Hey There, Delilah..., page 2
The day is pretty uneventful so far. I called Charlie on my way to work and we picked a time and place to meet for lunch. She is very lucky to have a cool boss that lets her come and go as she pleases. She works at a talent agency that represents many A-list actors like Parker Hamilton. Yummy! Guess she is lucky in more ways than one. Anyway, as long as her work gets done, he is happy. As soon as the clock strikes noon, I make my way to meet Charlie for some long overdue girl time.
She greets me with a big hug and kiss then smacks me on my bottom. “Happy Birthday, old lady!” Leave it to Charlie to always remember. Like I said… best friend.
Conversation between us always flows easily. We talk about the men she is dating. If there is one girl who could balance three different men at one time, it is Charlie. I bring up Ryan, and his odd behavior this morning, as well as the past couple of weeks, and she agrees with me that he is probably under stress from work. She also uses that excuse for him forgetting my birthday. But as far as I am concerned, there really is no excuse. I shrug my shoulders and agree, tentatively. My gut is telling me differently, but I know that Ryan would never do anything to hurt me. He loves me.
It is time to head back to work, and I am dreading it. I keep telling myself that it is Thursday, which means tomorrow is Friday, which means I have a whole weekend away from the Bitch. But I am brought back to reality when my brain reminds me that it is still actually Thursday, which means all of my work needs to be done by tomorrow, which means I better make sure there are no last minute changes to any of the files I am working on.
As soon as I get back to work, I make a quick stop at the ladies’ room then head to the Bitch’s office. I don’t want any surprises tomorrow that will force me to work late. I am just about to knock on her door when I hear noises. Is she being beaten? Raped? I can’t tell if she is screaming in pleasure or pain. But since I know she would never do something as unprofessional as voluntarily have sex at the office, my endorphins kick in and I ram my shoulder into the door, knocking it open with a loud thud.
If it wasn’t my life that was just decimated, I would say the scene before me was nothing short of comical. Ryan, my live-in boyfriend of eight years, who only likes missionary position, has my bitch boss, who I complain about daily, bent over her desk doggie style. She has a ball gag in her mouth, looking like a stuffed, baked pig, and he is wearing leather chaps with his ass and cock hanging out. I know I am going to laugh about this one day, but this mental picture will not escape me any time soon. As soon as they realize that I am staring at them, my mouth gaping open, they start scrambling for clothes. I am actually pretty proud of myself for the way I handled it.
I walk over toward her desk, pick up her ripped panties, walk them over to her, and say, “Consider this my resignation.” Then I turn toward Ryan, shake my head with a knowing smile, look him dead in the eyes, and say, “I quit you, too. Anything of yours still in my apartment at 5:00 pm, will be donated or thrown out. Leave your keys in the mail slot.” I hold my head high, look straight ahead, and leave. I walk to my desk, grab the few personal items that I do have there, leave the picture of Ryan and me, and don’t look back.
As the elevator doors slide closed, I catch a quick glance of Ryan running toward me yelling. I can’t make out every word, but it is something like, “I am so sorry. I love you. Please, let’s talk about this.” I guess he doesn’t realize the time to talk was before his cock entered the Bitch. Aw, shit, he wasn’t wearing a condom with her, was he? Guess I will hit the clinic before I head home. Happy fucking birthday to me!
♫♩♫♩♫♩♫
Still Delilah…back to today…
Since this all went down yesterday, I haven’t spoken to anyone about it until now. I also haven’t cried or broken anything. I guess I was still in the denial stage. Now that Charlie is here, and I have rehashed those horrific three minutes, I am feeling a combination of anger, sadness, and self-pity. Add a bottle of wine to the mix, and you can imagine I am not a pretty sight. In fact, I am a hot freaking mess!
A tissue box appears in front of my face; I take a few and sob a “thanks.” Charlie sits back down on the couch – I didn’t even realize she had gotten up – and waits patiently while I bawl my eyes out over everything I just lost. How could I have been so blind? All of the signs were right in front of me. Between the lack of sex, and the distance that was growing between us, I feel like such a fool for not picking up on it sooner.
“I…I feel like I wasted eight years of my life. I thought we were going to get married. ” I blubber as I dab at the snot running out from my nose. I take off my glasses to wipe them down because they are so salt stained from my tears.
Charlie places her hand on my knee and squeezes it. “It’s okay, LaLa. You’re going to be fine; you are going to find another man who is going to treat you so much better than Ryan Dickardson ever did,” she says, practically spitting Ryan’s name out of her mouth. I smile slightly at the new nickname she just gave him.
I sniff and reel in my emotions. Charlie is right, of course. Crying over a slimy snake like Ryan is not going to get me anywhere. I have a job interview tomorrow, and I need to get ready. I dry off my face and blow my nose, and Charlie gives me a gentle smile and a nod of approval.
“That’s my girl. Now, pick yourself up and dust yourself off, because Ryan is an asshole and he has no idea what he is losing. He just doomed himself to a life of misery because he will never find a woman as awesome as you, LaLa. You know he is going to try to come crawling back to you any day now.”
I nod and take a deep breath. I’m okay. I’m going to be okay. “I need your help picking out an outfit for tomorrow.”
Charlie and I move to my bedroom and open my closet. She sucks in a sharp breath then turns to look at me, her teeth bared in disgust. I shove my hands on my hips and glare at her.
“What?” I demand.
“Your clothes suck ass,” she says, not one ounce of remorse in her tone.
“Yeah, well…you suck ass,” I mutter. God, that has to be the worst comeback line I have ever come up with. I am usually much wittier; the whole boyfriend/job situation is throwing me off my game.
Charlie rolls her eyes at me before she starts digging through my stuff. She picks out four outfits and turns me into a runway model, and not a good one I might add. She makes me put on all four outfits and then walk back and forth in front of her. After the fourth outfit, I am now irritated, so I smack my hands against my thighs.
“Come on, Charlie, pick something,” I huff.
“Your clothes are awful! I’m having a hard time deciding which one is the lesser evil!” She cries, throwing her arms up.
“I don’t have time to go shopping.” I grunt, crossing my arms…okay, it was more like resting my arms on my chest.
Charlie growls. “Fine, just wear the black suit.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at her.
“No, but it’s the best thing you have. You really need to buy new clothes that fit you better.” Charlie sighs, glancing at my closet.
“I like my clothes, they are comfy.” I pout, smoothing out the shirt I am wearing.
“And that is how you know that they are crap; cute clothes are not comfy,” Charlie says wryly, her eyes glittering in amusement.
I shrug. “I’d rather be comfy than cute.”
Charlie looks at me as if I just grew another head. “What the hell is wrong with you? Every woman wants to look cute,” she insists.
I roll my eyes. “I have my reasons and you know what they are, so let’s not go there.”
“Fine, whatever, just wear the black suit. You’ll look…acceptable.” She winces at her choice of words.
“You’re such a bitch!” I chuckle, knowing my best friend means well. Charlie never lies to me, so she will not tell me I look cute or sexy when I clearly don’t.
We laugh and tease each other some more before she leaves, and I am glad that she came over. She didn’t say too much about Ryan, but she didn’t need to. She was here for me when I needed her, and that is all I have ever asked of her. I am one lucky girl to have such a fantastic friend. I take a deep breath and look down at my black suit where it lays on my bed.
“It’s just you and me tomorrow. Make me look good, okay?” I say, talking to the suit. “Holy shit, I’m losing my goddamn mind. I’m talking to inanimate objects,” I mutter to myself, raking my hand through my long wavy hair. And now I am talking to myself. Great!
I clean up the mess that Charlie and I made and get ready for bed. I need to get a good night of sleep so that I can be at my best tomorrow. If I’m lucky, I will get the job and not have to worry about dipping into my savings. If not, I will officially be the biggest loser, and just might have a nervous breakdown.
Chapter Two
Nick
Most people think I am a player - a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy – but that’s because they don’t really know me. Or shit, maybe they really do know me, and I am the bastard that everyone seems to think I am. But I never used to be this way. There was a time in my life that I thought love was the ultimate goal and that being in a committed monogamous relationship was the most incredible achievement. Then I turned ten, and realized that’s all a bunch of bullshit. And as I got older, I learned that women are good for one thing – a good fuck.
My parents married young, and my mom was only nineteen when she had me, her only child. We lived a comfortable life. I don’t remember ever wanting anything I couldn’t have, within reason, and always saw my parents showing affection. It wasn’t uncommon to catch them sneaking a kiss when they thought I was sleeping. It was my tenth birthday, and I remember it like yesterday. My mom planned this awesome Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles party for me at the house, and all of my friends were coming over. She even hired a man to come over dressed like Michelangelo, my favorite Turtle. When I went upstairs to get dressed for the party, she gave me a kiss and told me she was running a quick errand to pick up my birthday cake. She never came back. No note, no explanation, no reason. With no siblings, it was just my dad and me from that day forward. In fact, two weeks from today will be my twenty-third anniversary of being abandoned by the only woman I have ever loved. That’s how I celebrate my birthdays.
I have only been with a few women since that day that I would even classify as being in a “relationship” with, and they have all been the same, and end the same – by me telling them to hit the road.
This last one was with Veronica, and she lasted six months before she started hinting at wanting a ring. Now every woman in her thirties should know by now that those words are the kiss of death. That or the whole biological clock shit. Don’t bring those things up to your man unless you are trying to give them a reason to kick your ass to the curb. There was no way in hell I was going to marry Veronica. Don’t get me wrong, she was beautiful, and her body was ridiculous, but the sex was shit and she was a “gimme” girl. You know the type, all they do is take, take, take. She would suck the life out of me if she could. And not just in the bedroom. We had to eat at the best restaurants, go to the coolest clubs, have front row tickets to hottest shows, and pretty much make sure she is seen by everyone. Meanwhile, in the six months we were together, she didn’t give me jack shit – not a thank you, not a home cooked meal, and definitely not a satisfying blow job.
So you see, my mommy issues may not be an excuse for being a total prick to women, but maybe it can shed some light on the importance I place on honesty, loyalty, and an equal give and take relationship. And since that woman doesn’t exist, all I look for is someone I can screw and then leave me the fuck alone.
This brings me to why today I have to eat my own shit and bear it. I had to clear my schedule of the important work that I should be doing, to interview for a new secretary. Since I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants, I ended up screwing my last one over my desk and apparently she confused me banging her with love. She quit when I told her that she would be nothing more than a quick lay. Okay, so maybe I am a cold-hearted prick, but I did nothing to lead her to believe it would be anything more than it was. I made that bed, so now I have to fucking lie in it - no pun intended - with all of these dumb, useless, unqualified, albeit hot, women the agency sent over for me to interview. There will be no more beds, and definitely no more lying in them, or on desks, or couches, or walls. Aw, shit.
Why can’t they just send over someone educated, experienced, and completely unattractive so I can just focus on my work and not on her tits and ass?
♫♩♫♩♫♩♫
Delilah
I just arrived at the Santino Law Office for my interview. I am so nervous, so I made sure to get here early enough to give myself the chance to freshen up and calm down a bit. I called my mom after I quit yesterday. I didn’t give her any details because I was still in such shock. I always complain to her about the Bitch, so she just assumed I quit because of her – if she only knew the half of it. Anyway, she told me that a woman that she plays bridge with is the receptionist at a law firm, and that she heard her a few nights ago say that there is a position open as the secretary for the controlling partner. My mom told me to show up for an interview at 9:00 am sharp, and ask for Carmella.
So here I am, ten minutes early, and I meet Carmella, a really sweet older lady by the way. She is probably in her mid-fifties and has jet black hair, clearly dyed. She has it styled in that stereotypical old lady helmet, which she probably only has to style once a week because there is so much hair spray in it. She is wearing a mauve color button down silk shirt with a black polyester skirt to her knees and black orthopedic shoes. You know, the ones that nurses always wear because they are always on their feet. Oh, and she also has the required strand of pearls around her neck and matching earrings. She is the antithesis of my DeadHead mom, but apparently a kick ass bridge player, so she is always welcome to the games.
After the warm greeting, Carmella brings me to this conference room, waiting for my turn to be called. Oh, yeah, I said my turn. That’s because there are half a dozen other women here interviewing for the same position - my position. Since my mom is friends with Carmella, I was feeling really confident last night and this morning. Now that I am in this room, looking at all of my competition, I realize that I don’t have a shot in hell. Mr. Santino obviously has a type he is looking for. It is almost like a casting call in here. I wonder what the job ad said: Prestigious New York Law Firm partner seeking super hot blonde bimbo secretary. Must be over five feet ten inches, wears micro minis, six-inch stilettos, and have had at least two cosmetic procedures under her belt. Oh, and make sure your tits are hanging out. College degree or experience not required.
Okay, so maybe that is a little harsh, but looking around it is blatantly obvious that he might as well have posted a personal ad. I am wasting my time sitting here. But then again, what else do I have to do? No job, no boyfriend. Shit. I pull out my e-reader and get back to my new fictional boyfriend. Lord knows he won’t cheat on me. I am totally into this new erotic genre and am engrossed in the most incredible sex scene. The main character is this hot Italian actor, and what he is doing to the girl is indescribable, nothing I have ever experienced with Ryan. I know that nobody in this room knows what I am reading, or even realize I am even in this room – not one bimbo even looked at me when I walked in, clearly they know I am no competition - but my face must be turning red from the steam emanating off the pages. Oh, what I wouldn’t do to have a man do those things to me. Just as I am about to get to the climax scene, I am brought back to my craptastic life when Carmella walks into the room and calls for me to come with her.
I follow her through a maze of offices and cubicles. My mind is still swimming in the book when Carmella opens the door and I catch sight of him. Oh.my.God! I blink a few times and shake my head to see if I am imagining it. It just can’t be… my Italian stallion is standing in front of me, and hot damn reality is better than fiction! He has dark shiny brown hair that looks like he is a week past needing a trim; it looks as though it was neatly slicked back when he got to work, but has since run his hands through it – definite sex hair. Either he has been frustrated with the previous interviewee selection, or he seriously got down and dirty with one, or more. He has a strong square jaw and at least a few days worth of stubble, and is probably in his early thirties. His eyes are an exquisite emerald green, and when our eyes meet for the first time, my legs go weak. I can’t tell how tall he is exactly because I am so petite, but he looks at least a foot taller than me. And he is built. I don’t mean trim and lean like a runner, I mean built like a boxer or MMA fighter. It is really hard to see what exactly he has going on under that suit, but I can just tell that whoever gets to experience what’s under there, is one lucky lady.
♫♩♫♩♫♩♫
Nick
“Mr. Santino, your nine o’clock interview is here,” Carmella’s voice says from the speaker of the phone on my desk. Carmella is the sweet older receptionist that makes the best chocolate chip cookies ever.
I hit the speaker button on my phone. “Thanks, Carmella. Can you bring her back, please?”
“Absolutely,” she replies.
I stand and button my designer suit jacket, smoothing out the lapels and straightening my tie in preparation. I like to look my best. I can’t deny the fact that I’m a good looking dude. I skirt the desk when I hear a light knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call.
Carmella opens the door and waves my interviewee in before giving me a sweet smile. I give Carmella a wink in return. My attention is drawn to the horribly dressed young woman walking into my office, and I frown. What the hell is that? She has that dull, mousy brown mane of wavy hair that is hanging limply down her back, and there is no make-up on her heart shaped face. I can’t tell what color her eyes are because they are hiding behind a hideously outdated pair of glasses. And why won’t she look at me?
