It's Got A Ring To It (17 page)

“Well said and amen to that.” It was easier said than done, but at
least she practiced what she preached.

Again, my cell chimed. “It’s him again
.
” I looked up guiltily.

“Give it to me.” Reluctantly I did. “Hello
,
Ethan,” she answered. “No, this is not
Laila
. It’s Brooke. I’m going to
say this to
you nicely, once. Do not call her
again
.
”
T
he words were slowly
spoken, as if to make sure they were clear enough for the
Neanderthal
that she believed him to be.
“It’s over because
of you
, so don’t think that because you have
regrets and you finally realized what you’ve missed out on, that you can just
get it back whenever you feel like. She is over you and seeing other people
now.”

The muffled mumbling of his voice in the receiver went on and on as
Brooke rolled her eyes. Then, her face turned red and she sternly warned him
through clenched teeth, “
S
he’s
finally been properly laid, so
go back to your little home
-
wrecker
.”

A loud gasp hurled from my lips and I could feel the blood rushing to
my head. I couldn’t imagine what he said that warranted that information. True,
I hadn’t been laid much recently, but I thought she knew that was privileged
information. Nice that he knew I wasn’t sitting around waiting for him, but I
was mortified nonetheless. He must’ve said something to the
effect
of being sorry
because Brooke really laid into him about infidelity and not knowing the
meaning of love. It wasn’t clear exactly who ended the call, but a mile-wide
smile colored her face with satisfaction
—
and my money was on her.

Outside
Pepolino’s
, we consolidated our
bags for the trip back to the hotel. An uneasy feeling niggled at me. What if
Ethan and I were supposed to get back together? Maybe that’s why Myles hadn’t
called. All the years that Ethan and I were together had to mean something. It
didn’t sit right with me that so many years could just waste away like water
down the drain. At some point I loved him enough to want to spend the rest of
my life with him,
enough to want to bear his children
. I
figured that should entitle him to at least a second chance. I washed his
laundry, folded his underwear,
and
played nice with his snobby
friends. I compromised and ended up with snot
-
colored paint on the walls. Aside from total
abandonment, things were mostly good.
Movie nights every once
in a while.
Going out to dinner on weeknights at really elegant
restaurants, even if we didn’t talk much. Reading books next to each other in
bed.
Receiving cards on Valentine’s Day.
My mind raced
with indecision. I didn’t want to be one of those delusional women who only
remembered the good times and miraculously got amnesia about the outnumbering
bad times. Those women always seemed so pathetic to me. I pitied them, staying
in horrible relationships so they wouldn’t have to be alone. Ignoring the
indiscretions and their own decreasing importance in the lives of their men to
avoid starting all over again.

As Brooke and I walked off our carbs, I worried that I’d become one
of the women I’d pitied. We said nothing for blocks, but she knew what I was
thinking. That’s the beauty in our
relationship,
she
could console me without ever having said a word. She knew I needed the silence
to clear my head.

“Stop thinking about him,” Brooke offered empathetically.

She spoke softly, but I heard it in her tone. It was barely
noticeable, but it was there. I’d been on the receiving end too many times not
to recognize it. Brooke would never intentionally hurt my feelings, and I knew
that. Still, I felt it all over again.

It was there freshman year in high school. Racine Lawrence was my
best friend when we both
tried out for cheerleading and only she’d
made the squad. “Maybe you can try out for the dance team or a sport, or
something. There’s got to be something,” she
had
said. It was there
,
as I stood deserted, whil
e
relentless stares weighed
me down.
Every last person, willing their faces to show
compassion, while they thanked the heaven and stars above that they weren’t in
my shoes.
It never was the words that
had
bothered me. Deep down, I knew they
felt sorry for me. Brooke
felt sorry for me.

When I turned to her, there it was square on her face.
That unintentional, diabolically deplorable look
.
The same one
I
had
given
many times over. Whether she knew or not, I couldn’t tell, but it was
unmistakably pity.

sixteen

By the
time I made it home to Vegas, all I really wanted to do was veg out on the bed
and do nothing. I la
y
there in the darkness, still deflated. Light and sound muted, only the
deafening reality of my thoughts. Brooke’s words hung in the air, “stop
thinking about him,” she’d said looking at me, feeling sorry for me. L
ying
in the bed, thinking
about Ethan and Myles’ intentions
was
pathetic. Wondering why he hadn’t called,
was
pitiful.
I couldn’t just l
ie
there and keep
regurgitating the past
,
it was ruining me
.
Something inside me was plead
ing
for me to do something. Anything. But, it had to be drastic. An urgency washed
over me, as if being inside a second longer would literally s
uffocate me
.

It still
wasn’t
clear what possessed me, but the next thing I knew, I was in the Cosmopolitan,
weaving through crowds of twenty
-
somethings
who’d
spontaneously combusted with sex and booze. At the foot of the stairs leading
to the second floor of the Chandelier Bar, Swarovski crystal curtains enveloped
a velvety heliotrope haven. Hues of
aubergine
and
teal
made
up most of the decadent décor. Viridian sofas lined the outskirts, though all
the seating was arranged for socializing. Just off the winding stairwell,
directly ahead
was
a
beautiful and formidable bar.

Off to the left, I found my place in a cushy cove. Everyone was
mingling, but I opted to enjoy the scenery from afar. Something about the way
people mix
ed
and mingle
d
amuse
d
me.
The constant effort
to uniquely conform.
That delicate balance between fitting in and
sticking out, similar to the way you can only tell the
m
aid of
h
onor in a wedding
was
more important because she w
ore
a different dress in the
same color or the same dress in a different color. Never diverging too far from
the rest. Deep down I wanted to join in and let my head fall back with laughter
at some moderately funny joke someone in the crowd told. Or, sip on a cocktail
with an outrageously suggestive name. All the magazine girls in their designer
mini dresses and stilettos seemed to make up most of the circles, but I never
did see myself fitting in. Knowing what to say would be the least of my worries
compared to how I’d be sizing myself up to them. So, as usual, I located the
quietest corner to crawl into and let my ears open and my mind wonder.

A scantily clad waitress immediately found me and took my drink
order. At first I thought about my old standby Midori Sour, but on such a
freeing festive occasion, I lied and told her it was my birthday and to
surprise
me
. She
sauntered away
,
and
again I was left with only my thoughts. A lifelong skill acquired over time,
the ability to feel alone in a roomful of people. The ebb and flow of the crowd
was comforting in the way that routine becomes.

If it weren’t for the deafening silence in my head, I might’ve missed
the low moans off to my left.
A kissing couple, inching their
way to intimacy.
His hand slid beneath her hemline. Her tongue
slid
just as slyly into his
ear. Looking around, no one appeared to notice but me. My temperature rose by
the minute, as if I’d intruded on something I wasn’t supposed to see. But my
eyes wouldn’t turn away. Where was that waitress with my drink
?

Repositioning
herself
to straddle him, my
eyes only bulged. It occurred to me that no one else cared because it was
normal. When I was younger, that sort of thing just didn’t happen in public. As
her dress gradually climbed her thighs, he slouched f
a
rther down. As it was strapless, he only
seemed more euphoric as her ample bosom dangled in his face. She writhed and
gyrated. Sighs of exhilarating pleasure. Only then did I begin to wonder if she
was wearing panties. Pulsing rhythmically atop him while their searching hands
played with each other, if it wasn’t sex, it was certainly sexual. Getting
hornier as I watched, I knew I needed to get back on the dating scene because
my rendezvous with Myles only awakened my dormant libido.

As her hand reached beneath her, utter shock overcame me. Along with
gaping eyes, my mouth crashed to the floor. There was no way no one else was
watching, I thought as I scanned the room only to lock eyes with a guy at the
end of the bar closest to me. He wasn’t hard on the eyes, which only made me
more self-conscious. There was no one remotely close to me, so I knew he was
looking at me. But it was his smile that took me aback. Immediately, I was
embarrassed. Had he seen me ogling the borderline porno? As if he heard me, he
turned to the couple, then back at me, still smiling. Before I knew it, he was
off his chair
and
walking
toward me. Unlike his calm cool demeanor with the prowl of a jungle cat, my
clammy, fidgety hands gave my nervousness away.

When he reached me, he didn’t take the seat adjacent to me right
away. He continued to stand until he had my permission. Normally I wouldn’t
have minded, but given the circumstance I was a little uneasy that he would
think I was a stalking voyeur despite their unabashed display.

He put his hand out for mine
.
“I’m Dante,” he introduced himself.

I told him my name and shook his hand, but my nerves did not find
solace in his courteous gesture. Still wondering what his intentions were after
seeing me eyeballing the couple, I could only politely smile and nod.

Light stubble trailed along his structured jaw shap
ed
into a clean goatee.
Though his hair was a disheveled mess, it suited his easygoing demeanor.
Something about him felt relaxed, like
he was
within his element reading a book at
the beach or tossing back a few
brewskies
at a bar
with friends. I figured he wanted to buy me a drink and shoot the breeze. Then
he hit me with, “Do you want to watch together?”

“I’m sorry…what?” I needed him to repeat that.

“If they’re bold enough to have sex in public, they must not object
to an audience
.
”
H
e smiled again and shrugged.

Maybe once or twice in my life had I watched porn, but never had I
seen anyone have sex in person. It was a bizarre idea to start with, but with a
stranger only made it that much more awkward. But I was brand new and my goal
for the day was to do something I had never done before.

“Got any popcorn?” I giggled lightheartedly.

We sat there silently, but our body language said a mouthful. On more
than one occasion
,
Dante adjusted his collar. After he doffed his blazer, his posture went from
completely erect to a weird contorted pretzel lean. My legs alternated from
crossed on the right to
crossed
on the left. Neither
was comfortable, so I ended up with crossed ankles. Then I developed some sort
of nervous twitch at the ankle as I flicked my shoe on and off. Meanwhile the
couple hadn’t even come up for air. When her dress had no more inches to go up
and made the flip above her behind, I nearly fell off the sofa. A glimpse of
her
G-string
positioned
to the side for easier access, answered my earlier question. Not that it made
much difference. After their rocking convulsions subsided, she attempted to
pull her dress back down. Her eyes opened as she stumbled to remove her mouth
and stand. As the haze
most
likely
began to clear her mind, she tried to walk
,
but
appeared to have
lost the sensation in her
legs. The guy reached for her and put her arm around his shoulder to hold her
up. A drunken half-smile covered her face, “What was your name again?” she
asked.

Dante and I laughed. By then, any ice left between us had broken, or
more accurately, melted. You don’t watch semi-porn with someone and then get
shy. We talked about everything under the sun. Apparently gut-wrenching breakups
were in the air because he’d just ended a seven
-
year
relationship the week prior and needed to
get out of his mope. He’d bought all new threads and a got a new haircut for
the occasion. In fact, the blazer still had the tag on it because he was debating
whether or not he wanted to return it. He hadn’t anticipated spending five
hundred dollars on one article of clothing. I was really enjoying myself. The
conversation just flowed between us. No awkward silences. A couple of times we
even finished each other’s sentences, which at the time, I thought meant
something in regards to compatibility.

I had such a good
time,
I gave considerable
thought to his invitation back to his room. My conscience wouldn’t let me go
through with it. Especially since I’d have been a total hypocrite after
condemning the
drunk
girl. All the same, I stood my
ground and we exchanged phone numbers with the promise that he’d call me the
next day. The entire ride home I was beaming with excitement, thinking about
talking to Dante the following day. Like a restless kid the day before school
start
ed
back, I was too
antsy. I felt rejuvenated and hopeful. There was something to look forward to.

Everything may have felt new again, but it was the same old game.
Me pacing and waiting on forever.
Dante never did call the
next day. I didn’t want to believe it, but he wasn’t different. He just wanted
sex, like Myles. It could’ve been worse if I’d slept with him. Still, I
couldn’t help wondering if I was ever going to find someone who was on the same
page with me
when it c
ame
to relationships. Hit it
and quit it, had never been my motto.

With the grand opening of The Sweet Tooth fast approaching the
following week, I’d all but forgotten to pick out an outfit. And while I’d been
gallivanting
to New
York and The Strip, my errand list hadn’t stopped to wait on my return. My list
seemed never-ending. Receipt paper for the cash register, a printer, merchant
bags, invoices, and
a
few
other odds and ends. I’d planned on heading to Fry’s down by Town Square
anyway. There were a few shops I knew would have something suitable for the
opening. Besides, there
weren’t
many more therapeutic things to do to soothe a bruised ego than shopping.

The high for the day was about
a
hundred
and
five
, and even though the air felt more like
a
blow dryer
to the
face than a summer breeze, I let the windows down on the drive over and turned
up the music. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much traffic either. At Fry’s things
were equally as smooth. One by one, I checked each item off my list. By the
time my bags were stowed neatly in my trunk, I figured I had enough time to
spare for a quick bite. California Pizza Kitchen was busy with the tourist
crowd, but
the heat easily
deterred them
, so I chose a cozy table for two nuzzled in a corner of the
patio. When the waiter arrived, I opted for the C
aesar
salad
focaccia
sandwich and iced tea. Sweat beads
formed on my forehead, but I didn’t even mind the dewy stickiness. My thoughts
drifted between the shop and men. The year hadn’t really even gotten into the
thi
ck
of
things and already, so much had happened.
Lena’s engagement,
the rise and fall of Myles, the whole new dating thing, and Ethan’s imminent
return.
Through all of it, I really hadn’t focused on what exactly I wanted.
I asked myself
if
I
want
ed
to be married
like Lena? What d
id
I
really know about Myles?
Or, Ethan for that matter?
Everything I thought of as stable and constant, hadn’t panned out.

I pulled out my journal and a pen and vented on paper. Minutes turned
to hours and my quick bite had taken the better part of three hours. The
waitress gave me the stink eye and I knew I’d worn out my welcome. Quickly, I
left enough money on the table to cover my bill and a generous tip, just in
case. As I shuffled out of the patio gate, I faintly heard my name and looked
over my shoulder. No one was there. The gate slammed so loudly, I almost didn’t
hear my name the second time it was called. Dead in my tracks, I stopped to
look around. A familiar voice came from Brio.

All the gall inside me wanted to smack him right across the face and
turn my back. But it was the opportunity I’d been waiting for.
The chance to show him this so-called new version of me.
That his selfish failure to call hadn’t fazed me in the least.
And so my acting began. “Myles?” Purposely with a question, as if I never sat
on edge with an
egg timer
,
awaiting his call and feeling sorry for myself. As if he wasn’t important
enough to waste storage in my memory bank.

“Yeah.
Laila
, how’ve you been?”

“Well!” I said a little bit too loudly and high-pitched to be
believable. “I’m doing great. How are you?”

“Everything is good. Busy as all
heck
trying
to book gigs, you know how that goes. Same old grind.” He hadn’t stopped
staring yet.