by Kat T. Masen
“Hi, doll!”
She doesn’t stop for long, dancing barefoot back into the living room.
Gigi lived in this apartment complex since before I moved in. She’s never revealed her age, but a couple of references here and there lead me to believe she’s well into her sixties. Having been married five times, Gigi is your original hopeless romantic. Much like Mia, she is a firm believer that fate will serve you your soulmate on a silver platter. Fate works in mysterious ways since Gigi lives alone and is currently single.
I was around to meet Husband Number Five, but unfortunately, he died of a stroke a few years back. Since then, Gigi says she’s done with marriage, and instead, adopts stray cats. Patti, Diana, and Gloria have moved in, and Gigi has never been happier.
One pussy away from turning into a crazy cat lady.
Gigi loves to read, much like me. Her apartment is scattered with several bookcases housing everything from classic novels to trashy Hollywood romances. She reads at lightning speed, and if ever I need something new, she will recommend something from her ever-growing library.
In her spare time, she enjoys writing—mainly poetry. During the week, she works at the local thrift store. That sums Gigi up in a nutshell. That, and she’s a complete nutcase. But a lovable nutcase.
I take a seat inside her living room making myself comfortable on the soft, brown leather sofa. Every time I sit on it, I inhale the scent of the worn leather until Patti smothers me, jumping on my lap and purring. She’s such an attention whore, climbing on top of me whenever she gets the chance.
Gigi turns the music down and offers me a drink. A Long Island Iced Tea because she likes to get buzzed on Sunday night.
She prances in front of me, placing the tea on the table beside the sofa. “Why the sad face, doll?”
I recap my weekend, again leaving out the bit about Drew and the kiss. I can’t bring that up, especially to people who know us both. Gigi loves Drew, but she will be the first one to tell me to be careful. Roomies have this special code—and if you break it, you’re pretty much screwed. Don’t play with fate or karma because they don’t play nice.
Gigi lifts my left hand and trails her fingers along the crease. Great. This is where she tells me I’m going to meet the man of my dreams and have three kids.
Her hands are covered in rings, my favorite being an oval turquoise ring she picked up on her travels with a gypsy and a bunch of carnie folk. Flowing past her knees is a purple dress. She’s rarely seen wearing any other color, amethyst being her birthstone.
Her long gray hair sits just above her waist, styled in a tight plait. She closes her eyes briefly, then releases a deep breath humming some unknown tune. “There’s something troubling you,” she tells me. “A man.”
“Well, I don’t exactly care for the seafood buffet if you know what I mean.” I laugh at my joke. Gigi is smiling at my humor. Having known me for so long, she’s accustomed to my awkward jokes.
“You’ve got to get your groove back. Stella did, and now so can you,” she says, continuing to trace my hands. Her frown worries me. Can she really predict the future? Am I dying? I have cancer, don’t I?
Calm the hell down, Zoey!
“I’m trying, Gigi. I really am this time.” Patti jumps off my lap abandoning my need for affection. It’s all about her. “But it’s like everyone is shocked when I try to change. ‘Predictable Zoey eating pizza. Predictable Zoey in her sweats,’” I complain, slumping further into the sofa.
“So? Who cares about everyone? This is your life, doll. One you’re letting slip away. Did you speak to your boss about that promotion yet?”
“No,” I sulk.
“Tomorrow’s a new day. A new Zoey. I read your horoscope today, and it said exactly that.”
Okay, so I said Gigi was a nutcase—throw in cuckoo as well. Did I mention that her apartment is covered in candles and crystals, and she reads her horoscope like it’s the Bible?
She enjoys traveling, returning with more junk and clutter each time. Her last trip was to India. One look at her bedroom and one would think they have entered the Taj Mahal.
Oh, and my horoscopes. God forbid she forgets to read mine and inform me of how my life will suddenly take a positive turn overnight. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that.
“Did it say I’ll meet some hot guy who’ll give me multiple orgasms because of his pierced cock?” I humor her.
She laughs and passes me the newspaper. To be polite, I skim my star sign, only to be let down. Well, that blows. Perhaps Drew’s right. I need to stop comparing my life to the books I read. Fictional boyfriends are great on paper, but they aren’t going to keep me warm at night.
“You know, you’re right.” I stand up, embracing the sudden confidence, imagining myself as He-Man standing on top of Castle Grayskull telling everyone I have the power. “Tomorrow’s a new day, and first thing in the morning, I’ll march into my boss’s office and ask for that promotion.”
***
I shuffle nervously at my desk trying to muster up the courage to ask my boss for that overdue promotion which was promised late last year. It’s silly of me to be so insecure and tense considering he had praised me on my work several times, even mentioning often how my talent is being underutilized. That, and I have been with the company for a solid five years. Either you consider that dedication, or work in reverse, a poor decision on my behalf. Only time will tell.
In an attempt to boost my confidence, I’m wearing my charcoal tunic dress with a white collared shirt and paired it with my patent leather Mary Janes. My hair’s been washed and styled into a tight bun, neatly pulled back from my face. Makeup isn’t my strong point, and I’ve never spent much time on learning since I honestly can’t be bothered. I did, however, apply a thin layer of foundation and a few strokes of mascara. Drew has this thing about women and makeup, often complaining about how cheap it sometimes looks and how most women look better without it.
And why am I thinking about what Drew thinks? Focus!
For extra luck, I’m wearing my gold pineapple earrings. Gigi bought them for me during her travels to Asia last year. Now, all I need to do is walk into Mr. Becker’s office and deliver my speech. One I’ve been practicing numerous times in my head and in the shower.
“Zoey.” My name is called, and I swivel my chair around to see Mr. Becker standing beside my desk.
Mr. Becker had inherited the business from his late father, but is a well-known architect with the reputation of a shark. Luckily for me, he also has a soft side to him, taking me on board, knowing my passion for architecture and a keen interest to further my career. But much like a hormonal pregnant woman, he has his mood swings. Hence, the paper incident last week. Today, he’s dressed in his favorite brown suit, which is a sign he’s in a pleasant and giving mood. I bet he got laid by his wandering wife!
“I’m heading out today to visit a potential site where an investor is looking into building some condos. I would like it if you could make it out there around three.” His face shows no emotion.
With an overenthusiastic smile I respond excitedly at being given the opportunity. “Sure, I’ll be there. I was hoping to have a chat with you sometime today.”
“Anything urgent? I have back-to-back meetings, and then my wife wants to catch up at lunch.”
“It can wait,” I say, instantly scolding myself for letting the opportunity pass once again.
“Great. I’ll see you at three.”
He disappears around the corner and out of sight. My disappointment is short-lived as the excitement of being on site with a potential new project takes over. Turning around to face my computer, I let out a small squeal, excitedly tapping my feet under the desk. I don’t know what it means, but I take it as a positive sign that things are progressing in my career.
I have to share this news with Drew. Grabbing my cell, I immediately text him. Given he’s worked the night shift last night, I don’t expect him to respond at all.
Huh, what an odd request. I could have sworn we had several rolls stored underneath the bathroom vanity. My fingers type fast asking him to check again.
The bubble appears on my screen, and I wait impatiently for his response, clicking my pen at a fast speed.
Drew: I may or may not have used the last 3 rolls to squash a spider I found in the shower.
I burst out laughing, my cell slipping out of my hands and falling onto the floor. Panicked, I reach down and check my screen. Phew. The glass appears intact. Thank God.
Drew is terrified of spiders. If you ask him, he’ll tell you he’s not, and his desire to eliminate them from the world is only because they’re annoying. He doesn’t realize how his face turns pale white, and he scrambles to find anything to squash the poor little fellas, which ticks all the boxes of being a scared, little wuss.
I, on the other hand, have no problem with them. In fact, I don’t even flinch when one crawls across the floor, but Drew’s armed with bug spray and a biohazard suit in less than five seconds.
The sound of my inbox dings, so I focus my attention back to my computer answering my pending emails. I’m in the middle of responding to a client when a distressed Mia sits on my desk twisting a piece of paper in her hand.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m going to be Mrs. Bono in a few days.”
“Yes, you are…” I hesitate, unsure of where this conversation is heading.
“Mrs. Bono. People will call me Mrs. Boner.”
I laugh, snorting accidentally in the process. “Who the hell is going to call you Mrs. Boner?”
“People are mean, Zoey. They’ll call you whatever they please.”
“Okay, so say they do. You love Troy. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“My dress didn’t fit right at the fitting last night,” she adds, fiddling with that piece of paper like a hyena on crack. “Do you know how much that dress cost?”
“You have several days left. Surely the tailor could—”
“Don’t you see?” she raises her voice. “It must be a sign.”
Cold feet. I thought it was a myth, but Mia’s pale face, barely brushed hair, and bloodshot eyes are a sign that the so-called myth is actually a condition.
“Mia…” I say calmly, “… it’s okay to be stressed out about the wedding. Remember how much you love Troy. You always go on about how he is Mr. Perfect and came at the right time in your life. You’re just experiencing the normal cold feet. Once Saturday is over, you’ll be glad to be Mrs. Boner.”
She giggles, her shoulders relaxing as she lets out a long sigh. She releases the piece of paper, dumping it in the trash. “He picks his nose and shows me his boogers. Trust me… he ain’t that perfect.”
“Thank God,” I exhale. “All this time I’ve been looking for the perfect man and wondering why I couldn’t find him. Now I know he doesn’t exist.”
“Did you ask Drew to be your date?”
Quickly correcting her, “Plus one. Not date.”
“Same thing. And?”
“Of course, he said yes. He owes me big time. Besides, if there’s anyone I want to keep me company on that night, it’s him. At least someone who understands my humor.”
Mia traces her finger along the edge of my desk. “You two are a great fit.”
“Yeah, a just-friends fit,” I remind her.
“But you know the best relationships come from being friends first. It would be so easy,” she carries on. “You both know each other inside and out, and you already live together. Your biggest dilemma would be whose room you’d sleep in every night.”
“You’re crazy. It’ll never be like that between us.” I reiterate, “He is my roomie. End of story.”
With the thought planted in my head, I start to think about what it would be like for two roommates to get together. I guess it would be easy from a living perspective. You could have sex whenever and wherever you wanted. No boundaries. No one else to answer to. And it would be kind of hot to sleep in a man’s bed but still have your own space across the hall. Oh my God! I am going to kill Mia for making me even think about this.
Think about a naked, hairy fat man running across a meadow.
Phew. Forgotten.
We continue to chat for a few more minutes before work consumes us both. To ease her fears about the wedding, I suggest we have a quick drink tonight at a local bar to unwind.
Three o’clock rolls around quickly, and the site foreman, along with Mr. Becker, show me around the vacant block of land before settling on a spot so we can open the blueprints. The site has so much potential, and my brain is exploding with ideas. Even Mr. Becker looks pleased with my enthusiasm suggesting I attend the next meeting. With a successful day behind me, I am eagerly looking forward to unwinding with a few drinks.
***
At the bar, Mia orders us two martinis as we settle for a spot on the upper deck. The view of the city is spectacular on this beautiful summer’s night. The sky is a shade of pale pink, a sign that tomorrow will be another warm summer’s day. For a Monday night, the bar is unusually crowded. Many people are dressed in their corporate attire, most likely unwinding after a stressful day at work.
After our first glass, both of us relax and chat about the wedding. Usually, wedding talk bores me, but Mia’s concern over her traditional Asian family being in the same room as Troy’s Greek parents is pure entertainment. Somewhere during Mia’s rant about wearing something old and blue, I feel a gentle tap on my shoulder.
“Zoey?”
The voice sounds familiar, and I turn around to be met by Noah, a guy I had a brief fling with a couple of times after I broke up with Jess. Yes, he was my rebound guy.
“Noah? Oh my God, how are you?” I’m shocked to see him. I jump up and give him a quick hug. He doesn’t have to answer—he looks damn good. Wearing a gray V-neck tee and dark jeans, his body looks even better than I remember it. My eyes move to his forearm where a new tattoo sits. I can’t quite make out the design—something tribal by the looks of it.
Leaning forward with a gentle brush against my ear, he whispers, “Great, but even better now you’re here.”
Oh.
What. A. Line.
Noah always knows exactly what to say. He’s the perfect gentleman coming into my life at just the right time. Gigi told me a great rebound guy would help me move forward, but she warned me that you don’t go falling in love with said person.
Noah was great. Just what I needed after Jess’s indiscretion. Attractive with a slight cockiness, attentive to my needs, and he was a fantastic lover. I mean knock-your-socks-off, barely-crawl-out-of-bed type of fantastic lover.
“May I sit down?” he asks politely.
How did he manage to make that sound sexy?
I nod. Mia looks pleased, taking a cheeky long sip from her glass until it’s finished. She briefly announces she’ll grab another drink before quickly disappearing, leaving us alone.
“So, what have you been up to?” I ask, continuing the small talk so I don’t blurt out, ‘Come back to my place and fuck me like I’m the last woman on Earth.’
“Not much. Just got back from Hawaii.”
“Land of the pineapple,” I laugh. “New tat?”
I lean forward to take a closer look and also as an excuse to grab his arm. His muscles are well defined but not so chunky he looks like a walking ad for a steroid company.
“You like it? I tossed and turned about the design.” His sexy smile and flirtatious eye-gestures are difficult to ignore. I need to get laid—now. Here. The restroom? Argh, I shouldn’t have watched that documentary with Drew about what diseases linger in public toilets.
“You look good, Zoey. It’s been a while.” His smooth voice hints that tonight may end well for the both o
f us.
Although I look like shit, I welcome the compliment because I’m weak and haven’t been flattered in such a long time. There’s something about flirting with a hot guy that’s a nice ego booster on this already-positive Monday.
“You, too. You seeing anyone?” I blurt out.
I have no stupid filter. That sounded so desperate.
He leans in closer and smiles with a cocky grin. His tongue sits patiently at the corner of his mouth, teasing me relentlessly. “No, and I hope you aren’t either.”
Oh.
There comes a point in your life when a dry spell is no longer a dry spell—more like a century drought. This is that point, and Noah is awakening the ravaging beast inside of me that so desperately needs to feel a man’s body pressed against my skin. That, or even to have the smell of a man on my sheets.
“Zoey… Zoey,” he calls my name.
I shake my head and refocus on the gorgeous Noah.
“So how about it?”
Confused and embarrassed for zoning out while he asked me a question, I ask coyly, “How about what?”
He laughs on cue. “I’ve been crashing on a friend’s couch. Can we head back to your place?”
With a giddy smile, I tell him to give me a second. My cell is peeping through the top of my purse. I pull it out and type a message to Drew.
Zoey: Code Red
I don’t wait for a response and quickly shove the cell back into my purse. Noah gently traces the tips of my fingers, watching me with playful eyes. My body is telling me it’s the right thing to do—go have fun and be a single twenty-nine-year-old woman. Sweats, pizza, and wallowing in self-pity are things of the past. I’ve been needing to get back in the game, and Noah is the perfect excuse to do just that.
Mia strolls at a snail’s pace back to our table. I’m quick to tell her we’re heading off and grabbing my purse in a frenzy. Offering me a cheeky wink, she says goodbye as Noah and I follow closely behind her.