Chapter 2

“It doesn’t matter what I say,
as long as I sing with inflection,
that makes you feel I’ll convey
some inner truth or sad reflection.

But I’ve said nothing so far,
and I can keep it up for as long as it takes.
And it don’t matter who you are.
If I’m doing my job, it’s your resolve that breaks.”

-Blues Traveler, “Hook”

Hey, hon, how’re you doing tonight? I’m Sue. What can I get for ya?

Sorry, that’s a reflex from dropping out of school at 16 to begin waitressing and being stuck in the same all-night greasy spoon for twelve years. I know the term for it these days is “service industry,” but fuck ‘em: It was a shitty highway diner and my ass is hard enough to deflect bullets from getting pinched and slapped by drunks and meth-ed up truckers all those years; I was a fuckin’ waitress.

Like Suzy-Ho, I also live in Susan’s head. If we want to get all Freud here, you might say I represent her survival instinct. I helped her power through all the shit Chad used to do to us and keep going. Today’s not as bad as that, she’s just going around trying to put up flyers for the yoga studios, which requires a lot of dealing with getting hit on by creepy assholes, and that’s shaking her confidence. (We have to stop at a lot of gyms, and muscle-bound assholes with tiny ‘roid dicks who think they can Alpha Male their way into our pants remind her of Chad.) So that’s why I’m here.

Well, that and to keep Suzy-Q away from them. You haven’t met her, and I hope you don’t. She’s the “Chad’s Whipped Mule” of the gang in here, and she makes my job a lot harder. If I let her take charge, she’d say yes and go along with them and get us gang-raped in an alley just to feel some kind of validation. God, I can’t wait to get the hang of this thing Troy & Julie have been teaching us. Not dealing with that shit is just one of the ways it’s going to make life a lot better.

Oh, wait. There’s a guy who’s not being a jerk and going to let us put one up? And give us a free coffee without hitting on us? All right, Susan’s feeling better now. Back to you in the studio, Susan.

Hi. My name’s Susan. Sorry I stepped out for a minute, there. “Tread the Boards Day” tends to suck.

Oh, most people are ok with us putting up the flyers, but then there are the dicks who say things like “I’ll do it for your number” or “So, yoga, you’re really flexible, then?” Those are the less-annoying ones. The more explicit requests and people going on about that “hippie crap” are the ones that bring Sue out. (My favorite comeback of hers is “I’ve GOT a boyfriend, AND a girlfriend, and you’re not man enough to replace either.”)

My work clothes don’t help at all. Part of Claire’s business plan is that we all dress in a way that suggests “This is a place to get some healthy exercise,” so workout clothes are encouraged; as long as they look nice and aren’t wrinkled and sweaty from having just BEEN working out. I think it makes me look like I’m running late for teaching an aerobics class in 1986, but she says it’s a good look for me and she pays me, so there we are. After our “lunch meeting,” I was grateful that I work in a place with shower facilities before going out and dealing with people dressed like this.

The guy at this last coffee shop before I could comfortably call it a day had been great, though. Said yes right away, had a few legitimate questions about the studio and what we teach there; even asked for a flyer for himself and gave me a mocha on the house after seeing the toll that an afternoon of driving around Pierce and southern King Counties had taken on me. If Troy weren’t the only man for me and he’d asked, this guy could’ve gotten my number. I’ll have to remember this place.

I took a seat at one of the tables and looked at the people around me. Just the act of doing that was far more liberating than you might think. Going anywhere out of the house with Chad had been a minefield and the knowledge that the world wasn’t like that no longer surprised me, but was still an unfamiliar feeling. With him, I had to look down and not make eye contact or initiate a conversation with anyone. If I was looking at a man, I was “thinking about cheating on him.” If I was looking at a woman, she was going to “poison me against him,” (Of course, if HE was looking at a woman, it was “Go home, Suzy-Q.”) and God help me if anyone came up and started TALKING to me! My only hope then was that he’d either hook up with the other woman or that he’d get drunk enough to pass out before we got home and forget about it in the morning.

Just being able to sit down in a public place with a drink of my choosing and watch the people around me going about their day, knowing that if I wanted to talk to any of them, I could ... if I didn’t have a personal agenda to get back to, I could see sitting here for the rest of my life, just watching the world go by and having opinions on it all.

I spent a few minutes sizing up the people around me and seeing who matched all the qualities I sought. Troy & Julie had taught me that a major part of this thing was making observations about people. I was looking for someone who was on her own and didn’t appear to be waiting for someone to show up; who was maybe a little bit distracted, too, so they wouldn’t wonder “Why is this strange woman coming up and talking to me” too much. Someone who wasn’t so busy that a stranger walking up to her and striking up a conversation would be an irritation, but also wasn’t so skittish that the same idea would freak them out. An important factor was also someone who didn’t seem like she had somewhere to be later, because if all went well, she’d be spending later with me.

That’s when I spotted her: An extremely cute blonde in a short red dress, typing away on a laptop. Her hair was pulled back by a big, twisty hairband. A tiny metal belt around her waist and black Ugg boots completed the outfit. Suzy-Ho gave a little moan of approval from the back of my head.

Ok, the next step was finding a pretext to go over and start a conversation. Just another lifetime of conditioning for me to overcome, no problem there. Well, it WAS a really cute belt; that could work. I looked over at her and waited for her to notice. Not staring, just admiring. When she saw me and gave a little smile herself, I picked up my coffee and went over to her table.

“Sorry,” I said with a smile. “Hope I wasn’t staring, just, that’s a really cute belt. Where’d you get it?”

She looked up from the laptop again and smiled. “Nordstrom,” she replied.