I run inside, greet the kitties and grab the Uncle Ben’s out of the pantry and a baggie. I place the toilet water soaked phone in the bag and fill it to the brim with rice. I say a silent prayer for phone healing.
I quickly change into snug denim shorts (love spandex for tummy tucking) and a black tank top. It doesn’t have much support so my boobs aren’t well tended, but no one important is going to see me. I get sick of my ironclad bras.
As I walk to the pool, I realize that Violet doesn’t know I’m coming home early, and that note was meant for later. But I am guessing she must be there if she left the note. It is almost three o’clock. I should have put on my bathing suit to hop in the pool, but I’m not in the mood. Normally I can swim for hours.
I put up my hand to shade my eyes, and spot my neighbor with the child. The one I almost ran into with my car the other day (not really, but that’s how she viewed it). Shit. And there’s a mummy or an Amish woman over...what the hell? I approach the heavily cloaked figure. “Did you join a new religion? How is this fun to sit at the pool like this?” I lean down and try to spot a piece of her face for identity confirmation. “Halloween is in October in America. Aren’t you hot?”
The white figure removes her sunglasses and pulls her face out of its shrouded cocoon. “Laugh all you want. I didn’t grow up basking in the sun like you did. I’m a very white girl and I need to be careful.”
“I’m from Rhode Island. Yes, we hit the beaches in the summer, but the rest of the year it’s a frozen tundra.”
“But isn’t Boston a big city? Is it warmer there?”
“Boston is in Massachusetts.”
“Oh, so Rhode Island is warmer, like near New Jersey. They have a lot of beaches, right? Isn’t Steve from New Jersey? He doesn’t look like a beach guy.”
I sigh and take a deep breath. Pursing my lips I say, “Violet, remember? Steve is from the northwestern part of New Jersey. Nowhere near the beaches. And Rhode Island is in New England, which is further north.”
“Oh, so like where they make Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Your skiing is nowhere near as good as the Alps, though.”
I sink down into the lounge chair next to Violet. All my life I wish anyone understood where Rhode Island is actually located. Violet is from Amsterdam, so she should get a free pass, plus she’s blonde. But even most Americans have limited knowledge of geography. Pretty sure most high school kids can’t find my home state on a map.
Violet watches me hold my head and says, “Why are you home so early? Did you get fired? You’re not sick, are you? I have two weddings this weekend and I absolutely can’t be compromised.”
She removes her hood and tosses her shiny, pale blond hair. The sun bounces off her silky mane.
“Don’t ask.” Despite this pronouncement I proceed to explain my day, including the swimming phone, the toilet paper debacle, as well as last night’s events. “I need to check my e-mail. I didn’t even tell my boss I went home sick.”
I jump up and Violet says, “Oh, don’t bother.” I look at her quizzically. “The Internet is down.”
My eyeballs pop and I yell, “Son of a bitch!” I immediately cringe as I see the neighbor cover her child’s ears. I mouth “I’m sorry” and she just glares at me. A few more years and I can move into one of those 55+ communities and there won’t be any kids, and finally I will be the best driver with the least saggy boobs.
“You can use my phone when we go back. I’m charging it.”
“Seriously? Miss Wedding Planner Extraordinaire is out without her phone?”
“Okay, truthfully I’m taking a little break. Your friend Claire is driving me crazy, but some of my brides are worse. When I check my phone later I will have fifty messages from this weekend’s little balls of stress. Promise me you’ll be normal when you get married?”
“I’m not getting married.” I sigh and rub my forehead.
Violet wipes the sweat off her face with her towel and opens up her cover-up, shaking the fabric to cool her skin. “Rebecca, you must stop this nonsense. The only reason you’re not married is because you keep dating men who don’t want to get married, or who have some crazy baggage.”
“So you think Luke and Steve are both bad for me?”
Violet grimaces. “Luke is a beautiful specimen of a man…,” she pauses to shudder, which is understandable, “…and Steve is a kind person…but I don’t know. You’re not very happy and now that you’re trying to be more serious with Steve, you’re unraveling.”
The sun is beating on my head. That reminds me, I need to buy black hair dye. “That’s because of the house and…you know.”
“Do you love him?”
“Who?”
“Steve, of course!”
I lean forward and stare at the little boy playing in the water with his mommy. That could have been me if I hadn’t chased hot young men all my life, but the grass always looks greener on the other side, and I had adventures!
“Yes, I love him.” I say this quietly and without joy.
“Then you need to get your shit together, and as you would say, stop being a looney. You’ve been hanging around Claire too long.” Violet smiles and continues. “You know I like Claire, but I just think you’re letting yourself fall into a bad state. Tell Steve how you feel and what you need.”
“I’ve never done that. He knows I’m upset, but he’s avoiding it, too.” I pause and gaze at the water. “I’m afraid to talk about her.”
“You’re not talking about her. She’s gone. It’s the house and the way it makes you feel. Honestly, Steve is a smart man, but from what you’ve told me, I think he may be lacking in the interpersonal skills department. He isn’t going to guess what you’re feeling.”
“Tonight I am going to relax. Steve has professional society meetings on most Thursdays, so he’ll be tied up. I need to deal with Luke.” I catch the beginning of an accusation forming in Violet’s pretty head. “I’ll just check e-mail and respond. I don’t want him bothering me while I’m at Steve’s for the weekend. And I am going to dye my hair black.”
“Okay, but I think that’s silly.”
“It’s my hair and I want to be accepted as my real self. Back to before the ravages of time turned my locks snow white, and I gave in to my hairdresser’s bright idea to go red. Like Noreen.”
“Maybe the chemicals will seep into your brain and fix all of this new crazy. Everybody says brunettes are smarter.” She jumps up and grabs her bag and towel. “I’ve had enough sun for today.” I don’t point out her white garments have soaked up all of the rays. She would be awesome in the desert, if any of her clients choose that setting instead of the clichéd beach wedding. They could ride in on camels. Great, now someone will be riding a camel in my dream tonight, although last night I was unconscious so no one fought over me on weird animals.
“Whatever. Let’s see if your phone is charged so I can check my e-mail.”
We walk back to our condos, complaining about the inept and spotty Internet service we get here. And this is supposed to be the “posh” side of town. I can attest that it is no Newport. But if I say that, Violet will ask me if that’s near Central Park.
CHAPTER TEN
My head is on fire. It itches like someone poured mosquitos on it and covered it with a glass dome, and then rubbed poison ivy into the bites. As if all of Steve’s live bugs were released into the Nice n’ Easy bottle. Women do color their own hair. They have a HUGE section of cheap boxes of sizzling death in Target. I may have made a hasty decision. When my hairdresser dyes my hair it doesn’t feel (or look) like I was attacked by a blow torch. Unfortunately, tonight I have to go to Steve’s.
Yesterday afternoon I used Violet’s phone to check all my messages. I told Tim I went home sick, which he didn’t seem very concerned about. I read Luke’s e-mail. He did send his manuscript. I wrote back on Violet’s phone and told him about my technical challenges, and that I would read it as soon as our Internet came back up. He said he can’t wait
to hear about my impressions and wants to meet for a drink again soon to discuss it. I avoided answering that one and sent Steve a message, also telling him about my phone and computer. Since he was at his meeting, I didn’t hear back from him right away.
Fortunately our Internet service was restored, but it was late at night. I didn’t get to read Luke’s manuscript, but I did get to e-mail back and forth with Steve a few times. I was able to smooth things over and discuss our weekend plans, which include a dog, dancing, sleeping in a haunted house, and a shopping day with the girls. Definitely some highs and lows mixed in there.
My biggest problem is my hair. After Violet went home, I ran out to the drugstore and bought some black hair dye. It is my natural color and I don’t care what anyone says. I didn’t think coloring my own hair could possibly be that difficult. I can follow directions! I read the leaflet carefully and I applied the color to my roots first, set my timer for the appropriate amount of time, and put away laundry and dishes while waiting. When the timer dinged I applied the rest of the color to my whole head, twisting my hair in a ball of goop on the top of my head, just like they do at the salon. Piece of cake!
However, at the salon someone else is in charge of keeping track of time. I was still so tired and stressed out from the night before, that I forgot to set my timer. I figured I would take a few minutes and see if the Internet was back up. It wasn’t, but I decided to look at some pictures, since that doesn’t require the Internet.
I shouldn’t have done it, but I opened up my “Luke” folder. Those smoldering eyes, the perfect biceps, the chiseled features, the black hair, his chest…I was carried away in a world of sensations. Unfortunately the burning in other parts of my body distracted me from the chemical inferno forming on my head. I was jolted back to reality and ran to the shower. Surely I only let it process a few minutes too long! After showering and rubbing my hair with the towel, I wanted to cry.
So here I am at work, after using deep conditioner, Vaseline, and anything I could think of to try to get some moisture back into my fried locks. I am thinking a pony tail might be my only hope. It looks like I stuck my finger in a light socket. And to make matters worse, my phone is still sitting in a bag of rice and I can’t stop thinking about Luke…I shake my head and try to think of something not at all sexy. I know, I need to talk to Tim about the employee relations case. That should do it.
I gather my files and close my door. Everyone in Acquisitions is busy today. They have some new author coming in, and apparently it’s a big deal. She’s a bestselling author with a rival publisher and has decided to publish her new series with Bella Donna. Claire and Gina have been tied up, so they haven’t seen my hair yet. They’re going to yell at me, but they may have some ideas. I would try to get into my hairdresser’s, but I don’t have time.
As I round the corner on the way to Tim’s office, I bump into Marcus from IT, and he walks with me.
“Hey, Rebecca.” Marcus squints his eyes and quickly smiles. “Did you do something to your hair?”
“Yeah. Let’s just say I made a bad decision.”
“Hmm…you know, black women use stuff that helps with…these kinds of hair problems. Do you want me to call my mother and ask her what she uses?” He laughs and I scowl.
“Very funny.” Actually I didn’t think of that. Too bad I don’t have time to investigate that option. Shit.
“Yeah, well sorry about that, but I wanted to tell you something crazy.”
Awesome.
“You know Harriet?”
Oh my God. What now? “Yep.”
“She called the help desk today and told me her cup holder was broken.”
I look at him like he’s the crazy one. “What cup holder? What does that have to do with IT?”
“That’s what I said. Since she was flipping out, I decided to come to her desk to see what the deal was…you just won’t believe this.”
“What was it?” I widen my eyes.
“She has been using the disk drive on her computer as a cup holder, and it snapped off.” He starts laughing uncontrollably.
I stare at him open mouthed. “I don’t even know what to say, but you can’t make that shit up.”
“No, Ma’am. So please tell Cecilia to stop hiring these maniacs. She isn’t even servicing the IT department anymore, so we really have no patience for this nonsense.” Marcus flashes a perfect smile.
“Marcus, that’s really bad. You can’t say things like that to me.” I lean in and whisper, “I know it’s true, but we’re all pretending Cecilia is a good girl now.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just thought you might like to hear about the performance of our new employee.”
We reach Tim’s office and I stop. “I’ll be sure to let the boss know. Thanks a million.”
I knock on the door and Marcus goes off to talk to Amanda, who is much prettier and clearly knows what to put in a disk drive. That sounds suggestive, which is pathetic.
I know what the problem is. Steve and I barely have sex anymore. This week has been horrible, and I am worried that with the dog and my apprehension over his house, we may be turning into brother and sister soon.
Just as I am about to knock, I hear a weird sound coming from inside Tim’s office. I turn around and see that Amanda is no longer at her desk. Maybe Tim had another appointment that ran long. It sounds like a woman’s voice. Was that moaning? Oh, come on. Don’t tell me that Tim is in his office with a woman in the middle of the workday, just as I’m coming to see him to talk about a lawsuit against him for improper conduct towards a female employee. Am I the only one who knows how fucked up this place is? Maybe the new author would like to know what she’s getting into. Wait…no, that’s impossible. And gross. That woman wouldn’t be interested in Tim. Unless he promised her something. I slowly tiptoe away. Maybe I can duck out and see if I can get my hair fixed.
I return to my office and grab my purse, heading to the salon to beg for help.
An hour and a half later, I sneak back into my office with a halfway decent head of hair. My stylist was able to repair the damage somewhat. It’s still dry, but I can tame it a bit with hairspray. Whew…I have enough anxiety about going to Steve’s house tonight and I’m sure Noreen never torched her hair.
The rest of the day is uneventful, and I never get a chance to connect with Gina or Claire. We just e-mail confirmation of our plans for our Sunday shopping/spa day. Steve will be mountain biking and the dog will be destroying the furniture while we’re both out. Hopefully the couch. Maybe I will hide some meat in the cushion.
My computer pings. A message from Tim asking if I forgot about our meeting. I wrote back and told him that his door was closed and I heard some noises coming from inside. A minute after I hit the send key, Tim is at my door.
He clears his throat. “Hello, Rebecca. I’m sorry I missed our meeting. I was busy listening to one of our books on tape. Quality control issue. I got caught up.” He looks at his feet.
I eye him suspiciously. “Isn’t that something they would do in Quality Control?” He is so full of shit. “Close the door, please.” I don’t care if he’s my boss. Anyone could have come to his door and overheard that.
He obeys and looks sheepish. “Tim, as uncomfortable as this conversation is, I heard what sounded like moaning in your office and a woman’s voice.” I raise my eyebrows.
Tim puts his hands in his pockets and stands up straighter, which makes his pregnant belly all the more prominent. I feel like throwing up in my mouth.
“If you must know, it was one of our erotica books. I was asked to personally listen to it. The author is one of our biggest sellers and she’s upset about the way the narrator sounds. Not sexy enough.”
I don’t buy this story, but I also don’t care anymore. Maybe Tim will screw himself out a job (literally) and the Board of Directors will find a new CEO. “Oh, I see. That makes sense. Just turn down the volume next time or maybe try using headphones.”
“Yes, good
ideas,” Tim replies nervously. He grabs the doorknob. “Just set up another time on my calendar to meet about…the other incident. Monday would be good.”
He leaves and I exhale. Fine with me. In a few hours I will be wet from dog licking and covered in fur. I try to concentrate on Steve’s fur. Hopefully we can reconnect tonight and end some of this frustration.
Five o’clock rolls around and I head out the door. There’s little traffic, especially near Steve’s side of town, and I pull into the driveway about thirty minutes later. It’s early, but he should be here. With Miss Fluffy.
As I navigate the rocky driveway, I thank God I don’t wear ridiculously high shoes like Claire. If we ever invite her over here I have to warn her, or she will end up face first on the ground with pebbles stuck in her forehead. Wait, if we invite her? I don’t live here.
Once again I am unsure if I should ring the bell? Walk in? Ask for a key? The code?
As I reach for the bell the door swings open to reveal a sweet, smiling man with a jumpy ball of white fur behind him.
“Hi, Honey.” I reach for Steve to give him a kiss and almost get knocked over by the excited little beast. She actually is not anywhere near as big as I thought she would be. But twice as fluffy. She does look like she’s smiling.
I bend down to try to pet her, but she won’t stay still for a second. I put my hand out for her to sniff, as I was taught when I was a child. She rewards me for this courtesy by licking it. Yuck. “Why is she so interested in my hand?”
Steve scoots us both into the foyer and shuts the door. “Well, for one she’s a dog.” He takes my hand and sniffs it. “And two, you’re wearing some kind of scented hand cream.”
“She likes to eat lavender?”
“Many dogs eat their own poo.” Steve smiles and squeezes my arm.
I blink hard and stare between him and Elsa. She is smiling at me with her tongue hanging out, like a happy idiot. Blue and Jewel would scoff at her antics.
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