Girlfriends

by Patrick Sanchez

  “Try to relax. Really, what are the chances of the test coming back positive?”

  “Well, if we hadn’t slept with a porn star who’s slept with hundreds of women, they would probably be pretty slim.”

  “Even so, we only did it one time. Keep that in mind.”

  “It only takes one time.”

  “Okay, okay. I can see it’s pointless to try to reassure you.”

  “I’m sorry, Cheryl. I know this is just as difficult for you as it is for me. I’m so thankful you’ve been around to lean on the past couple of days.”

  “No problem. I’m thankful you’re speaking to me. I wasn’t sure we’d ever be friends again.”

  “Honestly, I didn’t plan on it. You just made me so angry that being nasty to you just sort of became a habit. Every time I thought about returning one of your phone calls, I forced myself to remember that night in the motel. You have to admit it, Cheryl. What you did was mean.”

  “You’re right. I was wrong. I tried to convince myself that what I did was okay. After all, you and Peter were no longer together. He was fair game. But I knew you still had a thing for him, and I shouldn’t have done that to a friend. But I wish you would’ve cut me a little slack. I was unbelievably drunk, and we ended up in the same bed together. It wasn’t like I planned it.”

  “Maybe you didn’t plan that night, but you kept seeing him from then on.”

  “What was I supposed to do? You ignored me. You basically forced Linda to stop seeing me. Peter was all I had left. This whole thing is so ridiculous, especially considering Peter and I have absolutely no future together.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You know why, Gina. I know Peter enjoys my company and has genuine affection for me, but he would never seriously consider a long-term committed relationship with a black woman. Now, don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I think Peter is racist, but his parents would forbid it. Besides, I know Peter isn’t ready to deal with all the other baggage that comes with an interracial relationship, and frankly, I’m not sure if I want to deal with it either,” Cheryl replied. More and more she was realizing how unhealthy her relationship with Peter was. Regardless of what happened with Cooper, Cheryl was starting to believe that it was probably time to stop having sex with Peter.

  Cheryl considered telling Gina about the night Peter lost it in the restaurant, but she wasn’t sure Peter would want her to. Cheryl liked to think that Peter had been defending her when he attacked the racist bastard, but she sensed it went deeper than that. Whenever Cheryl brought it up, Peter quickly changed the subject, as if he didn’t want to talk about it. Cheryl figured she’d let Peter tell Gina about it if he ever wanted to.

  “Here we are, into the twenty-first century,” Cheryl continued, “and we still get stares and an occasional snarl when we’re together in public. And this is D.C. I shudder to think what it might be like in more rural areas or the South, where people aren’t so politically correct. Good heavens . . .”

  “Gosh. I never really thought about it. I don’t think it was ever meant to be between Peter and me either. I know everyone says this when they’ve been dumped, but, honestly, if he hadn’t broken up with me, I think I would have eventually ended the relationship myself.”

  “Really? I had no idea. Why?”

  “I just couldn’t take his drinking anymore. Cheryl, he used to drink so much.”

  “Peter?”

  “Yes, you must have noticed it. Every time we got together, he’d have a beer in his hand. He drank every night of the week. It’s so odd considering he’s such a health nut in every other area of his life.”

  “Now that you mention it, I guess he does drink a lot. But so what? So do a lot of people.”

  “I know, and maybe I’m overreacting. Lord knows, I like a beer every now and then myself. It just worried me.”

  “I don’t think there’s any need to worry, Gina.”

  “Probably not, he just scared me sometimes when he got really drunk. It was almost as if I didn’t know him anymore. That stuff’s okay when you’re in college, but when you’re pushing thirty, it’s time to grow up.”

  “Come on, Gina. He scared you?”

  “Sometimes he really did. I think the last straw was actually right before he broke it off with me. I’ve never told this to anyone before, but one night we had stayed up late, watching movies on HBO, and had a bottle of wine or two. The next morning I woke up, and Peter had wet the bed. Can you believe that? It was disgusting. We never talked about it, and I’m not even sure he knows that I know, but that morning I really started to think that I had to end it. Oh, I don’t know, I guess—”

  “031272,” called a woman from the hallway, interrupting Gina.

  “Oh, God, that’s my number,” Gina said, standing up, her heart beginning to palpitate. “Wish me luck.”

  “Hi. I’m Carol. How are you?” the woman said to Gina.

  Scared shitless. “Fine, thanks.”

  The woman led Gina to a small room with two chairs and gestured for her to have a seat. Gina sat down and waited for what seemed like an eternity while Carol sorted through her papers. She asked Gina to verify her number again to make sure she had the correct results. Gina confirmed the number anxiously, wishing she’d get on with it.

  “Your results were negative. There was no evidence of HIV.”

  “Oh, thank God!” Gina said, letting out a deep breath. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, ma’am. The results are negative. Do you have any questions?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  The woman then offered some brief information about the clinic and explained how to contact a counselor if she had questions later, and Gina left the room. As she closed the door behind her, Cheryl emerged from another room across the hall. Gina gave her the okay sign with her hands. Cheryl smiled and returned the gesture. They gave each other a quick hug and headed down the hallway.

  “Thank God this is over!” Cheryl said as they walked out.

  “Over? Cheryl, honey, it’s hardly over.”

  “Yeah, I know we need to be tested again in a few months, but the counselor said the possibility of those results coming back positive is about as likely as us getting struck by lightning.”

  “No, I wasn’t talking about that. I’m talking about Griffin, The Big G. He put us through hell. We’ve got to get back any films he has of us and make him shut down that Web site.”

  “How do you suppose we do that?”

  “I’m not sure, Cheryl, but I’ll think of something. I always do.”

  The Mad Pooper

  Gina smiled at the last customer and held the door for him as he walked out of the bank. Her smile was genuine. She had a perpetual smile all day, thanks to her negative test results. She still had to figure out a way to keep her naked body off Griffin’s Web site, but the test results were such a relief that for a brief time she was able to put it aside. She also needed to keep her own spirits up for Linda, who was a complete wreck, even if she wouldn’t admit it, following the whole disaster with Rosa and René.

  Gina locked the door behind the gentleman and walked back to her desk. She wanted to finish up some paperwork so she could leave right after the meeting. Once a week, Liz held a staff meeting after the bank closed. Liz usually attempted to turn them into her own version of a high school pep rally as she tried to get the staff riled up about cross-selling checking accounts and credit cards. Every once in a while she’d come up with some scheme to try to improve sales at the bank. Last week’s offer of two free movie tickets to the teller with the most referral points was greeted with such overwhelming indifference, Liz withdrew the offer in a huff and adjourned the meeting. Gina was not looking forward to the coming meeting, but she was in such a good mood, she didn’t let it bother her. As the staff assembled in the middle of the lobby, dragging chairs behind them, Gina’s phone rang.

  “Premier Bank of Arlington, Gina Perry speaking.”

  “Hey, sweetie, what’
s up?”

  “Hi, Shirley, I’m just about to go into a meeting. Can I call you back?”

  “Sure, but I just wanted to ask you a quick question,” Shirley replied, figuring that asking Gina while she was in a hurry might be a good idea. “Sweetie, can I borrow fifty bucks?”

  “You mean can you have fifty bucks that you never plan to return? What for?”

  “I’ve got to pay this . . . this stupid . . . traffic ticket.”

  “No, Shirley, I’ve told you over and over again to stop speeding.”

  “I wasn’t speeding. I was at the gas station, minding my own business, when I got the ticket.”

  “Somehow I doubt that, Shirley.”

  “I was at a gas station in Arlington, and I needed to vacuum the car. I figured I might as well do it while I was in the ’burbs. The dog was in the car with me—you know how Gomez likes to ride in the car. Anyway, I was afraid if I left him in the car while I was vacuuming, he might jump out and get hit or something.”

  “What does this have to do with anything?” Gina asked impatiently.

  “Well, like I said, I was afraid he might jump out, so I put him in the trunk for a few minutes.”

  “What? Shirley, you put the dog in the trunk?”

  “It was just for a few minutes. He didn’t mind. He was just napping anyway. Well, someone must have seen me do it and called the police. Next thing I know, I’m getting lectured about pet care from some little Nazi in a police uniform. I think he was all of twenty-two or something. Can you believe that? Someone calling the cops on me. They probably trip over homeless people on the way to their Mercedes, but one little dog in the trunk, and they have to call the cops.”

  “Well, good. He should have given you a ticket. You ever stick my dog in the trunk again, and I’ll stick you in the trunk.”

  “I’m telling you, Gina, he didn’t mind. It was quite a sight. The cop was trying to be all serious and uppity, and the whole time Gomez was barking at him and panting—”

  “Gina?” Liz’s unnerved voice came from the lobby. “We can have the meeting in the parking lot if we’re disturbing your phone call.”

  “Shirley, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay, but can I borrow the money? Hello? Gina?”

  Gina hung up the phone, pulled her chair around to the front of her desk, and joined the meeting.

  “Let’s get started,” Liz said to the bored group. “First thing on the agenda is our new sales incentive program. I’ve asked Gina to tell you about it.”

  Part of Gina’s career improvement plan was to further develop her leadership skills, so Liz thought Gina would like to start running some of the staff meetings. Liz had met with Gina earlier that day and discussed her idea for an employee-of-the-month program. Gina thought the concept was as stupid as the free movie ticket idea. She gently tried to dissuade Liz, and recommended offering time off to employees who met their sales goals. She knew that just like her, most of the bank’s employees would do almost anything if it would get them a day or two of paid time off. As usual, Liz ignored Gina’s suggestion and stood firm about her employee-of-the-month program. If that wasn’t bad enough, she asked Gina to present the idea to the group.

  “Liz asked me to speak to everyone about her idea to incentivize all of us to improve our sales performance,” Gina said to the crowd. “She thought it would be a good idea to identify an employee of the month based on who best meets or exceeds his or her sales goals.”

  Gina felt like a complete idiot handing out a stack of convoluted forms that explained the scoring system and the criteria for being named employee of the month.

  “So what does the employee of the month get?” Bob, one of the tellers, asked.

  Trying to muster up something that resembled enthusiasm, Gina said, “Your name engraved on the employee of the month plaque and your picture posted on the bulletin board.” I know, whoopty fucking doo!

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Once again Liz’s idea was met with unilateral apathy.

  “It’s a chance for you guys to get some recognition for your hard work. Being employee of the month will make you a Premier celebrity of sorts. I’ll make sure Mr. Toosh knows who each employee of the month is,” Liz added, trying to raise some excitement for the idea but succeeding only in getting a few polite nods. Discouraged with the group’s reaction, Liz decided to move on to other business. She discussed some upcoming changes in the bank’s fees and some other policy revisions, then opened up the floor for questions.

  “Does anyone have any other issues they would like to bring up?” Liz asked the group.

  “Yeah,” Tammy, who was never one to mince words, added, “Someone’s dropping turds in the toilet and not flushing.”

  “What? Dropping turds?” Liz responded.

  “You know, taking a dump and then leaving it in the can without flushing.”

  “She’s right,” Linda added. “I’ve seen it a few times, and it’s pretty nasty. The other day they did it right on the toilet seat.”

  As the other women in the room nodded in agreement, Liz dropped her mouth as if the news were a total shock, which just confirmed Gina’s suspicion that she was the culprit. How was it possible that every other female in the bank had come upon the Mad Pooper’s (as Linda and Gina had started calling her) little gifts but Liz?

  “That’s terrible,” Liz responded, starting to turn a bright shade of red. “I’m not sure what to do about this.”

  “Why would someone do that?” Bob asked no one in particular.

  “My cat does that when she gets mad,” Tammy said. “Whenever we leave her for long periods of time, she shits all over the place—on the sofa, the bedspread. . . .”

  “Enough, Tammy,” Liz snapped. “I will put up a sign in the bathroom reminding people to flush. Sometimes individuals from other cultures aren’t aware of proper bathroom etiquette,” Liz said, condescendingly smiling at Jabeen, who was from Iraq.

  How dare you! Gina thought, sending an angry glare at Liz before adding, “Oh, I don’t think that’s the case. I’ve seen it happen on several occasions when no one from another culture was here.”

  Something about the way she had smiled at Jabeen unleashed a new disdain for Liz and made Gina terribly angry.

  “In fact, Linda and I were comparing notes, and the only consistency we could come up with was that you always seem to be here when it happens,” Gina said to Liz.

  A tense silence fell over the room. Gina had just shot a bullet, and everyone waited to see what Liz would do—dodge it, suffer a minor injury, or drop dead. Liz responded to Gina’s jab by sitting in her chair stone-faced. She couldn’t respond. She didn’t have any words. She sat in silence, and Gina almost felt sorry for her but couldn’t because Liz had been perfectly comfortable trying to put the blame on Jabeen.

  Oh, God. I’ve just pissed off a woman who regularly defecates on toilet seats. What else is she capable of? “Well, what’s it really matter who’s doing it as long as it stops. I think the meeting’s over, guys,” Gina said to the group, gesturing for them to move on before turning to Liz. “Liz, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply anything. Are you okay?”

  Trying to hide her humiliation, Liz responded, “Of course I’m okay. Now, I’d better go put up that sign. We have to try something to make this person, whoever it is, stop this.”

  Now Gina really did feel sorry for her. What fantasyland was she living in? Everyone knew she was the Mad Pooper, and there she was, trying to save face anyway. Gina was really starting to question Liz’s sanity.

  “God! Is this what seventeen years at Premier does to a person?” Gina said to Linda as they watched Liz walk back into her office.

  “She’s trippin’, Gina. I’m worried about her.”

  “I’m sorry I embarrassed her, but she was trying to pin it on Jabeen.”

  “I know. That was dirty.”

  “Well, if she didn’t hate m
e before, I’m sure she hates me now.”

  “What do you think?” Liz interrupted the girls, holding up a sign that read “Please flush the toilet after use.” She was smiling as if nothing had happened.

  “It looks fine,” Linda responded.

  “Great,” Gina added.

  The girls watched her march into the ladies’ room with her sign.

  “Gina,” Linda said. “I don’t think you need to worry. I don’t think she even remembers what you said. I think she deleted it from her hard drive, if you know what I mean.”

  “I hope so,” Gina replied, pausing for a moment. “You know what, Linda? We need to get the fuck out of here.”

  “Okay, I’m right behind you.”

  “No. I mean permanently. This place sucks the life out of people. Look at Liz and Mr. Toosh. They’re deranged.”

  “Gina, I’m sure they were deranged before they ever started working here.”

  “Linda, I’ve got to find another job. How do you stand it here?”

  “It doesn’t bother me that much. In fact, some days I like it here. I like the customers for the most part, and I like helping them work the system so Premier doesn’t get the best of them. Besides, I’m good at it.”

  “Yes, you are, but I’m certainly not.”

  No, you’re not. “Sure you are. You just don’t have any motivation. You know, Annie was rambling on about her business the other night. If you want out of here so bad, why don’t you call her?”

  “I think she was just hitting on you, Linda.”

  “Maybe so. Who could blame her?” Linda joked, and actually cracked a smile, one of few since René had shown up at the bank. “But I’m sure she can offer some advice and maybe even a job.”

  “You know, Linda. I might just do that. This place makes me nuts. I mean, my God, Liz is acting like an angry animal. Gomez does that every once in a while. He gets mad when I leave him alone too much or try to feed him cheap dog food, and then he pees in the apartment.”

  Gina forgot to mention that Gomez also got annoyed when she had guests over and didn’t pay enough attention to him. Like that night a few years earlier when she and Peter stayed up late, watching movies on HBO and drinking wine. They hardly paid any attention to him at all. Gomez got so mad, he peed right on the bed while Gina and Peter were sleeping.