Secret Shopper (10 page)

“No way, Rachel! I was only kidding. I chickened out with Bradley thank God, and I’m not ready to get something so permanent.” Apparently, Rachel was. She already had Japanese blossoms on the small of her back, which she did as a college graduation gift to herself. I hid in the corner of the waiting room when it was my turn. Rachel suggested I get a huge red phoenix on my back and I thought of Bradley the night he got his tattoo and he suggested the same thing. Before I knew it, we were walking into InksRWe. Rachel chose a cute sprinkle of stars for her ankle.

“Just two for now.” She instructed. She decided that for every store thereafter that carried the ShinyPurpleThread line, she would add another star. I think the Dixie Chicks gals did the same thing for each record they made or something, a cute pair of chick footprints on their ankles. Did that mean your success was limited to the space on your feet? I told Rachel to get a vintage sewing machine on her back and her face lit up at the idea.

“Next time I visit you.” She declared.

Wednesday was a day of shopping therapy and a much needed nail salon visit. The pedicurist worked gingerly around Rachel’s new tattoo and received a generous tip for doing so. After lunch, Rachel shoved me into Victoria Secret and had the resident bra expert measure me. I had been forcing my puppies into a 38 C for most of my post pubescent life, only to discover I was really a D cup, a 34 D to be exact. I had to admit, my posture improved instantly. I couldn’t stop Rachel from spoiling me as she purchased over five hundred dollars of undergarments in every color possible. She steered me away from the blacks or whites—my standard.

“Just in case Bradley walks in on you as he’s packing his crap or better yet, Thomas spends the night.” The thought of being with another man intimately, even someone as divine as Thomas made my insides churn. I couldn’t visualize it, maybe I wasn’t ready to.

That evening, Rachel drove us to another dance studio. A surprise, she called it. She had set up a one time visit with a belly dancing class. I boomeranged back to the car as soon as I entered the studio and saw the many posters with seductive women and their glorious navels. Yeah, I lost a few pounds but I wasn’t ready for my own jelly. Rachel dragged me back in just before I started the engine. I couldn’t say no to her puppy dog eyes and whimpering.

“These are a bunch of strangers! You need to get in touch with your inner Shakira!” Rachel proclaimed.

“I can’t wiggle it for strangers!” I cringed.

“Did you see the different sizes of women, Nix? Everyone is beautiful here! Let’s do this, please, please, please?” I gave in. God, I dreaded the sight of my belly.

We met the instructor, the beautiful Bella Donna. She whisked us away to the costume room for some frilly chiffon and jingly belts. If we wanted to dress up further, we were welcome to. I stuck to the value meal outfit, while Rachel dressed up in the works. She was stunning in a fuchsia get up, prancing around like she was the lovechild of the
I Dream of Jeannie icon and Prince Aladdin.

I wondered how much she paid for this class. I would have been happier in my sweats at home watching a DVD with a tub of popcorn with
Tabasco. Rachel’s enthusiasm was contagious and I thought about the sacrifice she had to make in her own life to come to California to get my ass in gear. I did a few jumping jacks and decided to just go with it tonight, to lose my inhibitions and
waka waka
like Shakira.

On
Guam, there were many dance groups who incorporated Polynesian dancing, hula, Tahitian. It was a fantasy of mine to be one of
those
girls, but I felt like I was never worthy enough, beautiful enough or exotic enough. Perhaps belly dancing would be a good alternative.

Bella Donna played quick paced, entrancing music. The heavy percussion engaged us and I swayed with the group. She demonstrated a short routine. It was mindboggling how her hips seemed to take on a life of their own. Her chest was possessed by another brain altogether. She did this all with a Mona Lisa smile. Bella Donna did not have abs of steel and the femininity and softness of her belly were seductive. I wondered if my new smaller belly could compare. Would I be able to move like this gyrating, alluring siren? I had childbearing hips, I guess I could be proud of. The rotations and bumps Bella Donna demonstrated were like an advertisement of what she could do to a man in bed. I blushed. Was that was this was about? It’s one thing to look the part, quite another to know how to use
what yo’ mama gave you
. In my case, my Korean mama. The one who never gyrates.

I never teased Bradley with dance, ever. He asked a few times. “Dance for me,”
he would beg. I would usually do something dorky like the Running Man or the Dougie. Bradley liked pushing me past my comfort zone, which often times made me feel not good enough.

As I watched the dancing, my hips tried to mimic what I saw. I had to keep my tongue from sticking out because I was concentrating so much. After a few basic descriptions and demonstrations of several moves, Bella Donna started a new song. She told us to be a wave, to vibrate, to flow. From the Egyptian Shimmy to the horizontal hip twist shimmy, my hips were only beginning to feel unhinged when class was declared over. Rachel and I were panting and glistening with sweat.

“Thank you.” I breathed into Rachel’s ear as I hugged her.

“For what, silly?”

“For being my
Miyagi
.” Rachel searched my face and smiled.

“You are welcome, Phoenix-san.” She bowed and then hugged me again, “I love you.”

Thursday started with breakfast at the Egg Shack where
we shared a twelve-egg omelet. We walked around Pacific Beach to work off the cholesterol overload. Rachel did my hair that morning in lovely waves. And she finally granted me my wish, natural make up. It was nice to see her dress down for the day and we looked like two girls who didn’t need to impress any man. I wanted the time to trickle by slowly.

“So, what are you going to do about Bradley?” Rachel wanted assurance before she left to
Guam.

“I’m feeling like my legs are stronger figuratively and literally. I can stand on my own for once. Oh, and I can shimmy now.” I demonstrated my best belly dancing moves and she joined in. A volleyball game stopped because of our impromptu show and a few guys whistled at us. We moved our shimmies further down the beach.

“So,” Rachel pressed, “about Bradley?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only known Bradley. I’m frightened of divorce. Thank God we don’t have kids. How can I move on to another man when Bradley knows me through and through?” It didn’t seem right. After Bradley and I made love for the first time, the summer after we graduated from high school, I made him promise to never leave me. If he did I threatened to join a convent to become a nun.

“And, I’ve only known every Tom, Juan and Harry on Guam—yes, I only dated the hottest Toms, Juans and Harrys—but with every man, I had a genuine connection. You can’t live your life worrying about Bradley being your first everything. It’s no longer special. He cheated for God’s sake! And you’re a hottie! Other men need to be blessed with your beauty.”

“Yeah, sure, hottie. I blamed my weight at first, but what if on Sunday, with the new me and everything he asks me to try again? What then?” I was afraid, maybe more so of not knowing what I really wanted. I didn’t want to continue with Bradley, yet I wanted validation from him, some kind of stamp of approval that I wasn’t a waste of space.

“Do you hear yourself?” Rachel blew out her breath sounding like a deflating balloon. She paced like a crazy tiger in front of me, then kicked up some sand in anger and the wind blasted it into my eyes and mouth. After a thousand apologies, a trip to the public restroom to clean my face, de-sand my eyes and reapply some make-up Rachel treated me to some lemonade. We continued our conversation on the way to the car. The grit in my eye bugged me to no end. Perhaps, like her words, Rachel wanted her advice to stick with me long after she went home.

“Nix, I hope to God Bradlame tries to nail you this Sunday and I hope to Jesus Christ Superstar that you shut him down! Who knows what real estate Barbie gave him.”

She was right. It would be kind of nice to see his reaction this Sunday.

“Nix, promise me that you won’t still be undecided when he gets out of training. Promise me that you’ll let this jerk go—out of your heart, mind and soul. Please.” Rachel grabbed my face and squished my cheeks together. “He will just break your heart again. I don’t want you hurt. Promise?”

“I proh-misshh.” She released my cheeks so I could speak. “I promise I’ll be a divorced woman next time we see each other.” And I finally felt like this was the right path to travel. Just needed that extra nudge from my best girl to make it official.

Divorce. D-I-V-O-R-C-E. It was so final. It was a sign of failure. I worried about what our parents would think, but pushed
it to the back of my frazzled brain for now.

Several margaritas and ten shopping bags later, Rachel and I made it home. She
commandeered my luggage for all the glorious items she purchased. As much as Rachel was a fashion designer, she loved buying high end designer clothes and shoes. Ever notice how food prepared by other people can be so much tastier? Same goes for clothes I guess.

Rachel and I spent the evening in. We watched old home videos marveling at our dated hair and clothes. My dad loved to video tape school functions, games, award ceremonies, chores, everything. At the time I was utterly embarrassed, but being older I was happy to have these memories burned onto tapes. So many of the images included Bradley and I was actually okay watching them. He was and forever will be a part of my life. He will always be known as my first love, my first husband and finally as the man who cheated on me and became the jerk I divorced. Rachel made me realize that I needed to push through my fears and face reality. I didn’t do anything wrong.
I didn’t do anything wrong.
And, I tried to do everything right to repair his damage.

“You’re better off without him. Look how hot he was in high school.”

“That’s not helping.” I pulled my knees to my face.

“Nix! He was hot, now he’s not. He’s not that smart too. And his hair is receding which is why he shaved his head, I’m betting.”

“Okay, Rach, that helps a whole bunch.” We laughed, stuffed our faces with dessert kabobs and crashed out on the couch together.

I woke up in a cold sweat. I dreamt that my legs were fused. I was a mermaid on land and I was being chased, but couldn’t move. I must have made a hullaballoo in my sleep because I awoke to Rachel cradling me and whispering into my hair like I was a baby. “Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

I sat upright and flattened my bed hair. “What, what happened? Was I dreaming?”

“I’d say you were nightmaring more like. Are you okay?”

“Just a bad dream. Nothing. I’m fine. I guess all that sugar and the fact that my sister is leaving me again.”

“Aw. I love you too. I just had lovely a snogging dream you rudely interrupted.

“You did?” I relaxed.

“Don’t laugh though. I was with that red head, Chazzer.”

“Oh! Nice! He’s all yours. Want his business card?” I jokingly checked my pockets.

“No way!” Our laughter echoed and I hugged Rachel hard. Her visit helped me heaps and I really didn’t want her to leave.

We kept our final goodbyes neat and simple usually, but I was an emotional mess. I felt like I was just rescued from a sinking ship this past week. Rachel helped me settle myself in the typhoon that was my life. She brought the eye of the storm and now things could begin to land and settle and be. All I needed to do was pick up the pieces I finally acknowledged as true and rebuild. I gave my best friend, my sister, a long tight hug. She was a good four inches shorter than me, but in many ways she was taller. Rachel lived her life for herself. Whoever, whatever man wanted to hop on her bus was welcomed if they followed her rules. I needed to charter my own bus and figure out my own life. I needed to figure out what moved me. Find my passion and do it every day like Rachel.

“Nix, I can’t
breafe
.” I didn’t realize that I was smothering Rachel. We composed ourselves and bid our farewells with a very manly pounding of our fists and bumping of our chests. My D cups with her B cups. Rachel pulled out a gift, which was flat like a CD case. Rachel and I loved making mixed, well tapes back in the day, and now discs for each other. Sort of like the soundtrack for our lives. She made me promise not to open it until the morning I picked up Bradlame--her new favorite nickname for him was becoming mine.

I waited until she checked in thoroughly with security. She absolutely fumed that she had to remove her designer shoes and jacket, but smiled for the lovely uniformed men and women. Once she hit the waiting area I blew my angel a kiss and headed out. For the first time in a while I felt energized and the sun wasn’t even up yet. I had dressed in my work out gear and decided on a run at
Seaport Village. On my way out, my Blackberry vibrated. It was Rachel.

“Did you miss me already?” I teased.

“Promise you won’t get mad.”

“What did you do now?” I stopped walking.