“What in the hell are you thinking?”
“I need a job.”
“You’re a licensed attorney in the state of California.”
“Yes, I remember,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“I came up to see a client,” he said. “I went to your apartment.”
“Good thing I gave you this address,” I said.
“You and your goddamn jokes, Brenda. You think life is so goddamn funny.”
“Actually I don’t,” I said. “I don’t think it’s funny at all.”
A motorcycle stopped in front of the store, and for the first time I was glad to see Pam.
“How can you live like this?”
“I don’t know.”
Pam took her helmet off and approached us.
“You’re throwing away your life.”
“Why do you even care what I do?” I said. “Don’t you just want me to be happy?”
“Not if this is what makes you happy,” said my dad.
“I think you need to leave, sir,” said Pam.
My dad looked at Pam. “Jesus Christ,” he said.
“It’s okay,” I said. “This is my dad. He was just leaving.”
He turned around and left without saying anything.
“Oh my god,” said Pam. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“I am so sorry,” she said.
It took me a second to understand why she was sorry.
“It’s okay,” I said.
“It’s not okay,” she said. “I feel awful. That was awful. No one should ever have to go through that.”
“It’s really okay,” I said. “He’s a dick.”
“I’m very upset,” she said.
“Don’t be,” I said. “I’m totally fine.”
“He doesn’t deserve to have you as a daughter.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t about me being gay,” I said.
“What?” said Pam.
“That wasn’t about me being gay.”
“I think it was,” she said.
“I’m not gay,” I said.
Pam stared at me. Finally she shook her head and said, “Damn it.”
“Sorry,” I said.
She didn’t say anything.
“Am I fired?” I said.
“I think so, yes,” she said.
“I’m really good at pretending I’m gay,” I said.
“You’re really not. Not even with the haircut.”
“So?”
“So lesbians don’t want to buy sex toys from straight women.”
“Oh,” I said.
“I hope Eunice can come back,” said Pam.
“Me too,” I said.
“Why is that on the floor?” Pam pointed to the Magic Wand.
“I was massaging my neck,” I said.
She started to walk back to the street.
“Did you stop by for a reason?” I said.
She turned around. “Just wanted to check on you, say thanks for coming to the party.”
• • •
When Danny got home that night, he said my dad had called him to tell him that I was wasting my life and that he should do something about it.
“We might not see him again for a while,” I said.
“That’s fine,” said Danny.
• • •
That Saturday, Danny took me to an animal shelter in Pacific Heights. He’d made his assistant look for dogs, and she had found one that she thought was perfect. I wanted to find my own dog, now that I was unemployed, but I agreed to go look.
When we got there, I told the woman I needed a dog to replace my fiancé.
“Ha, she’s kidding,” said Danny. “We’re looking for a dog named Ruth?”
She brought us to a cage with a little nothing, ten or twelve pounds of stringy brown hair. I said hi, and the dog started throwing herself into the walls of the cage.
“Whoa,” said Danny.
“She’ll calm down,” the woman said. Now Ruth was panting hysterically, and her tongue was hanging out one side of her mouth. The woman said it was because they’d had to remove her diseased teeth, which was all of them. She took her out of the cage and handed her to me.
The dog clung to my chest. Without any warning, I started to cry.
Danny put his hand on my back while I sobbed.
“We’ll take this dog,” he said to the woman.
When everything was settled we got a cab and I cried all the way home. The dog sat on my lap, shaking.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “It’s okay.”
PEARL AND THE SWISS GUY FALL IN LOVE
I hadn’t had sex in over a year, partly because I didn’t like anyone I met on the internet and partly because I adopted a pit bull who wouldn’t let men into my apartment. In August I decided to try again and agreed to meet a Swiss guy at a bar that served Swiss absinthe. It was hot as fuck outside, and as soon as I got out of the subway, sweat started collecting on my lower back and between my boobs. I stopped to mop myself off and got a text from the Swiss guy that said, “I conquered us places at the bar!”
When I got there he stood up and waved. He was wearing round, very Swiss glasses. He had a goatee, but he had a great smile. He kissed me on both cheeks and we sat down. We started talking and couldn’t stop. The bartender kept coming over to get our order, but we kept forgetting to look at the menu. Finally we ordered whatever fancy drinks we could pick out on the spot.
The Swiss guy had a PhD in economics, and he was in New York doing a postdoc on wage inequality and the American gender gap. He was thirty-six, which meant he was an actual adult. He showed me pictures of his two brothers and their families, and it seemed like he loved them all a lot. He wanted to know everything about me, which was a nice change of pace from the dates where I couldn’t get a word in edgewise. He was especially excited that I was a teacher because his mom was a teacher. I thought that was sweet, even though she had taught kindergarten in rural Switzerland forty years earlier, and I taught humanities in an inner-city middle school with metal detectors and police.
We each had another drink. When I got up to go to the bathroom, I realized I was tipsy. I made my way to the back of the bar in a heightened state and then sat on the toilet, peeing and thinking I might marry this guy. If he didn’t want to stay in the U.S., I didn’t hate the idea of living as an ex-pat in Switzerland. I was enjoying the Swiss absinthe and I also liked cheese, chocolate, and mountains. When I washed my hands I noticed that the neckline of my dress was way too low. I fixed it and when I got back to the bar I apologized for my wardrobe malfunction.
“I like it very much,” said the Swiss guy. “You have a beautiful décolletage.”
“Should we get another drink?” I said.
We each ordered one more and then asked for the bill. He got out his credit card and I got out mine.
“Shall we split it?” he said. “That’s very nice of you. I thought in America the guy had to pay.”
“We can split it,” I said.
We left and started kissing as soon as the door closed behind us.
“I don’t usually make out in the street,” I said.
“It’s okay,” he said.
“Can we at least go around the corner?” I said.
Around the corner there was a stoop.
“Sit down,” I said.
“Is it dirty?” he said. “I think it’s too dirty.”
“Do you want to make out or not?”
He sat down and I straddled him and we kept going.
I knew it was past one in the morning and I should go home, but I was full of absinthe and it had been a long time since I had made out with anyone and it felt good. I told him that I had to go home to walk my dog, and we made out for a while longer.
“I could come to your house,” he said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“I just met you.”
We got up and started walki
ng.
“It would be nice to go home together,” he said.
“I never have sex on the first date,” I said.
“We don’t have to have sex,” he said. “We could just coddle.”
“Cuddle?” I said. “No. Even if I wanted to, my dog has problems. I can’t just show up with a stranger.”
I had adopted Pearl a year earlier. She was a beautiful cream-colored pit, and she had been on death row at animal control because she was so scared that they couldn’t do a behavior evaluation on her. But when I went to meet her she approached me with her tail wagging and she licked my face. I begged them to try the evaluation again, and the behavior supervisor conducted it herself. Soon I realized that that was the only reason Pearl passed—she was fine with women but very scared of and very aggressive toward men.
“Why can’t you just show up with a stranger?” the Swiss guy said.
“You would scare her,” I said. “And she would bite you.”
He considered this. “Can she go in a different room? I’m a bit afraid of dogs.”
“No,” I said. “You can’t come over.”
“Okay,” he said. “What is the dog’s name?”
“Pearl.”
“What kind of dog is she?”
“She’s a pit bull.”
“Bwah, then she will definitely bite me.”
“She’s not going to bite you because she’s a pit bull. She’s going to bite you because you’re an intruder.”
“Fine, so I don’t come. What are you going to do tomorrow?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“I’m going to go upstate to do some research. You could come with me and we could stay in a motel.”
“I can’t leave Pearl.”
“It would only be for one night.”
“It doesn’t work that way.”
We got to the subway and started kissing again.
“Good-bye,” I said.
“Good-bye,” he said.
“Good-bye,” I said and pushed him toward the subway. I hailed a cab. I should have taken the subway too, but I didn’t like walking back from my stop late at night. When I got home, I took Pearl out and then we both ate some strawberry ice cream.
• • •
The next morning I had a text from the Swiss guy saying that it was raining so he wasn’t going to go upstate, and did I want to hang out. I went to his apartment on the Upper West Side. The rain had cooled things off a little, but I still worked up a sweat climbing his six flights of stairs. He opened the door and gave me a kiss on my way in. I asked him for a glass of water and when I finished it he refilled it. The air in the apartment was hot and still. There was no couch to sit on but there was a wide chair without arms. We both sat on it, close together so we didn’t fall off.
We didn’t have quite as much to say as we had the night before. I felt the stiffness between us but I didn’t know what it was—sexual tension, nonsexual tension, or the exertion of staying on the chair. Since we were side by side, the only way we could look at each other was by turning our necks, and when we did our faces were very close together.
I kept drinking water but I couldn’t cool down. Finally I couldn’t take the suspense anymore and suggested that we go into the Swiss guy’s bedroom.
He kissed me and we lay down on the bed.
“Is this an air mattress?” I said.
“No, it’s not,” he said.
We started making out. I felt the sweat start seeping back through my skin. We took our clothes off.
“Would you like to sleep with me?” whispered the Swiss guy.
It took me a second to understand what he meant, and then I wanted to laugh because what the fuck else were we going to do.
“Sure,” I said. “Do I have anything to worry about?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like have you been tested for STDs?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Have you slept with anyone since then?”
“Just one woman.”
“Do you have a condom?”
“Yes, I do. But have you been tested?”
“Yeah, I got tested last month and I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”
“Okay.”
• • •
I wouldn’t exactly say it was magical, but for the first time with somebody I had known for less than twenty-four hours, it was pretty good. The Swiss guy had a great dick—thick and uncircumcised. I didn’t think I would get tired of one like that.
Afterward we lay there, sweating and talking. Eventually he went to get more water, and I sat up and saw an air conditioner in the far window.
“Oh my god, you have an air conditioner?” I called.
He came back in. “Yes, I do.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Would you like me to turn it on?”
“I would love that.”
He did and the air conditioner started buzzing, and soon I felt the first breaths of cool air on my feet.
We lay there.
“How is this for you?” he said.
“How is what?”
“How is it to have an affair?”
“What do you mean, ‘affair’?”
“I mean because we are meeting now and I will be leaving.”
“You mean a fling? You’re going to be here for a while.”
“I am leaving in one month.”
“To go where?”
“Back to Switzerland.”
“Forever?”
“Perhaps. I like to come back but I don’t know if I will be allowed to.”
I felt stung. “Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”
“I did.”
He had said he was leaving when his program ended, but since the school year was about to start, I’d assumed he had at least one more year.
“When is your program over?”
“At the end of August, and then I am staying one more month after. I will go to California for two weeks and then I will return to New York for two weeks.”
We lay quietly for a few minutes, and the sweat cooled on my skin.
On the subway home I tried not to cry. I wondered if it was time for my period, or if I was actually sad.
• • •
The next day was Saturday and when I woke up I had another text from the Swiss guy. He was coming to Brooklyn for a party and wanted to meet up beforehand. I suggested going for a walk with my dog, because that’s what we had to do before she would let men into the apartment. The Swiss guy said in that case I could come to his apartment. I asked if he only wanted to hang out if we could have sex. He said of course not. I said good, because if he was coming to Brooklyn anyway I was definitely not going to go into the city.
The Swiss guy came to my neighborhood and Pearl and I met him on a street where the sidewalks were wide and where not a lot of people would walk by. I told him to stay far away until I gave him instructions. He started to look kind of pale.
“I’m quite afraid of dogs,” he said.
“It’s too late now,” I said.
I threw him a bag of treats and told him to toss them to Pearl from a distance. He looked at the treats through the bag. He clearly didn’t want to touch them. He hesitantly threw one. Pearl gobbled it up and looked at him. She was making progress. She wasn’t barking or lunging. She was getting better at identifying men who threw treats as friends, but I was tired of having to do the introductions and was starting to dream about going to live with her on some kind of feminist or lesbian all-women commune.
I told the Swiss guy to keep throwing treats. Pearl was getting closer and closer to him, wagging her tail, but he kept jumping back.
“You’re doing fine,” I said. “Give her some of the cheese.”
“I don’t like to touch it,” he said.
“That’s what will really make her like you,” I said. “And you’re already touching dehydrated lamb lun
g.”
“What?”
“Just keep throwing the treats.”
Now Pearl was sitting at his feet, thumping her tail, and the Swiss guy was trying to stay calm but not doing a good job. When I was sure that Pearl wasn’t going to change her mind and eat him, we started walking. Pearl was excited about the Swiss guy until we got to the park, and then she switched her attention to the squirrels.
After the walk we dropped Pearl off at my apartment and got a quick dinner. I told the Swiss guy to speak to me in Swiss-German. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but his voice was sexier—deeper and more sure.
He left to go to his party, and a couple of hours later he texted me to ask if I wanted him to stop by again. I said sure, and when he got there Pearl and I went outside to meet him. Pearl recognized him immediately and started jumping and twisting in the air. The Swiss guy shrieked a little shriek.
“It’s okay,” I said. “She’s just excited to see you.”
We went inside and into the living room. I sat on the couch and the Swiss guy sat on the floor with Pearl. At first she tried to get in his face and lick him, but then she lay down next to him and let him rub her belly. We sat like that and talked for several hours, and he rubbed her the whole time. Then he got up and washed his hands and his arms and we went into the bedroom.
“Is Pearl going to be in the room?” he said.
“Is that okay?” I said. “She’ll cry and cry if I shut her out. She won’t bother us.”
“Maybe she can stay on the floor.”
I didn’t think that was going to happen, and it didn’t. But as soon as we lay down she went to the bottom of the bed and stayed very still until we were done.
When the Swiss guy sat up he said, “Is Pearl sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Is she angry with us?”
“No. How could she be angry? She’s asleep.”
She woke up when we got up. The Swiss guy asked if he could sleep on the couch. He was afraid that Pearl was going to kill him when he was asleep and defenseless. I got him a blanket and a pillow and escorted him out to the living room. Back in my bed, I spooned with Pearl.
In the morning the Swiss guy had to leave to meet a friend. I made him some coffee and told him to smell the milk in the fridge before he poured it. He didn’t like the way it smelled, so he drank the coffee black. I also made him some muesli and yogurt, but he didn’t want it even though he was Swiss.
Barbara the Slut and Other People Page 10