“Why don’t you go for him?” Lindsay asked. “Jackie doesn’t need any help with prospects.”
“Don’t listen to Lindsay. I’ll take whatever I can get.” Jackie leaned back on one hand as we continued to struggle with the Ikea unit. “But it is convenient for you that he’s your neighbour.”
“He’s not really my type. But Lindsay, you’d approve of him – he’s a carpenter. He offered to put together this unit for me. Assembling this Ikea unit may be as impossible as revolutionizing the mascara industry —”
“Oh, shut up about your stupid job,” Lindsay interrupted and started stuffing the Ikea parts back in the box. “Can’t you see, Veronica? He likes you.”
“Totally.” Calista agreed, and joined Lindsay in undoing whatever minimal progress we had made on the entertainment unit. “Inviting you to his show, offering to help you assemble this? He’s practically throwing himself at you.”
“Let me get this straight – you’re not helping me out so that I could invite a strange man into my condo? How desperate am I that I throw myself at the first heterosexual guy that is nice to me?”
“It’s not desperate,” Jackie said. “It’s strategic.”
“Well, let’s just go to the show and see how it goes,” I conceded.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Jackie said as she raised her glass. “I’m doing them again.”
I wasn’t expecting Savannah to grant me with a Nobel Prize when I recommended that we conduct research with mascara-obsessed women, but I did at the very least expect some sort of recognition that I wasn’t a complete failure. In fact, I thought my work may have even been worthy of advancement in Chloe’s Tracker.
“Hmm. Did you do a complete scrub of all existing North American research? It’s best that we don’t waste money duplicating efforts.”
“Yes. There were no learnings specific to our objectives of increasing multi-mascara usage but there are some great insights which I’ve summarized in this report.” I handed over the report. This was Stevie’s advice to me, in exchange for whoring me out to Shrek.
“Hmm.” Savannah seemed at a loss for gut-wrenching insults. Her Medusa head of snakes stirred restlessly for blood. “Well, you just earned yourself a new project. Set up the research. And make it fast. Klaus will be back from Paris soon and we need to give him an answer yesterday.” This additional assignment felt more like a punishment than a reward for my resourcefulness. “Now, how’s Phat Lash going?”
“I’ve been focusing on this project so I’m planning on starting the analysis this week,” I responded, trying not to let my desperation and panic show.
“What? You haven’t started yet? Do I have to hand hold you through every project? Do I have to do everything myself?” Savannah’s shrill voice and blood pressure rose with every question she asked.
“No, no,” I said, trying desperately to keep my own blood pressure under control. Why can’t I learn to lie to my boss, damn it? “I’ll be done the proposal next week, like you asked.”
“No, Veronica, I asked for it to be complete this week,” she insisted in a sinister tone, daring me to challenge her. She was wrong but I didn’t correct her lest I be raked over the coals for insubordination. One of the snakes stuck its tongue out at me.
“OK, I’ll have it done this week,” I conceded in weak defeat. It was Wednesday afternoon. If I had balls, they’d be shrunk to nothingness at this point.
“Do you remember Joey from the gala at the Italian Business Consulate?” Stevie asked me the next day over lunch.
“No. I thought you were too drunk to remember anything?”
“I’m pretty sure I introduced you. Anyway, he remembers you and has been asking about you.”
“I don’t remember him. I’m not interested,” I said with the decisiveness of someone who still believed that she was not desperate.
“Well he wants to meet you again. He’s cute – if you don’t mind potheads. And he has a good body…but he’s a little on the short side.”
I envisioned a midget smoking pot alone in his parent’s basement. This was starting to sound familiar.
“He’s rich – but he’s balding.” Essentially, Stevie was trying to set me up with a young Danny DeVito. It was a sobering thought but this was what may be left of Toronto’s bachelors.
“If he was so interested, why didn’t he make a move at the gala?” I asked. Better to sound skeptical than shallow.
“He was engaged. He just called off the wedding and really wants to meet you!”
“Seriously?” I said, attempting a tone of voice frequently used by Savannah – annoyed that he was wasting my time, disgusted by his stupidity and mildly amused by how pathetic he was. Once I perfected this tone, I would be promoted.
“I know you’re way too good for him but doesn’t it make you feel better that despite your bad choice in men, there’s always someone worse? And by bad choice in men, I mean Caden.”
“Thanks, I guess that’s one way of looking at it.” Stevie understood the female psyche well. Better to be delusional of your superiority than self-pitying in your loneliness.
“Despite what you think, there are people other than me who think you’re hot. By the way, did anyone tell you that your shoes are fierce? Your skin is glowing and your hair is fab!”
“Who needs a boyfriend when you have a gay friend?” Sydney asked, just joining us. “I don’t get that many compliments from my boyfriend in a whole year.”
“That’s because you put out for him a long time ago,” Stevie answered.
Chapter 11: Barren
I was about to have my spirit crushed by Savannah when Celeste, the VP of Hair Colour, stopped by her office and interrupted for a social catch-up, clearly more important than our business matters at hand.
I was instantly suspicious of Celeste. Anyone whose name rhymed with molest was not to be trusted. It appeared that Celeste’s face had a fight with Botox and the Botox had won. It must have been a bad one because Celeste’s expression had been traumatized into a permanently surprised state. I stared at her perfectly arched motionless eyebrows as she spoke.
“Sorry I missed our cappuccino break this morning,” Celeste said. “I got in late because I couldn’t sleep last night. I have a meeting with Klaus this afternoon and I’ve been falling behind my financial targets. The shit’s going to hit the fan!”
“I know what you mean. I woke up at 3 am and couldn’t get back to sleep!”
Celeste and Savannah laughed at their stress-induced insomnia. Celeste’s frozen face strained to laugh. She reminded me of the Bride of Chucky. It looked like her skin might crack and my face hurt just looking at her. I did not find any humour in their situation but it was the first time that I actually felt some sort of empathy for Savannah.
“Veronica’s not laughing.” Savannah pointed out. “Do you have any trouble sleeping?
“No, I read this really boring book before I go to bed and it knocks me out in less than two pages. I think it’s about World War 2.”
They laughed hysterically again. “We need something a lot stronger than that to knock us out!”
“Valium!” Celeste screamed.
“Ambien!” Savannah screamed back and their forced hysteria continued. I hoped that my confused expression did not come off as disrespect. I was quite impressed by their command of sedatives.
“Celeste’s so funny!” Savannah commented after Celeste left. If by funny she meant tragically sad and over-Botoxed, I would agree. Nonetheless, I was glad that Celeste had left Savannah’s head of snakes in a good mood for our meeting. The bizarre exchange somehow made these intimidating women seem real to me. They were just two sad ladies laughing at how sad their lives were. I would try to remember this conversation next time Savannah scares me into shitting my pants.
“I’m sorry if I called you stupid last time we met.” Savannah began the meeting.
“That’s OK, you didn’t call me stupid,” I said.
“Really? I’
m pretty sure I did. Well, it must have been someone else, then. In any case, you’re doing a good job so it pissed me off when you screwed up.”
“I’m sorry,” I responded in the hopes of keeping her head of snakes calm. This meeting was getting increasingly bizarre. Maybe Savannah really was bipolar and her drugs were finally kicking in.
Hopefully, she was also partially sedated. My efforts over the past couple of late nights had not revolutionized mascara marketing but formed, as Stevie assured me, a solid recommendation for the Phat Lash launch based on what traditionally works in the Canadian market.
“Hmmm,” she said when I finished speaking. In general, “Hmmm” was not a good sound coming from Savannah. It roughly translates to “you poor pathetic idiot” and usually preceded a snake lashing.
“I’m not going to call you stupid again but I’m surprised you haven’t incorporated anything like Facebook or Twitter.” Social media was Gisele’s new corporate obsession. The world was changing and Gisele needed to be where the money was. “Or even some sort of a charity element, what with your not-for-profit background. Think about it and come back when you actually have a good idea.”
Savannah was clearly sedated because she let me off relatively easy but she was right about the charity element. I couldn’t believe I didn’t think of that. The world was changing but I wasn’t.
Stevie had invited me to join him and his latest love interest, Jamie, for a Friday night dinner at Lee, one of Stevie’s favourite restaurants. After the last week of slave labour, I didn’t know what I needed more – excessive amounts of sleep or alcohol. Stevie was shocked that I even needed to think about it. Alcohol, of course.
“Veronica, finally we meet! I’ve heard so much about you!” Upon introduction, Jamie seemed like a lovely boy and thus good enough for Stevie.
“So good to finally meet you too!” I said, pointedly looking at Stevie. I hadn’t heard anything about Jamie until this dinner invitation. “I don’t know why Stevie has kept you a secret for so long.”
“I haven’t shared a lot about Jamie, because of, you know, your situation.” Stevie said.
“What’s my situation?”
“You know, barren.”
“Barren?” I practically spat. Stevie was really getting aggressive about his lack of approval of my infatuation with Caden.
“I wouldn’t say barren is accurate,” Jamie jumped in to save me. “That makes her sound infertile, or without child.”
“No, barren like a desert. No life or vegetation,” Stevie insisted.
“OK guys, can we talk about something else?”
“It’s tough love, girlfriend. All work and no play makes Ronnie a dull girl.” Stevie turned to Jamie. “We offered to set her up but my Ronnie has high standards,” Stevie winked at me. “She has a thing for man whores.”
“I don’t know why such a beautiful girl like you is single. I know plenty of guys that would die to date you.” Jamie offered.
“Are they straight?” I asked.
“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” Jamie said after a pause.
The dinner went well after I started consuming excessive amounts of alcohol and the conversation moved away from my lack of a love life. I thought Stevie and Jamie made a cute couple when they weren’t discussing my barrenness.
I also learned more about Stevie and his aspirations to start his own fashion police company.
“Stacy and Clinton from What Not to Wear are my idols,” Stevie said. “I aspire to carry on their legacy. Look what I’ve done with Veronica. She was a fashion tsunami before I got my hands on her.”
“You are a master,” I agreed. I felt like I belonged with Lee Restaurant’s fashionable yuppies in my Stevie-approved outfit – skinny jeans, horribly uncomfortably high heels and a belted boyfriend blazer.
“I believe that with the right coaching, everyone has the ability to make good fashion choices. Fashion sense is like a muscle. It’s all within us – it just needs to be trained,” Stevie mused. If fashion were a muscle, Stevie would be an Olympic weight lifter.
“Thank God Stevie met the right coach a long time ago.” Jamie smiled.
“What’s this?” I perked up.
“It’s true,” Stevie admitted. “I was almost as bad as you. When I saw your harem pants, I saw myself five years ago in leather pants and a cropped acid wash jean jacket.”
“Ew,” I said. “Almost as bad as me? That’s horrific.”
“So how much do you love Jamie?” Stevie asked me the next Monday at our coffee break by Gisele’s lush garden. “Everyone loves him. He’s like Miss Congeniality everywhere he goes.”
“Jamie’s great – I’m really happy for you but can you please not call me barren? It’s disturbing.”
“Oh, it’s all in good fun. You’re barren by choice so I’m just trying to light a fire under your well-dressed ass. Love those pants, girl!” I had splurged on beautifully-tailored skinny pants from TNT, The New Trend, on the weekend. TNT carried Stevie’s favourite over-priced designer lines. If I had a trust fund and Stevie had his way, I would only shop at TNT.
“Why have you been hiding Jamie for so long? He’s lovely.” I asked.
“I just…didn’t know whether it would last, so…um…” Stevie shifted uncomfortably and stuttered uncharacteristically.
“Why wouldn’t it? He’s fabulous, just like you.”
“I’ll tell you later,” Stevie said as he saw Sydney approach us.
“Hey, are you guys talking about me again?” Sydney joined us with her usual order of Eiscafé.
“No, Stevie thinks I’m barren,” I told her, knowing she would get a kick out of it. Sure enough, she laughed appreciatively.
“I don’t know what you see in that man,” Sydney sat down beside us at the garden and we observed Caden in action at the coffee bar. “How can you trust anyone that smiles that much?”
I shrugged. “I would smile that much if I were that hot.”
“He’s so tanned,” Sydney shook her head. “Crushin’ on your boss. You are such a cliché.”
All this talk of barrenness was starting to get to me. “Well, there is potentially someone – my neighbour. He seems cool – he’s a carpenter and plays in a band.”
Sydney and Stevie perked up, like Caden’s girlfriend’s fake boobs. “Do tell! Is he cute?” Stevie asked.
“I guess so…” I said.
“You don’t seem that into him,” Sydney observed.
“I just don’t think he’s my type…but I should at least give him a chance, right?”
“Not if you’re not feeling it,” Sydney said as Stevie said, “Go for it, girl!” They looked at each other.
“Well, maybe wait and see…” Stevie said as Sydney said, “Well, give it a try…”
“Why don’t you guys discuss and get back to me on that?” I suggested and went back to staring wistfully at Caden.
I couldn’t get barren images of deserts and empty wombs out of my mind so I decided to take matters into my own hands with Carpenter Man and invite him over to assemble my Ikea unit. I tidied up my apartment by stuffing dishes in the oven and clothes under my bed, and then brushed my teeth by gargling with mouth wash. Stevie would be horrified by my lack of hygiene. I knocked on Will’s door.
A man similar in look and age to Will opened the door. He was fresh out of the shower with a towel around his waist. But he was not Will.
“Oh, sorry, I was looking for Will. I’m from next door…I guess I have the wrong condo…” I said, trying not to stare at his nicely-cut chest and abs.
“Will just stepped out for a bit, do you want me to let him know that you stopped by?” he asked politely. I had a mini-panic attack in the span of two seconds. OMG, is he Will’s lover? He’s way too polite and well-kept to be a twenty-something straight man.
“Uh…are you his roommate?” I asked.
“No, didn’t he tell you about us?”
“I’m sorry! I’ll just come back later,�
� I stammered and took off before Naked Towel Boy could respond.
Lindsay and Calista thought I was jumping to conclusions about Will and concocted several far-fetched explanations for Naked Towel Boy, such as a visiting cousin or a friend who was broke and needed a place to crash. To their exasperation, I claimed that there was only one person who could crack the “Didn’t he tell you about us?” code.
“Stevie, can a man be gay if he’s a carpenter and in a punk band?” I asked as he joined me for a quick lunch by the garden the next day.
“How can you be so stereotypical?” Stevie sighed in exasperation as he set aside his Louis Vuitton bag and neatly crossed his legs.
“Sorry, but I think my only potential boy prospect may be gay…could you check him out? You have such finely tuned gay-dar.”
“Ronnie, you know that flattery will get you everywhere with me. I’d be delighted to help you.”
“Good. I hope you don’t mind punk music – we’re going to watch his band play at the Rivoli.” Stevie shuddered as if he saw a fake Gucci bag. “Speaking of cute boys, how’s it going with Jamie?”
Stevie started to shift uncomfortably and mumble. “Well, it’s going really well …” he trailed off.
“Sooo…that’s a good thing,” I encouraged. I had never seen Stevie so insecure. He must really like Jamie. The level of insecurity you feel in a relationship is highly correlated to the amount that you like the person. It’s like a scientific equation.
“Yeah…” he shrugged and picked a non-existent piece of lint of his pants. I felt like I was trying to drag Stevie into Wal-Mart to shop for clothes.
I saw Mateo approach Heidi at the bar, unusually alone. Quite unexpectedly, she didn’t slap him. Was Mateo using my advice?
“Look!” I said, smiling in the direction of the coffee bar. It appeared that Heidi and Mateo were engaging in a grown-up conversation that involved smiling and nodding. Very positive body language! I couldn’t wait to find out what they were talking about.
“What is it?” Stevie asked. I remembered Mateo and I had sworn each other to secrecy. I felt an odd kinship with Mateo so instead I pointed out Heidi’s shoes.
Why I Love My Gay Boyfriend Page 9
