“Where the hell is my bra? Alex, do you have an extra Tastie bra?” Lila was shouting in her bedroom while we got changed and ready to drive to work. I popped my head through my white shirt, adjusting it so you could just see the top of my lacy black boob holder, and approached Lila’s disaster of a bedroom.
“My extra one is still on the rack, probably damp. How could you have lost both bras?” I questioned my friend, stepping carefully into her room to avoid stepping on a bottle of hair gel, a plate with a sandwich on it, or the mound of dirty laundry that was littered across her floor. Lila stood outside her closet, rifling through a drawer of bras and underwear. It was times like these that I was grateful we had lucked out and gotten a dorm with separate bedrooms. Our bathroom was tiny compared to others with only a toilet and sink–– meaning we had to shower in the community bathroom–– but I much preferred my own clean and organized bedroom.
“I don’t know. They might both be at Joel’s. I swear his bedroom eats my clothes.” Lila stopped throwing undergarments out of the drawer, turning to face me. She wasn’t wearing a shirt or a bra, but I was unfazed. Lila was a free spirit. I think all of the girls in our dorm had seen Lila topless multiple times by now.
“Well, we have exactly eleven minutes before we need to leave. I can check and see how damp my other one is. But we don’t have time to find an open dryer.”
“Maybe I’ll get more tips if it looks like we’re having a wet T-shirt contest night,” Lila said, racing out of her room to grab my bra off the drying rack we had set up in the living room. She clasped it quickly in the back, then proceeded to feel herself up. “Yep, it’s going to be a great night. I have a feeling. Big tips coming my way.”
“All right, please stop touching your boobs. Let’s just get out of here. Maybe Big Frank will let us cut out early tonight.” Big Frank was our boss and the owner of Tastie’s. He never missed a Friday or Saturday night.
“Doubt it, but I hope so. Carmen and Emma are having margarita night in their room, and we need to be there.” Lila was finally dressed, and we grabbed our purses and headed out the front door, down the three flights of steps and out of Wacker, the laughable name of our dorm that was a constant source of comedy.
$$$
Lila’s vibe was right, as that Friday night was one of the busiest yet. It was mid-October, and with the temperatures in the Midwest dropping by the day, more and more outside bars were slowing down and establishments like Tastie’s were seeing more patrons come through the door. Lila and I bustled around our sections, and I smiled every time I saw her tugging at her chest. The damp bra could not have been comfortable. She was just lucky we were both a small C, or she really would have been out of luck that night. And Big Frank hates it when we show anything other than black underneath our work shirts.
“Hello, gentlemen. Welcome to Tastie’s. My name is Alex and I’ll be your girl tonight. Can I start you off with some drinks? We have two-dollar tall boys on special right now.” I recited my opening line for about the fiftieth time that night to a table of four guys probably in their forties. Big Frank wanted us to say we were “their girl” for the night, not just their server or waitress.
“First round on me, fella’s. Order to the pretty lady,” one guy said, who was just slightly overweight and just slightly balding. All the men ordered Bud Lights, and I flashed them my perkiest smile, stuck out my chest like we were taught in training, and scooted away. I tapped their order with lightning speed into the machine and shouted, “Four tall Bud Lights!” at the bartender, Carl, who was on duty that night along with Brad. He gave me a nod to show he had heard me, and then I walked quickly across the floor to check on another table, this one also with four guys. I refilled one water, brought out ketchup and extra napkins for the messy eater, then shot up to the bar to grab the four beers. After delivering those and taking down the food orders, filing those in the machine that would spit out the ticket in the kitchen, I checked on my largest table, a party of six men in the back, who shouted more beer orders at me, plus two tequila shots. My evening went on like this–– without a break–– for the next four hours, and I could see Lila was having a similar night. We passed each other a few times on the floor or in the kitchen, giving each other the “will this night never end?” look each time.
Finally around 11:30, Big Frank started letting girls go. Lila was able to sweet talk her way to getting us to the top of the cut list, and just before midnight we were free to leave. We rushed out to my white Toyota Camry, a newer model but still practical enough when it came to safety and gas mileage that Alicia and Craig footed the bill, and sped back towards campus.
“I need a drink! Are you ever going to turn twenty-one so we can finally do damage at the bars?” Lila asked, tugging her long hair out of the elastic holder.
“Soon enough. I’m itching to get there myself. At least I won’t be the last one who turns legal. Hannah’s birthday isn’t until June.”
“Yeah, but Hannah barely drinks. She probably won’t even do the bar scene when it’s finally her birthday.”
I took a right onto the interstate, increasing my speed and feeling the Camry smoothly chug along. “True, true. Oh, well. Less than six months now. We should start a countdown.”
“I think you can do that on Facebook. I’ll make one for you tomorrow.”
“You’re such a doll.”
“What are best friends for?” Lila batted her lashes at me as her phone started ringing. She dug around in her purse, finally pulling out the device that was belting Black Eyed Peas. I fell silent as I listened to her phone conversation with Joel.
“I won’t be over tonight. We’re having margarita night with Carmen and Emma.” Pause. I could hear Joel’s voice but couldn’t make out his words. “I told you last night that Carmen wanted to do this.” Joel’s voice got a little bit higher. “That’s not true! I know I told you last night. And what’s the big deal? We’re not going to the bar; we’ll still be at the dorms. And we have plans tomorrow anyway for brunch with Carli and Lucas.”
I rolled my eyes, continuing the drive on the interstate while Lila and Joel argued. Joel always wanted to be around Lila from the moment they started dating, which used to seem sweet. But in the past few months, it had bordered psychotic smothering. Lila couldn’t spend more than twenty-four hours away from him. And it usually ended up in an argument of some sort.
“Joel, I am not ditching my friends just to go to your place and sleep. I can’t believe you would even ask me that.” I drummed my fingertips on the steering wheel. I really wanted to compare tips with her, something we usually did at the end of the night. Lila’s predication of a good tip night was certainly right for me. And Lila never had trouble raking in the dough. Her looks were gorgeous, even though she was always complaining about needing to lose weight. Her size varied from a very small four to a six, and I thought she was beautiful and didn’t need to lose a pound. She wasn’t necessarily voluptuous in a va-va voom way, but she certainly wasn’t big-boned like she called herself.
“You’re being ridiculous. I can’t even talk to you right now. I’m going to Carmen’s and I will be at your place ready for brunch tomorrow at 10:30, just like we planned. And don’t you dare think of showing up and ruining girls’ night for me. I don’t barge in on your study dates.” And with that Lila snapped her phone closed, leaning back in the seat and closing her eyes. “Why is having a boyfriend such hard work?”
“Wouldn’t know, sista, haven’t had one of those in forever,” I replied, finally pulling into our parking lot outside of Wacker. We climbed out of the Camry, strolling with ease to the front door. “And from the way your relationship works, it’s better that way.” I couldn’t resist a little dig. Lila knew I didn’t enjoy Joel, especially when he was acting how he was that night. But I wasn’t up for a fight right then.
“I know, you’re right. I don’t know why I stay with him sometimes. It’s just this feeling that I have that he’s the one. I can’t shake tha
t.”
“Babe, your feelings aren’t always right. Remember the scene you caused on the plane to Cancun?”
“I really thought there were snakes on the plane, Alex. I could practically feel them slithering up my legs.”
“Or you had watched the movie too many times in one month. Regardless, our plane was delayed, on the news, and we missed a full day in Mexico.”
“All right, all right.”
“Or the time during our first year where you swore up and down that Professor Lytle had made all his multiple-choice final exam answers the letter C? Me, you, and Emma all practically failed his class because of that.”
“Fine, fine, fine. I get it. My vibes aren’t one hundred percent. Neither are psychics or fortune tellers.”
Soon enough, we were back up in apartment 12, peeling off our work clothes that smelled of burgers and beer, and into comfy Margarita drinking clothes.
“I’m just saying–– don’t stick with one guy just because you have a feeling about it. Focus on how you actually feel when you are with him. Are you happy? Overjoyed? Blissed out?” I threw my black shorts and white top in my laundry basket, grabbing a pair of pink yoga pants and a white tunic from my closet and slipping into them. “Do you miss him when you’re not together? Can you see a future with him?” I continued, walking into Lila’s room and using her perfume to mask the stench of grease.
“Jeez, I get it, Al. But why do you think I should take advice from you? You said it yourself, you are one dateless sista.”
“I did not say I was dateless. I just haven’t had a long-term boyfriend in a while. I still go on dates,” I defended myself, thinking about my lousy track record with men.
“It’s because you got daddy issues. I’m telling you, just go on Oprah. She’ll help you figure it out. Not all men will run away. Look at my dad. Still happily married to my mom. They even have date night a few times a month!”
Even just a few years ago that sentence would make my insides curl. I didn’t like to be reminded of happy families when mine turned out to be such a shithole. I had taken therapy for it––obviously, who could survive a mother’s death and father’s hightailing without a few sessions–– and the pain in my heart was slowly residing. I knew I was lucky that Alicia took me in. And paid for my school. And bought me a nice car and sent me a monthly allowance. Not everybody had that kind of support in their life. I never wanted to take my sister or my nice life for granted. But when it came to love and men, the idea of it freaked me out. It was hard for me to trust and fully let my guard down.
“Let’s not dissect my love life now. I need a marg, and you need, like, seven so you can be black-out drunk to stop your snoring,” I said, grabbing my cell phone and slipping black flip-flops on. Carmen and Emma lived just two floors down from us, so we didn’t even have to bother with real shoes or sweatshirts. The perks of dorm life.
“I do not snore, you bitch. But seven margs will probably be enough to get my mind off Joel.” Lila paused with her hand hovering over the doorknob. “Are margaritas healthy for you? How many calories do they have?”
“I’m going to go ahead and guess they are way unhealthy for you. Especially when Carmen makes her special spicy cheese sauce to go with all the corn chips we eat.”
“I thought I read somewhere that spicy foods speed up your metabolism. Maybe I should work something spicy into my meals each day.”
“You would need to use someone else’s bathroom then if you did that,” I responded, swatting her on the butt. “Now get going, I’m thirsty!”
Carmen Morales and Emma Burton were our closest friends at Kaufman. Carmen was a riot; a feisty Latina who always rolled her Rs and loved to stereotype herself. Her long black hair, coal eyes, smooth skin and painted-on eyebrows completed her look. She was on the chunky side, but on her it looked voluptuous instead of just large. And she loved her curves. She always had a drink in hand, usually a margarita, and no one was really positive if she attended classes. We always saw her in the hallways, lounge, visiting other dorms, but never in a classroom. I was sure she did attend class–– otherwise how could she possibly live on campus–– but it was the running joke amongst us anyway.
Emma was the complete opposite of Carmen, but they got along like margaritas and nachos. Emma’s full name, Emma Burton, reminded everyone of the Spice Girl Emma Bunton, and weirdly enough, they could pass as twins. Both Emma’s were petite, blonde, and had killer blue eyes. The nickname Baby Spice suited our Emma perfectly, and we treated her like our fragile, innocent daughter. Well, our twenty-one year old fragile, innocent daughter who loved to drink and whose sex life could only be described as promiscuous. Emma could drink everyone ––except for Carmen–– under the table, and she loved her men. All of them.
We gathered in their room that Friday night, and both girls were already well on their way to becoming toasted. They were arguing about the pros and cons of buying a gigantic wedding dress. Odd convo, as both girls were very single.
“At my cousin’s wedding, she had to have two people lift up her dress to help her pee! Just what I want on my wedding day, someone other than mi amor to see mi muchacha!”
“But you’re supposed to be a vision on your wedding day. A big white vision of Barbie Doll bliss. I want people to be able to fit underneath my dress!”
“I want something slinky, showing off all the proper assets. My husband should look at me and think I’m fuckable, even in the church. Lo siento Dios!”
“Whoa, whoa, ladies! You have company.” I announced our arrival as we let ourselves in the unlocked door. “Emma, I’m with you on the big dress. Carmen, I’m not sure you’re supposed to look fuckable on your wedding day. Aren’t you supposed to look like a virgin?” I headed straight for the kitchen in search of our drinks.
“Nah, I’m with Carmen on this one. I’ll be going for a sultry Barbie when I take the plunge. Think silk, tight, and low cut. That’s my version of a perfect wedding dress,” Lila said, taking a seat on the brown leather ottoman, provided for by Carmen’s wealthy parents. Regular dorm furniture for their girl was not an option.
“Seeing as you’re the only one with a man in this room, you’ll probably be the first,” Emma said, taking a sip of her strawberry marg.
“And we’ll just be the single bridesmaids looking to get laid!” Carmen chimed in, causing all of us to laugh. Then quiet down as we thought about what she was saying. Would we all be single in a few years? Five years? Ten years? I quickly filled the rest of my glass with the regular margarita mix and took a big gulp, quickly ignoring my previous train of thought. The yummy yellow drink was ice cold yet warmed my belly. Much better.
Lila sighed, accepting her strawberry drink from me. “I don’t know about that, ladies. I fear it’s coming to an end for me and Joel.”
“Oh, come on. You say that, like, every other week and you’re still with him,” Emma said, taking the words out of my mouth. Lila was always complaining about Joel, but did nothing to change their relationship dynamic.
“I know, I know. But I have a feeling that something is about to change with us. Or maybe just me. I don’t know, but I don’t think we’ll last too much longer.”
We spent the rest of our girls’ night doing girly things–– dissecting Lila’s relationship, wondering who Emma would hook up with next, drinking way too many margaritas, and finally passing out in the living room. Not only could Lila and I not make it back up the two measly flights to our rooms, but Carmen and Emma couldn’t even make it back to their bedrooms. In all, another successful college night with the girls.
Chapter 3
The weekend passed like it usually did: relaxed, uneventful, and full of drinks. Lila spent most of the day with Joel, so I tackled items left on my weekly to-do list: start marketing project, schedule a haircut, and finish laundry. My to-do lists were my best friends. I had daily, weekly and monthly to-do lists that I couldn’t live without. My friends liked to poke fun at me for them, but I loved being
organized.
Saturday night I attended a house party with Carmen, Emma, and Hannah. Hannah Lovington was the fifth girl in our group, the classic overachiever. Hannah was not one to imbibe often, so she usually acted as our DD when we went to parties. Her father was a neurosurgeon and her mother a psychiatrist, so she had a lot of expectations to live up to. She was attending Kaufman to get her generals out of the way, then transferring on to med school at the University of Iowa. When Hannah decided to let loose and party––which happened about once every other month––she was a blast. We still loved her even when she wasn’t in Hardcore Hannah mode (she hated the nickname, said it made her sound like she was making a porno) and we understood why she didn’t hit the bottle as hard as the four of us. A surgeon and psych for parents? Daunting.
Lila and I both had off from Tastie’s on Saturday, which meant we had to work Sunday. Our shift wasn’t bad that day, 11-4, and I even dragged Lila to the gym with me that night. I didn’t know which was harder–– getting her to the gym or getting her to make it onto a machine once we were there.
“Lila, get your ass on the treadmill. You can still read the magazine while you walk.” I was jogging lightly on one of the five treadmills Kaufman had in their student gym. The place was quiet–– most students probably still recovering from their weekends and frantically trying to finish homework for Monday morning classes. Only one other girl was stationed in the back corner, doing sun salutations on a yoga mat.
Lila was lying on the carpeted floor on her back, reading last month’s People magazine. She was supposedly also doing crunches while reading, but I had counted maybe two so far. “I will, I will. I just want to finish this article. Did you know Lola Haloshi is pregnant? How could someone that skinny be knocked up?” She continued to read the article, engrossed about how the “allegedly” anorexic supermodel could be with child.
“What happened to the workout schedule we drew up for you? Are you following it at all?”
The Green Ticket Page 2