By
Cheyenne Blue (Guest Blogger)
Party
walls are a necessary part of a lot of modern modern living, and it
seems most people have a horror story to share about a neighbour from
the other side of the dividing wall. Paper-thin interior walls are a
bad match when your neighbour always seems to vacuum at 3.00am. Or
your morning aerobics wakes your neighbour too early. Barking dogs,
noisy sex, differing musical tastes, parties, and even the lark
versus night owl can all lead to stress.
I’ve
heard of great tales and long-friendships arising around the party
wall too. In Melbourne, years ago, I ended up with half a dog thanks
to the party wall. My neighbour had a Jack Russell terrier called
Feedback (his owner worked in radio). The old terrace houses we lived
in were rather decrepit, and when Feedback’s owner went off to his
late afternoon shift, Feedback would climb a rather convenient loquat
tree by jumping from branch to branch until he was level with the top
of the fence. He’d then take a flying leap into my back yard and
come trotting in through the open door for some late afternoon
company after I’d returned from my nursing shift. He was unable to
return to his side of the fence, but when he heard his owner come
home, he’d bark at the party wall so that his owner knew where he
was.
We
shared Feedback for a couple of years: mornings with his official
owner, afternoons with me. We ended up putting a doggie door in the
party wall to make it easier for him.
My
latest lesbian romance novel Party Wall is about two very
different women with two very different attitudes to life, who have
to live and work side-by-side separated by the flimsy wooden wall
between their premises. Lily’s dream has been to run a sex shop
and space where women can come and embrace the physical side of their
lives in a positive and caring way. But she soon runs up against her
neighbour, Freya, whose new-age store and yoga studio are the
antithesis of Lily’s shop.
Or
are they?
I
hope you’ll decide to give Party Wall a go.
Blurb
From
the moment Freya looks in the window of the brash, new sex shop in
Grasstree Flat she knows it will be nothing but trouble. For a start,
it will clash with her own New Age store right next door. And she’s
right. Outgoing newcomer, Lily, begins to intrude on Freya’s
well-ordered life. Freya’s friends, lifestyle, and even her cat are
all affected by Lily’s magic touch. Even Freya’s yoga classes rub
shoulders with Lily’s sexual-expression workshops. Lily stands for
everything Freya has lost in life: playfulness, spontaneity, and
delight in the physical. And sex. But does Lily have more in common
with Freya than the wall that divides them?
A
lesbian romance about crossing the lines that hold us back.
Excerpt
The sun reflected
off the window, obscuring the view of the shop inside. Still, Freya
was hyper aware of the products on display. She shuffled her feet and
coughed, but didn’t move towards the door. In the window, she
caught the reflection of Carly’s easy smile, as if she frequented
sex toy stores all the time. Freya moved to one side. Now the sun
slanted low, slicing through the glass. A mannequin wearing
red-and-black, skimpy, lace underwear caught her attention.
“Tasteless,”
she muttered.
Carly glanced
sideways at her. “I’ve seen worse in the chain stores in Mackay.
I think it’s sexy. I’d wear it—if I were ten years younger and
ten kilos lighter.”
Freya sniffed.
“There is so much inherently wrong with that statement. What you
wear shouldn’t be determined by an outside opinion of what looks
good. Your self-worth isn’t dependent on another’s approval—”
“Okay, okay.”
Carly’s interruption was tempered with a smile. “I didn’t mean
it quite like that.” She pointed to a discreet sign in the corner
of the window. “‘A woman’s pleasure is in her own hands.’
Clever.”
“Why don’t they
just show a purple dildo and be done with it.” Freya took a tiny
step towards the shop next door. Her shop.
Carly shrugged. “No
doubt there’s some law against it. When did you last see more than
lingerie and posters in a sex shop window?”
“I’m not in the
habit of looking.” Freya’s voice was riveted steel. “I’m
surprised you are.”
“I don’t
often.” Carly grabbed Freya’s hand and pulled her back towards
the window. “After all, we don’t get much chance living here, do
we? The last sex shop I saw was in Brisbane when Andy and I went down
for the rugby. But that wasn’t like this—it appeared to cater
mostly to men. This one seems different.”
In Freya’s
jaundiced opinion, that was like calling a spade a manual digging
implement. “It’s all the same. Catering to the baser instincts of
men. Objectifying women. Turning them into sex objects.”
Carly turned to
face her, and Freya caught the little wrinkle between her eyes. Good.
Maybe she was getting through to her friend. This shop was everything
she found repellent. Its silver-and-purple paintwork shone garishly
in the sun. The wide window showed only the paltry display and a
backdrop of black-and-silver cloth blocking the rest of the shop from
view. Probably a good thing. Who knew what was behind those folds and
artfully arranged drapes? The mannequin was on the left, and the sign
Carly had noticed was propped up on the other side. The middle was
empty, a blank canvas for… Freya shuddered. What would end up
there? She already knew she wouldn’t like it.
Her gaze moved
right, to her own shop window. A Woman’s Spirit. She narrowed her
eyes and saliva filled her mouth. Even the name of the next-door
shop, A Woman’s Pleasure, was offensive, being so similar to her
own. Her shop front was tasteful, painted the silver-green of gum
leaves. Nothing stopped a passer-by seeing inside; indeed, the wide
window drew the gaze inwards to the welcoming warmth of racks of
books and tarot cards, to the stands of bright clothes, the shelves
of crystals and pottery.
“It’s great
that there’s a tenant.” Carly rested her forehead on the glass
and shaded her eyes, trying to peer inside. “It’s been a couple
of months since Diane moved to the coast. It can’t have been good
for your business, having a vacant shop next door.”
Freya snorted.
“Better a vacant space than this. Diane’s organic produce shop
and mine complemented each other—we got a lot of cross trade. I
doubt there’ll be any now.”
“You might be
surprised.”
“Unlikely. But it
doesn’t matter. This shop won’t be here long. I’m surprised the
council approved the permit.” Freya’s gaze shifted to the window,
where the permit was taped to the glass. “Maybe I should check that
they actually did.”
Carly huffed a
breath. “I think you’ll be wasting your time. There’s no way
the owner could get away with it in a town as small as Grasstree
Flat.”
Freya shrugged.
“Maybe that’s what they’re relying on.”
“Honestly,
Freya? Drop it. I’m sure it’s fine. Try and give the owner the
benefit of the doubt. They’re new in town, it’s a new business.
Surely it’s better for you and your shop if they make a success of
it.” Amused exasperation tinged Carly’s voice.
In front of the two
women, the black-and-silver backdrop twitched, saving Freya from
answering. A hand appeared through the gap and placed down some
stands, the sort that might support signage or photographs. The hand
was tawny, with short, manicured nails. Two silver rings glinted on
the fingers.
Carly nudged Freya.
“See? A woman owns it.”
“I gathered that
already.” Freya pointed to the sign that was already nagging in her
head, an irritant not to be forgotten, like a mozzie bite on a hot
summer day. “I doubt a man would run a store called ‘A Woman’s
Pleasure’.”
“Not
necessarily.”
The hand adjusted
the position of the stands. A forearm extended through the curtain,
then withdrew.
“I’m going to
ring the council.”
“And say what?”
Carly said in a neutral tone. “That you think the new owner is
breaking some law you’re not aware of? The window is tasteful,
Frey. I quite like it.”
“It’s only
remotely all right now because it’s mostly empty. You wait, that
mannequin will only be the start.” Her fingers twitched with the
urge to rant some more, but she controlled it. Deep breaths. A slow
inhale, hold that breath, and then let the tension of the moment
expel in the whoosh of air through her mouth. She would not let this
shop get to her.
On Freya’s third
exhale, the curtain dividing the window from the rest of the shop was
pulled to one side. The owner of the hand came into view. The
lighting behind her was dim, only enough to show a smooth-skinned
arm, a full shoulder, and the curve of neck and breast. The woman
wore a yellow singlet, and a bird’s wing of smooth dark hair hung
down, obscuring her face. In the dimly lit shop, she was bronze and
sunshine, her top standing out brightly against her dark skin, a
beacon in the shadows.
The woman placed a
handful of lingerie in the window. She piled it in a bunch, with no
attempt at display. A froth of lace and bright colours mixed with the
darker sheen of satin or silk, something smooth and luxurious. She
reached behind her and brought out another sign, which she propped on
the stand she’d placed earlier: Sensuous Reading for Women.
“Dirty books.
Porn.” Freya grasped Carly’s arm as a prelude to urging her away,
into the safety of her shop.
The woman in the
window straightened and saw them looking. She smiled hugely, her grin
spontaneous and infectious under high cheekbones. Carly grinned in
response, and Freya’s own lips twitched before she schooled her
features back to disapproval. The woman gestured to them with a smile
that obviously meant “come inside”.
Available
from these places:
And
from October 4 on the Amazons:
Amazon.com,
Amazon.co.uk, Amazon.de, Amazon.com.au Amazon.ca
Cheyenne
Blue is
the author of four romantic lesbian novels with the fifth due out in
June 2018. Her most recent release, Party
Wall
is now available from Ylva
Publishing
along with her Girl Meets Girl” series of interconnected novels.
She
is the editor of Forbidden
Fruit: stories of unwise lesbian desire and
First:
Sensual Lesbian Stories of New Beginning.
Her short lesbian erotica is collected in three volumes of Blue
Woman Stories.
She lives in a small house with an enormous deck in a rural area of
Queensland, Australia. Check her out at www.cheyenneblue.com
on Facebook
or Twitter.
