Daydreamer
February, 1998
It’s too early to tell if Dr. Maria will be able to help me, but for now it’s nice to know that I can say Leo’s name out loud to someone. I felt kinda normal for about a day after meeting with her, but then yesterday I was back in la la land, fantasizing about the night I met him and resisting every urge to pick up the phone and call him.
As much as I’d like to sit around and daydream about Leo all day, I’ve got to put thoughts of him aside for a couple of hours and focus on my job. I have a company to run. Lord knows the owner can’t do it. For the first time in a long time I’m grateful for my stress-filled job. The busier I am these days, the better.
Today started off with a 7am conference call with a pissed off distribution manager from the East Coast. That was fun; nothing like being called a bitch and a liar before I’ve had my morning coffee. I hung up the phone just in time for the 9am production meeting where I had to break up a fight between the head designer and the production manager. Thank God I got there in time because the New York Jewish American Princess designer was about to get her ass handed to her by the short-tempered Hong King Kong production manager. A typical conversation between the two of them goes something like this:
J.A.P.: Why can’t you get my fabwik samples hea by next week?
H.K.K.: I tell you million times HELLS NO! They come from China! It not happen on such short notice.
J.A.P.: Well din it’s yoa fuggin’ fault I can’t meet my deadline!
H.K.K.: HELLS NO it not my fault! It your own damn fault you not give me request on time!
J.A.P.: Chrissy, can’t you do somedin bout’ this?!
I want to say hell’s no, but I can’t because it’s my job to do something about everything. I instruct H.K.K. to overnight the samples so that we can get the fall line done in time for March market, but not before I scare the crap out of J.A.P. by telling her I’m deducting the cost of the air shipment from her next paycheck. I end the production meeting just in time to grab a non-fat vanilla latte before my drive out to the most disgusting part of San Francisco. I have an 11am meeting with one of our factory owners. I love Mr. Yee, but I can only understand every other word that comes out of his mouth.
“Ahhhhhh Kwissy, so good meeting today! We always do good wuk fo you, yes?”
It’s so hard to not stare at the long wire like hairs protruding out of the mole on his right cheek. Don’t even get me started on the long pinky fingernails either. Nasty! Mr. Yee is a sweet man, and I hate to be so critical of him, but doesn’t he see what the rest of us see?
“Yeah, yeah, but remember, you have to get those cartons on the truck by 5pm or the shipment’s gonna be late…AGAIN! I’m sick and tired of driving over the Bay Bridge to make sure your people are meeting the deadlines. Got that?”
“Yes, yes, yes, Kwissy. You woowy too much! Why you leave so fast? You wan stay fo lun?”
Oh Lordy, I’m gonna take a stab at this and guess it’s an invitation for lunch…
“Not today Mr. Yee.”
Not EVER, for that matter! The sewing ladies are taking a break from their machines, but they don’t spend their down time buying mochas at Starbucks or running over to Tower Records to pick up the new Matchbox 20 CD. Noooooooo, they’re ripping the feathers off of a dead chicken and preparing to plop it into the thousand-year-old pot that’s boiling away in the make-shift kitchen crammed into the back of the factory. It’s like this in every factory I’ve been in, all the way from here to Hong Kong. It’s a wonder to me that most articles of clothing hanging in department stores don’t smell more like poultry.
“Heh! Heh! Heh! Kwissy you na no what you miss! Do’h woowy bout chipmen. We get on twuck soopa fas!”
I have no f*cking idea what he just said, but he’s smiling, so I’m smiling. Seriously, I can only say “What?” to this guy so many times.
I hop on the freight elevator and say my usual “Hi, how’s it going?” to the sick f*ck whose injecting God knows what into his arm. For a brief second I want to ask him what he thinks is worse, drugs or adultery? But I’m pretty sure I know the answer, plus I don’t want to die, so I pass on the opportunity and run out to my car, which thankfully is not stolen and still has all of its windows intact.
It’s an absolutely beautiful day in San Francisco. One of those freakishly warm winter days when you get a hint of what spring is gonna feel like. Instead of cutting over to 5th Street to hop on Interstate 80 for a quick return to the office, I head up Van Ness and tool around California and Bush Streets. It’s a longer route to the Bay Bridge, but I like the vibe of the financial district; everyone looks so confident and successful, like they’re kicking life’s ass. And one day, if everything goes according to his plan, Leo will be walking amongst them.
It takes about thirty minutes to drive three miles, and I savor the respite from the world. I daydream about last Saturday. I was only supposed to grab some sushi with a friend from work who I lovingly refer to as Slutty Co-worker. I’ve worked with her for years, and she’s a great gal with a big ol’ heart but trust me, her nickname says it all. I planned on staying in on Saturday night for some much needed rest. Kurt was out of town and I looked forward to a night at home to relax how I want to relax, eat what I want to eat, and just be how I want to be. But, after a beyond shitty phone conversation with Kurt, Slutty Co-worker forced me to go out to dinner so she could cheer me up. Then, after that, she begged me to hit up Buckley’s, her favorite dive bar. Even though I detest bars, I didn’t protest because it’s actually pretty entertaining to watch her work a bar crowd. Sure enough, within fifteen minutes, she left me all alone to run off and have a smoke with the first cute guy who approached her. To occupy my time until her return, I ordered a martini and eavesdropped on the odd conversation the guy sitting next to me was having with his lively Korean friend who he lovingly referred to as Ho-Bag.
*****
January 24, 1998
“I’m telling you ghosts exist, dude. You think all that paranormal shit is made up?”
“Uhhhhhh, yeah man, I do.”
“Alright then, what about what happened at my grandparents’ house last month? I went to bed with the hallway light off, and the last thought I had before I fell asleep was that my grandfather always kept that same light on. It helped him find his way to the kitchen in the middle of the night. How do you explain it being on when I woke up at three o’clock in the morning? Huh? Yeah, that’s what I thought you’d say, Ho-bag. Nothin’! What’s up my little Korean friend, you didn’t eat the cat before it ate your tongue?”
“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you, we don’t eat cat! Now dog…that’s another story.”
I keep listening for another fifteen minutes as the serious guy, who has the most riveting voice I’ve ever heard, recounts some other ghost stories with the Ho-Bag person. What does this guy look like?
I casually turn around to get a peek, but all I see is the top of his head staring down into his brown drink. The Ho-bag dude is smiling right at me though. I zip back around in my barstool. Damn, I really want to see this guy’s face. Hold on, why do I care so much?
The serious guy makes another crack about the Ho-Bag’s Korean ethnicity, and it makes me giggle. I wonder if he noticed. Turning ever so slowly so that I don’t look completely obvious, I catch him… staring into his friggin’ glass again! God, are there naked women swimming in it? I look at him a little longer this time. There are signs he’s attractive: tall, good hair, strong hands, but I can’t be absolutely sure. He passed on the bartender’s offer to get him another drink, so I assume he’s not staying long, and it bums me out. I kinda want to talk to him, but so far everything I do to get his attention, like sit here and look pretty, isn’t working. I think I’m gonna have to butt into his conversation and show him just how cute I am. Here goes nothin’.
“Maybe your grandmother turned the light on just to screw with you.”
Oopsy, maybe I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth. The look on the face of the serious guy, who, by the way has the most amazing green eyes I have ever seen, tells me I should mind my own business. The little Korean guy, on the other hand, thinks I’m hilarious.
“Yeah, dude, blondie’s gotta good point! The grandma’s the friggin’ ghost! She kind of looks like one too, ya know? All pail and frail and shit. Plus, she never liked you anyway, right? I wouldn’t put it past her to f*ck with your head like that. Whoa, hold up! The hot girl’s drink is almost done! Let me get you another one, hunny. Bartender!”
Keep your pants on, you little Kimchi eating bar leech! I didn’t interrupt to get your attention.
“Ah, no thanks, but perhaps your friend, ghost boy over there, could use one.
He’s a little wound up, don’t you think?”
Ghost boy turns his head, looks deep into my eyes, and says “I’m not drinking,” then turns his head back down towards his… is that a Coke?
Hellooooooo! What’s his damn problem? I’ve been blowing off guys left and right since I sat down on this barstool, and the one guy I decide to give the time of day to treats me like I have the word gonorrhea tattooed on my forehead! Geez, I was only trying to make small talk.
“Wow, are you always this serious or are ya gearing up for a spirit sighting tonight?”
I think I see a tiny smirk on his face, but it’s hard to tell because he’s NOT looking at me!
“Don’t waste your time on him, he’s always this serious! Let me buy you a drink to make you forget about what a dick he is.”
“Thanks anyway, but I was kinda hoping the dick would buy me a drink.” Holy crap where did my nerve to say that come from? Before total mortification sets in and I excuse myself to run out of the bar, the dick slowly tilts his head up and to the side and looks right at me, like he’s studying me. My heart feels like it just froze.
The little Korean guy hops off of his barstool and says, “Good luck with that, hunny! I’m gonna go look for that friend of yours. Seems like she has better taste in men than you. Later.”
The oddly beautiful green-eyed ghost dick boy is just sitting there cupping his glass with the most well-built hands I’ve ever seen. He looks back down at his drink and makes no attempt to talk to me. Kinda makes me want the Ho-Bag back. My expectations are low that this is gonna develop into an interesting conversation, but since I have a few more minutes until Slutty Co-worker returns (hopefully), I carry on.
“You don’t really have to buy me a drink you know, I was just trying to get rid of Long Duck Dong. His eagerness or excitement or whatever you call it was kinda getting on my nerves.”
“I call him that too sometimes. It really pisses him off because he’s not Chinese.” And then he looks directly at me again, “I’d buy you that drink, but I’m a little short on cash these days.”
“I guess the cash crunch explains the Coke you’re drinking, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“Well then, how about if I buy you a drink?”
“No, I’m fine with this. I’m laying off the booze these days.”
“What for?”
“Trying to get in better shape. Plus, alcohol’s too expensive. I’ll have a couple of Olympia’s at home if the mood strikes. But that’s about it.”
“Wow, Olympia…I didn’t think they still made that stuff.”
“They do.”
“Well, if you get the bartender’s attention, I’d like another vodka martini, please. It’s like you and him are the only two guys who won’t pay attention to me.”
He’s staring at me. I can’t tell if this guy’s angry, shy, or what. He’s totally ambiguous. I really, really want to know what his deal is.
“All right, scary boy… just so we’re clear, and you can stop being irritated with me, I thought your ghost story was interesting, and I totally believe everything you said about your grandfather and the light thing. In fact, I’m more of a freak than you; I actually talk out loud to my dead grandfather. Even chatted with him tonight before I came here.”
He lets out a little laugh. Why does it make me so happy?
“I’m not irritated with you.”
Finally he turns his whole body completely towards me, and our eyes lock.
It’s like staring into the black and white hypnotic twirly circles you see on old Road Runner cartoons. You know, after Wile E. Coyote’s been hit in the head with an ACME anvil.
“Oh, yeah…then why so unfriendly? Your friend, what did you call him? Ho-Bag? He seems to have a liking for the ladies, but what’s your deal?
Girlfriend?”
Pleeeeeeeeeeease say you don’t have a girlfriend. I know I’ll never see you again, but I never want to see you again knowing you don’t have a girlfriend.
“No, no girlfriend.”
Thank you Lord Jesus who I don’t believe in! I extend my hand to him and as he takes it, I say, “I’m Chrissy” in the most adorable way possible. It doesn’t sound like me, but it sure as hell feels like me.
“Leo.”
“So Leo… not into the girls tonight?”
He shakes his head and snickers.
“C’mon, there’s plenty to choose from but you’re just sitting here with your goofy friend and your scary stories. How come?”
“Actually I noticed you the minute you walked in here, but I’m not the kind of guy to get in line for a girls attention, no matter how beautiful she is.”
Omigod, did he just insinuate that I’m beautiful? Hold it! Why the hell am I caring about any of this?
“Like, look at that guy over there. All night he’s been jumping from girl to girl just so he can feel like a cool guy. He’s nothing but a tool. And the girls who are flattered when they get their turn with him are even worse.”
“Oh I know! They’re such cheesedicks!”
Really, Chrissy? You couldn’t come up with a better word than cheesedick?
“Yeah, and I’ve been listening to you blow off a lot of those cheesedicks. Does that mean you have a boyfriend or just good taste?”
Okay… wedding ring is now sliding off the table and into my lap.
“Nope, no boyfriend.”
“So you have good taste, then.”
“I’d like to think so, but it’s more than that. If a guy wants to buy me a drink, I’d rather he talk to me for a while before offering; I prefer the offer is based on my brains, not on my boobs. I can buy my own drink. I don’t need some idiot who thinks I’m hot to do it for me.”
This is fun! As I lift my drink to my lips, I give him my best seductive sweet girl eye/smile combo stare. And by “my best,” I mean my first. He pulls his barstool a little closer to me. My God, he smells like Heaven.
“Maybe I didn’t want to talk to you and have you call me an idiot.”
“What makes you think I’d do that?”
He laughs a little; it’s cute. “That’s what you did to all those other guys.”
“What are you talking about!?”
“Every time you told a guy to take a hike after he tried to hit on you, you’d whisper the word ‘idiot’ as he walked away. Me and Ho-Bag stopped counting the carnage at four. I dared him to buy you a drink and even he was too scared to take a shot. Seriously, it takes a lot for that guy to pass on a dare.”
“That’s hilarious! But let me clarify…those idiots were offering to buy me a drink and look, I already have one! And like you said, you don’t have any money to offer me a drink, all you have to offer me is conversation. Why would I blow that off?”
Still just a sliver of a smile. He’s shy, been badly burned in the past, or he’s a psychotic killer. Must press on to figure out which one.
“And even if you could buy me twenty drinks, it’s obvious you’re not a cheesedick, because I haven’t seen you take the proverbial lap around the bar to talk to everything in a tight tank top. Nope, you seem content with your ghost stories, while lonely girls whose friends ditch them eavesdrop on you and marvel at your good looks. Hey wait a minute, this little friendship we have is kind of one-sided, don’t you think?”
“How so?”
“Well, I seem to have noticed an awful lot about you, but I don’t think you’ve noticed that I’ve been sitting here noticing all of it for the last hour. That doesn’t seem fair.”
My super sweet giggle coupled with the way I’m playing with my martini olive should suggest I’m teasing, but without cracking a smile, he speaks as seriously as if he’s giving the pledge of allegiance.
“I just told you I noticed you the minute you walked in.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Your first drink was a dirty martini with three olives, and you sent it back because it was too dirty. Not in a bitchy way, in a cute way that makes me think you always get what you want. You went to the restroom twice, probably because you’ve also had two glasses of water. You’re here with a co-worker who likes to party, hard. Before she ditched you, you guys talked about clothing and deadlines and shipping problems. Sounds like you work in fashion, and it seems like you’re in charge of a lot of people. You’ve been to New York twice in the last four weeks and you want to get home early tonight because you’re tired from some bad phone call you had earlier. I’ve been watching and listening, and I think you’re beautiful and interesting. Seem fair now?”
Focus Chrissy, be cool, stay interesting, channel beautiful.
“So to spare…” Clear your throat you f*cking moron! “So to spare being called an idiot, you’d let me walk out of here without taking a shot?”
A shot at what? Jesus, I’m such a huge slut right now.
“Yeah, I would.”
“That’s kinda sad. Doesn’t it make you wonder how many good women you’ve let slip away?”
“You can’t miss something you never knew existed.”
I see pain in him, or is it anger?
“What are you, too lazy to make the effort, or scared of rejection?”
He’s laughing.
“Come on! What then? Shy?”
“Nah, I think you meet people when you least expect it, when you’re not trying. I think it’s just meant to happen…” He’s staring at me like he thinks it’s happening right now, and it causes me to swallow so hard that I think the entire bar can hear the gulp. “Besides, I’d say it’s a bad idea to hit on a woman when you can’t even afford to buy her a drink.”
He’s good looking and profound.
“You know…your eyes are amazing. I’ve never seen eyes that green before.”
Jesus, who’s the cheesedick now? Fix it, Chrissy!
“Trust me though, I wouldn’t have interrupted your conversation to tell you that. I interrupted it because I liked what you were talking about. You don’t meet many interesting people in bars.”
“Speaking of interesting…take a look at that.”
Funny little Korean guy is now drunk little Korean guy and he’s barreling right toward us with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and his arm slung over Slutty Co-worker’s shoulder.
“Hey blondie, looks like you got the serious dickhead out of his shell! That’s a first!”
Looking into the beautiful eyes of the serious dickhead I say, “I don’t know, did I?”
*****