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Like a real couple.
We move over to the undergarments. I blush as she chooses all kinds of lacy silk bras and panties. I think of the skirt I wear. The only one I had before this trip, the one whose zipper has not yet been lowered. Will he like me in all these fancy things? Will he want to see me in them?
Another question bubbles up. He’s said he was working on finding out who is behind that black sedan but there haven’t been any updates yet. I say, “He also said that they offer their employees protection.”
“As a friendly, you’ll be protected by the family’s security team as well.” A white G-string in her hand, she locks gazes with me. “This is by far the best organization to work for. Trust me.”
Opting for comfort and preparing for the period I still need to have, I grab a stack of cotton bikini-cut panties in my size to add to the pile. “Organization. Family. I’m confused.”
“We started out over a hundred years ago as a group of men who essentially watched one another’s backs in the city. It grew from there, the first few decades looking like something akin to the mafia.” I hold back a shout of, ‘I knew it!’ Instead, I let her continue with, “Stealing from the rich to redistribute to the poor.”
“Okay,” I say.
“But now all our businesses are legit. We pay taxes. We are big on charity work. We make a lot of money, but we give a lot away too, never forgetting our roots.” She gives me a grin. “Like across the street. The bar over there? One of our leaders, Bronson, he’s starting a new bar. And for his bartenders? He’s only hiring people who were born with hearing disabilities who haven’t been able to find aid or work. The bar is rigged with brand new family created tech. A system of buttons and lights that lets the bartender know what you are ordering by sight instead of sound.”
“That’s amazing. I love that idea. I had a friend in college who was born deaf. She would love to have a job like that, working somewhere fun like a bar. It must be nice to have a found family, a support network that strong when you become a Bachman.” Claudia is so sexy and smart. She must have caught herself an amazing man from this family. “Who are you married to?”
“Oh! I’m not. Not married. Nope. I’m single. I’m just a friendly.” She gives an embarrassed laugh. “I guess I just think of myself as one, being Rock’s older sister and all.”
I hate that I’ve made her uncomfortable. I put my hand over hers. “There should be a rule about really awesome sisters who keep their siblings in line. You should be an automatic Bachman for reining in someone as strong willed as Rockwell.”
“Thanks. That’s sweet.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. It’s just that you’re so beautiful and you know so much?—”
“It’s okay. Really. It’s just that I haven’t had much luck in the dating world.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask.
“It’s pretty simple, really. Love, like work, I throw my full self into it. You know?”
“Yes.” I get that. “My last relationship was all-encompassing.”
“Exactly. That’s the way I like it. Only it’s never been reciprocated. At least not at the same level I’m delivering. If I like a guy, I dump all my unfertilized, aging eggs in his basket so to speak. And I scare them away. As of now, I haven’t found a man who is as into me as I am into him. I like to blame it on the Peter Pan syndrome so many rich, good-looking men suffer from in the city. Too much to offer and too many women around who are willing to partake. No strings attached.”
“I’m sure dating in the city, in this social circle can be hard,” I say.
“That’s what I tell myself. But I know it’s not true. I’m over the top. Too much to handle.” She shakes her head sadly.
“No, you’re not,” I say, reassuring her. “You’re just perfect and one day, you’ll meet a man who is man enough to treat you the way you deserve.”
“I never lose hope. Pathetic, I know. But here we are, so…” Her tone drops off.
“Oh, Claudia. Please. Let me tell you about bad dating luck.” And I dispel all her discomfort by telling her how a stranger had to buy my pregnancy test because I didn’t even have ten dollars after my terrible ex-boyfriend cleared out my savings just before he left me.
And I make her laugh. And it feels really good to see the humor in my misery. And to know even successful women who look like they have their life together struggle just as much as the rest of us sometimes.
We stand at the counter, watching the saleswomen carefully pack each outfit in boxes. I try to digest the idea of someone investing so much time and effort into my fashion choices. It’s a weird yet comforting feeling, knowing that someone cares about my appearance enough to do this for me.
But it also makes this protective cocoon I’ve been slipped into feel more like a bubble, one that could pop at any minute.
What happens if I’m too much? If I give all my eggs to Rockwell and he leaves just like my ex? I get the feeling the Bachmans won’t feel so friendly toward me if I lose his interest.
I’ll be right back where I started. Broke and alone. I think of his passionate kisses, the way he touches me. The way he makes me feel protected, safe, and cared for.
If he were to up and leave…
This time, I fear the heartbreak would destroy me.
