a trash magazine. You know. The ones where the details of celebrities’ lives are splashed across the front pages for the world to dissect. As if they have no skeletons in their own closets. But then, celebrities do choose to put themselves in the public eye. If they didn’t want attention, guess they should’ve stayed in the private sector instead of pursuing a life in front of the camera. I know. Been there, front and center. Well, okay, maybe it’s a bit of a stretch to compare a stripper to a celebrity, but hey, we both put ourselves out there.
A second before my hand lands on the magazine, I freeze. My attention is captured by the man standing several customers ahead of me. Even from behind, he’s sexy. I’m drawn to the musculature of his back as it pulls against his T-shirt. I swear. Some people could literally wear a burlap bag and make it look good. I hate them!
This man is one of those—good eye candy. I lean a little to the side to get a better view. Just as I suspected, he’s got a tight ass framed by his jeans. Nice! My eyes travel down his legs. Mmmm… long and muscular. Continuing my scan, I take in the traces of salt and pepper in his hair, and his bronzed skin, not burnt and tough like a day worker’s but a natural Mediterranean color.
The man finishes his transaction and, gathering his bags, proceeds to the exit. Damn! The woman in front of me is blocking my view. Move your fat head, bitch! I need to see his profile. Too late, he’s already out the door. Thanks! There goes what would have been tonight’s fantasy….
As I move forward in line, I’m bitter toward the woman in front of me. Don’t even know her, and yet I hate her! How dare she rob me of my eye candy!
I place my basket on the conveyer belt and watch it inch toward the checker. Still a couple of people to go before it’s my turn. Oh, shit! Forgot the ice cream. I turn to the customer behind me, a man in his late seventies, and cringe at the thought of asking. But the desire for a frozen treat outweighs my hesitance. “Excuse me.” The man doesn’t respond. I try again—louder. “Excuse me.”
The man cranes his head toward me. “Yes?”
“Would you mind if I grab a container of ice cream?”
His face lights up. “Oh, no. Go right ahead.”
“Thanks! Be right back.”
Standing in front of the display case, door open and letting out the cold, I can’t decide which flavor. Hate people like me. Get in line before they’re done shopping. Step out to grab “one more thing” and end up holding up the whole line.
Ah, hell! I’ll just get them both. Wait! Then I’ll have to work out more. Damn, I’m getting old. Not like when I was stripping and could dance off the calories. Fuck it—I snatch both containers and proceed to the checkout where the checker has just begun scanning my items. I shoot an apologetic look to the elderly man behind me as I slip ahead of him to finish my transaction.
A few minutes later as I near my car, groceries in hand, my heart skips a beat, recognizing the muscular back and flashes of bronzed skin. As I get closer, I can see the delicious ringlets of dark hair that play with his collar.
I slow my pace. What am I gonna do? Can’t let him get away. I’m almost upon him when he closes his trunk. Thinking quickly, I allow one of my bags to slip from my hand. As the contents spill to the ground, he turns. Perfect! I bend down to gather my scattered items and say, “Ah! I’m such a klutz.”
“Here, let me help,” the man says, chasing after my onion. “Aha! Got it,” he says, capturing it. He returns and places it in my hand, allowing his to linger a moment longer than necessary.
I look up. Our eyes lock. An electric surge pulses between us. “Thank you,” I manage.
He smiles, flashing a brilliant set of white teeth with the tiniest of gaps between them. He’s one of those. The lucky ones. The kind with naturally straight teeth. I think back to my childhood, plagued with headgears, neck gears and braces complete with metal wires rashing the insides of my mouth, and I hate him.
As he pulls his hand away from mine, he says, “Glad to help. We can’t have rogue onions rolling amok in the parking lot.”
I stand there frozen. Say something, stupid! I used to be so smooth with the johns. But this guy’s blue eyes hypnotize me. The most brilliant light blue I’ve ever seen. Out of place against his skin tone and almost black hair, they cast a spell on me. The man cocks his head to the side and scrutinizes me. Probably to determine if the idiot standing before him is worthy of further conversation. My knees feel weak. My heart is beating double-time, and still I say nothing. What the hell’s the matter with me?!
The man half chuckles, “Hmmm….” and then says, “Well, I’ve got to go. Perhaps we’ll meet again….”
My powers of speech return, and I manage to squeak out, “That’d be nice.” Offering my hand, I add, “I’m Sally.”
Clasping mine, he says, “Hello, Sally. I’m Carlos.”
“Nice to meet you, Carlos.”
An Evening Stroll
Princess, my yellow Lab, greets me at the door, tail wagging, when I get home. You’d think I’d been gone a week, not just an hour. Love her greetings. They make me feel special. Loved. Can’t imagine being without her. She’s been there through everything. Always cheerful. Always accepting. Find myself talking to her a lot. It’s comforting. I swear she understands me. She tilts her head at all the right moments and barks her reply when asked a question.
“Hey, girl!” I shuffle down the hallway to the kitchen where I deposit my bags on the counter, dog at my side. “Been waiting?”
She barks.
“Good girl.” I rummage through the groceries and find what she’s waiting for, a treat. Tearing open the bag, I hand her one. No circus tricks for my gal. Never saw the point in making a dog do tricks for a treat. You either appreciate and reward your pet, or not.
I put away the groceries and set a New York steak on a broiling pan. While I preheat the oven, I gather fixings for a salad: mixed lettuce, glazed walnuts, crumbled Gorgonzola cheese, pomegranate seeds and raspberry vinaigrette dressing.
While my steak cooks, I make the salad and set Princess’ food out for her. When my steak is done, I serve myself. My knife glides through the fibers of the meat as if it were softened butter. Placing the juicy morsel in my mouth, I lean back and close my eyes. Mmmm, that’s good!
After eating, Princess sits by my side waiting for me to finish washing the dishes. “I know, girl.” Drying my hands, I reach for her leash and clip it to her collar. She nearly pulls me out the door.
You’d think the dog would get bored with this routine. Or at least not act as though it’s her first time on a walk. We take one every evening and hike local trails and mountains when time allows. Used to go more during the week. Not so much any more. I enjoy her enthusiasm. It’s contagious and makes me smile.
Being happy is good. Spent way too much time unhappy. For a while there, my life was nothing more than one long tragedy after another. Never had enough time to come up for air before the next thing would
