Surreal Ecstasy (23 page)

Down, breakfast burrito. Down.

"No, Anny. This company was a
complete waste of time. I was only here to keep busy, but I just couldn't stand
it anymore." I kept my voice even and my eyes unwavering, as I did with
anyone who challenged me.

"Oh, I agree with you, honey.
I really do." Uncross, cross. Did she really think that was sexy? On some
women, maybe… but on her? I wanted to hurl. "I'm starting my own
video-rental business, and no one knows about it yet." She smiled at me
and lowered her voice as if we shared the world's biggest, most lethal secret.

"What is it going to be
called? Bitches R Us?"

Anny laughed so loud that I
literally had to cover my ears. "Oh, Dess, honey, you are so funny! I
am
a bitch, aren't I? You've got to be tough—we businesswomen know this, don't we?
Thanks to my hard work, I'm going to be starting this business and, I don't
mind telling you, we will have
every
type of video imaginable.
Especially ones that cater to people like us. Don't you just hate men?"

Lord in Heaven. 

I sighed and barely suppressed an
eye-roll. Why is it that all straights believed lesbians hated men? I've met
some that did, but personally? I didn't have some secret mission to round up
all the men and shoot them. I liked men just fine. It just so happened that I
have never been attracted to any of them. In my opinion, if you decided to act
gay just to spite a member of the opposite sex that pissed you off, you weren't
really gay. You'd be nothing more than a boring hetero screaming for attention,
asking and begging for a member of the opposite sex to approach you and try to
lure
you back to your original sexuality. Sadly, I've known scores of people who've
done exactly that.

And then there were the pathetic,
uneducated people who did seem to accept the gay lifestyle but used it as a
tool for their own personal gain. I give you, again, Exhibit A. Anny Malone may
not walk the streets in slutty clothes, but she was, for all intents and
purposes, a prostitute. She was willing to give of her body in a manner
unnatural to her because she believed it would result in her having more
money.  

Another thing that not only further
proved Anny was a pathetic and common prostitute, but which amused me as well: 
It seemed that at the moment, I could say no wrong and that nothing, no matter
how bold or irreverent, could get beneath her skin, whereas before she had
acted as if I had been sludge underneath her feet. She was apparently
that
committed to getting her hands on some of my money that every single one of my
insults went in one ear and out the other. She had her eye on the prize, and
wasn't willing to falter. I suppose, then, in that sense I could have, would
have respected her, but since she was basically willing to prostitute herself
off to do it, well, that changed things. That didn't make her determined—it
made her a whore.

I promptly stood up. She angled her
head so I would get a view of her neck. I again resisted the urge to retch,
hoping she wouldn't dare dream that I'd ever want to kiss her fat neck or do
anything
even half that disgusting.

"I need Morgue Constantina's
final paycheck, as verbally agreed between you and her. I am also going to need
a box so that I can clean out her locker, a clause which was also verbally
agreed between you and her." I was very, very careful to use the word
verbal
instead of
oral
with this woman. Oh, god, I really was going to lose my
breakfast. Not bothering with subtlety, I jammed my fist into my belly, hoping
that'd calm it down some.

"Yes, yes, of course, honey."

"My name is Dess," I
ordered, my tone of voice leaving no question of what she was allowed to call
me.

She laughed again, Anny's
whore-instincts magically transforming her into the happy drunk audience member
at my stand-up act. "You're so funny, Dess! And oh, poor Morgan. How is
she? I was so worried about her."

"You didn't seem that worried
when you yelled in her ear and fired her over the phone. I was there."

Something in her eyes faltered a
little. Interesting. Was she feeling vulnerable because I caught her in a lie? "Oh,
no, honey—er, Dess. No, no, no.
Please
don't misunderstand. Morgan is
like a daughter to me."

I raised both my voice and chin a
little. "Don't lie. You never gave her the praise she deserved, and she
worked hard and did well. We both know that. You enjoyed putting her down for
your own fucked-up ego's gratification. And she wasn't the only one. In the two
dreadful months that I've worked here, I have noticed at least a dozen such
young women that you have treated in this manner, some of them employees, some
of them customers. I could report you. Minimum wage isn't worth being treated
like shit."

Silence. Big, shocked eyes. It was
as if I had bitch-slapped her.

Now, I think I know people pretty
well. When Rios and I were little, we used to people-watch like crazy—at the
malls, in school, at restaurants. We'd watch our parents interact with the
servants, and then watch the servants all day. We'd sneak off to the main
office at our respective boarding schools and report to each other the latest
gossip among the secretaries and teachers. You wanna know something interesting
about humanity? Just sit for an hour or two and watch people. You can't pay for
that kind of education.

All that said, I never would have
predicted Anny's reaction to my biting words.

She burst into tears.

Two things I think I need to point
out about this. First, I was initially doubtful these were genuine tears, that
they weren't another means of pulling me to her side. She had tried seduction,
and it didn't work. She had tried being my friend, and it didn't work. Her
last-ditch effort, quite possibly, was to make me feel sorry for her.

Second, I reminded myself that Anny
had it coming. She would actually make fun of some of Morgue's clothes, hinting
that she bought it at a discount store, asking her why she didn't get a haircut
so she wouldn't look like a shaggy dog, telling her she needed to rearrange,
organize and straighten all the cloth because she supposedly let one customer
put something back in the wrong place, pulling her in her office to question
her about why she used the bathroom so much when it couldn't have been more
than twice a day. After that point, I noticed she made her write down every
time she went to the restroom, and for how long. 

That kind of harassment simply wasn't
legal. I haven't let on to Morgue how much I've noticed, but then again, I
haven't really talked to her about work very much lately—our conversations are
usually limited to God Generation stuff, which was equally important. But I've
watched my mother at the plant and at the restaurant all my life, watched how
she treated her employees—both on and off the camera during our reality show
days—and how they all reacted to her. I understood
very
well that a
person's treatment of their employees, their happiness and good spirit, showed
in their productivity.

She actually began sobbing and
heaving, leading me to think that these were genuine tears. "Oh, Dess, I'm
sorry! You're right—I'm a terrible boss to these women! What do you want me to
do? I'll do anything you want! Please!" And as if she hadn't been paying
attention to my attitude for the last ten minutes, she actually began to reach
for me and attempt to draw me in a hug.

I slapped her arms away and
unlocked her office door. "I want you to stop being such a bitch, before I
report you." With that, I went to Morgue's locker and opened it (Anny had
never allowed us put locks on our lockers).

I began pulling Morgan's pictures
down from the inside of the door. There were articles on the Mariners and on
art museums, photos of her and Adim (I should have thrown these away, but that
wasn't for me to decide). A few minutes later, just as I stooped down to grab
the things piled on the floor of the locker, Anny came up behind me with an
empty box.

She had the look of one who was
utterly defeated. I wished I had the guts to take out my phone and snap a
picture of her pained face to show to Morgue later, but even
I
wasn't
that much of a bitch.

Just enough of a bitch to think
about it.

"Here's a box for Morgan's
things," she said barely above a whisper. Her eyeliner was slightly
smeared. From her pocket she withdrew two sealed envelopes. "Here's her
final check, and this envelope is for you. Please take the time to read it. I'll
mail you your final check tomorrow." And before I could react, she turned
on her heel and left.

I breathed a sigh of relief.
Apparently, Anny didn't feel comfortable throwing herself at me in a public
area, possibly because she didn't want her employees to know about her attempt
at prostitution, which suited me just fine. I continued to fill the box with
her things in a somewhat orderly manner.

"Hey, girl!"

I turned around to see a beautiful,
smiling, dark brown face. "Hi, Lakesha!" I got up and gave her a
brief hug.

"Look at you!" she said
enthusiastically, gesturing at my clothes. "You're all dressed up for a
night on the town!"

I laughed a bit, continuing to put
Morgue's things in the box. "Nah, just playing a little dress up." I
didn't see a need to elaborate on my designer clothes. I was pretty sure
Lakesha had known about who my family really was, even though we never actually
discussed it.

Lakesha eyed the pictures  that I
was carefully rearranging in the box. "How's Morgan? I've been worried
about her."

I stopped and looked up at her,
knowing in that instant that she'd also known about the abuse. I took in a
breath and made a lame attempt at a smile. "Physically, she's recovering.
Emotionally, she's moving on." After a moment I added, "She's dating
my brother now, and even though he's annoying, he's a step up from what she had
before… actually, probably one of the best guys out there. Just don't tell him
I said so."

She laughed good-naturedly. "You
mean that fine thing that used to come over every day and pick you up? Damn.
Good for her. Do you have another one of those?"

I burst out laughing, not bothering
to keep my voice down. What could Anny do about it, anyway? Finished with
Morgue's locker, I moved a few lockers down to see if there was anything
interesting in my own.

The only things from my locker that
were worth taking home were a couple of colorful glass vases which were on
clearance that no one seemed to want. Homeless colored vases always made me
feel sad, so I rescued them constantly. Thinking quickly, I walked over to the
small table against the wall.

There were a bunch of flyers piled
on top of this table that advertised an upcoming scrapbooking class the store
was going to sponsor. Anny had always wanted us to 'get creative' with the
passing out of these flyers every time there was an event at the store, but I've
never actually passed them out. I would have used them for toilet paper, but
since Anny made the flyers, it would have been like Anny was wiping my ass,
which wasn't exactly an enticing thought. Eventually, I'd usually end up
chucking them in the trash can right there in the ladies' room at work.

I grabbed a couple handfuls of the
flyers, jamming them in and around the glass vases that I placed in the box
carefully. Lakesha laughed a little at how I chose to 'pass out' these flyers,
and before another moment passed, she was by my side, helping me pack the
crumpled flyers around my vases. "I do have a handful of older brothers,"
I answered finally, "but they're all kinda far from here, mostly in L.A."

I was used to hearing women talk
the way Lakesha did about my brothers—especially about Rios. I've listened to
it for years. He
was
handsome, I supposed, in a jackass kind of way.

"Girlfriend, does it
look
like
I care about a few miles? I would relocate for
anything
half as fine as
him
."

I smiled and looked at her
seriously. "Are you really looking for so
meone?"

"I really am," she
assured me, giving me a serious but cute look.

"Okay, I'll tell you what."
I took my phone out and started typing her name in my contact list. "I'm
thinking about visiting L.A. soon. I don't know why. Maybe I miss being shot at
while I drive or the foul, hundred-degree weather. Two of my brothers are still
single—
the last I heard, anyway. I'
ll
give one of them your number. Or, better yet, do you have a Facebook?"

She excitedly gave me her number
and Facebook info, and I told her I'd make her a Rios yet.

In the parking lot, I put Morgue's
box in the trunk and got in Rios' car, looking around. Nobody else was in the
parking lot. Sighing, I opened one of the envelopes that I still clutched in my
hand.

That was Morgue's final paycheck.
Without looking at the amount, I returned it to its envelope quickly, and then
slipped it into my purse.

Grudgingly, I opened the envelope
that was intended for me, fearing the worst—perhaps a list of sexual suggestions
or a nude photo that would, indeed, make me lose my breakfast all over Rios'
car. He acted like he didn't care about finer things, but he was just trying to
keep it cool in front of Morgue. In reality, if I barfed all over his precious
Lamb, he'd squawk and scream like a gazelle in labor.

Instead, thankfully, I found Anny's
business card and a piece of paper with her handwriting on it. I rolled my eyes
and mentally prepared myself for the unknown, not expecting to learn that Anny
was even more uneducated and crude than I'd originally thought.

Dearest Des,

Please understand my pointe of
view. I know your good friends with Morgan and must be loyal to her. But you
arr also a very bright and educated woman. Don't you think you should get to
know me, and see my pointe of view? Why and how I act the way I do?