“Do you think about him like all the time?” she asked.
“Uh huh,” I responded as I took a drink of beer.
She glanced over each shoulder and leaned into the center of the booth. “Have you, uhhm. You know, masturbated while you think of him?” she whispered.
“Yeah, but I’ve also masturbated to thoughts of Charlie Hunnan, Johnny Depp, and Chris Hemsworth, but I don’t love any of them,” I said with a laugh.
“You’re impossible,” she sighed.
“I’m realistic,” I said as I raised my bottle of beer.
I had no idea of what it was I was feeling, all I knew was that I liked it. As I sat back in the booth and stared the length of the bar with unfocused eyes, Riley continued her series of questioning.
“What makes him different that everyone else?” she asked.
I opened my mouth to respond, and came up with nothing. There were many things I could have said, but for some reason, was incapable of naming them. Not because they weren’t worthy of mention or questionable in their significance, but because there were just too damned many of them swimming around in my head. Instead, I reached for my purse, pulled out the card he had given me on our second date, and handed it to her.
“Read this,” I said.
She slid her beer to the side of the table. “What is it?” she asked.
“It’s a fucking pineapple, you dip-shit. What’s it look like?”
“A card,” she said as she pulled the card from the envelope.
“You should be a fucking detective. Now read it,” I said as I leaned into the corner of the booth and studied her.
As she read the card, her mouth curled into a huge smile. I found it satisfying that she appeared to read it again, filling with pride that a man had actually written what she was reading for me and me alone.
“Holy crap. He wrote this?” she asked.
I nodded my head. “Sure did. Date number two. And he’s given me three or four more since, but that was the first.”
She slid the card back inside the envelope and handed it to me.
“Wow,” she sighed.
“Wow is right,” I said as I pulled the card from the envelope and read it again.
Stevie,
I had always believed life was dull, and work was my only calling in life. I stumbled through the fog of my days knowing nothing of what life really had to offer me, nor did I care. During the darkest of dreary days, you appeared. Since that moment, you have brought light into my life and provided me with purpose, and for that I thank you.
I live hoping the warmth and color you bring into my life continues, for I now understand what life can offer me through knowing you; and being without you would cause me to return not to living, but to dying.
And I desperately want to live life.
As long as it includes you in it.
Wilson
“He’s so nice it’s almost like, I don’t know, unbelievable,” she said.
I finished my beer and slid the empty bottle toward the edge of the table. “I feel like I don’t deserve him.”
“I feel the same way with Blake,” Riley said.
I nodded my head as I waved at the waitress. As she made eye contact, I extended two fingers, hoping she was intelligent enough to understand what I wanted without coming to the table and talking to us, which I found to be invasive and irritating. In a perfect world, bars would have a beer machine no different than a soda machine and we would simply stand up, walk to it, and poke money in. After selecting the drink of choice and pressing the button, the beer would slide out a chute and into the waiting hands of the thirsty patron.
As she acknowledged my request by raising two fingers and widening her eyes, I sighed and nodded my head.
“I hate people,” I said.
“Who?” Riley asked.
“Waitresses,” I said. “And that white-haired bitch that drives around giving parking tickets. Oh, and that skinny red-haired girl at the store on Douglas who can’t seem to figure out how to scan a sack of tofu.”
“But you don’t hate Wilson,” she said.
“He’s not stupid,” I said.
“The waitress isn’t stupid,” she said.
Riley no more than finished speaking, and the waitress arrived with a Coors Light dangling from each hand.
“Here you go,” she said with a smile as she pushed the beers across the table.
I glanced at the beers, shifted my eyes to meet Riley’s, and shrugged my shoulders as I tilted my head toward the beers.
“Is everything okay?” the waitress asked.
“No, it’s not. We were drinking Shocktop, and you brought us Coors Light,” I said.
“Oh,” she said as she covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry.”
I slid the beers toward the edge of the table. “Just take ‘em back.”
She widened her eyes and lowered her hand. “I’ve already opened them,” she said softly.
“Coors Light tastes like goat piss, just bring us our check,” I said.
“Wow,” she gasped.
I turned in the booth to face her. As our eyes met, I cocked my right eyebrow. “Wow what?”
“Wow, you’re rude,” she said.
“Rude? Really? Because I won’t drink goat piss? Listen, it’s your job to remember what we’re drinking, and bring it to us. You nodded your fucking head like you understood,” I said.
She shrugged her shoulders.
I glanced around the empty bar. Other than Riley and me, two men sat at the center of the bar, talking and drinking mixed drinks. Another lone man sat at the end of the bar drinking what appeared to be whiskey of some sort.
I shifted my eyes back to the waitress. “There are five fucking people in here. And only two of them are drinking beer. But none of them are drinking Coors Light. You bringing us that beer would be the same as you coming into the tattoo parlor and asking me for a tattoo of a flower on your foot, and then having me tattoo a fucking Polar Bear instead. Bring us our check.”
She reached in her apron, pulled out her little ticket pad and scribbled on it. After she made a production of tearing it off the pad, she slapped the bill against the table. “Here.”
“Thank you,” I snapped back.
As she turned walked away, I slid the ticket in front of me and studied it. $7.50 for the two beers we drank. I pulled $8.00 from my purse, placed the money on top of the bill, and slid one of the bottles of Coors Light on top of it.
“Ready?” I asked.
Yeah,” Riley said. “Maybe she wasn’t too smart.”
“You think?” I said over my shoulder as I pushed myself up from the booth.
As we walked through the bar toward the exit, the waitress hollered at us, apparently upset about the fifty cent tip I left her dumb ass.
“What’s your name, so I can tell everyone not to come get a tattoo from you?” she yelled.
I turned around, placed my hands against my hips, and responded in the most tasteful manner I knew how.
“The name’s Stevie, Bitch.”
WILSON
I stood in the conference room staring at the stacks of boxes. Uncertain of how to provide the clothes to Stevie without making her seem self-conscious, I did what I always did when I was uncertain of how to proceed with matters.
I turned toward the open door. “Andrew!”
After a moment, he appeared. “Yes, Sir?”
I waved my hands toward the boxes of clothes. Five stacks with five various sized boxes in each stack.
“These have been sitting here for over a week. Any ideas on how I can give them to her without making her feel like a charity case?” I asked.
His response was immediate, as if he’d been thinking about it long before I asked.
“A fashion show, Sir.”
I folded my arms in front of my chest and turned to face him. “Pardon me?”
“A fashion show, Sir. Take the clothes home and have her try on each and every articl
e, parading herself in front of you no differently than if she were in a fashion show. I’m quite certain you’ll both enjoy it. Explain the truth to her. You purchased the clothes hoping she would enjoy wearing them as much as you took pleasure in the thought of what she would look like wearing them,” he said.
“I like it,” I said as I shifted my eyes toward the mountain of boxes.
“They’re not a hand out, Sir. They were truly purchased with her in mind,” he said.
“Agreed,” I said with a nod.
“Shall we carry them to the elevator,” he asked.
Still gazing blankly at the boxes, I nodded my head. “Sure.”
I didn’t want her to feel that I was using my wealth to attempt to purchase her admiration, but in hindsight, I could see her thinking just that. I believed Stevie liked me for other reasons, and in fact I was sure of it, but I wanted her to be as sure as I was. If I were able to turn the clock forward and have my life in perfect order, she would be able to simply buy whatever she wished, and money would no longer be a concern for her. Incapable of making such adjustments, a fashion show would have to suffice.
If she agreed, it would be quite entertaining to see her try on everything. Although I hadn’t thought of it at the time I bought the clothes, for the last ten days my mind had been filled with thoughts of her unfavorable reaction to my having purchased them for her. Now, visions of her prancing around long corridor in the living room caused me to grin like a Cheshire cat.
After three trips to the parking garage, the boxes were loaded and my mind was far from the work I should have been performing. After a few minutes of spinning in circles in my chair and listening to music, I decided taking the clothes to my house and preparing for Stevie’s arrival would be time better spent. As I stood from my chair and glanced around my office, the elevator bell rang, indicating an arrival on my floor.
I no more than considered walking toward my office door to take a look down the hallway, and she stormed through my office door.
Oh fuck.
Dressed in an orange pants suit, conservative heels, and still wearing her Prada sunglasses, she looked like the bitch she certainly was. I had completely forgotten about mailing the letter, but now that she was standing before me, I wondered what took her three weeks to arrive.
“I’m relieved to see you’re alright,” she said as she turned and pulled the door closed behind her.
Still standing a few feet from the door, she folded her arms in front of her chest and sighed heavily. Seeing her wasn’t something I had planned on doing, nor was it ever anything I enjoyed.
“My psychiatrist said the letter was written by someone in in complete despair. I find the fact you mailed it to be disturbing. I would have at least expected you to come by and have a discussion with us,” she said as she removed her sunglasses.
I shook my head and waved my hand in her direction. “Discard it. I can assure you, I’m fine.”
She sighed heavily again. It was something she did often, and I found it quite irritating. After shifting her eyes around my office, she fixed her eyes on me and continued.
“I doubt that, Asher. You need help. The letter was a cry for just that, and I want you to know your father and I are willing to do whatever we must to provide everything you need. He doesn’t know, by the way.”
For me to believe either of them would do anything that was in my best interest was laughable. More concerned with their wealth, the public’s perception of me, and the bottom line of my net worth, I doubted my welfare was on the long list of what they found to be important. Garnering their attention required shouting from a mountaintop, and anything less went unnoticed.
“I have no idea why I mailed it, Mother. I was having a rough week, and it just happened. Things have changed a lot in the last few weeks.”
“You need to move to New York, Los Angeles, or Chicago. You need to meet someone, and it will never happen here. You may be surprised at what a woman can do for you,” she said.
I clasped my hands together and studied her. For a fleeting moment, I considered telling her about Stevie, but decided against it. I certainly didn’t need her blessing or approval in any way, and to tell her anything would produce nothing of value.
“I’ve got work to do. We’ll talk soon,” I said.
“Come by after your quarterlies are complete. Your father’s been anxious to see them,” she said.
I nodded my head and walked around the corner of my desk. It was all the affirmation I could provide. The last thing I wanted to do was provide my father with continued proof of my increasing wealth. Everything I had, I earned on my own and with no assistance from him or my mother. Their incessant prying into the financial side of my life was done for one reason, and one reason alone – to provide them with a sense of their successes. Without a doubt, a false sense, but they didn’t see it that way. They believed their direction attributed to my wealth, and the wealthier I became, the more successful they perceived themselves being as parents.
She opened the door, gazed over her shoulder, and blew me a kiss.
“See you soon, Dear,” she said as she turned away.
I raised my right hand slightly and waved.
The last thing I needed was to see my parents. I felt it was time for me to live my life for me, without their influences or input, and for once I truly believed I was doing just that. Feeling almost ill that my mother had stopped in, and even more so considering the subject matter discussed, I realized there was only one person who could bring me out of the foul mood I felt I was certain to spiral into.
After I heard the elevator door close, I sauntered across the office, pausing as soon as I reached the threshold of the door. After peering in each direction, I shifted my eyes toward the ceiling and exhaled.
“I’ll be taking the rest of the day off, Andrew,” I sighed.
“Give Stevie my best,” he responded. “And enjoy yourself, Sir.”
“I certainly will. And, I’ll try,” I responded.
But I knew if Stevie was involved, I wouldn’t even have to try. Simply being in her presence was enough to lift my spirits to an all-time high.
And at that moment, being lifted up was exactly what I needed.
STEVIE
I had always believed people were like oranges. Peeling away the outer layer - the protection - was required to find something tasteful. Proceeding without doing so would always produce a bitter taste.
And, so far, no one had bothered to peel away my outer skin.
Until now.
“Ready?” I hollered.
“I’ve been ready, what are you doing in there?” he shouted.
I pushed the door open and walked across the tile floor with as much grace as possible. After walking past him, I paused, turned, and allowed the purse to swing at my side. The shoes had a 6”heel, but with a 2” platform they were very easy to walk in. The dress was black with a colorful floral print, and although I recognized none of the designer’s names, everything was obviously very high quality.
“Well?” I asked.
“Speechless,” he said.
“I like these heels, but I really liked the ones I had on a minute ago. With the studs,” I said over my shoulder.
Sitting on the edge of the couch, he crossed his legs and rested his hands in his lap. “Personally, I preferred the leopard shoes you wore with the tattered jeans, and the sleeveless black dress. I guess it’s good you don’t have to just pick out one outfit.”
“I seriously get to keep all of these? Everything?” I asked.
He grinned and nodded his head.
“I don’t know what these shoes cost, but everyone sure talks a lot about them,” I said as I twisted my foot to the side and gazed down at the red sole.
“I didn’t pay attention. It’s irrelevant. All that matters is that you like everything,” he said.
“I love everything,” I responded. “What possessed you…”
He cocked his head to the side
and shrugged his shoulders. “I was just daydreaming, and it spawned an online shopping spree. I’d see a beautiful dress, and couldn’t help but wonder what you’d look like in it. I knew if it was beautiful without you, it couldn’t do anything but become more so if you were wearing it. And, there was only one way to find out that I knew of,” he said as he stood from his seat.
I had heard people say in my past that we are a product of our environment. I never really paid much attention to the phrase, or gave it any thought. Now, I believed it made perfect sense. The person I had been all my life was a result – not wholly, but definitely primarily – of my financially inability to produce change.
My finances had always been limited to paying my rent and supplying my boyfriends with beer, drugs, and motorcycle parts. Not once was my financial focus on myself, nor did I have the ability or desire to really make it so.
Standing in the living room of Wilson’s mansion wearing my new dress, holding my new purse, and wearing my new Red Bottom shoes, I wondered if everyone on this earth was able to live their life without financial restraint, just who they would become.
The clothes and the car didn’t change who I was, but they allowed me to feel the way I had always wanted to feel.
Beautiful.
“So you think I make the clothes even more beautiful?” I asked.
He shook his head from side to side as he slowly walked in my direction. “I believe the clothes are a means of allowing you to believe you’re as beautiful as you truly are.”
He was truly a wonderful man. I swallowed the lump in my throat, but I wasn’t able to do anything about the butterflies in my stomach or my rapidly beating heart. I felt like crying. To go from a man who would punch me in the face for not having dinner ready to being treated like royalty wasn’t an easy thing. As my eyes welled with tears, I gazed down at the floor. He continued to slowly walk toward me. I pivoted on the balls of my feet and turned away.
I had to.
“Thank you,” I murmured as I walked away.
You’re beautiful, too.
I got undressed, placed the clothes back into their boxes, and put on the jean shorts and flip-flops I had worn previously. As I looked in the mirror and attempted to fix my hair, I felt like less of a woman. I gazed at myself blankly in the mirror feeling slightly confused. Wearing the clothes Wilson had purchased made me feel different. I felt beautiful, worthy of his praise, and although the clothes didn’t transform me into someone else, I definitely didn’t feel like I was my normal self while wearing them.
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