One of the pitfalls of working in retail is – you never quite have enough money. I’ve been working here for two years now, and I always feel like my paycheck is inadequate. The trouble with that is - you start looking for alternate ways to get extra cash, especially when you have a mouth to feed. Some of the girls on my team do hair on the side, others bartend and waitress at local clubs, some even have other eight-hour jobs. I’ve tried being one of those girls, but for some odd reason – those methods never worked for me…
I can’t lie – I think I’m a pretty attractive young lady. I’m twenty-three, tall, slender – light skin tone with long, flowing hair. My father is Armenian, and my mother is from Nigeria. I’ve always been led to believe that appearance gets you ahead in the world. I have customers, male and female – who will only shop with me, because of my looks. I’ve never been into modeling or anything of that nature, so I haven’t really known how to use my looks to my advantage, until two years ago. A customer came through my line that truly changed my life.
His name is Bruno. He’s a 55 year-old conglomerate king, although I didn’t know it when I met him. He approached my line with a simple purchase; a bottle of pinot noir and a small glass of caviar. As I rang him up, he stared at me the entire time, and when I finally looked up, his smile said that something was on his mind.
“How’s your day going so far, sir?” I asked him politely. “All is well, especially since I’ve seen you,” was his slick reply. I couldn’t help but smile, and my light-skin makes it almost a guarantee that I was blushing. “What are you doing working here, anyway? Someone should be parading you on their arm right now.” He said with a grin. I laughed, “Things like that don’t happen to me, plus I like working here – it’s one of the best paying jobs in the city.” As he slid his card across my counter, he gently placed it into my hand, “Well, I’d love to take you to dinner one of these days – what do you say?” Mind you, no one has ever made an offer like that to me – so I was caught off guard. I stammered and took the card politely, “Don’t you think I’m a bit young? What would we possibly have in common?” Bruno smiled and turned to walk away, “I’m sure we can find plenty of things to talk about” as he grabbed his bag and exited the store.
I was flabbergasted.
Needless to say, I had no plans on calling him, until I saw his Bentley Arnage pull slowly past the storefront. I thought about the women who came in with their “sugar daddies,” women in their twenties like me – who managed to get spotted by some old rich guy. Their lives are perfect; lavish meals, European sports cars, designer clothes that didn’t debut at Fashion Week yet. Like I said, things like that just don’t happen to me. It’s not in my cards to be well taken care of. If I gauge my future on the luck I’ve had in my past – there’s nothing but disappointment waiting ahead. My daughter’s father is a no-show, and my son’s father is in jail. For the past five years, I’ve been working my ass off to keep their mouths fed and their stomachs full. When I told my former boyfriend that I was pregnant – his first response was, “Is it mine?” This was the guy I dated from junior high school up until my last year in high-school. He was my first at everything, although I can’t say the same in return. Years of infidelity left me broken and unsure of myself, but the issue of our child was the last straw. After I gave birth to Amaris, I signed the birth certificate and decided to leave his name off the paper and out of my life. I didn’t need him dragging me down in front of my child. Three years later, I was blessed with Joel, my son. Shortly after his birth, his father was knocked on drug charges and sent to prison. That’s when times got hard.
There were times when I was gathering money from friends to keep the lights on in my apartment. When the lights would get shut off, I would send the kids to my mother’s until I could get things sorted out. Some days, the fridge was empty – other days Mother would demand that she buy groceries for me and the kids. She has been my savior until now. I have been so used to being independent all my life; I refused to ask for her help. Sometimes she would slip a hundred dollar bill in my pocket as she left the house, other times she would have my father show up unexpectedly with food. It killed me to know that I couldn’t feed my children on my own.
That’s when I decided to give Bruno a call…
Last night’s dinner left me feeling a bit wild when I got home. The idea that all of my friends were out, in their ripe, “cougar” ages – having fun and enjoying life – excited me. I went home with the notion that I was going to bring the spark back to my marriage. I got home and opened the door gently, sliding off my pumps and tiptoeing through the foyer. Robert was on the computer as usual, typing his soul away, the clicks of the keyboard matching intermittently with his darting eyes. I snuck upstairs and showered, all the while plotting my next move. Opting for the red-lace, I paired my teddy with black peep-toe kitten heels and sauntered down the stairs. The room was dark, save for the dim desk light and the illumination of the computer screen. I softly wrapped my hands around him, walking my fingers down his chest and kissing him lightly on his neck. His response startled me – as he gripped both my hands and pulled them away from his body. “Vette - you know I’m busy. I have to have these proposals in by tomorrow.” Without flinching, he let go of my hands – now red- and continued typing. I’m not one to be easily discouraged, so I went for the kill. Dropping my robe, I spun his leather office chair around abruptly, and sat myself firmly onto his lap. “Richard – I’ve been lonely lately. Take care of your wife – won’t you?” As I turned around for a kiss, he took a deep breath, stood up and put both hands on my hips. I was ready to go. “Yvette. I don’t know what menopause is doing to you – but my midlife crisis hasn’t taken place yet. I’m still working – so kindly save this for some other time.” After his monologue, he promptly packed up his laptop, snatched his flash drive from the desktop, and marched towards the door. “I’ll be working from the office tonight – don’t wait up.” He only called me home so I could give him some documents out of my car. My evening ended with the slam of the double doors, and the beep of the ADT alarm. The roar of Richard’s Corvette rumbled loudly then faded quickly into the darkness. I poured a glass of Pinot, sipped myself to sleep and came to a strong conclusion. I need a boy toy.
All morning while grading papers, I thought about last night. It baffles me that Richard would treat me this way, after all these years. Twenty plus years of marriage, as I allow Richard to pursue his endeavors – I spend hours in the gym, making sure I look presentable for my husband. Trips to the spa are like scheduled maintenance on his Porsche – I keep myself in top shape so that my value to him will not depreciate. It seems to me, though – that he loves his toys and gadgets more than he cares about his wife. Ignoring stares, catcalls and car horns has been mastered in my world – I only have eyes for my husband. These designer threads and European shoes – I wear them simply because I want to look appealing for him – and not a soul more. As time wears on, though – I am beginning to think that all of this effort is in vain. What am I doing wrong? I call my girls on conference for advice.
{{Katrina:}}
“Yvette – I’ve told you before, dump his ass. Why do you keep wasting your time trying to entertain him? Unless you’ve got a plasma screen as a face, and a plug coming out of your butt – Richard is not going to touch you. He’s on another planet right now, and you know it.”
{{Martina:}}
“Hun, all you two need is some alone time. Hawaii has a wonderful vacation package for this time of year. No TV, no phones – take him out to the wilderness and attack him like an animal. I guarantee he’ll be a different man after your Tarzan Jane vacation.”
{{Josie:}}
“If you ask me, I still think you need to check out that mechanic of yours. Whatever Richard’s messing up in your love life – I’m sure he’s got a tool or two that can fix it.”
We all erupt into laughter, and I take the phone off of speaker to cease the glances into my office.
{{Martina:}}
“Yvette – have you ever thought that Richard may be cheating on you?”
Silence.
“In all honesty – the signs are there. He’s always at the office. He never wants to touch you romantically. Sometimes he doesn’t come home until sunup. Those are characteristics of a cheater. I would be concerned, sweetie.”
Now that the bug had been put in my ear, I can’t help but explore the idea of his possible infidelity. I mean, why wouldn’t he want to touch me? My personal trainer told me I have the body of a twenty-two year-old and the stamina of a jackrabbit. As much as I know he likes to work – most men want time to make love to their woman. Unless, well – he’s gay, which is an option that may not be too far from the truth. Crazier things have happened.
Continuing my day, I took Josie into Wildwood to pick up catering for a University luncheon. We laughed about the idea that Richard was secretly dating one of the many drag queens that were parading around the store. As usual, I struggle to balance myself on my Chinese Laundry heels and balance the cheese platter in my arms. I look to Jo for help, but she is busy checking out a muscle-bound gentleman in the supplement section. Quickly – I look for a spot to place the platter, and find an empty lane. As I place the dish onto the belt, my cashier walks up with a smile. “I thought I was going to have to rescue you again with all that food.” I smile, “I wish you could rescue me, it’s been a long day.” Small talk ensues, and as he cashes me out – I feel that rush of bravery come over me again. “I’d love to have you over for lunch one of these days - to discuss your options at our University, of course.” His puzzled expression is replaced with a dimpled grin, as he asked, “Can I call you later? May I call you?”
Times like this – I wish I wasn’t white. I know my face had to be beet red.
I give him the green light, and tell him that my cell phone is always by my side. His bagger helps me to my car, and Josie hops into the passenger seat. “So, who is that brown-skinned beauty that you were flirting with? You guys looked pretty comfortable. Wait – is that the hottie you were talking about? My goodness, he’s gorgeous!” I giggle and nod. “Why haven’t you jumped his bones yet? He looks more than worthy to be your boy toy, Vette. If you won’t – I sure will!” We laugh all the way back to the office, but in the back of my mind I wonder – why haven’t I?
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