Sex Symbol

by Tracey H. Kitts

  We decided to stop just outside of town for a late lunch. Our favorite place was The Flaming Fig. I went to school with the owner, Chase. Yes, he was gay, but the bar wasn’t. He just gave it the “gayest” name he could think of to keep out all the homophobes close by.

  “Well, if it ain’t my favorite two bitches.”

  Chase’s voice carried from behind the bar and once my eyes had adjusted to the dim light, I smiled in greeting. If you were his friend, he referred to you as his “bitch”. I’d gotten used to this in high school, but it had taken Justina quite a while to realize she wasn’t being insulted.

  Chase’s shoulder-length brown hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and he was wearing a blue tank top to match his eyes. He tossed a towel over his shoulder, apparently giving up on polishing the glasses in front of him.

  “You guys look hungry,” he commented as we took our seats at the bar. “What’ll you have?”

  “Cheeseburger with extra cheese and extra onions.”

  I stuck out my tongue as Justina ordered, faking a gag. Chase laughed and turned to me.

  “And what about you?”

  “A chicken sandwich.”

  He gave our order to the cook, walked back over and propped on the bar directly in front of me.

  “You want a beer?”

  I laughed. “Chase, I’ve got to go back and work today.”

  “I didn’t ask if you had to work, I asked if you wanted a beer.” When I didn’t respond he crossed his arms, flexing his perfectly toned biceps. His glare said it all, but he still felt inclined to explain. “James is still in town and I suspect that’s why you just crawled in here looking like a whipped dog. Now, why don’t you let me make you a drink and your whole day will be brighter? I promise.”

  I reached across the counter and Chase moved to hold my hand. Just that simple contact from an old friend made me want to cry. Maybe I should be drinking.

  “Look, I’ll come back tonight and you can make me whatever it is you think I need. But this afternoon I’ve got things that require concentration.”

  Justina snorted around a mouthful of peanuts and nearly choked. “Soap and candle making don’t require concentration. Not as many times as we’ve done it.”

  “Maybe not, but operating that old gas stove in the back of the shop does. I don’t want to burn my stupid ass.”

  At that they both laughed and Chase released my hand to go back to polishing the glasses.

  “You won’t come back,” he said.

  “I will. I promise.”

  He raised a brow. “If I give you what I think you need, you’ll want a driver.”

  “Fine, I’ll bring Justina.”

  This time he raised both brows. “Someone who can pick you up and carry you around if need be.”

  “She’s not that heavy,” Justina said around another mouthful of peanuts. “Besides, I’m like five inches taller than her I think I could get enough leverage.”

  She did have a point there. Justina was around five foot nine and outweighed me by about twenty pounds. Of course that didn’t make her big. She looked slender and curvy to anyone who cared to take notice. As a matter of fact, I thought she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met.

  “You should probably bring Ozzy,” Chase suggested. “Besides, I don’t think he’d mind getting to put his hands on you.”

  “Ozzy is a gentleman,” I said at which point they both raised their eyebrows and turned away from me.

  Ozzy was the one who put up the money for Passionate Petals. He bought the building and the first round of supplies. People say he’s my sugar daddy, but that’s not the case. He’s my closest friend besides Justina and he’s never once made an inappropriate gesture of any kind. It used to piss me off that people thought we had something going on, but I’ve learned to ignore it. Well, mostly.

  Justina went to stand outside and smoke while I waited for our food. After disappearing in the kitchen for a few minutes Chase returned with more advice.

  “Why don’t you just sleep with Oz for a while? It’d probably be safe.”

  My face must have given away how shocked I was by his suggestion, because Chase started to laugh.

  “What?” He shrugged. “Don’t pretend you never thought of it. He ain’t half bad looking and he’s got plenty of money. Besides, anybody with eyes can see that he cares for you.”

  I took a deep breath, but stopped short because of the pain in my chest. It must be stress.

  “That’s right, he cares for me which is exactly why I could never use him. I care too much about Oz to mess with him like that.”

  Chase smiled. “You reckon he’d mind if I messed with him a little?”

  I laughed, grateful for the slight change in subject.

  “I really don’t think he’s your type.”

  He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Oh, honey, you’d be surprised who’s my type.” When I gave a skeptical look he winked and said, “People you know.”

  “Well, I don’t doubt that. But I do doubt that Ozzy is one of them.”

  This time Chase gave me the skeptical look. “And why is that?”

  The words came tumbling out before I could stop myself. “Because he’s got the lips of a world-class pussy eater.”

  “Ah! So you have thought about it.”

  There really was no arguing with Chase.

  After lunch we drove back to the shop with our supplies. While Justina went to unlock the door, I walked around and started unloading the boxes. When I looked up I saw that the sign across the street read “Creative Cunts” once again.

  “Where were you last night, Stina?”

  “I was down at the Fig, you can ask Chase.”

  But there was a smile in her voice when she answered. A perfect alibi meant only one thing—he’d helped her do it. A few kids had stopped on the sidewalk to laugh at the sign. The instant they started pointing at it Melissa stormed out front and shooed them along.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  She pulled out her cell phone and started dialing. No doubt she was calling the police again. Her frizzy blonde hair bounced as she paced on the sidewalk.

  “Charles? This is Melissa. Those assholes have vandalized my sign again!”

  She turned in my direction and I pretended to be busier than I was.

  “Well, maybe you should get your fat ass out here and check it out!” she yelled at Charles.

  Poor Charlie. He was a little bit chubby, but I wouldn’t say fat. He was actually kind of charming in a clueless sort of way. The sign was right. Melissa really was a cunt.

  Chapter Three

  Put a little umph in it

  Business was fairly steady once we opened the shop. Even though we got a late start that afternoon, we’d already done several hundred dollars’ worth of sales. And since most of those sales were candles and soap, that’s what I was in the back making more of. People drove for miles around for our stuff which made Stina and me very proud.

  At the moment there was a lag in customers. I was melting down a large pot of ingredients for soap while she mixed some fragrances in neat little bottles on the table behind me.

  “God, I can’t seem to wake up today,” I said, yawning as I stirred the mixture.

  “Well, while I pour these into molds, why don’t you go down to Morrison’s, get us some more coffee? I could use a little more caffeine myself.”

  Morrison’s was the name of the coffee and doughnut shop on the corner of Main Street. It was the only place in town open twenty-four hours and it always had business. The owner worked during the day and hired someone to work at night. I could taste their espresso just thinking about it.

  “Fine, but no more penis molds, okay?”

  Justina laughed. “That was just that one time. See, nothing vulgar.”

  She held up a few seashell molds and I smiled at her before turning for the door.

  “Be right back.” As I left I called back over my shoulder, “No peckers!�
��

  The day was turning stormy and the wind was even cooler than it had been that morning. Leaves were already starting to turn and you could smell fall in the air. How is it that fall always smells like fresh baked pies and burning leaves?

  When I entered Morrison’s I wasn’t surprised to see Charlie there. His aunt owned the place.

  “Well, hey there,” she greeted me from behind the counter.

  Mrs. Morrison was pleasant enough, but nosy as hell. I did my best to speak politely and go on about my business.

  “Hi, two espressos to go please.”

  While she prepared the coffee she started talking. Mrs. Morrison wasn’t the kind of woman who could resist conversation.

  “You know James was in here earlier. He seemed so happy. Rumor has it he’s talking about starting a family and everything. I never would have thought that…”

  But I was no longer listening. The knife in my chest just twisted and broke off at the hilt. James was thinking of having babies? With her? The whole room spun. It took me a minute to realize Mrs. Morrison was looking at me and the espresso was sitting in a neat little carrying case on the counter.

  “Lucy, are you okay, hun?”

  I hurt so bad. It felt like my insides were being twisted by some cruel torture instrument. Was I okay? Humph. I pushed a bill across the counter without looking to see what it was and took the coffee.

  I walked numbly for the door and as I left I could hear Charles asking his aunt, “Are you completely retarded?”

  It wasn’t that I wanted children so badly or anything. I’d never really given much thought to starting a family. What upset me was the thought of a part of him and a part of her walking around. Would it have his smile and her eyes? I imagined the combinations in horror as I trudged back to the shop.

  I don’t remember walking through the door or going to the back. All I remember is sitting the coffee down in front of Justina and hearing her voice.

  “What the hell happened? Sweetheart, you’re crying. Did someone do something to you?”

  She walked away from the cooling soap and tipped my face up to hers.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Mrs. Morrison said that…” But I couldn’t finish it. I could not repeat what she had said. It hurt way too much.

  “Mrs. Morrison is a nosy old bitch, now what did she say?”

  I opened my mouth a couple of times, like a fish trying to get air after flopping up onto a river bank. But nothing came out. When I finally found my voice I said, “I’m going back to the Fig. Can you handle things here?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine. Do what you need to and call if you need me.”

  I cried the whole way home. You’d have thought that after a while a heart couldn’t break any more, but that’s not true. I didn’t bother pulling into the garage because I was only there to change.

  For the first time in three weeks I didn’t bother looking next door before going in my house. Whatever my neighbor was doing didn’t matter right now. Normally when someone is in shock, they don’t feel pain. Maybe that was only true for the physical kind. Because I was definitely still in shock from what Mrs. Morrison had said and I was most certainly in pain.

  My bedroom had recently been redecorated along with the rest of the house and it usually made me smile. But I was oblivious to the luscious red and gold bedcovers and the fresh new honey-colored paint. I was also oblivious to the fact that the curtains on my french doors were wide open. By the time I noticed I was already in my underwear. Fuck it. If my neighbor was out there, let him look. After all, I’d been ogling him for weeks. Maybe I could return the favor.

  I pulled on a pair of my favorite jeans. They’ve got slashes all down the legs and one that falls just short of indecent exposure under the left butt cheek. I considered wearing a skirt. But I planned to get stinking, falling down drunk tonight. I wanted something that covered my crotch. My breasts are too large to go without a bra, so I picked one that I felt enhanced what I had without making them look like they were jacked up underneath my chin. Lifting and separating is all well and good, but when you’re a D cup you don’t want them lifted too high. It just looks unnatural. The black thong I was wearing already matched so I didn’t bother changing panties. Yes, I think my bra and panties needs to match. Even the skuzzy ones I wear when I don’t feel well.

  The black shirt I picked out had just a little bit of sleeve and slashes across the midriff to match my jeans. It was made that way. I feel the need to explain since so many people in the South can’t seem to figure out that it’s okay to wear clothes with holes in them sometimes. In fact, some even come with them on purpose. My grandma has been offering suggestions for years on how to patch up my favorite jeans. I’ve given up trying to explain fashion to her.

  Since the jeans were cut low, the shirt just barely met them. This showed off my new tattoo quite nicely through the decorative slashes. I’d gotten the long-stemmed red rose along my hipbone about a month ago and hadn’t properly shown it off yet. I’d always wanted a tattoo, but never could decide on a design. Finally, I just walked into a tattoo parlor and let the artist pick one for me. James would have disapproved. Fuck him. I like roses.

  A pair of low heeled black boots completed the outfit and I was good to go. I had no intention of redoing my makeup or doing anything different with my hair. I’d let my hair dry naturally the night before, which meant I had curls galore. I did spare a quick glance in the mirror though and realized that my eyes looked more red than brown. I took a minute to use some drops and then reapply a little bit of eyeliner before grabbing my jacket and heading out.

  When I walked back into The Flaming Fig Chase seemed surprised to see me. He checked his wrist, then realizing it was bare, looked up at the clock on the wall.

  “It’s six o’clock. What happened?”

  I sat down at the bar and threw my jacket onto the seat beside me. The place wasn’t that busy yet, but it would be. This was one of the few locations you could buy beer on Sunday. I’d always thought that was a stupid rule. “No beer sold on Sunday”, so many signs read. Why the hell not? It just drove up sales for Saturday night. Then again, this was coming from the same people who banned many beloved children’s books that contained “magical elements” and said they were evil or “devil worship books”. Some days I’d love to bibbidi-bobbidi-boo their stupid asses into dog shit. Man, I was in a bad mood.

  “Are you going to answer me or just sit there with that frown on your face?” Chase asked.

  I leaned forward and propped on the bar. “I’m just keeping my promise.”

  “It’s early. Someone must have pissed you off.”

  “Oh, so it’s too early to keep my word?” There was definitely more venom in my tone than Chase deserved.

  His voice was kind when he replied, kinder than my rude remark deserved. “You had no intention of keeping your word. You said you’d be back so as not to hurt my feelings. Now, how about I fix you that drink and you can tell me who pissed you off?”

  Halfway into a pitcher of key lime margaritas I had nearly concluded my rant about Mrs. Morrison.

  “That stupid fucking cunt. Oh, hi Charlie.”

  The policeman sat down beside me and slapped his badge onto the counter.

  “You must be talking about my aunt Jackie.”

  “Look, don’t take it personal.”

  He waved off my comment. “No, she’s retarded. I can’t believe what she said to you today.”

  “Oh, so you were there,” Chase said, moving closer. “Was your aunt dropped on the head as a child?”

  Charlie laughed. “She needs to be dropped on her head as an adult if you ask me. Can I buy you a beer, Lucy?”

  I toasted him with my margarita. “I’m good, thanks.”

  “Well, give me one then, Chase. I’m officially off duty.”

  Charles was just a few years older than me. He didn’t think I noticed, but I’d always known he had a thing for me. For some reason tonight, th
at didn’t bother me at all and neither did the thought of being close to him. Normally, I kept my distance just a little bit so as not to give a false impression. Damn, those margaritas were strong.

  “You’re not planning to drive home now are you, Lucy?”

  Before I could answer Chase said, “No sir. She turned in her keys to me almost an hour ago.”

  “Where’s Sam?” I asked out of nowhere.

  Sam is the other cop that works with Charlie. Actually, he’s the sheriff. We’ve only got a few cops and they are the only two who work regularly. Sam is around six feet tall with shaggy salt-and-pepper hair he keeps tucked neatly underneath his hat. But I’ve seen him around town riding his motorcycle and I know what his hair looks like down or in a short ponytail. I also knew what he looked like in leather pants and the thought made me so wet that for a minute I thought I’d peed in my pants.

  I’d had a thing for Sam since I hit puberty, but no one knew that except me.

  “He’s probably back at the station listening to the radio. Why?”

  That really made me want to place an obscene phone call. But what I said was, “No reason,” and smiled.

  As I poured myself another drink from the pitcher, Charlie turned toward me and seemed to take a good look for the first time that night.

  “I’m not saying that there aren’t good things about James. But he ain’t the kind of man worth getting drunk over.”

  “This has nothing to do with James,” I lied.

  Chase fanned with the towel he was holding like the heat of my lies would burn him right up.

  “Oh, it doesn’t? You planned on getting stinking drunk before Jackie opened her mouth?”

  I raised my arm and took a sniff. “I don’t stink.”

  Charlie laughed. “It’s an expression, honey. Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Chase, could you help me move to that booth over there?” I placed my hand on Charlie’s arm and said with a smile, “Nothing against you, Charlie. I just want to be closer to the jukebox. You’re welcome to join me.”

  I didn’t really want company, but I didn’t want to hurt his feelings either. Hell, I’d known him since I was six years old. No sense making enemies now.