One More Year: The Romantic Path of Ana Lee (The Path Less Taken Series Book 1)

by SJ Cavaletti

  That sounded about right. I did still see myself as somehow on the fringe of this sex worker world. Even though I had been doing it for about four years in total now I somehow still viewed myself as being different, on the outside looking in. It was as if this was just some grand experiment I was running. I could just one day walk away from it and say the results were insignificant and therefore the test itself should be forgotten.

  “Ange, I said to myself a long time ago that I couldn’t handle having a boyfriend and dancing at the same time. A hitched stripper? It’s like the biggest oxymoron ever… like being a faithful agnostic. Or righteous sin. Or a hermitage… that one always makes me laugh. I mean, hermits don’t live together, right?”

  I was starting to get tired now. Finally, the white fight had been lost to my liver. I was coming down. All this emotional talk and the feeling of my body giving in to the night made me want to cry.

  Angelo immediately sensed the change within me and reached over to give me a hug.

  “You are one strange and interesting girl, Ana,” he said as he rubbed my back. “Don’t worry… I’ve seen worse. I’m sure if you start living on the streets in the name of love D Forest will take you in.”

  I laughed. I was making too big a deal of it all.

  “And honey, I know that you think all this math and calculating and stuff is making your life fool proof and easier but the way I see it, it’s actually making it more complicated. Love doesn’t make sense. It’s just not logical no matter how you look at it. Your head will explode. Just go with it.”

  Just go with it. My new plan. Fuck cynicism. I’m living for love.

  Angel of the Sea

  I woke up with a dance in my step and a lightness of being. To have finally accepted that something is somehow out of my control… what a burden lifted. I likened my feelings to finishing my final exams senior year of college. There was literally no more I could do. Now I just waited and enjoyed the adventure that was Carlos Ferrera.

  Luckily I did not have to wait too long to see him. I woke to my phone buzzing underneath my pillow. I didn’t turn off my phone anymore just in case he called. When I opened my eyes I could see a rim of sunlight trying desperately to claw around my blackout blind. I felt around for my phone and finally grabbed it. Vibrating in my hand it read ‘10:37.’ And of course ‘Carlos xo.’

  “Heeeelloooo,” I said, sweetly into the phone.

  “Well hello there,” he said on the other end, “What are you doing?”

  Oh dear. I wanted to lie and not admit that I was still sleeping off the whiffy. No. NO. NO. Be yourself.

  “I’m actually just waking up to the best alarm clock in the world,” I said, hoping the flattery would make my hours seem more sociable to a diurnal creature.

  “Up late then?” he asked.

  “Yeah… I had to work,” I nearly winced when the words came out but took a deep breath and waited.

  There appeared to be an insanely long pause coming from the other side of the phone. It’s just your imagination, Ana…

  “Ah, ok… I see,” he said… slightly taken aback and flustered?

  I changed the subject, “I’m so glad you called. I miss you… what are you doing right now?”

  “Well, I have just landed at SFO, actually,” he said, “I don’t suppose you could drag yourself out of bed and come see me at a little place on the Embarcadero for lunch? There’s a place called La Mar… a few good Cuban dishes. I want to feed my little senorita.”

  A giggle floated around my belly along with the butterflies. I suddenly felt girlie.

  “I’d love to. I actually think I know where that is but I’ve never been. What time?”

  “Abby said noon I think. I’ll text you back for sure but plan for twelve,” he said.

  “Ok… see you soon,” I said, lingering and wondering just how to say goodbye. I wanted to say it… so I did, sort of.

  “Te amo,” I said, somewhat feebly but also trying to be cute.

  “Ah, you’re trying out your Spanish then,” he asked and I could tell he was smiling somehow.

  “Yeah… how did I do?”

  “Oh believe me… that was absolutely perfect. I love you, too.”

  And he hung up. As one does when additional words would ruin the moment.

  My body tensed together and I hugged the phone to my chest. I squeezed myself together in a tight ball as if holding in a squeal of adolescent delight. I did it. I said that I loved him and it felt as though I had just drunk a barrel of human growth hormone.

  I popped out of bed and ran to the shower. The shower-head burst into action and I jumped in before it even got warm. On went the lovely smelling but very expensive shampoo. Take the time to exfoliate the skin… shave. I whistled while I worked. I hadn’t felt so good in years. Maybe I had never felt this good.

  I went into my bedroom and stared at my closet for a moment. The dreaded ‘what to wear’ moment. Then, in my peripheral vision I noticed the button. It was a big red button that has branding from Staples office good store on it that my sister had given me when I was in Junior year of college. I was having the toughest time ever and feeling really low. When you pushed the button it played Katrina & the Waves, “Walking on Sunshine.” I hadn’t pushed the button in years. It was dusty. But not for long.

  I whammed the button and it sang out blissfully :

  I used to think maybe you loved me now baby I’m sure

  And I just can’t wait till the day when you knock on my door

  Now every time I go for the mailbox, gotta hold myself down

  ‘Cause I just can’t wait ‘til you write me you’re coming around I’m walking on sunshine WOOOO- OH….

  I threw myself around with dramatic force and started to dance around the room like a maniac. I had never done this before without the use of drugs and it felt so amazing to just release my wound up spring. I was high. High on love and I was out of my mind. My moves didn’t make sense. They were almost involuntary. I bounced on my bed and jumped up and down so hard I hit my head on the ceiling. I collapsed in a heap laughing so hard at my own silliness. “Love is pure joy,” I thought, “I want to feel this way forever.”

  I smiled and lied on my bed like a euphoric freak listening to the rest of the button until it petered out at the end of the second time through the chorus.

  Time to get dressed. I got up, a little out of breath from the outburst and looked at my closet. Just the thing. My ‘pretty’ dress. It was white, which I rarely wore as I could be quite clumsy but I had fallen in love with this one the minute I had seen it and took a risk. It hadn’t been on me but once before, at a ‘white dinner’ charity event my sister threw a year ago. I slipped the lovely number over my head and smoothed it down over my figure. It had a 50s silhouette, a wide, flared skirt with box pleats and a sweetheart neckline with built in padded cups that were slightly pointy to create that true vintage feel. I even pulled out my petticoat… Eat your heart out, Carlos.

  I cocked my head to one side and smiled at my glowing face in the mirror. Was it too much? Nah… who cares if I’m overdressed. I’m in love! I shook my head sensibly and brushed aside the stilettos for a pair of flats and a ponytail. Not too much makeup, just some red lips and mascara. It felt good to care. It felt good to want to impress a person who most surely would be.

  My daydreaming had led to time escaping quickly and I suddenly noticed I needed to call a cab. I dialed my usual company and another and another. What were the chances of them all being ‘30 minute wait’? Under normal circumstances my silly brain would probably start actually trying to calculate that number but not this time. I grabbed my jacket and purse and made a dash for it.

  When I got outside I started immediately running in the direction of catching the 91 bus but got flustered and stopped. Maybe take a cable car instead? Blinded by route planning and the fear of being late I failed to notice that familiar car and friendly face. Carlos had sent Gus.

  “Yoo, hoo… Ana,” h
e said.

  I looked over and saw the back of the Bentley with Gus standing next to the sleek black vehicle. Bippity boppity boo. Carlos the fairy godfather’s magic worked from quite a distance. I waved to Gus and approached him, noticing the personalized license plate for the first time: TH1NK NAN1. Think Nani? Nan One? Gus interrupted my thoughts with the opening of a door.

  “Wow… that’s kind of amazing,” I said to him, “I was just thinking how I’d likely be late and now… well, you’re a miracle maker,”

  “Mr. Ferrera said he would let you know I was waiting. Sorry, he must have forgotten… very busy man. Sorry you had to fret when I was here all along,” said Gus.

  “Please don’t apologize, Gus. I’m over the moon to not be running around town on sweaty buses right now. You’re doing me a massive favor. Anyway, if Carlos is busy you probably are, too. Thank you for coming to get me.”

  “I’m a certain kind of busy…probably a lot like a doctor being on call,” he said, “Not actively working but can’t relax because you don’t really know the next time you will be.”

  Yes. I suppose it was a special kind of work.

  We drove off to the restaurant immediately and I tried my best to calm the strange combination of hormones that drove ecstasy, anticipation and contentment all at the same time. It was making me sweat. The chemsex industry could certainly benefit from a sample of my blood. Meow Meow couldn’t produce a better high; I was sure of it. I just never really thought I could fall in love but I guess it’s a bit like saying you’ll never smile. Eventually someone will just come along and make you do it.

  Looking through serotonin eyes the city was more exquisite than ever. The glam of the art deco era stared boldly at me from pearl colored architecture through Russian Hill. We then passed through the charming bustle of North Beach where I remember first being wooed by eating outdoors under heat lamps. Oh, I hoped to have an evening with Carlos doing that. The future was ours after all, summer, autumn, winter and spring. I daydreamed to the purr of the luxurious motor and ran my fingers along the grey leather seats thinking how lucky a girl I was.

  We swiftly cruised down the Embarcadero and finally arrived at La Mar. Carlos was standing outside, looking down at his cell phone. Clearly the work at hand was intense as he didn’t even notice me saunter up to him. I gently grabbed his arm and pushed the phone out of his vision.

  When he looked up I knew the white dress had done its job. He took in a quick, deep breath and stood back. His eyes said, wow and he silently took my hand. As if he were leading me in a ballroom dance he pushed me slightly away to admire and then back again gently and hugged me. It was an embrace like an old fashioned film, my head against his chest he held it there softly with his hand; a Hollywood moment that said ‘thankfully, at last’.

  I pulled away slightly and reached up on my tiptoes to give him a kiss.

  “You look stunning, my dear,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I blushed.

  We went inside the restaurant, an understated cool surrounded us. Immediately upon entering the blue lit bar stretched out about 15 seat long and smaller seats surrounded the bar. It looked like a poolside. The hostess led us past the stark tables and walls colored only by the blue chairs along them and we rounded the corner to a rather large table tucked away at the dead end of the restaurant.

  Gentleman that he was, he allowed me to slide into a seat and then politely tucked me in. Rather than sit across from me, he sat on the same side of the table right next to me. It was so natural and right that it made me question why anyone would go on a date and do otherwise though looking around I saw that every other pairing sat opposite one another. Carlos, sitting next to me, could put his arms around me, look me closely in the eye and most importantly, kiss me with his wondrous, cushiony pout.

  “This is nice,” I said, “A wonderful surprise.”

  “I missed you,” he replied, “It feels like ages since I’ve last seen you.”

  “Is that because a million things happen to you in between,” I asked, pointing to his cell phone.

  “Well, yeah, partly that I guess but also because I just can’t get enough of you. It’s like living without air.”

  I reddened again and felt a bit overwhelmed by the attention. I had so little practice being affectionate that I didn’t know how to reciprocate. I changed the subject.

  “Do you mind me asking… what does ‘think nani’ mean?”

  He pulled back and looked confused and shocked as if I had just looked into a crystal ball and managed to accurately predict the day he conceived his first born. He quickly came to.

  “Oh! You mean the license plate? Well, Nah-ni was my brother. His real name was Fernando. He passed away when he was just a young child… he would have been the youngest but died when he was four years old,” he said.

  “Oh wow. I’m sorry…” I said with the usual awkward sympathy when learning by surprise that someone has suffered a loss.

  “Oh, please don’t feel awkward, sweet one, this happened many, many years ago.”

  “Yes, but, it must still affect you. I mean, the license plate tells you and everyone else to think of him. Do you mind me asking what happened?”

  He paused and I could tell he wondered whether or not this would alter the mood of our date for the worse. I took him hand and held it in mine; my curiosity gave it a squeeze.

  “Well, Nani was actually my half brother for starters. My mother carried him for her sister, my aunt,” he said.

  “You mean she was a surrogate?”

  “Yes. My auntie was infertile and my mother offered to carry a baby for her,” he laughed, “They joke that she was fertilized with a turkey baster. Oh gosh, I just cannot even imagine what those guys were up to. My auntie and uncle were pretty eccentric.”

  He laughed and threw his head back. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, still grinning from ear to ear, clearly imagining the logistics.

  “That’s interesting,” I said.

  “Indeed. They were tricky times for my mother. Surrogacy was pretty taboo in those days and my father had already departed for the States so she knew she would either be seen as a bit of a deviant or an adulterer. My Auntie promised to help keep her hidden from the community and to pretend she was carrying a baby. It was a hugely staged spectacle and we all had to mostly live in secret for those months in order to support the lie. Now that I have kids of my own I cannot even fathom the thought of my sweet Mama having the baby at home with only my auntie and uncle for help. But in the end, Fernando was born. My aunt became a community saint, they called her Virgen Maria.”

  Yet another shock story from this man. He continued.

  “So, things went back to normal, a bit, but my mother was so incredibly attached to Fernando. This was just as well as my Auntie was one of the women who had taken advantage of women’s liberation after the Revolution and was off trying to make a career for herself. Fernando was treated as one of us around the house and we all enjoyed having a baby around. It gave my mother more purpose; she was so happy… and of course as selfish kids ourselves it took the focus off of us ever so slightly. And Fernando was a beautiful baby. The kind of baby that never really cried; he always wanted to be held and cuddled. He brought great joy in a time that was a bit hard at home.”

  This story was building up to a crescendo and I could feel tightness in my chest. Children dying was just intolerable to me. The true definition of tragedy.

  “So, we all lived together in harmony… Little Nani grew and continued to be a little light for us all. Then one day, after coming home from his little friend’s house he just started being sick…retching. I’ll spare you details as we are about to eat but it was truly horrific and painful for the little soul. Nobody knew what was going on. We took him to the doctor who suspected food poisoning and sent us home with orders to keep him hydrated. Big mistake. It turned out to be a burst appendix, rare in children his age, even rarer to have such a sudden onset… it was truly, truly the
definition of tragedy.”

  I had hardly realized that I had been progressively squeezing his hand, harder and harder. I looked down at his giant hand in mine, skin oozing out through my fingers. It was unbearable almost to listen to this story. No child should die. No child should suffer like that. I eased up on his hand and searched ineptly for the right words to say. But he spared me the wrong ones.

  He said, “Don’t you worry about saying the right thing now… it’s been a long time and the wounds, well… death of a child, because it’s so unnatural and tragic is unlike mourning an older person. With an older person, we go through a process of missing them, of feeling our own mortality, of reminiscing and of just uncoupling our habits that are associated with theirs. There is, whether we admit it or not, something normal about it. Old people die. We all die. It’s the circle of life. With a young person…well, so many years later and I can say melancholy lingers even now because it’s just so deviant from what nature predicts. But the aching sadness is gone. It gets replaced by very powerful ‘what ifs’.”

  “And it lingers enough to choose ‘think Nani’ for a license plate,” I said.

  “Well that is not so much about remembering him as a person as it is about embracing the message. You see, the only way that I, and many people in my family, were able to move on was to take away a message. A positive message that we could allow Nani to see from above was working in our lives every day. For me, the lesson was to seize every day like it’s the last. And I hope that Nani is looking down now with his cheeky smile. I have done that with the gusto of a bull. My businesses, having children…” he grabbed my hand, “Telling you I love you when I knew it was crazy,” he said.

  He paused and pulled me close and smelled, then kissed my hair.

  “I do it all because even the most innocent, perfect child is not safe from tragedy. None of us are. So we need to be happy every day that we are given.”