“Don’t think this thing is finished between us, Angel, we haven’t even begun,” he says looking into her eyes with a promising smile lifting his lips.
Letting her go, he walks out the door and closes it behind him, without looking back.
What the hell just happened here? she thinks, mouth agape and eyes wide. I am so, so screwed.
*
Monday arrives and Elsie is supposed to have lunch with Elizabeth then tonight is the self-defense class at Evolutions Gym. A class that Brian and John alternate teaching. She knows she’ll have to see John tonight and the thought sends a nervous ripple through her.
And I dry humped him Friday night. In my apartment. Against the wall. Ugh, Elsie thinks burying her face in her hands.
Today is going to royally suck! I wonder which macho sex hound is going to be teaching the class tonight. Maybe I shouldn’t go, Elsie argues with herself cringing inside, wondering what John’s reaction is going to be when he sees her tonight. Who am I trying to fool, I can’t wait to see John again, even though nothing will ever come of it. There will not be a repeat of Friday night. Now all I have to do is avoid being alone with him, with the both of them. Simple.
Elsie’s phone vibrates with a text message.
-Hey, Chica, we still having lunch today?- Elizabeth asks.
-Yeah, where at Lady?-
-How about a big ole sloppy burger at Sonic?-
-Sounds like just what I need, some sloppy meat in my mouth, what time?-
-You need to get laid. How about 12:30?-
If Elizabeth only knew, I just about got serviced Friday night. And I don’t know if I’m going to tell her. Elsie thinks, struggling with the thought of telling her friend about her few moments of ecstasy. Shit, she tells me everything, she told me what happened with Marco, I can’t be a hypocrite.
-See you there-
Flopping back against her velvet, antique couch, Elsie groans with her frustration aloud to no one in particular.
“This could end up being the worst day ever!”
Being unemployed can feel like a vacation sometimes. Elsie sent in her resume’ to some of the current productions happening in her area. The closer it got to the holidays the less likely it was that she’d find work before the first of the year. The downtime would suit her just fine. She’s just come off of a very grueling schedule because the last production she worked on nearly ran over, which would have killed the budget, so they were forced to work straight through, with no days off, under a very strenuous schedule. Right now she’s thoroughly enjoying being able to do whatever she wants to do, whenever she wants to do it.
Some of that freedom is being able to work on her own designs and creations. The ideas are constantly coming to her, and she always carries a sketchpad with her, to jot down them down. The book is also filled with loose pieces of scrap paper from those occasions when she couldn’t carry her book with her, but she had to get an idea down before it floated away. Her dream is to open her own boutique one day featuring her own, and other beginning designer’s styles, a place where they could showcase their talents without commercialism infringing on them. She’s been working on some resort wear since she’s been home, Elsie continues to follow the seasons according to the wholesale sector, and the extra bedroom in her apartment currently looks like springtime exploded in it with all the bright and flower-covered fabrics bursting from every surface. Visions of sandy beaches, smells of suntan lotion and moist ocean breezes fill her mind. The music she’s listening to this morning, in her studio room, is a wicked mix of Calvin Harris’ Summer, perfect for the flighty feelings of sun-kissed skin and hot romance.
Romance.
Bullshit.
But even she can’t stop the memories of her few minutes of passion, with the big Mountain Man, John. Her hands smooth out a burnt orange ream of fabric, preparing to cut out the patterns she’d made of her designs. Her breath catches as she remembers John’s smooth skin under her fingertips and his tongue tracing her lips. One hand lifts to follow the ghost along her lips, as the other set of fingers softly stroke the fabric as if it were John’s chest.
Stop this, Elsie! It’s not going to happen. There is no way you are going to show him your hideous body. Never!
Her body was probably the reason Elsie went into fashion design. Maybe it’s her self-image that she was compelled, at least in her mind, to make it as beautiful as it could be, by creating beauty to cover the scars. Her contribution to broken women is to offer them beautiful things, so that they can feel beautiful. And if you feel it you will be it.
Elsie straightens with a smile on her face. She is in love with the design she’s working on now. It’s understated glamour, subdued beauty for someone who is glowing from within. A woman who doesn’t shout, but whispers all that is within her. She chuckles because her own appearance is such a contradiction to what she creates. It’s kind of a cruel joke, really, that her own personal style is strong, independent and loud while what comes from her mind is soft and elegant with a quiet strength. Maybe her designs are the symbols of the butterfly she will become after she morphs from being a caterpillar.
A glance at the clock tells her she’s got two hours until she’s due to meet Elizabeth at the burger joint, Sonic, a retro ‘50’s drive-in diner style restaurant, all shiny silver and neon. She’d have to start getting ready in an hour. Elsie decides to set the alarm on her phone, because she has a habit of zoning out and hours pass unnoticed when she’s
