Let’s see. Let’s see. Oxford heels, not sexy enough. Red patent leather, trying too hard. Strappy gold gladiators screamed teenybopper, a category of which I could finally face that I was no longer a part. There was the hot leather ones in cognac, but the wooden soles would surely have me looking more like I was in pain than recovering from it. All at once, it hit me. The Jimmy Choo Tahiti Glitter peep-toe pumps, which were collecting dust in the back of my closet. My one shoe splurge that I got off eBay from a woman whose husband found out what she paid and made her get rid of them. Lucky for me, her husband’s trash was my treasure. They felt sexy and dangerous. Elegant but fun. Flirty but not easy. Glitzy party girl, but not going home with you tonight. How fitting that the shoes intended to take me down the road to happily ever after would be the ones to lead me onto a new path.
My makeup was scattered across the bathroom counter complete with a smoky eye shadow kit and pink lipstick. It looked more like something Nicki Minaj would wear—the perfect amount of crazy minus the fluorescent hair. Still damp from the shower, I put on a few spritzes of Dolce & Gabana Light Blue perfume and let it marinate on my skin.
Everything was already set for the night, but it still felt like something was missing. Or, rather something was clashing with the whole new me, which I planned to debut. I stood facing the mirror, gripping the edge of the sink, searching for something out of place. With every deep breath, I felt the need to get out from beneath the weight I’d been carrying. The nerve started building within me. I could lie to everyone around me, but I still had to live with myself.
Her words came rushing back to me. Rage began to bubble up like bile in my throat. “Better late than never,” she said. It was a statement, but it felt more like an unspoken mantra. Nana Bea was right, it is better late than never. Better to start over now, than never at all. It was what I’d needed to hear. Suddenly, I had enough gumption to do what needed to be done. I reached into the counter drawer and pulled out the shears. Moments later, all the burdens I bore, thirty-one years of safety, and nearly a foot of my split ends fell to the floor.
FIVE
I was still staring at myself in the mirror when Lena arrived. Out of habit, I reached for the hair that now barely made it below my ears. I felt lighter in so many ways. Airier. Newer, even. I’ve always been the ponytail girl. An asymmetrical bob was never an option, but it seemed to suit the raised cheekbones of my symmetrical face.
As the air conditioning cut on, a breeze across the back of my shoulders sprinkled goose bumps all over them. And from the front, the clear view of my décolletage made me feel more feminine than I’d felt in years. I wondered why I ever covered it in the first place, despite Ethan’s incessant urging that I was leading other men on. It just made me realize, I’d held back on so many things for his sake. It only made me more curious what, or whom, I would find without him.
Not all the clichés about there being more fish in the sea and someone for everyone could be lies. I just hoped that I was dangling the right bait. Whatever that meant. Not that much could be hidden with the little black number I wore, edging up my thighs and cinching my waist into a magnified hourglass. I didn’t even know what dating was like anymore. A few years out of the game and I’d become obsolete. No one-liners. No game. No clue.
Lena took one look at me and shrieked. “What the hell have you done?”
“Like it?” The way she screamed, I couldn’t tell whether it was out of disbelief, or sheer dislike. I turned to model my new hair for her. My hands pressed down on the little hair I had left, reaching for the phantom locks. But they were gone and in their place was only me. Naked skin and emotions.
“Oh my God. I love it. Shit! I can’t believe you did it. You actually did it!”
I’d threatened to cut my hair a billion times, but couldn’t find the nerve to go through with it. It was no sense carrying anything that would hold me back. A smile, a mile wide, spanned my face as I twirled, feeling “Gone with the Wind fabulous.”
As soon as we got to the club, I was clued in on just how much times had changed. Clearly, the pressure was no longer solely on the guy. Men used to initiate contact and woo us, but women had become just as much the hunters. The dresses had gotten shorter. The heels were insanely higher, and sexual innuendo was downright blatant. Lines filled with tourists waiting to lose their inhibitions spanned the casino in both directions, with the exception of a designated area roped off for VIP, otherwise known as people willing to tip bouncers upwards of a few hundred just for club entry. Luckily, Lena and her friends seemed to know a few of the bouncers and we got in quickly. I have to admit, as Lena gave the Herculean security guard a sweet wink and a little nibble on the cheek, I felt a bit like a celebrity. People who’d likely been waiting for hours seemed to wonder who we were, who we knew, and if they should know who we were. The weight of their eyes lifted us onto a virtual pedestal and smoothly parlayed us into the vibrating trance.
Music blared and drinks flowed. We’d entered a different realm. Along with the rhythmic current, the pick-up lines streamed nonstop. “Babe, you’re like a Mercedes Benz in a world of Chevys,” one guy said, feeling confident in his game. Another lightly clutched my elbow and closely whispered in my ear, “Are you a track star, because you’ve been running through my mind all night.” I must’ve had a sign on my forehead that requested all losers apply because the next two were corny as ever, but actually made me giggle and give a once-over. A semi-cutie wearing specs gave me the smolder and asked, “Do you have a library card? Because I’m checking you out,” and I felt a little tickle in my stomach as I politely brushed him off. Not a few minutes later, Mr. Suave tapped me on the shoulder and told me that I owed him money, and when I looked at him quizzically, he yelled, “You’ve been living in my heart and haven’t paid rent.” With a half-smile, I gave Lena the “save me look,” and she and the girls huddled close around me in a protective barricade so he couldn’t get to me.
“Is it always like this?” I mouthed to them. It had been a while since I’d been out, but I couldn’t remember the men being so aggressive. They could smell the new blood in the water and they were willing to fight for their prey.
Practically in unison, the girls nodded and laughed at me. “You’ll get used to it,” Lena assured me not so convincingly. At that point, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to get used to being hunted. There wasn’t much of a thrill in the chase for me. Why did there have to be games anyway. Seemed more productive to just get to the point. The wallflower in me wanted to find a quiet, empty corner and plop myself against it. But, that’s what the old me would’ve done.
Lena leaned in and said, “It’s the hair. It’s like a magnet. You’re going to be beating them off with a stick.” And boy was she right. The whole night, men were touching my neck and whispering so close to my skin, sending chills up my spine. It could’ve been the hair, but either way, I was ill-prepared to handle all the attention.
The fact that I’d outgrown the scene wasn’t lost on me or anyone else. I was ready to go almost immediately after arriving, but something in me needed to see how the other half lived. Besides the obvious era changes, men were still trying to figure women out, people still used alcohol as an excuse for vile behavior, and I still preferred to be with one person rather than on the prowl. I thought, possibly it was too soon for me to be looking, but I stuck it out for Lena. This was her scene. She knew how to make her way in with a little feminine charm and let the guys down easy with tact and etiquette. I wondered if the domestic life would tame her desire to be out with her friends partying until dawn. She’d be with one man, but Lena and her friends would secretly be envying the greener grass. While Lena scattered to stock up on clubbing before being officially locked down into domestication, her friends were eager and desperate to hook up with the pick of the night for fear of letting the so-called good ones get away.
It baffled me to think about how the definition of hooking up had changed. It used to mean getting together for a
date to get to know one another. A little chitchat over drinks at happy hour or a quick meal. To the new generation, it still meant getting to know each other, only on a physical level. Once the first names were exchanged, all other pretenses were pushed to the wayside. One-night stands never were my thing, because I couldn’t imagine what I’d see when I looked at myself in the mirror the next morning. I came close once, before I met Ethan, when I let a guy spend the night. Even though we only slept atop the sheets, the cheap feeling attached to his presence before knowing what he would mean to me was unbearable. For the women I saw that night at the club, their mission seemed to be taking home the hottest guy. I couldn’t figure how that was supposed to be conducive to forming a solid relationship with a man, enough to eventually tie the knot.
Olivia was drunk beyond comprehension, so I wasn’t surprised that she’d found a lucky winner for the evening. Her tongue was lodged down his throat. Like a car accident on the freeway, I should’ve turned away, but the rubbernecker in me couldn’t stop staring. As he made his way to her neck, I was shocked to see one of my earlier charmers. The James Dean look alike was the worst of them all. When he first started to compliment me, I was sure there was going to be some absurd punch line. But, his was simple and to the point, “Nice shoes. Wanna fuck?” All the old movies I watched, made me want to give him a dramatic slap in the face and declare, “Well. If I never!” Surprisingly, I was muzzled in silence. All I could do was walk away. Dating had come to that. A quick compliment followed by an ornery invitation to bed. Wooing was a thing of the past. It seemed to be all about instant gratification and orgasms.
The designated driver as usual, I was all but thrilled that I got to battle with borderline narcolepsy while Lena and Denise snored and slobbered on the suede seats of my Passat. My eyelids were balancing weights and the warm wind seemed to be tucking me in rather than keeping me awake. I drifted back to my wild first night back into the social cesspool.
After all the mishaps of the night, and Olivia ditching us for her latest conquest, I figured the rest of the evening would be us girls wildly dancing and toasting our last drink before making our own last call. It was unfathomable to me that the night could get any worse.
It only took one drink for me to feel the effect, but I felt like I was on the same level as Lena and Denise. We danced in our own closed-off circle, dazed in a drunken stupor. Lena was singing along to “I Gotta Feeling” by The Black Eyed Peas at to the top of her lungs. Denise and I jumped up and down, screaming to the chorus.
Suddenly, someone bumped into Denise. We all turned. At first, we saw no one. Then, we noticed a girl squatting to the floor. From a distance, the girl looked like she was just dancing really low with a guy--dropping it like it was hot. But as the crowd spread, my mouth dropped and my eyes bulged. There was something more going on. Her platinum blond hair dipped over her bare back in her strapless royal blue dress. As the she pulled her head back, the sight of skin cascading in and out of her mouth let us know that what we were seeing was indeed what we thought. Fellatio in the dead center of the dance floor. Never in my life did I ever think I would see such a display in public view. She was obviously sloshed. It could’ve been the alcohol, but my educated guess included ecstasy and some other pill party concoction. Sadly, she must’ve believed that what happens in Vegas stays here, but from the makeshift paparazzi crew of pervy guys pointing their cell phones at the display and asking if they could be next, what happens in Vegas more often becomes a viral YouTube spectacle.
Miss Fellatio seemed unfazed—neither embarrassment nor pride was a deterrent. She’d either lost her inhibitions, or never had any to begin with. Like nothing had happened out of the ordinary, she came up for air and continued swaying to the music. Taking in the crowd carrying on business as usual, it became apparent that I was the only one appalled and distressed by her foul behavior. Muted laughter under the din of loud music. Clothed grinding. Mating dances. Bottoms up. For everyone else, the unsettling course of events was normal.
Even more disconcerting, that meant I was abnormal. If I thought I was a little out of the dating loop, such conduct proved that I couldn’t be any farther in over my head if I were sinking in quicksand. It would’ve been so easy for me to retreat at that point. Run back to Ethan. That would’ve been my fail-safe.
But, Ethan wasn’t an option, so I needed a new one and I wouldn’t meet him sitting at home. Or, at the club, for that matter. After an evening in the deep end, it was apparent I needed to take baby steps into shallower waters.
SIX
The next morning, I woke up with a renewed sense of self. I lay there flipping through the channels of depressing news updates and reruns of Law and Order, but I had too much energy to sit still.
There were no dishes, so I straightened up the small mess I’d made getting ready for the club the night before, then put a few loads in the washer. I’d just closed up the laundry room, feeling accomplished that everything was already put away and it hadn’t turned into a two-day process, when the phone rang. Everyone I knew was programmed in my phone with an assigned ringtone. For my wild and crazy mom, there was no song more fitting than “She’s A Bad Mamma Jamma.” Although I might’ve chosen something different for Lena, she insisted on “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” her favorite eighties song. But, the eerie theme music from Halloween sounding incessantly, was for unknown callers.
I answered with a cautious whisper, “Hello?”
“Hey, Laila! What are you up to?”
Recognizing Lena’s voice, I replied with relief. “What number are you calling me from?”
“I’m on my phone, but I was just listening to my voicemails and returned your message from last night. I forgot to make sure you made it home safely.”
“Oh. Okay”
“Laila, I cannot believe you’re up already, on a Sunday. It’s not even noon,” she joked at my expense. But she was right about that. I’d given fair warning to everyone not to call me before lunch on the weekends. Breakfast is a great meal that I prefer to have in the middle of the day.
“Well, if you know that, then why are you calling?” I questioned, fully aware that Lena thought everyone got up when she did.
“Just figured I’d give it a try. I’ve been up all morning working on a little project.”
“I don’t even remember leaving you a message. I was running on fumes by the time I made it home. Man, I was so tired.” Only silence followed and I knew she was fishing for me to dig a little deeper. Reluctantly, I bit the bait. “Ok, Lena. What’s this little ‘project?’” Lena suffers from diarrhea of the mouth, so there was no way I believed she became so elusive overnight. I knew she was definitely withholding information.
“I was exhausted, too,” she said, beating around the bush. I could hear her multitasking in the background. Shuffling papers or likely adding tear sheets to her jumbo book. “I barely remember you helping me into the house last night. I wish I could sleep as long as you do. After the whole crazy night, I still woke up at eight o’clock. My body definitely has its own alarm clock. What time did you get up?”
“Lena, for your information, I’ve been up since eight, too,” I said, telling a teensy white lie. “I’m already dressed from head to toe, laundry’s done, with one cup of tea down, and a second on the way.”
Between us, there was nothing unworthy of competition. As kids, Lena and I vied for fastest person to finish meals, best grades, parental favor, and most talented. If we were going anywhere, we were running, and racing to be first. Despite our age difference, not even boyfriends were off limits. Older men had always appealed to Lena. She believed they were more mature and better established. My senior year, her freshman year, I was dating Luke Blakely. Not the typical captain of the football team. Actually, the polar opposite on a high school scale. A thespian and scholar, humble and unaware of his classic, distinguished sex appeal. He was the first guy I ever considered giving my flower. Brains never looked so good. When he talked to me, h
e had a way of making me feel like I was the only person in the world who mattered to him. His eyes warmed me and his touch sent tingles up my spine. When Luke introduced me as his girlfriend, a sense of pride came over me. If there was a first lady of high school, I was she, minus the pageant wave and Vaseline smile.
Hence, the reason I doubted Lena when she warned me that he was cheating with Chrissy Hamilton, the gymnast. It was too cliché—so unoriginal to cheat with the flexible girl who could give it up with her legs behind her neck. In my mind’s eye, she was jealous and it was just another reason to compete. When Lena started spending more time with Luke, I armed myself for war. She was going to have to take me down to cut me out of the picture. Things got really ugly for a while as we sabotaged each other’s lives. From syrup in shoes to the bottom being cut out of a backpack, nothing was off limits. But when she came to me with Chrissy’s underwear and pictures of them making out, I realized she was an ally and Luke got kicked to the curb.
That day we made a truce. No matter what the focus of our battles, we had an understanding that we ultimately fight for each other above all else. We were still worthy adversaries, just with healthier sibling rivalry. Lena found her own older, mature guys to love and lust over. It’s no wonder Sam ended up being seven years her senior.
“Well, good for you. You might get to enjoy more than a few hours of daylight. I’m still in my pajamas. Been on the phone all morning chitchatting. Olivia hooked up with that one greasy guy and she said it was like watching paint dry.” Lena burst into laughter, barely able to finish what she was saying. “Apparently he’s not packing much. She kept saying she’d been deceived. With all those muscles, she was sure he’d be well-endowed, if you know what I mean. Olivia’s convinced he must be using selective steroids because that muscle didn’t grow an inch.” All I could hear were vibrations of Lena’s laughter into the receiver.
It's Got A Ring To It Page 4
