by Sierra Rose
Busy day. Hope all well in HK.
Was I that bad in bed? All I get is hope all is well?
Not at all. Tired. Good nite.
It’s seven pm there. What is wrong?
Nothing. Am fine, she insisted.
UR lying.
She didn’t respond. It was impossible over text to know if he was teasing or genuinely aggravated by her coyness. She jumped when her phone rang. It was him. Of course it was him. Now that she didn’t want to talk to him, he was calling. Irony.
“Hello,” she said in what she hoped was a cool voice.
“Hi. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired.” She faked a noisy yawn for emphasis.
“That’s all I get? Did you sleep well last night? Did you miss me all day?”
“Of course,” she said matter of factly.
“It’s morning here. I’m bored out of my mind waiting for this training to be over. I’ve got weeks of this left.”
“It’s got to be an amazing place. Go sightseeing or something,” she suggested not altogether helpfully.
“I’d love to show you Hong Kong but you’re not here.”
“I’m sure there are things you’d enjoy. Go out and have fun,” she urged.
“It’s 7AM. I might be able to score some coffee but fun’s hours away.”
“You could go see that big Buddha.”
“The Tian Tan or the one on Lantau Island?”
“I don’t know. The really big one.”
“They’re both really big. I went to the monastery yesterday and saw the Tian Tan. It’s very peaceful.”
“You don’t seem peaceful.”
“I don’t want to be here. I just feel like—this is stupid, I know, but I feel like I shouldn’t have left you this soon. We were just beginning and you’re too far away. I can’t read you, can’t tell what you’re holding back.”
“Don’t stress, Jack. You’re probably operating on too little sleep. Jet lag’s making you paranoid.”
“You hung up on me last night, Britt. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Okay, you’re sticking with fine as an answer. That’s unproductive but I’ll have to take it. Tell me something good that happened today. Did Marj have purple nails again?”
“They’re yellow this week. Something good....we had a cookie cake in the break room for somebody’s birthday.”
“Whose?”
“Does it matter? Free cookie cake!”
“I guess it doesn’t. Was there frosting?”
“Oh yeah. Neon pink. The kind that stains your fingers.”
“I missed out.”
“Yeah, you sure did.”
“I ate at a terrific dim sum place.”
“That’s good.”
“I asked the boss for an interpreter while I’m here. For the trainings.”
“Do they not speak English?”
“They speak English just fine. They don’t speak technology very well in the department I’m training this week. I’m having to go through my PowerPoint at half speed and they keep wanting print outs of the instructions. It’s soul killing.”
“Maybe your super genius software is beyond their ability.”
“No, this should be easy. I don’t get why they don’t understand.”
“What about your friend, the one you designed it with? What does he say?”
“He says they’re morons, just rush through the training, take the money and run.”
“Ah, brilliant PR. Tell the clients they’re stupid, don’t train them, then leave.”
“They’re not stupid. They’re just....I’m wondering if the interface isn’t user friendly enough. It did fine in focus groups and we have buyers clamoring for it, but if the people sitting in the cubes hate it, there must be a problem.”
“So tomorrow, or, well, today I guess it is, sit down with this group and ask them to explain what’s confusing to them. Maybe they all have the same misunderstanding and it’s fixable.”
“What if it’s all different problems?”
“Then maybe there’s a glitch in your software or else they’re stupid. Maybe both.”
“You’re so encouraging, Britt,” he said sarcastically.
“Go listen to them, try not to get frustrated. I know your brain runs a thousand miles an hour. Try to sit with them and figure out what’s wrong.”
“I hate troubleshooting. I’d give Brian ten thousand dollars to go listen to them just so I didn’t have to. Sitting still isn’t my scene if you haven’t noticed.”
“You can pace if you have to, but don’t interrupt,” she said affectionately.
“Fine. I’ll try it. But if it fails, you have to sing me some Timberlake.”
“I know all the words, don’t worry.”
“I’ll try not to,” he said.
When they hung up, she felt lighter, happier after talking to him. She still knew she needed to proceed with caution, not be quite to eager to throw herself at him heart and soul, but he made her smile. She cursed herself for being dramatic, indecisive and generally...being herself. But she poured a glass of wine and looked at a magazine, more relaxed than she’d been in weeks.
Days followed of messaging, of short phone calls and Snapchats. Britt kept carefully out of suggestive territory, unwilling to fall back into phone sex with her long distance—whatever Jack was to her. He wasn’t her lover because he wasn’t in town for a hook up. He wasn’t her boyfriend because they had only been on one legitimate date. He wasn’t just her friend because she didn’t have sex with her friends. She sighed, there was no defining this thing between them and she was a woman who liked clear boundaries.
Chapter 4
Britt and Marj met for coffee, as they always did on Thursdays after work. Today, though, Marj had a surprise in store for her friend. They had just settled down with their lattes and a huge carrot muffin to share when Marj suggested they go out.
“We are out,” Britt protested.
“I mean tonight. Out-out. Where people go after it gets dark. Listen, you were down for a while but I think maybe Mr. Margarita from your hookup did a little sexual healing and you’re back to your old self. No more moping. You’re ready to move on from Dull Kevin. So we’re going out. To have a drink and some fun and maybe pick up a guy.”
Britt shifted in her chair uncomfortably. She didn’t want to tell her best friend that she was seeing Phillip Fitzsimmons, COO’s son, Jack. She also didn’t want to go out and pick up guys with her clueless bestie. Sighing, she decided to plead infirmity.
“I would but I have cramps. I just want to go home and lay on the heating pad and watch Supernatural.”
“Babe, you had your period last week. Do you have hormone problems or what? If you really have cramps you need to make a gyno appointment. If you don’t then you need to quit lying to your best friend who only wants you to be happy!”
“I just had PMS last week. This is the real deal.” She insisted desperately. “In fact, I need a cookie. I’m going up there to buy a cookie. I can’t resist these carb cravings I get when I’m on my period!” she added.
“Really? Bring me one. Oatmeal raisin, not that white chocolate macadamia crap.”
“Okay, I will.” Britt stood in line and waited to pay for her cookies. She tried self-consciously to stand in such a way as to appear uncomfortable or like she had the cramps. She pressed a hand to her lower back ostentatiously and groaned. Marj looked like she was trying to suppress a giggle.
“Here’s your cookie,” Britt said, affecting a pained expression as she sat back down at their table.
“You’re going tonight. Put on the blue dress. You pulled a hot one the last time you wore it, so it’s good luck.”
“I was wearing that when Kevin dumped me!”
“He’s the past,” Marj said. “So dress up and try to have a good time. The worst thing that happens is you drink a couple of cocktails that some boring guy paid for and then
you go home alone. You can’t argue with my logic, girl.”
“Yeah, I can. I don’t want a guy right now. I need to....have closure.” She attempted to look solemn as well as crampy.
“Eat your cookie. Go shave your legs and dress up. I’m picking you up in two hours. That’s time to get pretty, not time to eat ramen and watch HGTV in your yoga pants.”
“I don’t do yoga.”
“I know that. And so do your stretchy pants.”
“You suck.”
“No, I’m awesome. I’m taking you out tonight and you’re going to get your mojo back.”
“I never had mojo. That or yoga.”
“Then we’ll find you some, or at least a guy hot enough so you don’t care either way.”
“Where do they keep the guys like that?”
“The VIP lounge, I think.”
“We’d never make it past the velvet ropes.”
“Break out the flatiron this time.”
“What’s wrong with my ponytail?” Britt asked.
“Besides the fact it’s a ponytail? You’re trying to pull a guy. So you want your hair down and sexy.”
“But—”
“But nothing. Hair down. I’m trying to rehabilitate your social life. Don’t fight me on this. I’m going to help you find a suitable guy, someone fun and exciting and hot. Super hot.”
Britt thought of Jack, who was, without a doubt, all of those things, with a special emphasis on super hot. Jack, whom she’d picked up wearing that blue dress, who’d removed that same dress memorably on the night they’d met at Tamarind. Jack who kept trying to get closer while she tried to pull away. Well, here was her big chance then. She could prove to herself that she wasn’t hung up on her hook up. She could put on her dancing dress and go pull a new guy. Shrugging, she agreed to go.
Back in her apartment, she curled her eyelashes and straightened her hair. She rubbed fake tanner on her bare arms and dusted bronzer along her cleavage. She glossed her lips and stepped into pinchingly pointy toed stilettos. Britt was ready in plenty of time. Jack called and she answered, her voice sounding a little high, a little off. Guilty, she decided. She felt and sounded guilty for no reason. Hadn’t she encouraged him to go out and have a good time? Hadn’t she been perfectly clear they weren’t exclusive? Well, if not perfectly clear, at least somewhat open to him socializing with other women? In spirit if not in explicit conversation.
“Hi. How was your day?” he asked.
“Not bad. I have the cramps,” she blurted out. Might as well keep her lies consistent to all listeners.
“I hope you feel better,” he said. “Any cookie cake today?”
“No. But I had a cookie when Marj and I went for coffee.”
“Chocolate chip?”
“What other kind is there?”
“The disgusting ones with the macadamia nuts,” he remarked derisively.
“I know, right,” she said.
“So what are you doing tonight?”
“Uh, Marj and I are going out.”
“Dinner?”
“Maybe. I don’t know what she has planned really.”
“If it’s Marj it’s bound to be exciting. Don’t let her hook you up with any guys.” He laughed.
Britt didn’t laugh. She couldn’t make herself. She didn’t want to lie to him. She didn’t want to cheat on him even in spirit.
“I think I’m just her wingman tonight,” she hedged.
“So you get stuck with the ugly friend? I’m now jealous of the ugly friend,” Jack said.
“I may just stand there and play on my phone and ignore the ugly friend,” she said.
“Friend me on Epic City. It’s a building game. We can trade stuff. I really need this new sustainability booster and you can’t buy it with your game coins.”
“You’re geeking out over a Facebook game!” she giggled.
“You can call me whatever you want if you’ll get me the booster, kid.”
“I’m not starting that game tonight. Marj will kill me.”
“But...I need it and I’m so adorable!” he ventured.
“And so modest! I’ll try it later, when I get home.”
“Call me then.”
“Do I have a curfew?”
“Course not. I just want to know you get home safe is all. Marj is fun but she’s not the most careful person out there. Plus, twelve-hour time difference is your friend. It’ll be midafternoon where I’m at. In technology-challenged training hell.”
“Okay, I’ll call you.”
“Have fun. I miss you,” he said, trailing off.
“Bye.”
She felt better after talking to him. He always made her feel better. She answered the door when Marj knocked and they set off together. Marj parked behind a new club, Silver Rain, and practically had to drag Britt to the door. Marj was wearing a gold minidress and gladiator sandals that made Britt’s tight blue dress look positively Amish. The bouncer waved them in and they went straight for the bar.
“How does Luke feel about you trolling for guys?” Britt asked, leaning close to be heard.
“Aw, I told him I was going to hook you up. I’m just the wingman.”
“That’s the same thing—” She stopped herself from mentioning Jack, reminding herself just in time that their relationship or whatever it was—was still a secret. “That Kevin used to tell me,” she finished lamely.
“Well, he was lying, too.”
“Are you going to cheat on Luke?”
“No. Of course not. I’m going to drink and flirt and hook you up.”
“Right. So where do we begin?”
Britt ordered a mojito and a guy with a beard sent over a couple of shots for them. Marj slammed hers, smiled at the bearded guy, and elbowed Britt.
“Drink up, it’s free.”
“I haven’t eaten!”
“You had that cookie.”
“Two hours ago! I can’t do shots on an empty stomach,” she protested.
“Excuse me, could I get two cherries and a lime wedge?” Marj asked the bartender.
The woman gave her the fruit garnishes.
“Here. Supper,” Marj said, shoving the cocktail napkin with the two maraschino cherries and the lime wedge on it toward Britt. “Now quit bitching and drink.”
Britt ate one of the cherries and shrugged. She didn’t take the shot. Somehow, she didn’t want it. She wanted....it galled her to admit this even to herself...she wanted Jack. Two months ago, she would’ve thought Marj’s routine with the fruit was hilarious, would’ve pounded the shot and eaten the lime and laughed it off. Now she felt like her friend was trying to lead her astray.
The pulsing music and the flashing white lights got to Britt and she started to relax a little. She sipped her drink while Marj chatted up the bearded guy and downed another shot. The bar was chrome, the stools upholstered in silvery gray. The crowd was thick with the tanned, young and beautiful, mostly sipping the signature Gray Mist cocktail with a white glow stick as a stirrer. The crush was peppered with the sight of those gleaming cocktails and it added to the surreal atmosphere. The mojito buzzed around in Britt’s brain and she started to listen to Marj and Beard Boy’s conversation. Soon enough, Beard Boy’s friend came over to talk to her. He was on the skinny side with the sort of artfully groomed facial hair that marked him out as a hipster even without the boutique-label bottle of water he carried instead of a drink.
“I prefer folk music. A real seventies jam, not this wannabe electronica.” He said by way of introduction. “I’m Chris.”
“Hi, Chris. I’m Britt,” she said with a half sigh.
Chris was not her type. Marj was, by all appearances, having a blast. Britt took another drink and pasted on a smile. She knew damn well who the wingman was here and who was going in for a hookup. The good thing was, at least she wouldn’t have to disentangle herself from an awkward situation with some guy who thought he was taking her home. Marj, however, was going to have to hand over her keys
and prove she had condoms in her tiny handbag before she was allowed to go with Beard Boy.
Britt listened to Chris go on about authentic American music and how he thought everyone at Silver Rain was a poser. She ate the wedge of lime and let him buy her a Gray Mist. She played with the glow stick and stirred the drink without sipping much of it. It was a cute gimmick but it tasted like dishwater.
“Don’t you think so much of our truly American culture is being diluted by the media co-opting an international sensibility?”
“I’m not even sure what that means, Chris, so not really. Want to dance?”
Britt didn’t want to dance with him but since Marj was practically dry humping Beard Boy on the dance floor, she needed to get closer to the action in case Marj needed to go home or in case Beard Boy panicked and blew a rape whistle. Britt tried to enjoy the music and be polite to Chris. They danced. By some miracle he managed to make a sarcastic remark about the glowing drinks that made her laugh. Once she started laughing, she felt like she never wanted to stop. She wasn’t tense. She didn’t feel like running for the exit. She was having actual fun. He wasn’t a bad dancer if a little self-conscious. They sat at a table and he nursed his pretentious water bottle while she watched Marj.
“Your friend seems to be having a good time,” he managed.
“Yeah. Do you think your friend needs to be rescued from her?”
“I doubt it very much. His wife just left him so I suspect your friend is just what he’s looking for.”
“She is certainly a fun person,” Britt said fondly.
“So are you.”
“Thank you,” Britt said.
“Would you like another drink?”
“No thanks. I think one Gray Mist is enough.”
“Well you seemed to like the glow stick.”
“What kind of water is that?” she asked.
Chris seemed to clutch his bottle possessively for an instant before recovering.
“It’s Coulson’s Spring. From upstate in the mountains. It’s an artisanal water made in a limited run. The minerals from the spring have restorative properties.”
“Is it organic?” she asked sarcastically.
“Yes. At least I think it is,” he said, scanning the label earnestly and she had to hold back a laugh. “It doesn’t SAY SO.” He burst out in frustration. “I was sure it was organic...”