He nods to the limo waiting at the curb. “I’ll give you a lift.”
“Oh, you don’t have to. It’s not that far.”
For some reason, I’d rather not take a ride from the man. But he’s already taken me by the elbow and turned me towards the vehicle while the chauffer opens the door. Mr. Lee either didn’t hear me or he’s choosing to ignore me. I give him the benefit of the doubt that it’s the former and find myself climbing into the car. I’ve never been in a limo before. My friends had rented one for senior prom, but I never got to go with them because my date didn’t want to chip in the money to pay for one, so we arrived at prom in his used pickup.
Mr. Lee takes a seat beside me, then changes his mind and sits diagonally across from me, the farthest he can be from me.
Do I smell bad? Maybe I reek of cleaning products. But despite the embarrassment, I’m glad for the extra distance between us.
Virginia Mayhew Porter, what has gotten into you?
“MUNI station,” he tells the driver before pulling out his cellphone. He dials, then starts talking in a foreign language. Chinese, I’m guessing.
He’s staring at me with that same intensity he had in the hotel hallway. Except he’s talking away, so maybe he’s not looking at me, just in my direction.
The limo turns off Eddy Street onto Powell Street where stairs on the sidewalk lead down to the train station. Mr. Lee pauses his call.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say as the chauffer opens my door.
Mr. Lee says something in Chinese to the driver, who hands me the umbrella he is holding.
“Thanks, but I don’t—” I begin.
“Keep it,” Mr. Lee tells me.
It’s not an offer. It’s an order.
I take the umbrella, say my thanks again, and watch him return to his call before the driver closes the door. No goodbye or “have a good night.” I’m not sure if it’s a cultural thing or it’s just that I’m not important enough to merit a final word. But he did give me a ride and an umbrella. And for that I am grateful, or I would have been soaking wet. Still, it would have been polite if he had asked me my name.
On the MUNI ride home, I don’t end up reading Fifty Shades. Instead, I relive what it felt like to have his arms around me.
CHAPTER TWO
“You gonna join us tonight?” my roommate, Talia, asks me before she heads out to her job as a barista at a local coffee shop. She tells me as soon as there is an opening, she’ll put in a good word for me. Serving coffee is a lot nicer than cleaning hotel rooms. Her worst day involves dealing with obnoxious customers who chew her out because she accidentally used 2% reduced-fat milk instead of skim. Mine involves emptying wastebaskets that someone has vomited in, pulling bloody or cum-soaked sheets off the bed, and having to fish out tampons that didn’t flush down the toilet.
“I’ve got to study for my economics class,” I reply as I rush around the room to get dressed. I want to make it to the financial aid office at Berkeley as soon as they open so I’ll only miss half my morning class. It’s better I miss class than miss work. I need the money, and everything in the San Francisco Bay Area is pricier than it is back in North Carolina.
Talia, who also takes classes at City College, leans her curves against the doorframe. She has the sort of body I wish I had: long, lean legs, full B-cup breasts, and a nice swell to the hips. A woman’s body. Even though I turned twenty-one a few months ago, I feel like I have the body of a teenager, and I’ve resigned myself to the fact that my breasts will forever be locked in A-cups.
“Don’t you ever want to get laid?” she asks. “Like, finally lose your virginity?”
I blush. I’m not going out of my way to preserve my virginity or anything. I’m not saving it for the love of my life. But in between moving across country to find my birth mother, applying for college, and trying to save money to send to Lila, losing my virginity hasn’t been a priority.
“Maybe I’ll join you tomorrow night if y’all go out,” I say.
“You know, losing your virginity is something you’ve got to get out of the way. Then you get to really enjoy sex. It doesn’t matter who that first guy is ’cause nine times out of ten, it’s never Mr. Right.”
“I know. I just don’t want the first guy to be a total loser.”
“I can set you up with my cousin Tyler. According to Alexia, he’s really good in bed.”
Alexia has the other bedroom in our place, and given that she has a different boyfriend every month, she’s probably qualified to judge.
“I’ll think about it,” I say.
Talia perks up and t
akes herself off the doorframe. “You let me know when. I’ll hook you up.”