Page 14 of Tito

5

Reggie

Adegree in theatre. When I was eighteen, it seemed like the thing to do. Following college, I learned that half the women living in Southern California had a degree in theatre and that nearly all of them were employed outside of their area of expertise.

I had a difficult decision in front of me. Stripping, working at Starbucks, or managing a shopping mall clothing store were my post-college employment options.

Although grinding my twat on a bacteria-laden brass pole while Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me blared in the background was enticing, the clothing store was the winner in the end. Afterall, it was close to the mini Asian buffet in the food court and my coworkers were mostly gay men.

I tidied an out-of-place tee shirt and looked at Raymond. “How was it?”

“Last night?” He rolled his eyes. “Disastrous.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s too needy. Needy people make me want to help them. I hate being caught in that trap.”

“What trap?”

He forced a dramatic sigh. “I can’t say no to needy people, especially if they’re pretty. You know the way a tiger senses the weakest animal in the jungle?”

“Yeah.”

“Needy people can sense my inability to resist from a mile away. They flock to me like seagulls to a sandwich. Then, it’s ‘Raymond, give me this. Raymond, help me with that. Raymond, I need a manicure. Raymond, my car needs a new Schlond Poofa.’”

“What’s a Schlond Poofa?”

He looked at me like he’d caught me masturbating in the dressing room. “You don’t watch Life in the Dreamhouse?”

My shoulders slumped in false regret. “No, I don’t.”

“A schlond poofa is the part that breaks on Barbie’s car. It started in the second episode of season one.” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Oh. Yeah, I don’t partake in Barbie.”

“You can watch them on Netflix. They’re hilarious.”

I tried to force a smile but managed to produce what I suspected came across as a shitty little grin. “I’m sure they are.”

Sensing my lack of interest, he straightened the shirt I’d adjusted moments before. “My point is this: I can’t do needy.”

“Well, that sucks,” I said, glancing at the shirt. “I’m sure he’s out there somewhere. You’ll just have to keep looking.”

“What about the guy who asked you out?”

“He doesn’t seem like the needy type,” I replied. “I should be fine.”

“I was asking how that’s coming along. Trying to be polite.” He looked me up and down. “You should try it.”

“I have. It tends to attract the needy,” I said with a laugh.

He cocked his hip. “Touché.”

“I haven’t heard from him since that day,” I admitted. “I guess we’re still on.”

“It’s Thursday. You should send him a text. Just ask what you should wear.”

“I might do that.”