We’re interrupted several more times as we eat our steaks. Some visitors inquire about Jackson looking for funding, but mostly they gossip about what happened today.
“Is it always like this?” I ask.
“Depends on where they seat me.”
No wonder the women he dates never last long. They aren’t able to say a sentence without interruption. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll make better reservations from now on.
“My dates usually love the attention.”
That’s surprising. “Why? They don’t get to talk to you.”
“I’m not sure talking is why they date me.”
He’s a beautiful man, but he does like his women to look like Barbie. He likes their looks, and they want his money. No surprise there.
“Well, from my limited conversations, they don’t strike me as conversational types.” My attempt to recover is terrible at best.
“No, I suppose not.” He seems uncomfortable, so I shouldn’t give him too hard of a time, but sometimes a girl can’t resist. “You have a type you like to date.”
“Apparently so do you.”
“Yes, I seem to like assholes.”
He laughs a deep belly laugh. “And what would you call the women I date?”
“Barbies.”
He nods.
“Floatation devices,” I add.
“What?” He was drinking his water, and I think it came out his nose.
Not a smart move with your boss.
“What’s a floatation device?” he asks, giving me the side eye.
I shrug, a little embarrassed about my honesty with the man who signs my paycheck. “She doesn’t have any original parts—a plastic surgeon’s masterpiece.”
He looks at me and takes another drink. “What kind of girl should I date?”
“I’m not sure this is something I should have to explain,” I tell him. “But what about someone you can talk to and enjoy as a human being, and who isn’t interested in your checkbook? Looks can fade, and the way you’re betting when you play poker, so could your luck.”
He looks down, and I can see him fighting a laugh. “Where is your family?”
“In Texas.”
“Ah. That explains so much. Dallas or Houston?”
“You can’t insult me about Texas. I’ve heard it all. My folks live much farther south in the Rio Grande Valley. My mom is, uh, in Corpus Christi, and my dad lives in McAllen.”
“What do they do?”
I typically hate these conversations, but this one is just strange. Jackson and I have worked together for over a year, and he’s never shown any interest in me personally before today.
“My dad has a farm—cattle mostly these days.”
“He used to farm other things?”
“Yes. He stopped growing cotton when I was in elementary school because the market wasn’t there, and he stopped growing sugarcane because of the drought and the effect it had on the Rio Grande when I was in high school.”
Jackson looks at me, surprised. “I never pictured you a cowgirl.”
I sit up straight and put on my best cowgirl act. “When I was six, I won the mutton busting at the Texas State Fair for staying on a sheep’s back for two minutes and twenty-seven seconds. And I can rope a calf. In high school, I even had a bull win the stock show. That’s how I paid for college.”
He looks at me dumbfounded. “How did that work?”
“Are you sure you want to know?” Most men want to run away when I tell them this.
He nods.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
He looks at me, concerned.
“I sold my prize-winning bull’s sperm.”
Jackson chokes on his rare cut of beef. “What?”
I nod. “A prize-winning bull catches twenty-five thousand dollars per sample.”
He looks at me carefully. “Did you have to stroke off the steer yourself to get his sample?”
I’m laughing so hard people are turning to look at us. “I’m sorry. I’m just kidding. I grew up in Houston, and my dad is an executive for a large oil and gas company. His brother runs the farm in McAllen. I did win the mutton busting when I was six, and I can sort of rope a calf. But I’ve never had a bull win the stock show or sold sperm—although that is what prize-winning sperm costs.”
Jackson is laughing just as hard as I am. “I totally believed you. I can’t believe you had me. You’re very funny. Why did you tell me that story?”
“Besides the fact that you’re a city boy, I told you because we work to combat what my dad produces.”
“I’m going to get you back for that,” he assures me. He’s still chuckling.
I’m on fire tonight. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” I warn with a giant grin.
He shakes his head.
“Everything I’ve done since I left home is to fight climate change,” I explain. “I may not be able to design solar panel film or wind turbines, but by supporting you, I do my part.”
Jackson looks at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Our new project would be dead in the water without your help.” He lifts his glass. “To a strong partnership.”
I lift my glass in return, and we enjoy the rest of our dinner with a few more interruptions before Jackson has Brian drop me home on the way to his place.
“See you in the morning.” I wave as I get out of the car.
I’m still laughing to myself about pulling the wool over Jackson’s eyes. I hate saying that my dad works in oil and gas. People are so derogatory about that. I get it, but it’s not like they’re willing to give up driving their cars.
I’m still smiling when I walk into my apartment. It’s dark, which means both my roommates are staying with their boyfriends. I pull my cell phone out to play some games while I mindlessly watch television to unwind. I missed a call. The caller ID says it’s from Bobby. He’d better be apologizing for his skank girlfriend.
I push play and listen.
“You attention-seeking whore. How fucking dare you call the police over some bullshit! Collette didn’t have anything to do with that shit, and you know it. Do you want to know why I broke up with your fat ass? Because you sucked in bed. I was being nice by not telling you, but since you made up some fake reason to try to get me back, now you know why. Leave Collette and me alone or I’ll pull a restraining order.” And he hangs up.
I’m numb. As if this could get any worse. With a trembling hand, I do the only thing I know how to do and call Gabby.
“Hey, babe, what’s up?”
“Can you come over?” I fight through the tears and sniff.
“I’m on my way.”
When she arrives ten minutes later, I’m a complete mess.
“What happened?”
I can’t talk through the tears, so I hand her my phone. She listens to Bobby’s message.
“What the fuck? What a complete asshole! Bad in bed—that man wouldn’t know a clitoris if it jumped out in a well-lit room. So, I know that’s not true. And fat? Maybe your big toe is fat, but the rest of you is all curves that the guys go crazy for.”
“Maybe I am bad in bed. And compared to the cheerleader, I am fat, but really—"