Curved (5 page)

In my computer science class, I had to go over IF statements, which were not at all difficult for me to get through. Exactly why I chose to take the elective, when most would balk. Computer science came naturally to me, and I figured out later on that I could pick it up on the side while also pursuing my finance credentials.

In class, I would open up Word documents, and create false resumes for myself, imagining myself at the top of a nonprofit. I’d donate more than just $1 million to the homeless. I’d work on expanding my efforts into poor neighborhoods and schools across the United States. Everyone could be touched by my charity work, eventually.

As I finished up class, I recalled Joseph and my programs. How did I mess up so badly with him? I replayed my math in my head, the same way a violinist does her bow and strings, yet I couldn’t see how I had made any errors whatsoever. To me, my projects were always totally 100% safe.

How had Joseph caught me?

I needed to stay until the end of my class to take a quiz, which would unfortunately cut into my meeting time with Manhattan’s Concern. I sped through the answers, my neighbor peeking at me here and there for the harder questions. After I finished up the short answer, I turned it in, running out of the room like I had Joseph calling me from afar.

Dammit. Even at school I couldn’t stop thinking of him.

Chapter 7

The campus wasn’t too large, so I arrived only five minutes late.

Some of the other girls started already, not bothering to wait for me. As I slipped inside, their voices hushed—Zena and Ricarda in particular—and when I sat down, everyone glanced my way.

“How nice of you to finally appear,” Zena said. She had straight, platinum blonde hair, a tan to go along with it. I tried once to brush up against her, hoping to pull off a wig, but no, her hair was all real. She had straight teeth but they were a shade of lemon, and if you ever got too close to her, you would smell a tangy scent, as if she never washed her… You know. “We were just getting started with our contingency report.”

Zena and Ricarda liked to make our club sound more exclusive and complicated by using fancy names for regular tasks. “Contingency report” really meant the ten or so of us in the room had to get our shit together before the university inspected us for money issues. We had to report back to our Dean, Professor Bradley, and then there were a bunch of other dreary things like “hyper analytics” and “glamorourization of the organization.” It made me cringe just sitting there, hearing Zena go on and on.

Then Ricarda plastered an ugly-ass PowerPoint on the opposite wall—who uses neon-pink font with a teal background?—all so she could talk about “statistically significant metrics.”

“As you all know,” Ricarda said, “we’ve had our greatest number of soup kitchen volunteer sign-ups occur within the last week. More than thirty-seven!” Ricarda wore hornrimmed glasses and a cardigan sweater with the words PRINCESS underneath on her T-shirt. She spoke in a nasally tone, designating herself as the “reason why these metrics are so much better.”

Even though I had been the one walking around New York City, from Staten Island up to the Bronx, all so we could recruit new people for our shelter at the university. I had also invested our money in stocks, researched the best ways of regaining our dividends, and placed a high amount of energy into our advertisements. Online and not.

Just like Lindsay, these girls preferred to take the lead for themselves.

“That’s enough,” I said. “ Ricarda, thank you.”

“But I wasn’t even—”

“Thank you,” I said. We were wasting time here flattering each other. I walked to the front of the room, clicking the projector screen up. I only had a couple high points I wanted to touch on, since Joseph was waiting for me, after all.

Yeah, I might’ve not expressed to him a liking. But he was much better than sitting around with these girls. I noticed Angela then, and she too was suffering, playing with her phone instead of paying attention to Zena and Ricarda.

She perked up when I talked. I didn’t cover anything special though, only the required supplies we would need to order for our event next week with the campus jocks: it was ordained to be a sexy summer meet-and-greet cookout. “Make the paper plates and cups eco-friendly, and we can tie in some of the environmental dudes across the hall. Plus, let’s remember that the football team and some of the fraternities will appreciate us more if we go high quality.”

As I stared into my audience of ten or so girls, I became immediately frightened. They kept glancing to one another, their eyes collectively settling on me like pelted rocks.

“Actually,” Zena said, smiling mischievously, “we moved up the event very recently. It was a group decision.”

Angela mouthed the words “ I’m sorry” to me.

“When was this decided?” I said.

“About an hour ago?” Zena said. The other girls glanced back my way, some of them clearly empathetic to my situation. “Anyway, it’s fine if you can’t show up. Not everyone can make all the meetings—we have equally busy personal lives, right?” The girls nodded in lukewarm agreement. “You’re always so busy with that investment banking internship anyway.”

“Yeah, anyway,” Ricarda added. Unnecessarily, I might say.

Since these two derived their pleasure from getting a rise out of me, I had to stand my ground. I remained at the front of the room, even as my girls packed their things.

We had been planning the meet-and-greet for weeks. Now, it was all unraveling before my eyes. I’d hoped to snag myself a hot guy, honestly. Have myself a fun escapade in the night with Angela.

“You can come to the next one,” Zena said, knowing very well there wouldn’t be any more for the rest of the semester—we would all be going home soon. “Your friend tried texting you, by the way.”

One of the girls left silently, not even looking back. I sighed.

Sitting next to Angela, I had no more words.

“I’m really sorry,” Angela whispered. “I really did try to reach you…”

“I had a quiz,” I said. “This is like complete mutiny.”

It had always been that way though. Zena and Ricarda simply couldn’t tolerate me as their president. They would drive Manhattan’s Concern into the ground before handing me the reins.

“We’ll see you later,” Zena said, knocking on the door as she walked out. “Ricarda?”

Ricarda followed her like a dog. “See you later,” she said.

Rolling my eyes, I slumped back in my chair. In only a matter of minutes, I would have to leave and go find wherever it was that Joseph lived.

“They can be so bitchy,” Angela said. “Hey, at least you won’t have to see them after the semester.”

“I’m so glad,” I said. “They just exist to make my life miserable, don’t they?”

Angela patted my back. “Come on, we’ve got to get you back to your place so you can dress up. I don’t think Joseph wants his women in jeans.”

Chapter 8

At my place, Angela crashed on my bed. Lindsay, who looked like she was snorting cocaine in the bathroom, came out holding a vial of nail polish. My nail polish. “Hope you don’t mind,” she said, stumbling to the other side. Angela arched her eyebrows at Lindsay, cocking her thumb towards the greasy black film covering her nails. Good thing I got rid of that polish, but still? It was in the garbage. Seriously?

Roommates. Ugh!

Lindsay clapped her hands at me. “Very sexy,” she said. I turned around in my A-line skirt, by the window again. “Why don’t you move aside for a moment?” Lindsay spread her fingers over my image. “Sorry, the light’s better here.”

Pushing her aside gently, I flattened the front of my skirt, and with Angela’s assistance, I slipped into a blousey crop top. On a subconscious level, I probably wanted to look my best for Joseph. Being ugly was difficult in my mind. Growing up poor had left a bad, lingering feeling about how people saw those “lesser” than them.

“Well,” Angela said, mockingly, “I have to agree with our buddy over here. You look like a knockout.”

My image fluttered in the darkness, only faintly outlined by a bulb attached to a janky swivel arm on the ground—that was supposed to be our lamp.

“Lindsay,” I said, “couldn’t you have roomed somewhere more glitzy and expensive?”

She snorted. “You know me,” she said, “or maybe you don’t. I like money. And how do people get rich? By saving.” She collapsed on her bed, rolling back. “Have a good time. Bring condoms.”

Angela laughed. Of course, she would like some of Lindsay’s humor. Even I had to smirk. “I’ll be seeing you,” I said.

Lindsay waved at me, stuffing her fingers into her nightstand for what would be the third blunt that night.

***

Once back on the pavement, Angela and I ran.

“I don’t feel like sleeping tonight,” she said, “so do you mind if I go with you?”

“No,” I said, my breath coming out in spurts, weakly. “But I know you only want to see Joseph.”

Angela twirled her hair in her hands. “Girl, who doesn’t? That man is pure sex. I need to envision where he lives for real.”

“Probably one of those douchy penthouse suites,” I said, “just like all the rich do.”

“Man,” Angela said, “can’t you at least appreciate what the guy’s got going for him without being such a buzzkill?”

My ambivalence had grown toxic. The negative side of me was overcoming the positive. I liked Joseph for who he was, away from his money, but his money was a part of him, inextricably linked.

“Not all of them are bad,” I said, “but there are plenty of them that make them bad.”

“Confirmation bias,” Angela said. “Do you even know where we’re going?”

I stopped, looking at my phone. Oh, right.

Joseph was supposed to tell me.

“He hasn’t given me an address,” I said, slowing down. We were headed towards the subway, but I had completely forgotten about directions—something about not driving nixed the notion of GPS. “I guess I can’t go then.”

“Ah,” Angela said, smiling at me. “Don’t play! I know you’ve got his number, don’t you?”

“No,” I said, “but Joseph has mine.”

As if by invoking his name, he called. I picked up, still standing in front of Angela, nervous as hell, but I figured all employees were when speaking to their bosses.

“How’re you tonight?” Joseph said. His voice peppered my clit like bullets on steel, denting my skin with a pleasure array. “Thought that I’d forget about you?”

“No.”

“I’m going to guide you there, okay?”

“What do you mean? How?”

“Look up.”

I must have blocked out the noise—New York City, particularly Manhattan, still had hustle even when the lights went down—but there floated a helicopter high above us, way in the sky.

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “Are you up there?”

“Yeah,” Joseph said, casually. “Where else would I be?”

Chapter 9

Angela pointed to Joseph’s helicopter barreling through the air.

“What’s he saying?” she said. “Oh my God, what’s he saying?”

“That’s him,” I said, the shock still rising in my core. “Wow.”

“Come home with me,” Joseph said. His helicopter seemingly floated through the night, and I listened to him, slowly but patiently, watching the steel blades cut through the darkness. “Just follow me home. Okay?”

“Okay,” I said.

“Should we follow him?” I said to Angela.

“Um, why not?” Angela said. “Dude, ah, you’re so lucky.”

I clutched my phone, still focusing on Joseph’s words. He told me to make a left, and my heels turned. Then a right, in my heart beat louder, louder until even Angela noticed.

“You’re getting nervous,” she said, rubbing my shoulders, “he’s inviting you for a meet up about your work. Don’t make it more than what he’s already given you.”

“Yeah, I’m just thinking.”

Why was he pulling out the stops for me? A college girl? Who had made all sorts of mistakes while at work? A dress code violation might have been one thing, but I fucked up tons of data. Hadn’t I?

“Keep moving,” Angela said, pushing me along. I couldn’t stop if I even wanted to with the way she kept us walking.

Once we hit Midtown, close to Times Square, the helicopter landed on a rooftop. I cupped my hands over my eyes, squinting. In the distance, I figured out which building was his.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Angela panted, “oh my Jesus Christ. No way. Next to the Rockefeller Center?”

“Where are you?” Joseph whispered. “Ophelia, I’m waiting.”

“I’m coming,” I said, my cunt throbbing. It was silly, this was supposed to be my boss, but I felt enamored by him.

Cutting through the streets, Angela and I maneuvered around trudging buses and honking taxicabs. A Pakistani man waved at us from out of his car, and I waved back, not thinking in time about how he must’ve been flagging us down. Angela screamed, “Sorry!” as we passed him. Then we crossed Times Square, wending through a crowd of Spanish tourists.

Finally, after answering a British man’s questions, we hit the block where Joseph lived. His tower broke into the blackness of the sky, clouds bending around the steepest point. I squinted harder, trying to imagine myself up there.

Angela stopped midway before I reached the door, her hands on her hips, her back bending away from the sidewalk so that she could get a good view from below.

“Oh my God,” she said, wobbling over to me on her heels. “This is incredible. Like, how many men do this for their girls?”

“He doesn’t like me,” I grumbled. “It’s impossible.”

Yet, my heart kept thrumming, and my cunt lips kept squeezing out juices. Why was I having this reaction? I hated myself for liking Joseph—it could never work out. He came from high finance. I came from poverty. How could the two of us ever unite on the same front? There would be no cause shared between us. From different worlds we would remain.

Maybe in romance novels, but not in real life.

“I’m telling you,” Angela said, “girl, your self-esteem is so low. If he likes you, shows signs of it, promise me you’ll believe in yourself. No more Debbie downer.”

“I’m a virgin,” I blurted out. Unfortunately, my hand was still clutched to my phone—and my phone was clamped tight to my ear. “Oh, shit.”

I dropped my phone. Angela giggled the entire time, but my lungs caved in on themselves. I hyperventilated, fanning myself, my hair sticking to my skin, my toes getting all sweaty in my heels. Did I smell? I must’ve smelled bad from all the walking we did.

“Calm down,” Angela said, picking up my phone. She handed it to my sweaty palms. I grabbed at my chest, looking around myself nervously.

Placing the phone to my ear again, I said, “I’m here, Joseph. Outside.”

He laughed, the husky tone cutting into my eardrums.

“Are you okay?” he said.

“Y-yeah,” I mumbled. “Should I just walk inside or how does this work?”

“I have the penthouse suite,” he said. “Just ride elevator up. I’m the only one here.”

Facing Angela, I wrung my fingers. “Go,” she whispered. “I have to go home. But you go. Go, girl, it’s just business.”

God, yes. It was supposed to be only business. But now, I couldn’t believe our meeting would solely revolve around my mistakes.

“I’ll be seeing you,” I said to Angela. “Bye.”

“You’re not dying,” Angela said, giggling. She walked away from me, backwards, facing me as the shadows took her presence. “If you get into any trouble, you know who to call.”

“Right,” I said. “I’ll call you.”

“No, dummy.” Angela shook her head. “Nine-one-one. Call nine-one-one if you get into trouble. Okay?”

I bit my tongue. No use arguing with her out here.