It's In The Stars

Chapter Three

Saturday, July 16

Focus on improving your appearance. A makeover might be in order. Consider going to the gym or a hair salon. You might be surprised by the attention changing your appearance brings. Tonight: Try something different.

I’m a complete idiot! I didn’t go out with Victoria and the others last night because I was a good girl and listened to Horoscope who told me to curl up with a good book. I stopped at the used book store on my way home from work and picked up a romance the clerk recommended. I’m a sucker for a good romance, and this one had me turning pages into the early morning hours. I love happy endings, or at least a sliver of hope the relationship is headed in the right direction. And this book delivered. Of course, had I known that Hottie Advertising Guy would be at the same bar as my friends, I would’ve ditched the book for a shot at my own happily ever after.

I couldn’t believe it when Victoria called to give me a recap of last night.

“You’ll never guess who was at Joe’s,” she yelled into the phone.

I held the phone several inches from my ear. “Stop yelling?”

“Sorry.” Victoria talked softer. “But guess who came in?”

“The guy you met in the biography section at the bookstore?”

“No.”

“The cop you talked into giving you a warning instead of a speeding ticket.”

“No. Christ, Sydney. It’s not someone I’m interested in. It’s someone you’re interested in, although I would be interested in him if you weren’t. So if you change your mind about him, let me know.”

“Hottie Advertising Guy?”

“Yep. And he looked absolutely dreamy.”

“Damn. Wish I hadn’t listened to my horoscope.”

“Told you that idea was silly.”

“Was he with anyone?”

“No girl if that’s what you’re asking. He was with another guy from the ad department. The bald giant with the size fourteen shoes.”

“Dennis?”

“Yeah, him. Hottie looks like a toddler next to Dennis.”

“Dennis is nice,” I said.

“I didn’t say he wasn’t, but my entire body could fit into one of his pant legs. Jesus, what size do you think he wears anyway?”

“Hell, I don’t know. What was Hottie wearing?”

“Jeans, Oxford blue shirt.”

“Tucked in or out?”

“Out. And the sleeves were rolled up. I’m telling you he looked hot.”

“Hands off, Victoria. You promised.”

Victoria sighed. “I’m not going to go after him, Sydney. Unless, of course, you decide you’re no longer interested in him.”

I’ve never met anyone quite like Victoria. She’s a slut, but a great slut. She’s definitely the horniest woman I’ve ever met and admits she lost count of her sexual partners by the time she was sixteen. At that age, my make-out sessions consisted of kissing and some light petting. I’ve learned a lot from Victoria over the past year and in some weird way, I admire her. She’s bold and comfortable with her sexuality and that’s something I’ve always struggled a bit with. I’m always afraid that when a guy sees me naked he’ll mock me. Aside from my hammer toe, one of my breasts is noticeably larger than the other.

Victoria’s news bummed me big time. As much as I liked the book, I would’ve liked seeing Hottie at the bar more. Maybe she was right. Maybe this horoscope thing is stupid. Just as I began to mentally list the reasons why following my horoscope was a dumb idea, I glanced down at the newspaper. I had opened it to the horoscope page when Victoria called. I read Cancer’s entry and when it said what I’d been thinking, I decided to keep the faith – at least for another day.

My hair has been driving me insane for a few weeks. I was going to let it grow out but it’s at that in-between stage and I don’t think I can stand to look in a mirror one more time and see the tangled mess of black curls. As an aside, I’ve got to be the only adult who still uses a child’s detangling spray. Seriously. When I was little, Mom couldn’t get through my hair without it. Trying to calm my curls without drowning them in detangling spray is downright dangerous for the comb. And now that my hair is getting longer, the tangles are becoming even more tangled. It’d be very easy for me to grow dreadlocks, which I’ve never seriously considered even though Victoria thinks I should.

So today’s horoscope suggesting the makeover was just the push I needed. After the gym, I planned to hit the salon and see what can be done about this unruly mop. Maybe I’ll even ask for some highlights. Pink or blue would be perfect. I needed a makeover.

For a Saturday morning, the gym was packed. I found the only free treadmill and it was wet with sweat. Gross! Why are some people pigs? Seriously. You’re supposed to wipe off the machine when you’re done exercising but obviously some idiot didn’t. So I got some wipes and cleaned it off. It made me gag. I’m a bit neurotic when it comes to public surfaces anyway, and actually seeing the sweat on the machine made me itch.

About forty minutes into my run, I spotted Hottie Advertising Guy across the gym. I’d never seen him here before, but I wasn’t surprised he was a member because we had a company discount.

My throat tightened as he walked towards me. Sweat dripped from my face and onto the treadmill. My shirt and shorts were soaked. I nonchalantly sniffed my armpit and confirmed it smelled like sweaty socks.

Maybe he won’t recognize me, I thought. He’s never seen my hair in a ponytail. But that also means he’s never seen my pointy elf ears. I felt like a fly caught in a spider web. I was stuck, unable to move, waiting for hope to be sucked out of me.

I looked down. Keep going. Keep going. Don’t stop. You do not see me. That’s it. Walk on by.

“Hey Jason!”

Hottie Advertising Guy turned around.

A guy dressed like he was a walking ad for Nike yelled, “Can you spot me?”

Thank God! Hottie Advertising Guy turned around to help Nike Man lift weights.

I took a sip of water and checked to see how many calories I’d burned. Oh, shit! It was 666. I loathe that number. I increased the speed on the treadmill so the counter would change.

Normally, I’d lift weights after finishing my run on the treadmill. But I didn’t want to take the chance Hottie would see me all sweaty and stinky, so I bagged that part of my workout. Instead, I hit the sauna before showering and going to the salon.

Stephen ran his slender fingers through my mess of black curls. He’s been doing my hair for a year now and we hit it off almost immediately. Too bad he prefers guys. I usually go about every five weeks but I hadn’t seen him for a while.

“So what do you think?”

He shook his head. “It looks like shit, but it’s not a lost cause.”

I smiled. “I can always count on you to be brutally honest, can’t I?”

He patted my shoulder. “And you wouldn’t want it any other way.”

“True.”

“So I’ll snip here and snip there and layer it a little and you should be good to go.”

“What about a blue chunk on the side?”

“Blue? I was thinking pink.”

“Pink is good.”

“Yeah, let’s do pink. It will pop against your black hair. You’re sure, right?”

“Absolutely. My horoscope told me to try something different.”

Stephen cracked his neck. “You actually believe in that crap?”

I shrugged. “Nothing else has worked so why not give it a try? Maybe if I follow it I’ll find a guy.”

Stephen threw a gray drape over me and snapped it at the back of my neck. “Sorry, I can’t help you in that department. But give it time. It’ll happen.”

“I just turned twenty-six, Stephen. That’s TWO SIX! I’m more than a quarter century old. Another twenty-five and I’ll be fifty and my life will be half over. I’m ready to find Mr. Right, or at least a few Maybes. And following ‘normal’ dating procedures hasn’t worked.”

Stephen cleared his throat. “By normal dating procedures you mean hanging out at area bars?”

“Yeah. And staking out the gym, which hasn’t proven advantageous either. Nor has the library or the bookstore or the coffee shop where all the nerdy but nice guys set up office for the day in booths that have receptacles underneath. So yeah, it’s me and Horoscope, baby. Can’t do any worse than I’m doing now.”

Stephen worked his magic, snipping and layering so quickly his hands were a blur.

“So how’s David?”

“We broke up.”

“You broke up? But I thought he was your forever.”

“Me, too. But he dumped me for a guy fifteen years younger.”

“Oh, Stephen. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Not many people do. It happened about two weeks ago. I came home and he had moved out.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah. I’m swearing off men for a while.”

“Geez, we make a good pair.”

Stephen laughed. “It’s just too bad we both prefer men.”

By the time Stephen was finished, I felt like a new woman. And the pink chunk on the side was the perfect choice.

“Stephen, you’re a genius. Thanks!”

He removed the drape. “At least I make my clients happy.”

I stood. “David’s dumb.”

“And I’m dumber for falling for him.”

I patted Stephen’s back and handed him a tip. “Don’t worry. Mr. Right will come along.”

“Thanks,” Stephen said. “Yours will, too.”

I had some errands to run before going home and getting ready to go out with the girls. By the time I got to Joe’s, Victoria, Frankie and Jada were cozying up at the bar. Jada saw me first. “Love. The. Hair.”

Victoria and Frankie turned around and I was greeted by a chorus of oohs and aahs.

“Love the pink!” Frankie said. “Bold and sexy.”

“Who wants a buttery nipple?” Victoria asked a little too loudly. Two guys a few stools yelled they did.

I’ve never had one, but I know Horoscope told me to try something different today so I was game. The bartender lined up four shot glasses and mixed some butterscotch schnapps and Irish cream.

Victoria, Frankie, Jada and I raised our shot glasses. “To new beginnings!” Victoria said.

We all downed the shot and I licked my lips. It tasted like a butterscotch candy. Definitely too sweet to do more than one.

“Who would name a drink Buttery Nipple?” Frankie asked. “I wonder what was going through the person’s mind.”

“Maybe it was named to attract men,” Victoria said. “Imagine walking up to a guy. How would you like to taste a Buttery Nipple?”

We laughed.

“There’s a shitload of drinks with dirty names,” Jada said. “Some are really vulgar. Like Creamy Pussy. Imagine ordering that for your love interest.”

“That’s really a drink?” I asked.

Jada nodded. “It’s Baileys Irish cream and strawberry cream liqueur. It’s actually not bad if you can get by the creamy pussy part.”

I shook my head. I’ve gotten quite an education, sex and otherwise, since moving here. It took me a while to get used to our frank discussions, but I’ve come to appreciate that not all friends share what we do. We’re open and honest and feel comfortable sharing intimate details. Even though I grew up in a bigger city than Victoria, Frankie and Jada, they know so much more than I do when it comes to sex. I had limited experience in that department and a lot of what I learned, I learned from Sex Week at school.

The university I attended held the event every year. I thought my mom and dad would flip when they heard about the student-led event. But I actually learned some cool stuff, like how to pick sex toys that don’t harm the environment.

My bestie Jen and I bought a pack of condoms one time and practiced putting them on bananas. We’d compete to see who could get the packet open and on the banana the fastest. I always won.

Because of Jen and our condom-banana bouts, I was ahead of most girls in Latexology, which covered when to use condoms and how to put them on. My favorite program was I Love Female Orgasm presented by two sex educators.

Victoria took a sip of her beer. “Don’t look now, but that guy at the end of the bar in the white button-down shirt is hot. And I mean hot.”

“Is he alone?” I asked.

Victoria licked her lips. “Seems to be. Wonder if he’d like company?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Jada said.

We watched as Victoria walked over and slid into the bar stool next to him.

“How much you want to bet we don’t see her the rest of the night?” Jada said.

Frankie pulled out her cellphone to check her messages. “I thought she was with Steve.”

“Only when she’s horny and doesn’t have anyone,” I said.

Frankie shook her head. “So it’s one of those we’re not going out any more; we’re just friends who sleep together situations?”

“Precisely. It works for her and it works for him.”

Jada sighed. “There’s not much action in here tonight. Let’s check out the bar down the street.”

“The biker bar?” Frankie asked.

Jada shrugged. “Why not? It might be fun.”

We finished our drinks and left for the biker bar. Victoria and White-Button-Down Shirt were eye banging like crazy and I figured it was only a matter of time before they left the bar and did the real thing.

Chapter Four

Sunday, July 17

You’re reflective today, thinking about past relationships and what went wrong. You’re fantasizing about a former flame who you haven’t forgotten. Time to move on. Good things await. Tonight: Pamper yourself.

My first love broke my heart. I met him my sophomore year in college and I thought we’d be together forever. I dated a lot of guys in high school, but no one seriously. I think the longest I had a boyfriend was six months. But then I met Seth and my world turned upside down. We met at his fraternity’s Halloween party. I was dressed as Thing One and my bestie Jen was dressed as Thing Two. He was dressed as a vampire and he walked up behind me as I was waiting for beer. “I want to suck your blood,” he whispered. I turned around to find dark, sexy eyes staring back at me. It wasn’t long until we became a thing.

He was two years older than me and when he graduated from college, he took a job on the West Coast. We tried to make it work for a while, but the distance was just too great. And we were living in two different worlds. Mine revolved around exams and university life. Seth’s revolved around his engineering job. But I never forgot him. He was my first true love. And, yes, sometimes I do fantasize about him. He married a California girl and I haven’t seen him in years.

I sipped my coffee and read the news on my phone. I hate Sundays, mostly because I have to go to the laundromat. Talk about fantasizing, I think I fantasize about having a washer and dryer more than I fantasize about sex. I’m not sure what that says about me. That I like clean clothes better than I like sex? Dear God I hope not.

Maybe I’ll see the guy I noticed the other week for the first time. When I went to put my clothes in the dryer he’d just finished using, I found a pair of blue silk boxers. For a breath I thought about keeping them. I have a pair of gray paisley boxers I copped from Seth. They’re so comfortable. But I decided to ask tall, five o’clock shadow with a barbed wire tattoo on his bulging bicep if they were his. His face turned cherry red but he managed a smile (straight, white teeth – a plus) and thanked me.

I should’ve continued the conversation. The guy definitely had potential, and his boxers were as sexy as hell. They were soft and slipped through my fingers. I bet they felt great on.

Victoria interrupted my fantasizing when she called to give me the details about her night with White-Button-Down-Shirt. The cliff notes were: his name is David, he’s twenty-nine and single. He’s a mechanical engineer and relocated to the area recently because of his job.

“And he’s a sneaker head,” Victoria said.

“Really?”

“Big time. He told me how when the classic Air Jordan IIIs were rereleased he was the first in line at the store in the mall.”

“I never met a sneaker head before.”

“Neither have I, but David spends more money on one pair of sneakers than I spend on food in a month.”

“That’s some serious cash.”

“Tell me about it.”

“So what did you do after you left the bar?” I asked.

“We went back to his place and talked.”

“That’s it? Just talked?”

“And we kissed – a little.”

“Talked and kissed and nothing else?”

“Well.”

“You didn’t sleep with him, did you?” I asked. “God, Victoria. You just met him.”

“I know. I wasn’t going to but then it just sort of happened.”

“But it always just sort of happens with you.”

“Not true. I didn’t sleep with that guy I met last week.”

“The redhead?”

“Yes, I didn’t sleep with him.”

“Look, it’s none of my business who you sleep with,” I said. “I just don’t want you getting hurt. You give it up too easily. Remember, you get what you allow.”

“Can we change the subject?”

“I gotta go anyway. I need to go to the laundromat and then the store.”

“What are you doing later?”

“I’m going to pamper myself,” I said. “That’s what my horoscope advised so I’m going to take a long soak in the tub.

Victoria made a noise that sounded like a sick cow. “You and your stupid horoscope. How long are you going to follow that thing anyway?”

“It’s not stupid and I don’t know. Maybe forever.”

“God, Sydney, I hope not. There’s something to be said for spontaneity. You’re neurotic enough.”

I cleared my throat. “Well, someone has to worry about things.”

“But you worry too much.

“And you don’t worry at all.”

“Okay, then, it’s a draw,” Victoria said. “Have fun doing your laundry.”

When I walked into the laundromat, I scanned the room. My tall, five o’clock shadow with a barbed wire tattoo on his bulging bicep hottie wasn’t there. Shit! I was majorly disappointed. I hadn’t realized just how much I’d hoped to see him. I tried reading the magazine I brought, but all of the articles seemed to be about sex. And when you’re not getting any, it’s depressing as hell to read about all of the ways you can make it better. What good is reading an article about foods that might increase my libido or tips for having mind-blowing orgasms when I have no special someone? And, unlike Victoria whose best friend is her pink vibrator, I’m not into using sex toys to get me off. I want the real thing. But the real thing has to be quality. Unlike Victoria who’ll screw anything that has a dick, I want a guy who has a good head – on his shoulders!

I’m seriously considering checking out the online dating scene. Maybe Frankie was right when she compared “shopping” for a guy to shopping for an appliance. If I had an apartment with washer and dryer hook-ups and I had the money to buy a washer and dryer I’d scour the internet to find the best make and model and price. I’d want the best my money could buy. So why not apply that same logic to finding a guy? I want a particular make and model, so if I go to an online “store” and stipulate what I want I might just find what I’m looking for. I’ll have to give this online dating gig some serious thought.

By the time I got home from doing laundry, I was starving. I thought about going through the drive-thru on the way home, but decided I’d better stick to my budget. My choice was eating oatmeal or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I chose the oatmeal. When you’re still paying your student loan along with car payments and rent, some nights are cheap nights.

I was just about to slip into the bath tub when Victoria called.

“Do you think I’m a slut?” she blurted.

“Where’d that come from?”

“Because I slept with White-Button-Down-Shirt.”

“No, I don’t think you’re a slut. Yes, I do think you give it up a little too easily.”

“So that means I’m a slut.”

“I didn’t say that. Look. You’re not a slut. A little on the loose side maybe. You like sex. Like a lot. I just think you need to be careful who you’re having it with. White-Button-Down seemed fine.”

“He called.”

“That’s a plus. There might be potential there.”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I like that his ass is so flat, though.”

“Victoria! You’re impossible. I have to go. My bath water’s getting cold.”

I hung up the phone and slipped into the water.

Chapter Five

Monday, July 18

Your day will be challenging but it’s nothing you can’t handle. Much of your success is due to your hard work and perseverance. Embrace something new. Tonight: Take a walk.

I should have known work was going to stink when I read my horoscope. I hate Mondays to begin with and then to start it with having to cover a house fire totally sucked. By the time I arrived on the scene, the fire had become an inferno. Flames licked the pale sky as the wooden structure became a blackened mound of charred rubble. At least the family of four was safe.

I reported from the scene most of the morning and by the time I returned to the office, I smelled like burnt wood and felt just as brittle. I was whipped. I know Horoscope said to take a walk, but there was no way I was walking after work. My feet hurt from standing all day. Once my butt hit the couch, it wasn’t moving.

The fire reminded me of one of my worst nightmares. It happened the night I watched a TV documentary about a 1944 circus fire that killed lots of people. The circus tent, which had been waterproofed with paraffin, caught fire. It was a terrible tragedy. That night, I dreamt I went to the circus and while watching the tigers perform the tent burst into flames. Paraffin dripped from the tent onto my skin, severely burning me. It took my mom hours to get me to sleep. To this day, I’m afraid to go to a circus and I think the worst way to die would be in a fire.

Frankie returned to the office at the same time I did. She’d been covering something at city hall.

“Are you up for trying that Zumba class tonight?” she asked.

“You’ve got to be freakin’ kidding me. I’m too tired.”

“But your horoscope said you should embrace something new.”

“How do you know what my horoscope says?”

Frankie pulled out the lollipop she was sucking. “I read it.”

“You read my horoscope?”

“It’s not like I’m spying on you. I read it when I read mine.”

“But you said you didn’t believe in horoscopes.”

“I don’t, but I still read it.”

“Can you stop sucking on that lollipop like it’s a part of the male anatomy? It’s obscene.”

Frankie rolled her eyes. “You need a good lay.”

I clenched my teeth and Frankie bolted.

I finished my story and checked in with Oyster Breath, who has this annoying habit of humming. He’s not a bad hummer (is that even a word?) but he hums tunes from the cavemen era. Stuff you hear while on hold for a gazillion hours waiting for the next available representative. Music my grandmother grew up with. Anyway, he looked out over the rim of his wire glasses and said, “Good job, Davies. You might make it in this business yet.”