Gina was so excited following her date. They had really hit it off and he obviously liked her. She jumped every time the phone rang for a week. When he didn’t call, she was furious. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they had had a lousy date, or he gave her a few clues that he wasn’t interested. But every signal he sent, everything he said and did, led her to believe there was a mutual attraction. Of course, she thought about him possibly losing her phone number, but she was listed and they also had acquaintances in common. He could have tracked her down if he had wanted to. To this day, every time she heard Reba McEntire’s “Why Haven’t I Heard from You,” she thought of Richard.
It wasn’t until a few weeks later, when she ran into Richard, that she found out why he hadn’t called. She saw him walking out of the Cheesecake Factory in Friendship Heights—he wasn’t alone. He was holding hands with a woman who appeared to be a little older than him, maybe in her early thirties. She actually looked somewhat like Gina. She was tall and had a slender build and attractive blond hair. But she had something Gina didn’t—boobs the size of honeydew melons.
Richard walked right by Gina and had the nerve to smile at her and say hello. Gina looked at him, took an obvious look at the woman’s breasts, then lifted her eyes back to Richard as if to say “so that’s what happened” or, more appropriately, “so those are what happened.”
Something about the meeting actually made Gina feel better about Richard not pursuing her. At least it offered her some closure and explained a few things. She had thought about getting a boob job herself on numerous occasions and figured the woman on Richard’s arm had done more than just think about it. Gina had even gone as far as making an appointment with a cosmetic surgeon. She figured if it was good enough for half the cast of Beverly Hills 90210, it was good enough for her. But she eventually canceled the appointment and decided to abandon the idea. The thought of having little bags of saline shoved in her chest was just more than she could stomach. She was going to have to land a man with the boobs the good Lord gave her.
Now, as she was walking down the hospital corridor back to Shirley’s bed, she tried to forget about the Richards and the Peters of the world and force herself to be happy for Linda.
I’m glad she has a date, Gina tried to tell herself, and part of her was happy for Linda. It just made Gina a little anxious. Linda was pretty much the only single friend Gina had left. If Linda found a significant other, it would leave Gina all alone. Girlfriends had been in short supply lately—real ones anyway. Five years ago, Gina easily had five to ten girlfriends to hang out with or go shopping or on another outing of some kind. Most of these women were still friends in some way, but they were now toting a husband and some even had kids.
A few months earlier, Gina had called Rachel, a friend from college who had gotten married a year earlier but still went out with the girls from time to time. Gina was calling to see if Rachel wanted to go out dancing to Nation with Gina and a couple of others. Before Gina had a chance to ask her, Rachel mentioned that she was pregnant with her first child. After Rachel announced the news, Gina offered her congratulations and said she was just calling to say hello. Gina couldn’t bear asking Rachel about going out to a bar. She felt pathetic. Here was her friend, getting ready to bring a new life into the world with her husband, while Gina was looking for someone to go to a bar with and get drunk. She couldn’t stand the thought of Linda becoming a Rachel or a Penelope. Linda was all she had left. If Linda landed a relationship, Gina was truly on her own, and the thought terrified her.
No Big Deal
After a long lunch, Cooper offered to drive Cheryl home. Not wanting to be the eager beaver, she said it was only a few blocks and she could walk.
“Well, how about I walk you home, then?” Cooper asked.
“If you want,” Cheryl said, trying to seem somewhat uninterested, when she had actually really enjoyed the afternoon with Cooper. They had some lively conversation over lunch and even debated over politics. Cheryl was a staunch Democrat while Cooper attested to being one of the few black Republicans. During their meal, they discussed everything from abortion to tax cuts to affirmative action. At first, Cheryl tried to avoid any controversial subjects, but their conversation seemed to naturally move toward contentious topics. She ended up enjoying these discussions with Cooper and getting his point of view. It sure beat sitting there with someone who agreed with everything she said.
She decided she liked that about Cooper—that he had strong opinions. She couldn’t stand dating men who went along with all of her ideas just to avoid an argument. Cheryl liked to argue on occasion, and the heated discussion she and Cooper got into over lunch was actually kind of fun.
“You were just going to walk all this way by yourself?” Cooper asked as they approached Cheryl’s building.
“Sure,” Cheryl said.
“You don’t walk around by yourself at night, do you?”
“Sometimes. There are always tons of people around, and streetlights are all over the place.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s safe. But what can you expect in such an overwhelmingly Democratic city.”
“Oh, please! Every city in the country has problems with crime. What does people voting Democratic have to do with anything?”
“Because Democrats are so wishy-washy and easy on crime.”
“Just because we don’t execute people for jaywalking doesn’t mean we’re easy on crime,” Cheryl said with a smile, realizing Cooper was trying to start something with her again.
As they made their way to the lobby entrance of Cheryl’s building, she thought about asking him up for a drink but decided against it. She actually kind of liked this guy and wanted to play a little hard to get.
“Thanks for walking me home,” she said.
“No problem. Maybe I can call you sometime?”
“Sure,” Cheryl said. “You have my phone number. Maybe we can do something later this week.”
“Absolutely,” he said before lightly touching her arm. “I had a good time.”
Oh, kiss me already. “Me too.”
“Take care,” he said, and turned to leave.
“Sure. Bye,” Cheryl replied, annoyed that he hadn’t even tried to kiss her. Cheryl walked through the lobby to the elevators, and the flood of postdate thoughts began. She wondered if she had put her best foot forward. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so opinionated during their discussion on politics. But, then again, maybe he liked that about her. She wished she had sat up straighter during lunch, and she hoped that she hadn’t eaten too much. Should she have offered to pay the check when he pulled out his credit card? She didn’t want him to think that she was cheap, but she didn’t want him to think she was such a feminist that she wouldn’t let a man buy her lunch. And why hadn’t he kissed her at the end of their date? He seemed to really like her, and he wouldn’t have offered to walk her home if he hadn’t been interested. Would he have?
He said he was going to call. She wondered if he really would. She hated that about being a woman. Today’s women could manage multimillion-dollar companies or even run for the presidency, but it was still taboo for her to be the first to call a guy after a date. She had to wait for him, if and when he chose to call.
She promised herself that she wouldn’t think about it.
If he calls, he calls. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t. No big deal, she thought to herself as she walked into her apartment and went immediately over to the phone to make sure it was working.
The Ole MJ
By the time they released Shirley from the hospital, it was after nine P.M., so Gina took her straight home. She would have to take Shirley back to the bank in the morning and get her car.
“You want to stay the night, sweetie?” Shirley asked as they walked into her apartment with Gomez, who had been cooped up in the car the whole time Shirley was in the hospital. Considering her financial situation, Shirley’s apartment was actually fairly decent. It had a spacious living room, a small k
itchen, and two master bedrooms with private baths. It was old and creaky, and the furnishings left a lot to be desired, but, nonetheless, it was large and quite comfortable. The only way Shirley could afford it was to share the place with a series of different roommates. Most only lasted a few months. The last one left after only two weeks. Shirley lied to her initially and said she didn’t smoke. When the new roomie came home to a living room full of cigarette fumes, she was furious and moved soon after.
Her current roommate was a guy of about twenty-five. Shirley knew very little about him. He worked as a bartender at Fridays for only three days before he was fired for leaving one night with a duffel bag full of vodka and tequila bottles. But he was cute and young, and Shirley needed a roommate to help her make the rent.
“I don’t know, maybe,” Gina replied before crinkling her nose. “What’s that pungent smell? Wait a minute . . . that’s pot. Shirley, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Gina. You know I don’t mess with drugs.” Shirley messed with virtually everything else—men, booze, cigarettes—but she never did get into drugs.
“Sammy?” Shirley called toward the closed door of Sammy’s bedroom. “Are you in there?”
“Hi, Shirley,” he said, opening the door, which only spewed the smell of marijuana farther into the living room. He was a lanky young man with shoulder-length hair and was only wearing a pair of faded jeans.
“Sammy, honey. We had a deal—no drugs.”
“What deal was that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It just sounded like the right thing to say,” Shirley said with a giggle.
“Want a hit?” he said as he offered the smoldering joint to Shirley.
“No, she doesn’t want a hit,” Gina interjected. “And you need to pitch that thing and keep it out of this apartment.”
“And who is this pretty young lady?” Sammy asked Shirley with a smile.
“This is my daughter, Gina. Sammy, you’re going to have to keep that shit out of here. I don’t want to go to jail because my roommate’s a pothead,” Shirley sighed at Sammy, more to appease Gina than anything else.
“It’s gone,” Sammy said, taking a final hit and walking into his bathroom. Shirley and Gina heard the toilet flush and then another voice from inside the bedroom.
“What the fuck are you doing, Sammy? There were a few more hits left on that.”
“Who is that?” Gina asked Shirley as Sammy’s bedroom door closed again.
“Some chick who’s been staying here with him for the last couple of days. She’s usually so doped up she’s not very coherent. I don’t know much about her.”
“Doped up? Shirley, sometimes I wonder if you have any sense at all,” Gina said, sitting down on the secondhand sofa and flicking the television on. She wasn’t in the mood to lecture Shirley about her choice of roommates, so she let it go at that. As she and Shirley sat in front of the television, a young woman with a crew cut and wearing only a T-shirt emerged from the bedroom and went to the kitchen. Gina got up from the sofa and followed her.
“Hi, I’m Gina. And you are?”
“Sherri, last time I checked. You guys got any cookies or anything? You know how a little reefer can give you the munchies?” the girl asked with a dazed expression.
“Reefer?”
“You know, pot. Sammy couldn’t score any hard stuff this week, so we’re having to settle for the ole mj. What’s good to eat in here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t live here, and I don’t believe you do either. Where do you live?”
“Well, I was staying in Silver Spring for a few weeks. Now I’m just sort of hanging out here,” the girl said before grabbing a bag of chips and returning to the bedroom.
Gina returned to the living room to find Shirley smoking a cigarette with Gomez curled up next to her.
“So, she’s been staying in Silver Spring. She apparently doesn’t live anywhere. Shirley, these people are bad news. You can’t rent a room to a bunch of drug addicts. You may land your ass in jail.”
“I know, sweetie. I’ll kick ’em out soon,” Shirley replied, paying more attention to the television than to Gina.
“Shirley!” Gina said in a strong whisper. “There’s a drug dealer and his whore in the next room. What are you going to do about it? No . . . don’t answer that. I’ll tell you what you’re going to do. You have till the weekend to ask them to leave, and if you don’t, I’ll call the police. I’m serious, Shirley.”
“All right already! I’ll talk to them tomorrow,” Shirley replied, still distracted.
Before Gina could respond, there was a thunderous knock on the door.
“Who the fuck is it?” Shirley grumbled, not getting up or taking her eyes off the television.
“Where’s Sammy?” a man shouted from behind the door.
Shirley got up and opened the door. There was a tall, sickly-looking man standing on the threshold in a pair of faded jeans and a tank top, which exposed the various scars on his arms.
“Sammy here? We had a deal. Where is he? He better not have dicked me, man!”
“Dicked you?” Shirley asked before yelling toward Sammy’s room. “Sammy, you got company.”
The man looked more closely inside and saw Gina and Gomez sitting on the sofa. Gina was facing the other way, and Gomez was ignoring the whole scene. He always barked at the pizza delivery man and bit nasty women on Rollerblades, but a derelict looking to score some drugs comes to the door, and he couldn’t be bothered.
“Is this a private residence?” the man asked.
With that, Gina whizzed around. “Is this a private residence? No, it’s the fucking Drug Depot, and we’re a couple of crack whores! Yes, it’s a private residence,” Gina said to the man before getting up and heading for Sammy’s bedroom.
She turned the knob. “Sammy, get out here. . . .”
As she opened the door and looked in, she realized the bedroom was empty and the window to the fire escape was open.
“Well, looks like he dicked ya after all,” Shirley said with a gloating smile after peeking into the bedroom. “Maybe you can catch them if you hurry.”
“Regardless of what you do, you come back here, and I’m calling the cops,” Gina said to the man before pushing in front of Shirley and slamming the door in his face. She glanced out the peephole to see the man walking away from the apartment and down the hall.
“Shirley, what are we going to do? Sammy can’t come back here. That guy could be dangerous, and you don’t want to get caught in the cross fire.”
“Oh, Gina, you’re such a worrywart. He’s harmless. Did you see him? Even I could kick his ass.”
“Shirley, do you want to go to jail? If the cops come here and find a bunch of drugs, they’ll haul you away with the rest of them.”
Gina then grabbed the yellow pages and, after flipping for a few seconds, dialed the number for a twenty-four-hour locksmith. After she hung up, she pulled Shirley into Sammy’s bedroom.
“Okay, grab anything that’s his. We’re putting it in the hallway.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Me? You’re renting a room to Cheech and Chong, and you’re asking me if I’m crazy? Do you know what kind of things these people are capable of? The locksmith will be here any minute to change the lock, and you’re not letting Sammy back in here. You’ll stay at my place until he comes to pick up his stuff. Honestly, Shirley, would you for once just think before you act. You’re going to end up getting yourself into some serious trouble.”
The Wild Side
“A Sprite please,” Peter said to the waiter.
“I’m sorry, we don’t have Sprite. How about Mountain Dew?”
“No, Mountain Dew is loaded with caffeine. Do you have anything without caffeine?”
How the hell should I know, ya freak? “Afraid not.”
“Just water, then,” Peter said.
“Oh, go on, Peter. Live on the wild side and have a Coke,” Cheryl said, smirking at Peter from
across the table.
“No thanks. I’ve been on the wild side. It’s overrated.”
“Really? When did skipping your vitamins one day last month constitute the wild side?”
“Shut up.”
“Testy, testy. Is Peter in a bad mood today?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Me too. Mondays suck.”
God, let’s just get through dinner, Peter thought, bored with trying to make small talk with Cheryl. When she asked him to dinner earlier that day, he figured he had to eat anyway, and with any luck he might get laid out of the deal. Truth be known, Cheryl wasn’t terribly into the evening with Peter either. Things seemed to be going pretty well with Cooper. She had been out with him again since their lunch, and they had had a really nice time, but she certainly wasn’t ready to send Peter packing yet.
“I’m thinking of getting a perm in my hair. What do you think?” Cheryl asked.
Well, I was just lying awake last night, pondering that very thought.... “I don’t know. Didn’t perms sort of go out in the eighties sometime?”
“No, no. They’re back in now. Two girls in my office just got perms.”
“And they would be from Manassas or Woodbridge?” Peter joked, referring to the far outlying suburbs of D.C. where girls with big hair in TransAms were more commonplace. “I’m not sure what you would look like with your hair any curlier than it is already, but whatever.”
“No, you nitwit. A relaxer to straighten my hair more. We call it a perm when we get our hair straightened. I’d be able to wear it much longer, but it would be a lot more work.”
“Well, then, go for it. You can go to Dennis.”
Girlfriends Page 16