by Stella James
“I know. You’re right.”
“Of course I am,” she says.
“So modest too,” I snort.
“Oh good, does this mean we’re staying home?” Dan asks as he enters the bedroom and climbs onto the bed, lying down on the other side of me. “If we’re staying home, I’m taking my pants off.”
“Please keep your pants on,” I say.
“We’re not staying home,” Tully says. “I put on this librarian hooker dress and my best Spanx. You’re taking me out and when we get home you’re going to feel me up in the car.”
“Okay, this is getting weird,” I say, sitting up.
Once Tully manages to get Dan through the door and the kids and I are settled with popcorn and Finding Dory, I think about what I want. I don’t want to settle. Not any more than I already have. And I don’t mean with a man, I mean with myself. I need to find me again, as cliché as it sounds. Pre-Todd Poppy was confident and not just with who she was but with her insecurities too. She knew herself and accepted it. Post-Todd Poppy is unsure and instead of my imperfections just being part of me, they are glaring potential reasons as to why things didn’t work out. I hate that feeling.
I know what I need to do. I need to get the fuck out of Chicago.
Chapter Five
Christine
I’m currently sitting on a blush coloured leather sofa in the waiting room of hands down the fanciest day spa that I have ever set foot in. Over the last couple of days, it’s like a lightbulb went off and everything became clear. Sure, my life’s rut may have been catapulted into existence because of that good for nothing, cheating sack of shit, but the rut has managed to sustain itself because I lost myself when Todd and I were together. The more I think about it, the angrier I get because I have always prided myself on being independent and smart. But the sad truth is, I let Todd drain me. I can count the times that Todd encouraged or supported me on one hand, and I don’t even require all the fingers.
Everything we did was what he wanted to do. Do I like Indian food? No. I have a mild case of IBS and I hate the sensation of spicy food on my tongue. But Todd loved Indian food, so we ordered in at least once a week. And I’d eat it. Because I didn’t want to be fussy or a pain in the ass. I went to every single one of his architectural firm’s events. But when I had a modest Christmas party for my small staff at the bowling alley downtown, he couldn’t be bothered to come. Everything was for him. Everything was about him. And I let it happen. Because I saw a shiny happily ever after and managed to convince myself that we were in love and everything was and would always be amazing.
Well it’s safe to say that the rose coloured glasses have finally come off. Reality is looking me dead in the eye and I’ll be damned if I lose any more of myself.
So here I am on a Saturday morning, waiting to get my bits and back door completely and totally rid of their Chicago fur coat. I’m getting on a plane the day after tomorrow and I’m going to spend ten days in Maui with Kyle and his apparently dreadful family. I’m going to be a five star pretend girlfriend, get a fabulous tan and get back to me. A-fucking-men.
“Poppy Kramer?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I reply, standing.
I follow the young woman down a softly lit hallway, serene music plays quietly from the speakers in the far corner and I mentally kick myself for not booking a massage in addition to my hasty hair removal procedure. I’ve never gotten a Brazilian-style bikini wax, or been waxed at all with the exception of my eyebrows. Bell swears it only hurts for a second and she insisted that a paid trip to Maui was more than reason enough to get one.
“Right through this door,” she says. “Christine will be with you shortly. Strip from the waist down and lay back on the bed. There’s a sheet you can cover up with while you wait.”
“Great, thanks.”
I enter the small room and place my purse on the chair in the corner. I remove my shoes along with my leggings and thong and take a seat on the narrow bed. I look down at myself and think maybe I should have trimmed up a bit before I came. Oh well, I’m sure this lady has seen worse. I unfold the thin white sheet at the foot of the bed and pull it over myself as I lay back. The same music I heard in the hallway plays in here too and if I weren’t acutely aware of the fact that I’m about to have hair ripped off my asshole, I’d probably fall asleep. Soon enough there is a soft knock on the door as it opens slowly and an attractive middle-aged woman walks in.
“Hello Ms. Kramer, I’m Christine and I’ll be waxing you today,” she says.
“Hi,” I reply. “I should probably tell you, I’m a complete novice.”
“No problem,” she chuckles lightly. “Let me just grab my tray and we can begin.”
She steps over to the counter and places some wax strips and a large pot, along with a few wooden popsicle stick looking things on a white tray and wheels it to the side of the bed.
“Alrighty, let’s just pull this down,” she grabs the edge of the sheet and tugs it down, exposing my bottom half. “Bend you knees for me and place your feet on the bed,” she says.
I do as she says and it isn’t until she’s slathering the warm wax onto my furry left fold that I begin to think this is a terrible idea. Too late, Poppy, you’re getting the bald eagle special. When she rips the first strip off, I know for certain that this is a terrible idea. Christine is quick, I’ll give her that but by the time my front is completely done, my vagina hates me.
“All done,” she chirps. “Now if you could just flip over onto all fours we can finish you up.”
I awkwardly maneuver myself on the bed, propping myself up on all fours as if Christine is about to rock my world.
“Lift a cheek up for me dear,” she says.
Jesus Christ. I’m paying this woman to look my asshole in the eye.
I bite my lip and pray to the gods of hair removal for the strength to not pass out as Christine rips a strip off my virgin backdoor. Sweet merciful mother fucking shit.
Christine offers me a mirror once she’s finished but I politely decline. I can hardly look her in the eye, let alone her handiwork. I’m not sure how to act as I gingerly walk back to the reception desk and pay. It isn’t until later that night when I’m packing my suitcase that I finally strip off my bottoms and stand in front of my full length mirror. When I finally bring my gaze down to my now bald vagina, I stare for a minute before I pick my cell up and text Tully.
Me: Have you ever gotten a Brazilian?
I continue to eye myself up in the mirror while I wait for her response.
Tully: I’ve had three kids, Poppy. My pubes are the only thing hiding the fact that my labia are now lopsided and floppy.
Me: I’m looking at myself right now. I got one today. For the trip. She looks angry. And red. Like a puff pastry that wants to kill me. Do you think this lasts long? Christine probably explained it but I was too mortified to listen.
Tully: Who’s Christine? I’m googling. Hang on.
Me: The woman who saw my asshole today.
Tully: Red is normal. Should be gone by tomorrow. You should exfoliate twice a week while you’re gone.
Me: Love you.
Tully: Love you too. Have fun and find someone to give you an orgasm. Or five.
Chapter Six
The One Night Stand…Sort Of
When I board the plane, I discover that flying first class is a lot like applying the perfect swipe of liquid liner to your lid when all you’re doing is going to the store to buy maxi pads. You feel like a douchebag for being that fancy, but at the same time, you want to revel in the glory because you never know when it will happen again. As I sit in my plush leather chair, I look around at my fellow travellers and wonder if anyone else feels like a giant asshole. Kyle couldn’t get me a seat on his flight so while he left Chicago yesterday, I’m a day late and flying solo. I am not the best flier.
This is the third time I’ve been on an airplane and can already feel my imagination beginning to cook up a smorgasbord of potentially life
threatening/embarrassing situations. What if we crash? What if I get motion sick, which has been known to happen from time to time and I barf all over this fancy carpet? I’m starting to sweat.
I’m lost in my own little mental world of what-ifs when I realize that the entire plane has boarded and the flight attendants have already gone through their safety procedures. The fasten seatbelt sign comes on, but I already have mine buckled. I try to hide my panic, cursing my inner good girl for refusing to accept Bell’s well intentioned offer of a dose of Xanax when she dropped me off at the airport. I can feel my insides begin to flip flop as the pilot turns the plane and we head down the runway. Taking off is always the worst. I might not be able to turn my brain off but at least once we are in the air, I won’t feel like I’m about to toss my Eggs Benedict. I grasp the armrests of my seat as we take off. I squeeze my eyes shut and think about things that make me happy. Lemons. Lemon-scented cleaning products. Wiping smudges from windows. Organizing the cupboard under the bathroom sink. Ahhh. Yes.
I slowly open my eyes. That wasn’t so bad. Ten minutes down, seven hours and fifty minutes to go. You can do this, Poppy, just order a cocktail. Relax.
Three screwdrivers and a Kevin Hart movie later, I’m reclined back in my chair. The voice in my head telling me that I should remain alert quickly becomes a whisper and I begin to drift off to sleep. You can totally do this, Poppy.
*
“Miss. Miss, please wake up.”
I can feel someone poking me. Why is someone poking me? My eyelids feel heavy…my mouth feels icky.
“Miss. We’re about to land,” the voice says.
“Land what?” I ask sleepily.
“The plane, Miss. Please wake up.”
I blink my eyes open and look up at the annoyed face of a flight attendant. I wipe the drool from the corner of my mouth like a lady and slowly sit up.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
She pats me on the shoulder as if to say “that’ll do pig,” and continues on down the aisle. I pull out my compact and touch up my sleep-creased face as best as I can and run my fingers through my hair. Luckily, my fellow first class passengers seem to give little to no shit about my live action recreation of Sleeping Beauty: The College Years.
After the flight attendant gives her final spiel, we exit the plane and I scan the waiting crowd for the driver that Kyle said would pick me up. I inhale the sweet, fresh island air, my lungs constricting for a second while I adjust to the humidity as I walk carefully down the stairs. The hectic crowd around me soon jars me from my peaceful appreciation of my current surroundings and I don’t even have time to thank the lovely woman who just placed a fresh lei around my neck before I’m thrust forward.
My eyes flash over to my left and I spot an older man, dressed in a pair of crisp khaki’s and an equally wrinkle free, soft blue button-up shirt. He’s holding a sign with my name on it and when his eyes meet mine, he offers me a tight smile. Poor guy, he must be sweating like crazy.
“Hi, I’m Poppy,” I say, extending a hand as I approach.
“Hello, Miss Kramer, my name is Arnold and I’ll be driving you to your accommodations,” he says with a crisp English accent, taking my carry-on from my other hand. “Let’s get your suitcase and be on our way, shall we?”
“Sure thing, Arnold,” I reply with a smile. “Um, do you happen to know where Kyle is?”
“The younger Mr. Edwards and his family are spending the day at sea,” he says. “He thought you might like to have a rest at the hotel and get settled. They should be back later tonight but he suggested you relax and enjoy your dinner via room service. You can meet the rest of the family over breakfast tomorrow. I’ve got your room number and key.”
“Okay, sure.”
I spot my suitcase on the carousel and lunge for it only to have Arnold take that too from my hand. He manages both of my bags as we make our way toward a shiny black SUV. He’s already got it running so the interior is cool and comfortable. I’m not sure how far the hotel is but the scenery on the way is absolutely breathtaking. The view from the back window looks out at the massive ocean to my right as it sways and sparkles beneath the beaming sun. I roll down my window and breath in the mist as a soft cool breeze drifts off the surface. To my left, a vibrant green landscape cascades into steep and jagged mountains. Wild tropical flowers pop up sporadically among the differing shades of green. The scent drifting up from the lei around my neck makes it feel as if I’m standing in the middle of the blooms.
After fifteen minutes of doing nothing but appreciating the passing scenery, I begin to feel awkward in the silence of the car. I scoot forward and poke my head between the two front seats, resting my arm across the back of the passenger seat.
“So, Arnold, where are you from?”
I see the corner of his mouth curve up slightly before he speaks with the same formal tone he greeted me with on the tarmac.
“I am from Surrey,” he says. “But I have lived in America for nearly twenty years.”
“My mom was born in Camden,” I say.
“That’s a fine area indeed,” he tells me.
“So, the Edwards just bring you along wherever they go? That must be nice. I mean, free vacation right?”
“Indeed, Miss, I am very lucky,” he replies.
“What do you do when you’re not driving people around?”
“Pardon?”
“What do you do for fun, Arnold?”
“Oh, well, I enjoy playing cards,” he says. “Things of that nature.”
“Are you married?”
“No, Miss. My wife passed away several years ago,” he says. “She was a secretary at Edwards, Peters and Moore,” he says proudly.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “So tell me, what are they all like?”
“The Edwards are a fine family. I suspect you’ll fit right in.”
He offers me a curt smile in the rear view mirror and I take that as my cue to sit back like a well behaved passenger. I get the impression that personal conversations are not typically part of the deal. I lean into the cool leather behind me and close my eyes, opening them with a start when the car stops and Arnold opens my door. I accept his offered hand and look up at a beautiful hotel surrounded by the hustle and bustle of employees and tourists. Arnold wheels my suitcase to an attendant and turns back to me with a nod.
“He will take your bags and show you to your room. Enjoy your evening, Miss Kramer,” he says.
“Thanks, Arnold. You too.”
I follow the young man, who carries my bags through a set of glass double doors. A large ceramic fountain is placed in the centre of the lobby, water cascading peacefully from the top of a marble sculpture. The entire room smells like fresh flowers and Hawaiian Tropic sunscreen. Artificial or not, the heavenly scent of coconut is nirvana to my senses. Every surface in the entire lobby is sleek, white and trimmed with gold. People filter in and out, but in a relaxed fashion, as if they don’t have a care in the world. We reach a bank of gleaming chrome elevators, entering one as a couple leaning affectionately into each other steps around us. We head up, nearly to the top of the building it seems, when the bell dings and we make our way into an expansive hallway.
I follow my escort straight to the end, my flip flops cushioned against the soft dark purple carpet. The décor up here is similar to the lobby: minimal, clean and modern. When we reach a set of double doors, the attendant swipes my key and opens the door, wheeling my suitcase just inside and turning to leave.
“Oh, wait, here,” I say, digging through my purse for a tip.
“Not necessary, Miss, you’ll be staying in one of our deluxe suites with Mr. Edwards and he’s informed the front desk that gratuities are to come from him only.
“Oh, that’s silly, here just let me fin- “
“Miss, really, Mr. Edwards is very generous,” he says with a smile. “Enjoy your stay and please don’t hesitate to phone down if there is anything we can do for you.”
I remove my hand from my purse and close the door behind him. When I turn to face the room I nearly — in the most ladylike way possible — shit myself. The entire main room is soft and inviting with light turquoise walls and creamy white over-stuffed furniture. Several bright and bold paintings hang on the walls and each large loveseat is decorated with vibrant pillows. Past the sitting area is a balcony with sliding glass doors and when I approach, my breath catches as I look out at a gorgeous view of the hotel grounds and beyond, all the way to the ocean.
I investigate the kitchenette next and find that, thankfully, it’s clean. There are several items in the fridge, so I take a bottle of water and sip as I continue to wander. A large basket full of fruit sits on the counter with a welcome note from the hotel manager. There are two bedrooms, and both the doors are open but I see Kyle’s suitcase and personal items strewn about in one, so I grab my bags and enter the opposite room. A queen size bed with a white, fluffy duvet and a small mountain of pillows sits in the centre of the room. There’s a large chest of drawers, also white, and a flat screen T.V. mounted to the wall. I peek behind a semi-open door into a large en suite with a jetted tub and a large glass shower. I am never going home. Fresh flowers sit in a bright yellow vase beside the bed and, as I fall back onto the bed, their scent fills my nose and I close my eyes with a sigh.
*
As I make my way back down to the lobby, I find myself appreciating every little detail. Something about this gloriously beautiful and peaceful place has made me loopy. That, or maybe the long flight and the time change and my in-flight cocktails. Nevertheless, I am committed to enjoying myself and currently heading down to the hotel lounge. As I stand alone in the elevator, I smooth down my white sundress and use my fingertip to wipe away a tiny smudge of wayward lip gloss from the bottom corner of my lip. After failing to take a nap, I decided to freshen up and end my day with a glass of wine. I changed my dress and switched out my plain black flip-flops for pink ones. I brushed out my hair and pinned one side back and applied a little bit of makeup. The lei I received when we landed is so gorgeous and probably won’t last long so I decided to wear that too.
