"He seemed to be a very bright man, Jenny!" Ms. Fairybottom sips her tea on my couch, surrounded by some other ladies from the neighbourhood. I drink my lemon water and hold the icy cold glass against my throbbing head. Miri is back with me. She's lapping up her chicken broth from her bowl on the floor.

"Did I tell you that someone had shattered a bottle of wine on the road?" Valerie Fox informs the group and I look away. "My Lucien and I were returning from our trip around... five-ish, I believe. Our tire cut on one of the shards of glass." Yes! More guilt. "Mr. Smith was smoking on the porch when he saw us and came over to help. He let us stand aside while he did the whole grunt work. What a stunning man, I must say. Where did you meet him, Niji?"

"Umm... through a mutual friend, Mrs. Fox." Technically, that's not even a lie.

"You ought to thank that friend of yours, Jenny, for introducing you to such a dashing man. Oh, that reminds me!" Ms. Fairybottom asks for her purse to be passed to her before rummaging through it to pull out a pink, heart-shaped crystal tied to a black chain. She hands it to me. It's rose quartz and I'm just realizing what the point is. "Rose quartz attracts true love. If this man is right for you, the crystal will only bring you two closer. Otherwise, it'll work as a — what do you call those boys? — fuckboy, correct. It'll work as a fuckboy repellent."

The ladies laugh and hoot at Fairybottom's boldness, raising their teacups with their dainty wrists like they're toasting.

I change the bedding after they leave and throw the sheets in the washing machine. I slide back on the couch with a shawl around me while Miri curls up on the coffee table. I turn the TV on. It's a binge-watching FRIENDS kinda Saturday and I only plan on leaving the comfort of my cushions for the embrace of snacks. I should probably shower. Will do, some time during the afternoon, or evening, or night. What I won't do is call the number on the business card that has been making puppy eyes at me all morning. Definitely won't!

In no time, I fall back asleep to the kinda dated humor and poorly timed laugh tracks of my childhood favourite show. Probably shouldn't have watched this show in childhood but it was my then teenage half-brother's favourite and we had no parent around to censor our media content, so...

I wake up with a jolt when my cat paws at my hair, meowing really loudly just beside my ear. It's her lunch time. "I heard you the first time." I grunt as I push myself up. Turning the TV off, I get her her food before sinking back into the couch to check my phone. I ignore the work mails; those are even less important now, given the notice period. There are a couple of texts from Roz. I ignore those too because, oh my God, there is a very unexpected text from an unexpected sender that I was not expecting to hear from at all.

It's from Diego, medical resident, golden child, firstborn son of a Mexican family, apple of Abuela's eye, the poison that drove my mother to madness, my hermano mayor. He says: "jst drpn a txt 2 lt u knw i wl b in twn sn. n my bck dnt lyk," and then there's a sofa emoji. It's so hard to believe he's a doctor in training with such writing skills.

I reply: "With utmost respect, fuck off."

Moving on to Roz's text puts me at ease. She is looking for updates from last night. I honestly don't know where to start or how to tell her I didn't go home with "the blonde nerd" but a blonde nerd.

After much deliberation, I reply: "He bailed mid-dinner. You wouldn't believe which other blonde nerd showed up at the club."

Within seconds, she replies.

R: NO WAY!

N: WAY!

R: What was his name again?

N: Erwin Smith. And I don't think it's a fake name.

R: Tell me EVERYTHING.

So I tell her everything. Almost everything. I distract her from her question about how on earth could he have turned up at exactly the same place as I was with a descriptive recount of the sex.

R: Wait, was he one of your A-class dicks?

N: For sure, girlfriend.

R: Then, what happened? Where is he now?

N: I was really hoping you wouldn't ask that.

That's a lie. I've been dying to complain about the business card to somebody. Anybody. The old ladies from the block were so mesmerized by Erwin and the stories of him shared by Ms. Fairybottom and Mrs. Fox, they'd have probably told me it was a romantic gesture. But I can tell a red flag when I see one.

R: Oh no! What did he do?

N: He left me a business card. That's how I could tell Erwin is his real name.

I see the chat bubble blinking for quite some time, and I know she's typing, deleting and retyping to find the most appropriate thing to say to me. When she finally replies, her text makes me cackle up, scaring Miri who has found a sweet spot on my belly to sleep.

R: Where do straight men get the audacity? Is it on Amazon?

N: Hold on, we don't know if he's straight. Could be bi, the way he and his assistant are always so smoochy with each other.

R: I highly doubt a queer person would do this.

Then after a few minutes, she adds: "We can drink to that, if you want. Come over and I'll make you a nice margarita."

I mull the offer over in my head for some time. Seeing her would put me in a better mood but I really don't wanna leave the house. "Does tomorrow sound good? In a couch kinda mood today."

R: Cool. Bring Miri over too. She and Timbo can have a playdate.

I hop in the bathtub as the Sun sets. The medicine cabinet over the sink hides my guilt cigarettes and I grab one. The mint-flavored smoke fills my lungs as I finally start pondering over last night. Erwin and his big hands, his soft lips, his cool breath on my skin. The way he moved inside me, rocked the bed under us. I can't, for the life of me, figure out if he's just naive or a douchebag. I mean, who leaves a business card after having sex with someone the previous night?

I sink myself neck deep in the bath water. The tension leaves my body, the warmth of the water tending to the soreness in my thighs, hips and breasts. Fuck that man, fuck that gorgeous man and his expert hands and his A-class dick. And his mouth.

One reason for not wanting to go out is the canvas of red that is my neck and chest. Once he realized my soft spots, my seven (or, more) erogenous zones, and he did that pretty early in the night, there was no stopping him. Through kisses and bites left abound, he has marked me for his own. Eugh! I'm making him sound like an alpha werewolf "finding his mate" or whatever.

I'll probably always be comparing sex with any future partner with this one night. No, it was definitely Dolly from college that was my best sex. She had me convinced I have the body of a Greek goddess. Lesbians, I swear! What I mean is, I'll be comparing all the men with Erwin.

My phone has three missed calls from an unknown number. I try to check it on Truecaller but it gives me nothing. So I ignore it, probably a telecaller from an insurance or credit card company.

I go over to Roz's place on Sunday on a bus. Not having a car is so nice. I get to practice altruism on a daily basis — letting old pervs take extended peeks at my chest and ass, having the opportunity to be mugged, and on this special day, being in the golden presence of a die-hard Christian woman who gives my leashed and caged cat the stanky eye and, unprovoked (since I'm scared of confrontation), starts to explain to me how cats are messengers of the Devil. Thank fuck I'm wearing a turtleneck and she can't see my hickeys.

Miri starts fidgeting in her carrier as we walk toward Roz's door and I can hear Timbo's barks from behind it. Roz opens the door with a big, big smile and her open arms. But Timbo gets me first. The golden retriever pup jumps up on his hindlimbs and thrashes himself onto me. I'm not a dog person, not huge on the constant enthusiasm in your face, but this boy is an exception.

"Come on in, come on in. And let the sweetums out. The carrier doesn't deserve her presence." Roz opens the tiny door of the carriage to let Miri jump out and immediately start to attack the much bigger pup. The dog gives in, playfully toppling over, letting my baby snuggle into his fur.

Roz's studio apartment seems even smaller with all her candle-making tools and packages lying about. There's a pile of bubble wrap in a corner, cardboard boxes half put together while the other half lay unfolded on her work table, her MacBook open and playing Anti-Hero by Taylor Swift. Just like any other day at her place. The chaos is comforting.

"Give me a minute and I'll mix the margarita, okay? I just have to pack these cause they absolutely have to get shipped tomorrow as soon as the PO opens." She sits back down on the floor, returning to her computer.

I drop Miri's carrier and my bag, and decide to take matters into my own hands. "Do you have the alcohol, or were you planning to go for a mix?"

"Oh, there's tequila and triple sec in the fridge. You wanna make it?" Roz makes puppy eyes at me. Why does everyone think that will work on me? It does. As I'm juicing the lemon and slicing some for garnish, she asks, "So, how was Dorothea's promotion party? I saw the pictures on IG. Your highlighter was popping, sis. And the dress was really cute. Didn't you say you met that guy that night? No wonder he's obsessed with you."

I chuckle. I haven't seen the pictures yet but I'm sure how I looked at the party was completely different from the way I looked back home, stitching a gunshot wound with shaky hands. It can't possibly be the reason Erwin likes me. "I think he's just into jugs." I blurt out. "You know, there was a lot going on there during sex."

"Gosh, look at you! You're the one who's obsessed with him." My best friend laughs at me. I go back to mixing the booze like I know what I'm doing. It's just tequila, triple sec and lemon juice, right? What could go wrong?

Apparently, a lot. There's way too much booze, way little sourness to counteract that and we get drunk in about two glasses of the concoction I've prepared. We order our combined body weight in tacos and quesadilla. The pets run out when the deliveryperson comes to the door and we chase them down the stairs, laughing, huffing, out of breath. The magic of life reveals itself every now and then through these little things, shedding light on its terrifying beauty.

This kind of friendship is what I'd yearned for when I was twelve, fifteen, and when I finally met this luminous soul at eighteen, I was so overwhelmed by the sunshine that poured out of her, I didn't speak to her for a whole semester. When we finally became friends, she'd said that I reminded her of the Moon. It was the biggest compliment I had ever received. I thought she meant, mysterious and cool and sexy, like Morticia Addams. But years later, on a day like this, when we were drunk or high, and utterly spent, sprawled on the floor of this very studio apartment that we shared at the time, she told me that the Moon holds up a mirror for the Sun to look into and marvel at its own beauty, that the Moon reminds others of their own worthiness and shine. She was probably talking about my ADHD-fueled body doubling skills.

"Your phone is... oh, was ringing." Roz tells me as we bring the animals back inside. I pay the delivery person who, surprisingly, tips their cap at me before leaving. It was polite but what century are they from? 

"Who was it?"

"An unknown number, it seems."

I check my phone. It's the same number as yesterday, rang twice. "Do telecallers work on Sundays?"

Before I get an answer, the phone rings again. I pick it up immediately. "Hello?" But there's no response. It's eerily silent on the other side, not even the paper crunching static noise. "Hello? Hello?" Shrugging at my best friend, I hang up. I don't get any more calls for the rest of the night. Roz convinces me to stay over, promising to drive me home in the morning and also to work later. That's a pretty offer considering how I won't have to risk running into another cat-hating religious fanatic so, I agree. We spend the rest of the night eating, packing the candles, suncatchers and earrings, labeling them for delivery, and taking them down to the parking lot in batches to stock them in the trunk of Roz's car.

Something glints in my peripheral view as we are waiting for the elevator. It's past midnight and we are finally done with the moving of the packages; we just have to go upstairs and clean up before sinking into the mattress.

"Oh, whose car is that?" I ask Roz, pointing at a shiny, new looking convertible Saab that I feel like I've seen before. 

Roz shrugs. "Probably someone new in the building. Who buys Saabs these days? I didn't even know they make them anymore." She's cranky, probably sleepy.

"Let's get you to bed, girl." I guide her into the elevator and press the button for our floor. We don't clean, we just go to bed immediately. Timbo snuggles up between us, and so does Miri, leaving very little space for us humans. But we all sleep through the night like logs.

*****

I get another call from that number on Tuesday. On my way home from the clinic, on a very crowded bus, my phone vibrates in my purse as I'm hanging on to dear life from the holders designed only for tall people. The same tall people will also hog the vertical holders that are easier for us shorties to latch on to. "Hello?" I speak into my phone, pulling my tote bag close to my chest to keep away stray elbows. This time, the other side responds. And, it's a voice I know very well.

"Why haven't you called him yet, brat?" It's Levi.

"What happened to hello and how are you? Did nobody teach you any manners?" I retort.

There's a low swishing and crashing sound behind him. He's on or close to the beach. "No time for pleasantries. Why haven't you called Erwin yet? It's been several days since..."

"Since he had sex with me and then left me his business card like I'm some hooker that needs to contact him again for payment." Judging by the looks of my fellow travellers, I probably shouldn't have said that out so loud.

"Do you really believe he wanted to make you feel that way?"

"Then he should have been the one calling and not his assistant."

He sighs loudly. "I'm not an assistant. Anyway, call him. He's out of town on business but he'd like to see you once he's back."

"Listen, I'm not some rando who would sacrifice my self-respect for some dick. If Erwin wants to see me, he'd come see me himself. Have a good night, Levi."

Livid, I hang up with purpose. I'd like to see the whole mafia (I don't know how organized crime works) come after me for being insubordinate to one boss. Insubordinate? He's not my boss; I have no reason to live and do by his words.

Fuck him. Fuck him. Fuck him.

And, unfortunately, not literally.

A/N: If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving a vote. You wouldn't believe it but it does wonders to the writer's motivations.