Christine Zolendz - Brutally Beautiful

“STOP! Stop the car!”  I yelped gleefully, making Fran swerve into the shoulder of the road.  “A STARBUCKS!” I pointed happily, bouncing in his tiny electrical shit box of a car.

Driving into the parking lot, he pulled into the first empty space he saw and placed his hand over his heart.  “You almost gave me a heart attack,” he chuckled.  “I really thought something was wrong.”

“Something is wrong,” I winked at him.  “I haven’t had enough caffeine yet.”  Opening the car door, I smiled at him, “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you.”  He touched his hand to mine, “Didn’t you understand what I said before about drinking too much coffee.”

I stared at him, confused.  “Yes, I did.”  I blinked my eyes rapidly, trying not to burst out laughing.  “I guess I’m just too far gone into my addiction.  There’s just no saving me.”

I came back into the car with three coffees, putting my lips to each one in turn, and slurping them loudly.  Fran slowly dragged his eyes from me back to his windshield and continued his drive to the street festival he promised to take me to.

Fran was correct about one thing; the street fair was lovely.  Antique shops, small novelty stores and a few bed and breakfasts lined the small cobblestoned main street of the quaint nameless town.  Old, yet well-maintained Victorian homes littered the twisting back roads and when you drove by, the inhabitants offered you a big wave and a friendly smile.  Covered bridges crossed over flowing streams and tents were set up for blocks along the main road of the town, and people milled around laughing and drinking coffee, warm cider, or hot chocolate.

The two of us roamed around the booths. Every once in a while, Fran’s hand made it to the small of my back or his lips found my temple.  Every ten minutes, Fran would stop and take a picture with his phone and post it on instagram and twitter like an obsessed teenager.  I cut him off after he posed me in front of a booth that sold organic clothing and tweeted a picture of me to his 459 followers that said, “Organic socks rock!”

We found a small intimate restaurant and we were just sitting down to grab a drink at the bar before an early dinner or late lunch, whatever you wanted to call it, when in walked Morgan and an extremely distinguished looking older gentleman.  Fran waved them over and offered to share a drink with them, while we waited for our tables since the place was packed. Her faced blanched as the gentlemen she was with agreed, and I looked at her curiously.

He pulled out a chair at the bar for her and she offered a tight smile to us, and a curt serious nod. “This is my husband, Jeremy.”  She looked at him with flushed cheeks and continued with her introductions, “Jeremy, dear, this is Francis and Lainey.  I met them at a small dinner party I was invited to last night, while you were still away on your business trip.”

Well now, wasn’t that just a dick-slap right there?

Morgan gave a brilliantly flirtatious grin at Fran and batted her lashes at him, “Francis, darling, would you mind if I stole your treasure here to accompany me to the restroom?”

Really?  Really now?  She just asked a man for permission to have me accompany her to the bathroom?  Oh, this ought to be awesome.

Fran just waved us away, as he dove into an intense conversation with a seemingly already intoxicated Jeremy about the degradation of our ozone layer and how without its protection, we would all fry up like little eggs on a hot stove.  Then he proceeded to list off all the Organohalogen compounds that we use daily, and which ones were the worst global environmental pollutants for our beloved layer of ozone.

Yes, I think I rather stay in the bathroom with Morgan, instead of listening to his next debate with himself.  Masterdebation.  He should go tweet that.

Once inside the bathroom, she slumped against the wall and covered her face, “Please.  Please don’t say anything to Jeremy.  I know how bad I look, but he’s never home, always away on business, and God, I mean have you seen Kade Grayson?  He’s a perfect specimen of a man.”

I giggled next to her. “Yeah, a perfect sociopath.  Don’t worry, I won’t say anything and I’m no one to judge.”  I opened my purse, took out my lip-gloss, and dabbed a bit on my lips.  “How long have you been married?”

“I’ve been imprisoned for fourteen years,” she laughed.  “Married me right out of high school and promised me the world.  He’s got loads of money and I live in the lap of luxury, but it’s a lonely world.”  She lathered her own lips with a bright fire engine red lipstick, which I would never have the courage to wear.  “So how about you and Francis?”

“We’ve only been on a few dates.  I’m not looking for anything serious, and he’s way too serious,” I answered.

“Kade seemed really taken by you last night.  His eyes were on you all night. He hardly ate his food.”

“Grayson is an ass,” I stated.

“He’s so damaged and dark.  Intense.  I think I like the danger of it,” she said softly.

“Oh, I can definitely see him as one of those dangerous bad ass types,” I laughed.

She gave me a measured stare and giggled, “Don’t knock the alpha male types, they’re delicious.”

“Oh sure,” I laughed.  “There is nothing wrong with bad boys, unless you have self-esteem and confidence.  Then you’re fucked, and you’re smart enough to know you’re fucked.  I know, because I’ve fallen down that dark hole before.”

“Yeah, but, I’ve always loved those dangerous damaged men.  I wonder why, you know?”

“Daddy issues?”  I laughed at my reflection in the mirror, “Mine was mommy issues, really.”  I glanced over at Morgan who was sniffing and staring down at her hands.  I nudged her and smiled. “I think the truth is that we are in love with the fantasy of being that one person who could inspire, arouse, or affect someone who is so untouchable to the rest of the world.  It makes us feel special; like we’re the diamond in the rough, the one in a million, the one that everyone else couldn’t be, and do what everyone else couldn’t do.  Imagine being that significant to someone?  To never have to doubt that he loves you, or needs you, or more importantly, wants you more than any other.”

“I totally agree with you,” a strange small voice said from behind me.

“Yeah, me too.  I’d give a limb to feel like that,” said another voice.

Lifting my eyes to the mirror, I noticed the group of women behind me, nodding their heads in agreement.  I smiled at all of them; we were all striving for that same desire, weren’t we?

“The question is,” a tall, older brunette began, “is that a reality?  Does love like that, desire and passions like that exist?”

Morgan shook her head next to me, “I don’t think so.  If it does, I’ve never felt it.”

Some of the women agreed, some didn’t.  I just shrugged and sighed, “For me, I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t ever expect a man to make me feel that way.  I have to make myself feel that way. I want to be the one person who could inspire, arouse, and affect me.  Because, let’s be honest, no one is going to be with me longer than me.”

The way those women reacted to what I said, I thought I was going to be carried out of that bathroom on their shoulders with them chanting my name.  I had never been more proud of my ovaries and uterus for all of womankind.

Morgan and I walked back to our table laughing with our arms hooked like teenage best friends.  Fran was still on his soapbox, while a slanted Jeremy hovered over a dark amber drink, smiling at the table, and nodding his head.  Fran stopped mid-rant and smiled at me, “There you are. I ordered a red wine for you. I hope that’s okay.”

Smiling at him, I nodded and sat in the seat next to him.  The four of us ordered dinner together and our dinner discussions went from one extreme to another, never touching on anything personal.  Throughout the dinner, I couldn’t help but feel as if I was separated off from the three of them, even though we all shared in the conversations.  They seemed so far removed from my life and my experiences that I felt as if I were from another universe. Of course, my mind wandered to Kade and that kiss.  What made it so earthshattering?  Was it my attraction to him?  Was it because he was mean and degrading, and I wanted to prove to him what and who I really was?  I always did have a big issue with people who underestimated me. I loved to prove them wrong.  Then I wondered what was it that made Kade so damaged.  Was he just as damaged as me?

After dinner, Fran, as promised, took me to the best bookstore I’d ever been to.  Well Red was a bookstore/wine house, where you could buy books, sit and read them over a glass of wine; a little spin on the bookstore/coffee houses of the city.   We sat there for two hours, sipping a glass of red wine and read.  I left with a stack of new books, and he left with a smug, proud smile on his face.  Nevertheless, I let him keep it there, since the bookstore was perfect and I guess I was thawing a little towards him.

Kicking my foot through the pile of clothes on the floor, I watched them fly up until I spotted my pants and pulled them on.  The rest of the material belonged to the naked woman sleeping on my bed, the one that still had my reddened handprints on her ass. I’d already let her sleep fifteen minutes past the time I would let anyone stay in this room (incidentally, that’s usually fifteen minutes), and that’s only because I left her to search my house for the strongest whiskey I had.  A fifth of the bottle was gone already.  Do you know how many shots are in a fifth of whiskey?  About twenty-drunken-five shots, so I should have been out cold.

I kicked my foot against the bed, the mattress moved about half a foot off my box springs, and I took another swig.  “It’s time to go, um…” I’d completely forgotten her name.  “Hello, love?”

The body stirred quietly on the bed and the woman’s eyes peeked out from under the covering of my sheets.  I scooped up the clothes that belonged to her and dropped them right in front of her face.  “I’ve got work to do, so you have to shove off now.”

She sat up, and the sheets fell away revealing a pair of large breasts that I didn’t even bother to look at, let alone touch, thirty minutes ago.  I tossed her purse onto the bed and leaned against the far wall where I’d already opened the door for her highly anticipated (only by me it seemed) departure. Resting my body against the frame of the door, I gestured my hands for her to move along and hurry.