by Mimi Strong
Nora did not have any questions, not anymore. If Sue couldn't be bothered to grant her a proper interview, she wasn't going to debase herself further.
She had been prepared to ask about benefits packages as a sign that she had value as an employee, but at that moment, she didn't believe it. There would be no point.
The interview wrapped up without any sign of hope. She gave the woman a firm handshake and thanked her for her time, though she didn't mean it.
Nora made it to the car without crying. She made it halfway home without crying.
She still hadn't shed a tear when she thought about barbecue rotisserie chicken. Her stomach grumbling, she pulled into the Trader Joe's parking lot.
She got a carrying basket and loaded it with the steaming chicken, as well as three kinds of cookies and four kinds of licorice. Once in line, she realized she was standing behind an attractive, familiar-looking man. Was it someone she'd just met at the advertising agency? Could her day get worse?
He turned his head, revealing a handsome jawline with the slightest shadow. It was Aaron, the musician who'd been at the station earlier.
Nora stepped back and moved slowly to avoid catching his gaze. Switching to another line would draw attention, but if she stayed where she was, just off his periphery, she'd stay invisible.
He was buying a bottle of wine, some fancy cheeses, and a bundle of flowers. Nora couldn't remember the last time a man had bought her flowers. Of course Mr. Handsome would be on his way to a date with someone, and of course Nora would have an assortment that made her look like a binge eater.
Aaron made small talk with the cashier, a young woman delighted with the attention. The guy had really nice ears. Even from behind. Nora snuck a look at his butt, which was round and nice and gave her a little shiver.
After he left without seeing her, Nora stepped forward and attempted to be just as effervescent as Aaron. The cashier, a cat-eyed girl with a name tag reading Ginessa, yawned twice while loading the groceries into Nora's canvas bags.
Nora left the store, got in her car and tore open one of the bags of licorice. She decided to play The Mirror Game.
Mindful that nobody in the parking lot was paying attention, she tilted her rear-view mirror toward herself. She examined her face, inch by inch. She started with the chin, admiring the shape of her jaw, her full, perfectly-shaped lips, and even the divot under her nose. She shut her eyes and tilted the mirror up quickly, then angled it down bit by bit, admiring her nicely-shaped forehead and her carefully-plucked, arched eyebrows, then her lovely eyes. Women at makeup counters always said her eyes were her best feature. When she was younger, she took that as a compliment, but eventually she realized it was just what people said. Everybody has pretty eyes.
Nora ate some of the licorice, then took a piece of unopened mail from the front seat, turned her head to the side, and held the envelope up to mask part of her nose. How much would plastic surgery cost, anyway? She didn't know much about the surgery, except its incredibly unflattering name: rhinoplasty.
“I could get a rhino. A nose job,” she said to the mirror. “Then I could get any kind of other job. Rhino. Nose job. Job, job, job.” She repeated the words until they lost all meaning. “Rhinopolo-de-nosification-ism,” she said with a giggle.
As she drove the rest of the way home, she opened one of the bags of cookies. The sugar-laden foods buoyed her spirits just enough for her to realize that she was not the kind of girl who binges on junk food and feels sorry for herself at home. There was a time and place to feel bad, but it was not tonight. Not on a Friday.
Nora pulled into her driveway and phoned the one person in the world who would cheer her up: Tianne.
When Tianne picked up, Nora said, “I'm ready to go to Mars.”
CHAPTER 2
Tianne squealed with delight at the mention of Mars, the new and reportedly sexy wine bar. She yelled something with her hand muffling the receiver.
“What's going on?” Nora asked. “He's not back on the boob, is he?”
“Nohoho,” Tianne breathed into the phone. “Weaned. And Mommy is ready for some fun. No lactation means alcohol is a go-go. I'm so glad you're single.”
Nora held the phone away from her ear long enough to give it a cross look. “Yeah, me too,” she said sarcastically.
“Oh, you should invite your friend from work, the pretty little one with the nice hair. Kylie. I like her.”
“Mixing work friends and real friends? No thank you.”
“What's this real friends bullshit? The only people who shouldn't mix are adults and toddlers, trust me.”
“Fine. I guess there is no such thing as work life and regular life. It's all just one big, weird, messed-up life, isn't it?”
“Yes, and then you have kids and become the chauffeur for their lives. But not tonight. Momma's gonna party tonight!”
“Promise you won't bite me again.”
“Promise you'll keep me away from tequila. I have to teach yoga in the morning.”
“I'll do what I can, but you're sneaky,” Nora said with a chuckle. She took off her seat belt and shifted to sit sideways in the car, with her back against the armrest of the door.
Nora and Tianne discussed what to wear and who would drive whom, settling on dressy jeans and sparkly tops, with Tianne's husband Tyson driving them to and from.
Nora ended the call wondering what smelled so delicious, then she remembered the chicken. It was a good thing she'd picked up food, because her parents were at someone's retirement party and her mother wouldn't be making one of her tasty meals that night.
Sometimes Nora felt bad about still living with her parents at twenty-seven. She'd been able to stay home while she went to college, as Eugene, Oregon was a college town. She'd continued to stay after graduation, to save money and pay off her modest student loans, and nobody had asked her to leave. She was lucky she got along with her parents so well and actually enjoyed their company. Tianne had a theory it was because she was an only child, so she didn't experience the sibling rivalry that was the cause of so much family tension. With three kids of her own, Tianne was the expert on sibling rivalry.
Nora went inside the house and put some rice in the rice cooker to have with the chicken. Razzles, her nearly-deaf white cat, twirled around her feet, entranced by the scent of rotisserie chicken. He wasn't very old, but he had one green eye and one blue eye, a genetic abnormality that accompanied hearing problems in white cats.
Nora sank to the floor, along with the container of chicken, and pulled off a chunk for herself and a chunk for Razzles. She talked to Razzles, as she often did, telling him that on Monday she'd be back at the same old work, putting up with the same crap, but for now it was the weekend, and she planned to have fun.
Razzles was only interested in the chicken.
“It's good to know what you want,” she told him. “I want a new job and a hot man.”
She put her hand over her mouth and looked around, paranoid someone had heard and she'd jinxed herself.
Razzles followed her around obediently as she got ready for a night out with her girlfriends.
She wouldn't be taking her car, so she was free to have a few drinks. A few? Maybe more than a few.
On the ride to Mars, she felt like an astronaut about to launch into space. Did astronauts have sex in outer space? If not, she felt sorry for them. Going without sex was no fun at all, gravity or no gravity.
Perhaps there would be a jock-type of guy at the bar, the sort who enjoyed a one-night hookup and the opportunity to show off his body. Nora could be someone's jungle gym that night. She smiled at the idea.
The club, or lounge, or whatever it was, had a lineup by the time Nora and Tianne arrived. Eugene was known more for its bicycle-friendly geography than its night life, but the lineup certainly gave the place a big-city feel. The tiny sign above the door read Mars, A Social Club.
Tianne said to Nora, “Social Club? What does that even mean?” Tianne's skin was cocoa
-brown, her eyes were wide-set and orange-brown, and her nose was perfect for her face. A small bump at the top gave her an elegant, sophisticated look. She wore tight-fitting, shiny black pants over pointy-toed boots, and a lavender wrap top, which showed off her toned, yoga-fit body. Her hair had been chopped short recently, due to necessity—namely, grabby baby fingers—but she rocked her short 'do. It was naturally curly and bleached blond, contrasting with Tianne's dark skin. Her earrings were a waterfall of silver coins that made a tinkling sound Nora could hear, even over the sound of people in line complaining about the wait.
Nora squinted up at the sign. “They should call it Mars, Good luck getting to touch the surface in one human lifetime.”
A taxi pulled up and Kylie jumped out, wearing a cute button-down dress and scarf straight out of a safari-themed fashion shoot. “C'mere you sillies!” She waved the girls over. “We do promotions for the club. I'll go put a word in to the manager, and he'll give us the VIP treatment, or else.”
As Kylie went off to bat her eyelashes at the big-armed fellow near the door, waving her hands and producing business cards, Tianne put her arm around Nora and said, “Why don't you throw your weight around like that? Everybody spends their afternoons with Nora. You gotta use your little slice of fame, girl!”
Nora laughed. “Sure, you cover their eyes and I'll work my voice magic.”
A few minutes later, before they could even get chilly from the spring evening air, the three were ushered into Mars.
The bass-throbbing club was split into several small adjoining rooms, plus a main dance space, with two spiral staircases that led nowhere. Girls who looked like they could be in high school were dancing on the spiral stairs in their short skirts. Nora felt herself age five years in five seconds. “I need a drink,” she said.
“I need two,” Tianne said, nodding toward her chest. “One for each boob, to celebrate having them back to myself.” She turned to Kylie. “Did you see that photo going around, of the sexy black woman doing a headstand, topless, while breastfeeding a baby? That was me. I finally outraged the community of mommy bloggers, and my traffic has never been higher. I'm finally getting some serious ad revenue.”
“Let me know if you need a promotions manager,” Kylie said.
“I don't think we're there yet, but maybe someday.” Tianne pointed at Kylie's silky brown hair. “You have the nicest hair, and I love this dress.”
“I love your earrings,” Kylie said, admiring the shimmering silver coins.
With the two of them chatting away, Nora excused herself to go to the ladies' room.
Within the safety of a stall, she checked on her prosthetic foot. She had adjusted the foot for wear with her high-heeled boots. Everything still worked, but was just different enough to make her nervous.
As she was opening the stall door, she was surprised to see a pregnant woman—Sue Harding from the ad agency—enter the washroom. Nora backed up, closed the door and took a seat. After the way her interview had gone, Sue was the last person Nora wanted to see tonight.
Sue used the stall next to Nora's, then took her sweet time washing her hands. What was a pregnant woman doing in a club anyway? Then Nora remembered: the nightclub was one of their mutual clients. She was likely there on business.
Another woman came in, and by the sound of it, she was crying over some heartbreak. Nora watched through the crack in the stall and listened as Sue showed patience for the stranger, patting away her tears and telling her to get some sleep before she did anything rash. “Pretty girls don't cry,” Sue said, and the girl let out a congested-sounding laugh in response.
The girl thanked her and said she'd go straight home. Sue offered to share a cab ride home, since she was leaving as well.
Good riddance, Nora thought as Sue and the other pretty girl left the washroom. She waited another minute, sulking, then, worried her friends might send a search party, she emerged and found them at a table, still talking about hot yoga versus regular yoga.
Drinks were ordered, downed and re-ordered, downed and re-ordered again, amidst more talk of yoga and jewelry and celebrity gossip.
Someone tapped Nora on the shoulder, but she didn't turn her head. “Well, hello again,” said a man with an English accent.
The drinks had slowed her reflexes and voice recognition.
“Nora, it's me, Bobby Douglas, from Pepper and Weiss, the ad agency.” Nora turned to find the brand-new face attached to the familiar voice.
“Bobby!” she shouted. The drinks had gone to her head quickly, and she was enjoying the feeling of things spinning out of control.
Tianne attempted to introduce herself to Bobby, but Nora cut her off.
“Bobby!” Nora shouted again. “You… what's the word… wanker? Is that right? You wanker.” She slapped him on the chest, and he staggered back, bemused. She continued, demanding, “What was the deal today? Did that woman have me in for chaff? Was I the chaff being interviewed to pave the way for someone internally getting promoted, or what?”
“Hold your horses, there, I thought it went rather well,” Bobby said, sheepishly smoothing down his red hair.
“Stop yanking my dick,” Nora said, even louder than the music.
Tianne stood from her chair and pushed her shoulders back, all five feet and five inches of fiercely protective mama bear/yoga instructor. “Is there a problem?” she asked Nora. “I'll get the bouncer.”
“Nuh-uh,” Nora said, grabbing a stool from a nearby table and pulling it up next to her own. “Sit,” she commanded. Now the drinks were in control, and she was just there for the ride. “Bobby, you've got some espl .. sple .. 'splaining to do. Why you throw Nora under the bus? You like your afternoons with Nora.”
Bobby grinned and took the seat, clearly amused by Nora referring to herself in the third person. “I do like my afternoons with Nora,” he said.
Tianne sat again and watched Bobby as everyone made introductions, without Nora's assistance.
Nora laid her head down on one arm on the table, not caring that the surface was sticky from their sugary drinks. In her bravado, she'd made her last drink a double, whereas Tianne had ordered a Diet Coke.
“I went for a hike after work, then showered and came here,” Bobby said. “I've had nothing but Guinness for dinner.”
“You talk funny,” Nora said, reaching out to pinch Bobby on the cheek. “Baby cheeks. Bobby baby cheeks.”
Tianne stood again, grabbed both of their purses, and Nora. “If you'll excuse us,” she said, dragging Nora away.
Nora stumbled slightly, and then, she remembered her foot situation, which jarred her brain like a splash of cold water. “Shit, I'm a bit tippy. No, tipsy,” she said. “No, tippy. Like I could tip over. Tianne, don't let me tip over.”
They stopped by the bar, where Tianne ordered two waters and made Nora drink both. “Girl, we have to talk. I'm going home to a hot carpenter. The kids are at their grandma's, and he's been resting up all night for me. I know I'm having a good time after this, and I want you to, but not if it isn't right. Slow down on the drinking and I'll let Bobby drive you home.” She winked. “As in, not your home.”
“Bobby? Gross. No thank you. He hates me. I mean, come on. He's English.”
“You're a bit shiny, let's go to the powder room and I'll, you know, powder your nose.”
In the washroom, after a toilet detour, Nora sat on the counter as Tianne dug through her diaper-bag-sized purse.
“Tianne, your name sounds like a bell. Like, TING!”
Some other women came in and out of the washroom, leaving them a wide berth.
“I don't have your peachy-skin color, but I have something translucent that should work,” Tianne muttered.
“Moms are good,” Nora said. “They always have everything. Is it the purse? Is that a magical purse, like what Mary Poppins has? Do you have chimney sweepers in there?”
“You are a notoriously cheap drunk,” Tianne said, applying lipstick to Nora's lips.
&
nbsp; “It's because I don't have a leg. Ten or so pounds, just gone.”
“Don't talk like that.” Tianne powdered Nora's nose, as promised.
The clouds in Nora's head parted, and she sat up straighter, taking deep breaths.
Some of the young girls—Stairs Girls, as Nora thought of them—came over to wash their hands at the sinks, caught up in their own conversation. Every second word was like. One said to her friend,“Do you, like, know how like my mother is, right? Like she's just all, like, grr, right? Like that.”
One of the reasons Nora had been put in the afternoon hosting chair so easily was her natural speaking style was already clear of stall words and other vocal junk. Because both of her parents were English teachers, she'd been lovingly brought up to speak in complete, grammatically-correct sentences.
Nora never understood that style of girlie-girl talking until her moment of clarity by the sink in Mars, the Social Club. The girl saying the word like with the highest frequency was obviously the one of lower social standing. The other girl—the hot one—was the alpha, and the like girl was playing dumb deliberately. It was the equivalent of dogs meeting at a dog park and the submissive one rolling on her back to show her belly. Silly me, I'm harmless, the girl seemed to be saying.
The girls left the washroom, the like one still talking.
Tianne had gotten out mascara and was applying it to Nora's upper eyelashes, over top of the brown mascara Nora had applied.
Nora said to Tianne, “I think I'm going to, like, get a nose job. Like, what do you think?”
“Tell me what you want me to think, and that's what I'll think,” Tianne said. She removed the dangling silver coin earrings from her ears, washed off the stems with soap in the bathroom sink, and handed them to Nora. “Try these, I think they'll bring out your eyes.”
“They'll get stuck in my crazy hair. No! You looked so pretty in them.” Even as she protested, Nora put on the earrings. The tinkling made her feel exotic.
“They do bring out your eyes,” Tianne said.