by Turner, Xyla
This thought had me dialing Bernie.
“Hey, girl. You’re not mad at me anymore?” she answered.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot. I am, but I got a question for you,” I blurted.
She laughed before saying, “Shoot.”
“What do you think of my personal style? Is it too promiscuous? Or raunchy?” I asked my best friend of over ten years.
“Uhhh, no. Why are you asking that? You are the most stylish person I know,” she replied.
I was taller for a woman, a nice shade of brown, with no acne blemishes littering my face. I was about a size ten, with thick thighs and a heart-shaped face. I had the type of head that could work perfectly with short hair or long.
“Just…I don’t know.” I sighed. “I ran into your crazy, weird as fuck, friend, the not-so-friendly Republican senator. He was buying something for a lady friend.”
She chuckled.
“He’s a mess,” I shared.
“Well, he is on the…” She was about to make excuses.
“I know, but the man is still a hot mess,” I declared.
Bernie laughed and said, “But, he’s a really great guy. You’ll never need to wonder what he thinks.”
The sting of his words from earlier surfaced again as I wondered about his brand of honesty.
“Mmkay, I’m mad at you again,” I told her. “Trying to have me in some scandalous relationship like you and Trent. Is this guy into escorts?”
“Really,” she scoffed. “No, you jerk. He’s a good guy.”
“That’s trying to marry the first available woman. Come on, Bernie?” I exclaimed. “Who does that?”
“There are arranged marriages.” She was still defending.
“Now I’m really mad at you. Because if you thought I’d be remotely interested in just getting hitched, then that means you don’t know me,” I told her.
“Portia, you never let me explain,” she said with a more serious tone. “The man was describing his type of woman and why he wanted to get married. It made sense, and as he was talking, I might have gotten the idea that maybe you and he could hit it off. He’s painfully honest, and you’re… well…the same way. Especially with Trent and me in the earlier years. You were honest to a damn fault. You still take his side on things, too.”
I held up my finger and said, “He’s usually right, and, might I add, also very honest; but not weird. I just want to clarify. Not weird.”
“Give the man a chance,” Bernie chastised me. “You told me to simmer down when it came to Trent. Now imagine if I had done what my first thought was to do. There would be no Junior. There would be no us. I love that crazy-ass man. And quite frankly Portia, you were instrumental in us happening. Now, I’m trying to return the favor.”
“Bernie,” I yelled in the phone. “I am not marrying that man. He’s looking for a wife. I am not looking for a husband. Hell, I’m looking for a fuck. Does he want to fuck?”
She laughed, then answered, “You should ask him.”
“Girl, no. He’s rude as fuck.” I was dodging the real response.
“Ruder than you?” she countered. “I am going to tell you like you told me, ‘Put on your big girl panties.’ Give the fucking guy a chance. Hell, you’ll never know.”
I knew. He was not up my alley. Rude, weird, and just entirely too blunt for me. I did not find anything like that appealing. He was gorgeous as hell, but he needed some work. Like, a lot of work.
“I think I’m going to pass, Bernie.” I shook my head. “Like I said, he’s looking to settle, plus he’s a bit intense. I don’t want to lead him on, and I’m not interested in all that shit. Senator or no senator. Let’s not forget, he is a Republican. ”
There was silence on the line, but that just meant she was thinking.
“Bernie?” I called after more silence followed.
“Yeah, hey. Sorry,” she finally said. “I just texted him and asked if he was interested in ‘just a fuck.’ He asked who the fuck was with, and then he typed, and I quote, ‘Yes, I am very interested.’”
WHAT?
“You did what!?!” I exclaimed. “You didn’t.”
My mouth was wide open as I stopped walking toward the metro.
“Yeah, he’s cool with it,” she haphazardly replied.
“Bernie, what the fuck has gotten into you?” I snapped. “That damn Trent and his crazy-ass is rubbing off. Why is everyone acting like this is normal behavior? You don’t just meet someone and say you want to marry them. And my best friend and mother of my godson doesn’t just text the guy and ask if he is interested in just fucking.”
No, really, who does shit like that?
Bernie continued to laugh and then answered, “I think it will make more sense when you actually speak to him without judgment.”
“Judgement?” I repeated.
“You heard me,” she clarified. “He’s different, but he is right up your alley. I have known you for years, and you should know I’d never steer you wrong about something like this. I know you, and I don’t care what outward appearances look like, if you gave that man half a chance, you would see what I see. Stop judging him. Hell, even Trent is with me on this one.”
It was my turn to be silent as I tried to think of some sort of come back or defense that I was not, indeed, judging him. Could it really just be that I wasn’t interested? In an attempt to remove all bias, he turned me off by saying the marriage shit. That gave some weird as fuck vibes. Then the dressing room. That shit, sort of hurt my feelings. Outside of this, we really never talked. He apologized and then walked off. Hell, I didn’t know.
“Bernie,” I said in a lower voice. “I don’t think I’m judgmental. I’m a ‘to each his own type of person.’”
I was an equal opportunity with my assessment. Bernie was an escort, and I never judged her. She fucking married a Republican state senator, and I was pushing her the entire time. Who was I to judge?
“Yeah, you’re pretty liberal, Portia, but in that, ‘it ain’t me, I ain’t doing it’ type of way.” Her voice lowered. “You never outwardly judged me for being an escort, but I knew you didn’t approve, and you probably said you would never do it. Like Duncan. You may not outwardly judge him because he’s different, but you would never consider being with a man like him. Am I right?”
“But is that judgment?” I countered. “I don’t think that’s judgment.”
Quickly looking it up on Google, I informed her, “It says, judgment is an opinion or conclusion.”
“So it is,” Bernie exclaimed. “You concluded you wouldn’t give a man like that a chance. It’s your opinion and conclusion.”
This conversation was giving me a whole migraine.
“I feel like you’re trying to shame me into fucking this man,” I told her honestly.
“Is it working?” she replied, causing me to laugh.
“One date, Bernie.” I shook my head as the words escaped my mouth. “One fucking date.”
“Have an open mind,” she exclaimed.
“I did, but then he yelled at me and basically told me that he didn’t like this gorgeous dress that I tried on.”
“Wait, what?” she exclaimed. “Today?”
“Yes, today. Like thirty minutes ago,” I shared.
“What did he say?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I answered as I tried to remember exactly what he said or didn’t say.
“Did you give him a chance?” she asked, but I ignored that because I had left.
“My point is that I will give him one try, and I mean, one. Anything fucked up or crazy, and I’m out,” I stated emphatically. “Like, never again.”
“Got it.” I could almost see her smile through the phone.
Chapter Four
Portia
Bernie’s words continued to run through my mind all week. Her calling me judgmental and me making every sort of excuse for why that was not true. She was right in her assessment of what I wouldn’t do. Like I would not have bee
n an escort, but I don’t remember condemning her for doing it. I surely didn’t encourage it, because I fundamentally disagreed. I would never be an escort.
If Bernie was correct, then that would mean that I have ignored people before who might have been suitable or maybe even a match. I wasn’t really looking to make a real connection. A fuck here or there was fine with me. Still is, for that matter.
But, with him?
Duncan.
My problem was not that I was judgmental. Because that seemed a bit far-fetched. I was inquiring about Trent’s friends because I fucked Scott, one of his colleagues. Bernie didn’t even know Trent was a senator at the time, but we had a quick thing, then he something weird and he had to go.
Nope.
A fling is just that. Something that is flung from one place to another and does not stick. It is not meant to last, so there is no meeting of anyone.
One therapist thought my issue was based on my mother and father’s tumultuous relationship. She was a user, and the poor man just bent over backward for her, and me for that matter. He loved that woman to death, but nothing was ever enough for her.
Once he died, she made the mistake of saying it was his fault that she had to continue with life by herself, and I haven’t really dealt with the woman since. I have seen her social media posts, since she’s a lawyer with her own small firm, but I left Alexandria that day and never returned. Well, not to see her anyway. We had a contentious relationship in the first place, but the way she treated my father destroyed what little relationship we had left. It was not just an accusation. She killed my father; I very much blamed her for his death.
The next day, I found myself at the Hart Senate Office Building on Second Street, since Congress was in session. I was here to see Trent, who had changed offices, since his party shift. However, it was a ploy to address Duncan since I promised myself, I would give him a chance. It was more like a challenge, but I would honor Bernie’s wishes because she was right. I hadn’t had one conversation with him, well, one that made sense, and I hadn’t really given him a chance.
He would get one, and then I was pulling up my anchor.
“Ms. Lane, Mr. Richardson will see you now.” His secretary guided me into Trent’s inner chamber.
“Portia,” Trent greeted as he tilted his head up briefly and made a quick face before hitting send; I heard the universal sound of a sent message going through.
“What in the hell are you doing?” I asked.
He smirked and said, “Sending Junior a face with the new iPhone avatar.”
“Ahh, I’m sure Bernie will enjoy that.” I mustered all the sarcasm I could into that one sentence with an eye roll.
“My woman loves all of it,” he scoffed. “You should see all her pictures.”
“No, Trent. She loves you.” I held out my hand as I approached his desk. “She does this shit for you.”
The six-foot-four man rose to his full height and looked to his feet, sheepish. The raunchy ex-Republican, who my best friend smacked across the face during their first encounter, had a constricted look.
Then his head shook before he said, “Yeah, I know the feeling. I would do anything for that woman.”
I smiled and nodded my head. “I know, and so does she.”
His lips pursed, then he said, “Now, are we getting you hitched or fucked?”
Crass motherfucker.
“If you must know, I’m just going to ask the man out to dinner. Bernie says I’m probably judging him, and she might, and that’s a big might, be right. So, I’m going to give him a legit chance, and I wanted to do it to his face. So, thanks for letting me sneak up here.”
He eyed me for a bit and said, “I guess it’s getting fucked then.”
“Really Trent.” I shook my head. “This is why your ass gets smacked.”
“Hey, that hasn’t happened in a while,” he defended. “Plus, Bernadette told me what she shared with you. Don’t think a man will forget that. Plus, as much as I think you guys will hit it off, I’m not really sure if you are ready for someone like him.”
I folded my arms as I leaned back on my left leg and turned my other foot out.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I snapped.
“Calm down,” he snapped back. “I’m saying, before I met Bernadette, I was just fucking around. You know. Not ready to commit or even acknowledge this idea that I needed someone. Hell, I didn’t know I needed her until she was no longer there. I wasn’t ready. That’s what I’m saying. The stars weren’t aligned.”
That made better sense than what I thought he was trying to say, because I would have been highly offended.
“I’m not looking to settle, and this I have made clear. This is going no further than dinner,” I clarified.
“And fucking, you forgot to add,” Trent provided.
“Well, I don’t know. I don’t really think I’m all that attracted to him, and just because he’s cute doesn’t mean I’m fucking him. I need that wow factor, Trent,” I shared with the arrogant man.
He folded his arms over his chest and smirked even deeper. “Portia, I think you are underestimating my man, Duncan. If you give him a real chance, I think he will surprise you.”
“We’ll see, Mr. Richardson.” I nodded at him. “I’ll keep you and Bernie updated, but don’t hold your breath. I’ve already had a few encounters with him, and he didn’t pass any test with flying colors.”
I made my way to the front of his chamber and waved.
“Give him a solid chance,” he called out as I left.
It would be a lie to say my chest wasn’t beating quickly. Why was I so nervous? I have asked many guys on dates, well, maybe not. No guy was like Duncan. This was totally different, and I was scared.
There was nobody at his front office and his chamber door was open. I walked inside, and there he was rhythmically typing away at the computer. His brows were pushed together as if we were trying to read something that was too small.
I cleared my throat, causing him to look up and meet my eyes. He remained there and didn’t move a muscle, especially those deep green eyes.
“Duncan,” I called as my neck tilted forward.
He blinked once and immediately rose to his feet, nodded, and said, “Portia. Hello. You’re very pretty.”
“Yes, thank you,” I replied. “I came by to—”
“Have intercourse.” He nodded as if this was an agreed upon and acceptable thing to simply state.
“No!” I gasped. “I came to—”
He interrupted again, holding up his hand and picking up his phone.
“It says here you want to have sex with me.” He said it like he was telling me what the weather was.
“Duncan,” I yelled and whispered at the same time, as I moved closer to his desk. “What I told Bernie was that I wasn’t interested in a relationship, but fucking would do. I came here to ask you to dinner, that was it.”
He took a minute to take in what I said, or it looked as if he were processing the words.
Then he said, “This is acceptable. I will meet you at Seis at six o’clock. The reservation will be confirmed by three o’clock.”
At this, I blinked slowly for what felt like a whole minute. My mission was to come and ask him to dinner. He cut me off, said that I came to get sex from him, then he steals my thunder and accepts dinner before I even ask.
The notion of being in another world weighed heavily on me. Why did I constantly feel l like I was crazy?
“O-kay,” I answered slowly. “Should I wear something formal?”
“Yes, that is acceptable.” He nodded, then took his seat.
Was I dismissed?
“I guess I’m leaving then,” I mumbled. “See you.”
Nope, the man did not look up. He was back to typing like a mad man with a runaway keyboard.
That was not quite what I expected, but this was me giving the odd man a chance.
Chapter Five
Portia
Dinner
My name was Portia Lane, and timeliness was not my thing outside of work. I traveled over fifty percent of the time, so it was imperative that in my personal life, I had autonomy to be as free as I wanted. Therefore, it was six-fifteen by the time I arrived at the restaurant. I saw Duncan losing what good sense he had on the attendant.
“Sir, your party is not here, and I will have to cancel your reservation.” The woman’s voice was elevated but had nothing on Duncan.
He, on the other hand, was very loud. “That is not acceptable. This reservation is for two and according to your website, as long as half the party is here, we can be seated. Half the party is here, and I will be taking my seat.”
“Duncan,” I called and slid my arm through his. “I’m here.”
His head jerked with the sudden invasion of my touching him, and he looked as if he were about to punch me. I quickly removed my arm and put it behind my back. His eyes looked to where I had touched him on the arm, but he never said anything, which was also weird.
“Now, we’re at one-hundred percent,” he nearly hissed at the waitress, not responding to me at all.
She glared at him, then picked up two menus and walked away. Duncan and I trailed behind her until she brought us to a nice, small booth near the back of the restaurant. As we were sitting, he told the woman, “Please send your manager over here.”
At this, the woman huffed, then threw the menus on the table and stomped away. I even had to scoff at her behavior, since it reminded me of Stephanie’s from the other day.
“This behavior must be going around, like an epidemic,” I muttered as I slid inside.
“Why do you say that?” Duncan asked.
I laughed and shared that when he saw me the other day at the store, it was because of an employee who was being reprimanded. Then I told him how she responded, but this did not sit well with him.
“What do you mean, ‘she bumped you’?” his voice elevated again, and the thunder in his face was visible. “According to penal code four-zero-three and four in chapter four for assault, mayhem, and threats, any unlawful touching or physical aggression can result in being fined or imprisoned for up to three years. You may press charges on her, as that behavior is not acceptable.”
