Page 18 of Semi Sweet
Who are you?
I felt that the poem was probably too forward, but it also displayed my desperation perfectly. I wanted whoever this person was to know this wasn't just an innocent game for me. This was becoming my reason for going into work beyond the hourly rate. As my statistics class wrapped up, I decided I'd give it to Beth the following morning when I went in early to do some work before my shift. I'd put it in a sealed envelope and hope for the best.
***
Sometimes I hated the crazy life I lived. My statistics class got out so late, some of the creepers had the audacity to cheer when I got on the train each week.
"You got a man?"
Every week, it was like I was stuck in a looping version of hell where I had to explain my relationship status to weirdos and pervs.
"Yeah. Tall and strong," I would try to say with as much confidence as I could muster. In truth, Evan wasn't much taller than I was, but they didn't need to know that. Or that he had money. Then they'd try to hold me for ransom and all parties involved would be disappointed.
When I started grad school a couple of years ago, I’d told Evan about how uncomfortable the train ride made me feel and he called me a savage.
"Just use the family driver. That's what they are there for."
I’d tried to explain that I liked to be independent and that it wasn't necessary, but it might have been nice for him to be waiting for me at the station just in case one of those sketch-balls decided to follow me home. Evan was no help.
"By that time of the day I'm comfortable for the night." That was his prim and proper way of saying he'd already be into his bourbon. "Use my driver or suit yourself."
I didn't want to keep the driver out late, so now I carried pepper spray, a key chain that could gouge someone's eyes out, and huge confidence that wasn't really there. Fake it until you make it, right? I tried not to think about how Evan's priorities were slightly messed up sometimes. His wife-to-be would embarrass him by studying at her job, but being on the news after a rape was not one of his worries.
The same guy that always asked if I was available scooted closer to me. Now came the same question he always asked me.
"Your boyfriend, does he have a big, you now?" I was so acquainted with this ordeal that I had to stop myself from mimicking what he said next. "If he doesn't, I can help you with that."
"It's huge," I assured. "Almost too much to handle, honestly, and I hate to break it to you, but he's not the sharing type."
The man was usually deterred by this. He would scowl and move onto someone new, until next week. Maybe next week I'd get a book deal and I wouldn't have to ride the crappy train anymore. Who was I kidding? I had no time to make anything of good quality. I'd always end up close to the final round, or runner up. Average just like my somewhat average-sized fiancé.
"Hmm, maybe that's why he throws himself into his work so much," I said with a chuckle. "Compensating…"
Did that make me a terrible person or just a survivor? I contemplated this until I got to my stop.
Chapter Eleven: By The Fist
Afewdayslater,whenthere were no Quitteros lurking around the store, the front end was lit up with energy. Spirits were so high, people who normally ignored me or were critical of me acknowledged my presence.
"Come join us for the disco masquerade," I read with an eyebrow raised. "The cats will be away, so let's play."
Added to the quickly printed note were the words “and drink” with thick black sharpie.
"Interesting…" The flyer must have made its way through several departments, as it was creased and wrinkled. "What exactly is a disco masquerade?"
Several front end girls who usually kept to themselves decided to congregate by my courtesy desk. Morale was definitely high because these were the girls that usually gossiped about me, rolled their eyes at me, and made rude comments. I was too excited myself to be wary or depressed by this development.
As the flyer had stated, the Quitteros were about to leave for a five day business trip and were busy tying up loose ends at corporate. Even Russel was leaning against his podium several yards away, looking equally relaxed as the girls pondered what the strange party might be like.
"Everyone will probably wear masks and they'll play every ABBA and Bee Gees song that ever existed," Ariana guessed, before she whispered that she heard human resources and the department managers were probably hosting because they had to deal with the Quitteros more than the little underlings did.
This was not the first time a party like this had been planned when Evan's family was away. I’d worked at Cash Value Market for so long, I knew these celebrations happened at least twice a year. They would move things around in the shipping and receiving warehouse in the back of the store so people could congregate and dance, and there was always an over the top theme. I'd been to costume parties and ugly Christmas sweater celebrations, just to name a few. I wondered if the Quitteros were oblivious to what their employees did behind their backs or if they found these wild parties to be a strange form of flattery.
"Olivia, you cannot go!" Meg, who was rude even on a good day, demanded. "You'll rat us out and ruin all of our fun."
Oof, so much for being included. I was almost offended when both girls giggled at my expense, but this was on the nicer side of jabs. They weren't talking about me behind my back. I tried to be tough, but it was so off base.
"Please," I replied, trying to seem strong to show they weren't getting to me. "No one is happier than me that Evan and his family are going to be away."
