by Jo Watson
“Don’t worry, Sera. If we hook up, I’ll give you all the details,” she chuckled next to me. She was joking, but still, the conversation disturbed me. I know I had no claim over him. Eating pancakes together and sharing one night in his car didn’t mean I should feel anything about who was coming on to him, or who’s face he was coming on … God, I wish she hadn’t told me that. It was an image I was really struggling to get out of my head.
But I was bothered. A lot. Angie was gorgeous. She was talented, creative and men flocked to her. Becks had the biggest boobs you’d ever seen and men were rarely able to look her in the eyes when they talked to her.
There was no way she, or Angie for that matter, wouldn’t be able to charm the pants off Ben—they came down pretty quickly as far as I remember. Maybe even both of them. At the same time. The fact that all the women in the office wanted him, and would probably continue to throw themselves at him for all eternity, just complicated things even more.
Just then, Ben came striding past my desk and without looking at me, not even a tiny eye glance in my direction, said “Rebecca, uh, Becks, can I see you in my office.”
Becks flew out of her chair and ran after him. I sat there trying not to stare at them and not be offended by the fact that he hadn’t looked at me once—despite the fact I had put on the red lipstick. I tried to busy myself, but the toothpaste client wasn’t exactly captivating. A movement caught my attention and I looked up to see Angie stride past and go straight into Ben’s office too. My stomach dropped when she entered and gave him a way too friendly looking pat on the shoulder followed by an ever so slight squeeze. And then they all started talking for what seemed like forever and all I could think about was their upcoming ménage à trois.
I really wanted this day to end. I wasn’t enjoying it. At all.
17. Real Princess Clothes
My apartment has a huge, beautiful garden attached to it and at the very bottom of it, there’s a bench under an enormous oak tree. I sometimes go there to sit and think when I need alone time. And right now, after the day I’d just had at work, I had a lot to think about.
But when I got there I quickly discovered I wasn’t alone. A young girl, not more than five years old, dressed in a pink tutu and tiara was sitting under the tree holding a tea party with her teddy bear.
I’d never seen her before. She looked up at me and smiled and I was quite taken aback by how pretty she was. She was Asian with pretty eyes and silky black hair. Her face was perfectly round and I could see she had attempted to put pink lipstick on, but had painted outside of the lines. I smiled back at her.
“Looks like a lovely tea party,” I finally said, sitting down on the bench next to her.
“Here,” she said and poured me an imaginary cup of tea, which I took and drank.
“Mmm … delicious … thanks, and I like your outfit.”
“My daddy bought it for me. He said a princess should have real princess clothes.”
I smiled at her. “He sounds like a smart man.”
“He is. The smartest.”
Then she leaned in and whispered to me. “They say I’m allowed to play in the garden all by myself without my nanny now that I am nearly six,” she said before looking around quickly. “But she thinks I don’t see her, but I do. She’s hiding over there,” she said, gesturing to the far side of the garden where, sure enough, a nanny was hovering in the distance trying not to look in our direction.
“Wow, you’re very smart,” I said.
She nodded proudly. “I’m turning six very soon. But I’m not really meant to talk to strangers, my dad says, and you’re a stranger, even though you’re a pretty one. I probably shouldn’t really be talking to you.”
“Your dad’s right. You mustn’t talk to strangers, so I’ll leave you here to have your tea.”
I stood up and started walking away. She called after me.
“My name is Li-Hau,” she said.
“That’s a very pretty name.”
“It was my granny’s name. Daddy says she’s resting in a faraway beautiful, magical land where she is very happy and not sick anymore. He says I can still talk to her if I want because she is always listening and still loves me.”
“Your dad sounds like a wise man.”
“My name means pearl blossom,” she said enthusiastically.
“Lovely.” I couldn’t imagine a better name for her.
“What’s your name?” she asked. I was about to tell her when she stopped me. “You have red lips and black hair. Your name should be Snow White.”
“Snow White it is then.” I reached up and touched my lips, at least someone had noticed them.
“Now we’re not strangers,” the little girl said triumphantly.
I smiled at her. “You’re very clever.”
“Daddy says so too, but he says being a nice person is more important.”
I actually sighed out loud. Who was this child’s father? Dad of the year? He sounded like he should have an Olympic gold medal in parenting.
“He’s right again!”
She suddenly jumped up. “I better go inside so I can be responsible.”
“Do you live here?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her before, but people were constantly moving in and out of the building.
“No, I’m just visiting.” And with that she picked up her things and skipped off.
Oh to be a child again without a care and a worry in the world.
I watched her as she disappeared and was left feeling a little empty inside, thinking about my own “father of the year.” Li-Hau reminded me of all the things that my sister and I hadn’t had in life. She seemed to have happiness and confidence. We’d had betrayal and lies and instability. A knot started to form in my stomach as I realized how this still had such an effect on me, even today. How it stopped me from getting close to, or trusting people. If I was truly honest with myself, I didn’t really have any friends, other than the guys. I went through life avoiding connections with people, rather than seeking them out and I found it very hard to trust, especially men.
Later that evening I told JJ and Bruce about my encounter with the Princess in the garden—they are always game for anyone who wears tutus. They both ooohhhed and aaaahhed at all the appropriate parts.
“Forget Ben, where can I get me a dad like hers?” JJ said.
“JJ, the guy is married with a daughter.”
“How old is the kid?” he asked.
“Nearly six.”
“Then he’s definitely divorced. All straight people get divorced.”
I laughed. “That is such a generalization.”
“And all Asian men are hot,” he added.
“Another generalization,” I quipped.
“Besides, you can’t go out with Ben now that we know who his brother is!”
Bruce rolled his eyes. “He’s been talking about this all day.”
I stood up and started walking towards the door.
“Hey,” JJ called out, “Where you going?”
“To work!”
“Oh, good. Don’t let me catch you knocking on that next-door neighbor’s door.” He waved a threatening finger at me.
Bruce slapped him on the arm. “Don’t listen to him. Go and knock.”
“Bye, guys. See you later.”
“Traitor!” JJ called out after me.
18. Italian Stallion …
Work on a Friday night at the restaurant is always hectic. Big John’s—or BJ’s for short—is a small restaurant, and all the tables are set out around a stage that hosts drag shows and comedy nights. The stage also doubles as a dance floor for those special themed evenings when everyone is invited to bust a move, and does. The place is pretty crowded and JJ and Bruce have been trying to buy the shop next door to make the club bigger, but the nice thing about its size is that, when it’s full, it buzzes. The atmosphere is alive, and there’s usually something exciting going on every evening. The interior is bright pink and a massive sign hangs fro
m the ceiling: “Eat, drink and be Mary”.
The menu is another thing entirely. The food is simple but good: gourmet burgers, hotdogs and interesting pizzas, with names like Long John (a hotdog), Big beef daddy (a large hamburger) and Italian Stallion (a pizza)—JJ named the dishes, so you get the picture.
All the waiters wear shirts that say, “Is it gay in here, or is it just me?” Most of them are of the gorgeous, muscular, tanned variety—JJ does the hiring, too. And then there’s me, who practically grew up here and knows just about everyone that comes in. Big John’s attracts a very loyal crowd who come week after week for the shows and parties but more for the good food and friends. And because it’s been around for so long, it’s become a kind of sanctuary for many. A place of total acceptance, no matter who you are.
Tonight was just a normal non-themed, non-show night, but still it was packed and the usual crowd was there, except for one. Even though his back was to me, I knew it was him the second I walked up to the table with a menu under my arm—no one else oozed such sexiness.
“Sera, what a surprise,” he said as he turned and looked at me. “I didn’t know this was where you worked. And yet, here we are, face-to-face.”
Shit! The awful image was back. Stop thinking about him coming on people’s faces!
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing.” I shook my head hard, hoping the image might dislodge itself.
“Looked like you were thinking about something there?”
“Nope. No thinking.”
“That’s not what it looked like.” He smiled at me, and leaned forward. “So, what were you thinking about? Me?”
I bit my lip. This conversation was doing nothing to help remove the image. “So what will it be?” I said quickly, half-slamming the big purple menu down on his table.
He opened it and looked down momentarily before looking back up at me again with a deadly smile. “I like your shirt.”
“Thanks. So what are you doing here?”
“What, a guy can’t come out for dinner on a Friday night?”
“Sure he can. I was just wondering why the guy would come here specifically?”
He looked up and winked at me and I think I felt my ovaries tingle—if that’s even possible. “Because I knew you were going to be here, obviously.”
“I see,” I said flatly.
“I hardly had a chance to see you at work today so I thought I’d come say hi.” He smiled at me and I felt my insides melt. This man was trouble.
“No red lipstick?” he asked, his eyes sliding down to my lips. I felt them burn.
“I didn’t think you noticed,” I said.
“Oh,” he leaned forward in his chair, coming closer to me, “I noticed. Believe me.”
And just like that, I felt myself being sucked back under his spell. Our eyes locked, and I tried to will myself to look away, but couldn’t.
“Move that sexy ass,” one of the waiters, Ryan, suddenly said as he came mincing past, giving me a butt slap. This was pretty much the standard way of communicating here.
“Hey, babe,” I said and shifted out of his way before we blew each other a few air kisses.
“Wow,” Ben said, eying my bum. “What I wouldn’t give to be a gay man right now.”
“Hey, have you forgotten that we’re friends?” I said before moving around the table so my posterior was pointing away from him. “Friends don’t talk about each other’s … um—”
“Sexy asses?” Ben offered.
“Exactly.”
He tilted his head to the side and his eyes narrowed. “I knew I was going to regret agreeing to be friends with you.” He opened his menu and looked at it for a few seconds before raising his eyes to mine again. “So … to be clear, just so I don’t overstep the mark again, what body parts of yours am I allowed to compliment … as a friend?”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it and he smiled back at me in response.
“Would it be okay, for example, if I said you had a nice smile?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye that told me he was up to trouble. “I mean, is that appropriate for one friend to say to another?”
“I think that would be okay.” I was trying not to blush but I could feel the heat rising.
“Good,” he said and looked back down at the menu quickly before looking up again. “So if I said you have nice eyes, would that be okay?”
“Mmmm, I think that’s bordering on the wrong side of the friend zone.”
“Okay. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.”
“Glad I could clarify,” I said and bit the end of my pen because I wasn’t quite sure what to do with my mouth.
“Hang on …” he said and sat up straight. “Just so I understand this one hundred percent.” His eyes scanned me up and down. “If I had to say, for example again, that you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, would that not be allowed?”
At the sound of those words my body stiffened instantly and I bit the pen a little too hard. “No. That would not be appropriate at all.”
He nodded, looking contemplative. “Okay, so I shouldn’t say something like, how good you look naked and on top of me, for example.”
“Oh my God!” I was stunned. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
“I didn’t. I only asked if it was okay to say something like that.”
“No, it is not okay to say that! At all. At all.” I felt flustered.
He looked at me with those large chocolate-brown eyes. “Great! Then I won’t say how perfect you look when you’re naked and on top of me.”
But it was too late. He’d said it again and all I could think about was climbing right back onto his lap. I shuffled from side to side and then away from him. “Did you come here to eat or to discuss the parameters of our friendship?”
He was looking way too pleased with himself right now, but he finally looked down at the menu on his table. “What do you recommend, Sera?”
“I recommend you stop saying my name so often and order something.”
“Whoa,” he said and slapped the menu down on the table. “Feisty.”
“Well, I do have other customers,” I said, flashing him a stern look. “As difficult as that might be to accept, my world doesn’t revolve around you.”
“Fine. Bring me whatever you want.”
“Fine.” I took the menu. “And would you like anything to drink with that?”
“Sparkling water.”
“Sparkling water? Not Tequila? Not beer—”
“I’m not drinking tonight,” he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. He wasn’t wearing a suit, but he still looked way too formal in his black jeans and long-sleeved black and white checked shirt.
“I’ll be right back.”
“Hurry,” I heard him say as I walked away.
I had about three other tables to deal with, but the place was laid out so that, everywhere I went, I could see Ben. Ben from behind, Ben from the side, Ben from the other side. His eyes followed me from table to table, even when I walked behind him he would swivel his head around to look at me. His stare was intense and I was acutely aware of the way it made me feel, how it made me want to peel my clothes off and throw myself at him. I wasn’t sure how it was actually possible, but tonight he looked hotter than I’d ever seen him. Maybe it was because he’d reminded me that he’d seen me naked. I was feeling both excitement and utter dread at the prospect of going over to his table again.
“Here you go.” I put the burger down. “A Big Johnson with everything.”
“A Big Johnson?” He looked amused. “I must bring my brother here.”
“Mmm.” I nodded, although I knew that would probably be a terrible idea.
“Enjoy your meal,” I said and started walking away, but as I did I felt a hand clamp around my wrist. I turned. Ben was leaning all the way out of his chair now clutching my wrist tightly.
“Go out with me?” He looked at me with such intensity that my fa
ce flushed instantly.
“Are you being serious?”
“Yes.”
“So why am I not sure whether to believe you, then?”
“I told you, I don’t say things I don’t mean.” He pulled me closer, let go of my wrist, and brought his hands up to straighten my shirt which had bunched up a bit at my jeans—inappropriate. He slowly straightened it and pulled it back down, his hands dangerously close to an area that should have been totally off-limits. I stepped back, but he hooked his finger in my belt loop.
“One date.”
He kept his finger hooked in my belt loop and we looked at each other. But the more he looked, the more the sexual tension that I feared threatened to overwhelm me built up.
“I’ll think about it,” I said quickly, but more so he would leave me alone and I could free myself from his sexual clutches.
He looked genuinely taken aback, as if he hadn’t been expecting that answer at all. “Really? You’ll think about it?”
“Maybe. I’ll maybe think about it,” I quickly corrected.
He smiled that smile—it should be illegal.
“You’ll think about it,” he repeated, looking very pleased with himself and then bit into his burger.
I walked away from him feeling a whole bunch of feelings I hadn’t felt in ages.
19. X, Y, Z …
By the time I left work that night, it was well after midnight and I was exhausted. My neck and shoulders were sore and my feet probably smelt as bad as they felt. But I’d made enough money to buy the textbooks my sister needed, so that made it all worth it.
I was going to go with my sister personally the next day to buy them and, while I was there, try and talk some sense into my mother—not that she could be reasoned with. My dad was all my mother knew, and she claimed, even after everything he’d put her through, that she still loved him. I’d read enough books on the subject to know that was just her codependence talking. What my mother needed to do was go to counseling, find the inner strength to kick him out once and for all, and never allow him back into her life.
My dad was another story. A few years back I’d tried to get him to go to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting, but he’d refused. He didn’t see it as a problem. He said the problem was not his gambling; the problem was his “unlucky streak.” But he was always on an unlucky streak.