by Rumer Raines
I explain to Monica that I have my own business that is bringing in major money. Last week, I made three thousand. I know I have so much to thank Monique for since she introduced me to the business, and she even helps me get customers.
“You sell sex toys?” Monica whispers as she swallows a large gulp of the champagne.
“Not just sex toys. I also sell bath products.”
“I can’t believe my best friend sells dildos,” she whispers, shaking her head.
“Monica…”
“Wait... you made how much last week?”
“Three thousand dollars.”
“There are that many women in Chicago using dildos?” she questions.
“Do I have to remind you that I also sell bath products?”
“Bath and Body Works also sells bath products. What makes yours so special? Oh, wait… I guess yours are edible.” She shakes her head violently.
“Have you ladies decided what you would like tonight?” the waiter asks, startling Monica.
“Can we have a few minutes?” I ask.
Monica snatches up her menu and chuckles. “Have you seen the prices on this shit? I barely understand what any of it says, but the soup is thirty-eight bucks.”
“It’s on me. Pick whatever you want.”
My phone rings, and I see that it’s Dominic. I turn the ringer off, and Monica rolls her eyes.
“I hope that wasn’t someone with a broken dildo.” She sneers.
“It’s not.”
I swallow hard and square my shoulders when I hear the buzzer on my phone alerting me to a text message. It’s followed by another and another.
“How about the steak and potatoes?” I ask.
I can see the annoyance on her face as my phone buzzes every few minutes. I glance at my phone occasionally, to make sure it’s not my parents, but as expected, they are all from Dominic.
“What the hell is going on, Stephanie? What else are you involved in?”
“It’s nothing,” I whisper.
“Nothing is texting every five minutes? Do you need to leave?”
“No… It’s a guy, and I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Is it the guy that sent the roses?” she questions.
“Yeah…”
“Why aren’t you answering?”
“It’s complicated. We’re over.”
“Does he know it’s over?” she asks.
I don’t answer, and ten minutes later, our food is delivered. It is delicious and enough food for us to have leftovers for days. Luckily, eating takes most of Monica’s attention, so there is no more talk of Dominic. She would never understand why I am ending things with him.
Despite it all, Monica is a romantic at heart.
“Any dessert for you ladies?”
We both shake our heads, and I ask for the check.
“The bill has already been taken care of, ma’am,” he tells me with a grin.
“Wait… Who paid the bill?”
“Mr. Manso.”
12
HIS TALL FIGURE turns and heads toward us. When he reaches our table, he exchanges a smile with Monica then looks at me.
“I have been calling you.”
“I have been busy.”
His lips twist into a cynical smile.
“Hi, I’m Monica. You are…?”
There is a thin smile on his lips as he holds out his hand to Monica. “Hello, Dominic Manso. Nice to meet you.”
Monica turns several shades of red as she stares at Dominic. “Are you the one who sent the roses?”
“I am… I am glad they arrived.”
“They were absolutely beautiful.” She smiles.
“I’m glad someone thought so.”
“Why don’t you join us? We were just about to order dessert.” A secretive smile softens her lips.
What the hell is happening here? We aren’t having dessert. “We were actually about to leave, Monica.”
“I would like dessert.”
Dominic sits next to me. “It would be my pleasure to treat you to dessert. What do you have in mind, Monica?”
“What do you suggest? I’m easy,” she moans.
I can’t believe she is flirting with him.
Dominic makes eye contact with the waiter, who practically runs back to our table. He orders three tiramisu desserts. As he and Monica discuss Chicago life, he moves his arm across my shoulder. His fingers stroke my arm sensuously. I casually lean over the table so his arm drops. Dominic chuckles, but he doesn’t let that stop him. Seconds later, a hand is on my thigh.
As Monica rambles on, the hand moves farther up my bare leg. Why didn’t I wear pants? My breathing becomes more labored as he reaches and finally pushes aside my panties.
I can’t believe he is doing this here, and why am I letting him? I try to control my breathing as I slowly open my legs a little for him. Dominic glances at me with smoldering eyes before turning back to Monica. I bite the inside of my cheek as I feel his fingers push inside me. He pushes them in and slowly pulls them out.
It takes everything in me not to moan, while Monica talks about art museums and the fucking traffic.
“So, how long have you two been dating?” Monica questions as our desserts are brought to the table.
Dominic pulls his hand away, and I watch as he grabs the spoon and casually licks his fingers as his eyes burn through me. “We have been out a few times,” he replies.
“How nice. Do you have any brothers?”
My eyes widen as I stare at Monica who obviously has no shame.
“I have two,” he answers.
“Are they single?”
“Oh my God… Stop it, Monica!” I beg as Dominic holds his head down to keep from laughing.
“What?” she innocently replies.
“Does he have any brothers? We could be sitting with Jack the Ripper, and you want to know if he has brothers?” I drop my spoon, not able to force my dessert down.
“You wouldn’t go out a few times with Jack the Ripper. I also doubt Jack the Ripper would send roses.”
Biting my lip, I glance at Dominic, silently implying that we need to call it a night. He nods and asks to talk to me alone. The last thing I want to do is talk to Dominic… alone. However, I don’t want to talk to him with Monica listening either.
His finger tenderly traces the line of my cheekbone and jaw. “Why have you been avoiding me?”
“This,” I nod between us, “won’t work.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Are you serious? You’re a steak, and I am hamburger. You are tiramisu, and I am an ice cream cone.”
“I am sane and you’re crazy as hell,” he replies. His hand moves recklessly to my neck. “This is going to happen, Steph”
“This already happened. You left right afterward, and now it’s over.”
He puts his hand under my chin, turning me toward him. “Is that what this is about? I told you I had business.”
“You have business in the middle of the night? Are you married?”
“Do you think I would eat your pussy and go home to a wife?” he answers.
“Would you?”
“I shouldn’t even answer that, but no, Steph, I am not married. I told you I had business. Look, I am not going to sit here and beg you. When you are ready for an adult relationship with a man, you know where to find me.”
I watch him walk away, and he doesn’t look back.
Monica will not stop talking about sexy Dominic. She wants to know how we met and how I have remained so quiet about him. I think both of our hearts cracked a little when I told her it no longer matters because the relationship was over before it really started.
13
IT’S BEEN three months since that fateful night with Dominic. He hasn’t even made an appearance during the meetings I’ve had with Monique. I keep thinking about him and wondering if he has met someone new. Has he forgotten about me?
“How many times do I have to te
ll you where to document your comments?” Ted yells as he drops his laptop on my desk.
“I did document.”
“No, you didn’t document where I told you to do it. Your information is at customer level one. I said I want the information at customer level two!”
Fighting back tears, I watch as Ted pulls up the screen to point out that my comments aren’t where he wants them. I have worked in this department for years, and we have always put the comments in the same spot. I understand that changes do need to be made, but I don’t think making tires square would ever benefit anyone.
“Ted, I think…”
“Stop right there! You are not paid to think. You are paid to follow the rules that I give you. I am the boss. My playground, my rules.”
My stomach drops when he pulls out a chair. He proceeds to go over everything he can find that he believes I did wrong. I don’t think the government was this detailed when they did the audit on my taxes.
“Do you know your problem, Stephanie?” He rolls his eyes and glares at me. “I don’t think you like being told what to do. You just refuse to follow instructions and are determined to fight me no matter what I say.”
My heart races from anger at his statement. “I don’t have a problem following the rules. I just feel it would be better if we…”
“There you go again! I didn’t ask for your opinion. I want you to do what I tell you to do, no questions and no comments. Just do it, damn it.”
I can feel my chest squeezing, feeling like someone is sitting on my chest. Is this what a heart attack feels like? Is this man going to be the reason I die at the age of thirty-five? I have read that people can die from heart attacks at earlier ages, but I never thought I would be one of them.
I bite my lip to fight back the tears threatening to fall as Ted continues to belittle me. I don’t know if he even realizes that I have stopped listening, and I focus my attention on the empty cubicle across from me. I can’t even look at him or I will vomit.
After realizing that I am at my breaking point, I send an email to Human Resources. I know I am not totally innocent, but damn it I deserve to work in a hostile-free environment.
I send her an email advising that I need to discuss my workplace issues. She immediately sends a meeting request, and we will meet in one hour.
Linda passes me a box of Kleenex as I cry about how Ted is treating me. She listens. I honestly feel that she understands everything I am telling her. I feel relieved that I can discuss issues with my human resources representative.
Linda promises that she will talk to Ted and get back to me.
The minute I am back at my desk, Ted storms over.
“Is there a reason you’re in a meeting all day tomorrow? What the hell is this meeting for?”
Glancing at my calendar, I tell him I will be working on my reports tomorrow. I put them on my calendar as a reminder. He narrows his eyes at me and walks away.
I am not very productive for the rest of the day. What is the point, since I don’t do anything right anyway? Maybe I am doing the company a favor by not touching anything.
Glancing at my phone, I read over the last text message that Dominic sent me. I am so tempted to call him, even if it’s just him talking dirty to me. I just want to feel needed and valued.
As I am staring at his last text, another text arrives.
Monique: “Don’t forget our team meeting tonight. My place!”
My Pleasure Party business has been my saving grace. I make plenty of money, and I am respected. At least, my customers and teammates respect me. My mother believes I am going to hell. She won’t even touch the money I try to give her for her insurance payments. Luckily, I am a signer on her account and can deposit the money.
“Do you want to have dinner tonight?”
I didn’t even notice Monica standing outside my cubicle.
“I can’t tonight. I have a team meeting.”
“Ahh... the sex party thing?” she practically shouts.
“Can you say that any louder, Monica?”
“What? You said you have nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I am not embarrassed, I just don’t want these people knowing anything about my personal life.”
Her eyes narrow as she pulls over a chair. “Speaking of personal life, have you heard from Mr. Sexy?”
Sighing, I shake my head and turn away from her to get back to the work I supposedly am very bad at doing, and she eventually walks away.
Ted decides that I need to re-do all the reports I have submitted to him over the past two weeks. The system is slow, and each report takes almost twenty minutes to run. At this point, I am lucky if I will be able to leave before eight p.m.
Ted stalks past me every five minutes, accusing me of causing the system delay. I don’t respond and take every insult he dishes out. At eight thirty-five p.m., the reports finish, and I drive directly to Monique’s.
The meeting has already started when I get there, and Monique pulls open the door.
“Hey, I didn’t think you were coming.”
Fighting back tears, I follow her into the den where the other girls are gathered. They are all playing with the new toys while sipping on wine. One of the girls offers me appetizers, but I don’t think it will sit well in my stomach at this point.
The meeting ends at nine, and hugs go all around. Monique whispers that she would like for me to stay so we can chat. The last thing I need tonight is for her to give me a lecture on not being here for the start of the meeting.
“Is everything okay?” she questions.
“Yeah… everything is wonderful,” I lie.
I can hear the sarcasm in my own voice. Monique isn’t just meeting me today, so I doubt she’ll buy it.
“Hmmm… How about we have another glass of wine and discuss why your eyes look all red and why you came in looking like hell?”
After several glasses of wine, I talk. I don’t just talk, I lay it all out there for her to hear.
I complain about how I have worked for this company for many years, and I don’t get any respect while the kiss-asses get promoted. I complain about how I hate the momentary lapse of judgment when I called Ted a limp dick motherfucker, and how that meant I had to become his bitch. I complain about Ted nitpicking me and turning my weekdays into a living hell.
“Maybe I can help you.”
“What? I doubt you can help.” I take another sip of my wine.
“I think I can. I know people who can help. They can at least get him to back off.”
“No, I talked to HR, and I think she’ll help me.”
Monique narrows her eyes and finishes off her glass. “Okay, but if that doesn’t work out for you, let me know.”
14
I DIDN’T EXPECT human resources to get back to me so quickly. I walk into the office as Linda and Ted are huddled together. I smile at her, knowing this is the moment Ted will be put in his place. He’ll be told he’s being an ass and that his treatment of me is borderline harassment.
What I didn’t expect was to spend the hour listening to Linda defend everything Ted has done. She rewords every comment he has ever made so it sounds more company friendly. Ted stares at me with a smug grin, and I want to crawl over the table to strangle him. I can’t look at either of them as Linda recommends that I work a little harder to understand Ted’s point of view.
When she finishes ripping out the little dignity that I have left, she and Ted talk about their weekend plans. I sit quietly like I am not even in the room. I don’t talk about my weekend plans or anything else. They both glance at me as if they are waiting for me to join the conversation. Are they fucking kidding me? I have never been the type of person to fake my feelings. I hate these people, and they treat me like shit. Do they really think I want to talk about what I do in my personal time? As far as they are concerned, I am surrounded by a barbed-wire wall and there are snipers on the roof, ready to pick them off if they even get near my personal life.
> I am so stressed over the meeting and having to deal with Ted afterward, that I cancel my parties for the week. Luckily, Monique and the other girls do them for me. When Monique asks me what is going on, I lie and tell her that I am sick.
The truth is, work has been so bad since HR took Ted’s side that I go home after work, fall in bed, and drink while watching TV. I had never known the pleasure of vodka until it calmed something within me that needs to be soothed.
Friday night, I had a one-person party and drank two bottles of vodka. With every sip, I thought about Ted and how much I hate the man. The next morning, I hate myself a little. The loud buzzing noise coming from my phone wakes me, and despite my better judgment, I roll over to see who the hell is bothering me.
Monique: Team meeting this morning at 11.
Me: Sorry, can’t make it.
Monique: Do you work on weekends?
Me: No, still not feeling well.
Monique: I know you have been going to work, so you’re not that sick. Team meeting @ 11
Me: I don’t work for you! I said I can’t make it.
Monique: No, you don’t work for me. We are a team. As a team, we work together and pull each other out of slumps. I have your address from the agreement, so either come to my place for the meeting or we are coming to your place!
I am not in the mood for the perky sex toy girls. Crawling into the shower, I try to scrub the smell of vodka off and quickly get dressed. I had no plans on going out, so I put on white t-shirt and grey sweatpants. I look a mess as I pull my curly hair into a bun and put on Chapstick. I am not going to make myself look pretty if I am being forced into the situation. I do that during the forty-hour work week, but the weekend belongs to me.
Pulling open the iron gate, I notice that I am the first person to arrive. Monique opens the door and is looking me over before I’ve had a chance to knock.
“I didn’t think I should have to dress up for a spur of the moment mandatory meeting.”
“You look like hell,” she states.
Ignoring her, I walk into the den and she follows. “Did everyone else blow you off?”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly? There is a meeting today?”