by Lisa Lim
Seriously, I really don’t think I’m overreacting when Truong’s essentially sending large organic bits of himself my way.
I’m dreading the summer time; that’s when he’ll waltz into work in flip flops and clip his toenails. Ugh! That’s the problem with Truong. He brings in his whole grooming kit and operates Truong’s Nail Salon in his cubicle.
Although Truong’s grooming habits bug the hell out of me, I’m trying my darndest to act like a tolerant neighbor. Well, that is until a fingernail scrap lands inside my mouth while I’m in the midst of yawning.
“Truong! Cut it out!” I sputter and spit out his nail. “Please, this is not Truong’s Nail Salon,” I remind him for the umpteenth time.
“All right, I’m done. I’m closing shop.” He stows the clipper and filer away. “By the way, that’s why you’re supposed to yawn with your mouth closed.”
“That’s technically impossible,” I retort.
“Whatever! Just cover your mouth next time,” he chides, like it’s my fault that his fingernail landed inside my mouth.
Moments later, Truong roots around in his Marc Jacobs man purse and fishes out a bottle of nail polish. After giving the bottle a good shake, he unscrews the cap and begins to give himself a manicure.
“Thank you for fumigating this place,” I say with a trace of sarcasm.
He ignores my jab. “It’s Chanel Vendetta,” he intones like a vindictive vixen.
I check out his raven black nails. “Nice. Very Adam Lambert.”
My gaze shifts over to his pinky. “Hey, Truong, why is your pinky nail so long?”
“For digging ear wax, nose wax and eye wax,” he says without missing a beat.
I make a disgusted face.
“I’m just kidding! Although I know that’s what you were probably thinking. Am I right?” He looks me squarely in the eye.
I shake my head but it’s transparently obvious I’m lying.
He dips the brush into the bottle. “It’s actually for good luck.”
“I see. But you know what some people will assume it’s for?”
“What?” he asks without looking up.
“Scooping up cocaine for a quick bump.”
This time, Truong looks up. “Girrrrl, I am no druggie! That shit does not fly with me. I’ve never done drugs in my life,” he protests huffily. “But you want to know who’s a coke head?”
Feeling a bit restless, I swivel my chair, spinning it round and round in circles. “Who?” I ask dizzily.
“Tatiana,” he deadpans.
I shoot him a speculative look. “How do you know?”
He shoots back one of his infamous I-know-I’m-the-shit sort of looks. “Mama Truong knows everything.”
“Well, spill the goods then, Mama.”
He holds his hand up eye level and appraises his work. “She and I went to the same high school, and I caught her doing blow plenty of times.”
Intrigued, I lean forward in my chair. “Tell me more.”
“That Tatiana is one skanky hoe. That hoe slept with the entire high school football team and cheerleading squad.”
I give him a wide-eyed look of disbelief. “No way!”
“Way. Girl she so did. That chick is one hot mess.” Truong inclines his head, like he always does when he is about to impart some juicy bits of gossip. “She works in the cafeteria downstairs because she’s got a felony record. They won’t hire her up here. No, no, no. That bitch is gang-sta man! She’s done time in the slammer.”
“Time in the clink? For what?” I ask, astonished.
He blows on his fresh manicure. “She stole someone’s identity, and she got busted with a DUI.”
I let out a short gasp.
Truong shakes his head. “I can’t believe our Mikquisha would go out with a stupid, skanky slut like that.”
I can’t believe it either. But Truong has sparked my interest. I need to satiate my ardent curiosity and find out more about this Tatiana character. “Truong, when’s your lunch?”
He glances at his Cartier. “Right now.”
“Me, too. Do you want to go down to the cafeteria?”
He smiles a wicked little smile. “Hell yeah, sista! Let’s go check out Tatiana the Tangerine.”
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