What a Girl Wants

by Kristin Billerbeck

  By picking them up, I don’t know if she means purchasing them or stealing them, and now I’m thinking complimenting a thief on her choice of stolen goods is probably not a good course of action. Even if it was for Jesus.

  After an hour of chitchat, Kevin is at the desk, asking the great hulk about me. Even in this dungy holding area, he’s like a ray of sunshine. The hulk gives him a bunch of papers, and I see him hand over cash to the bailiff. I’m a criminal. A Christian criminal. So weird. The Hulk is coming with the keys, and Doc won’t look me in the eye. How humiliating.

  “It was nice to meet you, Krista. Stop by the church on a Sunday morning. The stores are closed then.” I wink. “Besides, you look like you’ve had enough of this life.”

  She smiles and points a finger at me. “You got it, Chick. Stay on the sober side of life.”

  Kevin is looking at me incredulously.

  “I’ll tell you outside.” We get out into the California sun and I’ve never been so happy to see light. I do a little twirl on the side-walk. “I’m free!”

  “Not quite. Your hearing is on Tuesday.” He hands me a bunch of papers.

  I try to explain my story, but I sound like an idiot and I don’t want to admit to urinating in a cup even if my results did exonerate me. Someone else might not understand that kind of tired, but being a world-traveling resident, Kevin gets it.

  “Did you have to look for an apartment in your first hour back? You could have given yourself a break, you know.”

  “I didn’t want to miss out on it. It was a great apartment.”

  “Are you hungry? Let’s get a late lunch. I haven’t eaten since three this morning,” he says.

  “Did you see that toilet in the middle of the cell? Do you think anyone ever uses that?”

  “Judging by the smell in there, someone did.”

  Ick. Don’t want to discuss this. “Was it hard for you to get out of the hospital?”

  “No, you called at a good time. But I have to say your call couldn’t have shocked me more than if you’d put the defibrillator paddles to my chest.” He says he’s shocked, but he’s eating this up. He loves the Knight in Shining Armor role.

  I look at Kevin with new eyes. He’s not confident to his innercore like Seth, but there’s something vulnerable in that place. He wants to rescue people, and I just hate that I was the kind who needed rescuing—but somedays, you just have to give up and let ’em rescue. It’s comforting to know Kevin is capable of that—should I ever need it again. It makes me feel safe.

  “I can’t thank you enough for getting me. I’m just not myself today and I didn’t know who to call. I knew you were close by. How much do I owe you for bail?”

  He waves his hand. “Forget it, Ashley.”

  “No, tell me.”

  “Let’s get some lunch.” Kevin drives up the street to Revvia, one of my favorite restaurants. It’s a mixture of exciting Greek flavors with the healthy conscience of California and definitely the pricing of Silicon Valley.

  “You sure like to eat well,” I comment.

  He lets his eyes drift towards my feet. “And you like to dress well.”

  I square my shoulders and hike my chest out. Getting rescued from the pokey was worth it to have someone notice my outfit!

  “Do you eat this well all the time?” I ask.

  “Only when the company’s worth the money. And in the last two years, this is my second time to a good restaurant. The first time was with you at that little French place.”

  My heart is thumping. I mean, I can’t even handle the fact he thinks I’m worth anything. What other man would bail me out and buy me a fine meal in the same day? I’m thinking this might be Serious Love now. Seth, who?

  “What would your parents think of bailing me out?”

  “Let’s just say it’s not something we’ll discuss.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes it in his own. I love his hands. They’re masculine and smooth all at once, and when he looks at me with those deep green eyes, I just feel it to my Jimmy Choos. This kind of magnetism could get a girl into trouble.

  “Please let me get lunch,” I offer. “It’s the least I can do.”

  He turns and looks at me, his chin cast downward, his arm straight over the Porsche steering wheel. He looks like an ad for Porsche, only better.

  “Call me old fashioned, but I don’t let women take me out.”

  “Not even with a coupon?” I ask.

  “Especially not with a coupon.” His voice is steamy. I fan my face. Is it hot in here?

  He finds a parking spot easily. He lives a charmed life. Kevin comes around and opens my door and lifts me up out of the Porsche. Of course, all my weight is really on my right foot. I’m not totally naive. Let him think I weigh what Arin does.

  “So did you get enough sleep in the slammer?” he jokes.

  “I did. I’ll be all caught up by tomorrow morning. Then I’ll just go in and explain to my boss I needed a personal day.”

  “Isn’t it amazing how they send you to another world, time-zone-wise, and expect you to work like you had your full eight hours?”

  “They expect you to be a robot.”

  “Aren’t you?” Kevin shakes his head and grabs my hand as we run across the street. Pedestrians have the right of way in California, but being right and being dead can be the same thing. People think we’re so healthy out here. We’re not healthy; we’re jogging to get out of the way of speeding BMWs.

  “I’m quickly becoming a robot,” I sigh.

  Kevin does that thing where he lets his eyes scan my figure and dart away. “I agree that you are a well-made machine, but not a robot.” He winks at me.

  I slap his arm. “Cut that out.”

  He starts to laugh and it’s contagious. Have I mentioned he just emits sensuality? Down girl. I’m sounding like Dianna, Administrative Warrior Princess.

  “That’s hardly reputable behavior for a Christian boy.”

  He’s still laughing. “I-I’m not a Christian.”

  My smile disappears. “What do you mean you’re not a Christian? I saw you at church. Arin said—”

  “I went there a couple times to meet Arin for brunch. I’m afraid my beliefs fall into the agnostic range. I just don’t know.” He shrugs. “But I’m very tolerant of your beliefs. Is that an issue for you? I mean, if I can be tolerant, can’t you?”

  29

  After lunch, the tramp back to my car is excruciating. These shoes may be great, but stilettos are not meant for walking—other than that little jaunt-and-turn on a fashion runway. I have blisters the size of Epcot and it’s only been two blocks. But I didn’t want another ride in Kevin’s Porsche and I told him I had some shopping to do—which wasn’t a total lie. I picked up Hawaii brochures at a travel agency and I’m dreaming of when work will give me a break and I can take a vacation. I can wear flip-flops and Lilly resort wear.

  Back to Kevin. You know how I kept worrying he was too good to be true? Well, he was. Granted, not gay like I was thinking, but not a Christian and not someone who moves in the same cultural circles I do. He does the Opera. We do the Melodramas in San Jose. But he has such manners! Lord, why on earth can’t a Christian guy treat me that way?

  If I ever get married and raise boys, I’m going to teach them chivalry. When Kevin opened my car door, it should have been a dead giveaway something wasn’t right. When I think of the countless clues that were before me, I feel stupider than a cut of sushi.

  Then there’s the whole “tolerance” argument. Can’t I be tolerant of his beliefs? When I believe someone is going to hell for their failure to acknowledge Jesus Christ, how is one capable of being tolerant of that? I mean, let’s say I fall in love with this man. What’s next? Oh, I have this little harem of women on the side, you don’t mind, do you? Why can’t you be more tolerant? Granted, I feel a burden for those around me who don’t acknowledge the Truth, but that’s a far cry from raising children with that person.

  Peeling off my shoes, I ca
rry them in my hands for the last half-block. I can see my car from here. It’s missing its top. This is the second time it’s been stolen, but you know, I figure with all that’s going on today, it’s the least of my troubles, and I just laugh at the concept. I’ll head to Brea’s and call the police from home. I wonder if they’ll respond to an excon.

  There’s a man watering his lawn. He’s watching me like I have no business in his neighborhood and I suppose I don’t. But still being warned off with body language only makes me more confident. And I shake my little Bebe outfit and swing my shoes.

  Once in my car, I’m glad I live in California—since it is winter and there’s no top on my convertible. Is it still a convertible now that it doesn’t convert? I turn the car on and blast the heater, and life’s not bad. It’s enjoyable, in fact. Loosening my Burberry scarf, I see the radio is still intact, and the CD changer resides in the trunk so that’s safe. I blast my favorite David Crowder CD and rev up to third gear. I feel free again and with the January sun on my face, I drive to my favorite road: Foothill Expressway. It has the effect of a spa on me. It’s surrounded by greenery and the distant rolling, golden hills spotted with oaks, like something out of a serene painting. Taking it in, it makes me relish life. This is success: enjoying your moment. Whatever moment God happens to gift you with.

  I lift my arm straight in the air, trailing my Burberry scarf behind me like a kite tail. Breathing in deeply, I realize for the first time, and with a bit of pride, that I really am a Reason! I’m probably a Reason-cubed, but I am not a victim!

  I’ve been playing the victim. I whine about how work sends me across the world without even twenty-four-hour notice, but is that Purvi’s fault? No, it’s mine for allowing them to beat me into submission.

  I’m a patent attorney, not a worldwide salesman. I never signed up to be jaunting all over the planet on one person’s whim. Then I whine about it, like, Woe is me, they’re doing it again. See? Victim.

  I’m the one who will come in at six a.m. without a question. And I’m the one who chose to go out with a friend’s ex-boyfriend, without for one moment wondering why she might have dumped him. It never occurred to me that Arin has a missionary soul; maybe she’d been missionary-dating the very elusive Dr. Novak. If anyone was strong enough in their faith to do that, it’s Arin.

  You know, even transferring my material goods to Seth’s friend because I was so overwhelmed—my fault. If I didn’t have a roof over my head, why was I going to Taiwan to work for basking in some glory that probably won’t ever come?

  My arm is still straight up in the air with my $200 scarf trailing as a victorious flag. I will beat Silicon Valley, and I will do it on my own terms. I am a Christian first. A confident, take-charge woman. A grunt laborer second. Success is about living the gift, not impressing the neighbors.

  I let go of the scarf and from my rearview mirror watch it drift on the wind. Then, I downshift into fourth and punch it. I am free! I’m not single for a reason. I’m single because that’s God’s will for me.

  After all, I don’t have to answer to anyone. I can get a double espresso at ten p.m. and there’s no one to say, “That will keep you up all night,” like John does to Brea. Mental note: My husband—if there ever is A Husband—won’t care if my girlfriend comes over once in a while and giggles with me like we’re at a teenage slumber party.

  God didn’t place me here in the tech capital of the world to play the victim. He placed me here to enlarge His Kingdom, and how can I do that whining about my pathetic life? Brea’s married. She still whines—only now it’s for kids. It’s always something. Contentment has to start somewhere, and I choose here along my favorite road, in my gorgeous convertible, under the California sunshine in the midst of winter . . . I choose to start here.

  I grab my cell phone and put the earphone in my ear. Granted, I have to roll up the window to hear, but I shout Kay’s name, and the number dials automatically. I love technology.

  “Kay Harding,” she answers.

  “Kay, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Yes,” Kay’s a bit nervous, hearing from me again without an appointment.

  “Kay,” I say with personality, trying to get her involved with my renewed passion. “I have no place to live at the moment. What would you say to my paying rent and living with you? You don’t have to answer now, but I’m tired of the struggle. Making ends meet, to say nothing of making dinner! Life doesn’t have to be this hard. We can make it easier on each other.”

  “Sure,” she says simply, and I almost hear relief in her voice. Could she be lonely in that big ol’ house?

  “No, really, I want you to take your time,” I say. I don’t want her volunteering to house me as a mercy mission.

  “I don’t need any time. I’d like a roommate. Regardless of what I said, I get sick of cooking for myself. This place is too big for me anyway. But . . . will you keep the living room clean?”

  “I will.”

  “And no wild parties?”

  “I’ll do you one better. No parties at all.”

  “Done then. $675 a month?”

  “Eight hundred, Kay. It’s still half what I was planning to spend on an apartment.”

  “Great. When are you planning to move in?”

  I’m silent for a moment. “Is tonight too soon?” I ask sheepishly.

  “I’ll go get a key made for you on my way home from work.”

  We say good-bye. There. I will live with the great clipboard; maybe I’ll learn some organization in the process. That was stepping out of my comfort zone. I feel ready to take on the world. One problem solved at fifty miles an hour with the wind in my hair and an ear speaker. Next.

  I shout Seth to my phone.

  “Hi, Ashley. Where have you been? I didn’t want to call . . . thought you might be angry at me.”

  “Nah, I’m not angry. I got arrested today, had another date with a non-Christian—my specialty lately—but I did find a place to live, and I’m going to work on getting my stuff back tomorrow. What’s up with you?”

  “Ash, have you been drinking?”

  “That seems to be the consensus, but no, I haven’t been drinking. I might be more normal if I had. I’ve never been clearer-headed.”

  “Do you want to go by the police station after work to get some stuff ?”

  “Actually, I’m not going to work, and I’ve seen enough of police stations today. I’m going to the beach: Natural Bridges in Santa Cruz. I just wanted to let you know I’m okay and not to worry about my stuff. I’ll get it tomorrow.” I pause and bring out the big guns. “I appreciate how you’re always ready to help me, Seth. But I’m growing up today.”

  “Ashley?”

  “I’m going to Hawaii. I picked up some brochures while I walked in Palo Alto. In stiletto heels. I don’t really recommend that. Hawaii, on the other hand . . .”

  He’s confused. I don’t know why I can still surprise him. I’m neurotic, and I change like the wind. Why is this so hard for him to grasp? Maybe that’s why I like Seth. He’s fascinated by my ever-changing mental state. If you consider the fact that very few other people, my family included, notice my mental state, it’s almost a compliment. I’m fascinated that he never seems to change.

  “Ash, you’re in the middle of a lawsuit for Selectech. Hawaii?”

  “Hawaii,” I say emphatically. “But first, Natural Bridges State Beach.”

  “What are you up to?”

  I let out a long, evaporating sigh. I’m not a woman of conviction. When Arin said she was leaving for the rain forest, everyone just shook their heads. They knew she meant it. From now on, when I say something, people will cower at my conviction.

  “I’m up to fifty miles per hour on this gorgeous sunny winter day, and my car has a mind of its own. It just won’t go to Selectech. It’s going to Natural Bridges.”

  Seth is stunned silent. And this is a good thing. Last week, my life had so many romantic prospects. But today, I realize ther
e really wasn’t an option in the bunch. I was valedictorian. You’d think it wouldn’t have taken me thirty-one years to know what I wanted, with or without a man.

  “Don’t you have to look for a place to live?” Seth asks, trying once again to suck me back into the vortex of fear.

  “Found one. I move in with Kay Harding tonight.” Aha! I’m not a complete idiot. I can find myself a place to live with no credit and no belongings.

  I look in the back of my car. Whoever stole the top didn’t take the Bible sitting in the backseat. But I guess when you steal, the Bible isn’t exactly what you want to take. Still, I’ve got all the makings for my own little retreat in this vehicle and that’s what I plan to do. Revel in my single status. Rejoice in God’s reasons, regardless of what they are. Plot my course. From here on out, Ashley Wilkes Stockingdale is a new woman.

  “Gotta hang up now. I need to call Purvi.”

  “Ash—”

  “’Bye!” I hang up, pretending not to hear his last call. I do not analyze the conversation. I just move on. Next.

  “Purvi,” I tell my phone and I hear it dial.

  She answers yelling, very un-Purvi-like. “Ashley, where are you? Marketing and engineering need the drawings you checked, and I need you to go over these contracts again. You’re on the foreign filing deadline for one patent, a continuation deadline for the other. Where are you?”

  “I’m in my car. On the way to the beach. I’ve worked for sixteen days straight, and I need a break before I turn postal.”

  Purvi’s voice changes. She’s sympathetic, but she still wants what she wants. “Ashley, are you looking to lose your job? I can cover you for so long, but these patents need to—”

  “I spent two weekends in Taiwan and I have eight weeks of vacation stored up—not counting my comp time. I’m not going to lose my job unless Selectech needs another lawsuit, and they don’t. I just need a day off and I’m taking one. Work will all get done. Have I ever let you down?”

  She swallows her next words. I hear it, even with the convertible open and the wind rushing into one ear.

  I calmly continue. “I’ll be in tomorrow, and everyone will have what they need by deadline. Today belongs to God.”