“Now you don’t have to feel like you don’t know me or you’re not my friend,” said Jessie, “Because you’re right. I did go back to talk and get her number.”
“Still don’t see why you couldn’t have told me that.”
“This is new to you,” said Jessie, “And it’s new to me to have you know.”
“I get that.”
“Do you?” asked Jessie.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You still seem apprehensive,” said Jessie, “But I guess it takes time.”
“Things do.”
“Not drinks,” said Jessie.
“Get on that.” Jessie served me first and we talked but I held something back. We both promised to be as open as we could. But I didn’t admit the depth of my jealous streak. I started to figure out why I gave Stefen my phone number. I just wanted the freedom of expression that Jessie had. I could look at her and think that if I was in anyway lesbian, I wouldn’t admit it to myself until I was ninety-two and sitting in a wheelchair, staring out a window all day. For me it had always been dudes, the only modulation was I got tired of the lack of maturity and comprehension. I never thought of going outside--to the other side. I guess Jessie just thought outside the box.
We went to dinner but for some reason I didn’t tell her how I felt about the whole thing. If she was into girls, I could handle that. I just felt weird about the fact that she was more exploratory. She seemed to be more adaptable than me. When dudes got lame, she went to girls and found those relationships more comprehensive. I just moved on to dudes who were lame in a different way. Even Longboard was a bit lame. He was really rich and powerful and all that and he wasn’t even man enough to just go for what he wanted. But I wasn’t entirely mad at him. I didn’t tell Jessie. But I was thinking the distractions of finding out she was lesbian and injuring my foot gave me a timeout from all the emotions I felt. And I went back to the beginning, when Malia told me about Longboard and the sex tapes. I realized that Malia was the source. I didn’t know anything about what Malia said, aside from the fact that she said it. As a marketing manager, one of the predominating things is check your sources and have your facts straight. If your portfolio is up 3.59% you don’t say 4%. You say over three and a half precent. Your reputation is on the line. It’s more stingy than journalism. If you market bad facts your reputation is taken and not given back. So why would I go on Malia’s word alone? She was intoxicated and showed a different side of herself. There was something very much snake-in-the-garden-of-Eden about her that night. She even admitted she was late to happy hour because she stayed behind talking to Longboard. That was a fact she had conveniently glossed over when she met Jessie and me for drinks. She said something about traffic. So I didn’t really want to vent to Jessie about what could be nothing. And there was the idea that I might go back to thinking it was something in a few hours. But I felt surprisingly level-headed.
I ordered samosa and Jessie had cantiq. I’m not an expert on any cuisine but the flavor seemed authentic enough. It made it strange to come across authentic Middle Eastern food in Hawaii, especially on one of the less renowned islands. I couldn’t order a cocktail. Jessie cut me off from alcohol. She said I needed to heal. She forced me to drink green tea because of the antioxidants.
“Let’s get you off to bed,” said Jessie, “Rest helps you heal.” I always said Jessie could mother the world.
“Lead the way.” I followed Jessie back to the suite but the energy was different. It had the tone of what should we do now. The weekend hadn’t gone as expected. That was why we both struggled with what to say. Looking at the retro chic clock on the wall, it was a quarter after eight. It was too early to go to bed. But it was a big question mark as far as what we would do. General suggestions, like walking along the beach, weren’t apt. I did enough walking and had to stay off my foot.
“Can I get a game?” asked Jessie, moving in the direction of the ready-set chessboard that stood on an ottoman.
“Alright.” I took a chair from the set that matched the ottoman and aligned myself with the dark cast metal pieces. Jessie slid up behind the light cast metal pieces.
“You know I didn’t want to ask you at dinner because it was a bit public, but what are you thinking, as far as the stuff that Malia said?” asked Jessie, “Do you want my help with anything?”
“I honestly don’t know what to think. One thing I realized is that an hour before I talked to her I was on cloud nine. So I’m really trying not to let what she said get to me.”
“It doesn’t bother you?” asked Jessie.
“Well, how could it not? But I’m going on her words and she did admit she lied. I mean when she met us up at Ginger Snap, she was like almost an hour late. Remember?”
“I remember,” said Jessie.
“And what was her excuse?”
“She said traffic,” said Jessie.
“And now she says it’s because she stayed behind to talk to Hank. When stories have multiple versions what’s that usually all about?”
“Someone’s making shit up,” said Jessie, “You know I didn’t like her vibe when I met her. She seemed OK but I knew we weren’t meant to become long-term friends or anything close to that.”
“I picked up on that, which is where I am now. Theoretically there’s some sex tape out there with me on it. But that’s coming from someone I caught in a lie. If you killed ten people and I’m talking to you through prison bars, I would take everything you said at face value. The reason being that I’ve never known you to lie—kill people, yes, but not lie. But now we know she lied and she fessed up to it. So why let an admitted liar determine my outcomes?”
“I like your approach,” said Jessie, “Your move.”
“Well, I think it was being sportive in high school.
“How so?” asked Jessie.
“Sports teach you how to win and how to lose. And where to rank your wins and loses. Like if you win a game but your record is 3-6 it’s nice to have the win. But you don’t need to think much about it because you still have a losing record. And if you lose to a really good team after pushing it to overtime, that’s not that bad. You played a high-quality team and you brought it. But you can understand the loss. And why make it more than it is. Then there are some times when you technically should win because you’re technically the better team. That’s what we call an upset. I’m just gonna put this loss and add it to my record.”
“What is your record?” asked Jessie.
“Well, living well is the best revenge. I’m here with you. We’re in a nice hotel. I’m the office manager at Key Way Insurance. And even if some sex tape of me gets distributed, I’m in pretty good shape and I have a perfect rack.” Jessie began to laugh.
“I’m a 34C, which means I have no seat on the Itty Bitty Titty Committee. And we know more than a handful is a waste. Plus, I realize there are no ass shots of me. My ass was against the top of his desk, then he came at me from behind. So if anything is on camera it’s gotta be my good side. Your move.” Jessie didn’t move. She leaned back and clapped her hands together.
“Lovin’ the confidence,” said Jessie.
“Not even confidence, just being a big girl. We’re closer to thirty than we are to twenty. Why should we be easily shaken? I don’t have a gun to my head.”
“No you don’t,” said Jessie, “But you are in check.”
“Fuck.”
“Check,” said Jessie
“Shit, ok.”
“Check,” said Jessie.
“Damn, um that’s all I can do.”
“And that’s why it’s check mate,” said Jessie.
“Ouch.”
“Hope I didn’t hurt you too much,” said Jessie, “You’ve already got that foot thing.”
“I’m good.”
“Want a rematch?” asked Jessie.
“Naw, I think I’m gonna hit the bed.”
“Really?” said Jessie.
“Yeah, I’m feeling tired for
some reason.”
“Probably because you’re healing,” said Jessie.
“Probably still got some anesthesia in my system. Good game.”
“Grace under fire,” said Jessie, “Take the loss like a woman. Now you see my interest in women. A dude would’ve asked for a rematch without admitting he didn’t really want it. Too much pride at stake.”
“Oh I’ve got my pride. I just am not staking it on a chess game.”
“That’s what I mean,” said Jessie, “Why protect your pride over a chess game?”
“Who knows.” I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and disrobe. I folded my clothes neatly and just came out of the bathroom in my underwear. There wasn’t much between Jessie and I at that point and I felt like keeping things simple. Jessie went around the room and turned the lights off. My eye were closed but I could hear her clothes coming off.
Jessie climbed into bed with me and kissed me. But this time her lips hit my forehead. She covered my feet with my blanket, like a grandmother. Then she closed the inch gap between us and threw her arm around me like a mom. I always had a sense that Jessie was a mom just waiting to happen. I guess I didn’t see how far that went. It wasn’t so much that she was lesbian. She was simply on a different wavelength. She was like a mom but had no kids, so she gave her affection to those who most appreciated it. She actually had a choice, not like with children. And since women seemed to appreciate her affection most, she went with most. Then she climbed out of my bed. She tuck the top sheet under me and went back to her bed. She climbed in between the sheets and went silent for minutes.
"I love you, Jessie." There was a pause. She might have been asleep.
"I love you, too," said Jessie, then the yawn--then the silence. I was the only one awake to measure the silence. Jessie could sleep. Not much had changed. She was swinging that way for a while. The only new thing was now I knew about it. She didn't seemed bothered anymore. And I liked that. It was a big vote in my favor. I wasn't just her girlfriend. I was her friend. It wasn't just at happy hours. It was at eleventh hours, also.
Chapter Three
I didn't sleep much. It made the morning bittersweet. The blinds were shut but the light didn't care. It still crept through. I could look at those light beams and tell it was going to be a gorgeous day. Hawaiians knew their sunbeams. But it made my grogginess suck even more. I would have gladly rolled over and passed out till like one o' clock in the afternoon. But the day was begging for my attention. Jessie wasn't up early with her tea, like the day before. She was still asleep. It was like she was exhausted. Maybe coming out had more of an effect than I realized. I didn't know what that was like. There must have been questions. How will she react? Or, maybe telling Jessie I loved her made her rest easy. She looked like it.
I decided to get out of bed and let a shower wake me up. I didn't want to get too much coffee in my system. It would interfere with my sleep. It was Sunday. Monday was the real deal. I was given a pass the prior week. Hell, I didn't even start the week knowing I would get promoted. But now I was in my new office, Brianna's old office. I had my own parking spot. And my congratulations were in the books. Getting the job was over. Come Monday, I had to do the job. The water was cold in the shower for way too long. I hated that. It always came as a bad omen in Hawaii. This place is hot. How hard is it to heat up water? And the water never got hot. It got quite warm. But I like my variances. I like the room to be cold and the water to be hot. I don't know why. But there's no happy medium. The part that sucked was only hot showers woke me up. A warm shower was like warm coffee. It didn't do the job. So I was gonna go out to this gorgeous day, at this gorgeous place, feeling not quite right. For shame.
"Let's get wasted by the pool." That was the only thing that came to mind. My foot wasn't sexy. It was bandaged. Doing anything that made me feel hot wouldn't work. No such thing as a sexy gimp. I used to think getting wasted made me seem fun. I was old enough to know that wasn't true. But it was fun, if done in moderation. Jessie rolled over. I wasn't sure if she heard me.
"Let's go for a massage," said Jessie, "Then we get wasted by the pool."
"Ah ha, well played."
"I know this resort," said Jessie, "You don't wanna miss the spa."
"Good?"
"Oh, hell yeah," said Jessie.
"You wanna grab a shower first or just go?"
"You can grab yours first, I'll go second," said Jessie.
"I already beat you to it."
"Really?" said Jessie, "I didn't even hear that."
"You're 100% Chinese, but my dad was half-Japanese. I've inherited the ninja skills."
"The Chinese had the feizei warriors," said Jessie, "They were unreal. Ninjas were just farmers using farming tools."
"What's a feizei? Never heard of it."
"Exactly," said Jessie, "That's how you know who the fuck is deadly. If no one living knows you, that's because it's only the dead who've encountered you."
"That's some funny shit!"
"Naw, it's true," said Jessie, "Think about it. If you're really a badass assassin, would your name live through the ages?"
"Why wouldn't it?"
"Cuz, you didn't meet your end," said Jessie, "People know your story cuz there's a beginning and an end. Like Jesse James or William Wallace, if you're just a badass who killed a bunch of people and then died of natural causes, people don't know your story cuz they don't know how it ended. You just died with your kids and grandkids around. And none of them knew you were this badass."
"I guess that's the way it would have to be."
"For sure," said Jessie, "If people know you're a badass assassin they'll be seeking you out for retribution."
"Can't have that if you want a normal life."
"Exactly. If you wanna survive," said Jessie, "You gotta be able to keep a secret. Trust me, I'm a lesbian in a Chinese family."
"That's too funny. But you did refer to yourself as lesbian. Yesterday, you said you avoid labels."
"I do," said Jessie, "But that's what it would be called in my family. Can you imagine me telling my dad I'm into girls?"
"No. Like flat out no."
"I mean labels are his thing," said Jessie, "He's all about his brand and his company. He's a developer and real estate manager. It's all branding."
"You don't have to tell me. Up until last week, I was an assistant marketing manager. I know all about branding."
"So let's move," said Jessie.
"Um...I'm waiting on you."
"Touché!" said Jessie.
Jessie was serious. She did the shower thing, the teeth thing and the tea thing. And we were ready.
"Breakfast?"
"We'll do it after the massage," said Jessie.
The spa wasn't in the resort. It was on the opposite side, on a different beach. It made me realize the resort was on a corner, facing the ocean. There was beach on one side. Then there was a steep rock ledge and beach on the other side. The rock ledge separated the private side and public side of the beach. Technically, both sides of the beach belonged to the Ile Grove Resort. But the other side, where the Ocean Floor Club was, wasn't really walled off from the public. I guess they wanted people from nearby hotels to wash ashore at the Ocean Floor Club. As a businesswoman, I thought it seemed savvy. There was a long stretch of beach. Guests of neighboring hotels could go for a walk down the beach and be sucked in to the music and crowd of the Ocean Floor Club. The atmosphere itself was all the marketing the club needed. You're walking down a beach. You hear some music. You follow it. You come upon a bar. You decide to grab a drink for the walk back. The beach had an open-container policy. It was privately-owned, after all. And restrictions weren't good marketing.
I half-expected the spa to be below the hotel. I don't know why. But it was there--on the beach--a series of four palm leaf bungalows. They were all open-walled, except for one. That had to be the sauna room. The palm leaf thatched roofs were all braided by-hand. The braid was so simple and even. It looke
d mechanical. Even the roof itself was supported by palm tree beams in a symmetrical pattern. The beams had received a water-proof coating. The shine was unnatural. But it was cozy. The spot was serene. Because the rock ledge was a break. The strong current that created choppy waves on the adjacent beach got chaperoned by the rock ledge. Our side of the beach was well-behaved. It made for a perfect location for a spa. The beach was inaccessible, except by coming out the back entrance of the hotel and down the zigzag steps. The only other way was to scale down the 20-foot rock ledge.
The spa manager looked native Hawaiian. He was dark. Maybe he wasn't so dark, but his white uniform created a contrast. His white teeth did the same. He smiled as we approached.
"Do you have an appointment?" he said. I wasn't sure.
"No," said Jessie, "But we are platinum customers." Jessie handed the man her platinum card and he swiped it.
"Thank you, Ms. Jin," said the man, "You and your guest can take any tables you like." We selected tables opposite each other so we could both look at the ocean. We were head-to-head, so we could talk.
"They should call it a brown card, not platinum card."
"Why?" asked Jessie.
"Because everyone brown-noses you when you pull that thing out."
"Or the green card, cuz it makes people green with envy," said Jessie.
"You mean me?"
"You've always had that jealous streak," said Jessie.
"But you love me anyways."
"I do," said Jessie. We had to wait for the masseuses. It wasn't long but longer than I would have expected with Jessie's platinum account. Even though our heads were only three feet apart, we didn't talk much. We both got female masseuses, which made us shy. Girl talk was meant for the girls, not just any girls. If we had dudes, we probably would have carried on as usual. There was something about chicks listening to chicks talk. We figured dudes wouldn't understand half our convo. Our convos were too deep for dudes. Two females would understand too much. We just laid there. When I realized I wouldn't be saying much, I closed my eyes. The ocean was so slow and soft, the water seemed like anesthesia. I could hear the wind more than the water. But my muscles felt like the water. It was the image I had in my head, as the masseuse moved through muscles. That was the thing about muscle. You couldn't see it. You could imagine it however you wanted. It looked like the ocean before I closed my eyes. Her fingers just swam through and came back. She was doing laps. The pressure was enough to make my muscles go in to full retreat. I felt so relaxed, I almost fell asleep. I didn't want to, then I wouldn't feel anything.
Choppy (Desk Surfing Series Book 2) Page 3