The Position (6 page)

“Hello!” The voice breaks through the fog of my thoughts. It’s Liz clinking her ring against the side of her glass to get my attention. “Earth to Mickey! Come in, Mickey!”
 

“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “Just a little tired. What were you saying?”

“I was asking what you’re going to do with your first paycheck.”
 

It strikes me as a strange question. What was I going to do with a paycheck? Cash it and stash it. What else would I do? Spend it? “Nothing special,” I say. “You know, feed myself. That kind of thing.”
 

“What are you talking about?” Travis exclaims. “I thought that was my job!”
 

Liz takes a long drink, then looks over at me. “My friend Amy works for an optician.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively. “She could get you a great deal on new glasses or even contact lenses. The eye exam is free.”
 

“What’s wrong with Mickey’s glasses?” Travis asks, genuinely offended.
 

I give him an appreciative smile. “Come on, Travis. I can take it.”
 

He frowns and looks into his drink. “I don’t know. It’s like, without them you wouldn’t be Mickey.”
 

“That’s a dopey reason!” Liz blurts out. “Let the woman decide for herself.”
 

I self-consciously push the glasses up the bridge of my nose. I’d never even considered spending the money on myself. “I need to save it,” I say with a shrug. “I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
 

“Stop trying to make over my friend!” Travis hollers. “She’s great the way she is!”
 

Good old Travis. If it hadn’t been for him I never would’ve even finished college. I’d lived in my car on the outskirts of town through my entire senior year in high school. My parents never even tried to find me. With no one looking after me but me, I still managed to get straight A’s and a full-ride scholarship to Boulder. But I was a difficult friend to make. I didn’t trust anyone and I didn’t want to get too attached. Although I never admitted it to anyone, it hurt me every single day that my own parents didn’t care enough to look for me. After all of the insults and the horrible beatings, I still wanted them to care enough to drag me back to hell. Or at least to *try*.
 

At college, everyone thought I was weird and stuck-up. Travis was the only one who saw me for what I was—just a lonely, messed-up girl. He was the very first person in my life who actually looked after me. After graduation, when my housing grant expired, Travis found out I was living in my car again. He begged me to take some money. But I wouldn’t do it. I was so stubborn he wanted to smack me himself sometimes.
 

Travis tips the last of his drink to his mouth and sucks an ice cube. “That’s it,” he sighs. “I’m dry.” He gets to his feet and stretches, a little unsteady. “I’m going to walk down to that shop by the park and get some more tonic water. See you on the flip side, Mickey. Good luck tomorrow.”
 

Liz and I watch Travis toddle off down the sidewalk in a weaving line. “Yeah, that’s what he needs,” I quip. “More drinks.”
 

Liz laughs and shrugs. She gazes after him, her eyes full of affection. “I like him, Mickey,” she says in a low voice. “I like him a lot.”

I nod and smile. “He’s a good egg, that one.”
 

She looks at me, the smile gone from her face. “He’s going to break my heart, isn’t he?”
 

Yes, I think. Without a doubt. But I don’t want to make her feel bad. “How should I know?”
 

Liz shakes her head and takes a drink. For a long time she stares out at the empty street, her eyes glassy with gin. She looks sad, as if she’s mourning the end of her relationship before it even happens. “Dammit,” she groans. “I didn’t want to like him. I didn’t want to like anybody. Guys are only fun if you have nothing invested. Once you start to fall for them, everything sucks.”
 

I sit there quietly, not knowing what to say. It’s not like I have a lot of experience to contribute to the conversation. All I know is that falling in love with someone who will never, ever love you back seriously sucks. Finally, I look at her and smile. “Then try to keep it light.”
 

She nods and forces a smile. “Yeah. Light is good.”
 

Liz shivers and squints up at the sky. “I’m cold. I’m going home to change. Are you taking off?”
 

“Yeah.” I raise my arms to stretch and realize that I reek from riding my bike home from work in the heat. That’ll be nice tomorrow morning. I can be ugly *and* smell revolting. “Actually, I think I’ll take a quick shower.”

Liz puts down her glass and heads for the porch stairs. The alcohol seems to have made her plaintive rather than giddy. “Tell Travis I’ll be back soon.” She turns back with anxious eyes. “And Mickey…don’t tell him I said anything, okay?”
 

Poor Liz. If it were up to me, I’d make Travis stay with her forever. But as they say, the heart wants what it wants, and you can’t force someone to love you. I know that better than anyone.
 

I give her an encouraging smile. “No problem. And don’t worry so much. Travis obviously likes you. A lot.”
 

I go inside and take a long, hot shower. I think about Liz trying not to fall in love. The heart is such a traitor. I feel like I never even had a choice with Lazarus. Even after I found out that he hired me just to help keep his dick in his pants, I still went head over heels like an idiot.
 

I don’t want to, but I imagine Lazarus in the shower with me. As I let the soap slide over my body, I imagine it’s his warm hand. When I slide it between my legs I sigh and shudder. What would it be like to feel his naked body pressed against my backside? Is his chest smooth or hairy? I’m starting to think that I might spontaneously combust if I touched him like that. Or if he touched me.
 

Finally, I turn off the water and step out of the tub. Thick steam hangs in the air and the mirror has disappeared completely. I’m standing there naked, toweling off my long hair, when the door opens. There’s no lock, but I’ve never had to worry about Travis barging in. He would never do that. Except that today he does.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he calls. “You ready for round two?”
 

I gasp and hold the towel in front of me. “What the fuck!”
 

Travis sways slightly from the alcohol. When he realizes it’s me, he nearly jumps out of his skin. “Oh, shit! Mickey! What are you…?”
 

Then his eyes fix on my body. He closes the door and leans against it for support. “Jesus, Mickey,” he mumbles.
 

I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone or the Bizarro world or wherever the hell it is that my best friend has turned into a salivating maniac. “Get the fuck out!” I shout.
 

But he just stands there, running a hand through his thick black curls. I try to wrap the towel around my body but I’m so flustered it slips from my hands. My boobs seem heavy and full as I bend down to grab it. I pull the towel around me at last and look up at him.
 

“Why are you still here?” I shout.

“I had no idea,” he says quietly, shaking his head as if he’s just made the discovery of a lifetime. I can see the hard-on through his sweatpants. “You’ve been walking around with that body all this time?”
 

“Oh, my God!” I scream. “Will you stop being a complete lunatic and get the fuck out of here?”
 

Without another word, he turns the knob and opens the door, but he doesn’t stop looking at me. It’s like his eyes are stuck and he can’t look away. Finally, he forces himself to blink. Then he turns and slips through the door, closing it behind him.
 

Once I’m dressed, I hurry out of the bathroom and head for the front door. I throw a quick glance at the living room and see my paycheck sitting on the coffee table, still in the envelope. I snatch it up without stopping, push open the screen door, and rush out of the house. Travis is sitting on the porch. He looks at me and I can see that he’s ashamed.
 

“I’m sorry, Mickey,” he mutters. He leans forward and rubs his hands on his face. “Shit. I’m so drunk, Mickey. I’m so fucking drunk. You know I didn’t mean anything by it. I mean, come on. You’re my Mickey, man. You’re Mickey.”

But I don’t wait to hear any more. I hurry down the front steps and hightail it down the street toward my car.
 

“But you should know,” he calls out from behind me. “You’re smokin’, girl!”
 

My face and neck go scarlet as I rush down the sidewalk away from Travis. And I don’t look back.

Chapter Ten

It rains hard that night. I lie in the front seat of my old Subaru and watch the drops slap at the windshield and streak frantically down the glass. I’m wrapped in my sleeping bag and I feel safe and cozy. This may be the only place in the world where I feel that I’ve got things under control. Still, I can feel the darkness all around me and inside of me, too. People suck. All of them. The second you start to think otherwise, they’ll smack you on the back of the head.
 

I replay the moment in the bathroom over and over in my head. I’m angry at Travis. I feel totally let down. But it’s not the only thing I feel. I keep thinking of myself standing there, breasts exposed, my flat stomach, curvy hips. All of the parts I’ve hidden since puberty. Out in the open for a real live boy to see. A gorgeous boy, at that. And he liked it. I shiver in my sleeping bag and pull my head inside where it’s warm.
 

Hiding my body was the first thing I learned to do after puberty. Life was so chaotic at home. God knows I didn’t need to add sex to the mix. Not that I didn’t think about it. I thought about it a lot. But instead of joining my classmates at parties and football games, I hid behind my dorky glasses and loose clothes, burying my nose in a book and trying to disappear. Eventually, I forgot about my body completely.

I feel my own warm breath reflecting back against my skin in the sleeping bag. Something inside me feels different; it feels new. Travis saw me naked and he got a boner. I can give a guy a boner. The power in that is overwhelming. It fills me with a strange warmth and a confidence I’ve never known. That night I smolder quietly inside my sleeping bag until late in the night, when I fall asleep at last.
 

The next morning I dig through every stitch of clothing I own to discover what I already know: everything I have is frumpy. Still, I put something together and prop the mirror on the dashboard. When I sweep the mascara onto my lashes I let my eyes linger just a little longer than usual on my reflection. Maybe there’s someone worthy in there after all. Maybe.
 

I arrive at the office early and launch into my morning routine. The coffee is made, the calendar is noted, lists are made. I prep for the important meeting with a very wealthy Englishman who wants Lazarus to design a modern interior for his sprawling countryside estate. I set up the Skype call and fill a carafe of water in case Lazarus gets thirsty. By the time he arrives, more harried and disheveled than usual, everything is ready to go.
 

“Mickey,” he calls from his desk, running a hand through his weirdly messy hair. “Did you make the…”

I stride out of my office with the usual calendar printout and interject before he can finish. “Coffee is made, reports are ready, appointments noted and listed. I downloaded both your PowerPoint presentation and that video of the Tokyo thing. And the Skype call is set up and ready to go.”
 

I’m even prepared with a hairbrush in hand. I approach Lazarus as he sits frazzled at his desk and do something shocking. Even as I’m doing it I can’t believe it. I lean in close and brush his hair, carefully constructing his gorgeous up-wave to perfection. “You look like the disheveled Marlon Brando in *Streetcar*,” I quip. “Minus the greasy tee shirt.”
 

Lazarus breaks into one of his genuine laughs, the unselfconscious kind that crinkles his eyes and brightens his whole face. “‘It was you, Charlie,’” he says in a hilarious, strangled Brando voice. “‘I coulda been a contender. I could’ve been somebody, instead of a bum, which is what I am…’”
 

I crack up. Joking around has become a frequent part of our rapport. “That’s* On the Waterfront*, you knucklehead.”
 

He laughs again. “You didn’t seriously just call me a knucklehead.”
 

“For such a worldly guy, you need a real film education, Jude Lazarus.”
 

I put the finishing touches on his hair and step away to check him out. Hot as hell, of course. Then something happens that’s hard to describe. Lazarus stares at me with a rare openness, as if he were looking through all the horrible geekiness and seeing something beyond it. That something worthy. Our eyes lock and I can’t look away.
 

“Maybe I just need a film snob to educate me,” he says. I know it’s a joke, but it comes out in a soft, affectionate voice. Is it possible that he’s flirting with me? No. That’s unimaginable. But still…*something* is going on behind his eyes.

“I don’t know,” I respond in an equally low voice. “You may be a lost cause.”
 

He smiles and his eyes seem to shine. I suddenly feel dizzy, as if I were drunk. Now I understand how love used to make women literally swoon. Finally, Lazarus breaks the gaze. He glances at the clock on his desk and his relaxed face floods with anxiety.
 

“Damn. Let’s get this stuff ready.” He points to the drafting table. “Do you mind standing while you take notes?”
 

I cock my head, confused. “I thought you wanted me to sit next to you to help bring up the photos and that video…” My words fade away with my confidence.
 

“You can do that remotely,” he mumbles as he clicks through several files on his computer. “I’d rather be the only one on screen. It’s less distracting.”