by Emerson Rose
I was hooked.
Over Christmas break during my junior year, life changed for me. I climbed into my old Monza listening to a jerk yell, “Don’t breathe up all the air, Sullivan!” followed by, “Hey, Sullivan, who mows your nose hairs?”
I was used to the taunting, and the beatings ended my sophomore year when I had a growth spurt ending the year taller than every guy in my class. I had come to terms with the fact that people only saw my nose when they looked at me, and that’s just how it was.
But it wasn’t. When I came back to school after Christmas break with a perfect nose, chiseled jawline, and contact lenses, everything changed. It was like magic. I stepped out of my car and girls were doing double takes, guys were frowning and whispering, and a few teachers questioned who I was. From that moment on, I wanted to do what Dr. Salisbury had done for me and others. I wanted to rescue the misfits, the discarded, and the freaks of nature and make them gorgeous so they could flip their middle finger to the cruel and judgmental world.
And that’s what I did.
Years later when I was in med school, I learned that being good looking could be a curse, too. Teachers didn’t take me seriously anymore, women wanted to sleep with me, men did, too, for that matter, and no one gave a shit about how smart I was.
For months, I kept my head down, stopped dressing nice, wore grungy jeans and hoodies, let my beard grow, quit working out, and stopped dating altogether. If you didn’t know me, you would have thought I had fallen into a deep depression. I wasn’t depressed, though. I wanted people to appreciate me for more than my appearance.
A year later, I realized it wasn’t making a difference when my advanced anatomy professor cornered me after class and offered herself to me for an A in the class. I remember looking down at her and thinking this stupid bitch doesn’t even know I’m already getting an A in her class—she just wants to sleep with me.
I fucked her out of spite and started dressing better again, took out a loan for a brand new Mercedes, and never looked back. I became a manwhore.
If that’s how the world was going to see me, then I figured I would give them what they wanted. Being a player in med school was challenging but not impossible—hook-ups in the sleep rooms at the hospital, study dates that turned into sex, one-night stands galore—it was great.
Then I graduated and started practicing medicine, and that’s when the women started knocking down my door. It turns out, making women feel more beautiful is quite the aphrodisiac. I never wanted for a sexy woman on my arm, sometimes two, for years, and that’s how I liked it.
Then there was Star. Star is a poor con woman from the wrong side of the tracks who saw me as her golden ticket out. Star came to see me originally for breast augmentation paid for by her pimp I later learned. I took her out as I did many of my patients, and after a couple of weeks, she got pregnant. She had been poking holes in my condoms. She set about worming her way into my life permanently, and I started dreaming of ways she might accidentally die after she gave birth to my daughter.
Star was not mother material, wife material, or even human material. She had more schemes up her sleeve than Houdini, and she tried them all. It didn’t take long for her to get sick of being a mother—like a week to be exact—and that was fine with me.
I gave her a wad of cash, she signed over her parental rights, and she promised to go away forever. But she didn’t go away forever. She showed up when Tori was three years old and tried to kidnap her which began Tori’s serious fight with anxiety.
Star is still out there running from the law. Tori and I are still in here waiting for her to get caught.
Sometimes life just isn’t fair.
7
Sasha
“You cool if I go back to work tomorrow?” Twyla asks handing me a cup of water and a pain pill.
“Yeah, I’m fine. You didn’t have to stick around this long anyway.”
“I wanted to. It was a good excuse to get out of work and relax for a few days.”
“I have to go to the store today and let them know I’m almost ready to come back. These few days off might have been relaxing for you, but I’m going nuts sitting around the apartment watching TV all day.”
“That’s because you don’t have to climb up and down a pole and flash your tits and your beaver at sleazy men for a living. I guarantee if you do what I do, you’d enjoy some time off.”
Twyla’s a stripper at Climax. She complains a lot, but, in reality, I think she loves her job. She enjoys attention, and she’s got a body that never quits—long legs, perfect twearking ass, and fake boobs courtesy of Dr. Sullivan’s partner, Dr. Mason. She says she’s got to make as much money as she can while she’s still smoking hot because she’s got nothing upstairs but street smarts. I say she’s sexy all right, but wrong about the rest. She’s smart as hell, and she’d never admit it, but she would love to go to college.
“I’ll give you that. I don’t know how you do it. I’m too modest for that line of work. I’ll stick to stuffing stinky feet into too small shoes, thanks.”
She shrugs and turns to leave my bedroom where I’ve been hanging out all week. “You should go see what’s up in the living room and wash those stank sheets, woman. You’re starting to stink being cooped up in here.”
I smell my armpits and call out. “I smell fine. I showered the day before yesterday!”
“Do it again!” she yells back.
I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly. She’s right. I’m going to work today, and I can’t go like this. I swing my legs over the side of the bed and wait for the dizziness that occurs when I get up for the first time every day. When there is only one of everything in my path again, I stand and make my way into my bathroom to turn on the shower.
In the mirror, I notice the bruising looks significantly better than it did yesterday. The putrid green color is now gone from my eyes, and a lovely vanilla yellow beige has replaced it. I’m not sure which is worse, but I know the lighter colors mean I’m on the right track. The swelling in my nose is better today as well, so overall it’s a good start to the day.
My pain pills are kicking in, my chest is all warm and fuzzy, and my nose isn’t throbbing. I need to time my trip to work perfectly, so I’m not doped up but still pain-free. I want to look like I’m ready to come back to work now even though I can’t imagine bending over to help someone put on a shoe. All that pressure on my face would make me pass out for sure.
I unbutton my nightshirt and drop my panties before getting into the shower. I had to use an old boyfriend’s button-up to sleep in since I’m not allowed to put my hands over my head. It’s okay, but I miss my silky pajamas.
When I’m no longer a smelly bedroom degenerate, I dress and go to the living room to watch a few YouTube videos while I wait for the pain meds to wear off. I wake up with my head on the back of the couch and a dry mouth after dozing off. Shit, shit, shit, it’s late. How long did I sleep? I look at my phone—two and a half hours? Great, now I get to go to work and talk to my boss in pain. I stand up too fast and grab the arm of the couch to keep from toppling over.
Take it easy, Sasha, it won’t do you any good to hurry if you go crashing through the glass coffee table. When I’m straight, I head for the door grabbing my purse on the way. Outside, I squint in the sun. I’ve been hibernating for days, and the sun’s warmth feels incredible on my skin.
When I arrive at the mall, I check my face in the mirror and decide that I am the perfect blend of post-operative disarray and a determined, dedicated employee. Time to secure my job and ask for full-time hours. The flower shop hasn’t been busy enough to need my help lately, and my savings account is almost on E.
Sam from the Fragrance Department greets me right away when I walk inside. “Hey, Sasha, it’s good to see you. I heard about your accident, I’m so sorry. Are you doing okay?”
I point to my nose, “Got a nose job, and I can breathe now, so yeah I’m doing better. How are things around here?” I say res
ting my forearms on the display case between us.
“Oh, you know, same old, same old. Kruger’s been having regular inventory meltdowns, and McKinney’s talking about budget cuts and shorter breaks.”
Budget cuts? Shit, I hope it’s nothing serious. It figures I come in here needing extra hours, and management is cutting back.
“Yeah, sounds like nothing’s changed for sure.” I laugh nervously, but Sam doesn’t know me that well and doesn’t notice.
“Are you coming back soon?” he asks.
“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. I need to talk to them about my schedule.”
“Cool. Hey, did they ever find the guy who hit you?”
“No, they probably won’t. It was late, and there were no cameras around, so I’m screwed. I’m going to have to buy a car, mine was totaled.”
“That sucks. Did you see anything? Like what kind of car or the driver, anything?”
“No, as I said, it was dark, and I didn’t see anything.” That’s a total lie. I know who hit me and why, but I’m sure as hell not going to say anything to the police. I don’t need that kind of trouble in my life.
“I got a friend who sells cars. I can give you his number if you want.”
“Thanks, Sam, that would be great. I’m going to talk to McKinney. I’ll get the number on my way out.”
“Okay, see ya.”
“See ya.”
I walk to the escalator and ride it upstairs to the executive offices and wait at Customer Service for McKinney. Twenty minutes later, my face aches, and my stomach is growling when he comes strolling into the waiting room.
“Sasha? Wow, they said you were in an accident, but I didn’t know it was this bad. Come on back and sit down,” McKinney says motioning me toward him. I took that comment as a direct hit to my fragile self-esteem and inwardly cringed. I must look terrible, but I guess I’ve gotten used to it.
Inside his dimly lit office, he closes the door. “So, what brings you in today?” he asks sitting down behind his desk that looks too small, but it’s just that he’s way too big. It’s funny to watch him squeeze into his chair, and I would probably giggle under different circumstances, but since I’m here to beg for my job, I keep my mouth shut.
“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be able to come back to work next week. And I also wanted to know if I could go back to full-time. I’ve got a lot of expenses since my accident was a hit and run, so I could use the money.” I give him a tiny smile with one corner of my mouth, even though I’m not supposed to per doctor’s orders.
His face falls, and his complexion turns ashy. “Oh, Sasha, didn’t you get the letter I sent you?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so.” Shit, I have a stack of mail a mile high at home that I couldn’t go through for a while because my vision was so bad after the accident, and my eyes were ninety-five percent swollen shut. When I could finally see again, I began the daily ritual of stuffing the unopened mail into the junk drawer in the kitchen.”
“I’m so sorry, I had no idea. Sasha, we had to terminate your employment. Katrina from Lingerie wanted to transfer, and we had to cover your hours. We are fully staffed now, and I don’t have a position for you.”
Terminate? Fully staffed? No position? I can’t believe this shit. How do you fire an employee who’s worked for you for seven years with no problems? I never called in sick more than once a year.
“I’m fired? But, but I’ve worked here seven years.”
“I know. We felt terrible, but it was inventory time, and we were short-staffed. You can reapply when something opens up.” He smiles an optimistic smile, and I groan. I can’t take time off to wait for something to open up. I need a job now.
“There’s nothing open? I don’t care what department I work in, I just need a job.”
“Unfortunately, no. We had some temporary positions during inventory, but inventory is complete, and those people were let go, too.”
Shit, what the hell am I going to do? “Do you think there will be any openings coming up soon? I need to get back to work.”
“Not that I know of, but you’ll be the first person I call if we do. I promise.”
“Okay,” I sigh. “I guess there isn’t anything else to talk about then.”
“I am sorry, Sasha, I’ll give you a glowing recommendation. You were an exemplary employee.”
I snort, not exemplary enough to keep me on after I was in a car accident. I don’t say what I’m thinking, though. I need that recommendation.
“I hope you get to feeling better soon.”
“Thanks.” I stand and exit his office walking in a daze to my rental car in the parking lot. I’m glad Sam wasn’t at his counter when I walked by. I’m not ready to explain to anyone why I don’t have a job because I’m not sure myself.
Seven years at the same store, and one car accident later, I’m out on the curb just like that. All thanks to an ex who can’t fucking let go.
Sometimes life’s a bitch.
8
Xander
Telling Tori she was getting a temporary nanny for a week went about as well as I expected it would. She cried, and when that didn’t help, she yelled, and then she kicked me in the shin and hid under the coffee table.
You have to love kids. It’s been almost a week, and we’ve had a new nanny every day until today. Felicia was here the first day, and she has agreed to come back and give it another try. Tori cried the entire day she was here before, and when she locked herself in the bathroom, I had to come home and relieve her. She was nearly as frazzled and traumatized as poor Tori.
“Sweetheart, you need to get dressed. Felicia will be here soon, and she doesn’t know where your things are. You want to look pretty, don’t you?”
“No, I wanna be ugly. I don’t wanna nanny. I want my Zion!” she yells, her voice hoarse from an hour of loud protesting.
“Felicia is only here for a few days to help out until Zion can come home from the hospital,” I lie. It’ll be at least another week until she’s released and who knows how long until she’s able to take care of someone else. Tori doesn’t need to know that, though. If she would just give Felicia half a chance, she’d be fine.
“Zion’s not coming back,” she says in a small voice that puts a crack in my armor.
“Bug, you know she will. She loves you, and she can’t wait to come home, but she has to be healthy first.”
She crawls out from under the table dressed in a peach and white princess nightgown with her big eyes brimming with unshed tears. “Daddy, please take me today.”
I sigh and drop my chin to my chest weary of arguing with this sweet girl. She’s afraid of strangers, and I know it’s enabling, but I can’t help it. I love her so much, and what she went through with her mother wasn’t her fault. She needs one parent to stand up for her and be her protector, and that’s me.
“Okay, princess, come on, we have to get you dressed and call Felicia.” A spoiled child would cheer out loud when they got their way, but Tori isn’t spoiled, she’s afraid. I scoop her up in my arms and carry her clinging to my body to her room to pick out her clothes and fix her hair.
There aren’t as many volunteers to watch Tori today. I guess ninety dollars an hour isn’t enough to chase after a five-year-old and get bitched out by the boss when you lose her. But one brave soul is up for it, and her name is Millie. Millie is new, she started two weeks ago shortly before Zion got sick, and I think she was in a training class the day Tori spent terrorizing the clinic. She doesn’t know what she’s in for, she’s just trying to rack up brownie points with the boss at her new job, and for that, I feel a tiny bit guilty.
Guilty enough to tell her Tori’s a handful ahead of time, though? No.
The rest of the staff knows what’s up, and if they know what’s good for them, they will lend a hand when needed. If they don’t, they will have to deal with me, and nobody wants that.
“Okay, princess, I’m going to be seeing patients today so be good for Mi
llie.”
“Okay, Daddy, I will,” she says, and for the first time since Zion went into the hospital, I believe her.
“If you need me between patients, that’s fine, but keep her out of the exam rooms, understand?” I say under my breath to Millie, and she looks scared.
“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”
Amazingly, the morning goes off without a hitch. Not a peep from Millie or Tori, and I stayed on schedule finishing with my patients thirty minutes early. Tori and I ate lunch together, and she didn’t even complain when she had to go back with Millie. I wonder if Millie might consider delaying her nursing career to nanny for a few weeks? Can’t hurt to ask.
I’ve been secretly counting down the days and more recently the hours until my 2:30 p.m. appointment today. It’s Wednesday, one week from when I did Sasha’s surgery, and she’s coming back today for a follow-up. I don’t know what it is about that woman, but I can’t get her out of my head. She’s feisty yet innocent at the same time. And she can be warm when she lets her guard down, especially when a certain five-year-old is in the room. It’s pure coincidence that Tori ended up at the clinic today, but I wonder if Sasha will still be open to the idea of having Tori in the exam room for the unveiling of her nose? I hope so.
My 2:00 p.m. consultation canceled. I take the opportunity to see what my child is up to and find her with Millie outside on the sidewalk playing hopscotch. Millie was creative and used masking tape to make a hopscotch grid on the ground, and Tori is hopping all over the place. She hasn’t mastered the game yet, but she’s got the hopping part down pat.
“Hey, ladies, how’s my favorite princess?”
“Daddy! Look, Millie and me are jumpin!”
“I see that, what a good idea, Millie,” I say approaching Millie at one end of the grid. “Thanks for keeping her busy today.”
