One
“He who marches out of step hears another drum”
-Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
When I think about some of the ridiculous things I’ve done over the years I cringe. I punched my summer camp director on the boob when I was seven years old because she referred to me as a loose cannon--- Ha, proved her wrong. Then there was the time I ran around the UC Berkeley campus in the buff with a band of protesting nudist. I think they were objecting to the dissolution of the redwoods, pollution, recycling or they could have been pissed about the recent band on campus nudity. I don’t know what set them off. I just saw a bunch of excited people running around, ass bare to the world and decided to peel off my clothes and join them--- probably not my finest moment. But the clincher and the main reason for my new lease on life was getting locked in jail for dropping a Molotov cocktail on someone’s lawn. I can’t explain the thought process behind my decision to torch the place. All I know is that I’ve unloaded a boat load of stupid on the world and it’s time for a change.
I’ve always been a little bit spirited--- which is a nice way of saying bonkers. My first psychiatrist said that I was bipolar and prescribed lithium. It put me in a catatonic state and caused me to lose twenty pounds in less than a month. The second brilliant doctor believed that I had a classic case of impulse control disorder. My parents ---- and I use the word parents loosely because my mother has always initiated the assaults on my character, spent a small fortune on aversive therapy, stimulus control and cognitive restructuring. When I still wasn’t the person they thought I should be they asked the doctor for medication. He prescribed Xanex and sent me on my way. My mother had this idea that a good daughter should be compliant, should date appropriate men and should not take her clothes off in public. So during my senior year in high school she sent me to see a third and final shrink who said that I had a simple all American case of ADHD. Much to my mother’s chagrin the good doctor said that most of my problems stemmed from a lack of acceptance. This didn’t mean that I was normal, but I finally began to believe that I wasn’t broken, that I was fine just the way I was. I enrolled in acting classes at the local community college. I even managed to get accepted to UC Berkeley. Which I thought was a huge accomplishment until I found out my father had pulled some strings with a few of his golfing buddies that sat on the Board of Regions. Despite my father’s highhandedness, I began to really enjoy my life for the first time. I said what I wanted and did what I pleased without reservation or any thoughts of repercussion.
But during my stint in Marin county jail for arson I had lots of time to contemplate the state of my life. Years of reckless behavior has forced me to set some boundaries. I decided to stop drinking. With the exception of the boob punching incident, my worst behaviors have been carried out while drunk. I’ve also decided to stop smoking pot. I’ve never committed a crime or assaulted anyone while high. I did however; hook up with a white Rastafarian named Steve who swore he was the reincarnation of Bob Marley. And the third rule, the one that defines the new and improved Sarah Goldman is written on a stone wall that sits in front of my heart. I am done with men!
Three months ago I went out with a guy that I thought could potentially be the one. He was a perfect gentleman at dinner. He opened the car door, placed a protective hand on the small of my back when we entered the restaurant and he didn’t ask me to pay for my own food--- which is always a plus. He wasn’t very handsome but he was tall and muscular and not in a freakish steroid induced way. He was an economics major that I met at a coffee bar near the UCB campus. His name was Andrew Sloan--- even his name was perfect. So naturally after dinner I invited him back to my room. I tried to make him care about me the way I always did, through sex. He wasn’t a very considerate lover. But he complemented me and made me feel special so I didn’t care.
After we’d made love he touched my face gently and looked longingly into my eyes. I’ve apparently read way too many romance novels because my heart began to palpitate. I started thinking that I’d finally found a man that accepted my personal brand of crazy and might just love me anyway. But the jackass didn’t confess his undying love. His smile morphed into a smirk and his look of longing turned into disgust. He climbed out of my bed, shook his head without looking at me and said, “I feel like I just got off a ride that too many men have ridden before me.” I’m rarely at a loss for words but I was so shocked that I just stared after him while he tossed a used condom on my floor shrugged on his clothes and left my dorm room. He was right. But the number of men I’ve been with wouldn’t be so terrible if I’d actually loved any of them. Although I’ve professed my love to at least ten guys, it’s never been real. Andrew Sloan was a jerk but he made me take a long look at myself. I’m done using my acting skills to morph into the woman men want me to be.
So here I am standing in front of my future. And what a bleak future it is. My uncle and aunt live like rock stars in a three story Tuscan Estate in the Hidden Hills. So when he offered me a receptionist job I assumed I’d be surrounded by high end clientele. I wasn’t trying to run away from my failed attempts at love. I just thought a new job in a different city could give me a fresh start. I envisioned myself fetching coffee for hoity-toity women caring fancily dressed lapdogs. I’d be his girl Friday, filing documents for distinguished gray haired men with wives half their ages by day and rocking the theater circuit by night.
The job comes with room and board, a small salary, and a car to get to my auditions. It’s a pretty sweet deal and this is supposed to be my glamorous new start. But my uncle’s law firm is far from glamorous. I never would have dreamed I’d be working in a place like this. It’s stationed in the heart of East LA in a strip mall right between a Taqueria and a mattress store. The constant blare of sirens makes me feel as if I just entered a war zone. The outside looks as if it could use a good scrubbing or maybe a can of gasoline and a match but, fortunately for him my fire starting days are behind me.
I repress a sigh; pop a Hershey’s kiss in my mouth and pay the cab driver. A wave of nausea sloshes through my stomach the minute my six inch heels touch the stained LA side walk. The sting of regret pierces my thoughts as I stand in front of the run down law office. Leaving my cushy gig at UC Berkeley was a noble although ill conceived idea. If I had finished my degree I would have been living comfortably with a six figure trust fund. But it all flew out the window when I dropped out of school. I can still hear my mother complaining, ‘You’re not getting any younger Sarah. You’ve had your fun now it’s time to buckle down and finish your degree. All of your friends are getting married, having babies and becoming real adults.’ I actually love kids but allowing one of the little gremlins to invade my body is out of the question. I shutter involuntarily at the thought. Kids with their messy little hands and runny little noses --- hold me, feed me, don’t drop me. Ugh, so many demands.
I take a few steps towards the door and swallow down nervous bile. ‘What the hell was I thinking?’ I’ve never even had a real job. I moved out of my parent’s house and right into the dorms at UCB. I sigh then take a deep breath resolved and determined to make this thing work even if it means working on the corner of crack and gang. I push through the glass door and scan the shabby desolate office. The booger green carpet is threadbare and the stucco ceiling is stained yellow. There are two desks, one near the front door and one near a back office. Each desk has a telephone, a computer and a small filing cabinet. There is no other furniture in the room. I have no idea what kind of person would retain a lawyer from a place like this.
I inspect the walls for pictures hoping there’s another Joseph Goldman and I’ve gone to the wrong place. That can’t be the case because this is the address uncle Jo gave me. “I’m sorry doll Jo is no longer hiring working girls.” I spin around to locate the source of the low raspy voice. There before me stands the tallest thinnest woman I’d ever seen. She must have entered from the back room because I hadn’t noticed her when I arrived. The woman is wearing a wrinkled pantsuit the color of sand that blends with her complexion and sags on her slight frame like loose skin on a shar-pei. She watches me with suspicion while removing files from a box and stacking them near a computer.
I tug on the hem of my short dress. How dare her mistake me for a street walker. At the very least she could have called me a call girl, at least their classier. “I’m not a hooker. My name is Sarah,” I say pleasantly. I have to resist the urge to call the woman a tranny and ask how she manages to hide her Adams apple so well. This is the new and improved Sarah. The new and improved Sarah does not question the gender of strangers. I’m going to make the best of this horrific situation. I’m going to reinvent myself and I’m not going to allow this woman to derail me. “I’m Joseph’s niece,” I say patiently, “and I’m here to start the receptionist job.” I take a few more steps into the dingy room. The woman rose an over tweezed eye brow and inspects me from the top of my fitted black micro-mini dress to my fuck-me heals.
“I’m sorry doll. I’m Ginger,” her thin lips twist into a smile. At least I think it’s a smile. Ginger might be bearing her fangs and preparing to attack. She taps a long red claw like fingernail against gleaming white front teeth.
“So where do I start?” I asked placing my purse on a gnarled walnut computer desk.
“Well I think Jo might have had you in mind for a different position.” She turns her attention back to the files. “The last girl quit a few months ago and Bridgette and Felicity can’t keep up with their client list.”
Client list? Ginger removes the last file from the box and plops her long frame into a seat behind the computer. It’s a surprisingly modern computer for such a rundown office. I absentmindedly wonder if they take the equipment with them when they leave at night to ward off break-ins.
“Jo will explain doll. He’s in his office. You can head back there if you want.” I unwrap another chocolate kiss and pop it in my mouth as I schlep towards Joseph’s office. I’m mentally prepared to be affronted by disarray. I knock lightly, take a deep breath and step inside without waiting for an invitation. Joseph is scowling at a document on his desk while simultaneously berating someone on the phone. But I can’t focus on my uncle because I’m thrown off kilter by the office décor.
The cherry hardwood floors shine as if they have never been walked on. The walls are cobalt blue. Neatly stacked bookshelves line the space behind Joseph’s black marble desk. A cranberry leather couch is pressed against one wall and a flat screen hangs cordlessly on the other. And in the far corner of the room in a chocolate brown leather seat near Joseph’s desk sits the tallest, most beautiful man I have ever seen. One of his legs is bent and the ankle of the other leg rests on his knee. His fingers are steeped in front of his chest and his amaretto eyes are scanning me from head to toe sending delicious shivers up my body. His eyes linger on my minuscule breast a moment too long and my nipples begin to strain against the thin fabric of my dress. I guess no one told them that I’ve sworn off men.
I fold my arms over my chest and avert my eyes. I’m usually not intimidated by handsome men even though I’m not exactly a beautiful woman. I’m too tall to be statuesque and too short to be cute. My green eyes are too large and my nose is too small for my thin face. My lips aren’t full enough to be Angelina Jolie sexy and they aren’t thin enough to be Jennifer Aniston sexy. My blond hair is thick and wild with a mind of its own. And these damned freckles, no matter how much foundation I apply they are still visible on my nose and cheeks like little droplets of poop.
I fix my eyes on the dark lovely man. His lips curl into a half smile. I think he notices how his presence is affecting my body. I should probably turn around and run. This beautiful man is exactly the type I should be avoiding. He stands and stretches to his full height which has to be well over six feet because he towers over me. He moves towards me like a feral cat and extends his hand. His skin is the color of coffee with extra cream and when our hands touch an electrical current unlike any I’ve ever felt shoots through me and settles in the pit of my stomach---Horrible time to have taken a vow of chastity. The handsome stranger doesn’t say anything he just stands there holding my hand and gazing at me with those assessing hooded eyes. He runs a finger over my knuckle and his smile broadens when I shiver. Joseph chooses that moment to slam his phone onto the receiver and glare at the pair of us as if he just realized we were there.
“Javier, this is my niece Sarah. Sarah, this is Javier Ruiz the newest junior associate at my law firm.” Javier’s brow lifts slightly. I can feel him hesitate before he releases my hand---- or maybe it’s me who’s hesitating.
“Nice to meet you Sarah,” he says. Even his voice makes me smolder. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I can feel my face heating under his watchful gaze but my voice is lost. I’m an actress damn it. Surely I can find a character that won’t be intimidated by this marvelous man. I consider twirling my hair around my finger and channeling my inner Rosie Perez. Rosie would never be unsettled by a tantalizing ball of testosterone but, when I open my mouth again nothing comes out. Javier places a hand on my chin and pushes my mouth closed--- arrogant bastard.
He looks at Joseph, “I’ll see you back at the office.” Then he turns back to me with a panty dropping smile, “Espero volver a verte Sarah.” I look down at my knotted fingers. I don’t know what he just said, but I feel this insatiable urge to leap on him and wrap my legs around his waist.
I think back to my three years of high school Spanish and say, “Usted es una rana guapo.” Javier looks stunned for a few seconds and then his smile returns. He nods and walks away. I look at my uncle confused. He shakes his head.
“Sarah he said he hopes to see you again.”
“I know,” I lie.
He takes a deep breath and exhales loudly. “You just called him a handsome frog.”
I place a hand on my chest and squeeze my eyes shut to ward off the pain of humiliation. My new goal is to stay the hell away from Javier Ruiz. I have no intention of embarrassing myself so thoroughly ever again. Once I regain my composure I walk around my uncle’s desk and kiss the top of his wooly head. It’s hard to believe that he and my dad are brothers. Joseph has olive skin. My dad is fair. Joseph is short. My dad is tall. It’s as if they are polar opposites of one another, the biggest difference being their temperament. Dad is fun loving and easy going. Joseph is the crankiest man I’d ever met. So much so that everyone in the family is afraid of him, everyone but me. I knew he’s all huff and puff but no real threat. “So what’s up with the schlocky office Uncle Joseph? The help doesn’t deserve a nice work environment?”
“They have everything they need,” he grumbles then glances over me. His caterpillar eyebrows knit together in disapproval. “This is how you show up for your first day of work?”
I shift from foot to foot. “This is the most conservative outfit I own.” Joseph mumbles something incoherently and pushes to his feet. He resembles an angry beaver with hair protruding from every exposed piece of flesh on his body--- his wrists, his knuckles and the top of his shirt collar. I lift my head defiantly.
“Sit down young lady,” Joseph says perching one but cheek on the end of his desk so that he’s just a few feet away from the couch where I plop down with my arms folded. I’m prepared to block out the impending lecture. “Your parents are very concerned about you.” I huff and bite my tongue for the second time in less than an hour. I resist telling my uncle that my parents have so many problems that my life should be at the very bottom of their list of priorities.
I meet his gaze. “What exactly are they concerned about pray tell?”
Those caterpillars on his face draw even closer and threaten to overlap. “They are concerned that you dropped out of school. And they’re concerned that you have no direction in life.”
“Uncle Joseph I came out here to work for your law firm, not to be lectured. And speaking of working, why did Rupaul out there say that I won’t be the receptionist?” Joseph stands and smoothes his shirt over his pot belly and returns to his seat behind the desk. He makes his fingers a steeple and watches me for a long time. “Are you plotting world domination or are you going to tell me why you gave my job away?”
He stared at me for a moment then frowned and looked at the door leading out of his office. “She’s a woman Sarah.”
“Nope, I’m pretty sure I spotted a bulge in her slacks.”
He frowns. “Still the smart ass I see.”
“Some habits are hard to break.” He slaps his hands together and stands so abruptly that I jump.
“She has two kids. She worked throughout her pregnancies and I visited her in the hospital. He waved his hand as if warding off a fly. “I’m getting side tracked.” He points at me and scowls causing the caterpillars to nearly fall into his eyes. I feel as if I’m on trial for a horrific crime. “You have a job but it’s not as a receptionist. My primary office is near the Beverly center in LA. I have a very exclusive clientele: doctors, lawyers, actors’ government officials all seek my services.”
“If you have an office at the Beverly center why are you slumming it here?”
“This place has a very rich culture and I’m sure it’s residents would resent you referring to their home as a slum. Now try to focus.” I take a deep breath and exhaled exasperated.
“Stop being such a grumpster and tell me about the job.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’m going to tell you about the next year of your life.”