Page 15

“I don’t have my phone, and we’re running behind because of this little chat, so can we just get back to it, and I can show you once they’ve left?”

Oakley folds her arms across her chest and gives me a smug look. “They booked a double session, so we don’t have to rush. I’ll wait.”

Ugh! Such a smart ass. Fortunately, I can sneak out the dressing room and walk to my purse, which is stashed in our closet on the landing of the staircase, without being too obvious. I don’t look back, though I hear the triplets and their father bickering amongst themselves.

“It’s her, Dad,” Tala says in her lyrical voice.

“Totally her,” one of the boys says. A throat clears, and I assume that’s Kalon. Jesus. I didn’t recognize him straight off the bat because in the blurry selfie he sent me, he’s wearing glasses. And in the one he demanded from me — to prove I am who I say I am — I didn’t have my glasses on. Today I do. I snatch my phone and calmly walk back to the dressing room, careful not to make eye contact with anyone.

Oakley’s eyes light up as soon as she sees my phone, and she all but grabs it from me. “Tinder,” she mumbles to herself, finding the app and opening it without instruction. God knows she’s read enough of my interactions to know what she’s doing. She needs no instruction from me at all. “He collects stamps as a hobby?” Oakley looks downright confused. “How is that a thing?”

“Speak any louder, and he’ll be able to hear you and answer your question, Oak. Turn the damn volume down, please!”

“What are his photos about? It’s like he didn’t even know he was being photographed.” My sentiments exactly. “In fact,” she continues, “I’m willing to take a bet and say you first started chatting to either one of his kids, or all three of them, before you started chatting to him.”

“How do you figure?”

Oakley points to my screen. “You can see it in the texts, it goes from text language and emojis to grownup speak.” She’s right. Initially I thought there was no way I could be talking to someone who’s 45 years old, but after a while, I figured maybe he’s trying to seem younger than he is. Now I know.

“Okay, so the guy out there is someone I’ve been speaking to on Tinder, but I haven’t really been speaking to him; I’ve been speaking to his kids. Until last night, when I really started speaking to him and not his kids. Do I have that straight?” Fucking tongue twister. God.

Oakley does some kind of math with her finger, and then nods. “I think so.”

“Right,” I look up, hands on my hips. “The only thing left for me to do is pretend I don’t know what’s going on.”

“But why?” Oakley asks. “Why not just introduce yourself in person, and go on a date? He’s not exactly hard to look at, and how many dildos did you say you needed to tape to the leg of our Ken doll?” She smirks, using the nickname I gave the mannequin who resides on my side of the studio.

“That reminds me, I need to fetch two of mine from home and bring them to work tomorrow,” I comment.

“Okay, but you can’t keep on pretending you don’t know him now that you’ve figured out who he is, Chan.”

I give her a look. “Watch me.” I straighten my glasses, and my skirt, and walk out the dressing room. I smile politely at the four people in front of me and turn to Kalon. “Mr. Ward, I apologize for the interruption, but please return to the podium for me, I need to check your measurements.”

Oakley drags Tala away, but Lycan and Fallon are very interested in what I’m doing. I pay them no mind, even though I want to berate them for being so goddamn immature. Kalon steps onto the podium, and I snap! my measuring tape before dropping to my knees again. Kalon jumps when I stick my right hand in his crotch, and literally only measure to the head of his dick, which is ‘findable’ in the pants he’s currently wearing. I’m sure they’re also custom made for this very reason. I look over at Oakley and show her the distance between my hands, mouthing, two dildos, I swear.

Her response is to mouth back, ask him out. I give her a slight shake of my head and then measure Kalon’s thigh. Like the rest of him, it’s not small. He shifts on the podium, his sons snicker, and I realize that he’s starting to get hard. Which makes me curious. If he’s that big when he’s soft, how big will he be when he’s hard? Or even semi-hard like he is now. I tsk. “This isn’t right.” I stick my hand even deeper into his crotch, and he shifts his stance, trying, obviously, to hide what’s happening in his pants. Okay, so the man is blessed. Like really blessed.

Eventually, when he catches me staring at his crotch, he asks, “Are we done here?”

I can see he wants to swat my hand away, and rather than humiliate the both of us, I stand and reply, “I’m done. Thanks for coming.” I cringe after I give him a back-slap, like we’re old friends, and retreat to the kitchen. I need something cold, because good Lord have mercy, if he really is the Kalon I’ve been speaking to — and I have a gut feeling he is — I think I might be just a little bit fucked.