Someone Like You Page 2

  “Really?” Davii said, looking skeptical. Derek felt dubious about her remark as well. Visually, he and Davii were polar opposites. Davii was tall and lithe; his face angular and striking, with deep blue eyes framed by long eyelashes. His black hair was cut in a trendy, spiky style. If Derek’s look was as American as apple pie, then Davii was a crème brulée or an Italian pastry. Something European and decadent; Derek couldn’t be sure exactly. Davii arched an eyebrow and said, “Oh, well, any friend of Vienna’s—”

  “Should be isolated and studied in a controlled environment!” Vienna interjected, and the two of them burst out laughing. The client in Davii’s chair looked mildly annoyed, until he stopped laughing and turned her head sharply to the left so he could cut the back of her hair.

  “I’ve got stories,” Davii stated.

  “Who?” Vienna asked.

  Though her chin was pushed down into her chest, Derek saw the client’s eyebrows perk up at the mention of gossip.

  “Glenda, our manager, was fired,” Davii stage-whispered, though it was unnecessary because of the loud music.

  “No. Really?” Vienna said. “What happened?”

  “She was taking long lunch breaks,” he answered.

  “That doesn’t seem like a reason to fire someone,” Derek said.

  “It does when you spend your lunch breaks in the broom closet,” Davii said.

  “Why would she eat her lunch in a broom closet?” Vienna asked. “Did she have an eating disorder? Sometimes bulimics binge in private.”

  “Glenda was bingeing, but not on food,” Davii said. “And she wasn’t eating alone, either. Did I mention that Betty, the shampoo girl, was fired, too?”

  Vienna’s perfectly lined eyes grew wide, and she covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh, that’s—”

  “Stupid, right? I mean, when I want a nooner, I’ll go to the top floor of the parking garage like a normal person!” Davii exclaimed.

  “Are you going to try to get her position?” Vienna asked.

  “I could,” Davii mused, “but I’m not that nimble. It’s an awfully small closet.”

  Derek laughed, and Vienna admonished, “Don’t encourage him, Derek.”

  “No. I don’t think so,” Davii answered. “I’m not nearly responsible enough to be a manager. Nor would I want to be. Too much time would be taken up organizing and running this place. I’d rather do hair and collect tips.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” Vienna said.

  “I’m always right,” Davii said emphatically. He surveyed his client’s hair and said, “Listen, you two had better run along. I don’t want you to be late getting back to work, and I’m fucking up Brenda’s hair.”

  Davii’s client lifted her head in alarm and stared at herself in the mirror, looking for carnage.

  “Okay. I’ll see you later,” Vienna said and kissed Davii’s cheek.

  “It was nice to meet you, Davii,” Derek said.

  “You, too. I’m sure I’ll see you soon. We’ll all go for drinks sometime. Ciao, bello! Ciao, bella!”

  “He’s a trip,” Derek remarked once they’d left the salon.

  “Davii? Yeah. You could say that,” Vienna said. “But outside the salon he’s not so—”

  “Theatrical?” Derek suggested.

  “I was going to say flaming, but that will do,” Vienna said. “It’s all a performance. He’s giving his clients what they expect of him. Playing up the stereotype. Oddly enough, they tip him more if he does.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s true. At home, Davii is really quiet and reserved. We share an apartment in the Galaxy Building.” She pointed toward the apartment tower at the end of the mall. “It’s a two-bedroom. Davii’s not my boyfriend or anything.”

  “I figured as much,” Derek said. “But that’s not what I meant.”

  “I know what you meant,” Vienna said. “Listen to me, Derek. I’m giving you some free advice. You’re a gay man who’s about to begin a career in sales. You don’t think people will look at you and draw their own conclusions without knowing you? Get real. If you play it straight, they won’t listen to a word you say and you won’t sell anything. If you gay it up a notch, they’ll think you’re a genius. Think about the gay stereotype. Supposedly all gay men have amazing style and can make anything or anyone fabulous. Davii could give a woman a Mohawk and make her think she’s transformed for the better. Like my daddy always said, it takes a lot of manure to make a garden.”

  “That sounds like Drayden’s propaganda to me,” Derek said.

  Vienna grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the food court, saying, “Speaking of which, if we don’t get moving, we’ll be late.”

  After a hurried lunch, they returned to the store for more History of Drayden’s 101. The Lvandsson family saga continued into the eighties, when Drayden Lvandsson finally returned from Hollywood to help his father run the company. Drayden had connections in the fashion industry and convinced many of them to sell their clothes and accessories in his stores. Business boomed, and Drayden’s opened stores all over the Midwest.

  After the market crash of 1987, Sven Lvandsson returned to handle Drayden’s economic concerns. Henrietta retired from the racing circuit a few years later and secured a job as Director of Operations. Though she ran routine inspections of every store and made sure they functioned like a well-oiled race car, she spent the majority of her time managing the shipping and receiving warehouse.

  Surprisingly, Derek enjoyed the rest of their orientation. Drayden’s was a respected department store chain, often recognized for enriching and giving back to the communities where its stores were located. The stores carried the finest quality merchandise and had beautifully inventive window displays. The atmosphere inside buzzed with creativity and excitement. The salespeople were all polite and well dressed. He wanted to be part of it.

  But he still had training to get through. Not to mention scads of paperwork to fill out. While a different HR associate stood at the front of the conference room and discussed the employee handbook page by page, Vienna and Derek sat together and made up games to pass the time.

  “If you had to have sex with one person in this room, who would it be?” she asked.

  Derek scanned the room for someone attractive but couldn’t spot anyone who was his type. “Nobody,” he answered.

  “Not even me?” Vienna asked, feigning hurt.

  He bit his lip, pretending to mull it over as he looked her up and down. She had on black high heel pumps, a short skirt, a white shirt, and a fitted jacket. Her body was all curves, but very toned, and her makeup was minimal. She was attractive, and if Derek hadn’t had a boyfriend, he thought he might be persuaded to give heterosexuality another try. “Sorry. No,” he said.

  “It’s okay. You’re not my type either.”

  “Why? Because I’m white?”

  “No, fool. Number one, you’re too young. I like my men a little older.”

  “Really? How—”

  “Don’t you even ask that,” Vienna whispered threateningly. “Number two, I like to make more money than the men I date.”

  “That’s absurd. I’m going to be selling shoes. You’ll be selling cosmetics. We’ll be on equal financial footing.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Vienna explained. “I’m talking about independence. I don’t like to rely on other people for anything. You, on the other hand, have no problem in that respect, do you?”

  “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

  Vienna looked smug as she said, “I know all about you.”

  “But we just met.”

  “Trust me. I know everything that goes on in this mall.”

  Derek eyed Vienna suspiciously while she secured her wild hair behind her head and began filling out an insurance form. Her self-confidence and insight made him nervous. He hardly knew her, so how could she know anything about him?

  Vienna glanced over and saw him staring at her. “
We’re supposed to be filling out these forms. You’d better get to work.”

  “Are you playing mind games with me? What do you think you know about me?” he asked.

  Vienna smiled and said, “I know you live in the hotel.” Then she added, “And I know you’re a kept boy.”

  Suddenly Derek wanted Belgian waffles more than ever.

  2

  Oops…I Stabbed You Again!

  Vienna Talbot never hesitated to pamper herself. In her thirty-five years on earth, she’d learned that everyone was looking out for himself, so she’d better follow suit. If she had a long day, nothing soothed her nerves like a pedicure. If she saw an outfit in a window, she told herself that it wouldn’t look better on anyone else; she’d then prove her assumption correct by trying it on and buying it. She liked to be surrounded by beautiful objects. For breakfast, she preferred freshly sliced fruit with yogurt in a Baccarat bowl.

  Davii often called her a diva. Vienna hated the word. It had connotations she didn’t relate to: a pushy, demanding bitch who always had to be the center of attention and get her way. Vienna knew she was the complete opposite of that description. Sure, she enjoyed getting her way every now and then, but she was more than willing to learn from her mistakes. She felt more comfortable on the edge of a crowd, observing, taking in a scene, rather than making one.

  From the time she was a little girl, she’d known she was pretty. A fact confirmed by the members of her father’s parish, who were quick to point out her beauty when they saw her at church or when they came to the Talbot home for dinner. She appreciated a compliment and was quick to offer thanks for an accolade, but it wasn’t the be-all and end-all of her existence. Her self-confidence was strong and she didn’t demand compliments, or anything else, from anyone.

  Vienna stood in front of a full-length mirror in a dressing room at Drayden’s, comparing the little girl from her memory to the woman she’d become. She ran her hands over her stomach and scrutinized her reflection. She was tall, but not exactly slender. Her body could be described as womanly, curvy, but nothing kept moving after she stood still. She ate right, and her only vice was alcohol, but not in excess. Vienna turned and looked over her shoulder to examine her butt in her black lace panties.

  “Ain’t no junk in my trunk,” she said to herself.

  “Did you call me?” a perky voice called to her through the dressing room’s curtain.

  “No,” Vienna said quickly and firmly. She’d finished her last day of training, four hours of register procedures and three hours of diversity class, and decided to reward herself with lingerie. She hated it when salespeople didn’t respect a closed curtain. “I’m fine. But could you find me this set in red, too? And can I try the merry widow that’s on the mannequin?”

  “Of course.”

  Vienna readjusted a bra strap and tried to look at herself as if she were a stranger. Or how a man might view her. She smiled, liking the way her light brown skin looked in spite of the fluorescent lighting. Her high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes were free of makeup, save a light foundation and eyeliner. Her lips, however, were painted a dark red, drawing attention to her mouth, which she thought was her best feature. Although with the way the new bra lifted her breasts, she began to reconsider.

  “I’d do me,” she decided aloud.

  “Here you are,” her sales associate said, passing the requested items through the curtain.

  “Thank you,” Vienna said.

  “My name is Jeanine. Call me if you need me.”

  “I will,” Vienna said, even though she knew she wouldn’t. There was no way Vienna would ever wear red lingerie. She’d only asked for it to give Jeanine something to do, to keep her out of the dressing room. However, Vienna had always wanted to try on a merry widow. It was something she never would’ve considered buying before she moved to Terre Haute. It wasn’t becoming for a preacher’s daughter or a respected psychologist.

  But the Vienna in the mirror, in her lacy black bra and panties, looked like a completely different person from the girl from Gary, Indiana. Just thinking about Gary made Vienna cringe. She couldn’t wait to leave her hometown when she was young. She wanted to get away from the industrial fumes, the suburban boredom, and her overbearing, hypercritical mother. Vienna knew the key to escape was her mind. She studied hard and accepted the first scholarship that came her way, taking her to Bloomington. Even at Indiana University, Vienna kept her nose to the grindstone, never deviating from her plans for success. However, a defensive lineman named Kevin did sidetrack her.

  Kevin Martazak was a star on the field and off. A physiology major, he was on the dean’s list, and he danced with IU’s African American Dance Company, though he swore he did it only to help his agility on the field. Kevin and Vienna met in statistics class when they both knocked their textbooks off their desks at the same time. They introduced themselves after class, and Vienna stated that the odds of them having the same accident at the same time were one in fifty. Kevin asked what the odds were for going out on a date, to which Vienna replied, “From where I’m standing, they’re looking good. Better by the second.”

  They lived together for three years before they got married. After graduation, they got an apartment off campus and pursued their master’s degrees while holding down part-time jobs. Then Kevin, working as a therapist in a downtown hospital, supported her while she got her doctorate. Eventually they bought a house in the suburbs, with matching Volvos and hectic lives. Vienna found an office with a group of psychologists in a professional building near their new home.

  Their life seemed perfect. Vienna enjoyed being married. She liked coming home from work and cooking dinner for her husband. She liked taking care of him. She liked picking up their dry cleaning. She liked grocery shopping. She liked massaging Kevin’s shoulders until he fell asleep on the couch while watching a movie in their home.

  She enjoyed her career. Vienna liked helping people; guiding them to make better decisions about their lives and to see things about themselves that they’d never realized. Maintaining her home and career was difficult, but she managed quite well. Vienna used her maiden name at work, and sometimes she felt like two different people. By day she was Dr. Talbot, saving people from their inner demons. At five o’clock each evening, she’d resume her true identity as Mrs. Martazak, devoted wife of Kevin.

  All her years of dreaming and planning had paid off. Vienna felt like she’d broken free from the shackles of Gary to become her own person. She loved that her patients felt safe enough to confide in her. And if she ever doubted that her life was perfect, she need only listen to the awful truths her patients revealed to make her count her blessings.

  Until one afternoon a patient unwittingly offered Vienna a dose of reality she couldn’t bear to swallow. Her patient, Laura, was having an affair with a married man. Vienna listened to Laura for weeks with an open mind, despite the fact that deep inside, she hated her. In Vienna’s opinion, what was worse than the affair was that Laura got sloppy as the weeks went by, as if she wanted her husband to find out what she was doing. Laura didn’t work, but she’d come home late, telling her husband that she’d been grocery shopping. Yet she arrived home empty-handed. Another time, Laura came home from a liaison with her lover, fixed dinner for her family, did the dishes, watched television with her husband, and went to bed as if nothing had ever happened. Which was what she normally did, but this time, her lover’s dried semen was still on her legs, since she hadn’t taken a shower after they met that afternoon.

  Vienna was appalled. But all she could do was ask Laura what she would have done if her husband wanted to make love and wondered what was on her leg. After a long pause, Laura said, “I think I wanted him to find out. And I think I would’ve told him. Kevin’s an amazing lover and a good man. I’d rather be married to him than to my husband. Maybe I should ask for a divorce. What do you think, Dr. Talbot?”

  “This is a breakthrough, Laura. But it changes your original goal. You came here
hoping to end your affair and keep your husband. Now it sounds as if you’re changing your mind. To answer your question, it doesn’t matter what I think. What do you think?” Vienna asked. Then, before Laura could answer, Vienna heard herself add, “I’m sorry. Did you say Kevin?”

  “Yeah,” Laura answered. “I mean, you have to admit that Mrs. Martazak sounds better than Mrs. Bartlebaum.”

  “You’re right. That does sound better. But then, I’m rather partial to the name,” Vienna said. “Talbot is my maiden name. My husband’s name is Martazak. Which makes me Mrs. Martazak. Mrs. Kevin Martazak.”

  The last thing Vienna remembered was Laura’s startled face as she put two and two together. Vienna had never been a firm believer in temporary insanity, but she changed her point of view when she stabbed Laura in the leg with a letter opener.

  Vienna stared at herself in the mirror at Drayden’s. Even though she was no longer Vienna the preacher’s daughter from Gary, or Mrs. Martazak from Bloomington, the merry widow still wasn’t for her. She was neither merry nor a widow. She was a bitter divorcée.

  After she dressed, Vienna tossed the merry widow aside, handed the lingerie to Jeanine, and said, “I’ll just take these, please.”

  The magic of purchasing with a discount faded faster than the image on a falling Etch A Sketch when the sales associate said, “The name on your license is Vienna Martazak, but the Visa card says Vienna Talbot.”

  “I’m divorced. It’s easier to get a new Visa than it is to spend a whole day at the DMV. Talbot’s my maiden name.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

  “Do you have unpleasant associations with the name Talbot?” Vienna asked.

  “What? No,” Jeanine said. “I meant that I’m sorry your marriage didn’t work out.”

  “Oh. Thanks,” Vienna said. She felt pitied and didn’t like it at all. “Can I sign so I can get home?”