[2013] Note to Self- Change the Locks Page 7

  “He doesn’t need to speak English to make my toes curl when he throws me on my desk. He says ieeee mamasita and ooo baby...” She couldn’t even finish the sentence without laughing.

  There was no way Nora would be doing the janitor in her office building. The guy probably didn’t even make a living wage and she insisted that her men at least make fifty thousand a year before she would consider sleeping with them. Sounds a little harsh, but after she got completely burnt by her first husband, I could see her point. He was a loafer who sat in a recliner all day watching game shows on Telemundo until he decided to divorce the hard working Nora and get alimony from her. He was using that money to support the fat bitch he left Nora for. She didn’t work either.

  I snorted. “Okay, funny. Who is it really?”

  Nora raised her perfectly groomed eyebrows at me. “That, my dear, is none of your business.” She poked my nose with her index finger and then turned sharply on her heel. Snapping her fingers at me, she announced, “I need shoes.”

  I sighed and trailed after her to the shoe store. Somehow, Nora always found some way to boss me around and I always ended up listening. That’s the way it had always been.

  Nora and I met our sophomore year of college. Taking a test in statistics class, I heard this noise that sounded like a cat hissing, “Psst!”

  I swiveled my head around slowly. The girl behind me had her feet up on the back of my chair. She was wearing ripped black jeans and a red crop top with her pierced belly button hanging out. Over this ensemble, she wore a faded flannel shirt. Her straight hair—jet black at the time—framed her delicate face, which was decorated with several other piercings. She had on scuffed cowboy boots.

  “Are you talking to me?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Do you have the answer to number four?” She snapped her gum loudly.

  I glanced around at my fellow classmates. Everyone else was bent over their test papers, oblivious to this girl. “You realize that we’re taking a test, right?” I whispered as I hunched over my own paper, trying not to look at her. “This isn’t an open book test, either.”

  “Yeah, I know. Exactly why I’m asking you for the answer to number four.”

  “Didn’t you know we were having a test?” I asked under my breath.

  “Well, yeah. But I didn’t study. I’m never going to use statistics in my real life ever,” she cracked her gum again. I peeked at the professor. He was engrossed in the study of his cuticles.

  I shook my head in disgust and turned back to my test. “Sorry. I don’t cheat on tests.”

  She leaned closer to my ear, her long dangling earring brushing my cheek. “You wouldn’t be cheating. I’d be the one that’s cheating.”

  I considered this. She has a point. If she copies off of me, I gain nothing from it. Except for her leaving me alone.

  Glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, I slid my paper to the edge of my desk so that the girl could see my answers. She was quiet for the rest of the class.

  After turning in my exam, I was shoving my books into my backpack when I saw “the cheater” quickly hurry out of the lecture hall. Frowning, I chased after her.

  “Hey!” I called out when I finally caught up to the long legged girl. “Wait up!”

  She slowed down, turning her head to glance at me, but she didn’t stop walking. “What?”

  I stared at her incredulously. “That’s it? No thank you or anything? I gave you the answers.”

  She offered me an exasperated sigh and an eyeroll. “Thanks.” She continued to walk away.

  I trailed behind. “Hey, that was an important test! I studied a week for it. I bet you got an A on it, copying my paper and all.”

  She snapped her gum as she turned to me. That was an annoying noise. No wonder my parents hate it. I really have to stop snapping my gum. “Like I said, thanks.”

  I watched her walk away and when she reached the end of the block, I called out, “Hey, you know flannel went out in the nineties, right? It’s 2004!” She didn’t even acknowledge me as she rounded the corner out of sight.

  Grumbling with disgust, I headed in the opposite direction, toward the dining hall. When I reached the steps of the building, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around to see her behind me.

  “Hi. I’m Nora,” she told me, holding her hand out. What? Was this chick bi-polar?

  “Um, Elizabeth,” I replied, shaking her hand with slight trepidation.

  She nodded. “Yeah, I know. It was at the top of your paper.”

  “Didn’t you go...?” I pointed toward the opposite direction.

  Nora ignored my question and asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

  “I...well, nothing...I don’t think.”

  “You want to go to a party with me?” Nora asked as she linked her arm through mine, causing me to stare in disbelief at both her forwardness and the question.

  “It’s Wednesday!” A party on a Wednesday? This dumbfounded me. What was this girl smoking?

  Nora stared at me blankly. “Yeah, so what?”

  “I have class in the morning!” Really, what a ridiculous question!

  “You have to be tucked into bed at nine o’clock or something? Do you turn into a pumpkin?” Nora inquired. She stopped to tug on her soft fuzzy boot. I couldn’t help thinking, I really like those boots. I never saw a boot like that before.

  “No, but I can’t be at a party on a school night,” I stammered.

  Nora put her hand out to stop me. “Listen, this is college, not elementary school. You need to live a little, Elizabeth.”

  I shot back indignantly, “I do live a little!”

  Nora rolled her eyes as we entered the dining hall. “I bet you do. Did you have Fruit Loops for breakfast this morning instead of Raisin Bran?”

  I turned bright red. Actually, it was a Pop Tart instead of Raisin Bran, but she didn’t understand. I really was taking a chance by not having my regular breakfast. I got terrible constipation if I veered too far from my normal diet.

  “Ha! I knew it!” Nora snorted. “You really know how to live on the wild side.”

  “Just because I like to eat specific things doesn’t mean I don’t know how to have fun. I go to parties. Just on the weekend. And sometimes, I get drunk and don’t do what I’m supposed to do on the weekend. I’ll have you know, I don’t always clean my dorm room,” I retorted. In fact, that was a lie. I didn’t ever clean my dorm room. Despite my rigid eating and studying routines, I was a slob, a fact only those closest to me knew. I tried to keep up the illusion that I had it all together for my public persona.

  I grabbed a tray from the stack near the entrance of the dining hall. It was after one o’clock and I was hungry. Nora followed my lead and slid her tray onto the counter. “Prove it. Come to this party with me tonight.”

  I took a steaming hot plate and dropped it onto my tray. “I don’t even know you,” I told her.

  Nora also grabbed a plate. “So? This is college. That’s how you meet people. You talk to them and hang out with them. Nobody comes here knowing anyone.”

  Okay, she had point. But this girl was different. She was obviously a few sandwiches shy of a picnic. I didn’t need anybody in my life like that. “I only hang out with people I have stuff in common with,” I pointed out. I simultaneously placed a ham sandwich on my plate while grabbing for a bag of chips.

  “We do have something in common,” Nora replied with a sly grin. She heaped lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers onto her plate.

  “Oh, yeah? What's that?” I asked doubtfully.

  “We both just aced our statistics midterm,” Nora replied victoriously.

  I had to admit, she had me there.

  From that moment on, Nora and I became inseparable. We ate every meal together, went to all social events together, and even visited each other’s families on breaks. Or rather, Nora came to visit my family. She was embarrassed by her mother, whom I suspected was a raging alcoholic. I only met her a few times. Once
at Nora’s rehearsal dinner and wedding, and once when we graduated. That was definitely enough for me to form a lasting opinion of her. The woman was rip roaring drunk all three times.

  Nora’s father died of a brain aneurysm in the middle of coaching her softball game when she was twelve. One minute he was screaming at her to round third base and run home, the next minute he was dead on the ground. As traumatic as it had to be for her, Nora didn’t like to discuss his death. She gave me that brief explanation once when she was drunk, but never brought it up again. Turns out, it was her father’s faded flannel that she wore over her clothes. Every class she went to, the flannel came with her. It was depressing and sweet at the same time.

  Nora introduced me to people I never would have met otherwise, including many men. Men who shared my bed and broke my heart. Men who I had flings with, one night stands with, and hooked up with under less than desirable circumstances.

  The only thing Nora and I didn’t do together was study because I could not deal with her maddening behavior. There was a lot hopping around, frequent breaks and sometimes even drinking games.

  Three years later, we both graduated—me with a Bachelor’s in journalism and Nora with a degree in psychology. It was a perfect career choice for her because she was always overanalyzing me. I thought she could actually get paid to start analyzing people and leave me alone. But no, she never left me alone. More like she ended up using me as a guinea pig for all her psychological theories.

  Like right now. Even as she tried on shoes, she was telling me how I didn’t love myself and I didn’t respect myself and how no man would ever love me and blah, blah, blah.

  Save it for someone who hasn’t heard it a million times. Someone who hasn’t been listening to the self -respect talk for the last two years since “the incident”.

  I shuddered as I thought about it. Forget it, Elizabeth. It was ages ago. Things aren’t like that anymore. Simon isn’t in your life anymore.

  Except, he was.

  Six

  On the elevator ride back up to my apartment, I considered Nora’s words. After her litany on self-respect, she reminded me that I had been so hung up in my quest to obtain a job that I had not spent any time writing.

  “Writing was the only pro of losing your job and you have nothing to show for it. It’s been over a year,” Nora reminded me over frozen yogurt. She had a plain Greek frozen yogurt topped with fruit while I had chocolate chip cookie dough with gummy bears and peanut butter chips. The new yogurt flavors were amazing—much better than the yogurt craze of the nineties. And they were so much healthier than ice cream. “So far, you’ve done nothing but edit other people’s work and helped make them successful.”

  Damn it! She had to remind me that Cindy Richards had gotten a huge publishing deal for her stupid manuscript about growing up in foster care and then having sex with a bunch of professors and editors? Dumb thing made me cry. I actually felt sorry for that tramp.

  “And you’ve been on job interview after job interview. Editing jobs are scarce, and writing jobs are even scarcer. You’ve got to make your own job.”

  For once, I had to agree that Nora’s logic made sense. Other than her use of the word “scarcer”. Maybe it was essential to put the quest for a daily job on hold and completely focus on my writing. I did have a few interviews scheduled for the next couple of days that I had already prepared for though. I didn’t want to burn any bridges that might help me in the future, so I decided it would be prudent to attend the interviews. Who knows? I might actually get one of those jobs.

  But after that, I would concentrate on my creativity. Armed with a double shot of espresso and a month’s worth of post-its, I was ready to break out the old laptop and attack a writing project. I had a great idea for a freelance article on Chinese food. Why are we always hungry an hour later? Not exactly a glamorous piece, but it was a start and I could always inject a little humor in it.

  I opened the apartment door, turned on the hall light and dropped my espresso as I nearly collapsed from heart failure. Sitting in the middle of my living room, surrounded by rose petals and candles, was my very naked boyfriend with what looked like a leaf covering his crotch.

  “Austin!” I exclaimed as I bent down to retrieve the cup. It was rolling out of my reach, but I stopped, frozen in horror at the sight of brown fluid all over my leather boots. Fantastic. My favorite boots were ruined. That’s two-hundred bucks down the drain. Not to mention the white carpet. The security deposit was going to be a bitch to get back.

  “What in God’s name are you doing here?” Then I reconsidered my question. “How in God's name did you get in here?” Austin didn’t have a key to my apartment. A sickening feeling hit my gut. What if Simon let him in?

  Austin beamed at me. “Nora gave me the key.”

  “She did what?” Was she out of her flipping mind? Did she want me to get caught? What if Simon had been home? Shit, where was Simon? I scanned the room, starting with the ceiling. Really, Elizabeth? He’s not Spider-Man!

  “She gave me the key,” Austin repeated, enunciating in case I seriously didn’t understand him, “so I could surprise you. Surprise! I’m here!” He then leaned back and tossed his hair. Like he was Fabio shooting a butter commercial.

  Hmmm. Austin was probably who she was texting like a maniac before. “Um, that’s great Austin, but I wasn’t expecting a naked man in my apartment. I thought you had a game tonight?” I took a couple of hesitant steps toward him, my eyes searching the room for my wayward ex.

  Shit, shit, shit where the hell was Simon? Nora was right—I really did need to change the locks. I couldn’t decide if it would be worse if Simon walked in on naked Austin, or if he was actually in the apartment the whole time naked Austin was here.

  “I know you weren’t expecting me. That’s why it’s a surprise, silly. I fibbed a bit. We had an afternoon game. I took the subway so you wouldn’t see my car.” Austin grinned as he reached for my hand. “Come sit by me. I have another surprise for you.” He gently drew me toward him.

  I reluctantly sat on the cushion of rose petals and chuckled nervously, “I’ve seen your penis, Austin. It’s not really a surprise.” And now, Simon might also be familiar with your penis. God only knows, he may be videotaping it right now to put on You Tube.

  “Ah, but you can’t see it right now. It’s cleverly hidden.”

  “And why exactly is it hidden by...is that a fig leaf? Where did you get a fig leaf in New York…in April?”

  Austin’s face fell. “You don’t recognize this?”

  Oh crap. I was supposed to recognize the fig leaf? Was it some former article of clothing I had discarded? I squinted as I looked closely.

  “No, not the leaf!” Austin sighed as he reached toward the coffee table and retrieved a book. It was a romance novel by my favorite author, Krista Trinity.

  I stared at him. “I’m sorry, Austin. I still don’t understand.”

  “Look at the cover, Elizabeth.” He waved the book in my face.

  I took the book and examined it. The hero was lying naked, on a blanket of rose petals, with a fig leaf covering his nether regions. The heroine was also scantily clad and stroking the hero’s cheek. Oh dear Lord, he was trying to recreate the cover of the romance novel. I fought back my urge to burst out into laughter.

  “That’s very cute, Austin.”

  He frowned and wrinkled his brow. “I’m not trying to be cute, Elizabeth. I’m being romantic. Fun, spontaneous, sexy! I wanted to make up for the other day.”

  Oh, he was being spontaneous all right. His spontaneity was causing me chest palpitations. And not in a good, maybe I’ll have some mind blowing sex way. It was more of a, my ex-husband may be lurking in the shadows with a video camera and you will find out that I lied to you sort of way.

  “That’s very sweet of you. Thank you.” I smiled like I genuinely meant it and wasn’t ready to rip my heart out of my chest from fear.

  “I’m not done.” Austin winked as
he pulled himself up in a kneeling position. The fig leaf dropped to the floor.

  “Oh my,” I murmured. Did he put something on it to make it look bigger? It definitely looked bigger than usual.

  Austin didn’t seem to notice his complete nakedness as he reached for a tiny velvet box on the floor. Suddenly, my pounding heart nearly screeched to a halt. Why didn’t I notice that box before? What the hell was in that box?

  Austin reached for my hand which was trembling visibly. He grinned as he popped open the box, revealing a gigantic diamond ring. “Elizabeth Parisi, will you marry me?”

  Nearly blinded by the light from the stone, I gasped. “I, oh, my…I...” I managed only to be able to squeak out unintelligible monosyllables.

  “I know we’ve only been together for a few short months, but it feels right. I love you.”

  Tell him you love him, you nincompoop! My brain was screaming at me in Nora’s voice. Do not screw this up! He is perfect for you! I was desperately trying to hear this logical side of my brain over the one that was shouting you’re not ready for this yet!

  “I…” Answer him before he takes this ring away! This is easily a two carat diamond!

  “I love you, too, Austin,” I finally managed to stammer with relief. I said it. I finally said it. And it felt good. I don’t know why it had took me so long to actually say it. I meant it. I think. No, I’m pretty sure I meant it.

  Austin’s grin spread as he removed the ring from its plush little pillow and slid it onto my finger. Did I say yes? I don’t remember saying yes. I definitely want to say yes. Well, Austin thinks I said yes, so that’s the same thing, right?

  He grabbed me, kissing my lips and then tore away quickly. “Elizabeth, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me. I’m probably the happiest guy in the world right now. Well, except for those guys in the majors. They’re probably happier than me.”

  I nodded as I pulled him in closely. “Shut up and kiss me.” All at once I didn’t care if Simon was in the apartment, or if he was going to walk in at any moment or not. All that mattered was I had Austin. He was sexy and sweet and he loved me. Imagine that. He loved me. And he wanted to marry me. He was the man of my dreams and I was going to get married. I closed my eyes and let him caress my neck with his lips, savoring his kisses. Until the little voice in my head started taunting me, are you sure you’re ready to get married?