I’m Your Woman, Darling!

I’m Your Woman, Darling!

written by: Simone Swart

 

Cait Anderson – A very pretty older woman, mid-40s, with kind eyes and an energetic arrangement that is best described as: seductress slash quiet existent being. (Cait is Stella’s crush. Cait is a customer at a small coffee shop where Stella works. Cait may or may not know that Stella fancies her.)

Stella Pierce – A very pretty young woman, mid-20s, with short blonde hair. Very spiritual. In her mind, she seduces Cait. Always. (Stella has a crush on Cait. Stella works at a small coffee shop. Cait comes in almost every day. Stella may or may not have made good and hot cappuccinos for Cait’s husband before.)

This is a fictitious interview from the mind of Stella Leonora Pierce, between herself and Miss Caitlin Leigh Anderson, written in her journal in her old London bedroom from her teenage years. Names have been changed. Emotions have not.

 

Stella: Cait. Lovely to find you here. As you may know, this interview is based off of something I wrote for you, a long time ago. Taken from the parts of myself that I have denied for most of my life.

Cait:    Yes, yes. I’ve heard. How are you?

Stella: I’m alright. Yourself?

Cait:    It’s nice to be here with you. She smiles gently

Stella: shifting her legs so that she sits a different way across from Cait, with ankles crossed. I feel the same.

Stella: I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. It’s been nice. It’s both comforted me and made me feel like I’m going mad.

Cait:    Well, going mad isn’t always a bad thing.

Stella: I know.

Stella: gathers her notes in her arms, gets a better hold of them. Anyway. Let’s begin, shall we?

Cait:    nods, her smile gentle and so, her eyes. Mhm.

Stella: One journal entry that I did for you. Oh god, I think I was twenty-two. So, last year. I must bring this up.

Cait:    smiling warmly. You can.

Stella: goes on. Can I read?

Cait:    speaks gently. Of course.

Stella: begins. This is when Will, my coworker, was training me, and I would catch you standing in line, when you first started coming and getting your oatmilk macchiatos. ‘When I see you stand, I see that little girl in you. That divinity, silent seductress, mixed with the pure joy of young-girl-you. You are beautiful, god. I hope you know this. My sweet girl. My graceful beam. You are a glimmer, a bit of something that I know is greater.’

Cait:    speaking softly. Did anyone ever tell you how talented you are?

Stella: taken quietly aback. No.

Cait:    speaking in a low, gentle tone. Did your mother?

Stella: I didn’t have a mother.

Cait:    Death?

Stella: Whatever do you mean?

Cait:    Did she pass, your mother?

Stella: shakes her head. No. She tossed me out the house when she knew I was gay. Metaphorically tossed, I mean. She made me live with my cousin and her parents.

Cait:    shifting forwards in her chair, putting her hands gently and warmly on Stella’s knees. Oh, my dearest girl.

Stella: It’s okay. I don’t need that. I live with Aaron now.

Cait:    And Aaron?

Stella: quickly. He’s my partner. We might be breaking up.

Cait:    And why would that be?

Stella: My passion for you might be making him angry.

Cait:    Does he hurt you?

Stella: No. I hurt myself, though. I don’t want him to be married eventually to a gay wife. He’s okay with that. I’m not.

Cait:    Sweetheart.

Stella: I feel like a teenaged girl again. All over again. I’m back in 2011 Dublin, listening to that Cranberries song, you know. Thinking deeply. Even though you were with your husband then–oh, what’s his name?

Cait:    Liam.

Stella: Yes. He’s come in before to get some cappuccinos.

Cait:    He thinks they’ve come out very good. He always tells me that.

Stella: smiles. I’m glad. Well, even back then, whilst you were with Liam, and your oldest daughter probably wasn’t even born yet, I was sitting somewhere in a cathedral in Dublin, swinging my legs sitting on a church pew, with the higher presence of the Son of God somewhere behind me, to my left but always right, and my parents were somewhere off admiring the stained-glass pictures, I think we were thinking of each other at the same time. I like to think that.

Cait:    You’re very good with your words. Did you know that?

Stella: smiles and laughs to herself. I believe so, yeah.

Stella: I might have to get going soon.

Cait:    Sweet girl, we just started.

Stella: quickly. I know. But. I drive past your house every day on my way to work. I try to peer at your windows, to get at what’s going on. Not many of them are lit up at that time.

Cait:    Liam goes off early to work. I often stay asleep.

Stella: How old are your children?

Cait:    smiles kindly. Would you like to know?

Stella: Yes, I think I would.

Cait:    They’re nine, and fourteen.

Stella: Are they glorious children?

Cait:    Oh yes, they are. My oldest, sometime she gets a bit upset.

Stella: Well, she is a teenaged girl.

Cait:    smiling to herself. Yes, she is.

Stella: I hate that I love you, you know.

Cait:    Why are you hating it?

Stella: laughs almost in disbelief. Why would I not?

Cait:    There’s nothing to hate. I always see you and I always think, ‘What a beautiful girl.’ I would want you for my wife, if I could have one. I would want you for my daughter.

Stella: But you can have a wife, can you not?

Cait:    Of course I can. Although society won’t always accept it with a loving embrace. But yes. We could get married. I could take you out to the finest spot in Oxford, an old pub. I could kiss you against the dark red walls of the women’s toilet.

Stella: I’ve imagined you many ways.

Cait:    I know you have, sweetheart.

Stella: You know, I’ve debated sending things to your house. I drive past it every day. My friend gave me pale blue Post-it notes. I think that’s your favourite colour. I could put one in your postbox. I don’t know what I’d write on it.

Cait:    It is my favourite. And I always like a good bit of writing. Like the way you speak.

Stella: I giggle too much with my friend behind bar. I could be making a good pitcher of steamed milk, and then we’ll be breaking off into these endless giggles. We’re both teenaged girls again. I’ve gotten back into this micro-glitter eyeshadow, and bubblegum-pink candies. Like the ones you’d find at an all-night shop.

Cait:    It’s very good to find youthfulness everywhere.

Stella: It feels good. My life is very entertaining at the moment. Everywhere.

Cait:    quietly. Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?

Stella: Well, something else I wrote. For you, of course. You know. ‘I cannot dedicate this to you, but if I would, would you find it? You don’t know my name. Maybe in future conversation you will. Maybe it won’t ever unfold.’

Cait:    her eyes, deep. Talented girl, you are.

Stella: Thank you. Thank you. she stands up, eyes hinting with tears. I think I must go now.

Cait:    looking up at her from where she still sits. It was a lovely time with you, my dear.

Stella: nods, almost to herself, her notes gathered against her chest. Yeah.

Stella: to herself, in her own head. My beautiful Miss C. I bless you. I bless you. And that is all I can do. That is all I will ever do. To you. For you. All, of you.