This choice: "Go to the mall with your grad school groupies." • Go Back... (Originally written by H. M.   )
"Fine, I'll-"
Jan cuts you off. "come to the mall with me. It's a matter of life and death. A matter of life because I know how much you want Rex to give you his attention. A matter of death because if you go in that scuzzy, sweaty outfit and I have to admit I came with you, I'll wring your neck."
You roll your eyes. "I was going to say okay, Jan. Just...no hipster stuff, nothing that makes me look like a douche, and absolutely no glasses with the useless glass rims."
She grabs your hand and drags you toward the bus stop. "You wear them to look smarter. Not that you need it," she quickly adds. You had to admit, when you told people you dropped out to become a chef, their usual reaction was to think you couldn't cut it as a college student. This reaction was completely unmerited; you harbored dreams of owning and operating a small high-end restaurant someday, and your cooking skills were already fairly polished. But it was a matter of gaining experience and working your way up.
The metro bus pulls in, and your glad as you get on that the bus has working AC units. It was one of those funky articulated buses with the flexible middle that allowed them to bend as they turn. You and Jan take a pair of seats just behind the bendy part.
She turns to you, already sizing you up for clothes shopping. "Hang on. I'm taking a photo of you, vote by consensus with my colleagues." You groan. "Colleagues" was what she used to describe her grad school friends. You fold your arms on your chest. "Please don't send any photos to that cheetah, The weird one." She sticks out her tongue. "Marcelo's doing community service today anyway. Told him not to smoke pot out in the open."
As she angles her phone to take pictures from the sides, she makes a "tsk-tsk" sound. "Boy-o, you need to hit up the gym. If a gust of wind ever comes along, you might blow away." You take up her verbal banter with a parry of your own. "Speaking of blowing, when's the last time you saw any action?" The raccoon made a grunt of displeasure. She wasn't unattractive; she was shapely as a grad student, and even now she spent a fair amount of time in the gym to take her mind off her cruddy career situation. "Hmph. Well excuse me for not being the town bike." You giggle; knowing that if she really wanted to, she could easily have any number of gents coming in and out so fast she'd have to install a revolving door to her bedroom. Frankly, the one time she tried to lure you into the bed, you didn't turn it down because she was ugly, but (at the risk of sounding cliché) by that time, you just weren't all that into her. Your crush had faded fast, as crushes tend to do. However, she made for a fun friend to hang with.
You let out a sigh as she hits the "send" button on her phone. "So...who did the photos go to?" She looks up momentarily. "To whom. Subject vs. object." You raise your hands in annoyance. English grad students are such grammar Nazis. "Anyway, they went to Cleo, Moira, and Frankie."
You let out a long, dissatisfied "ugh". Cleo wasn't bad, nor was Moira. Francis...or Frankie, as he preferred, could've ran his own "queer eye" style television show. It's not that being gay was a problem; but the guy was rather flamboyant. "Oh come on, Jan, he has weird tastes. Like, he's the only guy I've ever seen wear leather pants and an ascot." You waves off your complaints as mere trifles. "He likes to stand out, but he knows what looks good on a man. Trust me, you'll be glad he came."
As the bus pulls in in front of the "Shoppes @ Magnolia Heights Mall", you and Jan tumble out and into the multi-story, glass-sheathed megamall. The old mall on the property was torn down a few years ago and this new shiny monstrosity, obnoxious "upscale" name and all, opened last year. Jan wastes no time dragging you into a "young men's fashion boutique", sending a message to her friends about where you guys were.
Jan is reasonably fashionable, in the sense that she knew what was attractive for when she wanted to be noticed, and what not to wear so that she could non-verbally go tell someone she's not interested in a date and to go fuck themselves. This being a situation of the former, she intends to make you hot to trot. Jan starts rummaging through racks and folded piles of clothes. "We need something that says, "I'm hot, but I'm not a manwhore." You make a face, half amused and half frustrated. "Well, it's not like I want to say to Rex, 'Hey, can you spare fifteen minutes, I want to take you up the ass out in the backyard.'" The raccoon smirks as she mulls over that thought for a moment. Ah yes, when it comes to friends, she's a keeper.
"Mmm...speaking of which, I was looking up Dr. Fessenden's social networks and google stuff when we were on the bus. There was a photo of Dr. Timothy shirtless on a tropical beach somewhere. Abs like cobblestones and a chest straight out of a Bowflex commercial. I'd volunteer to bend myself over his desk if he wanted it." Yup, she made no attempt to hide her interest in buff guys, and she was pretty open to older men as well. You were pretty sure Dr. Fessenden was about 35, give or take a little. Jan was a few years older than you, pushing past the quarter-century mark, although she sometimes acted like she was a few years younger than you. Especially when it came to ogling men.
You smile, making a quip to send you the photo for your own interest, and she hits a button on her phone. "Done." As Jan glances closely at an ensemble of a powder blue plaid shirt, dark blue tie and grey vest, you pipe up again. "Did you find out what his wife looks like?" She frowned and shook her head no. "I didn't see a wife. A couple photos of him with some other big guys, getting a science award, and even a photo with Coach Carter back when he played for the Bengals." It was oddly appropriate that a star football-playing tiger would play several seasons with the Bengals.
Anyway, Jan quickly jumps back to the matter at hand when he friends come strolling through the entrance of the store, Frankie included. You're expecting the following minutes will be somewhere between annoying, and a living hell.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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