Think I Want to Twist the Plot This Time

Part 2

Luckily no one else is in the washroom as Barbie clutches the edge of the sink, taking deep breaths. She stares at herself in the oval mirror: still impeccable, still not one flaw in her curls or her makeup. But inside she's tangled and messy and tense. She keeps picturing these scenarios, these things she imagines him doing to her, the things she imagines doing.

"Oh my God, I want to have sex with him," Barbie announces the realization lowly to her reflection.

It's not like she's never thought about it, or hasn't watched certain forms of media, or, well... satisfied her own needs herself. She's had plenty of honest, real conversations with Dr. Cohen about what's going on with her body now that she's a woman (33 to be exact), but she's never felt this lust so quickly, wanted so passionately. And, well, she's never had sex, not in the clinical, dictionary definition sense.

This is wrong, so wrong. She should just find an excuse to leave and get herself out before getting in too deep. Wrong place, definitely wrong time. This'll get her into that trouble Gymnast Barbie talked about, won't it?

Or... will it? If she just leaves the next morning (if he's feeling the same, but with the way they've been talking, that seems to be the direction the night is taking), he'll just know her name. Won't know exactly where she went. Maybe she can just go back to life and maybe then when she gets home she won't have so many hang ups about dating because there's no longer a fear about that great physical commitment. That's part of being human, right? Being messy like this. Complicated like this. To be free, to be a little selfish, to say "screw it" and live in the moment when the opportunity arises.

And here's something that just came to mind: Barbie doesn't have to tell anyone about this. It's a little secret she can keep away and relive in her head whenever she desires.

Besides, the confession has made her insides relax just a bit, and she's not as pale when she looks at herself. Sure, her heart sounds like it's still pounding in her ears, but now it's more out of excitement than anxiety. Barbie has one more affirmation before leaving, and luckily, there's still no one else in here.

"It is not promiscuous to sleep with someone on the first night."

A bit silly, yes, but she's starting to really understand all the paradoxes Gloria went on about when it comes to being a woman. A woman had to understand sex, but not have too much of it (or at all) to seem desirable. But maybe that's a stupid, modern notion.

Again, who is this man to know, or anyone else, for that matter?

Barbie sighs, then straightens up once she hears the door to the washroom opening. She turns the sink on, washing her hands as another woman steps inside.

Okay. She can do this.

Barbie saunters out of the washroom with a spring in her step as she floats back to the bar, stepping in time to the upbeat music. Her grin returns when she sees Oppenheimer still sitting at his stool, actually waiting. He's still taking long drags of his cigarette, looking aimlessly about the club with little focus.

"Sorry, I just needed to freshen up." She makes a point to brush her hand across his arm as she sits, now a gesture of interest.

"I flagged the bartender down and ordered you another seltzer water," he says, tapping the ashes onto the tray.

"Much appreciated, thank you." Barbie takes a few sips, closing her eyes as she takes in the carbonation. It's helping her nerves, at least a bit.

She takes in the music, the upbeat jazz. The plucking of bass strings, horns trumpeting, clarinets carrying dazzling melodies. She feels her toes tap absently, her legs growing restless from sitting here when she could be out there. She could be with the other couples, embracing the night.