Plays well with others, p.18
Plays Well With Others, page 18
I hit accept. I won’t feel all warm and fuzzy about a reminder. I won’t. I just fucking won’t.
Then, with my renewed focus, I open my text app and start a message.
26
IF YOU GIVE A MOOSE A TO-DO LIST
Carter: What else is on your list?
Rachel: Besides showering?
Carter: Mental note made of showering.
Rachel: You’re taking a note that I’m showering?
Carter: You took mental pictures of my shower. Fair’s fair. But seriously. Your sex list. In bed last night, you mentioned you wanted me to show you how to do…a certain something.
Rachel: Are you actually afraid to say give a blow job?
Carter: Blow me.
Carter: Suck me.
Carter: Take that dick.
Carter: There. I was being fucking polite.
Rachel: I’m so proud of you for using your words. But by list, I thought you meant a to-do list.
Carter: You thought I was texting you about your to-do list?
Rachel: Well, yeah. And it was sort of sweet that you’d ask.
Carter: Now I have to know—do you really put shower on your to-do list?
Rachel: Ummmmm.
Carter: Holy shit. You do???
Rachel: Sometimes I get busy and then I’m doing fifty things and I’m behind on the day, and then all of a sudden, someone is coming over and I’m showering later than expected and then he shows up right when I’m answering the phone with my boobs flying!
Carter: DO NOT EVER PUT SHOWER ON YOUR TO-DO LIST WHEN I’M ON MY WAY OVER.
Rachel: Glad to know you always want me to answer phone calls shirtless.
Carter: I always do. Anyway, so you have a sex list. Go on.
Rachel: I don’t actually have a sex list. But I have some ideas.
Carter: Sure, sure, same thing. Now, tell me your ideas.
Rachel: Besides learning how to suck your secret dick?
Carter: And that nickname stuck.
Rachel: In the back of my throat.
Carter: Well played.
Rachel: Thank you. Thank you very much.
Carter: Anyway, I’m waiting for your naughty list. And make it very, very specific.
Rachel: Fine. Here’s an item. After the first time we had sex, when I was bringing cookies to the table, I was admiring your strong back. You were shirtless. I was ogling your back muscles. Then checking out your ass. And then I wondered how you’d look in the mirror fucking me. And then I decided I wanted to have sex in front of a mirror to watch you, um, rail me. So it was sort of an ‘if you give a moose a muffin’ train of thought.
Carter: Did you just quote a children’s book to explain how you want to watch me fucking you?
Rachel: I did.
Carter: There’s only one thing on my to-do list now. And I will spend the rest of the day thinking about that.
Rachel: Giving a moose a muffin, Carter?
Carter: Yes. Exactly.
Rachel: What about you? Do you have a list?
Carter: Besides walking in on you playing with yourself? And, well, everything else?
Rachel: Yes. Be specific, Carter.
Carter: I want to undress you slowly, put you on your stomach on my bed, kiss your shoulders, your back, the dip of your ass, those ass cheeks, your thighs, and your calves. Run my mouth all over your sweet orange-blossom skin till you’re writhing, begging, and clawing at the sheets. And maybe then I’ll finally satisfy the sweet ache between your legs. So yeah. There’s that.
Carter: By the way, what else is on your to-do list today? Grocery shopping? Popping into the drugstore? Rotating your tires?
Carter: Rachel?
Carter: You still there?
Rachel: Rachel is not here right now. Rachel was spending some time with her new toy. Rushing to work is now on her to-do list.
Carter: Along with talking about herself in the third person?
Rachel: Well, yes. I had an out-of-body experience from the O I just gave myself, so yeah, third person feels apropos. I might still be floating.
Rachel: By the way, I changed my panties again. Here’s a pic of what I changed into.
Carter: Holy black-lace-I-want-to-rip-off-with-my-teeth. That’s what you have on today?
Rachel: Yes. You like?
Carter: I like it so much I’m inviting myself over after work. Say yes, Rachel.
Rachel: Yes. You’re on my to-do list tonight.
Carter: Same to you.
Rachel: And, if you give a girl a sex list, you just might get a couple orgasms.
27
THE LIFE DOCTOR
Rachel
That woman I just walked past on the street, the one chatting on her phone about her yoga class?
Does she know I’m having the time of my life?
What about that mom with the stroller I’m cruising by on Fillmore?
Can she sense that the woman strolling past her—me—is fueled by sunshine, the best dates ever, and oh, a bunch of mind-blowing orgasms?
I want to spread my arms and twirl in a field of flowers as I belt out a tune.
Climb every big dick, chase every O…
It’ll be a chart-topper, I’m sure. Everyone should have a date at the farmers’ market, a night of toe-curling sex, and a morning where you can just be yourself with another person. In fact, that gives me an idea.
As I walk, I tap out another text.
Rachel: Hey! We could add Life Doctor to our doctor resumes. The Life Doctors prescribe…a date with your best friend and red-hot sex too.
Carter: I’ll take that medicine. Oh, wait—I am.
I’ll take another several doses of it. Who knew girlfriend lessons would be like this? I’d thought I’d go to dating school and do some research on a distant, faraway romantic future for when I’m ready to dip my toes into the shark-infested dating waters. Instead, the professor is giving me special attention, and I like the extra credit very much.
So much that it’s changing me. It’s making me see myself in new ways. I see others through a new lens too.
Like…now.
I turn on the corner of Fillmore Street, onto the block of Haven Spa. I’m a little nervous heading into enemy territory, but I’ve got to do this. I have to take this important step. I’m clutching a gift, completely unsure of how it’ll be received.
Taking a fueling breath, I march up the block, open the door to Haven Spa, and hope for the best. The thing about gifts is you don’t know if they’ll be wanted. But sometimes, you need to give them anyway, even if they might backfire.
I really hope this doesn’t backfire.
At the front desk, a pair of placid-looking women in matching lavender balloon pants look up in sync. A small fountain set on a stone table gurgles. A Zen garden sits next to it. Birds chirp overhead, but not actual birds. A soundtrack. But I wouldn’t be surprised if Ava sailed out here with hummingbirds perched on her shoulders.
“Good morning. May I help you?” one of the lavender twins asks.
I kick my nerves to the curb, then I stride right up to the counter. “Good morning. You look lovely today. Is Ava here?”
“I am.”
The serene voice of the wife of the man who thinks I’m a bitch greets me. I swivel around and there she is, floating from, I don’t know, a session in the hydro pool where she probably glided in on a giant conch.
Chin up. Say it like you mean it. “I just wanted to say thank you, Ava,” I begin, holding tight the gift I brought for her—brownies with peanut butter swirl. I baked them last night, before I saw Carter. I was going to bring all these to Fable as a thanks for being, well, for being Fable. But I squirreled some away in a Tupperware dish this morning for this purpose. “And to let you know I am feeling all the good vibes now. So here’s a gift.”
Whether I agree with the way she spoke to me or not doesn’t matter. I was rude to a customer, and it had a boomerang effect. I need to do better for me. I need to be the kind of person I want to be. That’s the kind of person who apologizes. Who takes responsibility for her mistakes.
With hopeful hands, I offer her the dish.
Head tilted, she stares at it, like it’s as much a curiosity as I am. She says nothing. Maybe I wasn’t clear enough? Apologetic enough? I hasten to fill the silence with a deeper explanation. “And you were right. I wasn’t happy. I took that out on your husband, and by extension, you,” I add, my gut churning with worry. Holy smokes, this be-a-better-person stuff is hard. Especially since she’s so unreadable. But turning my attitude around can’t only be about me. It has to be about others. How I treat them. “But I’m working to be happier. And I’m trying to feel all the vibes, all the goodness, all the energy.”
She hums, still giving little away in her expression, but she takes the brownie container. “Thank you, but I should let you know, for the sake of transparency, that I don’t eat brownies.”
Um, why are you taking them then?
“Um, I do, I do!” a cheery voice calls out.
It’s one of the lavender twins. Thank god. I was dreading crawling out of here with my tail between my legs and a container of rejected brownies in my paws.
“You can have it then, Cassandra,” Ava says, like a generous benefactor, handing it to her minion who scurries over.
Ava turns to me, gives an ethereal nod, then says, “They smell good.”
And that’s better than expected. I’ll take that as a step in the right direction. I don’t say a word about her sending me business again, because that would make this payola rather than a gift.
Instead, I say something simple but surprisingly true. “I hope you have a great day.”
I didn’t feel that way about her a little more than two weeks ago. But I do now.
As the door swings shut behind me, I strut down the street on my good-vibe high. Life is better again. I’ve got three more dates with a guy who treats me like a queen. I have friends who I adore. And a business that—knock on wood—seems to be turning around.
Oh, and the icing? Tonight, I’m gonna have mirror sex. What does one wear to a mirror sex date? Well, besides nothing?
I run through my options of pretty things, as I unlock the store and pull open the door, ready to be a badass business babe today.
A few minutes later, Fable strides in with a yawn. “Damn, I am tired, and you look like you’ve been conquering the world.”
“I’ve been climbing mountains and spreading goodwill,” I say, then I reach into my canvas bag for another Tupperware container. “And for you, you goddess of jewelry-making and managerial awesomeness. Brownies with peanut butter swirl.”
“Woman. Are you trying to win my loyalty for all time? Because let me just say—done. And gimme.” She makes grabby hands, then bites into a brownie and moans. “You should sell jewelry with a side of brownies, Rachel.”
It’s not a bad idea.
A few minutes later, the first customer comes in, and I sell her two pairs of chandelier earrings.
Yup. I am Rachel 2.0, and I have Carter to thank.
Speaking of, I should send him a thank-you gift. He bought me undies after all. But what’s a good thank-you gift for a guy? Is there an equivalent of boxer briefs? I imagine packs of briefs from TJ Maxx and Target. Not really in the same league as sexy panties.
What about aftershave? But does he wear it? Like it? I could get him a mug, but we’ve done that. I’d rather get him something more personal.
And something sexy like he got me.
Ooh! I know!
While there’s a lull in traffic, I jump online, and order a new bodywash to send to his home. Then I add a note. I wanted something that says I like you shirtless. And this seems to do the trick. To future showers.
I rush around all morning, answering calls from suppliers, paying invoices, and checking in with Stella, the manager of the Venice location. She’d been managing the store like a pro for a few months, but lately she’s been asking for more personal days. And now she tells me she wants me to make sure the employees are better trained for when she needs personal days. I don’t tell her she’s taken a lot recently, because what if she needs them? Instead, I tell her I’ll visit the Venice store soon, then I return to the front of this store. Fable is chatting with a petite woman with a pixie cut. I recognize her as the owner of the cute dress shop.
“Oh, you run Better With Pockets,” I say brightly.
“I do,” the woman says.
“And Beatrix has some good news for you,” Fable says with a big get your ass over here grin.
“We’re doing an impromptu sidewalk block party and sale tonight. Do you want to include some of your necklaces—”
I say yes before she can even finish.
I dart into my office and call Carter during a quick lunch break. He answers with a “hey,” then there’s a loud clang of heavy metal hitting the ground.
He must be in the weight room. Mmm. That’s a nice image. Carter pumping iron. It brings me more good vibes.
“Hey, I can’t meet tonight. I’m sorry. But it’s good. I swear,” I say, feeling a little guilty for being so excited about a sidewalk sale instead of mirror sex. And all the things that come with mirror sex. Like laughter, and friendship, and…oh! We really need to do that puzzle. I really should add that to my to-do list.
“Oh,” he says, with a tiny note of disappointment and a second or two of quiet.
What does that mean? Is he bummed? Edward was never bummed. Edward never seemed disappointed when something came up for me at the store. Even the time I had to cancel a dinner because the neighborhood business association in Venice called an impromptu meeting to discuss the prevalence of weed in the area. But of course, Edward had other things to keep him busy. He’d just gone to Palm Springs to play papa.
“No big deal,” Carter adds, all cheer now, like he shifted gears and is back to speed. “What’s the good news?”
It takes me a second to shift gears because I’m strangely liking his disappointment. That’s a sign he really wanted to see me tonight. Well, he wanted to bang you.
But you know what? Even if Carter’s bummed about no banging, I’ll take that as a victory because I know I’m the only one Carter’s banging.
And that is a very good thing.
With that settled in my mind, I quickly explain that Bling and Baubles was invited to be part of a sidewalk block party with other businesses on Fillmore Street.
“Fuck yes,” he says, and his enthusiasm is so genuine. It’s another thing I feel for sure. Another thing I like being certain about. “I knew it.”
“I’m so excited. I kind of can’t believe it,” I say.
“Things are happening for you. You deserve it.”
Do I deserve it? I don’t know that I believe people deserve good things. But I want to earn good things. Maybe my apology for my bad vibes set the stage for some good karma.
“I think it was the girlfriend lessons,” I confess in a whisper.
“Explain.”
“I think they’re helping my mood. The dates and, well, the ultra-sexing too,” I say, though I’m pretty sure spending time with someone I trust is the medicine. Someone I trust myself with.
“You’re a life doctor, Rachel,” he says.
“Evidently. Oh, and you can stop by if you want.”
Quickly, he clears his throat. “Hey, I need to jump. Wilder is coming in.”
“Oh, right. Go, go, go,” I say, then hang up. I stare at his name on the phone a little longer, feeling bad that I won’t see him tonight after all.
But I’m here in San Francisco to rebuild my life, my heart, my soul. And lately, my business. Tonight, I will be all-business Rachel.
Even if I’ll miss Carter.
A lot.
28
MY, WHAT A BIG EGGPLANT YOU HAVE
Carter
There’s no mistaking the precise echo of wingtips on the concrete floors in the training facility. People who work here wear sneakers—the guys on the team, the trainers, the coaches. If I’m hearing wingtips, it means either the owner or the general manager is on his way.
While I’m not scared of Wilder Blaine, per se, the boss is the boss is the boss. So when the man wearing the expensive shoes appears in the door to the weight room, looking like a billion bucks, I do what I would with anyone.
Parked on the weight bench, I curl the heavy weight one more time, then another, saying, “Nine hundred and ninety-nine, one thousand.” I set down the weight and blow out a satisfied breath, turning to my buddy. “Hard to keep up with me, isn’t it, Hamlin?”
