I didn’t order anything, but I bet I know who that is at my door, and why she’s here. She has her own key, so I don’t even bother leaving my desk to open the door.
I just found an interesting job posting at a local women’s shelter that I’m thinking of applying for. Just trying to figure out the best way to word my reasoning for leaving the police force.
“Bitch,” Xena says from the doorway. “My hands are full and you made me open the door myself? Rude.”
She juggles several bags as she walks over to set them on the couch.
“I’m busy here too, you know. I found a job I might want to apply for, but I can’t figure out what to say about getting fired. It sounds so bad to say I got fired from being a cop.” Not to mention it’s totally depressing, considering it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do with my life. It never seemed to turn out the way I thought it would, though.
“Tell the truth. You arrested someone who had a well-connected friend and they made you pay for it.”
I sigh, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my palms. “It all just sounds so ridiculous, you know? I feel like I’m in an awful movie where a cop gets on the wrong side of the city’s dark underbelly, and has to become a private investigator. I’ll be spending all my time staking out motels and dive bars, trying to get proof of infidelity in people’s marriages.”
“Well, whatever puts food on the table, right? It probably beats stripping.”
“I guess. Stripping seems more honest than trying to catch people cheating. I just never pictured myself as anything other than a cop. It’s all I’ve ever wanted to do with my life. I don’t even know what else I might be good at.”
Xena makes herself at home in my kitchen, banging around in my cupboards, pulling out glasses, ice, salt, and a cocktail shaker. Ah, I guess it’s to be margaritas tonight. That’s good. I saw the two bottles of tequila she had and I was not looking forward to drinking it straight. She always insists that she buys ‘the good stuff’ but I can’t taste much difference between the good stuff and the not so good stuff. Tequila is not my favourite. But Xena is like a sister to me, so I usually go along with her impromptu tequila parties. They don’t happen too frequently, so it’s not that big of a hardship. I guess.
“Should I order us some dinner?” I ask. “I haven’t had much to eat today and if you’re going to be mixing up margaritas, I probably need to get some food in my stomach.”
“Already taken care of, Rhea. Little sister Xena is taking care of you tonight.”
I watch as she pours way too much tequila into the shaker, not even pretending like she’s measuring it. You know it’s going to be a rough night when she’s already free-pouring and it’s only the first drink. Maybe I can dump some of it in the sink when she’s not looking?
“What did you order?”
“Tacos, obviously.” She looks at me like I’m nuts for even asking. “Tacos and tequila. Too bad it’s not Tuesday. The alliteration would be outstanding. But taco and tequila Friday is cool too. We get to go out dancing later this way. If it were Tuesday, our options for getting up to no good would be much more limited. Westborough just isn’t big enough to have a big middle of the week club scene.”
“Oh no, Zee. I’m not really in the mood for dancing. I kind of just want to lie low at home for the night.” I know I’ve already been off work for three months, but at least I had hope during that time. Now that I know I’m never going back, it feels so much worse, so much more real.
“Tough titty said the little kitty. We’re going dancing. You’re going to shake your ass, maybe grind on a couple of cute guys, and just have a good time. You don’t have to be a serious cop anymore. It’s time to cut loose and have some fun.”
I sigh. Xena just doesn’t get it. Ilikedbeing a serious cop all the time. I felt like I was helping people. Protecting people the way I wished someone would protect me when I was a kid. How that police officer finallydidprotect me when she got me away from my mother for good.
I guess she was lucky that my mother didn’t know the mayor, or she might have been in the same position I’m in now, instead of being a little girl’s hero.
“OK, fine. You win. Give me that margarita.” I close my laptop and get up from my desk. Taking the glass from Xena, I add, “And then you can help me find something to wear when we go out dancing. You’ve seen my wardrobe. Nothing about it says ‘I’m having a good time.’”
Xena snorts a laugh. “No, it certainly does not. It screams a combination of, ‘I’m really a farmer’ and ‘can I talk to you about your life insurance needs?’”Xena finishes making her own drink and joins me in the living room. “Now, let’s get some dance music on while we get ready.”
She connects her phone to my stereo and puts on what she calls her ‘dirty girls’ party hard’ playlist. I can’t deny that the first song choice makes me want to shake my ass. Any song with the wordBootyin the title is bound to have that effect on a person, I’m sure.
After we’ve had a few drinks and eaten our tacos, we are back in my room again, looking through the dismal selection my closet offers.
“What about this one?” I ask, holding up a knee-length dress with a floral print and a peter pan collar. “I wore this one to one of my foster brothers’ high school graduations.”
“Ew, no,” Xena says, holding her nose like she’s trying to avoid an unpleasant smell. “That was over ten years ago. And that dress was ugly then too.”
“What about this one?” I hold up a cute yellow sundress with thin straps, buttons all the way up the front, and, most importantly, pockets.
“That’s cute, but not for our purposes this evening. Put it back.”
I hang the yellow dress up and flip through the hangers in my closet again. Button up blouse with frilly cuffs? No, definitely not. Bridesmaid dress with 7 ruffled layers of skirt and a long train? Maybe if we were going flamenco dancing. Shit, maybe we are? Where did I put my castanets, though? Never mind, we can worry about accessories after we get the clothes figured out.
I hold up the dress with a laugh. “Are we going flamenco dancing?”
“No, but leave that on the bed. We can bring it in case we need to use it as a cape when we perform a magic show.” She makes some vague gestures with her arms, looking more like Vanna White turning the letters onWheel of Fortunethan a magician. “And for my next trick, I will remove the stick from this woman’s butthole.”
