fate [fāt] - noun
1. the supposed force, principle, or power that predetermines events.
2. the inevitable events predestined by this force.
3. unfavorable destiny; doom.
Friday evening, instead of doing the normal thing and going out with friends or on a date, I lay on Mena's couch with a highlighter, a pen, a pad of sticky notes, and Strip Style next to me. And I was completely disgusted with myself.
The first problem: I'd applied to a couple more jobs and they hadn't even called me back for interviews. Had they seen through me and found me lacking? Very discouraging.
The second: I hadn't met any other men so I hadn't exercised my womanly wiles much less made any progress on starting a family. The more I thought about Art, the less I was sure I wanted to pursue him. Even though he'd called me. Twice.
Kevin had called at least three times as much in the same time period. I didn't take his calls, but I did call the coordinator for the symposium to arrange my own presentation. That way the research would become public domain and Kevin would be foiled. But the coordinator said the schedule was booked. It was only several weeks away, she'd told me.
But I already had a call in to a colleague who had a seminar scheduled. I was fairly certain I could convince him to give me his spot. After all, he gave the same talk on immunization every year.
I had, however, gone through Strip Style once already this week. Fascinating read. In a way, stripping was much like research: you start gyrating in a certain direction and go with whatever you discover, paying attention to all the little details along the way.
I uncapped the highlighter and opened the book to the chapter on bikini line styles, which I found particularly interesting. Who knew so many styles existed, and that they had names? The Mohawk, the Arrow of Love, the Telly Savalas... It boggled the mind. I marked the styles that intrigued me, made a couple notations on the margins. I.e.: did certain styles look better on certain body types and, if so, which would suit mine? I was leaning toward the Arrow.
I was about to begin dissecting the chapter on pole etiquette when I heard the front door open. It could only be Mena or her best friend Matt, and I wanted neither one to see my research material.
"Hey Daph," Mena shouted from the landing downstairs. "I have Rio with me so I hope you're decent."
"Don't call me Daph," I called out as I scrambled to shove everything under the couch's cushion. I righted myself and was smoothing my hair when my sister and her fiancé stepped onto the landing.
Mena gazed at me suspiciously, but Rio smiled. He had a beautiful, welcoming smile, which always startled me. He was a boxer and gym owner, not to mention formerly in the military, so I expected him to be testosterone laden instead of as gentle as he was.
"How's it going, Daphne?" he asked.
"Well, thank you." Truthfully, while I liked Rio a lot (he was going to be my brother-in-law, after all) he intimidated me. He was too imposing, too striking. Too masculine. Like the clinic doctor.
I remembered the feel of his arms under my hands and flushed.
Mena frowned. "You okay? You look kind of feverish."
"I'm fine." I waved my hand to cool my cheeks.
"Are you sure?"
"Why are you always asking me if I'm sure? It's irritating. Wouldn't I know?"
She shrugged. "I have doubts sometimes."
Rio grabbed her around the waist and pulled her into his body. "Stop harassing your sister and ask her to come out with us."
She seemed to melt right into him, and I averted my gaze. Some things I just didn't need to witness.
Then his words struck me. "Out with you?" I asked.
Mena nodded even as she snuggled deeper into his arms. "We're going to the Uptown Billiards. Matt's meeting us there, and we thought we'd ask if you wanted to tag along."
I eyed Rio's hand as it snaked underneath my sister's shirt. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather just stay in tonight?"
He chuckled. "I'm trying to distract her so I win a round of pool."
"Not even in your dreams, baby. And if you get past me, you'll never win against Matt. He's a shark." Mena cocked an eyebrow at me. "You coming or what?"
"So they serve beer?" I asked. Because while billiards wasn't like bowling, if they served beer it had to attract everyday, average guys. I needed more of a pool to draw from.
"What is it with you and beer?" She wagged a finger at me. "I swear if you're becoming an alcoholic, I'm going to kick your ass, because Mom will blame me for it. Thank God she and Dad are in Australia for the next few weeks."
"What Philomena is trying to say is that she's worried about you and would like you to come out and be social," Rio translated.
I glanced down at what I was wearing. "I'll need to change."
Mena rolled her eyes. "Then get to it, woman."
Hopping off the couch, I rushed to my room and closed the door. What to wear?
Something black. Black was sexy. I threw open the closet door and shuffled to the black section of my wardrobe. A skirt. I pulled out a wool one (it became chilly in the evenings in Portland).
"Now the top." I tapped my lips, wondering if I should wear the shirt I'd borrowed from Mena or one of my own silk shirts. I remembered the disastrous interview at the market and decided to go with silk. Off white silk to offset the darkness of the black skirt.
After I redid my French twist and touched up my makeup, I added a sensible pair of heels (in case we did a lot of walking). Picking up my handbag, I rejoined Mena and Rio in the living room. "I'm ready."
Mena's brow furrowed as she looked me up and down. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." I glanced down at myself. "Why?"
"Nothing."
Her smirk made me suspicious, so I turned to Rio. "Do I look okay?"
"I think you look great." He swung an arm around my shoulders and maneuvered me towards the stairs. "Loosen up."
I stiffened at the casual contact. No one ever just put their arm around me. But it was nice-reassuring in a brotherly way-so I relaxed and let him guide me out of the house.
Mena's best friend Matt was waiting by the front door of the billiards club when we arrived. I'd always thought he and Mena would get together, but in watching their relationship over the past two months I realized they were more like brother and sister. Plus Mena was completely in love with Rio.
When I came back to Portland, I entertained the thought of asking Matt if he'd go out with me, but I quickly nixed that idea. He wasn't what I was looking for at all. He played the violin like a maestro, was a third degree black belt in Kung Fu, and had an IQ that rivaled mine. I wanted someone more average.
He grabbed Mena around the neck and squeezed her. "About time you guys showed up."
"Daphne's fault." She slugged his arm. "She was primping."
I smiled to hide my envy of the casual way Mena accepted and gave affection. Maybe there was an essential love gene I was missing. I would have done some research on it if I were still in that discipline. "Hello, Matt."
Matt turned his smile toward me. "Hey Daphne."
Mena and Matt started bickering about something so I turned away and surveyed the club. Busy. More upscale than I imagined a pool hall to be. I wasn't sure whether that disappointed me or was a relief.
"Come on, Daph." Mena took my arm and dragged me after the guys.
"Don't call me Daph," I said automatically. Truthfully, I was distracted by the number of pool tables and how many men were playing. Hope surged.
Matt leaned over the table, fiddling with the balls. Mena joined Rio in what appeared like a lively discussion over the sticks hanging on the wall, but I'm sure it was just a form of foreplay. I sat on a high bar chair next to our table and watched the men at the table next to us. Maybe I should try to flirt with the plain looking one.
"Hey," Matt said when he saw me. "Don't get comfortable. You're up after Mena breaks."
"Me?" I gulped. "I actually have to play?"
"Yeah." He looked amused. "What did you think we were going to do?"
"But I've never played pool before."
"You shoot pool, you don't play it," Mena corrected as she handed me a stick. "And there's always a first time."
I gaped at the stick "What if I don't do well?"
"Oh, let me assure you, you're going to completely suck." My sister's grin was entirely too gleeful. "It'll be a new experience for you."
"Mena." Rio shook his head.
But she was right. A normal person failed from time to time. So this was actually a good thing. Most likely. Even though the thought of not excelling made my stomach churn.
While Mena aimed for the first shot, Rio and Matt gave me a quick tutorial on the game. It all seemed rather sexual to me (butt shot, scratch, ball in hand, shaft, seeding) but maybe that was the point. Maybe this was a mating ritual I'd completely missed out on, having spent most of my life engrossed in medicine and research.
Mesmerized, I didn't realize it was my turn until Matt nudged me. "Get 'em, killer. You want to hit the solids into the pockets."
No one had ever called me killer. I liked it. I smiled at him and took up my stick. Studying the table, I realized this was nothing more than a game of physics. "I can do this."
"Well, do it fast," Mena called from the sideline. "I'm not getting any younger here."
I bent over and set the stick on my hand like I watched Mena do. My skirt rode up in the back, but I ignored it and focused on the ball.
"I can do this," I muttered. Pulling my arm back, I jerked the stick forward. I gasped in happy shock when I actually hit the white ball but deflated when it jumped forward an inch and then stopped.
Mena laughed.
"Good form, Daphne. Don't listen to her." Matt patted my shoulder. "But you need to keep your elbow still. You'll do better next time."
Rio just smiled ruefully at me as he took my spot at the table. I watched him survey the table like he was a general contemplating the best strategy for invasion. Then he bent over and smoothly shot one of the striped balls into a pocket.
I nodded. I could do that.
"Shit," Matt hissed under his breath.
Patting his arm reassuringly, I said, "Don't worry. We'll catch up."
"I wasn't talking about the game." Matt pulled me close and lowered his voice so only I could hear him. "A woman I know just walked in."
I glanced at the entrance but several women stood there. "Which one?"
"The good-looking one. In the green top."
"Ah." Good-looking didn't do her justice. She was stunning. By the way Matt stared at her, he thought so too. "Why don't you go say hello?"
He recoiled. "I can't."
"Why not?"
"She just moved into the apartment below mine," he said, as if that explained it all.
Mena interrupted before I could probe further. "What are you two whispering about? Matt, get your ass in gear. You're up."
Matt shot the woman at the door a longing look. I watched the woman notice him. Interesting the way she scowled and dragged her girlfriend back out the door as soon as she saw him. Not to mention the reciprocal scowl on Matt's face.
He grumbled under his breath and returned his attention to the game.
Curious. I made a mental note to ask Mena about it later.
By the time my turn came around again there were fewer balls to hit. But I did my own calculations and moved around the table to get the best angle for my shot.
I was making it in this time. I leaned over and stared down the stick like I'd observed Matt doing. Not the right angle, so I moved over a foot. Perfect. I hinged my arm back like Rio did and-
Poked my stick into someone behind me.
"I'm so sorry," I said as I whirled around. "Are you-"
My mouth shut of its own accord. Shock does that to you. Because it wasn't some stranger-it was the doctor from the children's clinic. Again.