Early for work. I don’t know how I managed it, but I think it had something to do with exercise and sound night’s sleep. I woke up to Adam’s sleepy voice on the machine asking if he had, again, left his watch at my house. I slipped it in my purse on the way out the door. While leaving it at the house would have given me another great reason for a night of fun, I think we should slow things down and I need a rest. I’ve always heard you shouldn’t exercise the same muscles two nights in a row anyway.
*
“Hello, Evelyn.” I cringe. I’ve told Mrs. Campbell several times that my name is Eve – not Evelyn or some other proper name. Apparently Eve strikes her as a heathen name, go figure. “It’s nice to see you in so early. Do you think we could go over the Munroe account at noon?”
*
Dorothy Campbell is a truly nice woman. Sort of motherly, but not in the annoying overbearing sense like one’s real mother. Agree to review the Munroe account with her because of this fact alone. The truth is, the Munroe account is quickly on its way to being a dropped account. We aren’t making any money on it and it’s a waste of paperwork at tax time. It is, however, Mrs. Campbell’s baby. She brought in the account all on her own and is still patiently waiting for it to pay off.
*
I’m debating on whether or not I deserve Starbucks (and if I can afford it) when Sybil sticks her head in my doorway. Sybil, a good friend from college, is one of the few people I was dying to tell about Adam. She’s the sort that has her head screwed on tight and gives fabulous advice. The fact that she’s perpetually single is based solely, in my opinion, on the fact that she ignores men in general.
*
Wonder idly if my dear friend could be of the homosexual persuasion. Nah. Far too conservative, besides I just can’t see her feeling up another chick. “Got a minute?” She waits for my nod. “That attorney from Macy’s keeps calling me. Did we ever get a contract signed for them?” She’s scribbling on her notepad as she talks so I just sit silently until she looks up at me. “Oh my God, you got laid! Who?” She puts the notepad down. You see, this is how a good friend reacts: with interest, even if it’s faked, and enthusiasm.
*
“His name is Adam. He’s unbelievable.” I tell her the whole saga, embarrassing parts and all. Sybil looks horrified. Sybil and I are a strange pairing of friends, in truth. She was definitely one of the “pretty” people – still is. She’s got a cute figure, not too perfect but nothing really out of bounds, and a beautiful face. She’s also genuinely a sweet person – except for three days out of the month when it’s recommended that you avoid her like the plague. Sybil is another demigoddess in my opinion.
*
“You slept with him! Oh shit. That’s the first rule in a ‘real’ relationship, you don’t have sex until you’ve hit two months. You know this, you helped write these rules.” She frowns at me. “Of course, you were drunk and had no idea he was ‘The One’. If you could avoid sex for a month or so, you might be alright.”
*
You have to understand, at the grand age of 27, my friends and I have devised some hard and fast relationship rules. They are pretty much guaranteed facts. To begin with, if you have sex too soon in the relationship – it’s doomed. He’ll never take you – or the relationship – seriously. We don’t know why this is true, but after testing the theory – it’s true. Secondly, you never introduce him to your family until all your friends have approved and he’s made it through at least one bout of PMS. These are tests that many men can’t pass. There are several hundred other lesser rules, but the first two are the unbreakable ones. Bendable – but not breakable. Sybil is big on the rules since at one time or another she’s broken them all and been miserable for it.
*
“I know. Major mistake, but… um, I sent a draft to contracts last Thursday. I called them Friday, but legal hadn’t given the final approval. Send Macy’s to the contracts department when they call back, the lawyers can talk to each other.” Looked up to see beady eyes and leering grin over Sybil’s shoulder. Give a large cheesy grin and pray for a fire drill. She sits immobile when she realizes who has entered my office.
*
“Hello Eve. Hello Sybil. Glad to see such industrious workers at this hour. I thought I would let you know that the Sheffield account went through without a hitch. Got the check this morning. Nice work, Eve.” Alexander Elliott, a complete chauvinistic pig bent on getting the single girls on the floor in the sack. Avoid like the plague. He also happens to be our boss.
*
“Thank you Mr. Elliott.” I don’t say anything else. I’ve learned that if I give him the slightest invitation, he’ll ask me to lunch. For four years, I’ve managed to never have to be alone with the man and I’m not about to change that now. He stood there long enough for Sybil to turn and smile in that questioning way that says, “May I help you?”
*
He finally mumbled something and left. “I better get back to my desk.” Sybil always gets nervous when the managing types wander off their floor to ours. “Call me before your date, we’ll devise a strategy.” She winks at me and ducks out the door.
*
Have no idea what happened for the remainder of the day. Too busy thinking of Adam. Why would someone like him sleep with a drunk girl? Surely he has a significant other or wife. If not, why not? Men who look like that shouldn’t be allowed to wander unattended. He was obviously not gay. (Huge Smile at that thought) At any rate, what does four wrappers really mean? He comes quickly? But he must have extraordinary recovery time. I would have to give this some serious thought. After all, he has to have SOME drawback. I can’t date a perfect guy, as I’m nowhere near perfection myself. Demigoddess and gods are not allowed to match up.
*
There goes the fat girl again. Insecurity at the oddest moments. I wonder what Adam would say if I showed him my pictures from high school. Nah, that’s no good. After all, that was years ago. I also must admit, I never was truly fat – not the kind of fat you see on Jerry Springer. I was just... oversized.
*
Crap. Forgot about the Munroe account. Am about to call Sybil for strategy session when Mrs. Campbell stops by. “I thought you must have gotten busy, dear.” I feel my enemy guilt lurking around the corner. “Do you have a moment now?”
*
Well, no actually I don’t. I need to call my friend and vetch about the new man in my life (possibly). “Of course, I apologize, Mrs. Campbell. Please, sit down. How may I help you?”
*
“Well, as you know, the Munroe account has been fairly quiet recently…” Hah! Recently? That account’s been dead since it walked through the door, but I don’t say that because I’m a nice person. Really. Just smile and nod. “Milford Munroe just called me. He sold his latest formula to a major broker in England. He needs an identity created, a marketing package for his US affiliates and his new English contractors. He sent me a check.” She hands me the slip of paper. “I’d like you to head up the design on this.”
*
Holy Schneikes! The Munroe account was suddenly in the seven figures. I beam at Mrs. Campbell. “I’d be honored. When do you need a prospectus?” I mentally begin pushing smaller projects aside.
*
“I would like to present to Milford, err, Mr. Munroe on the 15th if possible.” I notice her slip and reddening cheeks with interest. Immediately imagine sedate Mrs. Campbell having a hot affair with Milford Munroe. This will bear watching. I check the calendar. Three weeks to devise an entire package first line.
*
“Consider it done.” I would simply have to get rid of everyone but Macy’s and Munroe. This would mean going to Alexander Elliott, but I would deal with that later. Dorothy smiles and sits a folder on information on my desk. She winks and I watch her head for the door. It’s ten to five and Dorothy Campbell is leaving? Something was rotten in Denmark. Definitely an affair!
*
“Sybil, no time to chat. I’m going to be late if I don’t leave now.” Scrambling for my things as I yell at the speakerphone. Purse, mints, cell phone. Fuck, forgot to charge it. Sybil mumbles something about my cell phone. “I’ll try. No promises. I’ll call later at home! Ciao.” Sybil reminds me that a month minimum is required before hanging up. Quick glance in the mirror to make sure hair isn’t sticking up and clothing is still presentable. Yes, fine… go, go, go….
*
Adam is five minutes late. This doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, it’s reassuring because it’s a flaw. Men aren’t supposed to be flawless, y’know. He kisses my cheek and opens the door of the restaurant for me. He’s made a reservation (very thoughtful) and he helps me take off my coat. A moment later, he holds out my chair as I sit down.
*
“May I?’ He points to the wine list. I nod. Now, I’m not a wine person really. I can’t tell you what goes with what and I rarely order it. The fact that Adam is completely at ease with this process makes me nervous. He is the fifth in a succession. I wonder what that means, exactly. Christ..err.. dammit… um.. Crap – that’s better. Crap, he could be the heir to a dynasty. His family might only want him to marry someone with blue blood. It would be like an episode on one of my soap operas (of which I am also an avid fan). Note: Rewind VCR tape to record tomorrow’s show. I’m not savvy enough to have one of those TiVo or DVR things.
*
“I should tell you that Saturday is not normal for me…” I don’t know why I’m explaining myself. I don’t believe in regrets or apologizing for my behavior. I find, though, that with Adam I want things to be very clear. I am not a slut or drunk. This is the main message I’m aiming at. After all, I don’t want him to think I’m a bore.
*
“Really? I have a Saturday every week. Right after Friday.” He smiles that illegal smile. “Really, it’s ok. I don’t normally pick up girls at bars and sleep with them, either. It’s very out of character actually.” He reaches for my hand and smiles again. “In this case, however, I would say it’s divine intervention.”
*
What DID I do last night? The last time a guy called me an angel I had allowed unspeakable acts in the bedroom – including an episode with handcuffs and a blindfold. I smile nervously. Where the hell is the wine?
*
Well, we talked over dinner. Not mundane topics either, but everything from our worst mistakes and most embarrassing moments to lifelong dreams. When I looked around, I realized that the restaurant was nearly empty. “I think they are closing.” I smile at his surprise.
*
“Wow. I can’t believe we’ve been sitting here this long. I don’t even remember ordering.” The empty plates before us tell a different story but I feel the same way. He takes my hand as we head for the door. The maitre d’ is holding our coats. He and Adam have a private conversation as I watch bills pass between them.
*
“That was suave.” I smile as he holds my coat open. Adam winks at me and we walk into the night air. I snuggle close as we wander near my car. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.” I laugh at myself when I say the words, but it’s eerily true. Note: Call Sybil, am in serious danger of falling into “rose colored glasses” spiral. This, as it turns out, is one of the Demigoddess “kryptonite” and should be avoided at all costs.
*
“I’d like to see you again. Can I call you?” Unbelievable. Too good to be true. I must have looked suspicious because he did that smiling thing again. “I’m trying to be a gentleman since we got started off on a different path.” Alright, I’m willing to accept that. In fact, he could have told me that he had another personality and that he was holding it at bay and I would have been all right with it. After all, his other personality picked me up at the bar and used four condoms!
*
“Give me a call. Also, you can catch me on Instant Messenger anytime during the day.” I know, now, that he works for his family shipping company as a vice president of some obscure department. He spends most of his day in meetings and on the computer. He promises to talk to me the next day and kisses my cheek.
*
After making sure I’m safely tucked into my car, he heads off to the jag parked across the street. “Please God, don’t let me be dreaming.” I mutter, starting my car. He heads for his condo in the city and I drive off to my little apartment in the suburbs.
*
Katrina must be foaming at the mouth. The minute I walk to the door, hers swings open. “Late dinner, eh?” She’s smirking. I decide to give her the Cliff Notes version of the evening.
*
“Oh yes, we talked for hours – until the place closed – then that was it.” She arches a brow. “Seriously, Katrina, nothing else happened. As it is, I’m glad things are slowing down enough to get to know one another.” I bite my tongue. Do Not Invite Personal Observations From Katrina. I chant this several times under my breath. At least, I hope it was.
*
“I’m sure your neighbors are too. The new people below you were complaining about the noise this morning at the mailbox.”
*
Oh, that’s just great. A girl gets laid once every blue moon and someone has to gripe about it. Whatever, I decide, they are simply jealous. After all, I’m single and relatively attractive – why shouldn’t I be having hedonistic sex? Fat girl – banished! The demigoddess exercises her powers of confidence and allure!
*
“Well, I’m bushed.” Katrina seems to get the hint and heads back to her own place. I fall into bed, again, exhausted by happiness.
**
Did NOT make it to work early today. Was, as usual, fifteen minutes late. My own fault, as I called Adam to remind him that I still had his watch. We then started just chatting about nothing really. Apparently, we were just happy to hear one another’s voices. Note: Have to start going to church, am obviously being blessed. Testify!
**
One week of perpetual bliss (and yes, I did go to church. Adam’s church - with him!). I keep waiting for something bad to happen, but even Katrina’s kept her distance lately. Not that this has anything to do with a certain snotty comment last week about her getting a life. At least, I don’t think it does.
*
“You left a message for me?” Mr. Elliott leering at me from the doorway. I quickly and concisely explain the dilemma with the Munroe account and my conflicting accounts. “Well, I could give Heather the Munroe account…”
*
Heather? That twit who has trouble completing a sentence. I am immediately enraged. “Mrs. Campbell specifically asked that I lead the Munroe project. These other little projects were Erica Peterson’s before her maternity leave and I think it vastly unfair to ask me to forgo a project I have cultivated since it came to Olefson and Lee.”
*
Apparently no one has ever argued with Mr. Elliott before, because he seems taken aback. “Well, since you feel so strongly. I suppose I can have Heather take over Erica’s files. I do hope you realize, though, that we expect superior performance on the Munroe account for this concession.” Sure. Fine. I win. That’s all I care about. I politely thank him and promise to drop the files Erica left into Heather’s inbox before the day’s end.
*
Heather is not a happy camper. She must have heard my little tirade – she does sit just down the hall – and realized she was getting the short end of the stick. “I never get any of the big new accounts. It’s really unfair.” She pops her bubble gum. Not adult gum that comes in sticks and packages of 5 or 8, but the big pink squares that you can barely chew in childhood.
*
“I’m sorry. Mrs. Campbell asked for me specifically and I don’t wish to disappoint her.” This, of course, shuts her up. No one wants to disappoint Mrs. Campbell. She’s the floor mother and we all adore her. I pat the stack of files. “These really aren’t that complicated. Erica even left a note in each file stating what needed to be done next. I’ve finished four of them, there are only these three left.”
*
“Where’s the Macy’s file?” Heather might be a twit, but she’s not a stupid twit.
*
“Ah, that’s my own personal case. Sybil and I are the only two contracted to work on it.” Well, we will be once the contract gets finalized and signed. It’s not a complete lie. “I think I can manage it and the Munroe file. I’ve already finished the preliminaries with Macy’s at any rate, so I only have the final design to complete.” I can practically see her steaming in her chair, but I’m distracted by a familiar voice down the hall.
*
“May I just wait in her office?” Adam is standing by my door looking delectable in his suit and tie. He’s holding a bouquet of roses but he’s talking to Mr. Elliott. I leave Heather bending over backwards to catch a glimpse and hurry down the hall.
*
“Adam, darling.” First time for a pet name. I’ve decided to try them out slowly until I find one that sounds right. I lean forward for his kiss on the cheek and take his hand. “I see you’ve met Mr. Elliott. This is a nice surprise.” I debate simply tugging him into my office and ignoring my boss or politely asking to be excused.
*
Adam grins at me. Note: This is different from those melting smiles. It’s a playful type of thing that I’ve learned means he’s going to do something naughty. He slides his arm around my waist and looks at my boss with a leer. “If you’ll excuse us…” Moments later I find myself in my office, door closed, pressed against the nearest wall – being kissed silly.
*
“Adam!” I gasp. I wonder if Alexander Elliott is still standing outside the door. He was only slightly more stunned that myself.
*
“I had to come and see you. We are going to celebrate. I just closed my very first shipping contract over a million dollars.” This is a major milestone for him. If he impresses the board, he might make it in as an actual partner in his own right.
*
“That’s brilliant!” Can I skip work? The fact that I’ve been perpetually late and only have the weakest of outlines for the Munroe work holds me back. “After work?” I kiss his cheek. “I’ll cook dinner, if you like.”
*
I should mention here that I still haven’t been to Adam’s condo. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s hiding a wife and child because he never invites me over. We haven’t been back to my place because we are valiantly trying to avoid falling back into bed.
“Absolutely. Bring clothes to my place.” So much for avoiding bed! “I have a guest room, silly woman. We made a vow to stick it out for 6 weeks and we’re sticking to it.” Oh. Well, shit.
*
Now. Not only do I need to do some truly creative work on the Munroe account, but I need to devise a dinner plan, buy groceries, run home, shower, get a change of clothing, call Sybil and then get to Adam’s house in a timely manner to make dinner. No problem.
*
Dinner was a disaster. Turns out, the demigoddess isn’t much of a cook. Being fat, contrary to popular belief, does not inherently bring along brilliance in the kitchen. Now that I’m no longer that girl, any gift in the kitchen I did have is long gone. We give up on my impromptu Pad Thai and order pizza.
*
“So you are imperfect. Note to self, she can’t cook.” I stick out my tongue at him. He picks up an Oreo and takes a bite. “Dessert, however, she seems to have a knack for.” I laugh and continue cleaning the kitchen. Adam cleared the table but made no fuss when I offered to finish cleaning up. He did keep me company though, so that’s a point in his favor.
*
“I am sorry. I’ve never made Pad Thai from scratch, I should have gone with something I know.” He arches a brow. “Pancakes and scrambled eggs.”
*
“Good, then you have the breakfast shift.” He catches the towel I throw at him. “Let’s go watch the fire.” We end up in his tiny living room. (Really the entire condominium is tiny, but what can one expect in the city. Definitely NOT hiding a family here.)
*
To be continued...
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
How to be a Demigoddess (or die trying)
The girl with the pudgy thighs, too-thick waist, flat butt and missing chest grew up. She was twenty-five when she realized her thighs were sleek and supple, her waist curved and she had rounded out quite nicely. It was about that time it occurred to her that men were looking at her with actual interest. Not that the sleek thighs were what did it. That’s the great thing about men. Even the girl with the pudgy thighs has a chance.
*
For men, however, life was a little less fair. The girl with the pudgy thighs dreamed of a solid chest and stomach pressed into her with rock hard thighs between hers and arms of steel about her. A guy had to be taller, stronger and hotter. Well, until he came to the realization that he made more money and was a lot less neurotic than most of the women he was eyeing - like the girl in the corner with the shoulder length hair, nice ass and perfect thighs.
**
So I’m minding my own business, God knows I’m not used to the attention. It’s been two years since I stopped avoiding looking at myself naked in the mirror. Besides, everyone’s always waiting for someone to make the first move. After all, a man doesn’t have to do everything anymore, right? Imagine my surprise at being asked to dance, then. Then a drink bought for me – a first. Unfortunately, the conversation never takes on any real depth and it hits me that this isn’t going anywhere past one night.
*
I don’t think I care. I’ve imbibed enough alcohol and watched enough PDA to make me as horny as the next single person. I glance over to see two girls, friends, dancing together. They keep looking at the group of guys hanging around the bar. Typical J. Crew types. All tall, perfect in their fairness or brooding darkness and, most importantly, interested.
*
So that’s how I came to leave the bar. Not alone. Ok, it was dangerous. I’m not stupid. People get raped, robbed and worse by being this dumb. In the taxi on the way to my place, I have second... third... fourth thoughts. All it takes is a whisper in my ear to wave the doubts away.
*
Fumbling for the key, the smell of smoke from the bar assails me. I can’t stand it. It clings to our hair and it’s just not attractive. Flicking on lights, I make small talk. ‘Would you like a drink of water? Are you hungry?’ Inside I cringe, it’s not like this is IHOP. It’s definitely not why we abandoned the crowded club at barely quarter past midnight.
*
Remembering, now – it’s easy to see how I got to that point. But this morning, it was much harder to pinpoint. This morning, I wasn’t the horny person in the club needing a release. This morning I was just myself – thankfully not in bed with a stranger since one of us had the common sense to leave before things got awkward.
*
‘Christ, what was I thinking?’ Immediately, I recant my words. I won’t add blasphemy to my transgressions. I’ll just pretend it didn’t happen. If I pretend I wasn’t a little crazy last night, nothing has to change.
**So, I climb out of bed and get dressed. It’s Sunday and I should be in church. A long time ago, my family was Catholic. Even though we’re no longer of that religion, some of its tenets stick with you. Such as guilt. Guilt over not going to church on Sunday, or having sex with a stranger or… Stop it. I scramble up some breakfast and force myself to think of something else. Laundry, I desperately need to do laundry. The problem with once being a fat girl is that clothing doesn’t hold any real appeal to you. Clothing never made you look slimmer or sexier or more appealing when you were fat, so you learned to disregard them. Therefore laundry becomes a forgotten about chore until you run out of clean underwear.
*
Oh sure, you have the basic ideals of fashion down and you always look presentable. You go for classic pieces that you can mix and match. Fat girl clothes were expensive so you learned to buy fewer pieces and make them go farther. Just because you can now shop anywhere doesn’t mean you’ve changed such ingrained habits. So, business clothing comes easy. Formal dressing is fun; it’s like playing dress-up in thin people’s clothing. In fact, these days, every day is playing dress up in a thin person’s body. It still hasn’t quite hit you that the shapely girl in the mirror is in fact you. Shapely – as in some other shape than round.
*
It’s really days like today, the days when you’re wearing grungy clothes that cause you a moment’s hesitation. When I was the fat girl, I wore loose (baggy?) knits that didn’t chafe or cling. I felt thinner in them. Even jeans were too confining after a while, especially since I always bought them a little tighter than perhaps I actually was. Denial – it’s everywhere. Now that I’m a size the majority calls normal, jeans aren’t quite as daunting and I even buy them in my correct size. In fact, the variety of clothing available to me now is frankly astounding.
*
However, I still find myself in loose (baggy!) knits. So when someone knocks on the door, I find myself very reluctant to let him or her in. After all, I’m in my fat girl clothes and they might not be able to see the thinner me in here.
*
Shouldn’t have answered the bloody door. It’s my neighbor, Katrina, who – I think it’s fair to say – is the most annoying human being on the face of the planet after one’s mother and younger siblings. I, of course, smile and make small talk. Note: At no time do I ever invite her in, but somehow, we end up at my breakfast (lunch and dinner!) table.
*
“So, what’s the scoop with Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome?” Obviously she’s been spying on me again. I’m fairly certain that … well, hell, I can’t even remember his name… well, whomever he was left at some god awful time in the morning when even busybodies like Katrina should have been asleep. I swear, she has some sort of internal radar. “I couldn’t sleep about dawn and noticed someone skulking about your door. Imagine my surprise to see Mr. TDH slipping off to a cab.”
*
I wonder if I pretend I can’t hear her if I could avoid talking about this. I mean, I want to talk about it. I want to rehash it in delectable detail – well, when my memory fully returns and the fuzzy haze over my eyes lifts. But I don’t want to rehash it with Katrina. I’d prefer my best friend or sister, hell – I’d tell my mother before Kat. “Oh, that was my cousin. Got in late from the airport, but his luggage didn’t come with him so he was heading back to the airport to claim it. Then he’s off to the Marriott in the city for some conference this week. I didn’t want him sleeping at the airport after all.”
*
Katrina looks suspicious and disappointed, but she decides not to press the issue. (Thank God.) “Well, I’m going to the mall, care to tag along?” Tag along? Tag along! Do I look like a puppy? Sure, when I was the fat girl I would have jumped at the chance. You have to understand, for all her annoying habits – Katrina is a guy’s walking wet dream. She’s about 5’7”, long blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect body – though I’d swear the tits were fake – and a faintly vacuous look in her eyes. She’s smart enough to get a real job, but dumb enough to never worry about the glass ceiling, if you get my drift.
*
“No thanks, laundry day.” Besides, I still haven’t figured out the mystique at the mall. In high school it was there to be seen and admired as a beautiful person. Even girls with pudgy thighs could make this club if they had enough money, smarts or the right friends. I went a few times, but I stopped (not that I wasn’t invited, because I was!). I stopped because I hated shopping for clothing. Not only was I not interested in the latest fads, which were mostly horrible, but also I always felt awkward in the “show and tell” section of the trip. I could browse the lesser sizes with the crowd, but when it came time to put them on, I would have to slip away to the larger sizes if there were any and pray for an identical item. And the garments never looked the same on me as they did on Missy Valentine, the most popular girl in school (Katrina’s twin so far as I can see). The fact that Missy Valentine was also the easiest thing to nail in the school without a hammer did not waylay the fact that everyone, cheerleader and geek alike, wanted to be her best friend. And, sadly, that included me – one of the fat girls.
*
I should clarify here that when I say fat girl, it’s more of a state of mind than a physical definition. Oh, don’t get me wrong – there’s some part of you that is too big, too round or too ugly to fit in with the “pretty” people, but it’s never as bad as you think and it’s usually a stigma put on a person by rude adolescent males who spend far too much time secretly looking at porn. As if they could EVER get one of THOSE women.
*
Anyway, I’ve gotten rid of Katrina. I’m sure I’m a horrible bitch to her, but she keeps coming back for more. I figure it’s good practice for when I have teenage children – and for the Jehovah’s Witness. Well, a load in the washer and one in the dryer. Now what? I suppose I could do some general organizing and cleaning, but that’s really not my forte. I’m more of a… well… not slob, per se. But if cleanliness is next to godliness, I’ll never be immortal. A demigod. Demigoddess.
*
That’s it! That’s how I’m referring to myself from now on, Demigoddess. That’s what I am – almost perfect but … well, not.
*
I’ve just made up my mind to get in my car and go somewhere. Where, I’m not sure, but I’ll figure it out after Katrina’s long gone. Drat. The phone. I consider not answering it. Then I consider checking the caller id, but it’s in the other room and there’s a phone right here. Oh, the hell with it – “Hello?”
*
Should NOT have answered phone. Remember who is more annoying than Katrina? Well, it’s number one on the list. “No, Mom, I didn’t go to church.” Great, and I had completely forgotten to be guilty! Begin to rapidly devise ways to get off phone. My mother and I always end up arguing if we talk to long. If we keep things light and social, then it’s all just great. For instance, conversation about the weather and the holidays is acceptable and we shouldn’t argue. (Though it HAS been known to happen.) “Ah, mom, can I call you back? The washer just buzzed. Uh huh, sure, I’ll do that. First thing Monday, yes… alright, love you too.”
*
That’s another thing. The people in my family, myself included unfortunately, don’t know how to say goodbye. We keep people trapped in a loop of affirmations and farewells with no actual exits. I, personally, am trying to break the habit. It’s sort of ingrained though… y’know?
*
So, I’m out the door. Where the hell is my car?
*
Shit. Well that’s just perfect. I forgot we took the bloody cab home. I check my wallet and of course I only have three dollars left. I’m just about to go inside and contemplate which friend I can beg a ride from. As a demigoddess, I lack the innate ability to fly or use my mind to transport myself other places. This is a real regret.
*
“Hello! Where are you headed?” Fuck, fuck and double fuck, did I mention regret before? Katrina. “Need a lift?” Well, actually I do, so I say yes and tell her where my car is parked. She doesn’t seem pleased to have to drive me into the city, but frankly – she offered. I wonder if I have finally pushed her too far.
*
“Well, thanks for the lift and all.” Have managed to avoid any serious conversation in the car by dredging up tidbits of small talk, now must quickly get keys and get in car before obligating oneself to attend an event with Katrina as a ‘thank you’ for the ride. “Should I give you gas money?” See, I’m not a horrible person. Three dollars would put more gas in her car than she expended giving me a lift.
*
“Absolutely not. I’m glad to help. Say, are you interested in seeing that new movie that’s out?” Well, hey – that wouldn’t be too bad. I could have some of my friends meet up with us. Plus, you can’t really converse in a movie. I should, however, clarify what movie. With my luck it’s an ongoing saga of the life of the Olsen twins and I would end up going mad and stab strangers in the eye.
*
“Sure, how about tomorrow night after work? I’ll even buy you popcorn.” There. Generous. Magnanimous if I do say so myself, and trust me, I do. Demigoddess attribute #412: Generosity in the face of annoyance.
*
“Well, I was thinking of the matinee today…”
*
“Oh, drat. I can’t. I’ve clothes in the laundry and my mother is calling me back.” This, while a grand excuse, is also probably the truth. My mother ALWAYS calls me back.
*
“Then after work it is! I’ll work on my crochet or something. My sister is having a baby and I’m making a blanket.” So there I am, standing with my mouth open in the middle of the street, keys dangling. Katrina’s leaning out her window and almost shouting from the opposite curb. I’m trying to imagine Katrina knowing which end of a crochet hook goes where when the guy from last night appears.
*
“Hey.” He is standing there staring at me from the other side of my car. I smile. His name, I would give anything to remember his name.
*
“Kat, I’ll talk to you later, ok?” She frowns a little but nods. She doesn’t drive away right away and I smile at her. “Got to see what’s going on here.” She shrugs then smiles vacantly and drives away.
*
“Um, did I leave my watch at your house?” God, he is handsome. At least when I’m drunk I have taste. However, I am not currently drunk but I AM STANDING HERE IN MY FAT CLOTHES. Crap! I didn’t think to change. Did I even shower?
*
“I don’t know, actually. What does it look like? If I find it, I could get it to you.” Immediately I want to kick myself. I can’t remember his first name, so I surely don’t remember something so insignificant as a phone number. “555-4427, right?” Holy Schneikes Batman, where did THAT come from? Demigoddess attribute #88: Uncanny memory of trivial details.
*
“Yeah, that’s it. I was thinking maybe I could follow you to your house and check really quick.” He flashes that melting smile at me again and, dammit to hell, I’m agreeing to this. “Thanks, Evie. I’m parked right over there.” He points to a green jaguar. (EXCELLENT taste while drunk if I may say so) and jogs over to it.
*
“Wait!” I call before he can duck into his car. “Give me your full name just in case.” I say this with a teasing grin, thinking I’m being clever. After all, he did remember my name, which tells me he wasn’t nearly as drunk as I.
*
“Again?” He laughs. Was he drunk at all last night? Suddenly, I’m struck by the very real possibility that he’s interested in more than a night. I also consider that I might have made a very serious mistake. “Adam Elliott Sinclair, the fifth.”
*
“Adam and Eve? That’s unbelievable.” He finishes the sentence with me and I realize I’m repeating myself. I blush and shake my head. Major mistake. “Alright, follow me.” The entire way home, I’m debating with myself on how to handle this. While this could end up being Mr. Right, I haven’t exactly started a potential relationship with him on the best note. Not to mention the fact that I told Katrina he was my cousin. Of course, I could always tell Katrina I was pretty hung over and haven’t the faintest what I said.
*
Adam parks and quickly comes over to help me from my car. (And a gentleman! With the exception of his sleeping with a drunken girl at the bar, he’s batting 1000.) Demigoddess attribute #71: Ability to pick amazing men while otherwise incapacitated. I smile and we go up the steps. I can practically hear Katrina peeping through the peephole on the door. As we enter the apartment, I do a mental check. I think I picked up the underwear from the floor, though – hell – he saw it at 4 am, things haven’t changed much since then. He ventures into the bedroom while I follow him more slowly. He points to a gold watch on my nightstand next to the condom wrappers.
*
We used protection. My knees grow weak with thanks. I count four wrappers and I blink. Four wrappers and I can’t remember it?! How fucking unfair is THAT? Adam is smiling at me again and I lean on the doorframe. I vaguely realize he’s wearing the same clothing as the night before. “Haven’t been home yet?”
*
He laughs. “Only for a moment, then I was trying to decide if I could remember how to get back to your house. Then I had to think of a good reason. Then I tried to talk myself out of it, because I thought you would freak. Don’t want you thinking I’m a stalker.” He smiles again.
*
“All that, eh? You must be hungry.” There I go trying to feed the man again. I vaguely remember doing the same thing the night before. My cheeks go red with mortification. Adam just shakes his head.
*
“I’m hungry. Not for food, though.” Just like that. I swear it’s what he said. A line right out of one of those smarmy romance smut novels at the bookstore. I know because I’m an avid reader of such titles. Then he took a step towards me and… well let’s just say I have no willpower. “You should know, Eve. I want to keep seeing you. This isn’t a one night stand to me.” Then he kissed me again.
*
After kisses like that, he could have told me anything. “Adam, let’s talk later.” I guess I’m to blame for us not making it to the bed. It gives banging door a whole new meaning, but I swear the imprint of the doorjamb will never leave my backside. Several hours later, as in it was getting dark; Adam remembered that he had to work the next day. This time we exchanged information properly and I promised him that we would go to dinner the next night.
*
“Fuck.” Katrina and the movie. Well, she would be over in a moment and I would simply have to explain. I started cleaning my room when, like clockwork, a knock on the door. “Hello, Katrina, please come in.” Note: This time a formal invitation, but she chose to stand in the doorway. Does this make ANY sense?
*
“Your cousin, eh?” She’s glaring at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her angry before. I mean, yes I lied, but honestly it isn’t as though I OWED her an explanation.
*
“Is that what I said? I’m sorry, I was really hung over. His name is Adam. I really didn’t mean to lie.” There, that’s as good as it gets. If she thinks I care enough to beg, well… she’s far more deluded than I knew. Demigoddess attribute #21: Ability to make anyone love and forgive you.
*
“Oh.” She ponders this then smiles brightly. “I’ve done that before too. So, are you guys dating?” Could she play into my hands any better? Grasp this opportunity to tell her that he asked me to dinner the following night, but that I might have to turn him down since we made plans. “Absolutely not! We can see a movie any time. Go to dinner. You can call me later and we can talk about all the details like old school friends.” She laughs. I do NOT commit to this. Don’t want Katrina getting the wrong idea.
*
“Well…” Saved by the bell. Phone rings and Katrina says she needs to go home anyway. Answer the phone out of sheer idiocy. “Oh, Hello mom.” I knew it was her, who else calls at the crack of dawn or when reasonable people are asleep? Why on earth did I answer? Demigoddess attribute #5: Impulsiveness, sometimes leading to foolish behavior. “Doing all day? Um, laundry.” Got laid six ways to Sunday, no pun intended. Not that I can say that to my mother. Hell, if Adam hadn’t run out of condoms (we used the remainder of the box, thank you!), we’d still be in bed more than likely. Actually, that’s not true. I was getting a little saddle sore and tired (if my thighs had a little more cushion I probably could have gone a bit more!), so was he. But we would have made a valiant effort, I’m sure. “Oh, nevermind about tomorrow? Dinner? I can’t. I have to work late.” I could have told her I had a date, but I’d much rather become Katrina’s bosom shopping buddy first. “Yes, tell Dad I love him too. Good night.”
*
Fancy that, a civil conversation. My eyes narrow, that can only mean she’s going to want something in the near future. Note to self: Check caller ID from now on. Also, add Adam’s number to cell phone.
*
I put the last load in the washer and tumble into bed. Sniff. What the hell is that sme…crap, I need a shower and clean sheets. This takes me half an hour, but I fall asleep almost instantly. My last thought, shamelessly, is that I hope I can remember last night eventually, as it must have been a great one!
**
To be continued...
*
For men, however, life was a little less fair. The girl with the pudgy thighs dreamed of a solid chest and stomach pressed into her with rock hard thighs between hers and arms of steel about her. A guy had to be taller, stronger and hotter. Well, until he came to the realization that he made more money and was a lot less neurotic than most of the women he was eyeing - like the girl in the corner with the shoulder length hair, nice ass and perfect thighs.
**
So I’m minding my own business, God knows I’m not used to the attention. It’s been two years since I stopped avoiding looking at myself naked in the mirror. Besides, everyone’s always waiting for someone to make the first move. After all, a man doesn’t have to do everything anymore, right? Imagine my surprise at being asked to dance, then. Then a drink bought for me – a first. Unfortunately, the conversation never takes on any real depth and it hits me that this isn’t going anywhere past one night.
*
I don’t think I care. I’ve imbibed enough alcohol and watched enough PDA to make me as horny as the next single person. I glance over to see two girls, friends, dancing together. They keep looking at the group of guys hanging around the bar. Typical J. Crew types. All tall, perfect in their fairness or brooding darkness and, most importantly, interested.
*
So that’s how I came to leave the bar. Not alone. Ok, it was dangerous. I’m not stupid. People get raped, robbed and worse by being this dumb. In the taxi on the way to my place, I have second... third... fourth thoughts. All it takes is a whisper in my ear to wave the doubts away.
*
Fumbling for the key, the smell of smoke from the bar assails me. I can’t stand it. It clings to our hair and it’s just not attractive. Flicking on lights, I make small talk. ‘Would you like a drink of water? Are you hungry?’ Inside I cringe, it’s not like this is IHOP. It’s definitely not why we abandoned the crowded club at barely quarter past midnight.
*
Remembering, now – it’s easy to see how I got to that point. But this morning, it was much harder to pinpoint. This morning, I wasn’t the horny person in the club needing a release. This morning I was just myself – thankfully not in bed with a stranger since one of us had the common sense to leave before things got awkward.
*
‘Christ, what was I thinking?’ Immediately, I recant my words. I won’t add blasphemy to my transgressions. I’ll just pretend it didn’t happen. If I pretend I wasn’t a little crazy last night, nothing has to change.
**So, I climb out of bed and get dressed. It’s Sunday and I should be in church. A long time ago, my family was Catholic. Even though we’re no longer of that religion, some of its tenets stick with you. Such as guilt. Guilt over not going to church on Sunday, or having sex with a stranger or… Stop it. I scramble up some breakfast and force myself to think of something else. Laundry, I desperately need to do laundry. The problem with once being a fat girl is that clothing doesn’t hold any real appeal to you. Clothing never made you look slimmer or sexier or more appealing when you were fat, so you learned to disregard them. Therefore laundry becomes a forgotten about chore until you run out of clean underwear.
*
Oh sure, you have the basic ideals of fashion down and you always look presentable. You go for classic pieces that you can mix and match. Fat girl clothes were expensive so you learned to buy fewer pieces and make them go farther. Just because you can now shop anywhere doesn’t mean you’ve changed such ingrained habits. So, business clothing comes easy. Formal dressing is fun; it’s like playing dress-up in thin people’s clothing. In fact, these days, every day is playing dress up in a thin person’s body. It still hasn’t quite hit you that the shapely girl in the mirror is in fact you. Shapely – as in some other shape than round.
*
It’s really days like today, the days when you’re wearing grungy clothes that cause you a moment’s hesitation. When I was the fat girl, I wore loose (baggy?) knits that didn’t chafe or cling. I felt thinner in them. Even jeans were too confining after a while, especially since I always bought them a little tighter than perhaps I actually was. Denial – it’s everywhere. Now that I’m a size the majority calls normal, jeans aren’t quite as daunting and I even buy them in my correct size. In fact, the variety of clothing available to me now is frankly astounding.
*
However, I still find myself in loose (baggy!) knits. So when someone knocks on the door, I find myself very reluctant to let him or her in. After all, I’m in my fat girl clothes and they might not be able to see the thinner me in here.
*
Shouldn’t have answered the bloody door. It’s my neighbor, Katrina, who – I think it’s fair to say – is the most annoying human being on the face of the planet after one’s mother and younger siblings. I, of course, smile and make small talk. Note: At no time do I ever invite her in, but somehow, we end up at my breakfast (lunch and dinner!) table.
*
“So, what’s the scoop with Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome?” Obviously she’s been spying on me again. I’m fairly certain that … well, hell, I can’t even remember his name… well, whomever he was left at some god awful time in the morning when even busybodies like Katrina should have been asleep. I swear, she has some sort of internal radar. “I couldn’t sleep about dawn and noticed someone skulking about your door. Imagine my surprise to see Mr. TDH slipping off to a cab.”
*
I wonder if I pretend I can’t hear her if I could avoid talking about this. I mean, I want to talk about it. I want to rehash it in delectable detail – well, when my memory fully returns and the fuzzy haze over my eyes lifts. But I don’t want to rehash it with Katrina. I’d prefer my best friend or sister, hell – I’d tell my mother before Kat. “Oh, that was my cousin. Got in late from the airport, but his luggage didn’t come with him so he was heading back to the airport to claim it. Then he’s off to the Marriott in the city for some conference this week. I didn’t want him sleeping at the airport after all.”
*
Katrina looks suspicious and disappointed, but she decides not to press the issue. (Thank God.) “Well, I’m going to the mall, care to tag along?” Tag along? Tag along! Do I look like a puppy? Sure, when I was the fat girl I would have jumped at the chance. You have to understand, for all her annoying habits – Katrina is a guy’s walking wet dream. She’s about 5’7”, long blonde hair, blue eyes, perfect body – though I’d swear the tits were fake – and a faintly vacuous look in her eyes. She’s smart enough to get a real job, but dumb enough to never worry about the glass ceiling, if you get my drift.
*
“No thanks, laundry day.” Besides, I still haven’t figured out the mystique at the mall. In high school it was there to be seen and admired as a beautiful person. Even girls with pudgy thighs could make this club if they had enough money, smarts or the right friends. I went a few times, but I stopped (not that I wasn’t invited, because I was!). I stopped because I hated shopping for clothing. Not only was I not interested in the latest fads, which were mostly horrible, but also I always felt awkward in the “show and tell” section of the trip. I could browse the lesser sizes with the crowd, but when it came time to put them on, I would have to slip away to the larger sizes if there were any and pray for an identical item. And the garments never looked the same on me as they did on Missy Valentine, the most popular girl in school (Katrina’s twin so far as I can see). The fact that Missy Valentine was also the easiest thing to nail in the school without a hammer did not waylay the fact that everyone, cheerleader and geek alike, wanted to be her best friend. And, sadly, that included me – one of the fat girls.
*
I should clarify here that when I say fat girl, it’s more of a state of mind than a physical definition. Oh, don’t get me wrong – there’s some part of you that is too big, too round or too ugly to fit in with the “pretty” people, but it’s never as bad as you think and it’s usually a stigma put on a person by rude adolescent males who spend far too much time secretly looking at porn. As if they could EVER get one of THOSE women.
*
Anyway, I’ve gotten rid of Katrina. I’m sure I’m a horrible bitch to her, but she keeps coming back for more. I figure it’s good practice for when I have teenage children – and for the Jehovah’s Witness. Well, a load in the washer and one in the dryer. Now what? I suppose I could do some general organizing and cleaning, but that’s really not my forte. I’m more of a… well… not slob, per se. But if cleanliness is next to godliness, I’ll never be immortal. A demigod. Demigoddess.
*
That’s it! That’s how I’m referring to myself from now on, Demigoddess. That’s what I am – almost perfect but … well, not.
*
I’ve just made up my mind to get in my car and go somewhere. Where, I’m not sure, but I’ll figure it out after Katrina’s long gone. Drat. The phone. I consider not answering it. Then I consider checking the caller id, but it’s in the other room and there’s a phone right here. Oh, the hell with it – “Hello?”
*
Should NOT have answered phone. Remember who is more annoying than Katrina? Well, it’s number one on the list. “No, Mom, I didn’t go to church.” Great, and I had completely forgotten to be guilty! Begin to rapidly devise ways to get off phone. My mother and I always end up arguing if we talk to long. If we keep things light and social, then it’s all just great. For instance, conversation about the weather and the holidays is acceptable and we shouldn’t argue. (Though it HAS been known to happen.) “Ah, mom, can I call you back? The washer just buzzed. Uh huh, sure, I’ll do that. First thing Monday, yes… alright, love you too.”
*
That’s another thing. The people in my family, myself included unfortunately, don’t know how to say goodbye. We keep people trapped in a loop of affirmations and farewells with no actual exits. I, personally, am trying to break the habit. It’s sort of ingrained though… y’know?
*
So, I’m out the door. Where the hell is my car?
*
Shit. Well that’s just perfect. I forgot we took the bloody cab home. I check my wallet and of course I only have three dollars left. I’m just about to go inside and contemplate which friend I can beg a ride from. As a demigoddess, I lack the innate ability to fly or use my mind to transport myself other places. This is a real regret.
*
“Hello! Where are you headed?” Fuck, fuck and double fuck, did I mention regret before? Katrina. “Need a lift?” Well, actually I do, so I say yes and tell her where my car is parked. She doesn’t seem pleased to have to drive me into the city, but frankly – she offered. I wonder if I have finally pushed her too far.
*
“Well, thanks for the lift and all.” Have managed to avoid any serious conversation in the car by dredging up tidbits of small talk, now must quickly get keys and get in car before obligating oneself to attend an event with Katrina as a ‘thank you’ for the ride. “Should I give you gas money?” See, I’m not a horrible person. Three dollars would put more gas in her car than she expended giving me a lift.
*
“Absolutely not. I’m glad to help. Say, are you interested in seeing that new movie that’s out?” Well, hey – that wouldn’t be too bad. I could have some of my friends meet up with us. Plus, you can’t really converse in a movie. I should, however, clarify what movie. With my luck it’s an ongoing saga of the life of the Olsen twins and I would end up going mad and stab strangers in the eye.
*
“Sure, how about tomorrow night after work? I’ll even buy you popcorn.” There. Generous. Magnanimous if I do say so myself, and trust me, I do. Demigoddess attribute #412: Generosity in the face of annoyance.
*
“Well, I was thinking of the matinee today…”
*
“Oh, drat. I can’t. I’ve clothes in the laundry and my mother is calling me back.” This, while a grand excuse, is also probably the truth. My mother ALWAYS calls me back.
*
“Then after work it is! I’ll work on my crochet or something. My sister is having a baby and I’m making a blanket.” So there I am, standing with my mouth open in the middle of the street, keys dangling. Katrina’s leaning out her window and almost shouting from the opposite curb. I’m trying to imagine Katrina knowing which end of a crochet hook goes where when the guy from last night appears.
*
“Hey.” He is standing there staring at me from the other side of my car. I smile. His name, I would give anything to remember his name.
*
“Kat, I’ll talk to you later, ok?” She frowns a little but nods. She doesn’t drive away right away and I smile at her. “Got to see what’s going on here.” She shrugs then smiles vacantly and drives away.
*
“Um, did I leave my watch at your house?” God, he is handsome. At least when I’m drunk I have taste. However, I am not currently drunk but I AM STANDING HERE IN MY FAT CLOTHES. Crap! I didn’t think to change. Did I even shower?
*
“I don’t know, actually. What does it look like? If I find it, I could get it to you.” Immediately I want to kick myself. I can’t remember his first name, so I surely don’t remember something so insignificant as a phone number. “555-4427, right?” Holy Schneikes Batman, where did THAT come from? Demigoddess attribute #88: Uncanny memory of trivial details.
*
“Yeah, that’s it. I was thinking maybe I could follow you to your house and check really quick.” He flashes that melting smile at me again and, dammit to hell, I’m agreeing to this. “Thanks, Evie. I’m parked right over there.” He points to a green jaguar. (EXCELLENT taste while drunk if I may say so) and jogs over to it.
*
“Wait!” I call before he can duck into his car. “Give me your full name just in case.” I say this with a teasing grin, thinking I’m being clever. After all, he did remember my name, which tells me he wasn’t nearly as drunk as I.
*
“Again?” He laughs. Was he drunk at all last night? Suddenly, I’m struck by the very real possibility that he’s interested in more than a night. I also consider that I might have made a very serious mistake. “Adam Elliott Sinclair, the fifth.”
*
“Adam and Eve? That’s unbelievable.” He finishes the sentence with me and I realize I’m repeating myself. I blush and shake my head. Major mistake. “Alright, follow me.” The entire way home, I’m debating with myself on how to handle this. While this could end up being Mr. Right, I haven’t exactly started a potential relationship with him on the best note. Not to mention the fact that I told Katrina he was my cousin. Of course, I could always tell Katrina I was pretty hung over and haven’t the faintest what I said.
*
Adam parks and quickly comes over to help me from my car. (And a gentleman! With the exception of his sleeping with a drunken girl at the bar, he’s batting 1000.) Demigoddess attribute #71: Ability to pick amazing men while otherwise incapacitated. I smile and we go up the steps. I can practically hear Katrina peeping through the peephole on the door. As we enter the apartment, I do a mental check. I think I picked up the underwear from the floor, though – hell – he saw it at 4 am, things haven’t changed much since then. He ventures into the bedroom while I follow him more slowly. He points to a gold watch on my nightstand next to the condom wrappers.
*
We used protection. My knees grow weak with thanks. I count four wrappers and I blink. Four wrappers and I can’t remember it?! How fucking unfair is THAT? Adam is smiling at me again and I lean on the doorframe. I vaguely realize he’s wearing the same clothing as the night before. “Haven’t been home yet?”
*
He laughs. “Only for a moment, then I was trying to decide if I could remember how to get back to your house. Then I had to think of a good reason. Then I tried to talk myself out of it, because I thought you would freak. Don’t want you thinking I’m a stalker.” He smiles again.
*
“All that, eh? You must be hungry.” There I go trying to feed the man again. I vaguely remember doing the same thing the night before. My cheeks go red with mortification. Adam just shakes his head.
*
“I’m hungry. Not for food, though.” Just like that. I swear it’s what he said. A line right out of one of those smarmy romance smut novels at the bookstore. I know because I’m an avid reader of such titles. Then he took a step towards me and… well let’s just say I have no willpower. “You should know, Eve. I want to keep seeing you. This isn’t a one night stand to me.” Then he kissed me again.
*
After kisses like that, he could have told me anything. “Adam, let’s talk later.” I guess I’m to blame for us not making it to the bed. It gives banging door a whole new meaning, but I swear the imprint of the doorjamb will never leave my backside. Several hours later, as in it was getting dark; Adam remembered that he had to work the next day. This time we exchanged information properly and I promised him that we would go to dinner the next night.
*
“Fuck.” Katrina and the movie. Well, she would be over in a moment and I would simply have to explain. I started cleaning my room when, like clockwork, a knock on the door. “Hello, Katrina, please come in.” Note: This time a formal invitation, but she chose to stand in the doorway. Does this make ANY sense?
*
“Your cousin, eh?” She’s glaring at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her angry before. I mean, yes I lied, but honestly it isn’t as though I OWED her an explanation.
*
“Is that what I said? I’m sorry, I was really hung over. His name is Adam. I really didn’t mean to lie.” There, that’s as good as it gets. If she thinks I care enough to beg, well… she’s far more deluded than I knew. Demigoddess attribute #21: Ability to make anyone love and forgive you.
*
“Oh.” She ponders this then smiles brightly. “I’ve done that before too. So, are you guys dating?” Could she play into my hands any better? Grasp this opportunity to tell her that he asked me to dinner the following night, but that I might have to turn him down since we made plans. “Absolutely not! We can see a movie any time. Go to dinner. You can call me later and we can talk about all the details like old school friends.” She laughs. I do NOT commit to this. Don’t want Katrina getting the wrong idea.
*
“Well…” Saved by the bell. Phone rings and Katrina says she needs to go home anyway. Answer the phone out of sheer idiocy. “Oh, Hello mom.” I knew it was her, who else calls at the crack of dawn or when reasonable people are asleep? Why on earth did I answer? Demigoddess attribute #5: Impulsiveness, sometimes leading to foolish behavior. “Doing all day? Um, laundry.” Got laid six ways to Sunday, no pun intended. Not that I can say that to my mother. Hell, if Adam hadn’t run out of condoms (we used the remainder of the box, thank you!), we’d still be in bed more than likely. Actually, that’s not true. I was getting a little saddle sore and tired (if my thighs had a little more cushion I probably could have gone a bit more!), so was he. But we would have made a valiant effort, I’m sure. “Oh, nevermind about tomorrow? Dinner? I can’t. I have to work late.” I could have told her I had a date, but I’d much rather become Katrina’s bosom shopping buddy first. “Yes, tell Dad I love him too. Good night.”
*
Fancy that, a civil conversation. My eyes narrow, that can only mean she’s going to want something in the near future. Note to self: Check caller ID from now on. Also, add Adam’s number to cell phone.
*
I put the last load in the washer and tumble into bed. Sniff. What the hell is that sme…crap, I need a shower and clean sheets. This takes me half an hour, but I fall asleep almost instantly. My last thought, shamelessly, is that I hope I can remember last night eventually, as it must have been a great one!
**
To be continued...
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