by Rose Hudson
“We have everything prepared and ready if you’d like to begin Ms. Grace.”
“We are more than ready Marcus, but today is Erin’s special day, so please be sure and address her needs and wishes, hmm?” She guides me forward and stops me at the threshold in front of the man. “Marcus, Erin. Erin, Marcus.” She gestures between the two of us. “Marcus is the best money can buy Erin. I suspect you will be thoroughly pleased with his services,” she winks and proceeds into the suite, leaving me alone with hunky Marcus.
“I’m Erin. Nice to meet you Marcus. Where would you like me,” I ask, sticking out my hand to shake his. He looks from me to my hand, but instead of shaking it like I had expected, he lifts it to his mouth and places a gentle kiss to the top.
“The pleasure is mine, Erin.” He replies and then places his hand on my lower back, leading me inside. He points to a dressing room on the opposite side of the room. “I would like you to undress and join me under the steam tent. We are going to begin with a massage of your choice.” He looks from me to the tent and back. “I will be waiting just inside.”
The triple-step of my heart hammers away at the inside of my chest as I walk to the dressing room. Was my body in such desperate need of a man’s touch that the thought of the panty-melting Marcus touching me made me act like a horny teenager? Geez Erin, get it together! It’s a massage, not an invite to bed! I chastise myself as I undress, looking in the mirror, recognizing for first time in a long time the needy, wanting woman staring back at me. A woman full of desire and knowing that the heavy weight of change and the need to feel that desire in return from a man, had finally reached mass capacity. Thankful to the ‘ding’ for pulling my thoughts out of the rabbit hole, I look down at my phone as the screen lights up with a text notification.
I’m at lunch. Super excited about spending the night with Bre. I know it’s your birthday, so thank you for letting me skip out to hang with friends. Promise I will make it up tomorrow! PLEASEEE Go out and have fun tonight Mom!!! I love you, bunches!
I couldn’t stop the tears that well as I stand there reading those sweet words from my Ruth. At the same time though, my heart registers a feeling of guilt in what she typed. Have I made her feel like she is responsible for my happiness? That question, coupled with the familiar sting of my own guilt, has been following me around for months. Ruth and I are so close, and even if it’s difficult for her to discuss with me, whatever the subject, she usually does. So why wouldn’t she talk to me about this? I shake my head and down the champagne flute Chanin had given me outside. There is a time and a place to overthink things in my usual fashion, but that time isn’t now. I happen to have an extremely hot masseur to report to and that is the only thing that’s time sensitive at the moment. I wipe my eyes and tighten the sash of the rose colored silk robe as I make my way to the massage tent. I don’t know what the rest of the day holds, or any other day for that matter, but right now, I am going to breathe, relax and enjoy. Anything else will have to wait.
“GOOD TIME CHARLIE’S,” I groan at Leelan who laughs and holds the door open for me. I walk into the bar and look around at the forty or so people dancing and having a good time has me feeling a small tinge of discomfort. I know it sounds crazy considering today is my thirtieth birthday, but my social ‘experiences’ have been few and far between, especially nights like tonight. Getting married at eighteen and having Ruth somewhat quickly after we married, I had missed out on the socially acceptable bar-hopping enjoyed by others my age. In fact, the only time I can remember going to a bar was when Glendon’s unit would get together on the rare occasion everyone was in town at the same time. Of course when I went with him to these functions I mostly just sat in a corner by myself sipping on water because, first off, I was always the Designated Driver, and two, I had just learned my place around his friends. I’m not sure if any of them even knew my name.
Nudging me out of my exciting walk down memory lane, Leelan points to a corner booth adorned with a beautiful bouquet of deep purple Calla Lilies sitting on the table, and Chanin and Mel wave us over.
“You gonna’ join us or stand there staring off in space, Mouse?” Coming back to Earth from whatever planet I was on, I push his shoulder and give him a crooked smile at the use of his nickname for me.
Leelan has worked for Chanin for two years and has become a valuable part of our team as Purchasing Director. It might sound like a simple job but it’s not. The fact that Chanin wants American made textiles for our American made clothing line, it makes his job more difficult than that of textile purchasers for other companies that have freedom to select materials from all over the world. He knows how to do his job, and do it well, finding a rhythm to match ours and even managing to impress Chanin right off the bat, which is no easy task. Other than being one of the best at what he does, I think his good looks and sense of humor pretty much solidified his spot with her from the beginning. I’ve often wondered about their relationship outside of the office, but knowing Chanin the way I do, I know better than to ask. So, for now, I’ll keep giving them knowing glances and pissing her off. What can I say, it’s become a bit of a talent.
As we walk up to the table I can smell the faint sweet dewy smell of the Lilies, a smell that will always make me smile remembering my grandmother and how she loved them, making them my favorite. Standing up, Chanin and Mel begin to sing the happy birthday song at the top of their lungs and lifting a shot glass of God knows what to both Leelan and myself, holding their own shots extended mid-air. The ass of the Devil himself couldn’t compare to the fifty shades of red I know my face is. Oh God, hurry! Shut their asses up! I quickly clink each of their shot glasses and chug whatever otherworldly concoction I’m sure Mel has come up with. You know the original Listerine? The one that is a goldish color and feels like lighter fluid in your mouth? This was worse. Much much worse.
“Holy hell! What did I just drink,” I sputter incoherently between coughing my brains through my nose and choking to death. Snorting and laughing her ass off, bent at the knees, Mel looks up and without skipping a beat says,
“You just put three dicks in your mouth, bitch! Happy Birthday!” Swinging her long midnight hair that I’ve always envied over her shoulder as she returns upright. Her tall form extends far above my 5’4” frame as she puts her arm around my shoulder and smacks her lips off my left cheek, leaving plenty of her dark red lipstick behind as evidence.
I was unsure as to whether I would like Mel or if our personalities would mesh well when she signed on board with the company 6 months ago in preparation for the move to Daphne. She was so stunning walking into the restaurant we had all met at for the first time, that I had immediately hated her guts, or at least wanted to hate her. But like every triple threat, she was gorgeous, smart, and funny as hell, captivating me and everyone else at the table. I still secretly hate her, because hell, who wouldn’t? I know it’s my own insecurities and my drive for perfection that keeps me from dropping my guard and letting people in, but with Mel, there wasn’t really a choice. I think she figured out early on that I was a workaholic, and between it and Ruth, had no time for socializing in my schedule. If you knew her, you would know things don’t stay that way for long with her around. She willingly sacrifices her own pride and dignity to make sure all of us have a good time.
“Here’s your next round darlin’,” the voice of an older woman says from behind me. I turn to see one of the bartenders holding a tray of shot glasses and my belly rolls over at the sight of them. They are green in color, I’m sure matching the current color of my face. More, seriously? They have got to be kidding! I hear an almost giggle erupt from Leelan’s throat as he swoops up one of the shots and downs it. I wish I could be as excited about this as he apparently is.
If there’s one thing I know, it’s that I have a low tolerance for alcohol. Really low. I can count on two fingers how many times I’ve consumed more than a reasonable amount, and I’ll just say it wasn’t attractive. But I also know that these b
oozehounds will never let me hear the end of it if I don’t drink up and have some fun. I am going to breathe, relax, and enjoy. As if some ghost of boozer’s past takes up residence in my arms, I grab two shots and down them both, immediately picking up two of the limes on the tray, all but chewing and swallowing them.
“Slow down there, sweet cheeks! You want the old men to clear out and the few good lookin’ boys we do have in this town to show up before you start dancin’ on the tables half naked,” the bartender cautions, grabbing the empty shot glasses out of my hand and giving me a look of all knowing wisdom before sitting the remaining shots on the table and winking in retreat to the bar.
“Damn Mouse, if all you wanted to do was get half naked and dance on tables, I would’ve taken you back to my house instead of bringing you here,” chuckles Leelan.
“And do what with her Dear? Overdose on Cialis in an attempt to keep up with a thirty-year old? You can barely keep up with women your age.” Chanin’s mock-serious tone laced with jealousy startles me. I didn’t know Chanin Grace was even capable of being jealous. She brings a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘forty is the new twenty’. I’ve never seen pictures of her as a teenager, but I would almost bet money that she looks better today than she did then. Golden hair, cut into a sleek bob, skin kissed with just the right amount of color from the sun, and a body that motivates my workout every day, Chanin is the epitome of sophisticated success and timeless beauty.
Lord, what I must look like sitting among the company I keep. First of all, the four of us together look like an advertising campaign for equality in the workplace. Leelan, a built mid-forties ginger- Mel, a late-twenties exotic beauty- Chanin, an early-forties blond bombshell- and then me, like a post-pubescent teen with a pre-license hair stylist. Uggg…my hair. My hair has always been kind of a mystery, until I watched Frozen with my daughter, and then it all made sense. Apparently, somewhere down the line I’ve been struck by the Queen’s ice powers and the trolls had worked their magic and zapped my memory. Because amidst all the reddish golden hair that hangs down to the middle of my back, there is one platinum streak of hair that runs from the top my head all the way to the ends. I’ve had a million and one hair dressers tell me they could color my hair and make it all match, but because I had never done anything to my hair other than trim it, I held tight to my no color rule and have never changed it. Doctors told my mother that it’s a rare birthmark and after thirty years of having it, it’s just part of me.
Over the loud speakers hung throughout the bar, the man sitting on the little stool beside the stage, announces that Friday night karaoke will start in thirty minutes. Oh how I loathe karaoke! I think to myself feeling my stomach roll over again at the word “karaoke”. Wait a minute. Mel knows that I hate it because she tried to take me one night and I refused, adamantly. Turning my attention away from the DJ and back to the table, I try to find Mel’s eyes, but of course that bitch is turned slightly away with a feigned look of ignorance on her face.
“Look at me hooker. You set me up!”
“What? I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re talking about love,” she replies dramatically.
“I think I’ll call bullshit and raise you a shot that I can scroll through your phone and find the number to this place in your recent calls!” Crossing my arms over my chest I lean back in my chair and throw my best I’m a hard-ass don’t screw with me look her way. Before she can block him, Leelan grabs her phone off the table and begins scrolling through her list of calls.
“Leelan! Give it back, you ass,” she yells, pawing and slapping at Leelan’s arm trying to regain control of her phone, but failing miserably. Leelan, with arms the size of two toddlers, fends her off easily with one while the other does the scrolling. After a minute an ear-to-ear grin spreads over his face and he looks from me to Mel.
“And what will the lady be drinking,” he sings in his sharpest smart-ass tone.
“Shit,” she slaps her hand down on the tabletop and glares at Leelan. “I should have known you’d sniff me out!”
Looking from me to Chanin, a sly cat like smile curling up the edges of her mouth, she challenges, “Double or nothing.”
“Pfft, nobody said anything about making deals here,” I reply without skipping a beat.
“Oh hell, you’ve taken the church right out of the Mouse tonight,” Leelan says as the bartender places another tray of shots on the table. This time they are red and smell of cinnamon. Chanin beams in recognition of what they are.
“Hot Damn, my favorite,” she announces in sheer approval.
“Damn straight,” Mel confirms. “Glad someone finally noticed the work I put into this,” she remarks in a pout.
“Work…,” Leelan questions.
“Umm…HELLO! All the shots are each of your favorites! Three dicks for me, Midori Stones for you, and Hot Damn for Chanin,” She explains, giving Leelan a petulant smile.
Clinking shot glasses with Chanin and downing the brash cinnamon flavored hell, I cough out, “Hey! I thought this was my birthday? Where’s my special drink?”
Before Mel can answer, Chanin stands in excitement as Salt-N-Peppa’s ‘Push It’ blares through the speakers.
“Oh lord! Enough whining! You’re dancing with me,” she commands, leaving me no other option as she pulls me up and toward the tiny dance floor.
By this time the substantial amount of empty tables are starting to fill and bodies mingle in the empty spaces between. I can’t remember the last time I had fun like this. Enjoyed freedom of any kind. The need to be on top of my game as a mother and set an example for Ruth both personally and professionally, has been influenced in large part by the woman who now dances in front of me like stripper whose rent is due tomorrow. Further reassuring my stubborn mind that it’s okay to let go, and also bringing a slight pang of regret. All this time, I’ve stood firmly in my beliefs that I couldn’t have my cake and eat it too, is now being washed down with an ice-cold glass of milky realization. Being myself and having time to let my hair down, to just have some fun for god sakes, there’s nothing wrong with that, right? The world has not ceased to exist tonight, my daughter hasn’t fallen off the edge of the earth, things are just as they should be. As though the thoughts wind through every deep crevice of my brain and down the narrow space of my spine, beginning to seep into the further reaches of my extremities, I sway freely letting the music take me over the finish line into acceptance. The eminent feelings of loneliness and need for change have weighed heavily on my heart and mind for years, but none so heavy as the ones I’ve felt in recent days. It would seem as though my obligation to extinguish these feelings and take the first step forward has come to a head. Right here, right now. As if Chanin can hear my thoughts, she speaks loudly over the music.
“I’m proud of you, ya know, for taking advantage of tonight. In all the years I’ve know you, I’ve wondered when you’d finally crack that shell you wear and break out.” She takes my hand, twirling me around in another spin. I burst out in laughter, both from her alcohol induced craziness and her description of me.
“A shell? So what are you saying?”
“Erin, love, everyone has noticed it. We all love you. We want you to be happy. The day is long overdue in all of our opinions,” she says, wiping her brow with the back of her hand and smoothing the hem of her skirt, the music fading into silence.
The walk back to the table gives me time to process what she’s just revealed. Everyone? Did she mean the three of them, or did she really mean everyone? Does Ruth see me like that? The pang of regret comes back full force. Ugh… How can I be so unaware of myself? I’m not an angry person, but regret is quickly changing to angered determination.
Growing up with party animal parents who took full advantage of the music industry lifestyle had put a sour taste in my mouth long before I became a parent myself. I can remember lying awake, listening to the arguments between my parents and my grandmother. She would never say anything negative to me about their
parenting; what they were and were not doing correctly in her eyes. But she didn’t stutter or mince words when she had had her fill and finally let them have it. Although I wasn’t meant to hear those discussions, all it did was cause my resentment to start slightly earlier that it would have otherwise. My friend’s parents were present at school programs. My friend’s mothers arranged sleepovers and sent flowers to their daughters on their birthdays. If mine weren’t on the road or too hungover from the night before, I might get a groggy, “hey, isn’t your birthday coming up or did we miss it?” But missed birthdays and school programs didn’t bother me in comparison to other areas of their neglect. No, I’d say having to push drunk adult men out of my teenage bed had been the breaking point. Especially when I had been called a melodramatic liar and the whole incident was dismissed entirely. That was one of the many failures by my parents that had been the driving force behind my strict parental involvement in Ruth’s life. Glendon and I had argued about the fact that I was against us having dinner parties or barbecues that involved alcohol in the presence of children. He had accused me of being too uptight and protective, holding firm to the argument that we were not my parents and had ten times the sense they did when it came to raising kids. That, I agreed with, but not enough to go against my judgment and what I had experienced.
Spending most of Ruth’s life moving around from base to base, and her father’s mostly absent presence until his death five years ago, I focused on making the future bright and every available moment an adventure. Focusing on her gave me peace and made losing Glendon somewhat bearable. I’m sure some would say I put all of my hurt and anguish into being the best mother I knew how to be, or at least that’s what I hoped the few people who knew me would say. Instead of allowing myself to process the grief, I channeled all of those unwanted emotions into making her life something desirable. But somewhere along the way, my focus became a bit of an obsession, and what I’m discovering is that can be almost as harmful as neglect. Ruth is at a friend’s having her own version of freedom and fun. The world has not crumbled around me, and I know by her responses to my fifteen text messages that she is alive and well, safe with another adult besides me. All I’m left with now is a question of why. Why has it taken me to the age of thirty to finally start living my life? In all the lessons that I want to teach Ruth, being so focused you forget to live life isn’t one of them.