SECRET SHOPPER
BY
Tanya Taimanglo
∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞
Other Titles By Tanya Taimanglo
Sirena: A Mermaid Legend From Guam
(Children’s Book-Authorhouse 2010)
Attitude 13: A Daughter of Guam’s Collection of Short Stories
(Fiction-Authorhouse 2010)
www.GuamBooksAndBeads.Com
SECRET SHOPPER
By Tanya Taimanglo
Secret Shopper © 2013. Tanya Taimanglo
The moral right of this author has been asserted.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it was published.
This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover photo by: Tanya Taimanglo
Design by: Tanya Taimanglo & Sonny Chargualaf
Author Photo by: Mark J. Pacheco
ISBN-13: 978-1482313772
ISBN-10: 1482313774
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Special thanks to my husband, Henry
and my children, Elijah and Samantha
for putting up with me for three and a half years
as I molded this novel.
I love you three lots and lots.
To my omma, Un Cha Chargualaf
for hearing the story first as it was freshly born in 2009/2010.
To my kid brother, Sonny Chargualaf for inspiring me.
And, for helping with the evolution of the book cover.
To my late father, Tedy Gamboa Chargualaf
for always being the voice in my head
and the man I want to impress.
DEDICATION
I dedicate Phoenix’s story to the ladies who hold me up:
Kimberly Untalan Taisipic (my real life Rachel),
Alison Taimanglo Cuasay,
Desiree Taimanglo Ventura,
Dr. Patricia Taimanglo,
Nari Taimanglo,
Angie Barker,
Raquel Santos
and
Denise Avitia.
Special thanks to authors,
Carlene Rae Dater and Lani Wendt Young
for your advice and guidance.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1: Stand By Your Chieftain
Chapter 2: Meet My Friend, Gym
Chapter 3: Bag It and Blonde It
Chapter 4: My Fairy Spa Mother
Chapter 5: Becoming a Golden Girl
Chapter 6: Enter Sandman
Chapter 7: Hello, Kitty!
Chapter 8: Two Coffee Shops and a Boy
Chapter 9: Man and Ex-Wife
Chapter 10: Popeye, My Hero
Chapter 11: Karaoke Therapy
Chapter 12: Yes, I’m From Guam
Chapter 13: Our Two Dads
Chapter 14: Humid Homecoming
Chapter 15: If We Took A Holiday
Chapter 16: Funerals Suck
Chapter 17: A Phoenix is Forever
Chapter 18: He Loves Me, He Really Loves Me
Chapter 19: My Tongue is in a Celtic Knot
Chapter 20: We Have Lift Off!
Chapter 21: The Princess and the Hot Frog
Chapter 1
Stand by Your Chieftain
No one on a talk show ever tells you that divorce makes it hard to breathe. When Dr. “Feel” tells the pretty, plump lady in a pant suit that she can move on and heal from heartbreak, she nods obediently and smiles with hope. I see the cracks in her brave mask threatening to reveal her true face. The line of tears blazing through her foundation tells me that she’ll go home, beg her husband to take her back, eat a ton of chocolate and curl up in the fetal position under her favorite blanket, for weeks. At least that’s what I did.
I never wanted to move to California from Guam. I didn’t like shifts in my universe. I didn’t want to change my Facebook status from married to single. I had convinced myself that I could take Bradley back even after he cheated on me. Jem, short for Jemima, was an agent in his real estate office who doubled as Bradley’s part-time lover. Nix, short for Phoenix, was the gullible wife who thought that dropping thirty pounds was the way to save the marriage. Phoenix is my name.
“Bradley! I got the job!” I yelled from our second floor office. The Lure Company was San Diego’s largest secret shopping firm and they hired me after a trial evaluation. It was the dream job for me. I was going to be paid to buy iced coffees, deli sandwiches and if I was lucky, clothes. All they wanted was a customer evaluation and my spy skills. Writing a customer service evaluation was mundane, but easier than a master’s thesis. And, I always have an opinion. I’m not always heard, but now I had an outlet.
“I’m in the bathroom!” I heard Bradley from the third floor of our towering condo. I never liked the idea of stairs in our home, back on Guam life was simple in a single level, solid concrete abode. Here, there were too many places to hide from each other, although the “acoustics are great,” Bradley’s words, not mine.
I felt my belly jiggle as I bounded up our carpeted stairs. Catching my breath at the top step, I thought that at twenty-five-years old, I should be fit without having to work at it yet. My usual choice of exercise was a leisurely walk hunting for lucky pennies.
The sound of rushing water and the wispy steam emerging from our master bathroom told me that Bradley was preening himself in front of the mirror, again. Something he did a lot more of since Easter, when business slowed in the real estate market.
“Dear husband, I am a certified secret shopper!” I yodeled. He should be proud of me since it was his suggestion that I get a part-time job. Bradley hadn’t sold a house in two months. We weren’t starving yet, but we were about six months away from calling mom and dad on the island for some floatation money. We only had to do that once, just before we refinanced our home at a better rate. I was darn proud of weaning ourselves off our parents, even though the occasional twenty dollar bill in a birthday card was always thrilling. Mom, you can’t send cash in the mail. It’s not safe. I once told her half-heartedly.
The smell of shaving cream reminded me of my dad and as the fluffy white clouds settled, I saw Bradley’s muscular bronze back first. His leaner hips minus its love handles were wrapped tight in a white towel. He was the sexiest man burrito I had ever seen.
In the past month, Bradley had been on a fitness quest—exercising six days a week and cutting out everything bad from his diet, including me. As I enjoyed the yummy contours of his body, my sights elevated to Bradley’s newly bald head. My eyes darted to the sink which cradled clumps of brown hair. I felt like I was karate chopped in the throat and no speech could escape. I loved his floppy hair and now I had Mr. Clean. The softness of his once longer locks preserved the boyish face I was so fond of. Now, he looked hard, older and determined.
Bradley’s eyes were intent on his reflection. I watched as he seemed appreciative of his new look. He didn’t hear me or ignored me as usual. I cleared my throat and his eyes flickered to me. They were dark and intense, daring me to object. For a second, I did not recognize the man I married, the man I had my first kiss with, the man who had been my classmate since the first grade. I felt like the cute puppy I fell in love with had grown into a large unmanageable dog I couldn’t wrangle.
“So, you got a job. Good for you, Phoenix.” Bradley was indeed listening. “When do you start this little job of yours?”
Little,
that stung, but I didn’t tell him that. “I start on Monday. You do realize that you look like a Chamorro Mr. Clean.” I became better at ignoring the arrogant tone he whipped at me.
“And you do realize that I’m a new man. I have a new mission and a,” Bradley broke his glare with me and pulled his towel off roughly. He retreated to the shower. I wondered if his new mission was to actually sell a house this month. We needed the commission. I surveyed Bradley’s scattered locks and fought the urge to keep some for my scrapbook. I cleaned the sink, humming a sad melody to myself like a funeral song for Bradley’s hair. It seemed like Bradley had molted and was now washing away his old life.
“Are you joining a Buddhist nudist colony? Or, is there a Chamorro Chief Club out here?” I said more for my amusement.
I got on my knees and wiped up the stray hairs on the floor with a wet tissue. Bradley pulled open the shower curtain dotted with tiny coconut trees. Finding the curtain at the dollar store had been the highlight of my week. My sight gravitated to his man parts and a pint of blood raced to my eyeballs. The realization that Bradley hadn’t touched me in weeks weighed heavy on my mind, among other parts.
I heard Bradley sigh. He grabbed his robe and as the soft flannel enveloped him, it took the edge off his tone. “Nix, get up. I can clean up after myself.”
“I was wondering when you were going to call me Nix again.” I staggered to my feet, cursing the bad knees I inherited from my dad’s side of the family. Around the same time Bradley started his extreme hottie makeover, he stopped calling me Nix, only referring to me by my full name. I didn’t ask him why. I didn’t want to know.
“We need to talk.” He pointed to our bedroom and I washed my hands twice and let the last of the hot water scald my hands. I looked at my reflection in the hazy mirror. My almond eyes were plain and set too far apart for my liking. My brown hair was long and wild. My high cheekbones were the only saving grace of my face, that and maybe the creamy skin I snagged from my mom. I flattened my unruly hair with my damp hands. I bit my lips to make them pink, then pushed up my breasts. Maybe I would get lucky today.
Bradley waited, arms folded by the head of our Ikea bed. His new look had stirred something in me. I realized my eyes were batting more than usual, well ever and my chest heaved. He was the embodiment of a strong Chamorro man, the type of man from Guam who could rip a coconut tree out of the ground and hunt a wild boar barefoot. Before I could stop myself, my inner seductress—didn’t even know I had one, emerged. Bradley stood in protest with a scowl in place as I stripped. I tripped over my jeans tangled around my ankles and disappeared from view at the foot of the bed. I heard a giggle escape from the Chieftain’s mouth, a good sign. I peered over the bed and Bradley sat now. His light brown eyes were softer and his robe lay open. I continued my strip tease, secretly hoping I wouldn’t have a concussion before climbing into bed. Well aware of my best features, I sucked in my belly, held my hand over my now unfastened bra, keeping the cups over my breasts. Then, I scaled the side of our bed. I kept my plump back side away from his line of vision. Bradley’s jaw tensed and he lay back in invitation, but his face had the same look he made when he was in the dentist’s chair. This confused me. Did he or did he not want this?
Although making love to my husband after a month was exactly what I wanted, I cursed being a woman whose mind could juggle several thoughts at once. First, I remembered that I didn’t lock the front door. The part of San Diego we lived in was safe, but not Little House on the Prairie safe. Two flights of stairs down and back up half-naked I went. Secondly, I realized that the blinds were wide open and it was the middle of the day. If Mrs. Salter was on her elliptical machine, she’d have my boobs in plain view. Like a soldier doing secret ops, I gestured to Bradley with my face and hands. I pointed to the blinds. I held onto my white bra and tiptoed to the window. I didn’t want any sudden movements drawing Mrs. Salter’s attention our way as she was indeed doing her daily cardio, pumping her fists to music.
Bradley sighed in frustration and after I twisted the wand to the blinds, I turned my head slowly to give Bradley my sexiest gaze. As I peered through my curtain of chestnut hair, I saw a flash of disgust on his face. He did not make eye contact with me, but was instead eyes wide and mouth gaping, looking at my marshmallow back. My rolls of flesh and fat, like that of a camel. The kind of fatness that is only cute on a baby. I whirled around and wrapped my arms around my waist. Insecurity bubbled in my gut and tears threatened to flood the room. I hated that I cared so much about someone’s body language and facial expressions, especially my husband’s.
“What?” Bradley sat up, snapping his mouth closed.
“Why did you make that face?” I asked softly.
Bradley hurled himself off the bed, looking ready to brawl. “What look?”
“I saw you look at my back and make a vomit face!”
Bradley grabbed my camel humps and said, “This stuff? This is mine. You’re on a diet anyway, right?” The meat handling and the mention of the “D” word didn’t help put me back into the mood.
“Did you or did you not make a gross out face?” I asked as I maneuvered out of his clutches. I walked backwards to the bed. In one swift move, I hooked my bra and put on my shirt. Bradley grunted or maybe his penis protested.
“Hey, why are you getting dressed? I did not make a face because of your back, Nix.”
I knew what I saw, but I didn’t want to ruin the rest of the night with my self-image issues. I wasn’t always this heavy and I knew that the miscarriage I endured just a month after our wedding sent me on a downward hormonal and mental spiral. My parents didn’t even know. By our first anniversary, after eating the secret of being pregnant and then not, I was thirty pounds burdened.
Bradley sat next to me and stroked my thighs. He kissed me hard, which marked the end of my protest. Typical. Once the engine was started, he had places to go. His destination was in my pants and I wasn’t going to set up any more road blocks.
I tucked my resentment away and enjoyed our pre-dinner escapade as best as I could. I tried not to think of his face at the split second of disapproval. I lay back and let him have at it. I opened my eyes to get a glimpse of him when his face should have expressed pleasure, but regretted it immediately. Bradley’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face contorted. I didn’t realize how large his nostrils were from this vantage point and his lips curled in a way that was reminiscent of Elvis Presley, my first true crush. But, this was not Elvis gyrating on top of me and I had to bite my lip to keep a giggle from escaping.
We didn’t typically do it in daylight, so this must have been the face he made in the dark. I learned something new everyday. The orchestra of grunts and groans that Bradley created was hard to ignore. He seemed different, like a new lover. Angrier even. I was on auto-pilot at this point and willed myself not to look at Bradley again, but my eyes popped open anyway. Yep, Elvis was still in the building. His eyebrows wiggled rhythmically and that’s when a flurry of giggles broke forth.
Bradley’s face resumed normalcy and he looked down, eyes wide in disbelief as I covered my mouth. Although I convulsed from laughter, not pleasure, Bradley still pumped along. His confused look made things worse and I burst into a fresh round of laughter. Bradley’s face grew sinister. And yet, he still wanted to finish his mission. I pulled a pillow over my face and did my best to stop my hysterics.
Ten seconds later, after a lot of bouncing, Bradley was done. He hopped off the bed and retreated to the bathroom. I gave him points for actually completing the task, but why? Why didn’t he just get pissed and roll over or ask what was wrong? Why was I so mean? Feeling my sweaty fat back, I remembered. I hated feeling ugly, and he made me feel like an ogre.
I knocked on the bathroom door. Bradley didn’t answer, so I let myself in. He was in the shower again, his usual after sex, and I pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the warmth. I hugged his back as we wasted water together. We didn’t speak, although I knew I needed to apologi
ze and explain myself. I soaped his back and enjoyed the contours. My husband was a beautiful specimen. It dawned on me that while Bradley offered me this I needed to do the same. I was immature and selfish, yet another lesson learned that day.
“Honey. I’m sorry.” I sang into his back.
Bradley turned around, held my wrists at my side and then kissed me on the cheek, lightly enough that thought I might have imagined it. He surveyed my face and took a long look at my naked body. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see his disapproving face again. As the warm water changed to cold, Bradley stepped out of the shower. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Phoenix, I’m leaving. I’m joining the Army reserves.”
Chapter 2
Meet my Friend, Gym
I was a woman in limbo. Bradley stranded me in San Diego for boot camp. After several days of eating my loneliness, I dusted off my gym clothes and activated the membership Bradley gave me for my last birthday. I thought it was so romantic at the time with the contract wrapped in a red satin ribbon. I know now it was his way of telling me I was a fat ass.
My sadness turned into anger as the summer heat arrived. I fought the urge to buy a one way ticket to Guam, where I could find refuge in my old lavender room. My parents maintained hoped that we would move back home. I love my parents, but they were smothering and always in my business, even down to the type of shoes I should be wearing. The burden of being their only daughter. I liked my liberation from them, but I knew that I could land softly back home if I really needed to.
In the meantime, I wanted to keep up appearances. Most days I harnessed enough energy to workout and learn the ropes of my secret shopping job. With the help of my Thomas Guide maps and GPS, I hit every Flex Gym within my evaluation target parameters. I turned my new job into a game. I was on the hunt for targets, people I needed to evaluate. I tried every machine at each gym branch, and scheduled secret shopping around exercise classes like Zumba and Hyper Hula. I used my credit card to buy the latest and greatest shoes, sweats and Ipod gear.
Secret Shopper Page 1
