The other kitchen, the show kitchen, looks like it belongs in Paula Deen’s house. Not somewhere I would ever feel comfortable enough to lounge and drink coffee in. I’d leave a trail of finger smudges if I so much as walked into that one. Pretty to look at, definitely not practical. But this kitchen? It’s meant to be used.
When I’m done looking around, I nod to the ladies and we head out through the spice rack, me again marveling at the ingenious design. “It’s like a hobbit door.” Sasha gets it and laughs as we make our way back to the hallway.
“There’s the bathroom on this level, the one you’ve already seen, also dark, same as the ‘hobbit kitchen,’” Gretchen continues the tour, pointing a soft pink nail to the left as we walk out. I steal one last peek to the right at the sparkling show kitchen—so sterile, surgery could be performed on the center island—before we head back to the living room with that wall of glass. I can still see the smudge my oily forehead left on the glass.
“Of course, your own bathroom is dark, but…” Gretchen glances over at Sasha, who’s no help in this department either, so she continues, “some of our clients have certain requests.” She doesn’t elaborate.
I bite the bullet and ask, “Like what?”
“Oh, you know, they want to watch you shave…”
“Like my legs?” I hear the tension in my voice, hating it, but unable to help it. During times of stress, I sound like one of those Blue-Haireds back at the meeting.
“Among other things, yes.” Gretchen is looking at her nails as she says this, like it’s no big deal to her. So why should it be to me?
Why should it? Not sure if I can explain it, but here goes. “Gretchen, nobody’s seen me naked since my last pap smear, and besides the ongoing yearly relationship I have with my GYN, no one, and I mean not even a Peeping Tom, has seen all of this, yet you’re telling me that there are guys in this world—from this planet!—who will ask me to shave my…uh…my…kitty.” There, it’s out. I’m a hider and a virgin. Boom!
At the mention of my ‘kitty,’ Sasha feels the need to meow and wave her black kitty claws my way, trying to lighten the mood, but I won’t be distracted. “Why would I do that? Be the butt of someone’s joke…”
Gretchen turns suddenly, her shells clattering about as her blonde hair whips over one shoulder. “This isn’t going to work. You know, every single time you down on yourself like that, you’re also downing on us.” Her hand waves between herself and Sasha. “This is our job you’re shitting all over, hell, our lifestyle!” She’s got a little white lady living inside her too, it seems—the style is shrilled out.
Not talking to me anymore, she turns to Sasha, “I’m done and not impressed, Sasha. Continue your recruit through our house. That is, if she can get off her high horse long enough to make it through the doorways!” And she’s gone without so much as a second look in my direction. I’m floored. “Am I being judgy?”
Sasha answers with a shrug. Hmm, didn’t realize I’d said that aloud.
Her voice is softer, like she’s coaxing me, “Listen, no one who tunes in, who pays good money to watch, is ever gonna make fun of you. They don’t just ‘happen,’”—air quotes here with the kitty claws for emphasis—“upon you on the internet shaving yourself, or even swimming with a tail, they have to be invited in, hence the card. What we do in this house, in the privacy of our own home, isn’t gonna show up on Google, or anywhere else for that matter. It’s totally secure. You’re safe. We’re not the Russians; we’re not gonna sell you overseas, or mail order your ass out.” She shoulder bumps me, and I bump back. “And that right there…” She waves a paw toward the hallway Gretchen just disappeared down. “That’s not about you, Sara with no H.” Sucking in a lungful of air, she says, “Gretchen was done dirty a while back, way before this, and she’s got her own shit to work out.”
I nod, not really understanding, yet understanding too well. Fat Girl Syndrome, we’ve all suffered from it. Apparently, I’m still deep in its throes.
We continue on, quieter now. This part of the house is the living quarters, where everyone sleeps. Hell, are probably sleeping now. What I should be doing. Trying not to be rude, I stifle a yawn against the back of my hand. The tour seems to go on forever.
Calling it a house is like calling a yacht a boat. There are a total of eight bedrooms, at least ten bathrooms, a game room, a ‘feeding’ room, a gym—yes, fat girls work out, too—the model-home kitchen, and a sumptuous dining room. So many rooms, my head spins by the time we are done. This part of the tour is ‘live’, a term I’m taking to mean ‘on display.’ My stomach cramps as I think this…can people see me? Right at this very moment? The thought freaks me out. I’m seriously gonna shit my pants! My eyes dart around the spaces, looking for hidden cameras.
“Don’t worry, Sara, we’re down for ‘maintenance’ on Sunday nights. All our viewers are seeing right now are reruns of our best pillow fights, eating contests, basically our greatest hits. It’s a big draw, we had to get a new server to host the Sunday night viewing parties.” She’s proud of this, I can see it. She’s built this up, using her God-given brains, along with Gretchen, who I think I might owe an apology to. Who wouldn’t be proud? These two are doing the work of all the cartels combined, and no one’s getting hurt. Right?
As we circle back to the hallway, and eventually back to the wall of glass, she explains more. “The way the all-access works is the client pays for the privilege of viewing all month long, billed yearly, of course. There are only really three ways to become a client.” She lists them off on each finger. “One, referral, comes in from word of mouth. Two, the cards we hand out. Each card has its own code embedded in it. That will get you access to sign up, but that code only works after the check has cleared, mind you. And three…” She loses her train of thought as we both hear a very loud, very fast motorcycle pulling up out front.
Her face locks down. Slack jawed, eyes devoid of any emotion, well it makes me friggin’ nervous.
We’re just standing, staring at each other. Inching closer to her, I turn to face the double doors. “It’s Javi!” she whisper-shouts, “Ahhh!” She grabs me around the middle, pulling me close. Obviously trying to scare me. It’s working.
“This isn’t the kind of joke you should play on me the first time I come to your house, crazy!”
I don’t even hear what she says back because the door opens, super slow, and I just know there’s gonna be a guy holding a chainsaw. Here’s the catch!
He sees me before I see him. He turns quickly, slamming the door behind him. I don’t even get a glimpse of him. What! The! Fuck!
I’m caught off guard, and I think Sasha is, too. She disentangles from me, giving me an apologetic smile. “He’s shy,” she says, before heading out the front door after him. What just happened? Did I scare him off? Is he not housebroken? All these awful thoughts and about a thousand others fly through my head as I stand alone in this mausoleum, abandoned and shunned. For the first time since Sasha barreled into my life, I’m so ready to go home.
“9’s been flashing all night? Who’s looking for you, Sash…?” Gretchen looks at pitiful me, standing alone, then looks all around as if Sasha might be hiding. “Where’s….”
“Uh, I think her boyfriend came.” I shrug, not knowing what else to say. I didn’t kill her or anything, if that’s what she thinks, but I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Especially since Gretchen yelled at me not even ten minutes ago. I was hoping this night couldn’t get any worse, but it just did.
“Sasha doesn’t have a boyfriend!” Yelling, again, she’s out the door like a shot, only this time I’m going, too.
“Wait for me!” I say.
Once she has surveyed the scene: a hot guy leaning on his bike in the shadows, our ever-animated Sasha talking away with her hands at him, she turns and give me a big grin. “Come and meet Javi,” she says, while pulling me the rest of the way off the porch and into the shadows.
Chapt
er 9
When they notice us, Sasha shushes him. And they both turn to watch us make our way across the driveway. Me? I’m trying to hide my big self behind Gretchen, afraid of him catching a glimpse of me in my WW attire, sweats and more sweats, and gunning that bike towards the hills. Somehow, I make my way towards them, despite the fact that I’m looking everywhere but at them. Why was I in such a hurry to join this party?
I’m looking at his boots. Construction boots, laces loose. Topped off by a pair of faded jeans. Oh my.
“Won’t you even look at me, Bonita?” He tilts his head, bending, trying to get in my line of sight. He reaches a hand out, cupping my chin, to lift my head up.
“Javi…” It’s Sasha, with a hint of warning in her voice. Now it’s his turn to shush her. “I’m just trying to meet her, Sasha, not eat her.” I suck in a breath at his words and let him move my face up to meet his.
“There she is, so beautiful.” His smile is all white teeth and dimples. His dark hair is disheveled. “I apologize for my rudeness. I was embarrassed at my appearance and didn’t realize we had company.” He waves his hand down his body, as if pointing out flaws, but I don’t see anything to be ashamed of.
“It’s Sara, isn’t it?” I nod, not trusting my mouth to work at this point. I have no spit left in my mouth to make words. He moves his hand from my chin, leaving a tingling sensation behind, only to take my hand. I watch, dumbfounded, as he leans over and kisses the top of it, lingering—I could swear he was…sniffing my hand?—before Sasha swoops in, hugging me to her side.
“Sara, meet Javi, the other owner.” I’m looking up at her, watching her mouth move, but all I can think of is his mouth on my hand, his nose breathing against—and maybe breathing in? —my hand, not really seeing her. Feeling his eyes, so blue, on me, I turn back and find him staring at me, all of me, taking me in. I’ve never in my life seen that wolfish look he’s wearing as he travels my topography directed at me. It’s intense and frankly a little scary. A shudder runs through me. Sasha, who’s pressed up against me, senses my mood and covers for me.
“C’mon, Sara, let’s get back in where it’s warm,” she says while leading me back towards the house.
Once we hit the door, I look back, wanting one more glimpse and see that he’s staring at my ass, hard. And not even trying to hide it.
Gretchen and Sasha exchange a WTF look over my head. I know! I feel the same way!
“Oh, Sasha, I almost forgot! I came out to tell you somebody’s been tearing up the line, requesting 9 over and over! Now, who’s looking for you, Sasha?” Gretchen eyeballs her, and both Sasha and I turn to look at each other.
“It’s Tatted and Matted!” we both say at the same time.
Giggling away, Sasha grabs Gretchen in a full-on hug. “Oh, Gretchen, you’ll never guess what kind of wicked boy is into the chunk!” To me, she says, “You know I’ve got to take this. Give me a sec?” I nod, and she’s off down the hall to rendezvous.
“Come on in and have a seat. She may be a minute.” I follow behind, wondering if now’s a good time to make my exit. Once I’m enveloped in the big cushions on the wraparound couch, my body starts to relax. I hadn’t realized I’d been tense since the Javi sighting.
“Listen, Sara, I’m not the bitch I just played on TV back there.” But I put my hand up to stop her, knowing exactly what she’s referring to.
“No need for all that. You weren’t expecting me, and hell, I wasn’t expecting all this, so I’ve got questions, no judgment, just questions. This is all new to me. Jeez, I thought I was going grocery shopping tonight. Instead, I’m here…” She nods, giving me a smile, which I return, until it turns into a yawn. “I hate to say this, but it’s late. I’ve had a great time, probably the best I’ve had in, well, ever…but I’m tired, and this is a lot to think about. I might just call Uber…”
She interrupts, but it doesn’t sting. “Uber?” She spits out, like it’s a dirty word. “No. No Uber for you. We’ll get you home. Sasha should be done in a minute.” She looks over her shoulder at a wall of flat screens I didn’t even notice on the first pass through. “Let’s give her a minute. She’d be heartbroken if you left without saying goodbye.” I nod my agreement. There is no way I can just bug out without at least a hug for my new friend.
Gretchen appears lost in thought, so I lean into the cushions, staring out at the sparkling pool, my lids feeling heavy.
“I might not have been expecting you, Sara with no H, but heaven knows, I was praying for you. We all were. Since Josie left—she was #12 by the way—we’ve been losing customers left and right. All the rockabillies are signing off, not enough ‘diversity,’ they say. With your bright blues and that silky black hair of yours, all you need is a polka-dot wardrobe, rolled bangs and voila! Bettie Page!”
“I don’t know about all that.” Rockabillies? Are they even a thing anymore? Visions of Stray Cats strut through my head.
“I do.”
I nod, not to agree, but to end this conversation. That’s when I remember my dead phone and my missing car. It’s late; I’m overwhelmed at this point. “Ugh, my phone’s dead. Can I use yours?”
“Who do you need to call?”
Well, that’s weird. Maybe she’s worried about long-distance charges? “It’s probably better if I just Uber home, after all. It’s late, I don’t know where my car is at this point, and I don’t wanna interrupt Sasha to ask…” The list of reasons goes on in my head, but mainly, if I don’t get up off this couch in the next few minutes, I’ll be snoring.
She waves a hand like she’s swatting a gnat.
“No need. Javi will take you.”
My tired eyes pop open. “Javi?” I say, not comprehending how we got to the hot guy with the bike taking me home. I’m shaking my head, pictures of my ample ass trying to even get on the back of that speedster, when the slider opens.
“You rang?” We both turn as the best-looking pool boy I’ve ever seen, in movies or in real life, strides in on cue. Gretchen smiles at him. Me? I’m just staring, hoping not to drool on their nice suede couch. And he’s staring back at me. With the same ‘the better to eat you with’ look on his face.
“Well, hello again, my Bonita Sara.” That must be a Spanish thing, right?
His shirt is off, revealing a bronzed chest, complete with a dark happy trail leading down into his well-worn jeans. There’s nothing wrong with looking, and I do, getting my fill, wishing there was nothing wrong with touching, either.
Sasha bounces in, takes one look at Javi and then at me. “Javi! For the love of all that’s holy, put a friggin’ shirt on!” She feigns covering my eyes, and I laugh. “These virgin eyes will never be the same.”
I move my head enough to see around Sasha and find Javi, contemplating her words, one brow up as if in thought, before he turns to leave.
“Wait, did you get around to picking up Sara’s car?” I can’t see her face—her back’s to me—but I see his and the moment when a look of pure panic crosses his face. Sasha moves and hides him from my view. “You know. I sent you a text.”
“Oh, it was her car?” Great, it’s the bus for me then. “I’ll take care of it when I drop her off.” He’s out the door before I can even protest.
Changing the subject, Sasha turns so I can see her. “Javi’s our resident fattyphile, chub chaser, luber, and oiler.” She reaches down, lifting me to my feet like I’m a feather, and hugs me tight. “I wouldn’t let you go without saying goodbye. I wish you’d just stay and never leave.” She pouts. I hug back, “What about my cat? He’d miss me.”
She laughs, “True, true.” In my ear she whispers, “Do you know what a fluffer is?” Her words have me blushing all the way to my knees. But in such a good way. “He does that, too.” If he’s a perk of the job, where do I sign?
He’s back and hasn’t stopped staring at me while Sasha whispers in my ear. Coal black hair, brushed back, chipped ice blue eyes, and day-old scruff on his square jaw. Yummy. He’s got a backwards
trucker hat on, which screams sex even to my deaf ears, and worn-out Levis hanging from a tight waist. He’s wearing work boots, all scuffed and worn. But I can’t tear my gaze away from those eyes that are right now devouring my very soul. This is the devil, I know it. I ate too many pancakes, and I’m knocked out somewhere in a sugar coma, dreaming of sex on a stick.
With her back to Javi, Sasha keeps feeding wicked thoughts into my ear.
“Oh, and did I mention? He breaks in the new girls.” Her kitty claws raking over my back, combined with the throaty whisper in my ear, cause a shiver to run the length of my spine. “I just came,” I whisper back.
The leer Javi gives me tells me I might not have whispered that little nugget as quietly as I thought. Both ladies giggle, with Gretchen throwing over her shoulder, “Javi, bring the truck around, not the bike. You’ll scare her off,” before giving me a quick hug of her own. “You’ll fit right in here, Sara with no H.” It’s now or never.
“What if no one wants me?” The whiny words leave my lips before I can stop them.
“Oh my God, you still think its high school and you’re not being asked to the dance? What you’re not hearing is, these guys pay to see you! Rolls and all! Let it all hang out. Remember my pedo? The roll-rubbing watcher? All he wanted was a little glimpse of roll to get his nut off.” Sasha’s squeezing my two hands between her own too tightly, but it’s grounding, and right now, it’s what I need. Something to hold on to, to steady me, to let me know I am standing right here with these gorgeous creatures, not in my dingy apartment dreaming it. And what it means is, I’m enough. They want me in their club!
“Am I gonna have to wear the whale tail?” This gets us all laughing, breaking the tension. Sasha releases her death grip on me at that. Maybe she’s afraid I don’t wanna join?
“Only if you want to, but I’ll fight you for it!” Gretchen blows a kiss my way and says, “Okay, in all seriousness, you’ve got Sasha’s card. Give it.” I do. Guess no trophies from tonight. Gretchen walks over to a black lacquered desk in the corner and scribbles something on the back. “This is my email. When you get home, send me something, anything, and I’ll forward a contract to you.” Waving her hands at multiple gnats now. “You won’t need to give us your first child or anything…”
Becoming Blue (Chubby Chasers, Inc. #1) Page 4