I powered through the knowledge that Knight was Nick’s brother and reminded her, “Sandrine, this guy has jerk written all over him.”
“I gave him my best moves and four orgasms!” she shouted and I winced.
Then I settled in and I did it silently. She had to work this out and I had to let her even though I didn’t have time. I had groceries to put away. I had a freak out about the possibility that Knight had roughed up my landlord and sent me an extortionately expensive cell phone to recommence and figure out my next move. I had to make a sandwich and get on the road so I didn’t miss class. I had things to do.
“Now, I know, I know, no one gave him that,” Sandrine informed me. “No way. And no way he was faking it. I know that too.”
Men, for obvious reasons, couldn’t fake it so I didn’t know why she felt the need to point this out and I didn’t ask. I kept silent.
Sandrine didn’t.
“And he doesn’t come back for seconds? He doesn’t ask me out? He doesn’t do anything?” she asked and kept ranting. “I’ve called him four times and, as you know, this breaks my golden rule of one call only. Four times! Four voicemails! And, I will add, two texts. And nothing.”
She shut up. I gave her a beat.
Then I told her, “Honey, I’m sorry. He’s a jerk. They’re all jerks. And we’ll gab about this but you know I have to get to class.”
“Anya, this guy is The One,” she told me.
“No, Sandrine, he’s an ass**le and I’ll point out one of his obvious ass**le traits and that was he suggested a three-way with you and your best friend.”
“Guys are into that shit,” she dismissed.
“Yeah, definitely, but guys who could be The One most certainly aren’t.”
She had no reply and never did when I was right.
So I said yet again, “I have to get to class.”
“Fuck me,” she muttered and I recognized she was sliding into self-absorbed, poor me zone. I had to take evasive maneuvers and fast or I’d miss class or be seriously late.
“Sandrine, this weekend, your appointment, we’ll talk,” I promised.
“Right, and maybe we should hit it Saturday night, see if he’s out.”
God, seriously?
“We’ll talk about it while I do your nails on Saturday. Now I gotta go.”
“Four days, Anya,” she whispered, sliding straight into the zone and holding on tight to take me with her.
I pulled in a steadying breath.
Then I said firmly, “Saturday, Sandrine.”
Pause then, “Right, I’ll call Viv. Laters.”
Then she was gone.
God, Sandrine.
As I beeped off my phone, I reminded myself that there were things to love about her.
For instance, when Viv had that bad breakup that she didn’t want to talk about, I was too busy with class and work to give her my attention like I'd want to. But Sandrine called her every day and went over to her house nearly every night to check in, keep her company and she didn’t pry. And when I sprained my ankle badly, it was Sandrine who dropped everything and came to get me at the doctor then made everything easy for me to negotiate at my apartment. And Sandrine not only was a client of mine, she also talked me up to all her friends and co-workers in an attempt to help me build my clientele. And when Viv’s Mom got that terrible, weird pneumonia that didn’t seem to want to let her go, both Sandrine and I were at Viv’s side when it looked like it was going to go south. And we both celebrated with her when it didn’t.
Right, so Sandrine was a pain in the ass. But there were times that pain eased.
I put the phone in its charger and immediately began multitasking. Freaking out about Knight’s possible activities at the same time putting away groceries. Then I freaked out at the same time I made a sandwich. Then I freaked out at the same time I ate my sandwich and changed clothes. Then I freaked out as I walked out to my car and continued to freak out as I drove to class.
And luckily I’d freaked out enough that by the time I hit class I could set it aside and concentrate.
Unfortunately, by the time I got home from class, I was back to freaking out. Which meant I found it hard to sleep.
And it further meant when I finally slept, my dreams were filled with Knight.
* * * * *
The next evening, I had little time. I had a client, she was showing at my house at her six thirty slot and I had to be home and set up in time. But I also had to do what I had to do.
And I was going to do it.
It was after work. I had a full-time job as a file clerk in a medical office that had six doctors and four nurse practitioners. I made shit money but the job wasn’t taxing, the office ladies were funny and they had excellent benefits. These included kick-butt insurance and, if you worked there for two years, partial payment on any further education you wanted to take even if it was beauty school.
And beauty school was where I decided to go so, three years ago, I went. I’d already completed my nail technician certification and was building a clientele whose appointments I had to take in the evenings and on weekends. The goal was to have enough to go full-time therefore be able to rent a station in a decent salon. This was difficult, what with a job and school, but I was doing it.
Since, I’d finished classes in applying makeup and now I was close to completing a course to be a certified skin technician. I liked nails and I liked chattering to my clients. It was cool, seriously low stress and it actually paid pretty well. But I knew that I’d lose my mind sitting around doing nails forty hours a week so I had to diversify.
That was why I took classes to be a makeup artist and was close to completing my course as a skin technician. I liked doing facials the best. It was the quiet. It wasn’t only relaxing to the client but also me. And I liked the bright but tranquil look my test subjects gave me when I was done. Not only was I making their skin look great, I was making them feel good. And that was cool.
But this wasn’t my life’s dream. In fact, I didn’t have a life’s dream. I’d learned that living a dream, finding a dream or having a dream find me was not in my future and I’d learned this early.
That said, I was ambitious.
I didn’t want to rule the world.
I wanted to own my own spa.
A good one that was all about relaxation, pampering and beautification in a peaceful, safe, gorgeous setting. Maybe up in the mountains somewhere. It would look good. It would smell good. And it would be a treat for anyone who opened the doors and walked in.
“I gave him my best moves and four orgasms!” she shouted and I winced.
Then I settled in and I did it silently. She had to work this out and I had to let her even though I didn’t have time. I had groceries to put away. I had a freak out about the possibility that Knight had roughed up my landlord and sent me an extortionately expensive cell phone to recommence and figure out my next move. I had to make a sandwich and get on the road so I didn’t miss class. I had things to do.
“Now, I know, I know, no one gave him that,” Sandrine informed me. “No way. And no way he was faking it. I know that too.”
Men, for obvious reasons, couldn’t fake it so I didn’t know why she felt the need to point this out and I didn’t ask. I kept silent.
Sandrine didn’t.
“And he doesn’t come back for seconds? He doesn’t ask me out? He doesn’t do anything?” she asked and kept ranting. “I’ve called him four times and, as you know, this breaks my golden rule of one call only. Four times! Four voicemails! And, I will add, two texts. And nothing.”
She shut up. I gave her a beat.
Then I told her, “Honey, I’m sorry. He’s a jerk. They’re all jerks. And we’ll gab about this but you know I have to get to class.”
“Anya, this guy is The One,” she told me.
“No, Sandrine, he’s an ass**le and I’ll point out one of his obvious ass**le traits and that was he suggested a three-way with you and your best friend.”
“Guys are into that shit,” she dismissed.
“Yeah, definitely, but guys who could be The One most certainly aren’t.”
She had no reply and never did when I was right.
So I said yet again, “I have to get to class.”
“Fuck me,” she muttered and I recognized she was sliding into self-absorbed, poor me zone. I had to take evasive maneuvers and fast or I’d miss class or be seriously late.
“Sandrine, this weekend, your appointment, we’ll talk,” I promised.
“Right, and maybe we should hit it Saturday night, see if he’s out.”
God, seriously?
“We’ll talk about it while I do your nails on Saturday. Now I gotta go.”
“Four days, Anya,” she whispered, sliding straight into the zone and holding on tight to take me with her.
I pulled in a steadying breath.
Then I said firmly, “Saturday, Sandrine.”
Pause then, “Right, I’ll call Viv. Laters.”
Then she was gone.
God, Sandrine.
As I beeped off my phone, I reminded myself that there were things to love about her.
For instance, when Viv had that bad breakup that she didn’t want to talk about, I was too busy with class and work to give her my attention like I'd want to. But Sandrine called her every day and went over to her house nearly every night to check in, keep her company and she didn’t pry. And when I sprained my ankle badly, it was Sandrine who dropped everything and came to get me at the doctor then made everything easy for me to negotiate at my apartment. And Sandrine not only was a client of mine, she also talked me up to all her friends and co-workers in an attempt to help me build my clientele. And when Viv’s Mom got that terrible, weird pneumonia that didn’t seem to want to let her go, both Sandrine and I were at Viv’s side when it looked like it was going to go south. And we both celebrated with her when it didn’t.
Right, so Sandrine was a pain in the ass. But there were times that pain eased.
I put the phone in its charger and immediately began multitasking. Freaking out about Knight’s possible activities at the same time putting away groceries. Then I freaked out at the same time I made a sandwich. Then I freaked out at the same time I ate my sandwich and changed clothes. Then I freaked out as I walked out to my car and continued to freak out as I drove to class.
And luckily I’d freaked out enough that by the time I hit class I could set it aside and concentrate.
Unfortunately, by the time I got home from class, I was back to freaking out. Which meant I found it hard to sleep.
And it further meant when I finally slept, my dreams were filled with Knight.
* * * * *
The next evening, I had little time. I had a client, she was showing at my house at her six thirty slot and I had to be home and set up in time. But I also had to do what I had to do.
And I was going to do it.
It was after work. I had a full-time job as a file clerk in a medical office that had six doctors and four nurse practitioners. I made shit money but the job wasn’t taxing, the office ladies were funny and they had excellent benefits. These included kick-butt insurance and, if you worked there for two years, partial payment on any further education you wanted to take even if it was beauty school.
And beauty school was where I decided to go so, three years ago, I went. I’d already completed my nail technician certification and was building a clientele whose appointments I had to take in the evenings and on weekends. The goal was to have enough to go full-time therefore be able to rent a station in a decent salon. This was difficult, what with a job and school, but I was doing it.
Since, I’d finished classes in applying makeup and now I was close to completing a course to be a certified skin technician. I liked nails and I liked chattering to my clients. It was cool, seriously low stress and it actually paid pretty well. But I knew that I’d lose my mind sitting around doing nails forty hours a week so I had to diversify.
That was why I took classes to be a makeup artist and was close to completing my course as a skin technician. I liked doing facials the best. It was the quiet. It wasn’t only relaxing to the client but also me. And I liked the bright but tranquil look my test subjects gave me when I was done. Not only was I making their skin look great, I was making them feel good. And that was cool.
But this wasn’t my life’s dream. In fact, I didn’t have a life’s dream. I’d learned that living a dream, finding a dream or having a dream find me was not in my future and I’d learned this early.
That said, I was ambitious.
I didn’t want to rule the world.
I wanted to own my own spa.
A good one that was all about relaxation, pampering and beautification in a peaceful, safe, gorgeous setting. Maybe up in the mountains somewhere. It would look good. It would smell good. And it would be a treat for anyone who opened the doors and walked in.
