Daria stood at first with her back to Jane, shoulders silently heaving and hands over her face as the dam began to break. She again felt Jane's delicate hand on her shoulder. That did it. The soundless quaking became gasping sobs as Daria turned, threw her arms around Jane, and buried her face in her neck. As the storm slowly subsided, Jane squeezed her girlfriend tightly and said in a low voice, "Jesus, Daria, I'm so sorry Jeff was such a douche."

With a little sigh, Daria squeezed back. "This was nothing compared to the time he asked what his signature wine should be and I picked one from Nebraska."

Jane couldn't suppress a snort. "Seriously, though. Are you okay?"

There was a pause, then Daria lifted her head. "You know what? I am. I guess coming out is going to be more of a long-running television series than a Sunday afternoon matinee. I just hope the director cans Jeff after his inaugural performance."

With a smirk, Jane added, "I'm pretty sure a focus group would find him supremely smack-able."

"So, do you think we've adequately celebrated women today, or should we partake in more bosoms and cheese?"

"I'd like to celebrate you," Jane purred.

Daria's eyes twinkled as she whispered, "I think you'll find there are both cheddar slices and breasts at my apartment."

"Well hot diggity. Let's get the hell out of here."