Staying True - A Contemporary Romance Novel (2 page)

I would seek adventure. I would run
from routine. I would charge towards change. I would blossom under the glow of
fun. I would breathe energy into this life.

I understood that freedom could never
be captured. I couldn’t run up to freedom, grab it and constrain it. I had to
go with the flow of it. I had to be willing to view the world from a different
perspective, like from the inside of a raindrop hanging on the tip of a leaf.
Life’s surprises happened in places like this, places where no one else had
thought to venture.

* *

I arrived at my grampa’s apartment at
dinnertime. He spooned chicken noodle soup into a bowl. I walked up to him and
kissed his cheek. “Smells heavenly.”

“You know back when you were a little
girl, I used to cook this for you, and you used to hate it.”

I grabbed a bowl from his cupboard.
“I’d love some now, though.”

He handed me his bowl, and I sat down
with it at the kitchen table. He joined me a moment later. “So to what do I owe
the pleasure?”

I would ease into the real reason
behind this visit soon enough. “I just wanted to catch up.”

He slurped some soup, wiped his mouth
with a napkin, and squinted. “Well, I’m stuck on my latest story. But, it’ll
come to me.” He bit into a peanut butter cracker. “I’ve been watching
television instead.”

He looked so feeble, so bored with
his present life. This apartment swiped away his humor, his agility, his smile,
at times. The oldness of the place had settled into his bones and stole his
active spirit.

“Do you remember when we used to
watch
The Price is Right
together?” I asked.

His eyes brightened.

“And
Wheel of Fortune
?” I
asked.

“Yes, and
Wheel of Fortune,
”
he said.

Some soup dribbled down his chin. I
wiped it.

“I used to love that old console television.
It took up the entire living room.”

The color returned to his cheeks.
“Yes it did, dear.”

We ate our soup reminiscing about the
days at our old house, the bed and breakfast called The Rafters. By the time we
finished, he sat back and drew a relaxed sigh, one that sparked some life.

“Grampa,” I said, reaching out for
his hand. “I need to ask you a favor.”

“Anything, dear.”

I bowed my head and squeezed his
hand. “Can I borrow some money?”

He braced his hands on the table and
lifted himself off with a groan. He shuffled over to his cabinet and took out a
coffee container. “Just one of the several places I keep some loose cash,” he
said. He shuffled back to me and handed me the container. “You take what you
need.”

I reached into it and took three hundred
dollars.

“I’ll pay you back.”

“I taught you well,” he said cradling
my shoulder. “I’m not worried.”

* *

For my first order of business, I
purchased a portable massage chair with the money I borrowed. Then, I drove
around to office parks asking to speak with human resource managers about the
benefits of ten-minute massages. They met me with a polite ambivalence, leading
to a string of excuses of why they would have to pass.

I lasted two weeks on the streets
before agreeing to meet up with Rachel and Marcy again at the Gateway Suites
Lounge. “They have the best happy hour specials here,” Marcy said, stuffing a
chicken wing in her mouth.

“I’m in trouble,” I admitted. “In
deep trouble.” I toyed with the candle on the table, waving my finger over the
flame, teasing it to grow taller.

“You’re going to end up ruining your
supple skin if you keep frowning like that,” Marcy said, warning me with a
pointed finger.

Rachel put down her beer. “If it’s
any consolation, the girl they hired to replace you sucks. I had her massage my
back. A two year old could’ve done better.”

Our waitress popped over to our table
and cleared our pile of plates. Her exquisite makeup and willowy top softened
her masculine features. Her dark hair shot out in all these spastic directions
like she’d just gelled up her hair and stepped in front of a high-powered fan.
Her makeup accentuated her sharp cheekbones and strong jaw, reminding me of a
pretty mannequin in the window of Neiman Marcus. “You girls want another
round?” Her voice carried a low tone.

“I’m good,” I said.

“We’ll all take one more,” Rachel
said. “My treat.”

The three of us drank two more drinks
a piece that night, and my head buzzed. I scanned the room. “You know, look at
all of these stressed-out people in here. I bet I could rake in quite a bit of
money with ten-minute massages.”

“You could set up your portable chair
right over there in the corner, near the chicken wings and nachos. People could
not miss you,” Marcy said.

“I’m serious. Look at that table.” I
tilted toward a group of three men in deep debate. “I could waltz up to them,
squeeze into their conversation with a smile, and challenge one of them to say
no to my hands.”

The three men bantered, each of their
voices wrestling to be heard over the other’s.

“I’ll give you twenty bucks,” Rachel
said.

I zeroed in on the shortest of the
three men. I stood. Then, a tall, striking woman, with hair the color of milk
chocolate and legs that traveled on forever beneath her business suit, brushed
past us.

She charged over to the bar and
ordered a drink. Our waitress grabbed a glass and poured her a shot. The
business suit lady gulped it back and exhaled. She dropped her face in her
hands before lifting and drawing another exaggerated breath. Our waitress
delivered her another shot, and she gulped that one back in another toss.

I could work magic with her.

“Ladies, a new client just walked
in.” I straightened my t-shirt and plopped a mint into my mouth. I studied her
like a leopard on the prowl. “Watch and learn.”

I scaled over the floor, mesmerized
by my new challenge and soaring on the confidence of my wonderful buzz. As I
approached, she asked our waitress, “Shawna, can I get another one of these,
please?”

Shawna nodded and poured her another.
She downed it, wiped her mouth with her fingers and pointed her tiger eyes at
me.

I eyed the empty barstool next to
her. “Mind if I have a seat?” I asked.

She cocked her head, and a few layers
of her soft hair bounced on her shoulder. “Fine with me. I’ll be leaving in a
moment anyway.” She flagged down Shawna again, with a snap of her fingers. “Can
I get my total?”

Shawna nodded and headed to the
register.

“Bad day?” I asked.

She swept her eyes clear past me. “I
don’t feel much like chatting right now.”

“You look like you could stand to
punch something.”

She watched Shawna calculate her
check. “I could stand to. Yes.”

“I’ve got a pretty strong arm that
you’re welcome to hit.” I flexed my bicep and cradled it close to my side.

She scrutinized it.

“Well, go on. Get it over with. Punch
me if it’ll make you smile.”

At last, her cheeks relaxed, her lips
wrestled into a slight curl, and the blazing spokes of her eyes softened and
rolled. Her chest pulsed in and out, flapping, attempting to stifle her giggle
until she could no longer contain it. “Put your arm down. You look ridiculous.”

I dropped my arm and eased onto the
stool next to hers. “Got you to smile, didn’t I?”

She shook her head. “What if I did
hit you?”

I latched onto her tiger eyes. “Dare
I say, it was worth the risk?”

She cocked her head and smiled, then Shawna
returned with her check. “Here you go, boss.”

“Boss?” I asked. “You manage this
place?”

“I’m one of the many managers of the
hotel, yes.”

“Is that why you are all
business-suited-up, looking for a good punch?”

She shook her head and fought a new smile.
“Do you want a drink?”

I lingered on her playful gaze. “I’ll
take an iced-tea.”

“Can you get her an iced-tea?” she
asked Shawna.

“And for you?” Shawna asked her.

“I’m heading out.”

I tapped the counter. “Oh come on,” I
said. “Have an iced-tea with me.”

She opened her mouth to protest, then
closed it. She did this three times, and each time she scoffed a little louder.
“Fine. Two iced-teas please.”

I saddled into her gaze. I would win
this bet with Rachel. “You know,” I said, traveling my glance over to her
backside. “You’ve got a gigantic thing sitting between your shoulder blades.”

Her eyes flew open. She jumped off of
the stool. “Get it off! Please, get it off!” She all-out whacked herself,
spinning, screaming, bending over at the hips and flinging her hair every which
way.

I died laughing. I rolled off of my
stool, clutching my tummy, losing my breath, tears streaming down my cheeks, as
I watched this beautiful girl freak out over a supposed creature on her back.

“Why are you laughing?” She spun
around in circles still whacking herself.

I just balled over again unable to
speak.

Panic stretched across her face, and
she ran up to the table of the three men and subdued her panic long enough to
ask the heaviest one to check out her back. The man searched, even ran his
fingers across her blades, shaking his head, apologizing that he couldn’t see
anything. That’s when she glared at me. Those spokes of her tiger eyes lashed
out, daring me to flex my arm again.

So, I did. I flexed it and braced
myself for impact, ready to ingest the pain all for the sake of building
rapport and trust and earning my first twenty dollars of the night. A girl’s
got to do what a girl’s got to do, right?

She marched over to me and whispered.
“How dare you fuck with me?”

“I’m not fucking with you.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

We eyed each other.

“Can I put my arm down?” I asked.

She sighed. “Look. Whatever game
you’re playing, you’re playing alone.”

I reached down for her wrist.
“Please, let me explain.”

She pulled her wrist back. “Please
do.”

“You do have something between your
shoulders.”

Panic sprawled across her face again.

“Relax. You don’t have a hairy spider
there.”

She shivered.

“You’re carrying a huge tension ball
right across your shoulders.”

She squinted. “How would you know
that?”

I slid behind her, grabbed her
shoulders, and kneaded the muscles around her blades. “I’m intuitive. See right
here? You’ve got this big knot that’s digging on your nerves. If you don’t get
rid of it, it’s going to keep bugging you, and you’re going to keep running
into barrooms downing shots to numb it.” I kept kneading, and she didn’t fight
it. She bobbed her head forward. “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll fix you up.
I’ll relax you with my special touch,” I whispered.

She stiffened and pulled away. “I’m
not paying for whatever kind of weird service you’re offering.”

“What do you think I’m offering you?”
My face flushed.

“Do you always go up to strangers and
start massaging their necks?”

“Well, kind of. Yes.” I shrunk.

“Well, I’m not like that.” She
cradled her pocketbook. “I’ve got to go.”

She stormed past me, leaving me dizzy
with her musky scent.

“You’re not like what?” I yelled
after her.

“A whore,” she yelled back then
marched out of the lounge.

I tossed my hands up in the air in
defeat. I scanned the room and everyone looked at me like I was a serial rapist
vying for my next victim. I scoffed and turned on my heel and stormed out of
the lounge, saying back over my shoulder, “What are you all looking at anyway?
I’m not a whore, either.”

I turned and walked out of the door
to the outside. My friends followed.

“Hey,” Shawna yelled. “Are one of you
girls going to pay the bill?”

Rachel lit a cigarette. “I’m not
going back in there.”

I rolled my eyes and stretched out my
hand. “My twenty, please.”

She placed it in my hand, and I charged
back in.

Shawna handed me the check. “That’ll
be forty two dollars and seventy-five cents, please.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

She raised up her hands. “I just pass
the stuff out.”

I tossed her the cash. “Do I look
like a whore to you?”

She laughed and plucked up the money.
“Those baby blue eyes of yours have far too much of a twinkle in them for you
to be a whore.”

“Thanks.” I placed the strap of my
pocketbook back on my shoulder. “Sorry I caused a little scene.”