Since my daughter had been on her own, it was common practice for me to arrive at school two hours before classes started, and still be there for another two-plus hours, once the bell rang and they’d gone home.
It didn’t hit me immediately why I spent so many hours at work. It took spring break to happen for me to have an epiphany. The epiphany was that I was living with empty nest syndrome. I had all this maternal instinct and love to give, but nobody to give it to, because the person that once needed it for their very subsistence, had spread her wings and flown my coop. I wasn’t ready.
When my only child left the nest, and my marriage was over, it became me trying to figure out the roles I played in life, and how to let them go without feeling like I had lost. And how since my responsibilities, and the demands on my time had been drastically cut . . . what next? That ‘what next’ was what had me lingering in an empty space right now.
But then I heard, Your gift! from the voice in my head. That’s what’s next.
Excitement swelled inside, as I remembered the bag of goodies. I had taken out the earrings when they were here, because Brittany had insisted. The last thing I would have wanted was to see the disappointment in her eyes had I not complied with her eager request. But since I’ve never been a person that showed a huge amount of emotion in front of others, I dwelled on the earrings. And I did it long enough, that Mr. Thomas and his Becky didn’t see that I was stalling, with fully acknowledging the rest of their graciousness. I thanked them; I just didn’t go beyond a peek of the writing on the envelope that leaned against the inside of the bag. But that quick peek revealed enough when I saw something with The Bellagio written on it.
Take it out! Open it!
I pried the silver bag open once again. This time, looking at the whole picture, I felt an enormous pang of guilt settle in my chest, for not having thanked them longer! I should’ve hugged the three of them—Becky included—and expressed my sincerest gratitude. Not in all my years of teaching had I been given anything remotely close to an entire week at The Bellagio! The Bellagio. One of Las Vegas’s premiere 5-star hotels. I was floored. More than it being a full week, it was in a suite! A suite with a king-sized bed overlooking the strip! For seven whole days! Seven whole days. Wow.
I closed my eyes and tilted my face toward the ceiling in gratitude. I was used to the occasional apple from one of my cuties. Or cards from them, or the parents. I had even received flowers on National Teacher’s Day, along with perfume and things like that. But a getaway? A suite? That, had never happened. It was majorly thoughtful, oh-so needed, and I planned to take full advantage—sooner than later.
“Forever the workaholic,” a familiar voice said from inside my classroom.
I was so busy obsessing over my all-expense paid mini-vacation with everything from a suite, to two spa days, to a $450 food/liquor voucher, that I didn’t notice the person entering. But her voice, in my space, definitely made me look up from what I was doing.
“How can I help you, Naomi?”
There was disdain in the tone I fed her ass. With any luck, she would pick it up, then turn the hell around and leave. But she did just the opposite and stepped her ass even further inside, until she was inches from where I stood, bringing with her another fucked up weave, and glued on lashes that made her look like a struggling drag queen.
She looked around my classroom curiously, then landed on the gifts that were lined up on my desk.
“Looks like you got shown some love today,” she acknowledged.
She moved to touch a petal on one of the blue roses, before I blocked her efforts. “How can I help you, Naomi?” I asked her again, while pulling my flowers away from her reach. “Because I have somewhere to be. So, unless it’s urgent, which I can’t see how it would be . . .”
“Touchy, touchy. I just wanted to come speak to you while there were no distractions or possible interruptions. Since we haven’t had a chance to talk.”
“Naomi, we have nothing in common outside of being educators.” I began gathering all my items and piling them into the box I had pulled from a shelf in the corner. As soon as I was done, she would be getting escorted to the door so that I could lock up. “So . . .” I continued; my back turned to her while I finished doing what I had to do. “If it’s not about curriculum, then—”
“It’s long overdue, Giselle. You know it and I know it. I . . .” She took a theatrical pause before continuing. “I wanted to apologize for not telling you about Galen and me. I just don’t—”
I snapped around so quick, I thought I would lose my balance. I gave her a daggered scan from top to bottom. “What Galen does . . . who Galen does is neither my business nor my concern,” I said to the bitch that was once an acquaintance of mine, but who decided that she was going to fuck my ex while he was still my husband. “I don’t even have a penny’s worth of fucks to give to that cause.”
Naomi sighed aloud, then dropped her eyes low before looking back up at me. “What I did was wrong, Giselle. Dead-ass wrong. I should’ve apologized way before now. I’m trying to extend an olive branch here.”
I grabbed my purse, and my box of items, then started toward the exit. Of course, she was on my heels. I stopped short of the exit to address her. “Listen. I think because I didn’t drag you by your raggedy-ass weave and beat you until my knuckles were numb, that you feel you can come up to me now without consequence. Truth is, you never knew me, Naomi. You really don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t know what kind of grudges I hold. You were better off living like we’re complete strangers. Now run along and have an amazing summer.”
I saw the look of uncertainty and fear growing in her big, brown eyes. I saw it when she looked behind her to make sure she had an exit plan, and I saw it when she tried to casually listen for other voices to ensure we weren’t the only ones left on school grounds. Her sudden nervousness gave me pleasure. I wasn’t going to do anything to her. The time for me to put my hands on her, was a year in the past. Doing anything to her now, giving this situation any energy at all, would give the appearance that I was still pining over my marriage. I wasn’t.
She took a small step backwards and then turned on her heel without speaking a word. And it was then that my summer break officially began.
-3-
Exactly twenty-two minutes later, I drove into the garage of my three-bedroom home on Alexander Road in the Northwest section of Las Vegas. After cutting the engine on my Mercedes, I made my way to the mailbox. I figured I’d check mail now, because my weekend plans didn’t involve coming outside at all. Lounging was the only thing on my menu. Rest and relaxation.
Relieved that there were no bills to open and no annoying junk mail to chuck, I made my way into the garage to get the stuff I brought from school, along with my purse, then started my trek to the front of my house.
“What . . . is that?” I whispered, when I rounded the corner. It wasn’t every day that I came home to find a package at my front door. And when I did order, I normally had it come to the job since I’d be there most of the day.
Even before I reached my brick-red stoop, I slowed my pace to see if I could investigate from afar. I had no idea what it could be, but it was a nice sized rectangular-shaped box propped against the side of my house near the last stoop. The closer I got, the more I could make out the box in detail: Gold. About 4 feet long, 3 feet wide, and approximately a foot in height, with a shiny silver bow. Whoever did the wrapping, did an amazing job. Better than anything I could have ever accomplished.
Instinctively, before I got all the way up on it, I turned to look behind me. I guess I was half-expecting somebody to come up and say, “Oh, that’s mine!” But when I looked there was nobody there. Nothing new. The street didn’t come alive until early fall when the heat died down, and the kids were able to come out and enjoy the air.
Once I got used to the idea that the box indeed belonged to me, I placed all my items on the top stair and turned to pick it up. It wasn’t heavy,
but it wasn’t exactly lightweight either. Of course, I shook it to see what kind of movement or sounds there would be. That’s when I felt something on the underside of the box. Turning it over, I saw my name written on a small card. I unlocked the door, placed the box inside, then did the same with my school items. I closed the door behind me, then padded over to deactivate my house alarm.
As soon as the beeping stopped, it came to me…
“Miss lady. What’s this gold box about?” I asked my mother as soon as her voice came through, on speaker.
“Well hello to you too, girl,” she responded, with sarcasm and light laughter.
“Hey Mama. Sorry ‘bout that,” I readdressed. “But what’s with the box? I know it was you who sent it.”
“English, please Giselle Latrice Childs.”
“Oh man. Not the first and the middle name.”
“Yes. First, middle and maiden,” she laughed. “What’s this about a box?”
While my mother was talking, I had already taken a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer, made my way over to my serving island in the kitchen and proceeded to open the mystery box. The moment the flaps were peeled back, my eyes popped. “EROTIC BEGINS HERE,” was written on something that I hadn’t fully seen yet.
Erotic? Ummm, on second thought . . .
“Mama, let me call you back,” I told her quickly.
“What’s in the box?!” she yelled out.
“It’s umm. It’s . . . not even mine,” I blurted out, lying through my teeth, my eyes were firmly trained in one place. “Umm, they must’ve dropped it off at the wrong door. I’m gonna take it over to my neighbor before I settle in and get too tired to do it. Not the first time it happened. But since it’s been a while, I’m guessing it’s probably a new mail person.”
“Or a damn dummy,” my mother spat. “You’re better than me. That damn box would sit right there until they went to track it, and saw where it was left. Hot as it is out there, I wish the hell I would do some good Samaritan mess like that. Not in this season, honey. Not at all. Why don’t you just—”
“Okay, Mama,” I cut into the rant that was swiftly picking up steam. “Let me gone over here so I can get back.”
“Alright then. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
As soon as my lie gained me my freedom, a slow-forming smile crept across my face. I couldn’t believe, that for the second time today, I was getting a surprise. Difference is, I knew who the other one was from. This one I had no clue. All I knew was that my excitement was growing by the second. I think it was the mystique of it all. Because under normal circumstances, my paranoid ass would’ve called the police to have them come to watch me open it! This type of shit didn’t happen to me all the time. The only time I got things this extravagant was when I gifted myself. Sad, but true.
I stared at the partially peeled box for seconds, then minutes on end. During that time, I swayed back and forth between excitement and curiosity. Excited about getting yet another gift. Excited about the fact that somebody was thinking about me enough to want to make me smile. But curious as to who the thoughtful person could be.
The only way to find out is to open it, Giselle.
I know, I know . . .
But . . .
But nothing. Open it all the way up so you can kill the suspense!
The decision was made for me to give in and delve further. But first I had something I needed to do. Well, two things. I momentarily took my attention away from the box and rushed to put my liquor away in the liquor cabinet. Then I unpacked my new toys and plugged them into outlets for charging.
The future is promising, I told myself.
I scurried, like my kids sometimes do, when the bell for the start of recess rings. Box in tow. I kicked my shoes off, then plopped my butt down in the middle of the floor.
Sitting Indian style, I pulled the “Erotic” note out and sat it to the side of me on the floor. I then ran my finger over the gold foiled lettering that read, “Time for Recess…” written in really pretty script font. Below that was: “No supervision. No bells. No rules. Can you handle it?”
“Oh. My. God,” I sighed to myself, with a smile as wide as the Pacific Ocean. “Who the hell sent you?” I questioned.
For a brief second, my mind went to my ex-husband. But I knew better than that. He didn’t have a romantic bone in his body. At least not while I was with him. Needless to say, I dismissed that notion really fast.
But who, then?
I hadn’t exclusively dated anyone since he and I split up. A conversation here, a conversation there. A meetup for coffee, on occasion. But not anything physical. Nothing that would lead to anything like this. I had my thinking cap on tight as my mind went through the motions of sleuthing.
Hmmm. There was that conference in San Francisco.
My mind floated back to spring, when both administration and faculty attended a large conference. There were a few nice-looking men from the district that came out to play. However, if memory served me correctly, most of them were coupled up.
Shit. Who is this?
It was a question I kept posing to myself over and over, as though the answer was going to jump from the box and reveal itself.
I kept going back to the ‘recess’ reference. Did they mean that, metaphorically? Like just coming out to play? Or was it actually someone that knew my profession? Although I still held the note in my hand, was looking directly at it, I was numb to the point it didn’t feel like it was there. I was really digging through the tunnels of my mind looking for the wall of hieroglyphics that would explicate this riddle for me!
Then I remembered a guy that I had exchanged numbers with at Starbucks one day about a month ago. But in the same second, I remembered that he’d texted twice and I hadn’t responded. Not to mention, the fact that he didn’t know where I lived.
Okay, so then that was the main thing right there. They have to know where I live. Has to be somebody from the district. Right? I hadn’t come across anybody new. At least not anybody I had exchanged information with. Whoever brought this box to my home, knew my exact address.
Ughh! Was it some creep that had taken down my license plate number and then had somebody run it with DMV? Or with the police, even! Was it a cop?!
No, Giselle! What’s at work right now, is an overactive imagination. Reel it in…
Well, damn. Could be anybody. I wasn’t exactly a hermit, I wasn’t exactly a party chick either, who had people over to the house all the time. Who mingled with any and every damn body I came into contact with.
“Arrgh!” I screamed out, while standing up with the riddle in my hand. A part of me was mad at myself for hesitating to open up the whole damn box. I’d brought it in the house. I’d even seen the notes. So why was I tripping the way that I was?
Had no idea, but it sent me pacing my floor.
Seconds later, and a little calmer, I walked back over to my box and sat down again. Without hesitation, I lifted a thin black sheet of paper. There, wrapped in some kind of soft material, was a pearl-colored satin and lace robe. “Oh . . . shit,” I whispered in awe.
Once again, I stood to my feet and pulled the silky garment against my body. I soon found myself in the large oval-shaped mirror, mounted to the wall in my foyer. The robe was very pretty. Soft, flowing, and stopped mid-calf. A delayed wave of excitement rippled through me. This time, there would be no assessing and taking my time with individual pieces. I made it back to where the box was, laid down the robe, and emptied the rest of the contents out on my sectional.
To my surprise, a black velvet pouch with silk strings came tumbling out. Inside was a pair of nude-colored five-inch stilettos. They had a peep-toe and red bottoms. I studied the angles, admiring the beauty of the shoe. After setting them aside, I attended to the red lace chemise that had come as part of the ensemble. It was everything! Cream, nude, and red. Someone had exquisite taste. And not just tha
t, everything was my size! Medium on the robe and chemise, size eight on the shoe.
I stared in awe for a few minutes after looking over all the contents. This was all too good to be true. So mysterious. So sexy! It was like some kind of scavenger hunt that I had gotten shockingly comfortable with.
A little time had passed and I was preparing to put everything to the side. But just as I was about to do that, I noticed that something was taped to the inside of the box.
Damn . . . what now?
I almost missed it, because it was camouflaged so well. It was the same satin, as the cover that layered the chemise. I tilted my head slightly, all while lifting the flap in slow motion. In the background, my phone had just rang out, but I was so into getting the envelope open that I let the call go. It wasn’t sealed, so that made it easier to open. Under the flap was a shiny gold lining that matched the inside of the envelope. I slowly pulled out the half sheet of paper and unfolded it:
Hello Giselle,
You have been cordially invited to attend an exclusive 13th Floor event. The invitation, should you choose to accept, is a private event, that is by invitation only. Transportation is provided and will arrive to your home to pick you up.
We are aware that when most people receive an offer such as this, there will be pause. There will be doubt. There will be fear . . . of the unknown. But we only live once, right? Take a chance. I can promise that you will not regret your decision.
The choice is yours.
Please send your RSVP to [email protected] no later than Friday, June 14th.
Expect to have the time of your life.
We hope to see you there.
Risqué Page 2