Sailor Moon Fan Fiction ❯ The Real Hedonist ❯ Break-up Blues ( Chapter 2 )
[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]
By: Louise Proell 
Anime/Manga: Sailor Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Comedy / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.23.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.3K | Visits: 142 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Sailor Moon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Comedy / Romance | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 08.23.2006 | Pages: 3 | Words: 5.3K | Visits: 142 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: No SM ownership for me. Maybe in another year or so. >.>
Comments all welcome.
The Real Hedonist
Chapter 2 - Break-up Blues
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The day didn't seem to progress very well. It was snowing outside, and everyone who came into the cafe had a bright red nose. The inside was warm, and busy.
"What a fucking asshole!" Ann fumed, sipping her Java Chip Frappucino. "I swear, why is that every guy I dedicate my time to is either a total commitment-phobic, has some disgusting quirk or doesn't like me? I mean, am I that ugly?" She paused dramatically, and sipped her drink reflectively.
"No, of course not!" came our chorus of denial. This is pretty much standard procedure when it comes to break-ups with our circle. The girl who's been dumped wallows in self-pity, pronounces that she's completely hideous and we merrily object. It's nice. And everyone knows that women complimenting women is what really matters. We're usually so bitchy towards each other that admitting that a girlfriend looks good is like a world affair. I know it's stuck-up, mean, ridiculous, and all, but hey, we're women, watching other women lose self-confidence is good for our ego. I know it's fucked up, but I just tell it like it is.
"Ann, don't fall for this. Honestly, just because he's stupid enough to leave you doesn't mean that you should think that it's your fault. We've been telling your for months that Mark's not serious. When he tells you that he wants something more, he's just going to run away. I'd think you'd have learned that, dating for so many years." Amy patted her short dark hair, and studied Ann. "And you being not good enough, or not pretty enough. Do you even hear yourself? Of course it's not your fault." Amy is the brainiac out of all of us. She has a PhD in biology and a Masters in World Affairs. She teaches at NYU, but she's kind of that cool professor you want to teach you, but you never get.
"Amy says it like it is, Ann," I said, smiling softly.
Raye stared at us, with a look of disgust. "Can you hear yourself? You shouldn't have to reassure her that she's beautiful. She shouldn't even have to worry about that! The way we see ourselves shouldn't depend on how men treat us. So he dumped you, that's not the end of the world, so stop your crying."
Ah, Raye. She's who we all strive to be. Frankly, she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. All she cares about is her own opinion. She's outspoken, very beautiful, with a cool job, and she's a total feminist.
See, I'm envied for my lack of attachment and emotion when it comes to having sex, and Raye is envied because she's, like, a poster girl for the kick-ass 21st-century woman. Then again, she can get away with it because she's unbelievably beautiful, and I can say so because it doesn't matter to Raye if I don't as she knows she's beautiful. Basically, she's self-confident because she's so beautiful, and she's so beautiful because she's so self-confident. It's a catch-22, too, but in a good way.
Whenever Raye enters a restaurant, every man's (and woman's) eyes swirl on her. I don't know how she does it, but she just commands attention. Maitre d's can't be fast enough in sitting her, waiters rush over with their menus toward her. One time we went to this popular restaurant with Raye and got seated, drinks in hand, in thirty seconds flat. I went there by myself a week later, and waited thirty minutes for an opening, and another fifteen to catch a waiter's eyes.
It was beyond embarrassing.
Ann raised her head and pursed her lips. "Yeah, you know what? You're right, Raye. Mark's totally missing out. If he didn't know that we had something good, then he can kiss my ass. Platonically, of course," she added slyly.
Light chuckes passed.
"Actually, you know what? He had such a tiny cock. It was this big." Ann demonstrated with her thumb and index finger. "And he couldn't even use it properly. I had to fake it so many times."
Now that she was starting to get over the bastard, out came the announcements of his meager ability in bed. It was standard, because while they were actually with their guys, all was fine and great, and they were orgasming at the drop of a hat with them, because saying that their boyfriends were anything less than perfect in bed would give them doubts about the relationship and what that would mean in the long-term plan.
Raye checked her expensive Gucci watch and drank the rest of her coffee. "I have to go. I have a meeting in thirty minutes. It was fun. Maybe we could do a movie tonight?"
"We could stay in and rent something," Amy said thoughtfull, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I love Amy, and she's way cool. And it's nice that she doesn't put the professor thing with us, because having an academia woman amid our ranks would really spoil our girl-fun. "How about something classic? Breakfast At Tiffany's?"
I stared at Ann, and she nodded her approval. "OK, we'll do that. How about I pick up the movie, and Amy can pick up some food? We'll meet up at my place at 8. Sounds good?"
"Perfect. Somebody better brind some booze," Tiffany said, sweeping out of the place. Several men turned their heads.
I continued sipping my cappuccino, already planning the video place I would stop off at. I paused mid-gulp when Ann started weeping.
"What's wrong, Ann?" Amy asked quickly. She shot me a questioning look, and I shrugged.
"Ohh, I know I shouldn't care, but I still love him so much," Ann sobbed, covering her red face.
Amy and I exchanged a long look. Now it was clear. Ann was just saying she was OK while Raye was here, because Raye would go off on another lecture about not needing a men to fulfill your life if Ann started mopping.
A woman shot Ann a half-curious, half-scolding look. I could see that coming back here wouldn't a good choice. Good thing there were so many other Starbuck's around.
"Look, you just need to forget about him. Get out there, have some fun." I raked my brain for some break-up wisdom, but came up shorthanded. "Ooh! I know. How about we double-date tomorrow night? I could find someone, and you'll forget about that prick Mark in a second!"
Amy was slowly shaking her head, in a way that Ann couldn't see.
"But I'm not ready to start dating," she sobbed quietly. She hugged her green jacket closer (which did not go at all with her red hair, I'm sad to say) and continued crying.
See, this is really why I don't get involved with men. Not matter how careful you are not to feel anything for them, they still manage to break your heart and stomp it a couple of times for good measure.
I leaned in closer, partly to make sure Ann heard me over her hiccuping sounds, and partly to avoid anyone seeing my embarassed face. "Well, you don't have to start dating. You can just go out, and see that there are other great guys out there, so you don't need to cling to Mark. He obviously didn't see how great you were." I laid my hand on hers in reassurance.
"Mina may be right. You can't wallow in self-pity, since he's obviously serious about breaking up. Plus, there are so many other men who would love to take you out. How about giving them a chance?" Amy said, her head nodding intelligently. Amy is the sort of person who eludes intelligence. She could be telling you how to tie your shoes, and still make it seem like some super-smart chemical engineering lecture. Her words seemed to break through to Ann, because she was no longer sobbing, and just sort of stared at us quietly. See, our goal was to make Ann get over Mark by making him seem uncaring and completely oblivious to that fact that she needed some sort of serious commitment/insurance in order to continue the relationship. But not enough to make Mark look like a total bastard, because then Ann would want to retaliate, which could get her into trouble.
I love Ann, but she's a bit off her rocket sometimes. It's just that regular laws doesn't seem to apply to her when she's seeking revenge. I tell you, she's a scary chick to have on your tail.
"Oh, all right, all right. I'll go on your stupid double-date. Stop staring at me like that."
Since the girl's night two days ago went so nicely, and Ann was completely willing to be set up, I was now dressing for the double-date.
I spent an hour getting ready. My hair was very long so it took some extra time to style it properly, but by now, I was a pro. Next I had to wax my legs, which I normally do at a spa, but there was no time and I had no desire to go out to the freezing outdoors. Bad enough that I'd have to make a hike to get to The Terrier, where we would be eating.
Kyle, my date and a very important guy at an advertising company, would be picking me up in a half an hour, which left me just enough time to put the finishing touches on my face and survey the results. Well, except for my lipstick, which I put on just before heading out the door.
Right before a date, or any social engagement that revolves around dinner, I usually have a light meal (well, maybe a thick chicken sandwich isn't light per se) so I don't appear to be a total pig at dinner, or, even worse, have my stomach grumbling loud enough for the couple on the block outside the restaurant to hear. Hell, we all do it, but no one's honest enough to admit it. Hmm, maybe if we all stopped worrying about how much we eat in front of other people and just went for it, it would be a lot easier. Except, you know, you don't really know the person that well for them to witness what a pig you are cuisine-wise.
And plus, the sandwich tasted great.
Before going over to the mirror and completing the make-up with a soft rosy color, I assessed my outfit. Yes, it was a bit too late to change it now if I didn't like it, but I did like it, and thus was staring at in a total state of lust/love. Someone once said that I should have gone into clothing instead of headhunting, which is funny, because I originally came out to New York City to be a fashion designer. OK, so not a very original idea, but I did love clothes, so I figured why not earn top money at one of the huge labels. Bad news: every other designer thought the exact same thing, so competition for the tiniest, shittiest little place was fierce. I was offered a decent job at a firm, and I quit fashion without looking bad. And really, good things did come out of it. I met Raye, who (although she hasn't yet reached the ranks of worldwide supermodel fame) is a very popular model, and I met Tipper, a very good, very trendy designer. No one knew why he was called Tipper (and he'd denied that it was a Tipper Gore reference).
Fortunately, my sense of fashion did not leave me, which was clearly displayed with the elegant yet suggestive suit I was wearing. Yes, it hadn't come cheaply, but in New York City, where everyone is cold to you and image is everything, this was about as right as it could be. Call it the uniform of Manhattan.
A sharp knock on the door startled me out of my reverie. I glanced at the clock, and made sure that there were no smudges on my face before calling out, "Coming!"
I opened the door and smiled at Kyle, who was about my height with light brown hair and medium built. We met at the Christmas party for my firm, where I apparently given him my phone number before getting completely and totally loaded. His call came while I was lounging on my sofa, still wearing my slinky dress, watching tv, and nursing my hangover.
"Hi, there," I said, beaming at him, when I opened the door. Kyle was wearing a very nice, black suit with polished black designer shoes. His hair was clean and without gel, I noted approvingly.
"Ready to go?" he asked, his eyes roaming over my body.
"Yep, let's go," I said, quickly grabbing my purse and coat, and locking the door. "Shall we?"
During the ride to the restaurant, we kept the conversation light and casual. He had graduated from Columbia and went into advertising at 24. It was recently that he was promoted to the executive position. I gave a brief outline of my job, keeping out the very boring details.
The taxi pulled up beside The Terrier, and we got out. Kyle paid the driver as I stood waiting. In another situation, I would have gotten all feminist and demand that he let me pay, but I forgot my cash. I hoped Kyle would be coming back with me, or else I'd have to walk home.
As we made way into the cool restaurant, I tried looking for Ann. Guilt surged when I realized that in midst of basking in the sexual potential of this date with Kyle, I totally forgot about her break-up and emotional distress. I inwardly breathed out a sigh of relief when I spotted her red-brown head of hair. This meant that she made it to the restaurant, and was not being arrested and jailed for either torching Mark's expensive apartment or another illegal activity that only Ann's mind would dream up.
As I caught her eye, I waved and motioned that we'll be right over. Kyle gave his name and we were being led to our table by a tired-looking waiter. As we approached, I noticed Ann's date--a friend of Kyle's--who was sort of good-looking in a very unconventional way. His hair was receding and his eyes were very round and prodding out of his head. He was thin to the point of being bony and was unsuccessfully clad in an expensive suit that sort of hung from his shoulders.
The man and Ann were eyeing each other suspiciously, neither able to throw caution to the wind and acquire that little glimmer of hope that maybe this person would be the one, and the long, exhausting search for a partner would finally be over.
The waiter pulled out my chair for me, and I sat down across Ann, with Kyle beside me. I did a little sweep of the restaurant, noting the people and decorations. There was a pleasant buzz of conversation, and I spotted a couple of famous faces.
"Hey, Pete. This is Mina. Mina, this is my good buddy, Pete," Kyle said, jerking his head in the direction of the weary man. "I'm Kyle," he added, glancing momentarily at Ann.
While looking like I was paying attention, I gave Ann a once-over. I couldn't see what she was wearing below her waist since the table obscured my view, but on her upper body was a very nice cashmere sweater in a deep purple shade. In her ears were a pair of elegant amerythst earings.
"Hi, Pete," I greeted obligatory. I never did like double-dates, especially with men I only just met. You never know if you'll hit it, and if you don't, it'll be twice as awkward. I shot Ann a shot, something along the lines of "Are you having fun?" She shrugged moodily.
"So, Pete, what do you do?" I asked a little nervously, as Kyle frowned at the tense silence.
Suddenly Pete's eyes glinted excitedly. "I'm a stock broker," he almost shouted. His face was flushed with pink, and I could see Ann roll her eyes out of the corner of my eye.
The thing is: I don't even know what a stock broker is. "Uh, and do you enjoy doing that?" I asked a little unnecessarily. Unfortunately, a little flick of dread shivered in my stomach. Oh, God, hopefully I haven't just set myself up to listening to Pete orgasming about his job for the next 30 minutes.
"Oh, you have no idea!" he gushed, his previous cold manner vanishing. "I know what people think, but it's the most fulfilling thing ever. Do you know that only yesterday..." and my mind tuned his voice out. It's awful, because I can't even control what I don't listen to. But if it's boring, or something I have no interest in, my mind just jumps in. I don't even know how I managed to graduate from high school.
I quickly glanced at Kyle and Ann, both of who are slumped over and looking like they might go into a coma any given second. I tried to stiffle a laugh, but ended up mading a weird choking noise.
"What's so funny?" Pete demanded, his eyes hardened.
"Nothing!" I moaned in agony. The last thing I need is for Pete to storm out of here, leaving Ann moping about. OK, OK, so I don't want her to mope purely out of selfish reasons, since then I wouldn't get any peace with Kyle.
Our table lapsed into an uncomfortable silence with Ann shooting me angry looks. When the waiter came to take our orders, we all rattled off names. As he disappeared behind the tables of rich, elegant people, I racked my brain for some topic. Anything, at this point, so that at least one of us would talk. But honestly, I was tired. Kyle had been silent so far, and Ann was being difficult. I was considering calling sick, and slinking off to my apartment to brood.
"So, are you seeing anyone special?" I blurted before thinking.
Pete's face darkened considerably. "Not anymore. I was with this woman for about a year, but then she started nagging me to move in and get engaged. I don't want any of that shit." He shook his head, as if disbeliving. "Damn women, can't even relax and give me some space. It's always not enough. Sometimes I think the only thing that would make them happy is if we're locked in a room for the rest of our lives, miserable," he said, sneering.
Ann's eyes narrowed as she listened. She stared at Pete with a furious expression. I could tell that something was going to go down.
"So you want to have a girlfriend, and spent a while dating her, but not actually move to anything? Do you think dicking girls around who are looking to settle down is justifiable? Maybe you should be upfront with them, so they know what a prick you are, and not waste their time on you. And maybe you should grow the hell up! I know that you men think you're God's gift to women, but that's probably because all the women you've dated have been blinded by the fact that you might be ready to settle down!" Ann's face was growing redder and redder. She was breathing heavily, and I could tell she was just seconds away from strangling Pete's neck.
Not that I could blame her. And it was sort of my fault that I brought her out to see this spectacle, but I didn't exactly know that the guy would be exactly like Mark. Why wasn't this working?
Pete began to laugh as both Ann and I recoiled. Kyle was just slumped there, staring on at this freak show.
"You know, why am I not surprised? That's all you women want, to trap some poor bastard and suck the life out of him. Right, well, I don't give a shit. I'm young and I'm out to have some fun, not marry some desparate chick and have a house full of screaming kids." Pete grinned maliciously at us.
"Now, Pete, come on. Don't you think you're being a little unfair?" Kyle asked.
"Pete, and I do this out of the kindness of my heart, don't fool yourself. I doubt any woman would want to have the kids of a mysogynic, smug bastard like you. All we want is for you men to show us that you're at least in it for the long haul. I don't want to spend a year and a half with a guy only to find out that we haven't moved from step one." Ann's eyes were getting misty, and her lips were trembling. I reached out to squeeze her hand but she moved away. "Excuse me, I have to go."
And before I could call after her, she rushed out of the room. Pete stared after her with an unreadable expression. Finally, he stood up and looked at Kyle. "I may as well go too. Enjoy your date." He left the room in dignified movements.
As both of them were gone, I noticed some people were glancing at us. How loud had Ann and Pete gotten in their argument? And why was I always being stared at whenever I'm out with Ann?
"I'm sorry about that," groaned Kyle, his head in his hands.
"It was hardly your fault," I said, reassuringly. Although I was a little put-off at Kyle's display of lack of balls, I wasn't ready to end this night on an abrupt note. My sister's son's birthday party was tomorrow and I needed someone to take my mind of things. And since it would be a bit unfair to call up Richard on short notice, Kyle seemed like my best bet.
"How about we head over to my place?" I asked in a what I perceived to be an inviting tone. I smiled seductively at Kyle, whose eyes had taken on an understanding glint.
He motioned for the waiter with a short, pointed gesture. "Sure. Let me handle the check."
It took several minutes for Kyle to sort everything out, and to explain the departure of both Ann and Pete, and how we were leaving, too. When the waiter got a little testy and difficult, Kyle agreed to pay for the meal. We grabbed our outerwear, and headed out the door, making the rookie mistake of not calling a taxi beforehand.
There's a sort of requirement I need all the men I go to bed with to have, I should tell you. And that is one date. After a date, sleeping with someone doesn't feel as sleazy as it would if it was just a guy off the street. Of course, there are exceptions:
1. Vacations don't count.
2. If I'm too horny to wait.
3. If I've slept with the guy before.
It took us about half of an hour to get back to my place. We shivered into my building, and could hardly keep our hands off of each other once the elevator doors shut. Kyle was kissing my neck when the doors sprang open, and we were faced with Mrs Wilker, an old, extremely self-righteous lady that lived on my floor. She was a widow, left with a sizeable will by her husband, and stuck her nose up at anyone she met. We had rode down the elevator several times, during which she ponted out that my shoes were NOT what ladies in her day wore, and implied that I looked like a whore.
"Really, Mina!" she exclaimed, her thinly pencilled eyebrows knotted together. "I don't expect to get in the middle of an intimate session when I wait for the elevator... Although I'm not surprised; after all, I haven't seen you do anything that implied you had anything like a decent reputation." Her sharp green eyes honed in on us, broken apart and panting.
She made her way past us as we tripped out of the elevator. And with a stony glance at us and the his of the doors, she was gone.
Kyle and I stood in the hallway, staring at the place with Mrs Wilker was ten seconds ago, both bewildered and put off of our sexual escapades by the old cow. Then, for a reason I didn't know, I started laughing, that kind of laughter where you double over and have to clutch your stomach in case it collapses. It wasn't long before Kyle joined me, and we stood there, practically howling, in the middle of a pretty sophisticated hallway, with wealthy people holed in their apartment, separated from us by thin walls.
"Come on, c'mo..." I hiccupped, after a calmed down a little. Behaving spontaneously and recklessly was fun, but knowing the kind of tight-asses that lived here, we're have the cops on our hands for a disturbance if we didn't stop.
I grabbed his hand and led him to my door, frantically searching for my keys. Once we were inside, we resumed kissed until I felt his hand snake around my waist, squeezing and kneeding. "Mmm," came his groan of approval.
I shut the door with my heel and stumbled into my apartment, grabbing at each other like beasts. After several minutes, when his impatience was blatantly obvious, I untangled myself and started taking off my clothes. I know that having Kyle rip them off of me would be much more sexier and along the program of the evening, but I didn't exactly pick this outfit up for free. So unbuttoned my top, and kicked off my heels.
I looked up to see Kyle staring hungrily at my exposed flesh.
"Undo your hair," he whispered, huskily.
I complied, letting it fall against my back. Kyle was breathing heavily, knotting his hand around my blonde locks. Actually, I should mention natural blonde locks. By some miracle of nature, I ended up with naturally silky blonde hair. Honestly, it just stays looking so smooth and shiny without my ever needing to get it done at the hairdressers. Every woman at work envies it--hey, I'm allowed to be smug about this, though!
Kyle cupped my chin, and was staring into my eyes intently. "God, it's so nice to see a full-figured woman. I'm so damn tired to have all those bones poking out at me." He was smiling, and I was smiling back at him until the words registered. What...is he calling me fat?!
"Uhh, what?" I mumbled unintelligibly.
"Well, I mean that you're not some starved, size-0 stick. You've got that healthy weight, which is incredibly sexy," he said, going in for a kiss. I just stood there, gapping, unsure how to react. "Mmm," he moaned again. "I forgot how great it is to be with a big woman."
That had me frozen in the spot.
"Big woman?!" I exclaimed, feeling wounded.
Since when have I become a big woman? What is happening, I thought, bewildered, as my world came crashing around me. BIG?! But...but I was only a size 8.
Kyle must have gotten the idea as I stood there, gapping at him, confused and hurt. "Oh." His face contorted into a weird look. "I didn't mean it like that."
Suddenly, I felt tired. Lonely. Vulnerable. And very stupid, standing in my bra and skirt. All my boastings about nice hair felt like a lie, as I stood half-naked in front of a man who had called me fat.
"I think you should go," I said quietly, edging toward the door. I needed to be alone, and I could not stomach anyone seeing me at my worst.
When Kyle started protesting, I feld the door open and waited until he filed out. "I'll call you," he said as he headed out, leaving me miserable. I closed the door, and faced the empty apartment. Now that I was alone inside, I wanted to be with someone, because this really gutted me, and I had that birthday to go to tomorrow.
For the first time in several years, I felt very depressed. I sank down on the sofa and closed my eyes. It was like that time when I first came to New York City, not knowing anyone, without any friends, and living in a tiny, shitty apartment. But I didn't give up, even after every fashion house that I applied to had turned me down, and look where I am today. I have great friends, live in a very cool apartment building, and hold an important job. But now that seems trivial, because now I discover that everyone thinks I'm fat behind my back.
All these years I have thought I had it all: money, friends, glamorous life, looks. I bought all those cool suits and sexy skirts, and paraded all around town, thinking that I obviously looked good. But I hadn't, not really, because what I thought was good wasn't what everyone else thought. And even though I maybe have looked good, by another city's standards, in NYC, I was more than a size 0, so therefore I had to be regarded as an obese fatbag.
And all those men I thought were falling over themselves to sleep with me--were they all looking for a "big woman" too, but just didn't tell me?
I almost wanted to cry, because I hadn't been so uncertain in a long time. Is it just me being insecure, or do people really see me as fat? Do those men want me for me, or because I wasn't model-skinny? Do I go on without paying attention to what Kyle said, or do I agonize over it, because he only told the truth?
What? What?
That night, I went to bed alone, cold, and for the first time in my life, scared.
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Woo! Done another. Review, and tell me what you think!
Comments all welcome.
The Real Hedonist
Chapter 2 - Break-up Blues
------------------------------------------------------------------
The day didn't seem to progress very well. It was snowing outside, and everyone who came into the cafe had a bright red nose. The inside was warm, and busy.
"What a fucking asshole!" Ann fumed, sipping her Java Chip Frappucino. "I swear, why is that every guy I dedicate my time to is either a total commitment-phobic, has some disgusting quirk or doesn't like me? I mean, am I that ugly?" She paused dramatically, and sipped her drink reflectively.
"No, of course not!" came our chorus of denial. This is pretty much standard procedure when it comes to break-ups with our circle. The girl who's been dumped wallows in self-pity, pronounces that she's completely hideous and we merrily object. It's nice. And everyone knows that women complimenting women is what really matters. We're usually so bitchy towards each other that admitting that a girlfriend looks good is like a world affair. I know it's stuck-up, mean, ridiculous, and all, but hey, we're women, watching other women lose self-confidence is good for our ego. I know it's fucked up, but I just tell it like it is.
"Ann, don't fall for this. Honestly, just because he's stupid enough to leave you doesn't mean that you should think that it's your fault. We've been telling your for months that Mark's not serious. When he tells you that he wants something more, he's just going to run away. I'd think you'd have learned that, dating for so many years." Amy patted her short dark hair, and studied Ann. "And you being not good enough, or not pretty enough. Do you even hear yourself? Of course it's not your fault." Amy is the brainiac out of all of us. She has a PhD in biology and a Masters in World Affairs. She teaches at NYU, but she's kind of that cool professor you want to teach you, but you never get.
"Amy says it like it is, Ann," I said, smiling softly.
Raye stared at us, with a look of disgust. "Can you hear yourself? You shouldn't have to reassure her that she's beautiful. She shouldn't even have to worry about that! The way we see ourselves shouldn't depend on how men treat us. So he dumped you, that's not the end of the world, so stop your crying."
Ah, Raye. She's who we all strive to be. Frankly, she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. All she cares about is her own opinion. She's outspoken, very beautiful, with a cool job, and she's a total feminist.
See, I'm envied for my lack of attachment and emotion when it comes to having sex, and Raye is envied because she's, like, a poster girl for the kick-ass 21st-century woman. Then again, she can get away with it because she's unbelievably beautiful, and I can say so because it doesn't matter to Raye if I don't as she knows she's beautiful. Basically, she's self-confident because she's so beautiful, and she's so beautiful because she's so self-confident. It's a catch-22, too, but in a good way.
Whenever Raye enters a restaurant, every man's (and woman's) eyes swirl on her. I don't know how she does it, but she just commands attention. Maitre d's can't be fast enough in sitting her, waiters rush over with their menus toward her. One time we went to this popular restaurant with Raye and got seated, drinks in hand, in thirty seconds flat. I went there by myself a week later, and waited thirty minutes for an opening, and another fifteen to catch a waiter's eyes.
It was beyond embarrassing.
Ann raised her head and pursed her lips. "Yeah, you know what? You're right, Raye. Mark's totally missing out. If he didn't know that we had something good, then he can kiss my ass. Platonically, of course," she added slyly.
Light chuckes passed.
"Actually, you know what? He had such a tiny cock. It was this big." Ann demonstrated with her thumb and index finger. "And he couldn't even use it properly. I had to fake it so many times."
Now that she was starting to get over the bastard, out came the announcements of his meager ability in bed. It was standard, because while they were actually with their guys, all was fine and great, and they were orgasming at the drop of a hat with them, because saying that their boyfriends were anything less than perfect in bed would give them doubts about the relationship and what that would mean in the long-term plan.
Raye checked her expensive Gucci watch and drank the rest of her coffee. "I have to go. I have a meeting in thirty minutes. It was fun. Maybe we could do a movie tonight?"
"We could stay in and rent something," Amy said thoughtfull, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I love Amy, and she's way cool. And it's nice that she doesn't put the professor thing with us, because having an academia woman amid our ranks would really spoil our girl-fun. "How about something classic? Breakfast At Tiffany's?"
I stared at Ann, and she nodded her approval. "OK, we'll do that. How about I pick up the movie, and Amy can pick up some food? We'll meet up at my place at 8. Sounds good?"
"Perfect. Somebody better brind some booze," Tiffany said, sweeping out of the place. Several men turned their heads.
I continued sipping my cappuccino, already planning the video place I would stop off at. I paused mid-gulp when Ann started weeping.
"What's wrong, Ann?" Amy asked quickly. She shot me a questioning look, and I shrugged.
"Ohh, I know I shouldn't care, but I still love him so much," Ann sobbed, covering her red face.
Amy and I exchanged a long look. Now it was clear. Ann was just saying she was OK while Raye was here, because Raye would go off on another lecture about not needing a men to fulfill your life if Ann started mopping.
A woman shot Ann a half-curious, half-scolding look. I could see that coming back here wouldn't a good choice. Good thing there were so many other Starbuck's around.
"Look, you just need to forget about him. Get out there, have some fun." I raked my brain for some break-up wisdom, but came up shorthanded. "Ooh! I know. How about we double-date tomorrow night? I could find someone, and you'll forget about that prick Mark in a second!"
Amy was slowly shaking her head, in a way that Ann couldn't see.
"But I'm not ready to start dating," she sobbed quietly. She hugged her green jacket closer (which did not go at all with her red hair, I'm sad to say) and continued crying.
See, this is really why I don't get involved with men. Not matter how careful you are not to feel anything for them, they still manage to break your heart and stomp it a couple of times for good measure.
I leaned in closer, partly to make sure Ann heard me over her hiccuping sounds, and partly to avoid anyone seeing my embarassed face. "Well, you don't have to start dating. You can just go out, and see that there are other great guys out there, so you don't need to cling to Mark. He obviously didn't see how great you were." I laid my hand on hers in reassurance.
"Mina may be right. You can't wallow in self-pity, since he's obviously serious about breaking up. Plus, there are so many other men who would love to take you out. How about giving them a chance?" Amy said, her head nodding intelligently. Amy is the sort of person who eludes intelligence. She could be telling you how to tie your shoes, and still make it seem like some super-smart chemical engineering lecture. Her words seemed to break through to Ann, because she was no longer sobbing, and just sort of stared at us quietly. See, our goal was to make Ann get over Mark by making him seem uncaring and completely oblivious to that fact that she needed some sort of serious commitment/insurance in order to continue the relationship. But not enough to make Mark look like a total bastard, because then Ann would want to retaliate, which could get her into trouble.
I love Ann, but she's a bit off her rocket sometimes. It's just that regular laws doesn't seem to apply to her when she's seeking revenge. I tell you, she's a scary chick to have on your tail.
"Oh, all right, all right. I'll go on your stupid double-date. Stop staring at me like that."
Since the girl's night two days ago went so nicely, and Ann was completely willing to be set up, I was now dressing for the double-date.
I spent an hour getting ready. My hair was very long so it took some extra time to style it properly, but by now, I was a pro. Next I had to wax my legs, which I normally do at a spa, but there was no time and I had no desire to go out to the freezing outdoors. Bad enough that I'd have to make a hike to get to The Terrier, where we would be eating.
Kyle, my date and a very important guy at an advertising company, would be picking me up in a half an hour, which left me just enough time to put the finishing touches on my face and survey the results. Well, except for my lipstick, which I put on just before heading out the door.
Right before a date, or any social engagement that revolves around dinner, I usually have a light meal (well, maybe a thick chicken sandwich isn't light per se) so I don't appear to be a total pig at dinner, or, even worse, have my stomach grumbling loud enough for the couple on the block outside the restaurant to hear. Hell, we all do it, but no one's honest enough to admit it. Hmm, maybe if we all stopped worrying about how much we eat in front of other people and just went for it, it would be a lot easier. Except, you know, you don't really know the person that well for them to witness what a pig you are cuisine-wise.
And plus, the sandwich tasted great.
Before going over to the mirror and completing the make-up with a soft rosy color, I assessed my outfit. Yes, it was a bit too late to change it now if I didn't like it, but I did like it, and thus was staring at in a total state of lust/love. Someone once said that I should have gone into clothing instead of headhunting, which is funny, because I originally came out to New York City to be a fashion designer. OK, so not a very original idea, but I did love clothes, so I figured why not earn top money at one of the huge labels. Bad news: every other designer thought the exact same thing, so competition for the tiniest, shittiest little place was fierce. I was offered a decent job at a firm, and I quit fashion without looking bad. And really, good things did come out of it. I met Raye, who (although she hasn't yet reached the ranks of worldwide supermodel fame) is a very popular model, and I met Tipper, a very good, very trendy designer. No one knew why he was called Tipper (and he'd denied that it was a Tipper Gore reference).
Fortunately, my sense of fashion did not leave me, which was clearly displayed with the elegant yet suggestive suit I was wearing. Yes, it hadn't come cheaply, but in New York City, where everyone is cold to you and image is everything, this was about as right as it could be. Call it the uniform of Manhattan.
A sharp knock on the door startled me out of my reverie. I glanced at the clock, and made sure that there were no smudges on my face before calling out, "Coming!"
I opened the door and smiled at Kyle, who was about my height with light brown hair and medium built. We met at the Christmas party for my firm, where I apparently given him my phone number before getting completely and totally loaded. His call came while I was lounging on my sofa, still wearing my slinky dress, watching tv, and nursing my hangover.
"Hi, there," I said, beaming at him, when I opened the door. Kyle was wearing a very nice, black suit with polished black designer shoes. His hair was clean and without gel, I noted approvingly.
"Ready to go?" he asked, his eyes roaming over my body.
"Yep, let's go," I said, quickly grabbing my purse and coat, and locking the door. "Shall we?"
During the ride to the restaurant, we kept the conversation light and casual. He had graduated from Columbia and went into advertising at 24. It was recently that he was promoted to the executive position. I gave a brief outline of my job, keeping out the very boring details.
The taxi pulled up beside The Terrier, and we got out. Kyle paid the driver as I stood waiting. In another situation, I would have gotten all feminist and demand that he let me pay, but I forgot my cash. I hoped Kyle would be coming back with me, or else I'd have to walk home.
As we made way into the cool restaurant, I tried looking for Ann. Guilt surged when I realized that in midst of basking in the sexual potential of this date with Kyle, I totally forgot about her break-up and emotional distress. I inwardly breathed out a sigh of relief when I spotted her red-brown head of hair. This meant that she made it to the restaurant, and was not being arrested and jailed for either torching Mark's expensive apartment or another illegal activity that only Ann's mind would dream up.
As I caught her eye, I waved and motioned that we'll be right over. Kyle gave his name and we were being led to our table by a tired-looking waiter. As we approached, I noticed Ann's date--a friend of Kyle's--who was sort of good-looking in a very unconventional way. His hair was receding and his eyes were very round and prodding out of his head. He was thin to the point of being bony and was unsuccessfully clad in an expensive suit that sort of hung from his shoulders.
The man and Ann were eyeing each other suspiciously, neither able to throw caution to the wind and acquire that little glimmer of hope that maybe this person would be the one, and the long, exhausting search for a partner would finally be over.
The waiter pulled out my chair for me, and I sat down across Ann, with Kyle beside me. I did a little sweep of the restaurant, noting the people and decorations. There was a pleasant buzz of conversation, and I spotted a couple of famous faces.
"Hey, Pete. This is Mina. Mina, this is my good buddy, Pete," Kyle said, jerking his head in the direction of the weary man. "I'm Kyle," he added, glancing momentarily at Ann.
While looking like I was paying attention, I gave Ann a once-over. I couldn't see what she was wearing below her waist since the table obscured my view, but on her upper body was a very nice cashmere sweater in a deep purple shade. In her ears were a pair of elegant amerythst earings.
"Hi, Pete," I greeted obligatory. I never did like double-dates, especially with men I only just met. You never know if you'll hit it, and if you don't, it'll be twice as awkward. I shot Ann a shot, something along the lines of "Are you having fun?" She shrugged moodily.
"So, Pete, what do you do?" I asked a little nervously, as Kyle frowned at the tense silence.
Suddenly Pete's eyes glinted excitedly. "I'm a stock broker," he almost shouted. His face was flushed with pink, and I could see Ann roll her eyes out of the corner of my eye.
The thing is: I don't even know what a stock broker is. "Uh, and do you enjoy doing that?" I asked a little unnecessarily. Unfortunately, a little flick of dread shivered in my stomach. Oh, God, hopefully I haven't just set myself up to listening to Pete orgasming about his job for the next 30 minutes.
"Oh, you have no idea!" he gushed, his previous cold manner vanishing. "I know what people think, but it's the most fulfilling thing ever. Do you know that only yesterday..." and my mind tuned his voice out. It's awful, because I can't even control what I don't listen to. But if it's boring, or something I have no interest in, my mind just jumps in. I don't even know how I managed to graduate from high school.
I quickly glanced at Kyle and Ann, both of who are slumped over and looking like they might go into a coma any given second. I tried to stiffle a laugh, but ended up mading a weird choking noise.
"What's so funny?" Pete demanded, his eyes hardened.
"Nothing!" I moaned in agony. The last thing I need is for Pete to storm out of here, leaving Ann moping about. OK, OK, so I don't want her to mope purely out of selfish reasons, since then I wouldn't get any peace with Kyle.
Our table lapsed into an uncomfortable silence with Ann shooting me angry looks. When the waiter came to take our orders, we all rattled off names. As he disappeared behind the tables of rich, elegant people, I racked my brain for some topic. Anything, at this point, so that at least one of us would talk. But honestly, I was tired. Kyle had been silent so far, and Ann was being difficult. I was considering calling sick, and slinking off to my apartment to brood.
"So, are you seeing anyone special?" I blurted before thinking.
Pete's face darkened considerably. "Not anymore. I was with this woman for about a year, but then she started nagging me to move in and get engaged. I don't want any of that shit." He shook his head, as if disbeliving. "Damn women, can't even relax and give me some space. It's always not enough. Sometimes I think the only thing that would make them happy is if we're locked in a room for the rest of our lives, miserable," he said, sneering.
Ann's eyes narrowed as she listened. She stared at Pete with a furious expression. I could tell that something was going to go down.
"So you want to have a girlfriend, and spent a while dating her, but not actually move to anything? Do you think dicking girls around who are looking to settle down is justifiable? Maybe you should be upfront with them, so they know what a prick you are, and not waste their time on you. And maybe you should grow the hell up! I know that you men think you're God's gift to women, but that's probably because all the women you've dated have been blinded by the fact that you might be ready to settle down!" Ann's face was growing redder and redder. She was breathing heavily, and I could tell she was just seconds away from strangling Pete's neck.
Not that I could blame her. And it was sort of my fault that I brought her out to see this spectacle, but I didn't exactly know that the guy would be exactly like Mark. Why wasn't this working?
Pete began to laugh as both Ann and I recoiled. Kyle was just slumped there, staring on at this freak show.
"You know, why am I not surprised? That's all you women want, to trap some poor bastard and suck the life out of him. Right, well, I don't give a shit. I'm young and I'm out to have some fun, not marry some desparate chick and have a house full of screaming kids." Pete grinned maliciously at us.
"Now, Pete, come on. Don't you think you're being a little unfair?" Kyle asked.
"Pete, and I do this out of the kindness of my heart, don't fool yourself. I doubt any woman would want to have the kids of a mysogynic, smug bastard like you. All we want is for you men to show us that you're at least in it for the long haul. I don't want to spend a year and a half with a guy only to find out that we haven't moved from step one." Ann's eyes were getting misty, and her lips were trembling. I reached out to squeeze her hand but she moved away. "Excuse me, I have to go."
And before I could call after her, she rushed out of the room. Pete stared after her with an unreadable expression. Finally, he stood up and looked at Kyle. "I may as well go too. Enjoy your date." He left the room in dignified movements.
As both of them were gone, I noticed some people were glancing at us. How loud had Ann and Pete gotten in their argument? And why was I always being stared at whenever I'm out with Ann?
"I'm sorry about that," groaned Kyle, his head in his hands.
"It was hardly your fault," I said, reassuringly. Although I was a little put-off at Kyle's display of lack of balls, I wasn't ready to end this night on an abrupt note. My sister's son's birthday party was tomorrow and I needed someone to take my mind of things. And since it would be a bit unfair to call up Richard on short notice, Kyle seemed like my best bet.
"How about we head over to my place?" I asked in a what I perceived to be an inviting tone. I smiled seductively at Kyle, whose eyes had taken on an understanding glint.
He motioned for the waiter with a short, pointed gesture. "Sure. Let me handle the check."
It took several minutes for Kyle to sort everything out, and to explain the departure of both Ann and Pete, and how we were leaving, too. When the waiter got a little testy and difficult, Kyle agreed to pay for the meal. We grabbed our outerwear, and headed out the door, making the rookie mistake of not calling a taxi beforehand.
There's a sort of requirement I need all the men I go to bed with to have, I should tell you. And that is one date. After a date, sleeping with someone doesn't feel as sleazy as it would if it was just a guy off the street. Of course, there are exceptions:
1. Vacations don't count.
2. If I'm too horny to wait.
3. If I've slept with the guy before.
It took us about half of an hour to get back to my place. We shivered into my building, and could hardly keep our hands off of each other once the elevator doors shut. Kyle was kissing my neck when the doors sprang open, and we were faced with Mrs Wilker, an old, extremely self-righteous lady that lived on my floor. She was a widow, left with a sizeable will by her husband, and stuck her nose up at anyone she met. We had rode down the elevator several times, during which she ponted out that my shoes were NOT what ladies in her day wore, and implied that I looked like a whore.
"Really, Mina!" she exclaimed, her thinly pencilled eyebrows knotted together. "I don't expect to get in the middle of an intimate session when I wait for the elevator... Although I'm not surprised; after all, I haven't seen you do anything that implied you had anything like a decent reputation." Her sharp green eyes honed in on us, broken apart and panting.
She made her way past us as we tripped out of the elevator. And with a stony glance at us and the his of the doors, she was gone.
Kyle and I stood in the hallway, staring at the place with Mrs Wilker was ten seconds ago, both bewildered and put off of our sexual escapades by the old cow. Then, for a reason I didn't know, I started laughing, that kind of laughter where you double over and have to clutch your stomach in case it collapses. It wasn't long before Kyle joined me, and we stood there, practically howling, in the middle of a pretty sophisticated hallway, with wealthy people holed in their apartment, separated from us by thin walls.
"Come on, c'mo..." I hiccupped, after a calmed down a little. Behaving spontaneously and recklessly was fun, but knowing the kind of tight-asses that lived here, we're have the cops on our hands for a disturbance if we didn't stop.
I grabbed his hand and led him to my door, frantically searching for my keys. Once we were inside, we resumed kissed until I felt his hand snake around my waist, squeezing and kneeding. "Mmm," came his groan of approval.
I shut the door with my heel and stumbled into my apartment, grabbing at each other like beasts. After several minutes, when his impatience was blatantly obvious, I untangled myself and started taking off my clothes. I know that having Kyle rip them off of me would be much more sexier and along the program of the evening, but I didn't exactly pick this outfit up for free. So unbuttoned my top, and kicked off my heels.
I looked up to see Kyle staring hungrily at my exposed flesh.
"Undo your hair," he whispered, huskily.
I complied, letting it fall against my back. Kyle was breathing heavily, knotting his hand around my blonde locks. Actually, I should mention natural blonde locks. By some miracle of nature, I ended up with naturally silky blonde hair. Honestly, it just stays looking so smooth and shiny without my ever needing to get it done at the hairdressers. Every woman at work envies it--hey, I'm allowed to be smug about this, though!
Kyle cupped my chin, and was staring into my eyes intently. "God, it's so nice to see a full-figured woman. I'm so damn tired to have all those bones poking out at me." He was smiling, and I was smiling back at him until the words registered. What...is he calling me fat?!
"Uhh, what?" I mumbled unintelligibly.
"Well, I mean that you're not some starved, size-0 stick. You've got that healthy weight, which is incredibly sexy," he said, going in for a kiss. I just stood there, gapping, unsure how to react. "Mmm," he moaned again. "I forgot how great it is to be with a big woman."
That had me frozen in the spot.
"Big woman?!" I exclaimed, feeling wounded.
Since when have I become a big woman? What is happening, I thought, bewildered, as my world came crashing around me. BIG?! But...but I was only a size 8.
Kyle must have gotten the idea as I stood there, gapping at him, confused and hurt. "Oh." His face contorted into a weird look. "I didn't mean it like that."
Suddenly, I felt tired. Lonely. Vulnerable. And very stupid, standing in my bra and skirt. All my boastings about nice hair felt like a lie, as I stood half-naked in front of a man who had called me fat.
"I think you should go," I said quietly, edging toward the door. I needed to be alone, and I could not stomach anyone seeing me at my worst.
When Kyle started protesting, I feld the door open and waited until he filed out. "I'll call you," he said as he headed out, leaving me miserable. I closed the door, and faced the empty apartment. Now that I was alone inside, I wanted to be with someone, because this really gutted me, and I had that birthday to go to tomorrow.
For the first time in several years, I felt very depressed. I sank down on the sofa and closed my eyes. It was like that time when I first came to New York City, not knowing anyone, without any friends, and living in a tiny, shitty apartment. But I didn't give up, even after every fashion house that I applied to had turned me down, and look where I am today. I have great friends, live in a very cool apartment building, and hold an important job. But now that seems trivial, because now I discover that everyone thinks I'm fat behind my back.
All these years I have thought I had it all: money, friends, glamorous life, looks. I bought all those cool suits and sexy skirts, and paraded all around town, thinking that I obviously looked good. But I hadn't, not really, because what I thought was good wasn't what everyone else thought. And even though I maybe have looked good, by another city's standards, in NYC, I was more than a size 0, so therefore I had to be regarded as an obese fatbag.
And all those men I thought were falling over themselves to sleep with me--were they all looking for a "big woman" too, but just didn't tell me?
I almost wanted to cry, because I hadn't been so uncertain in a long time. Is it just me being insecure, or do people really see me as fat? Do those men want me for me, or because I wasn't model-skinny? Do I go on without paying attention to what Kyle said, or do I agonize over it, because he only told the truth?
What? What?
That night, I went to bed alone, cold, and for the first time in my life, scared.
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Woo! Done another. Review, and tell me what you think!