Girlfriends (Patrick Sanchez) (12 page)

“How nice,” she said sarcastically after she opened the first e-mail—a picture of a small erect penis. Under the picture was written “If you like what you see, let me know.”

“Delete!” Cheryl said to herself as she clicked on the message and dragged it to the little trash can on the screen.

“Hmm . . .” Cheryl mumbled as she read the second response. At least it sounded normal. Cheryl actually liked the response, until she realized it was canned. It wasn’t personalized to her at all.

This guy is probably mass-mailing this response all over the Internet, she thought as she finished reading the ad and clicked on the picture he had attached.

“Oh, my!” she said as the picture opened to reveal an extremely odd-looking elderly man. Cheryl also dragged this e-mail into the trash and clicked on the last one.

Hi! My name is Louis. I’m 30 years old and live in Falls Church, Virginia. I’m a restaurateur and enjoy my work, so we have a love for cooking in common. Like you, I’m mostly looking for new friends and then we can take it from there. I’m 5’10”, 165, brn/brn, fit/lean, Caucasian, and nonsmoking. I love movies, eating out, hiking, the beach, and quiet evenings at home. Would love to hear from you.

Cheryl wasn’t overly enthused by the response, but at least he seemed sane, and his stats were decent.

Well, beggars can’t exactly be choosers, she thought to herself as she clicked on the reply icon. She sent him a quick note telling him a little more about herself. She then asked him to provide more detail about himself and possibly a picture if a digital one was available.

“Keep your fingers crossed that he isn’t a freak,” Cheryl mumbled to herself as she clicked on the mouse to send her e-mail.

Commiserating

G
ina and Linda said good night to Peter as they entered Gina’s apartment. Gina was somewhat depressed after seeing Penelope’s little
Ozzie and Harriet
existence, so she invited Linda and Peter to come in for a nightcap. Peter declined, saying that he thought he might be catching a cold or something and wanted to get some rest. Once she and Linda got inside, Gina put an old Eagles CD on the stereo while Linda searched for a corkscrew in the kitchen. Gina felt terrible about the whole toilet incident at Penelope’s. Why would she do that to a friend? She wasn’t sure what came over her. Somehow she was just overcome with misery and jealousy and lost her head.

“Look in the first drawer next to the fridge,” Gina called to Linda before plopping down on the sofa. Gomez jumped up next to her and starting digging into the sofa upholstery, as he was prone to do from time to time. Over the years, Gina had reprimanded him numerous times, but to no avail, and finally gave up.

“That’s it, Gomez. Tear up the sofa, good boy,” she muttered toward the dog with an utter lack of enthusiasm.

“You never keep stuff in the same place,” Linda said, returning to the living room with an opened bottle of pink wine, two glasses, and a bag of Chips Ahoy.

“I know. I’m terrible. I just dump the silverware basket from the dishwasher into whatever drawer has the most room. I organized the drawers once. I even bought one of those plastic tubs to separate the knives from the forks and stuff. That lasted about a week.”

“I bet Penelope has everything perfectly organized in her kitchen. All those country geese made me want to puke,” Linda snapped, sipping her wine and opening the bag of cookies.

“Bitch. I hate her.... Don’t you ever tell anyone I said that,” Gina said to Linda, feeling a bit guilty for talking about one of their friends like that. “I don’t hate her. It’s just not fair. She has everything I want,” she added before turning her attention to Gomez, who had since hopped off the sofa and was on his hind legs, begging for cookies. “No, Gomez, you’re not allowed to have cookies.”

“God, we’re pathetic, Gina. Sitting here at midnight on a Wednesday, drinking wine and trashing one of our friends.”

“I know. I’m just so tired of everyone’s life taking off but mine. Virtually everyone I went to high school or college with is married, and some already have kids. I hate all of them. Bitches,” Gina hissed, raising her voice a little. She looked at the dog again, who was now slightly whimpering. “No! Gomez, cookies aren’t good for little doggies.”

“You! Well, at least there’s hope for you. Even if I find Ms. Right, I’m legally barred from getting married. How do you think it makes me feel to see all of our friends settle down and start families? That’s why I just couldn’t bear going to Penelope’s wedding.”

“What? You weren’t really sick? Why didn’t you tell me?” Gina asked, sounding surprised.

“I was embarrassed . . . am embarrassed. I don’t want to be known as some angry dyke who can’t be happy for her friends,” Linda said, staring at the floor.

“Well, I’m certainly no better. She asked me to be a frickin bridesmaid, and I snubbed her. I’m sure she knew I was lying about not being sure I could make it. I don’t think she was mad though. I think she felt sorry for me. I hate that more than anything. Penelope Weils feeling sorry for me . . . Bitch,” Gina said as she handed a cookie to the dog.

“Yeah, that’s the worst.”

“Well, I guess we’re both pathetic, but it’s not like we tried to hurt her or anything,” Gina responded, dropping a few more cookies on the floor for Gomez to gobble up.

Linda sat quietly for a minute before responding. “Actually, I think I did mean to hurt her, a little anyway. I know I was never as close to her as you were, but it must be bothersome to get married with one of your good friends absent. Part of me wanted to upset her on her wedding day. I wanted to make her feel some of the pain I feel on a daily basis. Here she was, proclaiming her relationship with Donny in front of a few hundred people, and I can’t even hold hands with a date in public without running the risk of being jeered or even physically attacked. It makes me so mad sometimes. Maybe I did want her to hurt. Everything else in her life was coming together so perfectly. She deserved to feel a little pain.” Linda was starting to well up at this point and stopped talking to avoid a total breakdown. She didn’t usually discuss things like this with Gina. How could she possibly understand?

Gina was seeing a part of Linda that only very rarely surfaced. Gina saw Linda’s eyes beginning to water just a little and wasn’t sure what to do. Linda always seemed so together. She was never in a bad mood and was always rather even-keeled and organized. She was Gina’s “sensible lesbian friend.” This was one of the few times since they met in high school that Gina had ever seen her like this. Linda rarely let down her guard in front of anyone. Linda was usually Gina’s rock. Gina was the one whose life was always a mess. Even in high school Gina usually had her feathers ruffled over something, and Linda would be there to cheer her up and tell Gina how ridiculous she was being about not having a date to the latest dance or not getting invited to weekend parties. Linda never seemed to worry about having a date for the homecoming dance or not getting asked to the prom. It wasn’t until after high school that Gina learned why.

Gina couldn’t honestly say she was shocked by the news of Linda’s homosexuality. She had suspected it for some time but figured Linda would tell her when she was ready. One night, about a year after they graduated high school, they had been drinking and were sitting on the floor in Gina’s dorm room at American. At some point during the night, Gina, frustrated with her love life, joked that she may as well become a lesbian, and how much easier it would be if she were a lesbian. When Linda immediately fired off upward of ten reasons why it most certainly would not be easier, Gina started to get a clue. She remembered Linda telling her that if common estimates were right, lesbians were lucky to have five percent of the population from which to choose a life partner. She went on to explain that if only ten percent of the population was gay, and half of that population was men, that left lesbians with a meager five percent of the world to pick a mate. Linda assured Gina that she had much better odds with the forty-five percent of the general public that consisted of straight men.

Now, sitting next to Linda while the rain continued to pour outside, Gina didn’t quite know what to say. She looked at Linda, who was about to cry while “Hotel California” played in the background.

She considered telling Linda that she was the one who purposely made the toilet overflow at Penelope’s party. She thought it might make Linda feel better if Gina reminded her that she did pathetic things as well. Gina decided against it though. Bailing on a friend’s wedding because you’re gay was about a “4” on the pathetic scale, while stuffing toilet paper down the can at a party was a solid “10.” No, Gina was keeping that little tidbit of information to herself.

“God, Linda. I didn’t know you had it in you. So there is an evil bone or two in that body of yours. Thank God,” Gina said with a little giggle, trying to break the tension.

Linda managed a slight laugh as she wiped her eyes.

“God, Gina, we need to get it together, girl, or Penelope isn’t going to be the only one feeling sorry for us.”

Change of Heart

C
heryl was at home, sitting at her desk and trying to balance her checkbook online. She was growing weary of all the numbers and decided she would give Peter a quick call. She hadn’t talked to him since the night Gina barged in on them a couple of weeks earlier. Cheryl hadn’t gotten any sex since that night and, with any luck, Peter might be equally horny and invite her over. She looked at the time displayed on her monitor. It was just after midnight. She knew it was a little late to be calling him, especially for a weeknight, but she figured she’d give it a shot anyway.

“Hello,” Peter said after grabbing the phone with one hand and turning off the stove with the other. He had just been leaning over a pot of boiling water in the kitchen, trying to clear his sinuses.

“Hey. It’s me,” Cheryl said on the other end of the phone.

“Hi. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Just getting a little paperwork done. I thought I’d take a break and see how you’re doing.”

“Good. Well, actually, I think I’m getting a sinus infection, but otherwise I’m okay. I just got back from a party with Gina and Linda.”

“Really? Whose party?” Cheryl asked.

“Penelope something or other. She’s some girl Gina went to college with.”

“Oh, yeah. Penelope. I remember her. Probably another person Gina has turned against me. I heard she got married a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, she and her husband have a nice house out in Maryland,” Peter said.

Cheryl knew he was stalling for time to make up his mind about whether or not he should invite her over. She figured Peter wasn’t sure if he was up for a visit from her or not. It was late, and he didn’t sound as though he was feeling altogether well, although Peter generally didn’t sound as though he was feeling altogether well.

“Just the three of you went?” Cheryl asked, trying to make conversation while she waited to see if he would ask her to come over. She didn’t dare ask him. There was nothing worse than propositioning a man and having him turn you down.

Even if Cheryl called him for a date or an outing of some sort, she’d sometimes say she had plans with some friends (even though she had no such plans) and ask Peter if he wanted to come along. That way, if he said no, she didn’t look like a total loser—she still had her friends to go out with, as far as Peter knew anyway. And if he agreed to join her and her friends, Cheryl told him that whatever friends she had mentioned had canceled on them.

“Yeah. We didn’t stay that long. The toilet overflowed in one of the bathrooms, and it was all downhill from there.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope.”

“God. Well, at least your evening sounds remotely interesting. Mine has been a total bore, but I don’t quite feel like going to bed,” Cheryl said, opening the door for him to ask her over.

“Really,” Peter replied as a new e-mail notice appeared on Cheryl’s screen. While Peter told her a little more about the party, Cheryl clicked on the newly arrived e-mail from Louis. After Cheryl read about how glad he was that she responded to his message, and that he would love to meet up with her sometime, she clicked on the photograph that he had attached.

“Wow!” Cheryl whispered to herself, forgetting about Peter on the other end of the phone.

“What?” Peter asked.

“Oh, nothing. I just found an error in my checking account,” Cheryl lied as she inspected the photo of Louis. He had wavy brown hair and big brown eyes. He was wearing a tank top in the picture, which only highlighted his defined arms and cut chest.

“Well, when you’re done with your checkbook, do you want to come over for a quick drink or something?”

“Ah . . .” Cheryl said, eyeing the picture. “You know what, Peter. I actually got tired all of a sudden. I’d better pass tonight.”

“No problem,” Peter said, more confused by her response than upset by the rejection.

“Why don’t we talk later in the week.”

“Sure,” Peter said.

After they hung up, Cheryl read Louis’s e-mail again and enjoyed the picture for a minute more. She was about to respond but figured she might seem too eager if she replied immediately. She decided she would wait until the next day to tell him she would absolutely like to meet up with him.

Reprimanded

“G
ood morning, Linda. How are you?” Gina said as she walked into the bank at nine o’clock. She was hung over from Penelope’s party, not to mention the bottle of wine she and Linda polished off afterward. She hated when people had parties on a weeknight. She didn’t have the willpower to say no even though she knew it would make her worthless the next day.

“Okay, but you don’t look too happy.”

“I’m a little hung over, and there was some freak of nature jogging along the side of the road on my way here.”

“Really?”

“It was some old man, and he had his shirt off. His breasts, which were bigger than mine, were flinging all over the place. I don’t understand it, Linda. Why do most of us women manage to go our entire lives without taking our shirts off in public . . . except for Shirley, that is. But for some unknown reason, a sixty-year-old man with a beer belly the size of Mexico finds it necessary to jog along a major freeway half naked. He’s liable to cause an accident.”