Girlfriends (Patrick Sanchez) (24 page)

“She’s actually quite beautiful, although she has yet to figure it out. She’s very insecure.”

“Well, enough about her. Let’s talk about Linda. Tell me about Linda’s world.”

“Not much to tell, really.”

“What do you like to do?”

“People always ask that, and I’m never sure how to answer. It’s not like I lie around the house all day watching television, but I don’t really have any specific hobbies. I like movies and wish I had more time to cook.”

“Yes, I love to cook too. I worked in a restaurant for a few years in Boston, and I cooked for Renée all the time. I think she put on ten pounds after we moved in together.”

“Renée? She’s your ex, I take it?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought her up.”

“That’s okay. She was obviously a big part of your life for some time. How long were you together?”

“Just over two years.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Of course I miss her. But I know I did the right thing.”

“The right thing?”

“It’s complicated. Let’s not talk about ex-girlfriends tonight. Let’s talk about Linda and Rosa.”

“Fine by me,” Linda said, smiling, trying not to beam too brightly.

The Circus Comes to Town

C
heryl was fidgeting in the uncomfortable plastic seat. Every time she tried to sit up straight, she would immediately begin to slide forward off the chair. She barely had any legroom at all. She didn’t know how Cooper, who stood at just over six feet, looked so comfortable. She hated the stupid Cirque du Soleil. She had been once before a couple of years earlier and swore she’d never go back. But when Cooper called and invited her, she figured it was too early in the relationship to say she didn’t want to go. He mentioned that he was taking some clients of his along as well. Apparently, they were interested in investing in the company he worked for. It made Cheryl feel good that he wanted to take her out with his clients and show her off.

The Cirque du Soleil, which was basically a glorified circus, usually came to the D.C. area in the fall, but it was just Cheryl’s dumb luck that that year they arrived in McLean, Virginia, one of the ritzier suburbs of D.C., during the summer. She found it very amusing to look around her and see such a culturally diverse crowd attending the show—what with all the white people, and white people, and white people that were there. The circus set up camp in the parking area of the swankiest mall in the D.C. area. The Tysons Galleria boasted a Saks Fifth Avenue, Neiman Marcus, Hugo Boss, Versace Jeans Couture, Cartier—the list went on and on.

Over the years the circus had become the trendy thing for uppity white people to do. It became one of the “see and be seen” events of the season. It was almost laughable to Cheryl to watch people arrive. The same people who pulled up in Mercedes and Jaguars were about to hike across a mall parking lot, pee in Porta Pottis, and sit in a tent to watch little Asian girls contort their bodies in ways nature never intended.

Cooper and his business associates seemed to be enjoying themselves. In fact, most of the people around her appeared to be quite taken with the performances, but Cheryl wondered if they really were. Maybe it was like Shakespeare or the ballet—no one really liked it, but they were all afraid they’d be called boozy white trash if they actually said so.

“Oh, my God!” Cheryl said quietly, pinching her eyes shut as the tiny Asian girls onstage made a human pyramid with some of the top girls actually standing on the lower girls’ heads—heads! Not shoulders. Heads! “They’re going to break their necks doing that!”

“I know,” Cooper said. “Isn’t it cool.”

“My God!”

“Aw, it’s good for them. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Cooper joked.

“Yeah, but what if it does kill you?”

“One less person tying up traffic on the beltway. This area is so overpopulated as it is,” Cooper joked again.

“Oh, it is not.”

“Oh, it isn’t? Have you been to the Home Depot on a Saturday?”

“You are terrible, especially for a
Christian,”
Cheryl said, throwing his words back at him, laughing, and grabbing hold of his arm as the lights came up for the intermission.

Cooper held her hand as she carefully walked down the steps to the outside of the tent with Cooper’s clients following. Negotiating the steep metal steps was a bit of a challenge. Cheryl hadn’t been able to find her more conservative black pumps and ended up having to wear a pair of shiny black slingbacks with two-inch heels. One of these days she was going to dig out her apartment and get it organized so she could actually find things.

“So, what do you think? Are you enjoying it?” Cooper asked.

“It’s definitely different,” Cheryl said.

“Oh, it’s spectacular!” Joanna, one of Cooper’s guests, cooed with excitement. “Terry and I are going to run to the rest room. Meet you back here?”

“Sure,” Cooper said as his guests scurried off to the bathrooms.

“This really isn’t your thing, is it?” he said to Cheryl after his clients were out of earshot.

“Well . . . no . . . it’s fine.”

“Could you be any less enthusiastic?” Cooper said with a smile.

“I’m sorry. It really was a nice idea. I guess I’m just not really into watching people shove their feet behind their neck and spin around.”

“It is a little freaky when you think about it. If it wasn’t for Joanna and Terry, we could just bag the second half.”

“That’s okay. You’ve got your responsibilities.”

“Thanks for being a trooper,” Cooper said with a grin.

“No problem,” Cheryl replied, smiling back at him.

When Joanna and Terry returned, the four of them headed back to their seats and Cheryl suffered through the rest of the show. When it was finally over, Cheryl walked quietly next to Cooper as he discussed business with Joanna and Terry. She was so impressed by his professionalism. He had a way of charming his guests without seeming phony. Watching him wheel and deal was a real turn-on for her. By the time they reached the car, it looked like Cooper had wrapped up the deal and Joanna and Terry would be making a substantial investment in his company.

After they said good night to Cooper’s associates, Cooper and Cheryl walked back to his car, where he unlocked Cheryl’s door, opened it for her, and closed it behind her once she was safely inside.

“Thanks so much for coming tonight,” Cooper said, climbing into the car.

“Sure. It turned out to be kind of fun actually.”

“So what do you want to do now?” Cooper asked.

“I don’t care. Maybe we can get a movie or something and go back to my place.”

Mentioning the movie made her think of Peter. Suggesting they get a movie was Peter’s and Cheryl’s code for “why don’t we meet for sex.” Cheryl would usually run into the Blockbuster on 17th Street and just pick up something quickly on her way to Peter’s apartment. She generally wasn’t very picky about her selection. Lately, they had skipped the formality of actually watching the movie and just went straight for the action about a half hour into the show. As she thought about how ridiculous it all was, it hit her that she was always the one to travel. Why did she always have to pick up the movie and go to Peter’s? He almost never came to her place. Reflecting on her screwed-up relationship with Peter made her all the more happy about whatever was burgeoning with Cooper.

Cheryl and Cooper headed back into the city and sat quietly for most of the ride. They had only been out a few times, but their relationship had reached a point where they were able to be silent around each other without it being completely awkward. They took Route 66 into D.C., crossed the Roosevelt Bridge, and headed toward Dupont Circle.

“Should we go to the Blockbuster on Seventeenth Street?”

“Sure,” Cheryl said, wondering if asking him back to her place was such a good idea. The last time they went out, she had invited him up for coffee afterward. It took all the willpower she could muster, but Cheryl didn’t even curl up next to him on the sofa while they drank their coffee and watched television. She really liked this guy and, as much as she wanted to, she was going to hold off on getting physical with him. When it did happen, she was going to make sure it meant something for both of them. She had to play it just right. He was one of a few persons she had met who truly seemed to be serious about religion, and there was no way he was going to respect a girl who jumped into bed with him.

After they stopped by the video store and picked up a couple of movies, they went over to Cheryl’s apartment and settled in for the evening. Cooper put the tape in the VCR while Cheryl rummaged through the kitchen to find some munchies. She grabbed the last two beers she had in the refrigerator and a fresh bag of pretzels before going back into the living room.

“You want the Miller Lite or the Corona?” she asked Cooper.

“Corona’s good,” he said.

Cheryl set the beers down on the coffee table, ripped open the bag of pretzels, and sat down on the sofa next to Cooper, fighting the urge to lean in close to him.

Cheryl began to get restless halfway through the movie. How long could she watch Julia Roberts parade around in skimpy shirts and tight jeans, trying to save tainted-drinking-water victims. All she wanted to do was pounce on Cooper and devour him. But she had been down that road before. Her whole relationship with Peter started with a sexual encounter and look where that had gotten her. She was going to take things slow with Cooper—she was going to be wife material.

Poor guy, she thought to herself as she kept her distance on the sofa. He’s probably wondering what the hell is going on. Cheryl also thought about how a part of him probably liked it. Men always wanted what they couldn’t have, and Cheryl was going to make him want her really bad before she gave it up.

When the movie was finally over, Cooper yawned and got up from the sofa. “Guess I should get going. I’ve got church in the morning,”

“Okay,” Cheryl said, getting up as well and walking over to the door with him.

“I had a good time tonight,” she said.

“Yeah, me too,” he replied with a grin, and put his hand on her upper arm. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he added before leaning in and giving her a kiss.

Cheryl wrapped her arms around him and returned the kiss.

Stay, stay, stay, she thought to herself as he gently lifted his lips from hers.

“Good night,” he said before giving her another quick peck on the lips and heading out the door.

God, this morality thing really sucks, Cheryl thought as she closed the door behind him. She didn’t know how long she was going to be able to keep up the chastity charade. If she was going to continue being the girl next door with Cooper for any length of time, she was going to need some sort of sexual outlet. Feeling all hot and bothered, she picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hi, Peter. It’s me,” she said into the phone. “I just rented
Erin Brockovich
. Want to watch it with me?”

The Naked Truth

G
ina gasped so loudly several customers turned to see what the unusual noise was.

“You okay, blondie?” the little woman called from behind the counter.

Gina didn’t respond. She heard her, but her body was frozen. Her eyes were held tight on the videotape. The cover read “The Big G Strokes the Big G.” She continued to stare at the tape in awe. She was speechless. When she finally managed to move her eyes away from the tape, they went straight for the one next to it, titled, “The Big G in the Big Apple,” which was next to “The Bodacious Big G.” There was a whole series of Big G movies, in which Griffin was the star.

Several seconds passed before Gina was able to put one foot in front of the other and trudge out the door. When she made it to the car, she climbed in and closed the door, only to immediately open it again and hop outside. She looked around her, still in somewhat of a daze, and then proceeded to vomit on the blacktop. She threw up her dinner in one quick heave, and the wave of nausea passed almost as quickly as it came. She pulled a few tissues from her purse, wiped her mouth, and threw them on the pavement before climbing back in her seat and starting the car. Still completely dumbfounded and unfamiliar with the area of the city she was in, she wasn’t sure of the best way back home. In the midst of seedy shops, boarded-up buildings, and run-down homes, she could see the Capitol building in the distance. She knew if she drove toward the Capitol, she would be able to get home from there, so she made a left out of the parking lot.

She had only traveled a couple of blocks when she noticed—where was Gomez? He wasn’t in the passenger seat, and his stubborn little butt wouldn’t dream of going in the backseat. As the revelation hit her, she began calling his name and looking around the car while still trying to drive.

“Goddamn it, Gomez! Where are you?”

There was no way he could’ve gotten out of the car. Unless someone took him out. Oh, no! Had she forgotten to lock the door when she went into the bookstore? Why would anyone take her dog? What kind of sicko . . . ?

Gina began to panic.

“Gomez. Where are you?” she yelled, starting to cry. “Oh, my God! What happened to the damn dog?”

She began to get hysterical and started bawling like a baby. The remaining shred of sense she had left told her to pull the car over until she calmed down. She was in such a state, she wasn’t aware of her surroundings. There she was—a young woman in a Honda Civic, alone, late at night, in what was basically a war zone. After a minute or two she began to calm down somewhat, and her mind started functioning again. She decided to attack the problem at hand.

Who would take a little dog? Who do you call about a missing dog? What can the police do? Put an APB out on a dachshund?

Her complete lack of options made her want to cry again. What could she do? Gomez could be anywhere in D.C. by now. Then it hit her. It wasn’t likely, but it was possible that he got out of the car when she jumped out to throw up. She probably hadn’t shut the door. She said a little prayer that she would get back to the bookstore, and Gomez would be meandering around the parking lot, waiting for her to pick him up. She merged back onto the road and tried to find somewhere to make a U-turn. As she looked for a crossing, she saw two scruffy-looking adolescent boys in super baggy jeans walking along the other side of the road. They could have only been seventeen or eighteen years old. Gina probably wouldn’t have given them a second look except that it was a warm night, yet they were wearing jackets and had stocking caps on their heads, and, despite the fact that it was after ten
P.M.
, one of them had sunglasses on. When she gave them a closer look, she noticed a furry little head sticking out of one of their jackets. She recognized that head. She had sneaked Gomez through the lobby of Shirley’s building enough times to know exactly what he looked like with his head bobbing up and down, peering outside a jacket.