Friends or Lovers?

Originally published 9-10-07

One of the most perplexing things about gay people to straight folk is how we figure out who is a friend and who is a lover. When curious hetero friends ask me to explain this, I reply, “You just know,” because it sounds better than the truth, which is I have no idea.

Knowing if you are intended as friends or lovers is nearly as tricky as figuring out a lesbian’s anniversary. Is it the first meeting? First kiss? First date? First sleepover? For many lesbians, this is a simple question because it all happens the same night. For me and Kira though, things were not so easy, starting with our first date, which may or may not have been a date. It’s what “Alice” on the L Word calls a “situation.”

In some people’s books, dinner and a play is a date; but in the lesbian world, these things are not certain. According to my ex Pat, my girlfriend at the time I moved from D.C. to Los Angeles seven yeas ago, dinner and a concert at the Kennedy Center was definitely not a date. That’s what she told me when I called from LA and she was just getting home from the concert. That long-distance relationship, lasting three weeks, ended when she started seeing the woman with whom she wasn’t on the date, which was okay, because I had developed an interest in a woman in LA whom I wasn’t dating too.

The heterosexual life in this sense is the simple life, because generally if a heterosexual asks out a member of the opposite sex, they have an understanding there is a romantic interest. With lesbians, it’s more complicated.

Truthfully, the lesbian-date-confusion problem can work to the advantage of both parties. For instance: A lesbian asks out another lesbian, but neither is sure if it is a date or a friendly invitation, then they never see each other again. In the end, nobody feels rejected. But in the case with Kira, the ambiguity was not helpful.

Although we had known each other socially for a couple years, we had never gone out solo. As I was scrolling through my inbox I ran across one of her occasional friendly missives. I could ask her to get together for a friendly outing; it would just be two single gals out having a good time. No harm no foul, I rationalized. I hit reply. “I have press passes for two Del Shores plays,” I wrote. “Let me know if you’d like to go.” She e-mailed back that she’d love to see both shows.

On the first maybe-date, we had a casual dinner at Louise’s Trattoria on Melrose then strolled across the street to the Zephyr Theatre. The play was the delightfully campy “Sordid Lives.” We both loved the biting dialogue and southernisms. As Leslie Jordan’s “Brother Boy’ strutted across the stage in stilettos batting his false eyelashes and cursing his therapist, I turned to sneak a peek of my play-mate. Surprisingly, she wasn’t watching the actors; she was watching me. Was it a sign?

We headed back to the Zephyr the following week for “Southern Baptist Sissies.” During an intense monologue about the damnation of homosexuals, I turned to see if I might again steal a glimpse of her watching me, but instead I saw she was fully engaged in the play, and I couldn’t help but notice the beauty of her natural no-make-up long-eyelashes sun-kissed face. This time I was caught starring.

I felt myself falling for her, but it was not until Ashes & Snow that I was hooked. As we strolled amidst throngs of tourists at the massive photography exhibit in Santa Monica “exploring the nature of animals and their interactions with human beings,” we discovered our shared taste in art. More accurately we found a mutual indifference about the much ballyhooed enormous portraits and video montages of human subjects forced into contrived poses while they bothered wild animals. Still, I purchased the 55” x 41” poster of the famous Boy Reads to Elephant as a memento of our day together.

For an agonizing two weeks, we hung out as friends. We hiked, went to movies and dinners and sat side-by-side on my sofa watching our fave vintage lesbian movies on DVD – “When Night is Falling” – hers; and “I’ve Heard the Mermaids Singing” – mine. When she brought me gifts, including a jewelry box, a designer lipstick case, every David Sedaris book ever written and a bag of groceries, I asked my best friend Roxy, “Do you think she likes me?” Roxy said she could just be a really friendly person.

After another tortuous week of vagueness about our romantic status, we finally had the talk. We both professed our deepening affection for each other and our hope that the other felt the same. The talk was followed by the passionate make out. Followed by us moving in together five months later.

I really can’t explain why I fell in love with Kira whereas I only love my pal Roxy, but that’s the way it is. The lucky part is we feel the same way about each other, and that goes for both Kira and Roxy, because sadly sometimes one lesbian wants more than friendship while the other doesn’t, like when Harry met Sally. The heartbreak of unrequited attraction is the one thing lesbians do have in common with straights when it comes to dating.

Now six months into our love affair, Kira and I often reminisce about our courtship. In retrospect, the overtures were loud and clear. Our intentions were obvious when I invited her on serial play dates and she showered me with gifts. In our case — as is usually the case — actions spoke louder than words.

So, maybe after all, there is a simple way to figure out who will be a friend and who will be a lover. Perhaps we do instinctively just know if we pay attention to our actions and listen to the calling of our hearts. In fact, I hear my lover calling now.