“Are you sure? Like, did someone tell you they saw something?”
She finally got the rope free and it hung there limp and straight. She shook her head no. “I’ve never felt so distant from him. He barely talks to me, and…”
“What?”
“The sex isn’t—something’s wrong.”
Fat beads of sweat were gliding down her forehead, over her cheeks, along the length of her neck, and grouping in the small hollow just above where her collarbones met. Her hair was pulled back in a tight tail, darker, but natural, blonde roots at the scalp. And even with a flushed complexion and a stressed out demeanor, George couldn’t understand how any man would ever get tired of being intimate with her.
He didn’t have anything to say and so she walked a few feet into the middle of the mat, undid the harness, and let it slide down around her ankles.
“You’re done for tonight?” he asked, joining her.
“Yeah, unless you want to go again?”
“Nah, I’m okay.” He took off his harness and sat down with her. On the rubbery ground, he untied his climbing shoes so his feet could breathe. Then he scratched the stubble of his cheeks. George always had the appearance of an older man, with his pronounced, bushy black eyebrows and constant five o’clock shadow.
Sitting there together, George couldn’t help but recall their high school days when she’d dated a guy who was a senior when she was only a sophomore. They were going to be together forever. That’s what he’d told her anyway. Then when he moved to Illinois for college Tiffany tried and tried to call him, but he never answered. He just put up a wall, completely ignored her every attempt to reach out to him, as if she’d never even existed. The only proof they’d even known each other or been together was the pictures of them. George knew her deepest fear was being humiliated like that again.
George had now had plenty of time to see the way Tiffany looked at Patrick. It was the special look a woman gives a man. It made George angry, sometimes so much so that he would have to leave the room. It was the look of infatuation, the look of being in love. More than anything else in the world George wanted a woman to look at him that way. He fantasized about it more than sex. He just wanted a girl he loved to look back at him the same way. Just once.
And yet, his whole life he had to watch as girls fawned over the Patrick’s of the world. George carried a reservoir of hurt inside, like puss all around his soul, and each time he saw this phenomenon, a little more pain was deposited.
George stared as Tiffany leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. She was hopelessly in love with a jerk who, in George’s eyes, barely had a morsel of honesty inside him. A guy like him would never appreciate a girl like George did. He would never appreciate the look. Never.
“My feet might stink,” Tiffany said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
He laughed. “It’s okay.”
She undid her laces and took the shoes off, revealing her cute, small feet with purple nail polish on the toes.
Tiffany rolled onto her back, skimmed the sweat off her face, and took heavy breaths while George watched her chest rise and fall. She was wearing a white tank top with a sports bra underneath, and he saw the faint outline of her nipples as they pushed against the fabric. George wanted to respect her, but couldn’t help sneaking at least a glance.
She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. “Would you mind stretching me? My calves are aching.”
As she laid back down flat and he positioned himself between her legs, he thought of why girls felt so trusting with him, so comfortable letting him do things that on the surface seemed intimate or sexual but really weren’t. She lifted her left leg and he stared at it for a moment, the skin of her thigh a bit moist still from the sweat.
“I’m not too sweaty, am I?” she asked.
“It’s fine.” He closed one hand around her ankle and then slid it up to the ball of her foot. The back of her calf laid against his shoulder, and his other hand moved to the top of her thigh to straighten it.
She whimpered impishly as the leg straightened and her muscles began to pull. He loved the sound she made. A shudder of arousal ran through him as he gently eased down on the ball of her foot with his hand and she whimpered again. Her legs were smooth as a table.
“Now come forward,” she insisted. “For my hamstring.”
He complied, still on his knees, and came forward until his pelvis was pressed into the back of her thigh, and her leg was stretched back almost to where she could kiss her own shin. George’s entire body weight was pressing on her, and she was emphatically nodding at him as he did it, loving the pain, sweat again breaking on her forehead from the exertion.
“A little further, please.”
He had to hop up onto his feet in a standing squat to get the leg all the way back as far as she wanted it. It looked fiercely painful to him, but she endured as her kneecap pressed into her breast. Tiffany sucked in rapid breaths like there was a straw between her lips and then hissed them out. She caught George’s eye, noticing the peculiar expression he held on his face. “What is it?” she asked.
“I think I have to fart,” he replied.
“Ewww, get off.”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he said, laughing. He used it as an excuse to relieve the pleasurable pressure that was building inside him.
“Okay,” Tiffany said matter-of-factly. “That’s good. Now the other.”
George slowly released her leg and remained slightly hunched. He could sense growing arousal down below. She seemed not to notice his awkwardness, or at least pretended she didn’t.
He got into the same ridiculous position over her with the other leg pinned between their two bodies.
“So what do you think? she asked.
“About what?”
“Am I being crazy with Patrick?”
He genuinely thought about it, and while he did, he pushed on the ball of her foot to really elongate her calf. It was just what he needed to quell any sort of arousal, thinking about Patrick Finch.
She got impatient. “I am being crazy.”
“I would normally say yes, but with Patrick you never know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve just heard the rumors, that’s all.” He hesitated. “You know the rumors, right?”
She hissed a breath, then considered his question. “Well, I don’t know exactly what you’ve heard…”
He let some of the disgust he felt for her at that moment slip through and he tweaked her toes forward hard. “Why would you date someone like that?”
She gave a flabbergasted look, partly of pain and partly like he’d insulted her.
“Like STD’s, I mean,” he said, scrambling. “Aren’t you worried?”
“I get tested twice a semester and so far, so good. You just don’t know him that well, George. If you did, I think you’d really like him. He’s done some things he isn’t proud of, but he doesn’t hide from them. He tells me everything. I respect that about him.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that.” The disgust was growing. “So what exactly is it that you love so much about him?”
Tiffany was becoming flustered, like she wasn’t used to ever being questioned about the decisions she’d made. George released her leg, let it come off his shoulder gently. She rolled up into sitting pretzel style. He mirrored her.
Finally, she huffed. “Why are you grilling me? I thought we talked about this already?”
George remembered her bizarre explanation weeks ago when they’d been in her apartment. George had to clear his throat. The disappointment in his eyes must have been obvious.
“Just don’t judge me,” she added, “that’s all I ask.”
“Well, I guess your paranoia is warranted then.” A sudden feeling of deep sadness struck him and he no longer wanted to be there.
“I know. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her blue eyes softened and she even batted them at him.
He knew she was about to ask for something he wouldn’t want to do.
“What?” his tone was jagged.
“If it’s too big a deal then forget it.”
He sighed. “No, it’s not. What is it?”
“Will you just watch him for me? Like if you hear anything or see anything, just let me know.”
“You want me to spy on him?”
“No, not spy, just… monitor. I just want to know if I’m being crazy or not, that’s all. And I trust your opinion.”
He shook his head. “Fine. Whatever you need.”
“I can get him to leave his phone out. If I get him alone and it’s there sitting out, will you look through it? Check his messages and texts and stuff? He’ll flip out if he sees me even going near it.”
“Uh…”
“Please, George!” She grabbed onto his shoulders and gave him an innocent pleading face.
“Fine, fine. I’m only doing this once, alright? Once.”
“Awww, thank you, Georgie!” she leaned across and hugged him.
“Don’t mention it. When do you want to do this? Tonight?”
“No, just whenever we’re all hanging out. I’m not sure when exactly. And there may be a few nights I need you to follow him around for a little while.”
George imagined following him around from bar to bar, watching him from across the room type stuff, with a detective hat on and glasses and fake nose. He nodded, grabbed his shoes, and stood up. Why had he agreed to do something so juvenile and gutless for her, something so petty? What was he, her friend or her little bitch-boy? He honestly didn’t know. All he knew was that he would begrudgingly do it, for no other reason than that he loved her.
Mallory
MALLORY WAS STARING OUT THE window of the storefront onto Main Street, watching the people go by, many of them with burnt red necks, looking washed out in the hot sunlight.
She spent a half hour leaned over the counter, her elbows going numb, just staring out. She eventually moved across the boutique to organize the high-priced oils; once she’d done that she dumped out two tubs of lip gloss and went through them one by one, making sure the ten-dollar lip gloss sticks hadn’t gotten thrown into the wrong bins with all the five-dollar lip gloss sticks.
It was in the dead periods like this at the high-end make-up boutique that Mallory thought she was losing her mind. The worse kind of losing your mind, where it slowly unhinges, one dreadful workday at a time.
The boutique was called Real Essence, a misnomer that Mallory often laughed at with a sense of deadened irony. The owner lived in Scottsdale, Arizona and only came in once a quarter to make sure the place was being run properly. She’d put Brenda in charge as General Manager. Mallory was directly below Brenda in the food chain. And besides her, there was a revolving door of younger college girls who seemed to come and go every six months or so, mainly because Brenda was such a raging bitch to work for.
As Mallory moved back behind the counter, she noticed the small calendar hanging up where all the employees marked their vacation days. Mallory didn’t have any days marked off, but she had drawn a big uneven circle on one day with a green Sharpie. She’d drawn it months beforehand and had only remembered it when the month of April had begun and someone flipped the page. That day, a Thursday in about a week, would mark two years that she had been employed at Real Essence.
Nearly two years she’d spent expecting some sort of promotion (at least in title) that hadn’t come. Mallory knew that when the date fell on the green circle day that it would come and then go without notice and it wouldn’t matter where in the calendar she drew the next one. Brenda had kept her right where she was for the last twenty-four months with only two fifty-cent raises along the way.
Mallory usually tuned out the two young girls that worked with her, but in the boredom and abyss of time that had passed since a customer came in, she found herself half-listening to their gossip. Mallory took a moment to stroll toward the rear of the shop where they were, mainly to make sure they didn’t ‘sample’ too much product while they worked their shift. Christine was a nice, mostly hard-working girl. The other, Lindsey, had just been brought on a month ago. One day she would be sweet, soft-spoken and helpful with customers. Other days, she would be moody, rudely outspoken, and wouldn’t even make eye contact with Mallory.
Mallory leaned up against one of the pillars, crossed her arms casually, and looked on, observing how the two teens could gab on about the bizarre and unending vagaries of their young dating lives for an eternity.
The two girls’ conversation turned to school, and Mallory glanced at her phone. Only two more hours before the day was finally finished. The girls asked if they could go home a bit early. They told Mallory they needed to study, which she didn’t buy, even though finals were nearing, but still, Mallory didn’t see an issue with letting them go home with it being so slow.
She went back to the front counter again to be alone and considered their plea, and then ultimately came back and told them no. They groaned and then quickly carried on with their conversation again, dismissing her presence.
If Brenda popped in—which she often did on her off days—or called, and the girls weren’t there… well, the thought of what would ensue made Mallory shiver, and simultaneously grit her teeth with frustration. She didn’t want the girls to think she was some up-tight bitch, because she wasn’t; in fact, she often smiled at how silly and vivacious the girls were. They reminded her of herself only a few years before, but she had no choice but to be strict.
Mallory settled up at the computer at the front counter to enter her hours for the week. With Teddy making a very good living, he was comfortable staying in Durango and making a life there. She knew this, and on the surface pretended to be fine with it. But there were times as she checked her account balance and saw her measly paycheck that her hand would clench down on the mouse. This time as she began striking keys, entering her shift hours in, her index finger inexplicably froze and hovered atop the number five. Her whole body started to ache. Mallory felt like she was being left behind, like her dreams didn’t matter. She had no career. She didn’t know exactly what she wanted to do yet, but how would she ever find out, being stuck in a life in this beautiful but perilously small mountain town?
She recalled a blow-up argument between her and Teddy that happened about a week ago. He threw it in her face that he made four times what she did. She’d run out of the house crying, hurled herself into her car, and drove off with her stomach in knots.
Teddy didn’t understand.
At last a customer came in and saved Mallory from her thoughts. Mallory showed her to the back of the store where there were two wide shelves of product and a demo chair in front of a large mirror that was lit all around by soft bulbs, made to enhance and smooth every woman’s face.
Not able to chit-chat anymore with the customer around, the girls migrated to the front of the store. Mallory’s ears perked up as there was another ring of the bell above the front entrance door. Someone came in that got the girls making noise. It wasn’t Brenda, not with the excited sound the girls were making.
The woman flipped over each and every tube or jar, wincing at the prices. Each and every one, she winced. Mallory suppressed a laugh. Right then Mallory knew she wasn’t going to buy. Once the realization occurred, Mallory could only focus on the noise at the front of the store.
The girls were laughing, and a young man’s voice carried. Probably some boy Lindsey knows, Mallory thought, with her blood pressure rising. They popped in from time to time to see her. Mallory knew the little twit texted them whenever her back was turned, or if she used the bathroom. Lindsey always acted like it was a coincidence. It was becoming a nuisance.
It occurred to Mallory once she had settled down that the anger she felt was actually a feeling of envy. Teddy had only come to see her once, during the first week she started at Real Essence, and hadn’t been back to pop in and surprise her since.
“Just holler
if you have any other questions,” Mallory said, giving up and giving the lady some space. She exhaled out pure stress as she walked to the front.
Her scowl was jolted off her face at seeing Patrick standing across the counter from Lindsey and Christine. She slowed, the thump of her boots on the wooden floor dampening. There was a sudden urge to turn around and retreat back to the rear, a sort of fight or flight response to seeing the guy she had slapped outside a quiet bar not too long ago after he’d impulsively kissed her. It was the only indiscretion she’d had while being with Teddy, and it was still eating her up inside. In fact, the emotions of that day were still fresh.
Just as she turned, she heard her name called.
“Mallory?” He’d seen her, his attention probably drawn by the odd trailing off of her footsteps.
“Patrick, hey.”
Lindsey and Christine looked over, confused that they knew one another.
There was a painful pause. “How did you know I worked here?” Mallory asked.
“I didn’t,” he admitted, smiling with his pretty white teeth, innocent looking to the point that she believed him. “I came to say hello to her.” He jerked his head at Lindsey.
“To her?” Lindsey repeated. “I have a name.”
“La-La-Li-Li…” he joked. “I can never remember.” He was smiling at Lindsey, in a way that made Mallory realize that maybe something sexual had gone on between the two of them.
Lindsey playfully reached across the counter and poked him.
“Well,” Mallory said, “we have a customer here, so maybe you want to wait until she’s gone to play fight.”
“I’m a customer,” Patrick said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a single wadded dollar bill. He held it up proudly, as if it were a solid rock of diamond. “What will this get me?”
“Probably a full hour with Lindsey in the back,” Mallory said.
Lindsey looked stunned, and both Patrick and Christine burst into laughter. Mallory stood there, shocked by the brashness of her own joke, and swept up by the pleasant surprise that she had actually been funny. She wasn’t used to people laughing at her jokes. Getting Teddy to laugh was like moving a mountain.
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