“Sex?”
“Yeah, but…” I almost said, Something more than sex. “Things cooled off fast when I told her about Brenda.”
“She get mad?”
“Yeah, she kind of stormed off. I felt horrible.”
Goody shrugged. “At least you told her. It’s not like you slept with her and then told her, or you were lying there after, all hot and sweaty, and then told her; or worse, you were in the act and Brenda walked in or—”
“Goody, I get it. I’m sorry those things happened to you, but that would never happen to me.”
“Really? Why is that? You weren’t thinking about propriety when you were letting a woman you hardly know kiss you in front of your house. Anyone see you?”
“No, of course not.” But of course I couldn’t know that for sure.
What if nosy old Mr. Gentry saw me, or Mrs. Ferguson down the block happened to be out walking her dog? What then?
“Sorry I’m not much help, chica. You should try to look at the bright side. If it gets back to Brenda, you can always remind her that
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you two were on a break. No such thing as cheating when you’re on a break. Damn,” Goody rose in one abrupt motion and started for the door, “I wish you had told me earlier. Lunch is going to be awkward.”
I could tell he was waiting for me to ask. So I did. “Why?”
His shoulders rose in a sigh. “I asked Ryan to have lunch with me today.”
“What? Why would you do that?”
“Because I want to get to know her. We rode up the elevator together and I noticed she wasn’t carrying her lunch like she usually does, so I asked her to have it with me.”
“You can’t go to lunch with her. Tell her you can’t make it.”
Goody stared down his nose at me. “I will not. I want to go.”
“But why? She’s a she. What could you possibly—”
“Have in common?” Goody shrugged. “You’re a she and we go to lunch all the time. I can have friends that are women, friends without beneÞ ts. Novel idea, huh?”
“If she says something about me, will you tell me?”
The question must have sounded pathetic, because Goody took pity on me. “Why don’t you try to ask her to lunch again in a few days, you know, after things have cooled off? Maybe you’re taking it the wrong way.”
“If I am taking this the wrong way, I’m not the only one. You and Robin looked embarrassed when she turned me down.”
“We weren’t embarrassed for you, we were embarrassed—”
“With me. I know. It was like being turned down for the prom.”
“Didn’t you tell me you ended up making out with a girl at your prom?”
“Helena, my parents’ gardener’s daughter, she acted like it never happened the next day.” I covered my mouth with my hand. Surely if it was a bad breath thing someone would have told me? I was about to do a puff and sniff, but I realized just in time that Goody would never let me live it down if he Þ gured out what I was doing.
Goody looked at me oddly, but shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t ask her out to spy on you or to be nosy. I think she’s a nice person and I don’t have enough friends. Besides,” he looked uncomfortable, “I think her boss is interested in me and if he asks me out, I want to make sure he’s not a player.”
I pulled my thoughts back into the present long enough to get the
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gist of what Goody was saying. Something about Ryan’s boss. Had I actually ever seen someone who looked like they could be Ryan’s boss?
The only other person I had ever seen was… “Wow, he’s very different from your usual pretty boys.”
Goody shrugged. “Maybe a little.”
Maybe a lot, I thought. It wasn’t that Ryan’s boss was unattractive.
He was just different. Not as reÞ ned as Goody’s usual. Maybe only a couple inches taller than Goody, never clean shaven, and in dire need of a good haircut. He was also thin. Where Goody’s normal bedmates were well dressed, Ryan’s boss wore the same attire as Ryan, T-shirt and jeans, right down to the tool belt. “So you think he’s going to ask you out?”
“Yeah, I do. But I’m just starting to feel comfortable sleeping alone.
I think it’s going to be a while before I share my bed with someone again.” Goody’s face became serious. I had never seen him look that way when discussing a potential new date. “It’s got to be something more than a fuck this time. You know what I mean?”
“Yes, I know.”
Before I could step back into my ofÞ ce Goody said, “You don’t need to worry about me having lunch with her. You know I would never say or do anything to hurt you, right?”
I nodded. I did know that Goody would never intentionally hurt me. He just had different ideas about privacy and dating than I did. I smiled and shooed him away from my door. “Have fun.”
For the next few minutes I shifted back and forth between anger and annoyance at the knowledge that Ryan had accepted a lunch invitation from Goody and had turned me down ß at. I pulled my compact from my briefcase to touch up my makeup. I moved the mirror to my lips and pursed them.
Ryan would be the second person who’d basically stopped speaking to me after one kiss. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was a bad kisser.
Surely someone would have told me after all these years if I was…right?
v
All I wanted to do after my workout was sit behind my desk and kick off my high heels.
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SUCH A PRETTY FACE
But when I spotted Jackson standing outside my ofÞ ce, reading from a piece of paper, I had to ask, “Can I help you with something?”
Jackson dropped the paper into Goody’s in-box and leaned against the desk, his arms folded in a falsely casual pose. “Yes, I want to know how you did it.”
“How I did what?” I said, not bothering to hide my exasperation.
“How you managed to go Business Formula and the rest of us keep getting turned down.”
“The rest of us? Who else tried?”
“That’s not the point. What do you have over Ralph Knight that he let you—?”
“Jackson, he didn’t let me do anything. The Business Formula guidelines are clearly posted on the internal Web site. If you met the requirements, Knight wouldn’t turn you down. Now if you’ll excuse me.” I turned toward my ofÞ ce only to have Jackson’s hand on my shoulder bring me to an abrupt stop.
“Don’t walk away when I’m speaking to you.”
I had had enough. I dropped my bag and reached up to knock his hand away when I spotted Goody walking toward me with Ryan close behind. Even from a distance I could see the scowl on her face.
She pushed past Goody and in a voice powerful with emotion said, “Get your hands off of her.”
Everything stopped. Even Goody was struck speechless. I lowered my hand and stepped away from Jackson. He stared at Ryan. That nasty little wormlike vein was working on the side of his head. “Mind your own business. You can start with my bookshelf if you need something to do.”
“Don’t tell her what to do,” Goody said, after Þ nding his voice. I don’t know what possessed him; perhaps he didn’t see what I did, that Ryan wasn’t to be toyed with and that she meant what she said. I didn’t sense that he was going to hurt me; or perhaps I was just so stunned that Ryan had gone from avoiding me to swooping in as my savior that I found myself a little numbed to the situation. But as Jackson stepped toward me, his Þ nger rising again as if to continue his tirade, Ryan dropped the bag she was carrying, spun him around, and pushed him down the hall.
“Apparently no one ever taught you to keep your hands to yourself,” she said.
“Oh shit,” Goody whispered. I was incapable of speech myself.
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GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
Rick Parish, the young broker with t
he ofÞ ce closest to ours, came around the corner, probably on his way to the kitchen, and promptly changed his mind.
“So let me speak slowly,” was the last thing I heard Ryan say before she pushed Jackson out of view. I heard a door slam and then there was utter quiet. “I wonder what that bastard did to her,” Goody murmured from behind me.
“Who, Jackson?”
“No, whoever hurt her.”
I couldn’t guess the extent of the damage, but based on the little Ryan had told me about her father, I had a good idea who the “bastard”
was.
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SUCH A PRETTY FACE
CHAPTER EIGHT
I trudged down to Dynamic Body Fitness for my third and Þ nal workout of the week. Selena was with someone on the treadmill, but she stopped talking long enough to wave at me. Having to listen to her prattle while running on that treadmill was pure torture. As if she realized that I was about two seconds from darting out the Þ re exit, she kept watching me right up until I pushed the door to the women’s locker room open and walked inside.
I was greeted by the sound of running water and female laughter.
The scent of women’s sweat and hand lotion assailed my nose, and my heart sank as three women, none of whom appeared the least bit disturbed by the fact that I had just walked in while they were undressed, did the “hello, stranger” bob of the head. I returned it and immediately locked my eyes on the ß oor. I sat down on the nearest empty bench, my gym bag beside me.
“I tried to get Linda in accounting to do it, but I think she’s scared of Selena.” A tall African American woman with legs I would kill for bent over to place a piece of clothing in her bag. She did so without bending her knees. I’m certain that if I ever tried to pull a maneuver like that, I would fall ass over teakettle. A shape like mine did not lend itself very well to balancing acts.
A woman I recognized as one of the assistants from the accounting Þ rm on the same ß oor as Goldsmith walked into the lone bathroom stall and shut the door. It sounded like she barely had time to pull her workout shorts down before her pee came out in a rush. I listened with envy; I have what my mother calls a shy bladder. In other words, I have
• 87 •
GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
to wait until everyone is out of the bathroom before my bladder will allow me some relief.
I removed my jacket and hung it on a hook in one of the lockers. A quick look at my watch told me that I probably had Þ ve more minutes before Selena was done with her current client and came in search of me. I tried to look like I was in no rush while I gritted my teeth and prayed they would just hurry up and leave.
I heard Bold Bladder pounding on the huge roll of toilet paper until it must have turned around enough for her to tear off a few squares.
“Selena is a pussycat compared to the woman who used to teach boot camp before her. God, she was seriously ex-military and the biggest bull dyke ever.” I glanced up at the speaker, a hippy brunette in tight leggings and a dingy T-shirt. She was walking away from me and therefore missed my offended look.
“What the hell was Selena’s problem this afternoon? I think she was really trying to kick our ass.”
“That’s why they call it boot camp, girlfriend. ’Cause they’re supposed to put a boot in your ass,” the long-legged African American woman said matter-of-factly.
The two nearly dressed women showed no signs of leaving as their friend walked stifß y into the shower, giving credence to the idea that she still had a boot wedged Þ rmly in her ass.
I jumped as she slammed the shower door shut. Note to self: stick to mornings.
I stood up to remove my pantyhose just as Bold Bladder stepped out of the stall and ripped her T-shirt over her head. I got a ß ash of a surprisingly toned tummy before I turned my back. What was it about this situation that made me so uncomfortable? I bit my bottom lip. It wasn’t that I found any of these women even remotely attractive. I think most straight women would be shocked to Þ nd that the majority of gay women look at them as if they are another species, and therefore not really mating material. What made me uncomfortable was the fact that these women didn’t know I was gay and would no doubt have thought twice about how easily they appeared nude in front of me. There was also the fact that I had trouble taking my clothes off in front of my own partner, let alone these strangers.
“We need to Þ nd another person. These prices are killing me. If we Þ nd one more, shit, maybe even two more, we could split the cost.” I turned my back on the pair and reached beneath my sweater to unclasp
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SUCH A PRETTY FACE
my bra. I could take that off without any problems, but when I was left with only my sweater and the skirt I was wearing, I had no choice but to pull the sweater over my head. My back felt cold and I found myself wishing one of the women would continue with their mindless conversation so that the room wasn’t so quiet.
I had almost Þ nished dressing, and Bold Bladder and Bull Dyke Hater were primping in the mirror when African American Woman with the Long Legs came ß ouncing out of the shower. In one hand she had her white towel pressed primly against her chest and in the other she held a small bottle of something I avoided looking too closely at.
I stooped to tie my shoelaces, but not before noticing that she made no effort to cover herself, nor had she really bothered to dry her feet.
“All right, girlfriend,” said Bull Dyke Hater, “we’ll see you upstairs.”
I gave the women just enough time to get out the door before I scurried after them to avoid making inane conversation with a naked woman.
Selena’s male client had left and she appraised me for a moment, and then walked over to me with her hand outstretched. “Congratulations.
You’ll make it through your two-week trial membership. I was scared you weren’t going to come back. I’m glad I was wrong.”
“Yup, you were wrong. Here I am. So what are we going to do today?” I slapped my hands together. Run on the treadmill for a few minutes again? The balance ball? Whatever it was, I was ready. I had undressed in front of three women. Granted, they were very helpful in that they didn’t show me the least bit of interest.
“Great, we can Þ nish Þ lling out your paperwork.”
“Paperwork? I thought we did that already?”
“This is different. It’s how we’re going to measure your progress.
Step into my ofÞ ce.” Selena tittered at her own joke. Her ofÞ ce was a small corner of the gym that, although somewhat hidden by a shoji screen and a coat rack, was by no means an ofÞ ce. “We’re going to start by measuring your body fat.”
“Why do you need to do that? I already know I’m fat. That’s why I came in.”
Selena laughed. She had transformed from silly to all business in the space of a few seconds, and it was doing my head in. “You’re not fat, just out of shape. We just need to know how far out of shape so we
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GABRIELLE GOLDSBY
can create a game plan. Here we go.” She moved the coat rack aside and revealed my worst nightmare, a scale similar to the one I had to step on for my annual Pap smear. “Why don’t you hop up there and we can see where you’re at.”
“Do I have to? I mean, is that necessary?”
“I can’t help you if you’re going to hide from the scale.”
“I’m not hiding from it. I don’t need to see the number to know I need to lose the weight.” What I didn’t tell her was that I knew what the number was, I just didn’t want her to see it. I had been watching that number creep up for months, right up until I trashed my scale in frustration.
“Okay, so if you already know the scale isn’t going to be kind, why does it matter if you see the number?”
“I just don’t want to see it and get discouraged.”
This must have sounded reasonable to Selena, because she acquiesced. “I’ll just measure your body fat, but hiding from the scale is never
the way to go. At some point you need to get on it, if only to measure your progress. These are body fat calipers.” She held up two plier-like devices that made me squirm much the way Dr. Rider did when I saw her approaching me with those cold-ass things she used for the Pap smear.
“Let’s get your body fat measured and then we’ll get going on the treadmill.” I let her crimp, pinch, and measure to her heart’s content.
I was already dreading my workout, as I remembered that Bull Dyke Hater had implied that Selena wasn’t in a good mood. I had probably made that mood that much worse by my refusal to cooperate.
“Okay, if you’re ready, I’m going to step things up a notch today.”
I watched her walk away. She’s going to step things up? Oh boy. I glared at the scale and followed her slowly toward the treadmill.
v
It was almost three o’clock when I returned to the ofÞ ce. I hated exercise. I hated exercise on an empty stomach, and most of all, I hated Selena with a passion I usually reserved for the anchovies that Brenda insisted we add to our pizza. The only thing that brought me a glimmer of joy was the fact that it was Friday. I would have the whole weekend to veg out on the couch and eat whatever the hell I wanted.
• 90 •
SUCH A PRETTY FACE
My thoughts turned to Ryan as I tucked my gym bag beneath my desk. I hadn’t seen her since the confrontation with Jackson on Wednesday. The new ofÞ ce space had been quiet with the exception of two electrical contractors who had come and gone.
I was actually happy when my phone rang, because I was beginning to feel morose. Before I could even utter my standard greeting, I detected the strains of tropical-sounding music and laughter. I toyed with the idea of hanging up and letting voice mail pick up when she called back.
Instead, I gave my customary if not unenthusiastic, “Mia Sanchez.”
“Hi, it’s me. I’ve been trying to reach you at home all week.”
Brenda sounded annoyed.
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
“Are you going out? I thought you were just avoiding me. Good for you, I’m glad you’ve Þ nally got some kind of social life.” She sounded so genuinely pleased that it rankled.
Such a Pretty Face Page 10
