Wherever the Dandelion Falls (32 page)

My earliest childhood memory of pancakes didn't hold any of the joy I usually associated with pancakes. It was probably the saddest pancake story she'd ever heard.

"When I was nine my parents got divorced and on the first morning I woke up in my dad's new apartment, he made pancakes for me and Kimi. I couldn't eat any because I was so anxious my tummy hurt."

Faye's face shifted from playful to solemn and she bit her lip. She glanced at me with sad eyes before focusing back on the road. We approached a stoplight and she slid to a smooth stop.

I kept talking. "Mine had chocolate chips inside and Kimi's had blueberries inside. My dad burned a few so the whole apartment smelled like smoke. "

Faye studied my face for a minute before she slid her hand into mine. She didn't say anything, but that gentle handhold was better than anything she could have said. I couldn't make eye contact, but I felt safe enough to tell her more.

My parents, Steve and Regina, separated when I was nine. There were no fights or affairs or big secrets that blasted our family apart. It simply broke one day, like a baked good crumbling in my nine-year-old hands.

I don't remember how they told me they were separating. I just remember the first night in my dad's new apartment, sitting on the edge of a new bed with my baby blanket pressed hard into the hollow of my stomach trying not to let my dad hear me cry. If he knew how sad I was, he would have been devastated. I never wanted him to feel bad because of me. So I let my blanket absorb the hurt, hoping its tattered predictability wouldn't crumble too.

I don't think divorce is a bad thing. But my parents' divorce was the most upsetting thing that happened in the first eighteen years of my life. Nowadays my parents were happy with their new spouses and friendly enough to spend holidays and birthdays together with me and Kimi. The most upsetting thing about their divorce was I hadn't seen it coming.

Faye squeezed my hand, giving me an apologetic pout before looking forward and accelerating.

Suddenly feeling like I had put a damper on our fun day trip, I shook off the subject of divorce and things that crumble and slipped back into our game.

"Your turn," I chirped.

"My turn?" she asked, confused.

"Now you ask me to tell you something you don't know about me."

"Oh. Okay. Tell me something about... your first time," she said, smile twitching in one corner of her mouth.

I tried not to think about Damon as I answered. "I was fifteen and we'd been together a year."

"Were you in loooove?" Faye asked, running her fingers up my legs in teasing.

I took a deep breath and tried not to think too much about it. "We were."

Faye faced forward and nodded. I wanted to know about her first time too, but at the same time, I didn't. It was part of the boundary.

"Tell me something about..."

At that moment, a big pickup truck with oversized wheels pulled up next to us. I could feel the creepy leerer before I even looked. He would have had a perfect view of my cleavage if my seatbelt hadn't been covering it nicely. Then, to my horror, he rolled down the window and tried to get my attention.

I turned to face Faye, grimacing. She made mock gagging expression and glanced up at the light nervously, hoping it would change and we could get away from the creep with the backwards baseball hat and polo shirt with the popped collar. When she saw the light wasn't green, she looked back over at me and said through her teeth, “I wish I could punch him." She looked back at the light, considering. "He's just jealous he doesn't get to date you."

Settled by Faye's protectiveness and the sudden turning of the light, I returned to our game. Since she'd brought of the topic of jealousy, I ran with it.

"Tell me something I don't know about you and jealousy," I said.

She grinned and glanced at me, biting her smile in an expression of amused embarrassment.

"Most recently, the person who made me most jealous was you."

"
Me
?" I asked, surprised.

"Yeah," she giggled. "When you told me you had a work thing and then I caught you out on a date with a
guy
."

I covered my face with my hands, partly to block out any memory of Vance, but mostly to convey how embarrassed I was about that whole scenario.

"I'm sorry... Ugh, I don't know what I lied about that."

She chuckled. "It all worked out. But I was pretty jealous that night."

My mind flickered back to her tucking her date's hair behind her ear at the bar, leaning into her over their drinks in rapt attention.

"You were on a date too, and she was super hot," I said, playfully defensive.

At that, Faye broke out into full giggles. "I wasn't on a date. I got Anya to play along to make you jealous back."

At that my jaw dropped. I had underestimated Faye's trickery. "You did not!"

"Did too," Faye laughed. "I had to help her move out of her apartment into her loft in SoMa the next week in exchange. My arms hurt for days."

"You clever bitch," I muttered, shaking my head but unable to hide my smile.

"It's only clever if it worked." She paused. "Did it work?"

I crossed my arms in feigned petulance, feeling foolish at the reminder of how I'd burned when I saw Faye being affectionate toward a woman. "Maybe."

Faye smirked as we reached a stop sign before the onramp to Highway 101. "Good." She turned and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before refocusing on the road.

As she accelerated onto the highway, I was weighted with the reminder of how awful Vance had made me feel. Part of me wanted to tell Faye about it just so I could see her face droop in sympathy or her brow knit in anger at Vance. But I knew there was a chance she'd be offended that I'd slept with him so readily and wasn't ready to sleep with her. I didn't want her to start campaigning for me to change my mind or go off on a misandrist tangent.

So I turned back to the game, asking her to tell me something about her time at Columbia before she asked me about brain science. We found topic after topic to discuss, and time passed quickly.

Just after Gilroy, she asked if I wanted to take the coast road the rest of the way. I shrugged and told her I was just happy to be chatting. She grinned and squeezed my hand, veering off 101 onto Highway 1.

After stopping for lunch in an adorable little café in Carmel, we drove down the coast. The car clung to curves lined with boulders, brushed past redwoods and cliffs that dropped straight into the Pacific. We had to pull over a few times to get a break from the constant torso muscle engagement. I was having such a wonderful time talking to Faye and learning about her life that I almost didn't notice I was a bit queasy. She was the one who had to do some deep breathing a few times.

We'd been driving for over three hours and she still hadn't told me where we were going. I kind of liked the excitement of not knowing. I knew she wasn't going to take me somewhere weird or creepy. Finally she had to pull over, slumping as she rolled the windows down to get more air.

"How much further?" I asked.

"About twenty minutes."

She was limp in her seat, so I leaned in, pressing my lips to hers. Being around her for so long in close quarters without being able to kiss her was frustrating, so kissing her was a relief. She leaned up to meet me and I pulled back, and back, until she was forced to lift herself out of her seat to keep kissing me. Not wanting to get her too worked up, I pulled away with a wink, as though promising more kisses later.

After a few minutes of calming herself to banish her queasiness, Faye began another round of Tell Me Something.

After about fifteen minutes, Faye put her hand on my arm. "Five miles, Princess," she said.

I nodded and kept recounting the story of how I'd put red paint in my hair as a child so I could be like Ariel.

When we approached the first cross street I'd seen in miles, I saw a big sign for Hearst Castle.

"You're taking me to a
castle
?" I asked, excited.

“Hearst Castle, built by William Randolph Hearst. My family brought me here when I was twelve and I was speechless the whole time."

Suddenly overwhelmed by the grandiosity of our excursion, I blurted, "Do you bring lots of girls here?"

Luckily Faye took it in stride and chuckled. "You're the first girl I've brought here."

Relieved and feeling like I had drunk more of Willy Wonka's Floating Soda, I focused on helping her find us a parking spot.

I woke up the next morning with a heaviness in my stomach that had nothing to do with all the pizza I'd eaten with Faye the night before. I was dreading going to work. I was working the morning shift, which always seemed to drag on forever. Desperate for some silver lining, I told myself at least I didn't have to work the Private Pleasures Booth that day. That would have been overwhelming to the point that I might have intentionally missed work, which would knock me back to the bottom of the pay scale.

When I got to Jez, Callie was already there, applying gold glitter to her breasts. "Hey hot stuff," she chirped.

Unable to dredge up the energy to be cheerful in response, I let out a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Things went sour in my side job," I said vaguely.

Callie whipped her gaze away from the mirror and looked at me with wide eyes.

"Not like that," I said, assuring her I hadn't gotten a disease or been assaulted. "I found a camera," I mumbled. I thought back to the satisfying crunch of the camera under my tire and felt a little better.

"Fuck that," Callie muttered, turning back to the mirror. "Get out of there."

"Don't worry," I sighed. "The thought of touching him again makes me want to hurl."

Callie hummed in sympathy. "What are you going to do about your car?"

I shrugged.

Callie finished applying her glitter and came over to me, sparkling breasts hanging down as she put her hands on my knees and kissed me on the cheek. "I'm sorry, sweetie. That's rough." Then she stood and walked back to her locker, selecting a wig and fitting it on her head. "Let's just leave it in the Box, hm?”

Encouraged that Callie was helping me make the best of a bad situation, I nodded and finished getting ready.

When I got into the Box for what must have been my two-hundredth shift, I felt like it was the first time again. As we wiped down the poles, my nakedness felt awkward and I was more self-conscious in front of the mirrors than I could remember being in months. When we finished, knowing there wasn't anyone watching yet, Callie slapped my ass and turned up
Bootylicious
at full volume and started doing her most ridiculous, exaggerated bootyshaking, to the point where I started laughing. When she heard me laugh, she looked over her shoulder and smiled. I was so relieved to have someone like Callie with me, I was able to slip back into my usual self in the Box. But the time my shift was over, I was drenched in sweat, and I had that high that people get when they exercise vigorously.

After showering and putting my street clothes back on, I ventured out into the January chill. At home, I ate lunch while watching a documentary about bonobo monkeys. I was surprised to learn that male bonobos sometimes offered female bonobos sugar cane in exchange for sex. It seemed humans weren't the only animals who engaged in prostitution. When the documentary was over, I pulled my hair into a ponytail and hopped in my car to go to Swivel.

I was hoping someday soon Anya would promote me to her advanced class. I had mastered most inversions, though I still struggled to do them on my left side sometimes. I felt at home on a pole and missed it on days when I didn't have Anya's tough love pushing me to be better.

I realized how hard I'd worked myself in the Box that morning halfway through my class. I was hanging upside down in my third inversion when Anya came over to me, not bothering to lower her voice as she said, "What's wrong with you today? You're sloppy."

I sighed, tightening my calves around the pole to keep from slipping. "I had a hard shift this morning."

Anya raised her eyebrows, unamused. She poked at the bottom of my foot, reminding me to point my toes. Then she lowered her voice and said, "I was thinking of asking you to take over my beginner classes, but if you're going to let your other job affect your dancing, maybe I should reconsider."