Secret Shopper (24 page)

His words were like magic setting me in motion. “Where are we going?” I was suddenly in the passenger seat, nerves and giddiness shooting me forward in time.

“I’m taking you to find yourself.”

“What?”

“The Divas. They’re going to take care of you this fine afternoon.” Before I could object, we were on highway 5 headed to Pacific Beach. I cringed at possibly meeting up with Chazzer again. Thomas took care of that by going in to scope the area. Chazzer was off, by the graces of the Spa Gods. Thomas spoke to the stylist and got me an immediate appointment. I later found out that once he said my name, my recognizable maiden name, the young lady accepted the walk-in without question.

             
“My lady?” He held his hand out for me.

             
“Thomas, what are we doing, a massage?” I was about to argue that my injury was still tender.

             
“No, let’s bring back the Chamorrita side of you.” I smiled widely when I realized that I would finally see my brown hair again. That should ward off unwanted attention from guys, I hoped.

             
Thomas entertained my request to get himself a pedicure. He was so amazed at how awesome and smooth his feet turned out, that he asked me why I didn’t tell him about this chick secret sooner. The girls in the salon were thoroughly entranced by my friend. I didn’t mind that there were three beautiful salon divas fawning over Thomas—like Bradley, the green monster that sat in me divorced me too.

The colorist leaned into me and after complimenting me on my
girl-power-kicking-of-the-jerk’s ass
at the bar, she asked to see my scar. Feeling like Harriet Potter with an awkwardly and sexily placed scar from
Voldemort
, I obliged. Thomas craned his neck and got an eyeful too.
Good thing I wore my pretty panties
, I mused, as I gingerly pulled my pants down past my hip bone. The almost “S” shaped scar was raised, still pink and angry. Cyndi—as her nametag indicated complimented me on my “boyfriend.”

             
“You do realize that your boyfriend is a dead ringer for Edward Cullen.” She whispered.

             
“You mean Robert Pattinson? No. Nope. Don’t see the resemblance.” Cyndi’s eyes opened wide and she guffawed. Thomas smiled as he pretended not to hear. “He’s more, hmm, a young Nathan Fillion.”

             
“Now, I know that guy and I love
Firefly
.” Thomas said.

              After all that primping, I actually felt normal. “Thank you, Thomas.” I said as I reevaluated my image.

“You look beautiful.” At his compliment, the girls made a collective sound like you do when you see a cute puppy.
Awwwww. And he treated too
, someone added
.
I looked at Thomas in disbelief as I reached for my purse.

“Thomas, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But, I wanted to do that.” He smiled and winked.

“Okay, coffee for the next three months on me.” I said.

“I’ll take that deal, if I can hang with you for the next three months.” He offered his elbow and I accepted like we were about to embark on our prom. Thomas’s warm body pressed into mine as we left he salon. I paid for our coffees and we sat for a few minutes in the car. I enjoyed the warm cup as I gazed at Thomas.

“So am I?” Thomas asked, breaking our easy silence.

“Are you? Are you what?” I smiled.

“Your friend or boyfriend?”

“Um. Why do you ask? I mean, you’re my friend and you’re a boy, right?”
              “I ask because when the Diva said ‘your boyfriend,’ you didn’t correct her.”

“I didn’t?” I guess I didn’t correct her, or the idea of Thomas as my boyfriend was gelling more and more in my mind.

“It’s okay. I’ll take that non-protest of the word boyfriend any day.” He blushed. “Shall we…” and he leaned into my face, a flicker of mischief there… “karaoke?”

I won’t lie. It was a kissable moment, but he was a man of honor.
And, when did “karaoke” become a verb
, I wondered. I hadn’t been to Pass the Mic in two weeks. And, despite the attack, I heard business was booming from Ty and Angelica. I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Kang had Angelica frame my mug so he could place it behind the bar for all to gawk at. I wrangled up my fear, tucked it into a bag and decided to go for it. I deserved some fun with Thomas, didn’t I? Karaoke wasn’t a kiss, but it would do for now. “Let’s karaoke.” I finally said.

I invited Ty and Angelica, it was Friday after all. Thomas said he would call Tano and the girl he was currently dating.

It was going to be a great party.

             
As we cruised, I did another bold thing. I pulled out my phone and cued up Thomas’s song. Yes, the illegal taping of the Mraz love song. We drove in happy silence, then I hit play. He heard the singing, which didn’t do hearing it live justice.

A wry smile on his beautiful face, he said, “What the heck was that?” He didn’t sound angry, but amused to my relief.

              “I have something to admit.” I started. “I’m a Thomas-o-holic and I’ve been getting a hit every Sunday for the past few months.”
God, that sounded lascivious,
I thought. “I mean, your karaoke, your singing, not you, of course.”

             
Thomas laughed and placed his hand on my thigh. I took his hand in mine and kept it there. I explained that I was going to the bar incognito just to hear one song every Sunday. I told him every song he sang in order from the last six weeks. He blushed bright red and shifted nervously in his seat. As he raised his right hand out of mine to sweep away the amber strands of hair from his eyes, he asked nervously if I had a recording for every week. He breathed a sigh of relief when I said it was just the one. Thomas reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his IPhone. He asked me to find track 10 on his recordings. I had a sinking feeling, and then, I heard
me
. I sang
Dolphins
. There was a lot of ambient noise, but that was me. He had the whole song recorded start to finish. I punched his arm and he whimpered, then his laughter boomed in the car. I joined him without jiggling too much since my S scar wasn’t too happy. My singing didn’t sound too shabby, I thought to myself. Maybe I could indeed hold a tune.

             
It was almost eight o’clock when we pulled up to Pass the Mic. The bar wasn’t at capacity and I was able to walk by Mr. Kang unnoticed with my new coffee colored hair. I loved how it felt and the lightness of having five inches chopped off felt great too. Thomas complimented me to no end when it was done, saying he liked chocolate better than caramel anyway. Mr. Kang hugged me tight enough to make me cringe. Thomas my protector, swiftly asked Mr. Kang to lighten up, already undoing his arms around me. After ten apologies, Mr. Kang patted Thomas’s back. “She look good. You do this?” Gesturing to my hair. “She look happy and you look happy. We all happy, no?” Mr. Kang made me miss my dad and mom.

             
We practically had the bar to ourselves, so after our first round of drinks and my trademark fried rice. I reminded Thomas that he owed me a song, now that he knew I was there in the audience. He didn’t hesitate and passed a slip written with the number he already memorized to Mr. Kang. The rest of our party would join us after nine, so it was nice to be sitting dead center by the stage, ready for Thomas to sing, just for me.

             
A familiar melody started and Thomas cleared his throat.
He can’t be nervous
, I thought, but maybe he was.
Angel Eyes
by Jeff Healey was a beautiful, romantic way to start the evening. I swayed with his singing and wasn’t self-conscious when he made eye contact and gestured cheesily to me throughout the song. During a guitar break in the song, I glanced at Mr. Kang and he held up a lit match and moved out of beat. The match burned to his fingers and he flung it on the ground and started stomping. Thomas and I shared a giggle and then he finished the ballad.

             
I gave Thomas a standing ovation and Mr. Kang hooted and hollered at the bar. Several college students walked in and now the audience grew by seven. My song was next and a light veil of nervousness fell over me. I wanted to retreat to the booth I first sang at for anonymity, but I reminded myself that I was going to sing for Thomas and him alone. I handed my song slip to a smiling Mr. Kang.

             
Thomas put a chair on the stage. I wasn’t going to be belting out a song anyway, opting for a subtle song. Alana Davis’s
32 Flavors
, started with the lyrics right away. Any song about Phoenixes was automatically a winner in my book.

             
I maintained eye contact with Thomas and felt the song until the end. Angelica and Ty arrived and sat at our usual booth while the applause started. I beamed as they all stood and applauded me. I tipped an invisible hat to them and took a small bow. I smiled knowing that this was my family.

             
The fun night stretched into the wee hours of the morning. We bid our farewells to the couples and Thomas and I walked side by side to my car. If this was a romantic movie, I guess it would have been acceptable, heck even expected for us to kiss passionately and end up in bed at his place. He stood at the passenger side door and I gave myself a hug because of my exposed arms. I hadn’t expected to be out so late and I didn’t bring my jacket. Thomas wrapped me in his brown leather jacket, then kept his hands in his jean pockets and fidgeted side to side. We were like a pair of nervous teenagers about to have our first kiss.

It was strange to think that at a quarter of a century in age, I had only kissed one other person in this world. In this vast interesting world of seven billion people. Being one of the many blessed to be from
Guam with a population of 180,000, I chose one to latch onto—the wrong one. Only to travel to California to find THE One.

“Cold?” Thomas’s teeth chattered.

“Yes. Cold.” I agreed. He opened my door. Our chance to seal it with a kiss was thwarted by the weather. I hid my infamous clutch purse under the passenger seat, a new habit I formed after being assaulted. I immediately checked my Blackberry for the time, just as Thomas got into the driver’s seat. Three A.M. and I had five missed calls in the last three hours, and three texts. I checked my voicemail, a different type of cold fell down my spine. One after another, it was the frantic voice of my mom to call Pharaoh’s cell, or my brother himself in a gruff voice demanding that I call home. I noticed distinctly that my dad did not call and my fingers couldn’t work fast enough on the tiny keys as I dialed home. Thomas watched me quietly and didn’t ask questions knowing I had no answers yet.

             
“Phoenix!” Pharaoh’s voice was a squeal. “Where the hell have you been for the past three hours?” Thomas started the car and turned on the heat. I braced my heart for bad news.

             
“What’s wrong, Pharaoh? Is it dad?” My brother went quiet, providing the answer I needed.

             
“Are you home? Are you driving? I don’t want you freaking out.”

             
“Tell me already!” I could hear my mom in the background speaking in Korean. I had no idea if they were home or at a hospital.

             
“Dad, he, um he had a massive stroke tonight.” Pharaoh’s voice cracked and it reminded me of when he was a toddler and upset over a broken toy. I suddenly regretted not going home. Maybe I would have seen him and the turmoil of my divorce and the mugging would not have added to his stress levels. There were a lot of maybes running around my head. For Thomas’s benefit, I repeated the news. Dad suffered a stroke after dinner at home. Mom was there, called Pharaoh before the ambulance. I wasn’t sure if that was wise, but I wasn’t going to be upset with her for that.

             
“Is he at Memorial or Naval?” Worry had me on the edge of panic. “Is he conscious?”

             
“Memorial, yeah, but his left side’s affected. The docs said it was good that mom crushed aspirin and forced him to eat it. He collapsed in the bathroom when mom found him.”

The vision of my dad on the cold white tile on the bathroom floor start
ed my tears. Thomas rubbed my back. “Dad didn’t want me to call you and worry you.” Pharaoh continued.

             
“That’s bullshit.” I whimpered. “Thanks for calling anyway. I want to come home.” I looked at Thomas and his serene understanding face was a comfort. He caressed my cheek and wiped away my tears.

             
My mom got on the phone and was emotional as she repeated everything Pharaoh just told me. I listened patiently, hearing it a second time made the grave situation more real. I thanked mom for taking care of dad and promised that I would be on the earliest flight home. Mom was about to argue for dad’s sake. Dad didn’t want me traveling, perhaps thinking I was still healing from the attack. No one in my immediate family had major medical problems. Now my dad and I have made hospital visits within the same month. It’s not something I wanted to have in common with him.