That’s how it started. I was going to buy a new pair of jeans and a shirt. Then I passed the Aveda Academy down the street. There was a sign that said WALK-INS WELCOME. That was a rare occurrence at Aveda. They were always booked. What the hell! I was tired of cutting my own bangs or praying that the girl I got stuck with at The Hair Cuttery wasn’t too new. Why not spoil myself? It was the Academy, so the haircuts were cheap, but training or not; it was still Aveda.
The power of Dennis compelled me. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a chair while Tanya, a very cute girl with magenta highlights, ran her fingers through my hair. “How about we go with a darker color? It’ll bring out the fire in your eyes.”
Fire in my eyes? Girlfriend Tanya was working me hard for a tip. “I don’t know — it’s always been this color.” It might be a blah blondish brown, but it was mine and I was used to it.
She looked at me in the mirror. “Come on, let’s give it a try.”
As a rule I don’t think it’s safe to trust girls with magenta streaks to make coloring choices, but I said okay before I could stop myself.
Four hours later, I was staring at a girl I didn’t know. Her eyebrows had been waxed, her hair was a fierce burning red that only buxom goddesses, sci-fi she-warriors, and pin-up girls possess. My hair was soft and curled in all the right places, and even my cowlick was disguised.
Tanya was pleased with herself. “I love it!”
So did I.
I never look at myself in the mirror. Seriously, no good comes from a mirror. It was a mirror that stirred up all that trouble for Snow White. Looking in the mirror has never brought anything pleasant for me, that’s for sure. Only this time, it wasn’t so bad. I didn’t mind catching a glimpse of myself when I walked by the store windows at the mall. In fact, I stopped in front of one store to look at my hair one more time—that’s when I met my destiny.
My destiny was disguised as a dress. The prettiest dress I’d ever seen. A little dark green, short, flouncy dress with an empire waist and a plunging neckline. If it were pink, it would have been perfect for Peyton. Green was perfect for me.
Only there was one problem. I was used to shopping in the plus-size section of Walmart. I’d never walked into this store in my life. This was a real-person store. Chubby girls were prohibited from going into this store. I wasn’t sure I was a real person yet. Yes, I’d been exercising and dieting, but was it enough?
I wanted that dress. I also wanted to avoid humiliating myself. I didn’t want the Gwynnie Paltrow salesgirl to laugh me out of the store. Maybe I should just do what I’d planned to do: march my butt to the chubby chick store and get something there.
But I really wanted that dress.
A thought popped in my head. What would Peyton do?
Peyton would walk right into the store, dragging some random frat boy behind her, go into the dressing room, make him a willing captive of her flesh, kick him out, and then try on that dress. Pillaging a frat boy was not my scene, but I could go in and just look at the dress. The Gwynnie Paltrow salesgirl didn’t have to know who I was looking for, and I just had to see what sizes they had. I could go in and come straight out if they didn’t have a size big enough.
I stepped in.
I expected alarms to go off, maybe flashing lights, to alert the sales staff that there was a chub in the store, but nothing happened. In fact no one was in sight, so I found the dress and flipped through the sizes. Five, six, seven, eight… all too small… and then a twelve. I didn’t know if I could fit into a size twelve.
“Do you want to try it on?”
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
The salesgirl smiled at me. She had a bouncy brown ponytail and big blue eyes. She seemed nice, but so does Gwynnie in all her movies. Paltrows can be deceptive.
“It’ll be a great color on you!” she perked.
I lowered my voice, even though it seemed to be just the two of us in the store. “I don’t know if it will fit.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
She dragged me to the dressing room. My possible humiliation was not going to be for my eyes only. Oh no, it was going to be a public humiliation. Later on, the bouncy-haired salesgirl would eat her lettuce lunch in the back room with her friends, and they would laugh as she regaled them with the tale of the fat girl trying on the flouncy little dress. Then for one last laugh, they’d have twenty pizzas delivered to the girls who worked at the chubby store.
My heart was pounding when I slipped the dress over my head, and it slid down my body.
It slid down my body!
The dress fit! Better yet, it was flouncy and flirty and hid my “problem” area.
“Is it working?” Bouncy asked.
I opened the door and for the first time I opened my heart to a possible Paltrow. “What do you think?”
She smiled at me. “I think it looks awesome! I love it!”
Me, too.
Two skirts, three pairs of jeans, four t-shirts, two blouses, one dress and two push-up bras later, I left the store a very happy girl.
The entire time, I thought of Peyton. Peyton would have bought the dress, and she would have jeans that fit. Peyton was strong and confident, and, when she put her mind to it, there was nothing she couldn’t do. Yeah, she was a horn dog, but she was also smart, funny, and there was no denying her sense of adventure. Maybe Dennis was right. Maybe deep inside me, a bit of Peyton was screaming to express herself.
W.W.P.D.
“What would Peyton do?” was my new battle cry.
Chapter Seven
I could hear my phone ringing the second I walked into the apartment building. The stairs up to the second floor were pretty steep and hard; I knew from experience. The previous year in a rainstorm, I’d slipped, and fell all the way down. A close look at my face would show a tiny dent where my chin hit each step on the way down. I hadn’t raced up the stairs since, but this time I did. My phone was my paycheck, and I wasn’t going to miss it.
I was panting when I answered.
“Darlin’, you’ve missed me. Listen to all that heavy breathing. Maybe I should charge you for this call.” Jim chuckled.
“I thought it might be you, so I had to run up the stairs with all my shopping bags.” I turned on the charm. “I didn’t want to miss talking to you.”
“Shopping, eh? Where did you go?”
“You know, Victoria’s Secret, Frederick’s of Hollywood.” I started to hang my clothes as we talked.
“Nothing from those stores could’ve weighed that much.”
What? I wasn’t sure, but Jim might’ve made a fat joke. Fat jokes from people who didn’t even know me were completely unacceptable, especially after I had just slid into a gorgeous size twelve dress.
W.W.P.D? What would Peyton do?
She’d back-hand him so hard that he’d go flying. Then she’d step on him without a thought in her perfect size six stiletto heels, leaving him begging for more. That really wasn’t an option for me, but I liked the thought of it.
“I didn’t tell you how much stuff I bought, did I? I also managed to go to a few shoe stores.” I went for the jugular. “Oh Jim, I got the sexiest pair of open-toed high heels. If only you could see them.” He was a sucker for open-toed heels.
“What color are your toenails?” He whispered.
“It’s called Cadillac pink.” There was no need to tell him that in reality I’d never once painted my toenails.
“That makes me wish I could do a call. I really just wanted to tell you to have a good weekend. I’m sure you’ve got something special going on tonight.”
“Not really. I’m going out tomorrow night. Tonight, it’s just me and the TV.”
“Why Peyton, you’re telling me my plans are more exciting than anything you’re doing? Surely there must be a few young men in Georgia you haven’t completely destroyed yet.” Jim thought Peyton lived in Atlanta. He was always calling her his little peach. “I’m going out tonight.”
“Dinner at a pizza joint with the family?”
“The wife and kiddies are away for the weekend. I’m going to meet one of my business partners for a drink at a place down by the beach, and I plan on picking up a girl and getting laid. Get this: the place is called The Alibi. Is that a great name for what I’ve got planned, or what?”
The Alibi was a restaurant on Treasure Island. I knew exactly where it was. It reminded me of the Disney movie Lady and the Tramp. Specifically, the scene when the dogs are eating spaghetti, and things are about as romantic as they can be for a pair of pooches. It had the same candles, the same checkered table cloths, and, while I wasn’t sure about accordions and singing cooks, I did know they played a lot of violin music and made great lasagna there. The bar served sangria so good that just the thought of it made my toes tingle. Oddly enough, it was a “locals only” place. Tourists seemed to prefer Beach Buns, a fried seafood joint that was a cheap imitation of Hooters. The Alibi was quiet and further up the beach than most tourists were willing to go. Whatever Jim had going on, he wanted to be a secret or romantic.
Jim let out a big sigh. “Who am I kidding? I don’t even know how to talk to women. I have to pay to talk to you. You know Peyton, it sucks when the only person who listens to you is paid to do it. Do you know how long it’s been since a woman has paid any attention to me?”
I felt bad for Jim. To the outside world, he seemed to have everything. In reality, he was the loneliest person I’d ever known. I was the only person who listened to him and he had to pay me two dollars a minute for it. It didn’t make me feel very good about myself.
“Do you think someone might find me attractive?”
“Of course, Jim; you’re funny. Girls always like someone who can make them laugh. You’re smart, too. There are a lot of women out there who’d be interested in you. I really believe that.” I did, too. It didn’t matter what he looked like. Jim was an okay guy. He did make me laugh. He was fun and intelligent; then there was the money. Lots of girls loved a man with money.
“I look a little like Harrison Ford before he got old. That’s what people tell me, anyway.”
Hell, even old Harrison Ford looks good.
“If you look like Harrison Ford, you’re not going to have a problem. Who wouldn’t want a night with Indiana Jones?”
“Peyton, if I meet someone tonight, I don’t think I’d do anything. I’m not sure I’m ready for that. How about I call you at midnight? We’ll have a nice, long, romantic talk. It’ll be a date.”
“I’ll be waiting, Jim.”
“I might have good news. The friend I’m meeting can help me take care of all my problems. By midnight, I’ll be a new man. I can cut ties with all my obligations. I mean all of them. I’m not going to be miserable anymore, Peyton. Not after this meeting. Who knows? Maybe I’ll come visit a certain little Georgia peach I know. I can’t wait to tell you all about it tonight. There’s no girl I’d rather celebrate with. Talk soon, okay?”
“Midnight.” As soon as I said the word, he was gone.
Right then it occurred to me. I’d never seen a picture of Jim. I went to my computer and Googled his name. There were three-thousand, five hundred and seventy Jim Alexanders who had pictures on the Internet and none of the pages I scanned had a St. Pete Web address that popped out at me. The only one I could rule out was a 1955 bodybuilder. I wanted to do a better in-depth search, but the phone rang again.
I made my voice soft and breathy. “Hello?”
“Emily?”
Damn! I hated it when I did that! I assumed the call was for Peyton, and it was for me! It was a natural assumption. Peyton got far more calls than I did, but it was sure embarrassing when it happened. “Yes, this is Emily.”
“Hi, it’s Rick. Who were you expecting?”
“Oh, I thought you were my dad.”
“You talk to your Dad like that? No offense, Emily, but you sounded…”
“It’s a joke we play. I try to make him believe he called the wrong number. Sometimes I hold my nose and pretend I’m the operator or something. One time I had him completely convinced he’d called a Ford dealership.” It was the first thing I could think of. My stomach curled when I said it. Why was this happening to me?
“So this time you were pretending to be a phone sex operator?”
“Uh-huh.” It was the only sound I could make.
“No offense, Emily, but that’s a little weird.”
“It didn’t seem weird until it was you on the other end. Now I’m really embarrassed.”
“I liked it. You can answer like that anytime I call.”
He had to be laughing at me. No man in his right mind wouldn’t be.
“I know it’s late notice, but I’ve been thinking about you and I didn’t want to wait to see you. I work a late shift tonight; I’d like to take you out to dinner before I go in.”
After my extreme dork-out, he wanted to take me out to dinner? That implied he was paying. That meant it was a date. Rick Diaz, Latin hottie, with skin like caramel, wanted to go on a date with me. I had to keep cool. “Sure. I think that sounds nice.”
“I know a place. It’s on Treasure Island, and they serve great lasagna.”
NO! Please don’t say it…
“The Alibi.”
This can’t be happening to me!
“I’ll meet you there. I know exactly where it is.” I said it as fast as I could. I didn’t want to give myself a chance to think about it. Peyton wouldn’t let a guy like Rick escape her perfectly manicured grip, and Emily was taking lessons. I wasn’t going to let it happen either.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”
“No, that’s okay. I don’t mind driving.” I shut up and let Peyton do the talking. “If I meet you there, we can spend a little more time together. You won’t have to take me home and then rush off to work.”
“Okay. Then I’ll see you tonight.”
After I hung up the phone, I did a jig of glee. I was going on a date.
My guts were quivering, and I wasn’t sure if it was a “hallelujah” quiver or a what-the-hell-are-you-doing quiver. One thing was certain: I was glad I’d gone shopping.
Then reality clocked me in the face. What was I doing? Jim Alexander was going to be there! Why had I agreed to go?
Why? Because Rick seemed as decent as he was handsome. He seemed to like me. I tried to shake off the bad feeling I had. It wasn’t like Jim actually knew me. He knew Peyton. She wasn’t going to be there tonight. Emily was going out tonight. I was going to a nice place with a nice guy. We were going to have a nice meal and a nice time. I don’t care what anyone else says, I’m a fan of nice.
Chapter Eight
I got to The Alibi early. While I was getting ready, I thought of every conceivable thing that could go wrong. When I put on my cute little green dress, I imagined accidentally dumping a big plate of spaghetti in my lap. When I was curling my hair, I imagined missing my mouth and having sangria spill down my chin and go straight into my bra. When I was putting on my make-up, I imagined falling in the middle of the restaurant, my skirt flying over my head, and displaying my granny panties for all to see. At least they’d be new.
It was in the car that I imagined the worst scenario, though. I pictured a rakishly handsome Harrison Ford in an Indiana fedora coming over to me, knowing I was Peyton, confronting me, calling me a fraud, all in front of my hot date who’d be horrified to hear about my chosen profession. The whole scene ended with Rick throwing salad at me. I’d be left there alone, vinaigrette dressing dripping into my eyes, temporarily blinding me and rendering me unable to drive home. I’d have to call Dennis for a ride, and he’d just laugh and laugh as I pulled tomatoes out of my hair.
The place was nearly empty, and the waiter gave me my choice of tables. I opted for something in the back, although I regretted the decision almost immediately. I should’ve gotten something closer to the door, in case I had to bolt out.
I don�
�t know why I was so worried. Jim Alexander wasn’t going to know I was his little peach Peyton, and he certainly wasn’t going to out me as a phone kitten. I would not dump spaghetti in my lap, dribble sangria into my bra, or be temporarily blinded by salad dressing. It was going to be a perfectly lovely evening. I didn’t know Jim Alexander any more than he knew me. I was just excited about seeing Rick, and that was it.
I ordered a drink and began to look over the menu. I wanted to order something that would be “mess free,” just in case. This was going to be my study time.
“Rum and Coke.”
I felt my eyes bulge. I’m sure they came close to falling out on my shoes. I knew that voice. It was him. It was Jim Alexander.
I wanted to crawl under the table, but instead I spun my head and gaped at him.
Jim Alexander was a liar. No one had ever told him that he looked like Harrison Ford, because he didn’t. If I squinted my eyes and looked at him, maybe he had a chubby Bill Pullman thing going, but there wasn’t a trickle of Indiana Jones in him. He wasn’t unattractive. A lot of girls would like a man like Jim with his dark blond hair and his dark suit and power tie. There was enough of the handsome man he’d probably been in his twenties to be appealing. That he was a successful, secure businessman who knew a lot about tax shelters, stock options, and money markets, would only make him more attractive. I wasn’t that type of girl. I was spunky. Spunky girls like to pull themselves up by the bootstraps. I was also a nervous girl. Nervous girls couldn’t handle the pressure of the country club clique.
Naturally, he caught me staring.
He smiled and even winked at me. Was he for real? I knew it was ridiculous, but I was mad at Jim for lying to me. Of course, Peyton’s just about the biggest lie there was. She didn’t exist. But I was paid to lie. Anyone who calls a phone sex line knows that. Deep down inside, they’ve got to know phone sex is a fib. There’s no way Peyton could be lounging around the house touching herself at all hours of the day and still have the time to pull off the exploits they longed to hear about. She was a randy minx, not a time-traveler. On the other hand, Jim Alexander had no reason to lie, and I was a little hurt by that.
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 5