Wherever the Dandelion Falls (43 page)

The rest of the week was just as bad as the first few days after Isaiah proposed to Faye. I felt like it was obvious to everyone, including the customers, that I didn't like my work anymore. Since that first glorious night in the Box, I thought that if I got to dance as a painted lady a few times a week and be paid what I was worth, I would be happy.

But it turns out that isn't how things work. I'd already put in almost a year, so I should have counted myself lucky that I didn't burn out earlier. I was solvent and solid in who I was, but that week, I started to feel hollow. I started thinking deeper about the backwardness of the beautiful girls chasing the losers and creeps. What was it that drove girls like me to do this? Was it money? Curiosity? Something empty inside us? Boredom? Was it less of a choice than I thought it was?

Callie didn't say anything to me directly. She threw me a few pitying glances, which felt worse than confronting me.

I stopped talking to Callie so much because I knew she could see right through my skin to my hollow inside. I avoided Justine too, simply because I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to acknowledge that I had been sent into a tailspin by such a harmless, sweet girl as Faye.

I managed to stave off the depression. I requested a week off, and, miraculously, the vacation was granted. Aside from the three pole classes I still had to teach, I spent the week lying on my couch reading books, hoping they would provide some kind of escape. When they didn't, I put the books down and started playing computer games. That worked a little better, but when two of my female Sims fell in love, I had to quit.

I mended clothing that had little holes, gave away dishes I never used, organized the things I always intended to. To the outside observer, I was being productive. But to me, I was just filling the time. I regretted taking the vacation by the third day. It seemed a waste not to be somewhere exotic with my precious time off. I had the money, and for a brief moment, I contemplated canceling my Swivel classes and driving down to San Diego for a few days. But I knew I'd just do the same thing there, even if the rooms and streets were different.

I couldn't avoid Justine forever. She knew something was up when she came home to find the front closet immaculate. Luckily, she took a gentle approach in confronting me. She handed me a glass of wine and settled into her chair next to the couch.

"I'm worried about you," she said, her voice low and uncharacteristically gentle. "The cleaning doesn't usually go on this long."

I appreciated her thought, but I didn't want to talk about how I was lusting after a straight girl who was probably engaged by now.

So I bluffed.

"I'm getting dragged down by work," I said, sighing with the full heaviness I felt.

"How so?" Justine eased back into her chair, relieved I was finally talking.

"Just wondering at one point it's not a job anymore. I never saw myself as a career stripper, but I've been at it for a while and I'm not exactly looking for anything else. Pretty soon there's a gap in my résumé that I don't want to have to explain."

Justine nodded, contemplating my ordeal. "You've got Swivel, right?"

"Yeah," I said, giving a lackluster smile. Teaching had been the only bright spot in my awful week. "But that won't pay all my bills. And I still don't know what to do about my car," I said, gesturing toward the window closest to the street.

Justine gave me a concerned pout. She didn't say anything for a long time and I felt guilty for being dishonest with her about the source of my unhappiness. I just couldn't tell her I'd done something as stupid as falling for a straight girl.

So I kept talking. "I just don't feel like I'm making a difference, you know? Kind of feels like a waste of time."

What I said was true - I had no delusions about making the world a better place by dancing naked and entertaining strangers' fantasies. But it wasn't my primary concern at the moment.

Justine frowned deeper and nodded, though she didn't look convinced. "Is there anything else?"

Knowing I couldn't lie with words, I shook my head.

Justine pouted again. "Maybe you just need to get out. Are you working tomorrow night?"

I shook my head again.

"Good," Justine chirped. "One of my coworkers just got engaged and we're all going out to celebrate. You should come."

Instantly my stomach dropped and I felt as though my heart was filled with lead.

Isaiah worked with Justine.

Faye had said yes.

Once we got back to our neighborhood, I felt like I could breathe again. I didn't have to restrict myself, didn't feel like I was holding my breath until Faye reassured me.

To my surprise, when Faye shut off the ignition, she turned and smiled at me for what felt like the first time that day.

"Want to come up?" she asked.

Never one to turn down an opportunity to spend time with her, I nodded. I was still cautious though. She was so skittish that I knew I shouldn't get my hopes up that anything more than some chatting and maybe watching a movie would happen.

I followed her inside, keeping an appropriate distance between us until we were behind her closed door. Then we shed our coats, and to my surprise, she stepped into me, cupping my face and kissing me, slow and deep. I felt like I could finally breathe.

"You taste like frosting," she mumbled against my lips.

"You too."

I wrapped my arms around her neck and soaked into the kiss, feeling my body unwind and curl into her. I felt like I was with the best version of her: sweet, uninhibited, doing rather than thinking. Her heart was as palpable as the orange zest from our favorite frosting that day.

"Thanks for taking me," she said, leaning back to pull a strand of her hair from between our lips.

"Any time," I said. "We don't have to do stuff like that if you don't want. We can just hang out and watch movies if you're more comfortable."

I wanted her to know that I was willing to make sacrifices to be with her. If I couldn't hold her hand in public, maybe we didn't have to go in public at all.

"It's fine," Faye said, looking away.

It was quiet for a moment and I felt bad.

"So what do you want to do?" I asked. "We can watch a movie, make cookies, play cards..."

Faye glanced around her messy apartment before saying, "We can watch a movie if you want..." Then her glance flickered back to me, and I knew that
watching a movie
was pretense for something else.

For the first time, I felt conflicted.

Sex with Faye was one of the most beautiful parts of our relationship. But this time it felt like a distraction from the fact that we'd just had a tense experience being in public together.

But maybe relaxing each other with an orgasm or two was what we needed. I decided to go with it, sliding towards Faye's bed.

"Mind if I take off my pants?" I said with a coy smile. "I ate a lot of cupcakes."

Faye let out a quiet giggle.

Soon we were snuggled under her blanket in just our shirts and panties. I thought Faye would go right in for a feel, but to my surprise, she lay on her side and brushed my hair behind my ear.

"Did you have fun today?"

"Yeah," I bluffed. "It was nice to go somewhere together."

Faye nodded, and it felt like we were both avoiding the obvious fact that our outing had made us feel awkward.

"Sorry if I was acting weird," Faye said. "I get anxious in big social situations like that."

I hadn't considered that Faye's awkwardness might have had nothing to do with not being out.

"You were fine," I assured her.

Faye nodded again, staring into me with that hypnotizing gaze that made my soul feel so naked and my heart feel so full.

"Tell me something I don't know about you," I invited. "Something about... growing up in San Antonio."

Faye smiled, and I melted. I liked this so much. Just laying in bed, talking. This was what real relationships were made of. Not sex, not dates, not labels or promises or rituals. Just moments of connection.

"We lived in a neighborhood that was mostly Vietnamese. I went to Vietnamese school on weekends until I was twelve."

I tried to imagine her as little girl studying a language that was so foreign to me. I imagined her sitting at a little desk with dozens of other little girls and boys who had raven-dark hair and eyes like hers, dutifully reciting phrases and learning about customs I knew nothing about.

"Was it fun?" I asked.

"Kind of. Mostly it was a lot of singing Vietnamese nursery rhymes and talking about food. When I was twelve I stopped going because it conflicted with cheerleading. My parents were upset, but I managed to get my way.”

Faye giggled and then her face relaxed back into that soft trust I loved so much.

“Tell me about them,” I invited.

A look of sadness and fear washed over her face.

“That bad?” I asked.

"No...” she hedged. “They're okay. They're paying most of my tuition. And my rent. The only compromise is that I have to come back to San Antonio when I'm done."

I bit my lip, worried. "When do you graduate?"

"Hopefully never," Faye said with a sad smile. "I don't want to go back."

“You like it here?"

"I do," Faye said, some of the happy glow returning to her face. "I like it here so much."

And though she was speaking of San Francisco, the way she looked at me made me feel like maybe she meant something else.

Soon I heard my phone buzzing and groaned. I didn't want to be shaken from the peace Faye and I had finally found. I rolled over and grabbed my purse off the floor with the intention of shutting off my phone, but I saw it was Dave calling. I felt bad ignoring a call from someone as nice as him, so I slid the call open and gave Faye an apologetic wince.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Hey, Riley," Dave said, his words rushed and panicked. "I need you do to do me a huge, huge favor.”

I cringed. I had a feeling that he was calling to ask me to cover his shift, which I didn't want to do.

"You know I wouldn't ask unless I was in a total bind," he said. "But is there
any
way you can work my shift tonight? Michael's parents came into town last minute and they want to take us out for dinner. I'll give you an extra fifty bucks and work a shift you don't want and also owe you big time. Pleeeease?"

I slumped, regretting having answered the call. I had been looking forward to a peaceful night in bed with Faye, but I knew that I'd feel guilty if I made him work just so Faye and I could snuggle. So I took a deep breath, trying not to resent him for asking. "I guess..."

"Thank you
so
much," Dave gushed. "Seriously, Riley, you are a benevolent princess who deserves to have flowers spring up everywhere she walks."

"Easy with the sweet talk; Michael will think you're coming on to me," I joked. "It's no problem, Dave."

Dave let out another sigh of relief and another string of praises before hanging up.

Faye looked disappointed when I hung up. "He asked you to work tonight?"

"Yeah..." I said. "He was desperate, and I could use the money."

"I get it," Faye said. She wasn't upset, just disappointed. "You're a good friend, Riley."

"I know," I said, rolling my eyes as though it were a terrible burden.

"I mean it," Faye said, reaching for my hand. "We're lucky to have you."

I squeezed her hand back, my regret at having agreed to work doubling as I looked at the beauty in the bed I'd be leaving behind. "Want to come? I'll sneak you drinks all night." I was a little hopeful she'd say yes, but knew she'd probably say no.

"No thanks," she sighed. "I'll probably just work on an assignment and go to bed early. We can hang out tomorrow before my afternoon class."

Smiling at the prospect of spending the following morning with Faye, I grinned and leaned down to kiss her. "Sounds perfect," I said. "I'll be over as soon as I wake up and join the world of the living."

I got to work, already fatigued. Thinking about Faye in her warm, cozy bed made it worse.

I greeted Abby when I walked in, muttering to myself that my night was going to be intense because she was a terrible employee. I honestly saw no reason for her to be working in a bar, especially one as busy as Jules'. She was too lazy.

As the night picked up and the volume increased, I stepped into the zone. My interactions were more with bottles and bills than with the customers exchanging them. I barely made eye contact, grumbling as I resented Dave for asking me to take his shift.

But then I felt guilty for resenting him. He had finally found a boy he adored and was doing something to impress him. Picturing his boyish smile whenever he talked about Michael, I resented him a little less.

The crowd grew rowdy, and I burrowed deeper behind the bar. My neck grew stiff from keeping my gaze down. The bar was sticky and wet no matter how many times I wiped it down, and the rows of men waiting for drinks tumbled over each other like waves. It was one of the busiest nights I'd ever seen at Jules' aside from Pride weekend. We always had five bartenders on staff during Pride weekend, but tonight it was just me and Abby.

The annoyance of the customers was palpable, no doubt because we were both girls. I knew I was just as competent as the male bartenders, but Jules' laser-refined, spray-tanned, man-icured customers often thought differently. I kept my imaginary horse blinders on and counted down the minutes until Abby and I could lock the front door and collapse with exhaustion.

I glanced up to take my five-hundredth order of the night to see a young man waving his arms. He was yelling something, but I couldn't hear anything. I frowned and yelled back, "What?"

He made dramatic gestures toward the bathroom and yelled something that sounded like "We're out!"

Assuming he meant that the bathroom was out of toilet paper, I ventured out from behind the bar to the back closet that held the toilet paper. Doing so distanced me from the jukebox, and I could finally hear a little better.

The man followed me, agitated as we wove through the crowd, but when I reached the cabinet he put his hand over mine before I could unlock it with the key on my belt.

"No!" he said. "There's someone
passed out
!"

Realizing that he was alerting me to an emergency, I felt myself surge with anxiety. "Someone's passed out?" I asked.

"Yeah!" he said, pulling me toward the bathroom.

Before we arrived, I smelled the putrid mixture of urinal cakes, vomit, and soggy toilet paper.

"I can't go in there," I said, desperate to avoid a bad situation. "Management only allows guys."

"I don't see any guys working here tonight!" the guy yelled.

Realizing that I was standing in for Dave and that if management had known, they wouldn't have allowed the shift switch for this very reason, I grew even more anxious. Deciding that an emergency was more important than management policy, I pushed the door open.

"Girl coming in!" I yelled. "I'm an employee!"

There was no reaction other than a deep grunting sigh from the far stall. Seeing two pairs of feet on the floor, I deduced that the sigh had nothing to do with me announcing myself.

My eyes scanned the marble floor speckled with droplets of water and bits of wet toilet paper. Immediately I saw a crumpled man in a stall who appeared to have fallen from being draped over the toilet. The door was closed, so I pushed on it. It was locked.

"Shit," I said.

The man who had alerted me to the problem was pinching his nose. "You can say that again," he said, making a disgusted face. The grunting from the far stall came again and he said, "How can they even be doing that in here? It smells like death."

Panicked and annoyed, I said, "Hey, dudes, this isn't an hourly hotel."

I knew plenty of customers had sex in the bathroom
—
I mean, we had a bowl of condoms by the sink — but it was another thing to stumble upon it actually happening.

Knowing that we needed to get the unconscious man some medical attention if he didn't respond to us yelling, I banged on the stall door. "Are you okay in there?"

There was no response other than the continued grunting of the men in the far stall.

"Shit," I muttered again. I turned to the man who had led me in. "We gotta get him out."

The man nodded, face paling at the thought of what that would entail. Knowing that it was my responsibility as an employee, I looked around the room, steeling myself. I bit my lip and tried one last time to kick in the door. Then, sighing and taking a breath of disgusting air, I walked into the adjacent stall and slithered under the partition into the one with the unconscious man.