Dealing Flesh (13 page)

Romy:
It feels nice to have a boyfriend again, especially one as cuddly and sweet as him.

With the mutual attachment steadily growing, I now spend nearly every weekend at Sven’s Hollywood Hills apartment.

It is Friday morning, and I am on the phone with him. He invites me to attend a sports event this evening, suggesting that I meet him at his pad at eight. I show up at the planned hour but he’s nowhere to be found. Infuriated, I drive to the happening myself. Unable to track him down at that location either, I stay for half of the show and now make my way back to his house. I park my vehicle in an obscure spot and lay low. Two hours pass before I see Sven’s blue pick-up truck zoom around the corner.

Ragelina:
I think he’s in some kinda company.

I hold out in ducked position, let three minutes go by and then charge into the entrance of his apartment. I knock insistently, but there’s no answer. I do it again, this time with more force.

Still, no answer.

Ragelina:
I’ll show him.

“Open the fucking door. I know you are in there!” I holler, now banging on the piece of crafted wood so hard that my knuckles hurt. Five minutes and a bunch of infuriated thumps later, he finally props it open a tad, peering at me from above the drawn chain.

“What do you want? Don’t make a scene. Okay? You don’t wanna make me angry. I suggest, you go home now and sleep it off.”

“I know you have a girl in there. Why don’t you admit it, muthafucka?” I bellow.

“Keep it down,” he says in a real agitated tone of voice. “Leave.”

“Why are you doing this, you asshole?”

“I’m telling you…gooo home.”

He closes the door in my face. I hear Ragelina mumble,
Die, Bastard,
as I stomp off and board my ride. Buzzing mad, I make my way back to the nanny quarters. I cry for an hour as I lie in bed.

Avengelia:
I know I’ve said this before, but this really blows the top off it all, dammit. As much as I want to…I can no longer be faithful…to any man—ever again—America or not.

Ragelina:
Yep…they really, really can’t be trusted.

CHAPTER 13

Stare, or I’ll Die

Hot Shot explains that models measuring five foot six inches need to keep their weight at a hundred thirteen pounds.
Natürlich
…of course…of course. Weighing in at one hundred thirty six pounds, I at once immerse myself in the advanced
Cardio Jam
class at the club this morning. With each high kick, I picture beating that jerk Sven’s head to a pulp. Drenched in sweat and floating on a cloud of endorphins, I schlep my fatigued body to the juice bar. Armed with a bowl of brown rice diluted in lemon herb dressing, I plop into the chair that provides the best view of the front entrance. I am hungry, but not for edible goods.

Dear Life Preserver,

You must hurry because my cover will soon run out. After all, one pretentiously hides behind a bowl of rice for only so long. You probably don’t have a clue, but everything I do, I do to get you to notice me…from the way I position myself in the seat, suck in my tummy, arch my spine to make my butt look sexier, to flipping my hair from side to side to give it more oomph; it’s all done to hook you in. That jolt in you as I grace you with my eyes, wowing you to an extent that you feel incapable of leaving without first talking to me, gives me an instant rush. Mmmmh. Yes. Please, keep staring. You know the kind of rubbernecking I’m talking about? The wordless one, saying, ‘Damn, that chick is fine,’ or ‘Wow, baby. Check you out.’ But if you must go, the simple triumph of your turning head as you give me one more glance while walking away can go a long way, too.

I beg you from the bottom of my heart, keep gawking…ravish me in your mind. After all, that’s what I’m here for, to soak up the hit of you getting off on me. I thank you for the abundance of supply.

Gratefully yours,

Fantasia

Checking out the scenery, I spot a pair of large pretty brown eyes that strongly demand my consideration. A black guy with a bright smile, well-groomed nappy hair and a sturdy build approaches my table. He wears navy sweat pants and a green, form-fitted T-shirt.

Hot Shot:
Ahhh, just what I need.

I return his seductive grin.

“Are you new to this facility?”

“Fairely nu, I vood say. I signt up thrie vieks ago,” I reply with a thick German accent, and an eye-batting sneer.

His name is Raymond, he says. At five foot nine, he comes up a bit short compared to the men I usually gravitate towards, but nevertheless, his refreshing confidence and charm keeps me stay tuned. During our small talk, my attention shifts roughly every other second to the ongoing happenings around me, making sure I don’t miss out on any attractive man that’s coming or going and willing to give me the eye. I know from experience that if I just stare at someone who’s unaware of me long and intensely enough, he will eventually succumb to my force field and take notice of me shortly thereafter.

Enjoying the kick of seeing Ray’s face light up upon spotting me, I make it a point from here on forward to catch at least one glimpse of it before I leave the gym each time.

Big Shot Mama:
I’m dying to take a spin in his gorgeous olive-colored Mitsubishi Eclipse.

The Other Shoe

Wearing a gray, out-of-style leather coat, Raymond proceeds proud like a peacock, both hands tucked inside his pockets, several feet ahead of me toward the entrance of the Steakhouse in Malibu. He remains mute like a fish even now that we get closer to the front portal. I watch as he opens his side of the double-sided door and steps inside, leaving me to get my own while I hurry to catch up with him.

Ragelina:
I’ve seen enough for a first date
.
Was für ein Arschloch.

Hot Shot:
He, for sure, needs an attitude adjustment.

When voicing my concerns at the table, Ray states that he is not big on public display of affection. As the rest of the evening drags on, I hear him salute the waitresses with “Babe” or “Honey” on several occasions.

Romy:
Look out. We’ve got a player here
.

Avengelia:
You know what you do with men like that, don’t ya?

Pretender Babe:
Use them before they use you?

Hot Shot:
Precisely.
Or simply dump ‘em
.

So, as I get ready to call it off with Raymond today, Scaredy Cat alerts me to the fact that he is not always a jerk, that most times, he is actually pretty nice, even funny.

Scaredy Cat:
You need an ally in this ginormous country.

Fantasia:
If anything, let’s first see what he’s got to offer in the sack.

Judgment night arrives. Raymond rents a motel room. We do it, but I sense Lustania yawning.

Scaredy Cat:
He can be worked with, I’m sure
.

At any rate, I keep going out with Ray. Soon though, more aggravation comes my way as he repeatedly badgers me with black power issues, slamming me with names of people in the movement, folks I, for the most part, have never heard of in my life. Plus, he lectures me about his favorite topic of all: God.

Hot Shot:
Ooohh…not another one of those. But don’t worry, I am sure in time I can convince him that he’s wrong about it all; that there is no such thing as a God, that religion is for uncool, boring people who have no life.

Scaredy Cat:
Yeah, just gotta try a little harder.

“Why are you with a white girl if you feel so strongly about all this?” I ask him today after lunch when the issue of racial conflict resurfaces.

“You are European, babes, that’s different,” he exclaims.

Doubt Cloud:
He’s probably screwing someone else behind your back, considering the hard time he gives you. The other shoe might drop at any minute.

Avengelia:
I hear ya’. I’d be damned to let anyone ever catch me off-guard again.

Evening comes and I set out for the nearest nightclub in Santa Monica. Once on the floor, Lustania inspires me to ogle a promising looking colored hottie who answers my alluring gaze. We dance for a couple of hours before we take our worked up physiques to his house. Once parked, I step out of his black shiny sport mobile, watching the fellow pull out a dust rag from his trunk. He walks over to the passenger car door and starts wiping it down.

“Your car is already clean,” I blurt out.

“Gotta get the fingerprints off my baby, ya’ know.”

“Uh-huh. Oookay.”

Hot Shot:
That dude’s
straight trippin’.

Once he finishes, we enter the duplex and get busy right away. The sex does not leave me reminiscing. I meet with the fellow twice more this week, then start looking for validation elsewhere.

Meanwhile, Raymond’s attitude shows no improvement. How ironic though, that at those times that I come close to kicking him to the curb, he conveniently turns into “Mister Nice Guy
.”

Another week goes by, this time my mind is truly made up. If he calls, I will hand him the final dismissal papers.

The family I work for leaves for the weekend this morning. With excitement, I look forward to having a couple days to myself. Tonight I hit the sack around nine o’clock in order to be fit for tomorrow’s plans for multiple activities. A sudden dull tapping sound that appears to be coming from the bedroom window has me sit up straight in bed. My heart races as my eyes slowly adjust to the room’s darkness.

Scaredy Cat:
It’s a burglar
.
Hilfe.

After careful investigation, I detect Raymond’s smirking face behind the curtain, signaling me to let him in.

Hot Shot:
Shit. Now what?

Scaredy Cat:
How chivalrous. I certainly don’t mind a warm body next to me to hold me and tell me that everything is going to be all right.

Romy:
I like my man to be taller and sweeter for sure, but oh well. Let’s hold on to him while I remain on the look out for the right match.

I invite Ray to enter. Steamrolled by his renewed charm, I am moved to keep him around for the night. I do just that and even keep him hanging with me for most of the weekend.

Crocodile Rock

With the return flight to Germany and my visa about to expire, the choices lay cut and dry in front of me. I can stay and face immediate illegal status, or fly back and return with a renewed visa, which entails starting over at ground zero with neither job nor shelter. Discussing this with Raymond, he offers to scout out an apartment where we both can live at the time of my return. I gratefully accept the generous proposal and take off for the homeland by the end of the week.

~~~

Getting back to Los Angeles this evening after a month of moratorium, Ray helps me to settle into the cute one-bedroom flat near Venice Beach that he rented. A sense of relief comes over me as I hear him declare that he is going to hold down the fort while I get situated. In the hopes of having him extend the contract of serving as the main breadwinner, I turn into somewhat of a domestic genie, although most of my attempts at keeping his mood pleasant remain unsuccessful.

“You are only with me to get a green card, eh?” he asks as we sit at the breakfast table.

Ragelina:
That’s such an insult.
I wished he’d stop saying that.

“I wonder why the many other foreigners I meet are capable of becoming functioning parts of society, but you can’t,” he voices.

Blushetta:
Can he not sense, I already reproach myself with that exact same question 24/7?

As the weeks pass, Ray’s rigorous “I’ll ignore you” campaign drives me to seek solace in the short-lived happy moments of binging on sugary, gooey, chewy, sticky, rich types of foods. The unremitting “eating for calmness” rituals balloon my weight to one hundred forty three pounds within weeks.

“You used to be fine,” says Ray after sex tonight, admitting that he had felt moved to stare at my modeling pictures on the nightstand to maintain an erection while he pounded me.

Avengelia:
His ass is going to pay for that
.

The coming weeks, Scaredy Cat incites me to try my best at keeping Ray calm and cheery. A few times I await him in lingerie, but he either shoves me aside or comes in so late that I’m no longer awake. If not working, he spends many of his free hours at the gym or his mother’s house whose home cooking he prefers to mine and happily admits to.

He shows up as promised this evening, but tires me with a lengthy speech about his goddess-like soul sisters, praising their abilities in bed, pointing out that they sing to their men during humping, complaining that I do not deliver in that area. From their curvy butts to their braided hair, and soulful voices, he gloats on and on. It appears as if the once inviting rock that came across safe enough to catch my breath on, now turns out to be nothing more than the scaly back of a crocodile that lies in waiting to tear me to pieces. I see huge storm clouds cover the horizon and hear thunder roll…

A few weeks go by. I am keeping supper warm, expecting Ray at any moment, like he assured me hours ago on the phone. Eleven thirty strikes and there still is no sight of him. Mighty frustrated, adding to the ample times that he pulled this type of thing on me in the past, I walk over to the corner supermarket and return with a super size bottle of
Amaretto
liquor. I empty it within the hour. Feeling super woozy and mighty mellowed out, I drop onto the living room floor and stare at the ceiling. Seconds later, I go unconscious.

It’s 9:00 a.m., the morning after, and my eyes stick together like glue, my head weighs a thousand pounds, and I just do not understand why I wake up with my face on top of the bathroom rug, hugging the smelly toilet bowl. I think I am still drunk because my breath tastes like it could light a torch. It is already bright outside and it dawns upon me that it must be at least morning.

Scaredy Cat:
Where is Raymond?

Slowly, I pull myself up on the armature and cautiously peep around the corner into the bedroom. The bed’s untouched.

Ragelina:
How dare he not show up at all?

Nausea strikes as the taste of schnapps pops into my head again.
Ihhhgitt
. I promise to never touch that stuff again for as long as I live. Ray turns up in the evening, although dialogue remains at a bare minimum.

A week zooms by. Tonight, Ray and I dine at one of the eclectic restaurants on the “Third Street Promenade” in Santa Monica. A few gorgeous guys wink at me while his attention is focused the other way.

Romy:
I’d give anything to be single right now and hang with that good-looking fellow over there. Feels like they can literally see it in my face how deeply unhappy I am.

Hot Shot:
Yeah, I can hear ‘em now saying, “She can do sooo much better” and “Why doesn’t she lose that fool?”

Romy:
I think a little flirting certainly would lift my spirits.

Scaredy Cat:
Be careful. This is not the time and place to act stupid.

Hot Shot:
Oh, shut up. I need what I need.

Overcome by the powerful craving to engage, I let my eyes do the talking, especially during the moments that Ray is not looking. When he finally excuses himself and marches off to the restroom, I pass out generous smiles at every nice-looking man who comes in on my frequency. One of the cuties from earlier walks by and slips his number into my hand, raising his eyebrows up and down in consecutive motion, like some guys do in lieu of saying they like what they see. He quickly dives back into the thick crowd, missing Ray by only seconds.