by Katy Regnery
So here we go.
As I’m waiting for something called a scorpion bowl to arrive while having Christmas Eve dinner at a Chinese restaurant in North Pole, Alaska, with a virtual stranger, I realize it’s time.
Let’s go, Faye. Let’s face it.
My maidenhood.
My v-card.
MY VIRGINITY.
I probably should have lost it back in high school or college—or at some point in my twenties, at least. But for all my left-brain dominance, I had some pretty dreamy notions about my “first time.” Minimally, I wanted to be in love with my first partner, and since I’ve never even come close to falling in love, I suppose sex never entered the equation.
Now here I am, thirty years old, and clearing three decades on this earth without being intimate with a man makes me feel...embarrassed, inexperienced...like I’m missing out on something that I should have tried long before now.
Not to mention, the longer you wait, I’ve learned, the more society pegs you as a weirdo with a dirty secret. And I don’t want to feel like that anymore either.
But all that’s going to change now.
I don’t care if I’m in love or not. I don’t care if I never see Mr. Fairbanks again after New Year’s weekend. I know it’s probably going to hurt physically, but so does a root canal, and I’ve borne that pain without making a scene.
If I don’t want to downsize my family-sized house or live the rest of my life like a spinster, I need to do something drastic to jumpstart my exploration of men and desire and my body and my latent sexuality. If I don’t, I fear I never will.
Plus, the businesslike tone and quality of his ad appealed to me.
He wants a date for New Year’s? Well, I want to lose my virginity. Quid pro quo. We’ll both get what we want.
Do I have some misgivings about the fact that I’ll be a virgin the first time I ever have sex with a virtual stranger?
Yes. Of course I do. Three decades of not sharing my body with anyone else hasn’t exactly made me free-spirited, but I will just approach this with the same sort of head-on, can-do determination that helps me succeed in business. I know how the deed is done. Part A of Person A is inserted into Part A of Person B. Person A thrusts his hips in a forward motion repeatedly until—
“One North Pole scorpion bowl...and one tequila shot.”
I’m startled by Denny’s return to our table and look up at him in surprise as he lowers a neat shot of tequila and a large—maybe thirty-two ounces?—bowl of liquid to the table, complete with several brightly colored straws.
I pick up the much-needed shot and let the smooth tequila glide down my throat before gesturing to the vat of liquid he’s placed between me and Brandy. “What is this?”
“Scorpion bowl,” he says.
“Right. But what’s in it?”
“Nope! Don’t tell her!” Brandy places her phone on the table and shifts her glance to me. “You have to taste it and tell me.”
I stare at the reddish-purple liquid for a second, then frown at her. “I’m not accustomed to drinking things that I—”
“Just try it already,” she says. She fingers a hot-pink straw for a second before leaning forward to take a big sip, after which she smacks her lips dramatically. “Delicious.”
I choose a bright aqua straw and lean forward, clasping it between my lips and drinking until the sour sweetness fills my mouth and puckers my lips. “Oh!”
“Like it?”
“Um...” Do I like it? Honestly, I’m not sure. “What is it?”
“You tell me,” says Brandy.
I take another sip, and another, and really, Brandy is correct. It is delicious.
“Vodka.”
“What kind?” asks Brandy.
“Absolut Citron.”
“Damn, you’re good,” she tells me. “What else?”
“Hendrick’s?”
“Your favorite,” says Brandy, leaning forward to take another sip. “Anything else?”
I take a gulp this time, letting the flavors combine on my tongue and sighing with satisfaction. “Sake, cranberry juice, fresh lemon, fresh lime, mint, and...cucumber?”
“Impressive,” says Brandy. “But you’re missing one thing.”
“What?”
“A liqueur, but I won’t tell you what it is,” she says. “Keep drinking. You’ll figure it out.”
Every gulp goes down smoother than the last until the bowl is one-third gone.
Pausing from my drink, I look around the restaurant, and I decide that it’s the most festive place I’ve visited in...years. And Brandy? My goodness, she is just a pip. How lucky that I managed to bump into her tonight! Things are looking better already.
I grin at her. “Hey! Weren’t you going to tell me about T? How he got ‘worked over’?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Sure. Okay.”
“He’s hot,” I hear myself say, “for a farmer.”
“Hey!” Brandy tilts her head to the side and raises her eyebrows. “Can’t farmers be hot?”
Oh shit! Why did I say that aloud? I glance at the scorpion bowl. Hmm. This is probably a lot of alcohol, even for me. But it’s too good to stop sipping, so I don’t.
“Farmers can definitely be hot, as evidenced by T,” I say. “But between you and me? He didn’t look like a farmer. Not at all. I’m skeptical that he even is a farmer. He had a—hmm, I don’t know...like, a clean-cut businessman thing going on.”
“Yeah,” says Brandy. “I guess he does. In fairness, he also started a—”
“Don’t be fair!” I demand, leaning forward a little, unable to politely curb my curiosity anymore. “Just spill the beans.”
“Spill the beans, huh? Drink up, Faye,” she advises with a chuckle. “You’re getting fun.” She takes another sip of her beer, then folds her hands on the table. “Okay...so, here’s the deal: T was dating this girl, Marlena, who was a nurse at the local hospital. They got together right around the time I got the job here, and I was eighteen, so I guess they had been together for about three years when he popped the question last February. Gorgeous couple. Totally in love...or so we thought.”
“Dun...dun...duuuuuun,” I intone dramatically.
“Oh man. Are you getting drunk?” Brandy snorts through a giggle. “Anyway, he heads down to Portland in June—that’s where she’s from—to get married...Only to find out she’d been having an affair with his brother! For months.”
“Stop it!” I yell, hugging the large bowl to my chest with my pink straw lodged in the pouch of my cheek so I can sip while I talk. Everything’s far more efficient this way. “That’s horrible!”
“Mm-hm. She’s a regular cunt.”
“Language!” I scold, shaking my head with disapproval at Brandy’s dirty mouth.
“Language,” she scoffs. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a trip?”
“Keeeeeeeep...g-going!” I manage to sputter through sips and swallows and the straw I’m still holding between my lips so I can mainline this concoction.
“So he comes back to Alaska with his heart in tatters. Didn’t get married, of course. And he’s extra heartbroken, because he loves Cez—”
“Who?”
“Cez. With a z. His younger brother, Cecil.”
“His brother’s name is Cecil?”
“Is that important?”
“It’s just unusual.”
Sweet Christ, I’ve never had anything as yummy as what I’m drinking right this second. I’m going to order another and another and—
“Anyway, there’s more.”
“What?” My eyes are bugging out of my head. I just know it.
“Then he finds out Marlena is pregnant,” she says, making a hand motion like a bomb exploding. “Bam!”
“No!” I say, spitting scorpion punch all over the table. And damn it, that’s a shame, because I really don’t want to waste it.
“Yes,” says Brandy, laughing as she uses her napkin to wipe down the tabletop. “Hey,
you might want to slow down a little.”
“No way. This is the best drink ever.”
She narrows her eyes. “How often do you mix alcohols?”
“Never,” I say. “Never ever. Never ever ever.” I giggle. “Don’t dilute, don’t pollute.”
Just then, Denny reappears with food, and I swear I’m hungry, but at the same time, this drink is all I need to be happy until the world stops spinning. I’m positive. And sadly, it’s almost gone.
“Bring me another,” I tell him.
“Another shot?”
“Another scorpion bowl!”
“Uhh...” He darts his eyes at Brandy, who shrugs as she piles her plate with food. He looks back at me. “Are you sure? It’s a lot.”
“Yep! I’m in love with it.”
He grins at me. “O-kaaaay. Whatever you say.”
Denny leaves to squeeze more nectar from the tits of the gods while I finish off the scorpion bowl and smile at my dinner partner. Looking at her, it occurs to me that Brandy and Harriet are about the same age, but it’s so much easier to talk to Brandy. Why is that? Why are Harriet and I always so stiff and awkward together? Why can’t I sit across a table from Harriet and talk about hot men who’ve been jilted? Why couldn’t we drink scorpion bowls and have a proper giggle?
“I wish my sister was more like you,” I say.
“You barely know me.”
“I barely know her.”
“Maybe that’s the problem.”
“Maybe,” I say, feeling a little sad when I think of Harriet in Vail.
“Are you getting sad? Don’t get sad on me. Eat something,” suggests Brandy.
“I’m fine. Finish the story.”
“Not much else to say,” she says, biting into another Rangoon. “Oh, except...now they’re engaged too. Cez and Marlena. Engaged and having a baby. And T—well, he’s all alone.”
“Oh, Brandy...” Still hugging the almost-cached scorpion bowl to my chest, I feel tears flood my eyes. My lips quiver. “That’s...that’s so saaaaad.”
“Lord, you’re not a weepy drunk, are you? Ugh.” She cringes, then shrugs, sliding the last clean napkin to me. “Wouldn’t have guessed that.”
“I d-don’t know,” I sob, blowing my runny nose. “I d-don’t get d-drunk, so I w-wouldn’t know.”
“Sure you don’t,” she says, then adds again, “Eat something.”
I take a wonton and shove it into my mouth. “I’m...sho...shorry...for T.”
“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She sighs. “He wasn’t nice to you tonight, but he’s not an asshole at heart. I promise. He’s a good guy going through a shitty time.”
Denny appears like a messenger from heaven and swaps out my scorpion bowls just in the nick of time. I choose the yellow straw this time and suck on it like scorpion bowls are about to be obliterated from the face of the earth.
“Are you sure you want more?” Brandy asks me, her eyes wide as she stares at the full bowl of alcohol and juices. “I think you’re going to hurt tomorrow, Faye.”
Pish posh. Yes, yes, I do want more. I want as much as I want, and I think that’s a lot.
As I swallow, I’m finally able to identify the ingredient that eluded me with the last batch.
“Elderflower liqueur!” I yell in victory.
Brandy chuckles and nods. “Whoop! There it is.”
***
Trevor
I am such an asshole.
Jesus. When did I become such a fucking asshole?
I’m sitting in my car outside of the Golden Buddha, trying to decide whether to go home or to go back inside, and it’s been almost half an hour now. I’ve been watching the door carefully, and she hasn’t come out, though I don’t know what I’d do if she suddenly appeared. Although I owe her an apology, it would be creepy as fuck to suddenly approach her in the dark parking lot after treating her like garbage at the bar. And yet, I can’t seem to turn the key in the ignition and leave either.
All I know is that right this second, I’m ashamed of myself.
That woman—Faye—was nothing but nice.
Better than nice, even: she was ethical. She didn’t touch that drink I bought her until she knew that Brandy and I weren’t a couple. She was better and more decent than most women.
All alone in a strange town on Christmas Eve, I could see it took some courage for her to suggest we have dinner. I could see the flush of her cheeks and the hope in her eyes, and what did I do? I purposely hurt her feelings. Why? Because some other woman totally unconnected to Faye broke my heart? Well, that’s no excuse. I had no right to make her feel like shit.
Especially because we’d had a nice conversation.
Better than nice. Fuck nice.
Electric.
I bang on the steering wheel twice, hard, then take a deep breath and exhale slowly.
I’m pissed off, because it’s one thing to protect myself, but it’s another to hurt someone else. Someone innocent. Someone who has nothing to do with the shit Marlena put me through. It’s wrong. Stupid wrong. It’s not the sort of person I want to be.
Not to mention, I don’t need to pick up random women in bars. I have Faith Crawford coming into town in five short days for a weekend of no-strings-attached hot sex. I don’t need anyone else. I literally have the perfect situation already set up to meet my needs. I don’t know what happened in there. I got carried away, I guess. I was attracted to her and acted like a total asshole by clumsily propositioning her and then leaving when she wasn’t interested. Ugh. Gross.
I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror and stare back with loathing at my reflection.
“You’re such a dick,” I tell myself, shaking my head.
Shit. What if she’s in the bathroom weeping right now because I’m a fucking dick?
I need to go back inside and apologize. I need to tell her that I’m sorry for treating her like a whore. I need to tell her that she’s beautiful and interesting and I’m a fucking mess.
It’s not you, I’ll tell her. It’s me.
I unbuckle my seat belt and exit the car, walking briskly back into the restaurant. Ping sees me return and waves at me from the dining room, but I beeline to the bar. Standing behind the row of stools, I realize that not only is Faye no longer sitting there, but someone else has taken her place.
Did I miss her? Did I somehow miss her leaving the bar?
No. I was watching the door carefully. Even when I was glancing with revulsion at my face in the mirror, I still had my peripheral vision locked on the Golden Buddha. So...where is she?
Using my full height—six foot three inches—to look over the glass barriers that section off parts of the dining room, I comb through the tables. No. No. No...Shit. Where is she? I step out of the bar area to get a better look around and—
“Hey T.”
“Hi Denny,” I say, glancing to my left.
“Looking for someone?” he asks.
When I look over, his face is slightly pissy. I don’t think Denny’s ever liked me. I think he’s always been suspicious that I had ulterior motives for helping Brandy with school. But he’d be wrong about that.
“Yeah,” I say, still checking out the various tables. I see a redheaded woman toward the back and wonder if—
“Faye?” asks Denny. “You lookin’ for Faye?”
My eyes jerk to his. “Yeah.”
Denny purses his lips. “Why don’t you leave it alone?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Is she still here?”
“Yeah,” says Denny, his shoulders drooping. He’s bigger than me by at least forty pounds, but Denny’s a lover, not a fighter. “She’s sitting in the way back with Brandy.”
“Thanks,” I say, brushing by him to go make my amends.
It’s not you, it’s me.
It’s not you, it’s me.
I try it out in various voices and tones in my head, finally settling on firm and direct, without too much self-pity for me or too much
sympathy for her.
When I circle around the last booth in a row of five, I’m ready to say my piece, except I stop in my tracks when I hear a whoop of laughter, followed by a series of inelegant snorts. What stops me is that I know Brandy’s laugh, and it’s not Brandy who’s laughing. Which means it must be...Faye.
Since she’s obviously not crying her eyes out in the bathroom, I consider leaving this alone and going back to my car, but I can’t help myself. I want to see Faye again. I want to apologize.
I slow down a little, clearing an ornate column to find Brandy sitting at her favorite booth, facing me.
“T,” she says, raising one pierced eyebrow when she notices me. “You’re back.”
“No, he’s not!” exclaims Faye. “He left, remember?”
I step around the back of the booth so that I’m facing the table. Brandy’s sitting back a little, her plate mostly clean. Faye—who when I left her thirty minutes ago looked like a kicked kitten—is hugging a scorpion bowl to her chest, with two fluorescent straws rising from the bowl and disappearing into the corners of her mouth.
She looks up at me, blinks twice in surprise, then smiles.
“T,” she says gently, her voice filled with wonder as she lifts her head, bringing the straws with her like walrus tusks. “It’s you.”
“It’s him, alright,” says Brandy, her lips tilting up in a sardonic smile. “Forget something?”
“No. I mean...yeah.” I run my hand through my hair. “I wanted to talk to Faye...to um, apolog—”
“Brandy!” yells Jim from the bar. “Get back here—now!”
Jim’s demand, bellowed from across the room, makes Faye’s eyes widen before she bursts into unrestrained laughter.
“He’s so...loud!” she cackles with glee, lowering her straws back into the bowl and closing her eyes as she sips.
Brandy grins at her dinner companion before sliding out of the booth.
“I have to go back to work, Faye. Thanks for dinner. You rock.”
Faye opens her eyes halfway. “Nope. You...rock.”
For no good reason whatsoever, this makes her start laughing again.
Brandy leans into me as she stands up, whispering, “She’s loaded. Don’t let her drink anything else. And make sure she gets home safe.”