Girlfriends

by Patrick Sanchez

  She liked the way Hal started his recording by thanking respondents for answering his ad, so Cheryl thought she’d do the same thing. Honestly, she wasn’t looking for “friendships” at all but figured she didn’t sound quite so needy by using that term. She wasn’t sure what she meant by “cultural activities,” but it sounded good. And she couldn’t remember the last time she went biking. She really wasn’t even sure where her bike was. She thought it might be in her basement storage unit, but she really didn’t know . . . and so what if she was really 120 pounds? She could pass for 110.

  Cheryl reviewed her ad one more time before saving it. Once she submitted the ad for publication on the Web, she actually felt pretty good about it. All she had to do was sit back, wait for the responses, and pick and choose whom, if anyone, she wanted to pursue. She didn’t include a picture or her name, so she didn’t have to worry about anyone she knew stumbling onto her ad and finding out that she had hit such hard times.

  It might even be fun, and who knows, Cheryl thought, maybe I’ll find the love of my life.

  Mr. Right

  “Take deep breaths . . . relax . . . deep breaths,” Gina kept repeating to herself as she pulled into the lot at Rio Grande, a Mexican restaurant a couple of blocks down from the bank. She and Linda ate lunch there every couple of weeks. It was the closest place she knew of to get a drink so early in the day. She was still jittery over earlier events and was quite shaken from being held at knifepoint by a drunken old lady.

  “Bitch, telling me I have fried hair. I hope they lock her ass up for good,” Gina mumbled to herself. She contemplated switching hairdressers as she walked into Rio Grande, but she and Dennis had become pretty good friends over the years, and he usually did do a great job.

  It was obvious that the restaurant had just opened. Gina went up to the bar, where another customer was waiting as well.

  “Is anyone here?” Gina said to the man.

  “I’ve only been standing here a few minutes, but there doesn’t appear to be anyone around. I guess it’s a little early for drinks, huh?”

  “Well, I’m going to go look for someone,” Gina said, turning around to find someone to get her a goddamn drink.

  Gina returned with a disgruntled bartender behind her. “What may I get for you, ma’am?” the bartender asked Gina.

  “The biggest, coldest margarita in the house, please.”

  “Make it two,” replied the gentleman next to her at the bar. “Rough morning?” the dark-suited man asked Gina as the bartender began fetching their drinks.

  “You don’t know the half of it. I come into work after the weekend from hell, and some nutcase little man . . . I mean woman, comes into my bank with a knife, demanding money.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “It turned out she was just some drunk. The cops came and hauled her out of there, but I’m still a little shaken up. I didn’t even stay to coordinate a debriefing. I just took off,” Gina said, embarrassed.

  “The cops didn’t make you give a statement or anything?”

  “Well, I kind of didn’t give them the chance. I sneaked out when they weren’t looking. I was just so not in the mood . . . you know?”

  The man next to her started laughing just a little. Apparently, he found her lack of responsibility quite amusing. Gina laughed with him, and for the first time since she walked in the door she realized how attractive he was. He looked a lot like Peter only with a darker complexion and sharper features. She wondered what he was doing at Rio Grande at ten-thirty in the morning.

  “So what brings you to Rio Grande this time of day?” Gina asked.

  “I’m meeting a client here for an early lunch. He’s about as annoying as the lady who tried to rob your bank this morning. I thought I’d get a drink before he arrived to calm my nerves. He’s a little easier to deal with after a couple of drinks.”

  “What kind of work do you do?” Gina asked, trying to sound like she was just making small talk and really didn’t care what he did for a living.

  “I manage porno stars. Well, they prefer the term adult film actors. Now, don’t laugh. It’s quite lucrative,” the man replied. He started to break up with laughter after seeing Gina try to hide her reaction to his occupation. “I’m only kidding. Seriously, I’m a financial planner. This particular client I’m meeting today is a real pig. He makes quite a large sum of money and still prefers to meet here, so he can eat all the fajitas and refried beans he can stuff in himself. You know, I’ve been sitting here, babbling on, and I don’t even know your name.”

  “Gina,” she replied, a little distracted. He had just touched his forehead with his left hand, and she was trying to nonchalantly check it for a wedding band. To her relief, there wasn’t one.

  “I’m David. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “So, David, are you from the area?” Gina asked.

  “No. I grew up in Connecticut and then went to college here. I graduated about five years ago and got a job locally.”

  “Where’d you go to school?”

  “George Washington University.”

  “That’s a great school. I went to American. What was your major?” Gina asked, realizing that she sounded as if she were at a college sorority mixer.

  “Finance with a minor in economics,” he replied.

  “Interesting, I majored in—”

  “There’s my client,” David said, interrupting Gina.

  Gina turned her head and, to her horror, there was Griffin standing by the entryway. Once again he was wearing dress slacks and a tie, and that stupid cap that said “The Big G.”

  “I’ll just call him over,” David said, starting to lift his hand.

  “No!” Gina replied abruptly. “You go and meet him. Maybe we can get together some other time. Let me give you my number.” Gina reached into her purse for a pen, hoping David wouldn’t notice her hands shaking. She quickly scrawled her name and number on a napkin and handed it to David, trying to appear calm. “I don’t want to keep you from your client. You go, and I’ll just finish my drink,” Gina said, barely turning her head to speak to David. She didn’t want Griffin to see her face.

  “Okay, it was nice to meet you,” David said with a smile, looking just a little confused.

  “Call me, and we can hang out again soon.”

  David laid a ten-dollar bill on the bar and left the lounge area. Gina remained at the bar with her back to the doorway until she thought it might be safe to turn around.

  “Damn,” she muttered to herself as she gulped down the rest of her margarita. She walked out of the restaurant as quickly as possible, trying to keep anyone from seeing her face. She sat in her car and rolled her eyes and shook her head, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She did neither.

  “What were the chances?” she said once the car door was closed. “What were the chances of the fucking Pillsbury Dough Boy walking into the same restaurant where I’m actually getting along with a decent guy. Damn!” she yelled a little louder to herself while she started the car and drove out of the parking lot.

  Busted

  “Don’t even speak to me—not a word, not one word!” Gina said to Shirley, who was sitting on the passenger side of the car. It had been a few hours since the attempted bank robbery.

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s the big deal? You have no idea what kind of day I’ve had. Do you know this is the second encounter I’ve had with the police today? What were you thinking, Shirley?”

  “I was thinking that I needed some money.”

  “Shirley, there are tons of ways to earn money.”

  “I know there are, and I found one of them.”

  “What do you mean, you found one of them? You ended up busted, Shirley. You’re lucky you’re not in jail right now.”

  “So my plan was flawed. Better luck next time.”

  “There’d better not be a next time. You pull a stunt like this again, and I won’t come bail you out. I just don’t under
stand, Shirley. What did you think was going to happen?”

  “Get over it, sweetie. Would you? I saw something on TV about these women in New York who were making a fortune, so I thought I’d try it here. I figured if they were doing so well in bathing suits, I’d make a killing if I washed the car windows topless.”

  “And the small detail of going out in public topless being illegal wasn’t an issue, I guess.”

  “I didn’t expect such an uproar. I thought I’d squeegee a few windows, collect a few bucks, and be back home in an hour or so. Next thing I knew, men were hootin’ and hollerin’ at me to come wash their windshield and handing me masses of cash. I got twenty-dollar bills from some of them.”

  “And the women?” Gina asked.

  “They were hootin’ and hollerin’, too, but to a different tune. Some old hen called me a Jezebel. Can you believe that? Who uses the word ‘Jezebel’ anymore?”

  “And this didn’t bother you?”

  “Hell, no. They’re just jealous.”

  “You think? They wished they were the ones Windexing cars half naked? I don’t think so, Shirley.”

  “They might not have been wishing they were washing windows, but I bet they were wishing they had a rack like this,” Shirley said, pulling her shoulders back and sticking out her chest.

  Gina smirked just a little at her mother. It was futile. She had to remind herself that it was best to deal with Shirley the same way she dealt with Gomez. It was absolutely of no use reprimanding either one of them. They were both going to do what they wanted to do when they wanted to do it, and it was an exercise in frustration for Gina to try to keep either one of them out of trouble. This wasn’t the worst stunt Shirley had pulled over the years. She had a long history of outrageous behavior. Gina sometimes dreamed of having a normal mother who wore dowdy clothes, made cookies, and went to PTA meetings.

  It was probably about twenty years ago when Gina began to truly realize how different Shirley really was—Gina was eight or nine years old, and Shirley left her in the care of her grandmother to go to Los Angeles with a man—a man claiming to be a Hollywood agent, who had convinced Shirley that he would make her a big television star. He sold her a ridiculous line about how trouble was brewing on the set of Laverne & Shirley and the producers were looking to recast Cindy Williams. He said one of the producers sent him to the East Coast to scout possible replacements and joked that Shirley would be the new Shirley. He even promised Shirley her very own Boo Boo Kitty. Gina’s grandmother begged Shirley not to go, but Shirley was head over heels in love with the man, and he charmed her into believing his story.

  It wasn’t long before Shirley was back in D.C. The scam artist had set his sights on Shirley when he saw her upscale home in Cleveland Park. It wasn’t until they had gotten out west and Shirley was unable to “tide them over” until he got her some acting roles that he realized it was Shirley’s mother who was wealthy. Once he found out Shirley didn’t have any money in her own right, he sent her packing.

  This began a pattern of Shirley moving in and out of her mother’s house. She would stay for a while and then leave to live with some man. Then move back again when her relationship fell apart. It didn’t seem like a big deal to Gina at the time. Shirley was always more like the fun aunt who came over to take her out for ice cream or sneak her into R-rated movies. Gina’s grandmother certainly assumed the parental role and was ultimately responsible for raising Gina.

  Now, in the car, dragging her mother home from the police department, Gina thought about how she would watch television as a kid and wonder why the woman she called “Mom” was so different from the mothers on TV. It wasn’t like Gina was stupid or naive—she didn’t really expect Shirley to be like Carol Brady or Marion Cunningham, but some resemblance would’ve been nice.

  “Yes, Shirley. I’m sure all the ladies were jealous of your bare tits. Next time, would you let them be jealous with a bra and a top over them,” Gina said in a resigned tone. It wasn’t easy accepting Shirley for who she was, but somewhere along the line it was all Gina could do. She really did love her mother, and it was just too exhausting to try to do anything else.

  “I’ll try. Thanks for picking me up and taking me home, sweetie. I can always count on you.”

  I know, Gina thought. That’s part of the problem.

  “By the way,” Shirley asked, looking at Gina. “What happened to your hair?”

  Bedside Manners

  It had been about a half hour since Peter finished filling out all the paperwork required of new patients when the nurse finally called him back to see the doctor. One time he actually typed up a generic form listing his name, address, health insurance, medical history, and all the other stuff doctors asked of new patients. He figured he could just copy and distribute it to each new doctor rather than spend twenty minutes filling out forms, but the first time he tried to use it, the receptionist looked at him like he was crazy. She had to data-enter all the information from their standard forms, which matched the screen on her computer and wasn’t about to hunt all over his generic form to find the information she needed.

  When he was finally called back to an examining room, the nurse did all the usual things. She took his blood pressure, temperature, and pulse rate, and told him the doctor would be with him shortly. Peter sat on the examining table, looking around at all the supplies and instruments on the cabinets, wondering what the purpose of some of them was. He hated meeting new doctors. He never knew what was in store. Some were friendly with a good bedside manner, while others were abrupt and rude and managed their patient load like an assembly line.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. McKonkey. How are you doing today, Kenneth?” the doctor asked Peter as he glanced over his chart.

  “I’m fine, thanks. Actually, it’s Peter. Kenneth’s my first name, but I go by Peter.” Peter had yet to forgive his parents for naming him one thing and calling him another. Going by his middle name constantly wreaked havoc in his life.

  “Well, Peter, what can I do for you today?”

  “I’ve been working out a lot lately, and a few days ago I started getting this soreness in my chest while I was on the treadmill. I know it’s ridiculous to think I might have a heart problem at my age, but, nonetheless, I thought I should check it out.”

  The balding doctor, who must have been well into his fifties, asked Peter a variety of questions about the pain and his family history. Then he listened to his heart with the stethoscope.

  “You probably just strained a muscle or something even more benign, but I’ll have Celia run an EKG to rule out any other problems.” The doctor pressed a buzzer by the door, and within seconds an attractive nurse appeared at the doorway.

  “Celia, we need to run an EKG on Mr. Virga,” Dr. McKonkey said to the nurse. “I’ll check back with you in a little while. Celia will take good care of you.”

  “You’ll need to take off your shirt and lie down on the table.”

  Peter followed her instructions while admiring her backside as she began flicking switches on the EKG machine.

  “We usually need to shave our male patients before we do this, but it looks like you’ve taken care of that for us,” Celia said while she prepped his chest for the test.

  This was one of the many times Peter felt his long hours at the gym were paying off. He knew his muscles must be turning her on. While she attached the wires to his body, he flexed his muscles as much as he could without it being obvious, hoping it would get her attention. Peter figured Celia was probably pushing forty. She had silky long, black hair and an olive complexion. She was of some sort of Asian decent. Maybe Korean or Chinese. Peter wasn’t sure.

  While she continued to put little stickers on his chest, Peter started having mild fantasies about Celia becoming overwhelmed with passion and ripping the EKG pads from his body. It was like some sort of low-budget porno movie. Peter thought about what he’d call it—maybe “EKG-Spot” or something like that. Peter smirked a little at the thought, and befor
e he knew it, the test was done.

  “I’ll give the reading to Dr. McKonkey,” Celia said, leaving the room, closing the door, and, to Peter’s dismay, not seeming the slightest bit impressed with his muscles.

  “Everything looks fine, Peter. If the pain comes back, make another appointment and we will run a few more tests,” the doctor said, barely stepping into the exam room.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else we should do?”

  “Not at this point. It may have just been something you ate, or a pulled muscle, or a number of things, but your EKG was normal.”

  “Okay, thanks, Doctor,” Peter said, relieved. He rushed to put his shirt back on and left the examining room. He had to hurry to an appointment with Dr. Ready, whom he was going to see about some vague pain he’d been having in his fingers. He thought it might be arthritis starting or something. He didn’t want to tell Dr. McKonkey about the arthritis symptoms. Peter figured the doctor would think he was just paranoid or something if he came for both chest pain and discomfort in his hands. When he went to see Dr. Powers last week because of headaches and a tiny numb spot in his toe, he wasn’t taken seriously at all.

  The Life of the Party

  “Where are we supposed to park?” Gina asked as they turned into the housing development on a rainy Wednesday evening. Gina had convinced Peter to go to Penelope’s party, and Linda had tagged along as well. Gina figured she wouldn’t look too pathetic if Peter came to the party with her. Hopefully, everyone would assume they were together and, thank God, Dennis was finally able to fix her hair.