I’m A Fu$#&@% Introvert – Part 4

My Grandmother Died – Episode 1, Part 4       

     I wallow in misery and regret for several hours before the petty side of me kicks in, and I call Julius. They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new so I decide it’s time for me to test out this theory. Besides, there is no way I’m going to show up at Carmen’s birthday party in a few weeks alone, while Trevor flaunts Barbie in my face.

     The beginning of my conversation with Julius is a bit awkward, which I suppose is my fault. I should have responded to his earlier texts and calls, but I didn’t feel like answering all the “getting to know you” questions. You know the ones people ask when the relationship is in the beginning stages like have you ever killed anyone in real life? Do you own a gun? Do you have anger management issues? How do you know so much about poisons? Are you certain your murder knowledge is strictly from research? Are you cray…oh wait, maybe those are just things people ask me? My bad.

     I can tell from his tone that his feelings are hurt, but after making up an excuse about how busy I’ve been writing (a lie, of course), he loosens up. We talk for about an hour, and I discover that we have similar tastes in movies and music. Anyone whose favorite singers include Stevie Wonder and Prince can’t be too terrible, right? I mean I’ve never heard of any serial killers blasting R&B music while torturing victims. No one is getting killed to Love’s in Need of Love Today.

     We start a debate on which Stevie album is the best. If you’re thinking anything other than Songs in the Key of Life then you’re clearly mistaken, and your parents made huge errors in raising you to be a normal, functioning adult. You’re still an uncultured child. Embrace it. Own it. And then go listen to the album again and check back with me to see if you’ve earned your grown-up card. Issa test.

     As soon as our discussion heats up, Julius’ boss interrupts the call to inform him that he’s late to a meeting. I can hear her chastise him, and I wonder if the rest of the office can too. If so, she’s very unprofessional. Not that I should be judging anyone since I would probably be the same way, if I was a manager…maybe even worse. And for all I know, Julius is a complete screw-up who’s constantly late, which would make her verbal beat-down justified. Yup, I’m riding with the Sista on this one. I’m 99% sure she’s black so that’s not even up for discussion. That bass in her voice…woo wee.

     Julius quickly confirms the details of our date then hangs up in my ear. Poor sap. Hope I didn’t get him into trouble, because if he gets fired, our budding relationship is over. I can’t bring some unemployed, broke ass dude to Carmen’s party. That won’t make Trevor jealous. Plus, if he’s jobless, that lessens my chances of getting a free meal at my favorite restaurant tomorrow night. And I was really looking forward to those cheddar bay biscuits.

     As I wait for Julius to show up at Red Lobster (Hey, don’t judge me. I’m a starving artist who’s simple and cheap, but mostly cheap), I marvel at the last 24 hours. I was able to complete an entire chapter in my new novel, and I cleaned my apartment. I guess pain really is a great motivator because I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself and my accomplishments. A part of me even hopes that my date with Julius goes well. However, that notion abruptly recedes, like his hairline, as I watch him approach the table. This fool looks as though he just stepped out of a 70’s Blaxploitation movie with his baby blue suit and pink tie. I glance around to see if I’m being punked or if this is some new reality TV show called Pimp My Date. When no one jumps out to confirm my theory, I realize that this is authentic, and I’m stuck having dinner with Huggy Bear.

     He sticks out his hand and introduces himself. “Hi. I’m Julius.” His nails are long and manicured, and his love of Prince suddenly makes more sense to me now. My first thought is that perhaps he does drag shows on the weekend. Then I wondered who he would mimic. Diana Ross? Chaka Khan? Tina Turner? If it turned out to be Beyoncé, I would just die. Somehow, I needed to find out if I was dating RuPaul.

     “Hi. I’m Robin.”

      The bald part of his head glistens under the restaurant’s fluorescent lights as he sits down. He smiles at me, and I understand completely why Carmen felt the need to force me to go out with him. He’s missing a front tooth, which makes him slur his speech. 

     “I want to apologize to you. Robin. I was going to cancel our date because I was in a small altercation last night, and the guy punched me in the mouth. As you can see, I lost a tooth. I’m going to the dentist tomorrow to get it replaced, but I wanted to make sure I got the opportunity to see you.”

     Wait, this dude was in a fight? Now I’m intrigued. But maybe the fight was while he was dressed like a woman – My Secret Victor/Victoria Life. Either way, he shouldn’t have left the house like that. Stay in until the dentist appointment and don’t talk to anyone in person before that scheduled time – or on the way there. That’s basic toreupness etiquette. And yes, I made up a word. Tore up means just that – you look a hot mess. And ness means condition. So toreupness means the condition of being tore up. See how that works.

     “I’m sorry that happened to you, Julius. What was the fight about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

     “Some guy thought I was sleeping with his wife and decided to pick a fight with me.”

     “Are you?”

     “Am I what?”

     “Sleeping with his wife.”

     “Absolutely not.”

     He’s lying, which makes him even more interesting. Did I mention earlier that I’m a bit of an empath? I can usually figure out the emotional state of someone without them telling me. This helps me determine when a person is lying. It’s a gift that I typically only use when writing the characters in my book. But on occasion, I will use it for evil. Okay, so maybe more than just occasionally, but we’re talking about Julius right now, not me.

     “Then why did he say you did?”

     “She and I are friends and coworkers so we’re close. He’s one of those jealous, possessive type of men so he assumed we were intimate with each other.”

     So, is he a drag queen or not? I’m confused. “I’m glad you got it all straightened out then. Too bad it cost you a tooth. I hope you got in a few licks yourself.”

     “No. I don’t believe in violence.”

     Which means he got beat up. And just like that, all the intrigue seeped out of him. “Well that’s a good policy to have.” It’s not necessarily mine but to each his own.

     “You said you were working on the sequel to your book. What’s it about?”

     “I’m not really sure.”

     “What do you mean?”

     “I just let the characters take me where they want to go. I don’t think about it. I write and see where I end up.”

     “Um, well that’s different.”

     You mean like your secret nightlife? “My entire first book was written like that. Did you pick it up like you said you would?”

     “No, but I will. Carmen told me that one of your biggest pet peeves is people saying they’re going to read your work and never do, especially the guys you date.”

     “That’s true. If you can’t genuinely support my dream, I don’t want you in my life. That goes for friends too. I would support them, so I expect the same courtesy.” In other words, read the book or don’t talk to me.

     “Hi, I’m Carly, and I’ll be your waitress. Can I start you two off with some drinks and perhaps some appetizers?”

     Julius looks at me, and I order a lemonade and some hot wings. He orders wings also, but instead of ranch, he asks for French dressing. I’m a picky eater so I think that sounds disgusting, but I decide not to judge him on his food choices too. At least not right now.

     When the waitress leaves to put our order in, Julius sticks his feet out from underneath the table. “So, what do you think of my shoes?”

     I glance down and try to mask the shocked expression on my face. Why didn’t I notice before that his shoes are pink? “Are those velvet?”

     “Yes. Most people can’t tell that. You must be a shoe person.”

     I am, but I’m also reasonable and sane in my wardrobe choices. “Why would you wear velvet shoes in the middle of winter in Colorado where it could rain or snow at any time?”

     “Don’t worry, I have an extra pair of shoes in my bag.”

     So basically, you’re a woman. Got it. “That’s a good idea.” Yup, definitely a drag queen.

     The waitress returns with our drinks and wings then takes our dinner order. Julius blesses the food, and I feel like I’m in church because he’s doing way too much. I half expect someone to jump on an organ to accompany him in his shenanigans. A few minutes pass, and he finally says amen. If he prays like that over our full meal, we’ll be here until Thanksgiving. 

     My phone vibrates, and I see it’s a text from Carmen. “How’s it going,” she asks. My response is that I’ll call her later. Believe it or not, I think it’s rude to text while you’re out with friends and family. I close my phone case and look at Julius to apologize for that brief interruption. The first thing I notice is the French dressing on his head and in the corner of his mouth. The orange seems to shimmer against his beige skin. And it was then that I dubbed him Orange Julius (OJ). Who in the hell gets French dressing on their head? Is this dude five? Did he bend his head down in the plate in the few minutes it took me to read and respond to Carmen’s text? Another mystery for me to solve.

     I’m so baffled and repulsed that I tell Julius that I’m going to the ladies’ room and get up from the table. I make sure I grab my phone because I plan to call Carmen and blast her for setting me up with Pimp Orange Julius. I’m dialing her phone and not paying attention to where I’m walking and run straight into Jordan. Yes, that Jordan.

Strike Two

     “Hi Robin.”

     “Um…hey Jordan.” I know I look guilty as hell.

     “Aren’t you supposed to be in New Jersey at your grandmother’s funeral?”

     “Yes, I got back early this afternoon.”

     “But Paul told me that the funeral was this evening.”

     I stumble over my words, “Uh actually, there wasn’t a funeral. They decided to cremate her. I did take a picture of the body before they did it, if you want to see it.” I go to the photos on my phone knowing no such picture exists.

     “No, thank you. I…uh…I won’t even watch horror movies because I hate seeing dead bodies.”

     And just like that, crisis averted. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. Why would anyone want to see a photo of my dead grandma?”

     “Well, uh, I guess I’ll see you back at work on Friday.”

     “I’ll be there.” I smile as he walks away. 

     I go to the bathroom and yell at Carmen for the next five minutes. Don’t worry, you’ll get a replay of the conversation later when I confront her in my apartment. All you need to know is that I desperately wanted out of that date, so she called Orange Julius to tell him that I needed to go because my grandmother really did die. I got to go home, and that Beyoncé ticket was still mine, because technically, I kept my end of the agreement.

Strike Three

     On Friday, I show up to work and my boss asks to see me in his office. This time, I’m nervous. I sit down and wring my hands as I wait for him to speak.

     Paul asks me one simple question, “Robin, can I see the picture of your grandmother that you took before the cremation?”

     “Sir, you don’t really want to see that. It’s so morbid.”

     “Sure, I do. Unless you have a death certificate, which is the documentation HR asked you for on the form you filled out.”

     Shit. I’m in trouble. “I don’t remember seeing that on the form.”

     “Well, it was. And unless you have that or the picture that you offered to show Jordan then you leave me no other choice but to fire you.”

     “But, sir…”

     “And let me tell you how I think only an awful person would lie and say their grandmother died just to get a few days off.”

     “I’m not awful, sir. I’m just a fucking introvert.” And there goes my Beyoncé ticket.