Whisper Privileges (43 page)

Sam swiveled to face her. She slung an arm
over the back of the barstool and her eyes glittered with purpose.
“Look, your mom was a mess, Sydney. I won’t lie to you. She sucked
up to every man who crossed her path for nothing more than a
pathetic second glance and a wink. I get that. Your dad fed into
her insecurity. Not good. But you’re not her and Clay isn’t
him.”

“If he wasn’t attracted to her type, then why
marry her?”

“Young and stupid?”

“Cop out.”

“Hey,” Sam defended, “I’m no psychiatrist,
but I think you might be projecting here. The men you date are
bearing the brunt of your father’s infidelity and it’s not fair.
It’s misplaced anger.”

“Clay and I aren’t dating.”

“
Entertaining
...” she drew out
sarcastically. “Is that better? Either way, it’s not fair.”

“I think it’s more a logical ‘guilt by
association.’ I’m very familiar with Charlie’s attitude toward
women. Makes sense any friend of his would walk similar lines.”
Sydney tried to get the bartender’s attention, but he was busy at
the far end flinging bottles high in the air, pouring clear vodka
in clean streams to the awaiting tumblers.

“You’re neglecting the beauty of the human
spirit,” Sam said. She swirled the olive-laden sword through her
frost coated glass. “I read people for a living. I met Clay. The
energy waves emanating from that man did not indicate cheat. Did
not point to superficial. In fact, quite the opposite.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“Don’t have to—I can
feel
him.”

Sydney swung toward her. Normally amused by
Sam’s abstract approach to life, she wasn’t up for any “universe”
talk of karma and fate. She’d needed to deal in cold, hard
facts—the kind she could touch. “You’ve lost your last marble, you
know that? Dating Vic has twisted your wiring into a jumble and now
you’re getting false ‘energy’ readings.”

Sam laughed. “Oh that man can twist me any
way he wants! Doesn’t change the facts.” She gave a quick nod. “My
radar is working fine.”

“Doubtful.” Sydney returned to her drink and
stared at the melting ice, the alcohol all but gone. At least Sam
was becoming upbeat. Softening her focus on the mint leaves, the
condensation running over her fingers, she was glad someone was
happy.

“Clay may like the ladies, I’ll give you
that,” Sam said, a knowing smile in her voice. “But I don’t think
he cheats.”

“Kinda like you?”

Pleasure erupted as she exclaimed, “I knew I
liked that boy—right from the start!”

Sydney shook her head.

“Let me ask you something.”

Sydney braced herself for what might be
coming next. One never knew with Sam.

“Do you think you’re attractive?”

“What?” She smacked her with a cursory
glance. “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” She held steady. “Do you
think you’re attractive?”

Sydney turned back to her empty drink. “I’m
all right. Not gorgeous, not ugly.”

“Are you okay with your looks?”

“I’m big for a woman, not the most feminine
creature out there. I have a large rear instead of large breasts.
Sure, I suppose I’m okay.”

“Sydney. Be serious.”

“I am being serious.” She turned to her,
raised her glass and toasted the air. “I’m being realistic about my
looks and on average, except for my oversized ass, I’m okay with
them.” Sam looked like she was about to pounce but Sydney held her
ground. “Objectively speaking, I’m not an ugly person. I’m fine.”
But she was not fine with the absent bartender.
Where the hell
was he
?

Sam bucked at the reply, but said, “Okay,
I’ll go with it.” She lifted the olives from their bath of thick,
clear liquid and said, “Then let that be enough.” She plucked an
olive off the end with her teeth.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” a man mumbled to her left.

Sydney turned, his massive arm bumping
against her. “No, problem,” she replied, barely noticing the glint
of interest in his black eyes as he looked at her. This was the
meat market of choice. It was Friday night. She gave him an abrupt
shoulder and returned to Sam. But she was not interested.

Sam looked at her, the guy behind her, and
chewed, slow and leisurely.

Sydney hated it when she gloated. “What?”

She swallowed and said, “You need to set your
feelings straight. You need to transfer what you feel up here,” she
tapped her temple. “To what you feel in here,” she touched the
center of her chest.

“That’s it, huh?”

Sam smiled at the skepticism. “It’s doable,
Syd. I’ve seen some pretty ugly women with some damn good-looking
men. Why? Because
they
think they’re beautiful. True on the
outside or not, they believe it on the inside. It translates into
their actions, their outlook, and
that’s
what the world
around them sees. What actually changed? Nothing. Facts on the
ground remain the same—except their perspective, their attitude.”
Sam patted Sydney on the leg. “You’re a smart woman. Just figure
out how to convince your ego you’re a hottie.” She grinned. “I’d
say there are more than a few men in here who can help you with
that, if you ask.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” she replied,
but knew what Sam meant. And that’s where the problem began. What
her mind knew, her heart couldn’t acknowledge. She had eyeballs in
her skull. She had a mirror. She wasn’t horrible to look at. Her
teeth weren’t crooked or yellow, her face wasn’t mottled. Her body
wasn’t small, but it wasn’t horrible. But no matter how hard she
tried, she continually felt herself lacking, like she was some kind
of fraud and her faults would be discovered any minute and promptly
thrown to the curb.

And it sucked. It wasn’t like she enjoyed any
of this—she didn’t. To know that you’re your own worst enemy? Who
wants that? But making the connection, making it real...

That was a totally different story. She
couldn’t erase her feelings. She couldn’t magically say, “Okay,
we’re all good now. You don’t feel that way anymore. You’re
beautiful.” Sam didn’t understand what it was like to grow up with
parents who never thought you were good enough, never thought they
were good enough. Years of living with those two took a toll on a
girl’s self-image. No matter what her mother did to look better, it
was never good enough. The poor woman was doomed from the start.
Some men simply weren’t cut out for long-term commitment,
especially when it came to a woman’s appearance.

In the mirror against the back of the bar,
Sydney observed men and women in search of love—or lust. Women
dressed to attract a man’s eye, their bodies sculpted from hours at
the gym, their faces made up to magazine cover perfection. Some
were cosmetically enhanced while others had no need, their
twenty-something skin glowed naturally. Men at the bar ranged in
age from their twenties to their fifties and it showed in greying
temples, hanging chins, abs in need of sit-ups, eyes in need of
sleep, but the women? They all sought to appear a youthful
twenty-something. Like her, they knew the odds.

Sydney may be old enough to recognize she had
an issue, but capable of fixing it?

Not hardly.

“At the end of the day, the only one who
loses out is you, Syd. Hold yourself back because you’re afraid to
risk rejection, and you’ll be the one spending time alone in the
dark crevices of life.”

In a flash of anger she wished she could
rewrite her past. New parents, new attitudes, less perfection, more
love—
anything
to erase this feeling of inadequacy that
shadowed her every move. It was the barrier between her and “calm,
cool and collected.” It was the reason she couldn’t speak in front
of a crowd. It was the reason she couldn’t live with an ex-wife.
Insecurity undermined her every step. She couldn’t trust her
appeal, couldn’t trust those who claimed they shared it.

I won’t lie and tell you I don’t notice
beautiful women, because I do. I noticed you.

But attraction for me runs more than skin
deep
.

Sydney ached for it to be true. She wanted to
be with Clay. She wanted to see if they had what it took to stay
together for the long haul. She did. But the enemies within
prevented her from believing him, from believing he actually
preferred her over the likes of Trish. Jealousy and fear undercut
her confidence, sealed her heart closed.

“Listen to me.”

Startled by Sam’s sudden remark, she tuned
back in to her friend.

“When you’re okay with you, with the woman
inside and the woman outside, when you accept who you are and stop
trying to please others... You’ll be as good as gold.”

“I told you,” she deferred weakly. “I’m fine
with me.”

“Are you?”

Sydney nodded. Alone with her bedroom mirror,
she was fine. It was the outside world she was worried about. The
men beyond her front door. Sadness eddied and swirled. She was
worried about Clay and what he thought. Was it possible he didn’t
see the cellulite on her butt the way she did?
You have one of
the nicest rears I’ve ever seen
. Was Sam right? Was she the
only one who saw the dimple-filled cheeks of her rear?

“
Hmph
. Because what I hear is a woman
still concerned with what others think.”

“Who isn’t?” People didn’t date themselves.
They had to attract the opposite sex.

“Me.”

“Yes, well... They broke the mold when they
made you.”

“No, they didn’t,” Sam said, though pleasure
danced in her eyes. “I just learned the secret to mold-making.”

“Huh?”

“Follow me.” She abandoned her martini and
focused solely on Sydney. “When you’re young, the question is ‘who
am I?’ That’s where the journey begins. We work to form our
identity. We do so by the cliques we join, the organizations. We
want to know who’s a member, who isn’t. It all works to define who
we think we are. But as we age, we realize that ‘we are who we
are,’ and have been for most of our lives.” Sam quieted. She
cradled Sydney within her gaze, as though they were the only two
people in the bar, Sydney struggled to hear her. “At the core of
each individual lies the heart; it’s our drive, our compass, our
center of gravity. Once we realize this little gem, we no longer
feel the need to label ourselves according to others’ perceptions.
We simply exist. It’s the art of true living.

We begin to see the world around us for what
it is. We begin to notice things anew—things that have always been
there, but we see them for the first time. And it’s
exciting
.” Her eyes rounded, her voice caught. “Like a kid
watching their first big picture movie show, we say less and watch
more. We absorb. We’re no longer consumed by the need to fill space
with our bodies and words. We’re content to simply exist.”

Sam looked her straight in the eye and
informed, “At some point you have to own who you are, Sydney. You
can’t hide or pretend, you can’t make excuses for why you’re not
getting what you want. You simply have to be and accept. Live your
passion and your career will find you. If you and Clay are meant to
be, you will find each other. Let the details go.”

# # #

Sam’s words ran circles in her mind as she
drove home. They sobered her heart, woke up her brain. Was she okay
with who she was? Where she was going? What she was doing? Clay
once asked about her dream job. Was she doing it?

She’d taken a big step yesterday by telling
Javier of her plans. It felt like progress, anyway. She may not
know where she was going, but at least she was putting herself out
there. One couldn’t expect success if they weren’t positioned for
it, right? Though his reaction had floored her. Did Javier think
they could actually get back together? It was a shot in the dark.
One she never saw coming, but nailed her, dead center. Sydney shook
the scene from her thoughts. She didn’t want to be with Javier. She
had no interest in getting back together. She wanted to be with
Clay.

The one thing positive to come from Javier’s
revelation was that it proved one thing: no matter how much you
once loved someone, believed they were heaven on earth, sunshine
and candy, the wind behind your back...you could actually reach a
point where you no longer cared. Not in an apathetic way, or
mean-spirited way, but in a totally valid “I’ve moved on” sort of
way, an “I no longer need you” sort of way. A way that signaled
romance was not enough. Commitment and dedication were. Like Clay
and Q. Like the Special Olympics and their athletes.

In sudden epiphany, gratification swelled
within her breast. In all her time spent fighting the assignment,
she’d missed its rewards. Being part of these games had not only
introduced her to Clay—proving a man the likes of him existed—but
it demonstrated for her what real love looked like, how it behaved.
And not the dreamy short-lived, fantasy kind of love, but the deep
and abiding kind; the caliber of love that bound man to woman,
parent to child, stranger to fellow in need. Tears sprung into her
eyes. Alone in her car, she had no one with whom to share it. She
had no one to rejoice in her victory.

Slowing, she turned onto her street. Where
she should be celebrating this lesson with someone who cared, she
was returning home empty. Sydney tightened her hold on the steering
wheel. There was a grey sedan parked out in front of her house.
Alarm bells went off. Was it a friend of her neighbors? She looked
to the house across from hers. All the lights were out. So were
those in the houses to either side of her.
Keep going.
It
was the instant response for a woman living alone. Strangers were
an unexpected but real danger. Had someone followed her home from
the bar? She gripped the wheel.
Circle the block
. Call
someone. The driver’s side door opened. Her pulse ricocheted clear
into her skull. She pushed the gas pedal.
Don’t stop
! Her
mind lurched as a man emerged from the car.