Following My Toes (10 page)

“Yeah, I’m going to head back. Maybe some other time.”

“Is your number still the same?” he asked her.

“Um, yeah, yeah it is.” There was now nothing encouraging in Carolyn’s manner at all. But she didn’t tell him not to call either.

Max turned to me. “So Faith, it was nice meeting you. Maybe you want to go out for a drink again sometime?”

For a moment I didn’t know what to say. I had been too focused on what was going on with Carolyn to put much thought into Max. Plus, Ethan had called. And Max was no Ethan. But after quick reflection, I decided maybe this was a good thing. He seemed stable, and nice. Not exciting, but interesting, perhaps.

“Sure,” I answered him. “That would be great.” I reached into my purse for a pen, but found no slip of paper to write upon.

“Here, write it on my hand.” He held his arm out, and I did as he had requested. After I was done, he said, “Now it’s official. You’re branded on my skin, and in my heart.”

I laughed because he expected me to. But actually his humor was uncanny enough that I instantly questioned my wisdom in giving him my number. Oh well – too late. After making Carolyn promise to call me later, I headed back. When I got there I was pleased to find that Missy was not yet home. I plopped down on the couch to pet Thomas, who awoke with a meow, and stretched lazily as I stroked him. I was enjoying this moment of peace and quiet so much that when the phone rang, I chose not to answer it. Instead, the answering machine clicked on.

A male voice spoke. “Hi, it’s me. I want you to know that I’m thinking about you.” Click.

The message had to be for Missy. I didn’t recognize the voice; it was too deep to be Ethan’s. But was it really? Unsure, I listened to it again, and then I listened to Ethan’s message to compare them. It didn’t sound like him, but I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.

Or what if it was Max? Now that would be disturbing. But he hadn’t seemed disturbed, at least until that last comment. I dialed star 69 to find out who had called, but the number had been blocked. Great.

I told myself that I was making too much of this. The call had to be for Missy. Deciding to dismiss all thoughts from my mind, I headed off to bed, where it took me forever to fall asleep. However, it wasn’t the message that kept me tossing and turning, it was the actions of the evening running through my mind. In retrospect that seems ironic. Then again, it’s those whom we love that bring about the worst kind of pain. There’s no great mystery as to why, but the events that were about to unfold would remain elusive to me for a long time.

Chapter 7

When I awoke the next morning I remembered I had left my laundry in the washer the night before. When I went down to finally put it in the dryer, I found that someone had already taken care of it, and my clothes were folded neatly on the table off to the side. I smiled but felt my cheeks turn red; most of what was in that load was bras and underwear.

I took my stuff upstairs and put it away. I figured the person to thank was that guy Bill, so I wrote a note thanking him and slipped it underneath his door.

I spent the rest of the morning once again working on my resume and looking for jobs. But it was hard to concentrate because most of my mental energy was used thinking about Ethan. How long should I wait to call him back? Was he truly interested in me, or is he simply a flirt? And what about his ex-girlfriend? Should I be getting involved with someone who, like me, is on the rebound? Shortly before 10:00am I was diverted however, when Missy came in.

“Hey, what are you doing home?” I asked her.

She looked as if breathing were a chore. “You will never believe what happened to me this morning,” she said, as she sat down slowly on the couch, as if to say it was hard for her to do so. “I decided to go for a short walk before work, and I got run-over by a dog!”

I was run over by a dog once, when I was two. It was so traumatic I still remember it. However, at the time I was about two-and-a-half feet tall. I couldn’t fathom how Missy, who is at least 5’4,” managed to let a dog run over her.

“How did you get run-over by a dog? Was the dog really big or something?”

“No, it was small. I was walking, and it ran out in front of me, so I tripped. When I fell, I landed on my shoulder and my wrist, and I could instantly feel that something was wrong. I’ve been in the emergency room all morning. They say there might be nerve damage.”

“Missy, that’s terrible, but then the dog didn’t literally run over you, right? Because the way you made it sound....”

She jumped up from the couch. “You weren’t there Faith! I felt like I had been demolished. It was awful. And quite frankly, it would have been nice to have someone to drive me to the hospital, rather than driving myself. That was not easy.”

Missy’s face was all pinched up, and her eyes had narrowed into little slits. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at me. This was the first time I experienced her anger, and already I knew to tread lightly.

“I’m sorry Missy. But I was here, you could have woken me, I would have taken you.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, you were out so late last night.” Forget that she had gotten home last night after I had. She sounded as grouchy as a spoiled child.

“I’m sorry. Carolyn called, and she and her boyfriend had had a fight. She needed to talk. Otherwise I would have waited for you to get back, and invited you along.”

“So you just take off, expecting me to finish your laundry for you?”

“What?” I was shocked. “You finished my laundry? How did you know I was even doing any?”

“Because I went to do some of my own, and I recognized your clothes in the washer.”

I almost started to say thank you, when an unpleasant thought occurred to me.

“You recognized my underwear?”

Missy’s face went blank for a moment, her look of anger transitioning into one of confusion. But only for a moment, then she resumed her aggressive pose.

“I helped you move in, remember? Personally, I would never have left the box with my underwear without a lid, but it’s not like you have that much to hide.
Hanes Her Way
and all.”

“That’s not all I own! There was some
Victoria’s Secret
in there too!”

“Whatever.”

“Anyway, you didn’t have to do that. You could have left them on top of the machine, I would have finished them later.”

She turned towards the kitchen, and walked to get a glass of water. “A simple thank you would be nice,” she said, as she turned on the faucet.

Better to let the whole thing go. “Oh, well, thanks. Would you like some quarters for the dryer?”

Her glare told me the mere question was an insult. Then without warning or seeming cause, her face turned from anger to sorrow. It reminded me of watching a mime at a street fair – how quickly and drastically her expression changed. Unfortunately however, Missy was not as quiet as a mime. She began to sob. In the flash of a second she turned the water off, and threw the glass in her hand down on the floor, breaking it to bits. Next she was gasping for air, as I stood watching, too shocked to go and comfort her.

“What am I going to do?” she wailed. “I’ll have to quit my job! How am I going to live?” She screamed this up towards the ceiling, and then lowered her head and her voice at the same time. She looked around her, gradually realizing the scene she had created. It didn’t take long for her to regain her composure; she grabbed a paper towel, wiped her eyes, then retrieved the broom from behind the fridge and began to sweep up the mess she had made.

“Sorry,” she said, without looking at me. “I didn’t mean to be so dramatic. Sometimes when I’ve had a bad day the tension builds up, and I lose it for a moment.”

I had to take a deep breath. Talk about tension.

“That’s okay,” I replied. “We’ve all been there. Do you need help cleaning that up?”

“Sure,” she said. “I suppose I shouldn’t push it.” She handed me the broom and the dustpan, and walked back out into the living room. So much for “helping.”

“Thanks,” she called out. “I appreciate it. But hey, now we’re in the same boat, huh? Jobless and all.”

I finished cleaning up the glass and walked back out into the living room. She was sitting next to her cat Jinny, playing with her tail.

“Why are you going to quit your job?”

“The doctors said nerve damage! I can’t do the same repetitive motion all day, sitting at a desk and typing.” Missy did data entry. “But I can’t survive simply on my phone sales either.”

“On your phone sales?” It took a moment before I remembered. “Oh yeah, that’s right. You do telemarketing. But I’ve never actually heard you selling anything. You always go into your room and close the door.”

Missy flashed a smile through her remaining tears. “That’s because what I’m selling is me.”

“Huh?” Call me dense; I didn’t get it.

So she put it simply. “I do phone sex. That’s my telemarketing. But I can’t do it full time, they’re only willing to give me part time work. No, I’ll have to figure out something else as well.”

Never mind that Missy had used a lot of force to break that glass. Never mind that no doctor had actually said to her that she did have nerve damage, and would have to quit her job. These were not the issues foremost on my mind.

“You do phone sex? For money? From our apartment?”

She sighed. “It’s not like you ever would have known if I hadn’t told you.”

I plopped down on the chair across from the couch where she was sitting. Revelations such as this needed to be taken sitting down.

Missy laughed. “Lighten up, Faith. This isn’t a case of guilt by association.”

“But don’t you think you should have told me before I moved in?”

“Why?” she asked. “What difference does it make?” Before I could answer, she continued on. “Anyway, I did tell you. I just didn’t tell you what it was I telemarket.”

“Well, that’s a fairly significant piece of information to leave out, Missy!”

“Oh, relax!” she snipped. “I have my own line, so it doesn’t even concern you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to call some lawyers.”

“Lawyers? Why?”

“Why do you think? I want to sue the owners of that dog.”

* * *

I ended up calling Ethan that afternoon, and we went out a couple of nights later. When he picked me up I was pleased to notice he cleans up nicely.

He was wearing khaki painter pants and a crisp white shirt, which looked good against his dark coloring. I was glad I hadn’t dressed too formally though, seeing as how he hadn’t either. After much deliberation, I had decided to wear my black stretch hip huggers, paired with a white cotton blouse with a red floral print, and red suede flip-flops to complete the ensemble. I have to be careful how much red I wear, because too much of it clashes with my hair. But I wore my hair up that night, even though both Missy and Carolyn told me not to.

Ethan didn’t seem to mind. His eyes lit up with appreciation when I answered the door. “Hey, you look great!” he said. Now my face was red too. At least it matched with everything else about me. We went to this bar downtown called Brit’s Pub, where you can sit on the roof and watch lawn bowling tournaments. And although there were threatening clouds on the horizon, we decided to take our chances rather than sit inside.

We ordered our drinks and made a lot of small talk.

“How long have you lived in
Minneapolis
?” I asked.

Ethan took a swig of his
Summit
and placed it back down on the table. “Since I was five,” he said. “We moved here from
Belgium
.”

“You’re kidding,” I replied. “Why?”

“My dad’s American, and he couldn’t find decent work. He had met my mom when he was traveling with a Fullbright. Then he got a temporary work visa to teach American Studies at one of the universities. But his visa ran out, so we moved here.”

“What about your mom?”

“She’s an artist; she can work anywhere.”

“What kind of art?

“Paintings. I’ll show you her pieces at the art institute sometime. She has a couple on display.”

The art institute is connected to the children’s theater in the southern part of the city. It has a national reputation, so I was im-pressed. I was also happy. He was already suggesting another date! “Yeah, that would be great. I’ve actually been meaning to get over to the institute.”

Then there was a lag in the conversation. Ethan examined the label on his beer, ripping off the corner that had risen from condensation. I took a sip of my gin and tonic, and swirled the ice with the straw.

“So are you an American citizen?” I asked.

“I actually have dual citizenship”

I laughed.

“Why is that funny?” he inquired with a smile.

“I don’t know. It seems ironic—a man who idolizes Abe Lincoln isn’t 100% American.”

His voice was soft, intimate. “But I don’t, that’s my cousin. How-ever,” he raised one eyebrow, “I do admire Abe Lincoln.”