Gap Leather Dykes

There is a new phenomenon in town. The Gap leather dyke.

I first came in contact with one at an uptown party. Upper East Side, New Year's Eve. My choices were either to go to the Jivamukti Yoga center with my friend Deb, where we'd ring in the new year with a three-hour meditation, or go with my friend Jane to this plastic surgeon's party. In my personal battle between inner peace and outer vanity, vanity usually wins.

Jane knew the surgeon through work and didn't know many of his friends, just the other plastic surgeons she also worked with. For the record, I'm not very comfortable around uptown folk. I'm not sure how to behave if they turn out to be stiffs and don't laugh at my jokes. I often look for a terrace to jump off if this happens. Which this place had. Twenty-three floors up. But luckily a certain Dr. Ling, who was describing a doll that one practices laser eye surgery on, laughed when I asked if it was a nearsighted Resusci-Annie, the blow-up doll you learn CPR on. Dr. Ling was cute and married to a beautiful Asian woman. Actually, many of the women at this party were beautiful. Even naturally, I think. Apparently, our bachelor surgeon host likes them young and gorgeous.

Most of the single women were in their mid-20s. Professionals. They wore outfits from Macy's that looked like they could have been bought at Barneys, but were not. The pushing-it sexy ones wore very revealing tops and leather pants from the Gap. I have never seen so many uptown girls in leather pants before. This was interesting to me. Having lived in the East Village for eight years, I've seen and worn a lot of leather, but never from the Gap. I remember a time in the East Village when there was no Gap. I am that old.

Anyway, this one lovely green-eyed girl with porcelain skin approached Jane and me, smiling, and introduced herself. She sparkled when she smiled and her eyes kept dropping from my eyes to my cleavage. I am somewhat used to this. Even with straight girls. They are curious. I am 5-ft-2 and small-bottomed with an ample chest. Somewhat of an oddity. But being that we were at a plastic surgeon's party, my shape was especially suspicious. I wanted to clarify the matter, but thought better of it.

Her name was Theresa and she was oddly flirtatious. I say oddly because this was a hetero-looking party. She wore a shimmery halter top with her Gap leather pants and continuously half-danced to the music that was playing in the background as she listened to Jane talk. Once in a while she'd shoot me or Jane a sparkly smile out of the blue. Perhaps it was the apple martinis she was drinking?or maybe she was a Gap leather dyke.

I used to live on E. 10th St. where there was a beautiful lesbian named Donna. She only wore custom-made leather pants and vests. Long dark ringlets flowed all the way down her back. She was very pale and thin. This combination of skinny, white and leather made her look like a rock star. She would always tell me about different girlfriends she had and how she especially loved the girls with motorcycles. Once in a while, I'd see a girl covered in tattoos ride up on a motorcycle and honk the horn. Donna, coolly, would come stomping out of her apartment building in combat boots, bootleg leather pants and a fringe leather jacket. She'd put on her helmet, mount the bike from the back, strongly wrap her arms around her girlfriend's waist and they'd take off. I thought this was very sexy and envied them. Envied their courage, their image and their ability to be lesbians.

Theresa glanced at my chest for the 12th time. Self-conscious and starving at this point, I zipped up my sweater and helped myself to some shrimp cocktail. Jane was handing out her business card to another surgeon and made him promise to give me free botox?botulism injections to the forehead to paralyze the muscles, thus smoothing out your face, making it look ultra-peaceful (look at Madonna's face closely)?in exchange for my giving him tennis lessons. After all, the tennis club I teach at is right nearby. We could hit for a while and stop off at his office afterwards so I could get shot up. This would indeed placate my battle of vanity and inner peace for a while, at least until the botox wore off.

Finally, it was time for the countdown to the new year. I was in the middle of shoving apple pie in my mouth when Theresa turned and kissed me on the lips. Embarrassed, I told her I hadn't eaten dinner. She laughed and turned to kiss her girlfriend, who was also clad in Gap leather. They put their arms around each other and sang "Auld Lang Syne" with the plastic surgeons. It was rather sweet.

Theresa and her Gap leather girlfriend told us they were getting ready to take off to another party. I wished them luck getting a cab. They said that they had hired a car service to take them around for the evening. They had anticipated the New Year's Eve cab shortage and handled it responsibly. As they went through the door, I imagined Theresa and her girlfriend putting on their Gap helmets, jumping onto their Gap motorcycle and taking off for their next Gap party, just blocks away.