Baby Girl

by Hildreth, Scott

  My heart racing from hearing the motorcycle, I began to pull away from the light. Thinking of what I actually wanted from Erik, I exited the frontage road, got onto the highway, and drove west down Kellogg, headed toward Old Town. What I wanted. What was it that wanted? Did I want it, or did I just want to think about it? I felt as if I was being sucked into some form of game and I had no idea what the rules were.

  And I hadn’t even talked to him yet. Not really. The thought of him excited me greatly and not in ways that normally excited me. I had a tremendous desire to see him. To understand him. I wanted to know him, to see what it was that made him be the way that he was. His motorcycle, the tattoos, and that physique. His way of walking that made him look like he had no care in the world, and didn’t fear anything.

  Watching him just walk to that motorcycle almost made me melt. I don’t know that I could accurately describe or define what it was that he did to me, the way he made me feel that was different. Maybe it was just that – the unknown. The not knowing exactly what it was that made him up. Not knowing what it was that he would want from me, desire of me, and require of me.

  What in the world was I thinking? I never had these types of thoughts before. I never consciously wanted a man before. I settled for whoever I decided that I was going to spend time with, and I spent time with them until I didn’t want to anymore, and then I was on to the next person. Having a want for one person was what made people weak. It’s what made people make stupid decisions like getting married and having a family and becoming divorced. Who knows? Maybe he wouldn’t even answer.

  What if he was just playing a game…?

  I got my phone and pulled the business card from my purse. Erik Ead. I typed the number into my text screen, saved it as Erik Ead, and thought. As I exited the highway and began driving into Old Town, I contemplated whether or not to send a lengthy text, a cute text, or something sexy. These things we girls have to decide. What should I say? I am going to struggle with this all night.

  I pulled into the parking lot, and eased the car into the basement parking garage. After I parked, I sat in the car and thought. I typed into the text screen.

  Erik Ead: This is Kelli. How are you this evening?

  I read and reread the message. It seemed too simple. Too long. Too stupid. I erased it. Quickly, I typed another message.

  Erik Ead: I am not ready for bed, it’s still early. But, this IS before my head hit’s my pillow, so…

  I looked at the message. I read it, and reread it. I’m not ready for bed, it’s still early. I’m not in bed. I’m in bed. I wish you were here. My head hasn’t hit my pillow. I wish you hadn’t left so soon, have time to talk? I thought of every combination of ways to text him. What has happened? Think, Kelli, think. This is easy. Think like he’s going to think. Send what he wants to read, but not what he expects. Don’t be some stupid girl. I pondered a moment, and typed a new text.

  Erik Ead: As instructed, Kelli

  I pushed send.

  I stared at my phone. Nothing. I waited. Nothing. I reopened my text screen, nothing. I grabbed my purse, pulled my keys from the ignition, and got out of the car. Clutching my phone in my hand, I started walking to the elevator. My heels clicking on the concrete basement floor, every step was amplified. With each click of my heels, I remembered walking behind him in the parking lot. I pushed the button and waited for the elevator. As I waited, I checked my phone. Nothing. I held my purse with my chin, and used both hands to power the phone off. As I depressed the button, killing the power, the elevator opened.

  “Hey Kelli, how’s it going,” Wes said as he walked around me. About three steps past me, he turned and waited for a response.

  “Great Wes, thanks. I’m just headed up to the loft to relax,” I responded.

  “Have a great night.”

  “Thanks, you too,” the elevator door closed as I was finishing speaking.

  Wes was one of those guys that was as nice as a human being could ever be. I met him a few weeks ago when I moved into this place. I had just graduated college, and was scheduled to go to Columbia at the end of the summer, and got a friends end section of her lease in a loft in Old Town, in the bar district. The lease ended the week I was supposed to leave for New York, so it worked perfectly. I thought it would allow me to really enjoy my last summer before I went away for grad school.

  As the elevator began to rise, I powered my phone back up. The elevator door opened as the phone beeped. Thank God. I opened the text screen.

  Heather Whore: Hey

  Fuck, fuck, fuck. Heather. Why is it that whenever you want a text from someone, you always get one from someone you don’t want one from, and that just makes it worse. You’re mad at them, because they’re not the one you want to hear from, and it also reminds you that the person you did want to hear from didn’t text you yet. I looked at the text again, and didn’t respond.

  I reached my door, and fumbled with the keys, holding my phone in my hand, hoping for a response to the text. Placing the phone between my chin and my shoulder, I unlocked the door. I turned the door handle and pulled the key from the door. As I was swinging the door open, my phone beeped. I dropped my purse on the floor, dropped the keys and stopped. My heart racing, I looked at the screen. Please, please, be Erik. Please. As I opened the screen, I realized that I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, hoping it was him. I kicked off my heels and looked at the screen.

  Erik Ead: You’re a good girl. I’m pleased with you, Kelli.

  I read and reread the text message. Something about it turned me on. It also started to make me angry. I read it again. You’re a good girl…I am not a girl, I am a woman. I read it again. Every time I read it, it turned me on a little bit more; the thought of him calling me a girl. I have no idea why, but this guy was crawling inside of my head. I’m pleased with you, Kelli. I read, reread and reread the message again. I pleased Erik Ead. The hottest hunk of man to ever grace this earth. My head started to spin. I ran to the couch, and flopped down onto the cushions, facing the ceiling. Holding my phone above my head, and facing the ceiling, I read the text again, and thought…

  I could feel my heart beating in my throat. I wanted this to work so much. I wanted him to want me as bad as I wanted him. Why would he have me text him if he didn’t want to know me? If there wasn’t at least a little part of him that didn’t want to see me or get to know me? He wouldn’t. I looked at the screen again. I began to type a response.

  Erik Ead: Would you like me to call?

  I looked at the message, and pushed send. Think long, think wrong, that’s what I have always said. Instantly, the phone beeped.

  Erik Ead: Please do.

  I stared at the screen. My heart raced even more. I thought of what he might want to talk about. I felt like I may get sick. Bile rose in my throat. I unbuttoned my slacks, and dropped them to the floor, kicking them toward my bedroom. I took off my shirt, and threw it to toward the room as well. Lying on the couch in my bra and panties, I selected his name and pushed send. The phone rang three times.

  “How are you, Kelli?” his voice made me wiggle on the couch. I crossed my legs.

  “I’m good, how are you?” I responded.

  Lying on the couch half-naked, I looked at my stomach. I felt fat. I was close to my period, and I felt so inflated. So bloated. I looked great, but I felt like shit. I wondered if he looked at me now, if he would even want me. A “C” cup breast size wasn’t much by today’s standard. In the purchased boobs world we all had to compete with, five foot nine, 120 pound girls had a huge D cup. My small frame made my medium sized boobs look bigger than they were. Hopefully they would be big enough for him.

  He should be happy; I looked good for someone that was bloated.

  “I am well, thank you. I’d like to meet you for a cup of coffee in the morning, your thoughts?” he said very in a very matter of fact tone. I loved hearing this guy talk.

  “I don’t have to work, so sure, what time?”

 
“How about nine?” he asked.

  I uncrossed my legs. Kicking one over the back of the couch, and placing my other foot on the floor, I laid there, legs spread, and smiled, answering, “That sounds great, where?”

  “Espresso A Go-Go, downtown, you know the place?”

  “Yes, it’s a block from my house,” I responded.

  “I will see you there. Sleep well,” he said. And that was it. He was gone.

  Excited and disappointed at the same time, I crossed my legs again. Thinking of him, I started to tingle and feel warm. What would it feel like to have his hands touch me? Would he touch me, or was he just trying to get to know me? Did he want to be friends or lovers? I couldn’t continue to have these thoughts. My mind was running all over the place. I walked to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

  I got my wipes and wiped the make-up from my face. As I brushed my teeth, I imagined him and I having coffee together. The thought excited me. I couldn’t wait to hear his voice and see him walk. I finished brushing my teeth and weighed myself. 120 bloated fat feeling pounds. I fucking hate the menstrual cycle. I walked to the bedroom, and got into bed. Looking at the clock, I was reminded of the time, 6:34. I couldn’t stay awake any longer. The thought of seeing him in the morning was more than I could take. I set my phone on the dresser, set my alarm, and fell asleep.

  ************

  When the alarm went off the next morning, I bounced out of bed, excited to start this day. A typical Saturday was sleeping in until about nine, and being lazy. Who would ever think I went to bed on a Friday night at seven o’clock? I sat up in bed and looked at my phone. It was flashing. I had forgotten to text Heather back, I was sure she had texted me wondering where I was. I opened the text screen, and looked for messages. There was an unopened text from Heather, and one from Erik. I opened Erik’s.

  Erik Ead: Kelli, I like watching you walk. I like watching your mouth open and hearing the words form on your tongue. I want to know you. I don’t want to know you from having you text me your favorite color, your favorite restaurant, and your list of favorite songs; I want to know you from exposure. I want to witness you exist. I want to absorb you.

  I stared at the screen. I reread the text countless times. What was this guy doing to me? What was his plan? Whatever it was, it was working.

  And it was working well.

  ERIK. The beginning of the day was always the best part. It allowed me to look at an empty canvas, and see the day as being full of opportunities, and not necessities. I finished my work out, showered, ate breakfast, and got dressed. After deciding to ride the motorcycle, I wore the basic attire for the bike, jeans, tee-shirt, and boots. Eager to meet Kelli, and start the process of mind fucking her, I went to the garage and started the bike.

  On the ride to the coffee shop, I began to plan the meeting. Kelli was young, and she was pretty, but she was not stupid. She acted as if she had an agenda. She appeared to have some form of determination to achieve whatever it was that she placed on her list of goals. Her body structure, stride, and posture indicated she exercised regularly. This form of discipline was attractive to me. She was attractive to me. Her personality type was a coin toss. She may be receptive, and easy to convince, or she may be a little more difficult, and take time. She would, without a doubt, eventually be eager to listen to my offerings and apply herself to obtain the results. Breaking her may be difficult. It was always important for me to find that breaking point, and back of a little bit. Knowing where the line was drawn was almighty important to the success of a good partnership.

  I exited the highway onto Douglas Ave. and proceeded to Espresso A Go-Go. I wasn’t sure of what Kelli drove, but scanning the coffee shop produced no young women, so I assumed she had not arrived yet. Good, she was not overly eager. I glanced at my watch, 8:50. I waved at Warren through the window, and went in to get a coffee. In my recent adult life, coffee and women had become my two faults. Coffee to a greater degree than women, as I always felt as if I can go without women. Going without coffee would certainly lead to my early demise.

  “Your regular, Erik?” he asked.

  “Sure Warren, make it a large, I will be here for a while,” I handed his wife Ann the money for the coffee, and received my change and a receipt.

  The coffee shop sat on the corner, and had two solid walls of windows facing the streets that approached it. I could see outside in all directions. Warren handed me my coffee, and went right back to developing his poison for the next customer. This place had a constant flow of customers in and out all day, and I enjoyed it for that reason - people watching at its best.

  A girl in a Mini Cooper pulled past an SUV parked at the curb in front of the coffee shop. Hidden by a truck in front of the SUV for a mere second, it quickly backed up, and with precision, maneuvered into the space between the back of the truck and the front of the SUV. Parallel parking had become a lost art, and this girl had it down to a science. A she removed her sunglasses, I noticed it was Kelli. She got out of the car, noticed me through the glass, and began to walk to the door. Jean shorts, a tank and a light hoodie. Chucks. This girl didn’t know it, but she had dressed to impress. Simplicity made me weak.

  When she entered, we shared a simple smile. After she ordered, she came and sat at the table. As I folded the receipt, and placed it on the table, I noticed her calf muscles as she stretched to get on the stool. Her hair smelled the way it did at the dealership. My nostrils filled with the smell of her hair and clean skin. A light perfume topped the neat, clean, presentable odor she offered.

  “Good morning, Erik,” she said, extending a hand.

  “Good morning, Kelli. What did you order?” I asked, grasping her hand lightly in mine.

  “Cold brew. I love the coffee here, it’s like sex,” she responded.

  “How so?” I asked.

  “It’s extremely satisfying all by itself,” she said, smiling.

  “I have three questions for you, Kelli, okay?”

  “Okay,” she responded.

  “Just answer them for now, they’re simple,” I stated.

  “One, can you use chop sticks for their intended purpose?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she responded, looking puzzled.

  “Two, have you ever eaten a grapefruit, and if so, did you like it?”

  “Yes, and yes,’ she responded as she frowned at me.

  “Third, and last one. Have you ever, or would you consider, going on a date with an African American man,”

  “I haven’t, not because I won’t, I don’t guess. Well, wow. Uhhm. Well, I suppose if I was attracted to a guy, and he was nice, I wouldn’t rule out anything. But I haven’t,” she responded as she looked at her well-manicured fingernails.

  “How’d I do?” she asked, looking up from her fingernail inspection, smiling.

  “You did fabulous, we will discuss it later,” I answered.

  Warren handed her the coffee, and she responded with a “Thank you” lip movement. I stretched back in my chair and studied her body through the hoodie. She appeared to be in exceptional shape, but it was impossible to know her body structure for certain through the loose fitting hoodie.

  “Everything okay?” she asked, looking puzzled over the top of her cup as she began to take a drink.

  “Just fine. Observing, Kelli, that’s all.”

  “I enjoyed your text last night,”

  “That’s good. Let’s talk about that for a moment,” I responded, sitting back in my stool.

  Placing her cup on the table, she looked at me intently. I studied her face. This girl was not a girl; she was a determined woman - someone with an agenda, a plan. At least in her mind, she wasn’t afraid of whatever I was about to discuss or propose. I picked up my coffee, and took a slow sip for effect, then began to speak.

  “For the sake of this conversation, I am speaking of me and only me for now. This, at this time, has nothing to do with my expectations of you, or any wants, needs, or desires of you. Understand?”

&nbs
p; “Yes, I understand.”

  “I haven’t been in a relationship for my entire life. For the most part, all I have done is date around. I am no man-whore; I am extremely selective on who I see, and who I have sex with. I may see someone for a year or so, and never have sex with them. It depends totally on the person, on me, and on how I feel about the situation. Also, it hinges on their capacity to handle things. This is going to take a few minutes, so let me finish before you start asking questions, okay?”

  She nodded and smiled.

  “Some people are not able to make mental sense of a sex only relationship. These types of people are not for me. If there is an emotional attachment, or any expectation, things seem to fall apart. If I see, up front, that this is what a person is apt to expect…I will not allow myself to continue. It’s not fair to either one of us. I know my abilities, my capacities, and what my hopes are. I have no expectations. Expectations of others are never met, and that leads to being let down, being disappointed, and being hurt. Living, for me, with hope instead of expectation allows me to keep myself safe. Does that make sense so far?”

  She smiled, and nodded her head once, slowly. As she tossed her hair over her shoulder, I continued to speak.

  “My father died when I was young. I grew up here, in Wichita without a father. I lived modestly, on the north side, and went to a private school. I was extremely intelligent, but rebellious. I ended up going to school for about thirteen years, all told, and became a psychiatrist. After school, I took a year to relax and ride my motorcycle, which is something I truly enjoy. In the first month or so after graduating, my mother was killed by a drunk driver,” I inhaled, and started to continue.

  “Oh, Erik, I am so sorry,” She said softly, reaching toward my hand.