Arianne ‘IS YOUR VAGINA INCENSED? BITTER, MAYBE? MEN CAN SMELL IT’ Isnort, reading the headline. “Yeah, well, my vagina is also infuriated, indignant, angry, and spitting fire,” I say, before taking another sip of my coffee. “Cobwebs? My vagina is well past that. It’s a minefield at this point and I bet it lets off a strong signal and smell, telling men, Stay the hell away.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. I wonder if my roomie from this morning could smell my angry vagina? As I scroll down the article, my lightheartedness dissipates and a familiar discomfort sets in. I sigh. “My vagina is also lonely.” Now, I’m d epressed. Thanks for nothing, Cosmo. I flip the i Pad over, uninterested in letting a nonscientific-based article in a woman’s magazine, written to make you feel sorry for yourself, affect my mood. “There’s a reason I stick to Cosmo quizzes and stay away from the flimsy articles.” My phone rings. I answer the call, a grin stretching my lips. “Are you in LA?” “I am.” “You’re an Angeleno. Yay!” “My ears.” “Well, excuse me for being excited,” my best friend says. “I’m teasing. I love your reaction.” “Welcome to the City of Angels, chica,” she says. “Phoebe Pedersen, what kind of lame welcoming committee is this? No Glad you’re back banner. No champagne. No wine. No charcuterie board. No chocolate fountain. Not even cake. You’re on the other side of the planet. We can’t even go for coffee or drinks to celebrate.” “Someone is demanding.” She scoffs. “I may not be in LA, but I haven’t forgotten. The only reason I didn’t call sooner was because I was in the air and landed in Hong Kong three hours ago.” “You’re the best, Phoebe.” “Yeah, I’m as good as solid gold.” I can see her beaming smile from here. “You’re ride or die since we became roommates in college.” “That, you are—” I yawn. “Sorry.” “Jetlagged?” “It’s ridiculous.” “I’ll be in the same boat when I come back next week,” she says. “Hong Kong isn’t as far. It took me close to fourteen hours and a stopover at Heathrow Airport before I landed at LAX from Stockholm,” I say. “I must’ve sl ept twelve hours straight when I arrived two days ago.” “What a pain, but am I ever happy you’re back in California.” “After gray and dreary cold weather for months on end in Europe, I’m looking forward to the hot Cali sun. I’m sure the warmth will perk me up. There’s a pool—” “It’s not the ocean, but at least it’s water,” Phoebe says. “The building management is pretty anal about ke eping the pool clean. Same goes for the entire property.” “Good to know, but I don’t own a bikini. I’ve been way too jetlagged to leave the apartment since I got into town.”
“I see a shopping spree in your future,” she says. “Definitely. I’m pasty white and desperate for some color. Over the weekend, I’ll make sure to give my visa card a good workout.” “Amen to that,” she says. “How’s the apartment?” Phoebe changes the subject. “Is the cleanliness up to your standards?” “The place works. It seems like the original tenant is even more compulsive than I am. Thanks so much for being my eyes.” “You’re sure it’s okay?” “I am, Phoebe.” “Sorry I couldn’t get you an affordable apartment with an ocean view.” “You did a great job.” “Good. I was petrified you’d hate it.” She knows me well. She was instrumental in helping with my move to LA. I live in a colorcoded and well-organized world. She doesn’t, but that doesn’t stop me for loving her to pieces. Through her boyfriend, Phoebe caught wind of a sublet in El Segundo. It’s fully furnished, well decorated, comes with floor to ceiling windows, located in a great neighborhood and available for a year. Bonus, I pay half of what I normally would for a place like this. Since I only have three suitcases to my name, this is perfect. For the past two years, my suitcases have been my only possessions in the world after leaving everything behind. Starting over is a bitch. “It’s exactly what I need until I find my bearings.” “I wish you’d stay with us,” she says. “Phoebe, you just moved in with a wonderful man—a boyfriend I haven’t even met yet. I refuse to be the third wheel.” “You wouldn’t be,” she says. We’ve been arguing about this since I decided I had healed enough to return to California. “I’d be in the way.” “You’re my best friend. Oscar knows that. I’d never allow him to come between us—not that he’s that kind of guy.” Her loyalty and her friendship mean everything to me. “God, I’ve missed you so much,” I say, swallowing down my emotions. “I’ve missed you, too, Ari,” she says, choking up. No amount of text messaging, video calls can r eplace being close to people you care about the most. “I wanted us to spend time together.” “Newsflash. We both live in the same city now. We are going to spend more time together. I’m unwilling to be in the way of you and copious amounts of sex.” She laughs. “Oscar and I have been seeing each other for eight months. We can ke ep our hands off each other.” “It’s different when you live together, you can have sex in every room, at any time of the day, whenever one of you feels horny.” She laughs harder. “Truth be told, I love the idea of a live-in cock,” she says. “And I’m grateful my latest obsession is attached to a normal man and not a freak or an asshole. I swear, I savored a bottle of champagne the day after Oscar asked me to move in with him as I was gleefully deleting my profile from all those dating websites. God, how dreadful. No more bad dates—Shit. I’m sorry, Ari. That was insensitive of me.” “Not at all,” I say. “I don’t intend on having a profile on any dating or casual hookup sites. I can live without the headache. Statistically, you have less than a one percent chance of meeting
someone who isn’t carrying a plane full of luggage.” Okay, that’s a fly by the pants rationale since I haven’t Googled the data, but she doesn’t need to know that. “I won’t argue with you. Online dating makes you seriously consider joining a nunnery. I was this close.” We both laugh. Phoebe has a trunk full of freaky stories. “It’s much better to meet a guy the old-fashioned way.” There’s a smile in her voice. Not surprising. After months of striking out with unsuitable—and often, horrible— matches, Phoebe met her Peruvian boyfriend, Oscar Alcóver, at the bar he owns. “Oh no, that door is closed shut,” I say. “I’m so not going down that road any time soon.” Case in point, my roomie. Sure, the man is unbelievably hot, but he’s a man. And that right there is a strike against him. “I thought coming back to California was about new beginnings—a renewal.” “It is. Career wise,” I say. “It can’t only be about work, Ari.” “According to Cosmo—” “You’re so left brained and factual, why do you ke ep doing those illogical fashion magazine quizzes?” “They’re my guilty pleasure,” I remind her. “Not to mention, I needed a pick-me-up after this morning’s trauma.” “What happened?” “I was trapped in an elevator for over an hour on my way up to a meeting with prospective clients.” “That’s terrible.” “It was a freaky experience.” “Were you alone?” “I wasn’t.” Nope. I’m not telling her about my sexy roomie clad in a perfectly cut suit with ocean-blue eyes you could lose yourself in. It would only give her false hope. Since it’s unlikely I’ll ever see him again, why go there? Not that I’m interested or anything. “Thank God.” “I know.” As much as I hate to admit it, the man’s presence was comforting. Without him, I would’ve freaked out. “How was the meeting in the end?” “It never happened.” “Were they pissed off you were late?” “Once the elevators were working again, I raced to the meeting, mortified by my tardiness. The prospects weren’t at the office.” “How come?” “Their executive assistant said it was confusion on their part, which I don’t understand since I triple checked with her to make sure the meeting was still on. Still, I didn’t argue.” “That sucks.” “It did... especially after the elevator incident.” “Is the meeting rescheduled?” “It is,” I say. “I’m meeting them again in twelve days.” “Knowing you, it’ll only give you more time to perfect an already pristine presentation.” “I guess.” I’m still annoyed by their forgetfulness. “So, Cosmo was your cure for this morning’s mayhem?” Phoebe veers the conversation to the original topic. “It was. Before you called, I was reading an article that explained my predicament.” “Care to share?” There’s resignation in her voice. “You seem so excited.”
“You’re going to find a million reasons to stay stuck.” I ignore her comment. “Men can smell my angry pussy a mile away,” I say. “All the festered disillusionment I foster is more pungent than the most expensive perfume. So, you see, I’m a lost cause.” “Don’t say that.” Oh, no. Not this again. “Just because you met the one, doesn’t mean we’re all destined to be as lucky.” “Give it a chance—” “Pun intended?” “Crap. Chance is your ex’s first name.” “Ironic, right?” I sneer. “Wrong choice of words, sorry. But Oscar has a lot of handsome and available friends. And they’re all normal.” I doubt any of them look as drop dead gorgeous as the guy I was trapped with this morning. No one should have such mesmerizing eyes. No one. That shade of blue could make a girl do a lot of crazy things. Good thing I have my wits about me. “It sounds like you’ve psychoanalyzed them,” I say. She’s quiet for a long beat. “These are good men. Solid men, Ari.” “Unless I can secure one of them as a client, I’m not interested.” “What about a friends with benefits arrangement? It can’t be about work twenty-four-seven.” Okay, so my life is sixty percent work, thirty percent thinking about work and ten percent sle eping, but at least I devote zero percent of my time thinking about men. “It still in volves being with a man. I’ll pass.” “Ari—” “You’re wasting your time, Phoebe.” She lets out a long sigh. “Work doesn’t stampede all over your heart and it sure as hell doesn’t backstab you.” Anger bubbles up inside me. “Arianne, please—” “I’m sure you have a lot to do since you landed not long ago. I’m going to go head out and work on my tan.” And clear my head. “Arianne, don’t shut the door in my face,” Phoebe says. “By letting Chance and his trashy girlfriend win, you’re punishing yourself.” So she ke eps reminding me. “It’s called self-preservation,” I say. “We’ll talk to each other tomorrow.” I hang up before she can argue.