Secret Shopper (2 page)

Although making love to my husband after a month was exactly what I wanted, I cursed being a woman whose mind could juggle several thoughts at once. First, I remembered that I didn’t lock the front door. The part of
San Diego we lived in was safe, but not
Little House on the Prairie
safe. Two flights of stairs down and back up half-naked I went. Secondly, I realized that the blinds were wide open and it was the middle of the day. If Mrs. Salter was on her elliptical machine, she’d have my boobs in plain view. Like a soldier doing secret ops, I gestured to Bradley with my face and hands. I pointed to the blinds. I held onto my white bra and tiptoed to the window. I didn’t want any sudden movements drawing Mrs. Salter’s attention our way as she was indeed doing her daily cardio, pumping her fists to music.

Bradley sighed in frustration and after I twisted the wand to the blinds, I turned my head slowly to give Bradley my
sexiest gaze. As I peered through my curtain of chestnut hair, I saw a flash of disgust on his face. He did not make eye contact with me, but was instead eyes wide and mouth gaping, looking at my marshmallow back. My rolls of flesh and fat, like that of a camel. The kind of fatness that is only cute on a baby. I whirled around and wrapped my arms around my
waist. Insecurity bubbled in my gut and tears threatened to flood the room. I hated that I cared so much about someone’s body language and facial expressions, especially my husband’s.

             
“What?” Bradley sat up, snapping his mouth closed.

             
“Why did you make that face?” I asked softly.

             
Bradley hurled himself off the bed, looking ready to brawl. “What look?”

             
“I saw you look at my back and make a vomit face!”

             
Bradley grabbed my camel humps and said, “This stuff? This is mine. You’re on a diet anyway, right?” The meat handling and the mention of the “D” word didn’t help put me back into the mood.

             
“Did you or did you not make a gross out face?” I asked as I maneuvered out of his clutches. I walked backwards to the bed. In one swift move, I hooked my bra and put on my shirt. Bradley grunted or maybe his penis protested.

             
“Hey, why are you getting dressed? I did not make a face because of your back, Nix.”

             
I knew what I saw, but I didn’t want to ruin the rest of the night with my self-image issues. I wasn’t always this heavy and I knew that the miscarriage I endured just a month after our wedding sent me on a downward hormonal and mental spiral. My parents didn’t even know. By our first anniversary, after eating the secret of being pregnant and then not, I was thirty pounds burdened.

Bradley sat next to me and
stroked my thighs. He kissed me hard, which marked the end of my protest. Typical. Once the engine was started, he had places to go. His destination was in my pants and I wasn’t going to set up any more road blocks.

             
I tucked my resentment away and enjoyed our pre-dinner escapade as best as I could. I tried not to think of his face at the split second of disapproval. I lay back and let him have at it. I opened my eyes to get a glimpse of him when his face should have expressed pleasure, but regretted it immediately. Bradley’s eyes were squeezed shut, his face contorted. I didn’t realize how large his nostrils were from this vantage point and his lips curled in a way that was reminiscent of Elvis Presley, my first true
crush. But, this was not Elvis gyrating on top of me and I had to bite my lip to keep a giggle from escaping.

             
We didn’t typically do it in daylight, so this must have been the face he made in the dark. I learned something new everyday. The orchestra of grunts and groans that Bradley created was hard to ignore. He seemed different, like a new lover. Angrier even. I was on auto-pilot at this point and willed myself not to look at Bradley again, but my eyes popped open anyway.
Yep, Elvis was still in the building
. His eyebrows wiggled rhythmically and that’s when a flurry of giggles broke forth.

             
Bradley’s face resumed normalcy and he looked down, eyes wide in disbelief as I covered my mouth. Although I convulsed from laughter, not pleasure, Bradley still pumped along. His confused look made things worse and I burst into a fresh round of laughter. Bradley’s face grew sinister. And yet, he still wanted to finish his mission. I pulled a pillow over my face and did my best to stop my hysterics.

             
Ten seconds later, after a lot of bouncing, Bradley was done. He hopped off the bed and retreated to the bathroom. I gave him points for actually completing the task, but why? Why didn’t he just get pissed and roll over or ask what was wrong? Why was I so mean? Feeling my sweaty fat back, I remembered. I hated feeling ugly, and he made me feel like an ogre.

             
I knocked on the bathroom door. Bradley didn’t answer, so I let myself in. He was in the shower again, his usual after sex, and I pulled the curtain aside and stepped into the warmth. I hugged his back as we wasted water together. We didn’t speak, although I knew I needed to apologize and explain myself. I soaped his back and enjoyed the contours. My husband was a beautiful specimen. It dawned on me that while Bradley offered me this I needed to do the same. I was immature and selfish, yet another lesson learned that day.

             
“Honey. I’m sorry.” I sang into his back.

             
Bradley turned around, held my wrists at my side and then kissed me on the cheek, lightly enough that thought I might have imagined it. He surveyed my face and took a long look at my naked body. I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t want to see his disapproving face again. As the warm water changed to cold, Bradley stepped out of the shower. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Phoenix, I’m leaving. I’m joining the Army reserves.”

Chapter 2

Meet my Friend, Gym

              I was a woman in limbo. Bradley stranded me in San Diego for boot camp. After several days of eating my loneliness, I dusted off my gym clothes and activated the membership Bradley gave me for my last birthday. I thought it was so romantic at the time with the contract wrapped in a red satin ribbon. I know now it was his way of telling me I was a fat ass.

My sadness turn
ed into anger as the summer heat arrived. I fought the urge to buy a one way ticket to Guam, where I could find refuge in my old lavender room. My parents maintained hoped that we would move back home. I love my parents, but they were smothering and always in my business, even down to the type of shoes I should be wearing. The burden of being their only daughter. I liked my liberation from them, but I knew that I could land softly back home if I really needed to.

In the meantime, I wanted to keep up appearances. Most days I harnessed enough energy to workout and learn the ropes of my secret shopping job. With the help of my Thomas Guide maps and GPS, I hit every Flex Gym within my evaluation target parameters. I turned my new job into a game. I was on the hunt for targets, people I needed to evaluate. I tried every machine at each gym branch, and scheduled secret shopping around exercise classes like Zumba and Hyper Hula. I used my credit card to buy the latest and greatest shoes, sweats and Ipod gear.

Bradley endured boot camp, while I navigated San Diego solo. Customer evaluation was challenging enough to keep me in motion throughout the day. My best friend for more than half my life, Rachel Untalan was the only person who knew of my loneliness. She owned her own clothing line boutique and was busier every day, but it was early morning on Guam, so I ventured a call.

“Hello?” Rachel’s voice dripped with sleep.

“So, guess what Bruce, my boss asked me to do this weekend?”

“Don’t tell me you’re sleeping with your sixty-five-year old boss!” Rachel yelled, now totally awake.

              “No, dork. Angelica, remember I told you about her? The extra friendly secretary and scheduler at Lure? Well, she and I have a hit on a strip club next weekend.”

I requested more work, which perhaps translated to Angelica—Lure Company’s only secretary and task master that I would do just about anything. The Tiger Gentlemen’s Lounge needed evaluation. My boss wanted to send females, since evaluations conducted by male secret shoppers were always suspiciously stellar. Angelica was tapped to drag me along, because I was the newbie and would be less likely to say no.

Angelica had always been overly friendly. I never accepted her invitations for lunch or coffee, that gal pal realm was reserved for Rachel. I never minded having a very tight circle of friends, in my case only room for one, but it was becoming harder to deflect her genuine niceness and concern for me.

Angelica’s gay cousin, Gerard would get his macho on for the evening and we would escort him. I had to admit I was curious to see what the big
deal was with strip clubs. Maybe I could learn pole dancing moves before Bradley came back because that always boosts relationships, at least that’s what Cosmo experts claimed.
That’s why I killed my subscription
.

“No, shit? I tried to drag you into one of those here, but you were so frigid! You probably still are.” Rachel said.

              “Yeah, I remember. And, no I’m not! I’m married. Did you really have a research paper on the topic?” I had always been suspicious.

             
“No. I heard my second cousin was dancing under the name, Virgin Chi Chi and I wanted to see for myself.” Guam goes totally nude, which is a great tourist attraction I guess. Many strippers are recruited from the mainland, Asia or Europe based on the giant ads in the newspapers I’d see when I was back home. By the time I left Guam, local girls were beginning to make their way into that seedy world, which irked the hell out of the elders. A good Chamorro girl just didn’t do that. “She has two kids now, so I know she’s retired. Shit, who knows.”

             
“So, what would be your stripper song, if you were Rachel Raunchy Rockets?” I asked. Her twinkling laughter made me miss her all over again.

             
“Good name! Not so prudish then. Well, hmm. How about,
Milkshake
? And you? Sounds like you’ve already thought of one.” Rachel teased.

             
“If I was a stripper in an alternate universe, my stripper name would be ‘Fancy Faith’ and the song would be
Personal Jesus
by Depeche Mode.” I loved the cowboy sounding guitar licks in the beginning of the song, proper gyration music. The first line of the song made me imagine the moment a dirty old man would touch me and I would Kung Fu kick his arm off. I guess I did put a lot of thought into this. Rachel had a psychology minor; if I chose to share this fantasy with her someday, she could analyze it and tell me what was wrong with me.

             
“Ooh, naughty! Well, make sure you wipe the chair you sit on.” Rachel spoke like I was going on my first field trip.

             
“My, my. You sound like you’ve had experience in this matter.” Rachel laughed. “A
Febreze
spritzer before I sit, aye!” I replied.

             
Rachel encouraged me to befriend Angelica outside of the office, since she could provide in-person buddy services that Rachel couldn’t offer. Maybe I would because I had my best friend’s blessing. If anything, I was loyal always.

After our little phone therapy session, I checked my laptop. I wanted to read the evaluation guidelines for the strip club and check out their website. I surfed my usual sites in the usual order, Facebook, e-mail, bank account, and then searched for my stripper song on Youtube. As the melody swirled around me, I did a chicken like dance routine with my computer chair. Naturally, I made sure my blinds were completely shut first. After stubbing my toe on my desk, I retired from in home stripping and settled in to check out the club’s website. The Tiger Gentlemen’s Lounge looked like a classy spot with many hot guys in the audience, instead of the pervy dudes who really frequented such spots. They must have been models, I deduced. I called Angelica that evening and she was ecstatic to me
et me for lunch with Gerard to discuss our plan of attack.

             
We met at
Denny’s
since Gerard insisted on using his employee discount. As long as they had good salad choices and I could save a buck, I was happy. Gerard was a beautiful man, Hollywood beautiful. His licorice black hair and hazel eyes were vibrant. His olive skin, flawless. I wished I could be tanner. I was the one who hailed from an island after all. My father being Chamorro was not enough to eclipse the milky skin I inherited from my Korean mother.

             
“So, Phoenix, will this be your first time at a strip club?” Gerard asked me excitedly.

             
“Never mind me, is this yours?” I asked back.

             
“Why, yes it is! I’m excited, but grossed out by it too!” Gerard gave me a friendly slap on my thigh. Angelica smiled and rolled her eyes. “I’ve only really seen a few women naked, my mom, my grandma and beautiful Angelica here!” He declared.