“Excuse me?” She asked, raising one eyebrow, attempting unsuccessfully to hide a smile.
“Come with me, walk in front of me, please,” I responded, stepping away from the receptionist desk.
“Well, actually, I am supposed to stay here and answer the phone.”
“I want to watch you walk, Kelli with an “I”. Your walk has purpose. I watched you walk past Darwin’s office. I enjoy seeing your legs propel you. Walk for me.”
She scanned the area as if to see if there was anyone that may question her leaving the receptionist desk. Walking around from the rear of the desk, she stepped beside me, and began to walk toward the restroom. As she did, I studied her body. Her stride. Smelling a combination of her hair products and perfume, I walked behind her toward the restroom. When she was even with the entrance, she turned, facing me, and pointed to the restroom.
“It’s right over there, Erik,” she said. She barely pronounced the “K”. It was almost as if she ended the name with an “I”.
I walked two more steps to reach her, and leaned in toward her face when I spoke. Taking my right index finger I moved her hair to the side, allowing me to speak directly into her ear. I spoke softly, but with an exaggerated exhale, so she could feel my breath on her ear.
“It’s Erik with a “K”, Kelli. Enunciate…,” I said, smiling, and continued, “Follow me to my motorcycle,” I started walking to the exit.
“But I can’t, I have to stay…”
I continued walking, knowing eventually she would follow me. I didn’t turn around or look for her reflection in the glass of the office windows. As I reached the door to the outside, I stood to the side, opened it, and waited. Incapable of hiding her excitement entirely, she quickly caught up to me and walked through the door. I released the door and stepped onto the sidewalk. I walked past her, and began walking to where the motorcycle was parked.
“So…uhhm…what are you thinking?”
I continued walking the remaining ten steps, reaching the motorcycle before I spoke. “I’m thinking that it interests me that you’re interested in me,” I said as I reached down to put the key into the ignition.
“I’m interested in
you
? You asked
me
to lead the way to the bathroom, and then you told me to follow you out to your motorcycle. I think you’re mixed up,” she said as she turned and studied the motorcycle.
“I placed a business card on the elevated portion of your desk. On your left as your facing the showroom from your desk. Before your head hits the pillow tonight, Kelli, I want you to text me. Text me and let me know that you’re going to call me. After I return the text, I want you to call me, so be in a position to do so,” I stepped over the motorcycle, and rested onto the seat.
“What makes you think that I am interested in texting
or
calling you?”
“The fact that you are, Kelli. The fact that you are,” I said as I reached down and started the motorcycle. She was still admiring the motorcycle and studying me. It was apparent that she wasn’t ready for this to end.
“So, what exactly is it? Not that I would, but can someone ride on the back?” nodding toward the motorcycle, she spoke over the sound of the exhaust.
“It’s a chopper, Kelli. Kind of like a Harley, but modified. And yes, there’s an additional seat that attaches in the rear so someone can ride.”
As Darwin pulled the black M3 into the stall beside the motorcycle, she looked up.
“Erik, here’s your car, where are you going?” Darwin asked as he rolled down the passenger window.
“I’m going for a ride; just deliver the car to my house. Send the paperwork with the driver. And have someone follow him, I’m not giving him a ride back on this,” I said as I pointed toward gas tank of the motorcycle.
Turning back to Kelli, who was looking at Darwin, I spoke, “Kelli, I will talk to you tonight. Left side of the desk,” I said as I pulled in the clutch lever and placed the gear shifter into gear.
She spoke as she was turning, and began walking toward the entrance, “Yesss...”
Over the sound of the exhaust, the audible note of her voice was lost as she turned. I couldn’t tell for sure, but it almost sounded as if she said, “Yes, sir” I released the clutch and hit the throttle, quickly speeding out of the lot into the street in front of the dealership.
Maybe that’s just what I wanted to hear her say.
Yes, sir.
KELLI.
“Boys are stupid, it’s that easy,” I said, trying to make Heather feel better.
“Well, he acted like he wanted to be my boyfriend, he was such a douche. I hope I never see him again. What an asshole.”
“Just get drunk, Heather, you’ll feel better when you forget about him. Getting drunk will loosen you up,” I waved my arm so the waiter could see that we needed a drink.
“Do you like my hair,” Heather asked, flipping up her hair with her hand.
“Trim?” I asked.
“Yeah, I had that Asian chick at Planet Hair do it,” she responded, spinning around in her chair on the floor.
“Yeah it looks great. Your hair always looks healthy,” I said, lying.
Heathers hair was a disaster. Her hair was naturally brunette. She spent way too much time and effort to make it the perfect blonde. Her hair was always a different shade of blonde, varying from platinum to dirty, but always some form of blonde. She may change it twice a month or once a month, but she was never satisfied. Her hair was an extension of her life. Like most girls, when she was unhappy with life, she changed her hair. And her hair was always changing.
“I like it, it’s
perfect
,” she said as she stopped her chair from spinning, and focused on me again.
Heather had been my best friend all through high school. She was tall for a girl at 6’-1”, and played volleyball in school. She was blonde, attractive, and had huge boobs. She had the boobs since we were 14, and they were like a form of magnet to guys. Most guys just wanted to have sex with her because of her boobs. No one ever seemed to want to take the time to get to know her.
When I went away to college, she decided to stay home and go to the local University, but she never attended. She ended up working as a waitress at Hooter’s, and now was working at a new Hooter’s type restaurant called Twin Peaks. We never hung out there, because all of the guys are perverts that go there. We usually went to Old Town, and hung out at the Pump House, and that’s where we were today.
“What can I get you girls?”
“Bud Lime.”
“Vodka and water, with a splash of cranberry.”
“What?” the waiter asked, with one eyebrow raised at me.
“Vodka and water. Then, put a splash of cranberry juice in it for color and flavor,” I responded.
“Want to see a menu?”
“No, we’re just going to drink.”
A few weeks ago, Heather had met a guy in a bar downtown, had sex, and now he wouldn’t text her back. This was a typical douchebag move from a typical douchebag.
Boys
between the ages of twenty and twenty-six or seven seemed to all be douchebags, and all after one thing, sex. There was never any commitment on their part, short of committing to shove their cock inside of the first girl that agreed to let them.
Men
, on the other hand, acted differently.
“He’s not worth it,” I said, trying to ease her grief.
“That’s fucking hilarious, Kelli. How many times have you told me that same thing?”
I laughed out loud as I was sipping my drink. When I did, I started coughing. The coughing caused a chain of reactions, including the resurfacing of my half-swallowed drink. The vodka came out my nose, and onto my top and pants.
“Shit, you bitch, look what you did,” I said, pointing to my top, laughing again.
“That vodka burns coming out my nose. Damn. Okay, I am going to run and dab this off, do not fuck anyone while I am gone.”
“Fine, no fucking…”
The walk to the bathroom was just like every other time I walked through a bar to the bathroom. Every table I walked by that had a male sitting at it would end up with a remark, someone pointing, or a whistle. Boys, once again acting like boys. Sometimes, depending on the mood that I was in, it could be flattering. Most of the time, however, it was annoying. I suppose that I differ from most young women in that I am comfortable with
who
I am, and I know that I am attractive. This made the random compliments seem more irritating to me than to my friends. Most of my friends liked to receive them, and they were flattered by them. I wanted someone to notice me, want me, or feel a desire to know me based on who I was inside, and not what I appeared to be on the surface.
As I came around the corner to the bathroom, a man came out of the men’s bathroom. He was at least six foot tall, but appeared to be taller because of his build. His face had chiseled features, a strong chin, and a massive chest, especially compared to the size of his waist. He had a long torso, and reasonably long legs. Probably what a male would consider a perfect build. He wore a V-neck tee shirt, and jeans. His arms were covered in tattoos, and something about him drew me to him like a magnet. Staring at him, and attempting to walk into the bathroom, I ran face-first into the bathroom door. It sounded much worse than it felt. With my face in the doorway, I saw him turn and look as he passed. I quickly rushed in the bathroom so he couldn’t see my face. Embarrassed, I went to the sink to wash my cranberry stain.
Walking back to my table, I was pleased that I was able to remove the stain from my top. Wearing a smile of satisfaction, I scanned the area for the man from the bathroom. I didn’t see him anywhere. This was a fairly open bar with no hidden seating areas. Disappointed, I sat across from Heather.
“Ok, so get this. I was going into the bathroom, and a man was walking out of the men’s bathroom. He was so damned hot. He had on a black V-neck, jeans, and I don’t even know what e
lse. Short hair, kind of blonde; but not really. Maybe it was brown. Brown-ish. He was covered in tattoos-all the way to his wrists. He was looking down at his belt when he came out, and didn’t notice me, which was good because I ran right into the door of the bathroom. I was so staring at him. And, the next thing I knew,
whack,
right into the door...”
“Older guy?” Heather asked.
“Oh, I don’t know, not
older
. Maybe thirty something,” I responded, in his defense.
“Yeah, Kelli, older. Not twenty-one.”
“Yeah, he was older than us, why? Did you see him?” I asked as I placed my purse on the table.
“Yeah, I saw him. He went outside. I heard a motorcycle start, so I suppose he left.”
“Do you know him?” I asked, starting to stand from my seat.
“No. I don’t know him, I know of him. My dad knows him. He goes to my uncle’s shop to have his motorcycle worked on. My dad has talked about him before. He’s normally gone for the summer from what they say. He’s some weird doctor. He went to college, Medical school, graduated, and then his mom died. He bought a shitty motorcycle and travels around the country. He lives in a shitty house over by Bel Aire. I heard them talking about him just the other day.”
“I want to fuck him. I want to fuck him until he can’t even think. He. Makes. Me. Wet. That guy just….Jesus, Heather did you
see
him?” I asked, now standing.
“Girl, sit down. Sometimes I wonder about you. You just need to get a boyfriend. This jumping from guy to guy has got to stop. And he’s old. That’s kind of gross,” she finished her beer and raised her hand to the waiter as she set down the bottle.
“If you fucked older guys, you’d understand. Boys will always treat you like shit, Heather. Men will treat you the way they treat you, but you almost always know what’s going to happen, they don’t make up ridiculous lies just to get in your pants. They will tell you from the beginning what they want. And you get to choose if it’s what
you
want or not,” I began to sit as I was finishing my sentence.
“Girl, you crack me up,” Heather took a drink, and continued, “You talk like you’re educated, which you are.
Good for you.
But I always thought, and kinda hoped, that when you went to college, you’d quit cussing. You say fuck and cock and cum more than any man I have ever met, and you always shave. It’s because a man raised you, isn’t it?”
I don’t know that I actually will ever know the real story, but I know what I was told. It may be what happened, it may not be. When I was about one year old, my mother left. I was an only child, and was left to be raised by my father. My father, for my entire life, never remarried. He did have female friends, and always went on dates, but he never allowed another female to move into the house. He never really had a steady girlfriend either. When I was young, I hoped that he would one day find
someone
that I could call mother, but as I got older, I was appreciative of the fact that he never did.