by Kristi Rose
Instead, I sit on a couch and pass various forms of fake male privates around a room. Some ladies hold items up to the light as if inspecting them like diamond brokers. Others ooh and ah and offer personal recommendations.
I focus on spending equal amounts of time giving both Kenley and Josie the stink eye.
Growing up in my house, sex was not something we talked about often, if ever. Now I’m expected to share personal information with a handful of strangers and some of my closest friends. It’ll take a few more drinks and parties to even get me warmed up to the idea.
Babs, our hostess and dominatrix, stands in front of the crowd with her riding crop and pulls a variety of toys and gadgets out of her leather bag. Dressed in what I assume is her finest two-sizes-too-small, shiny, skintight pleather pants and top, she hides her identity behind a matching facial mask. Only her blue eyes and lacquered beehive hairstyle give any indication of the person underneath. She waves items of sin and erotica about, most I’ve never heard of before. Is it possible to get arrested for owning any of these things? Seriously, the blinds are drawn, the lights are low, and the doors are locked. Under these circumstances, who wouldn’t feel wicked and scandalous, much less outside the law?
“What are you getting, Paisley dear?” Kenley’s mom Clara asks.
“I’m just window-shopping today.” I chase a meatball around my plate and try not to make eye contact with either her or the meatball.
“Oh, nonsense. You need to get at least a personal assistant. If you don’t already have one, of course.” Unfortunately, I look up to find her arching her brows at me.
When someone mentions a personal assistant, the best scenario I envision is of someone to grocery shop, wash and fold my laundry, and monitor my finances, and the worst scenario is an iPad that dings to remind me of impending appointments. I’m quite certain Clara and I do not share the same definition of a personal assistant.
“Oh yes, she’s definitely getting a PA.” Josie jumps in with her two cents. I haven’t told her yet, but as far as our friendship goes, it’s already over.
The fun show lady, Babs, comes to collect orders and Josie asks if she carries any of the items in stock, aside from the ones our group fondled earlier in the evening.
“I always have a few of the PA’s,” she answers, slapping her whip against her thigh and glaring at my empty order form. “Do you not have a pen to fill this out, sugar?” She waves the form in my face but I don’t take it.
Naturally, Josie intercepts. She grabs the form and removes a pen she’s tucked behind her ear. “She’s never been to one of these parties, if you know what I mean, she’s interested in a PA.”
I could smash my wineglass on the table and use the jagged edges to cut someone. Them. Me. Anyone.
“Do you have a size and color preference?”
Babs doesn’t even ask me, runs her questions through Josie. I stare at the rolls of flesh caught between her pleather top and pants.
“Do any come in a paisley pattern?” Clara asks. She cackles and elbows me. I’ve never heard that one before, honestly. And if there is a Lord in heaven, I hope to never hear it again.
“No, sorry. I only have purple, yellow, and black in stock. Medium, large, and extra-large.” Babs’s red lips make a straight, no-nonsense line when she attempts a smile.
Please don’t make me look at them. I’ve only seen real ones and a few at that. Just thinking of viewing any more falsies makes my left eye twitch.
“Don’t get an extra-large black, dear, they look slimmer than they are,” Clara whispers in my ear with a chuckle.
I turn to say something, but find I’m at a loss. My eye twitches, and I guess it looks like a wink because she winks too. My eye continues its spasm, and she winks a second time, her smile faltering. I look away, certain I’ve entered another dimension of hell.
“Paisley?” Josie asks. “You have a preference?”
I shrug and stare at my hands, eye twitching uncontrollably.
“She’ll take a purple medium if you’ve got it.” Leave it to Josie to decide. I get up and make my way to the wet bar. The only stiff thing I need is a drink.
I never pay for the thing. I assume it’s a gift. When we leave the party, my new best friend is in the backseat. I question what I’ll do with the gel man-piece. Do I take it on vacations with me? How does it go through security at the airport? Does it have a maintenance schedule? According to Josie, I’ll never want to leave it, but I seriously doubt it. I’m pretty sure I won’t break the wrapping on the nondescript brown box it’s packaged in.
“Hey, wanna go to the Fox and Hound for a drink?” Josie asks.
The Fox and Hound is our favorite restaurant and pub. It’s owned by Jayne’s parents and offers fun British fare.
“God, yes.” I pull up to the light, do a U-turn, and head straight for the bar. “Don’t you want to get home to Brinn?” I give her a quick glance.
“Brinn’s flown up to D.C. for a meeting. He won’t be home till late tonight.”
I know she hates it when he flies. Brinn owns his own Cessna and uses it to travel. I realize, no matter how much she trusts him, she’s nervous about him flying at night. I forgive her for her traitorous behavior at the party and offer to buy the first round.
Dodging newly formed rain puddles, which I’m sure elevates Josie’s level of nervousness, we run to the pub. Inside, we shake off the rain and make our way through the crowd to plant ourselves at the bar. Josie gets us the first round free from the bartender, Jake. Since she’s a former employee, she knows how to get the perks.
“Wanna do Orlando tomorrow instead of Sunday?” Josie sips her mojito.
I shrug. “I may have to be home before dinner. I’m supposed to have plans.”
“You’re a sly dog. You have plans with Hank, right?” She grins at me.
“I dunno, maybe. He asked if I was free last weekend, but I had Kenley’s blind date set up.” We both roll our eyes.
“I told him I was free this weekend.” I shrug. “I haven’t heard from him.”
“OK, let’s leave it for Sunday for now, if you find out you’re free, call me. We still running tomorrow?”
“Yes, please.” We clink glasses and finish them off.
I’m ordering our second round when I catch sight of a presence behind us and find Brinn standing there, whispering something I assume to be naughty in Josie’s ear since she is bright red. I cancel Josie’s drink.
“You don’t mind if I kidnap Josie, do you, Paisley?” Brinn asks, pulling my friend off the bar stool. “It’s been a hard day. My meeting ended sooner than I thought, and I’m ready to go home and snuggle with my girl.”
“Nah. Take her. She’s no fun anyway, always talking about you.” I wave my hand in a flippant manner.
Brinn laughs and throws enough money on the bar to cover our tab including a hefty tip. “Thanks, Paisley.”
I don’t give Brinn a hard time. He’s a genuinely nice guy, and Josie is lucky to have him. We have some weird alliance going on between us. One I’m grateful for. A few months after my divorce, a bunch of us were at dinner and Josie offered to set me up on a date. It was as if mayhem broke out and my friends were jockeying for the right to pair me off.
Brinn stepped in and told them to lay off. “When Paisley’s ready to date, she’ll let you know. Until then, you let her heal.”
It was enough to call off the coyotes and, to this day, only Kenley has persisted on setting me up.
Josie gives me a hug and promises she’ll be on time for our run. I’m not counting on it. I give them a brief wave before I return to my drink.
“So you’re alone?” Jake the bartender props himself on the bar and smiles at me.
“Yep.” I’m usually pretty self-conscious about these things, but since my divorce, I’ve made a point to do more things alone: go to movies, dinner, and even mini vacations. It’s taken some time, but I’m getting used to it.
“You’re in here a lot,” he tells me.
“Yikes, really? Guess I need to lay off, huh?” Not a good thing to be a regular at a bar, my mother always said.
“No, not like you think. With your group of friends, the ones who always order martinis, and with Josie.” One Wednesday a month Jayne, Kenley, Heather, Josie, and I meet here for girls’ night out.
“That’s a relief. I was beginning to think I was heading down a path of desperation and becoming a bar hog.”
“No, you’ve got a long way to go.” He indicates with his chin for me to look behind me.
I turn. A woman my age is dancing next to the jukebox. Her skirt and shirt are both too tight and too short. She moves to a beat no one else can hear, unless they are next to the jukebox, and makes eyes at the men watching her. If I were to give the dancing woman a quick glance, my first impression could easily be dismissive, labeling her a desperate woman, but I take a few more seconds. I recognize heartbreak when I see it and she’s clearly running from it.
I look at Jake and shrug. When I was growing up, my father always told me to either defend people or say nothing. Never say something negative. I take the silent approach. How do I explain to a man that his gender is the precise reason for her display?
“Sad, isn’t it?” He empties drinks into the sink and gives me a little smile.
I give a slight smile back.
“I know your name,” he says, using the world’s worst pickup line and stops to lean toward me. He points at me as if the action itself will conjure up my name.
“Patsy? No, wait—” His voice is uncertain.
“No. Don’t bother trying to guess. You’ll never get it. It’s Paisley.”
I push my empty glass toward him and feel around for my purse. I get the feeling our conversation has an agenda, and it’s making me nervous. Jake is a handsome guy. His brown eyes and sun-kissed brown hair give him a surfer look. He’s probably never without a date.
“Paisley? For real?”
Why would I lie about my name? “Yep. It’s the name of my father’s hometown in Scotland. I count my blessings every day. I’m lucky it wasn’t something horrible like Argyll.”
“Wow. That’s cool. It suits you. Scottish name for the Scottish lass.” His attempt at a Scottish accent is pathetic.
It’s a strain not to wince. People don’t know how to react to my name and some attempt to use a Scottish brogue as a pick up. Is Jake the bartender hitting on me? He leans forward and brushes a curl off my shoulder, and I have the answer to my question.
“I know this might seem awkward, but I’d love to take you out. I see you in here with your friends and have been wanting to ask you for some time.” He flashes me a grin of gleaming, white teeth.
I look around the room and catch sight of the jukebox dancer. Yes, it’s time to put one foot forward and go on a real date, not a blind date, a pity date, or a drunk one-nighter. The real thing.
“OK, sure. Sounds good if you promise not to do your poor Scottish accent.”
I hang my purse from my shoulder and dig for my keys, too shy to look at him. Lord, I hate dating. Never liked it in high school or college and if it’s possible, I hate it even more post marriage.
He groans. “Bad huh? I promise never to do it again. Let me get your number.” He pulls out his cell, keys in my number, and sends me a text so I’ll have his. We make plans for him to call within the next few days to make further plans.
“Until then,” I say in my best imitation of my father and grandmother’s brogue.
He raises one brow and smiles. “That was great. And sexy.” He flirts with ease, a gift clearly bestowed upon the most beautiful people.
I leave Brinn’s money on the bar and say my farewell. I’m self-conscious, knowing he’s probably watching me walk out of the bar.
In hindsight, I suppose it might not be such a good idea to go out with a guy who I could see the first Wednesday of each month, especially if it goes south. But, what the heck? I have a vibrating, plastic, purple penis waiting for me in my car, what do I have to lose?
Chapter 10
Josie bangs on my door earlier than I expect and I’m still lounging, or as others may call it, sleeping. She comes in carrying two large coffees, and I know I love her. If I ever remarry and have kids, I promise to name one after her.
“Wanna skip the run and go for breakfast? Brinn’s gone to Miami so I have all day.” Josie’s always the voice of temptation.
“How about we run to the café and stroll back?” I’m seriously concerned about my thighs.
She shrugs as she wanders around my apartment opening blinds, then picking dead leaves off my plants.
“Hey it’s BOB,” she exclaims when she sees the package on my table.
“Who?” I return my focus to the soothing goodness of my coffee.
“BOB. Your new battery-operated boyfriend.” She opens the package, pulls the purple eyesore from his place of rest, and waves it around. I almost drop my coffee and die on the spot. I’d been torn last night when I stood at the car. I was afraid to leave it for fear of someone seeing it and reasoned I could hide it in my trash can and take it to the larger Dumpster on trash day.
“Hey.” I jump up and snatch it out of her hands. “Keep it down, will ya? I have elderly neighbors.”
“As if.” Josie yanks it back and walks into my kitchen.
I follow her and watch as she rummages through my junk drawer. “Seriously, Jo, the lady across the street is the nosiest of nosy. I swear she sleeps by her window and has binoculars.”
Josie loads BOB with batteries and turns it on. It hums in her hands. I cover my ears.
“Look here, it has a variety of speeds. Who cares if she sees? Maybe she’ll get one of her own and find something better to do with her time. Now let’s see, where shall we put this?” She taps BOB against her palm and surveys my apartment.
How about the garbage? Because it’s been shed of its package, I’m terrified someone will find it there and word will somehow get back to my mother. Maybe I’ll throw it in the Halifax River. I wonder if it floats? I suggest nothing. It doesn’t matter where Josie puts BOB because he’s not staying.
She walks into my bathroom, throws back the shower curtain, and lays it across the rack where I store my hair products and bath soap.
“Here’s a great place for the two of you to get to know each other. Now what do you say we walk to the café so we can enjoy our coffees.”
“Deal.”
I change and we head out. We walk along the Halifax River toward the restored historic district of Daytona Beach and talk about last night. Josie confides in me how Brinn is attempting to put together a deal to open his own commercial airline. Risky business in the wake of September eleventh. He’s flying back and forth to D.C. and Miami, meetings with investors. The whole thing makes Josie nervous for reasons she doesn’t explain but, if anyone can turn mud into millions, it’s Brinn McRae, I tell her.
She gently grabs my forearm and smiles. “Listen, I need a favor.”
Uh-oh. “What kind of favor?” Josie isn’t one to butter up a person. If she needs something, she asks.
“Brinn’s business manager will be here for a few weeks, and I’d like you to join us for dinner one night.”
“Huh? Is this a blind date?”
“Yes... No. Kinda. It’s more like evening out the numbers so he doesn’t feel like a third wheel, while putting two remarkable people together who I think will hit it off.”
“Is he a pilot?” I’m not crazy about pilots.
“No, he’s a number cruncher. He’s moving here, and we want him to have a good time.”
I give her a pointed look.
“Not a good time like that. Jeez, I’m not a pimp. I mean the four of us having a nice time together. No pressure.”
I do an eye roll. No pressure. I’ve heard that before.
“You said he’s a number cruncher
. You mean nerdy accountant?” I sip my coffee and picture a guy who’s paper-thin with a bad haircut he probably gave himself.
“Yeah, but hot nerdy accountant.” She arches her eyebrows and we laugh.
“OK, I’ll do it. What the heck. Oh, speaking of hot. Guess who asked me out?”
I’m nervous telling Josie because she briefly worked with Jake and she’s never given him much attention. Meaning, in Josie speak, she doesn’t think much of him. I tell her anyway.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” She throws her drink into a nearby garbage can and stalks ahead.
Stunned, I look around for a camera or someone to yell “psych.” Nothing happens and Josie’s getting further away. I break into a slight jog to catch up with her. At least I get some running in, and all without spilling my drink.
“What’s the matter?” I ask when I catch up. She stops dead in her tracks and I have to stop midstride and turn around.
“You give me a hard time about setting you up, yet you go on a blind date Kenley found for you. You make a date with Jake, but you won’t give this Hank a chance. If you hook up with Jake, you’ll be a two-time loser.”
“That’s mean.” My feelings are hurt. Does she think I’m a one-time loser?
“You’re better than he is. All I’m saying is Jake the Snake isn’t good enough for you.”
“Jake the Snake?” I laugh.
“Yeah. Jake’s the player of players. Word is he plays dirty.” She plants her hands on her hips. Her expression is straightforward and challenges me to argue back.
Hmm. Jake doesn’t give me the player vibe, just that he’s comfortable in his skin. I purse my lips. Trevor was a player. I didn’t get the vibe from him either, so there’s that.
“What do you mean ‘plays dirty’? Never mind, it doesn’t matter, because the point here is that I got a date without anyone setting me up.”
“It’s not a date with potential. You can stop any man here on the street and ask him out and get a date. You’re very pretty, and you’ll have better odds at finding something with more potential than you’ll find with Jake.”