"Hello? Hello? Hey, are you listening to me, man?"
She is wearing a dainty sunshine yellow blouse today, paired with black lose-fitting jeans and closed black shoes. If he were to examine closely, he'd see a red stain on her chest area, too. Must be spilled ketchup when she was hurrying this morning to get through breakfast. Running late is not her thing. She's always the first one to hit her desk, turn on her computer and get started on work, only several minutes behind the janitors and utility men.
She's listening to a co-worker as he elaborately relays what looks like vital information, and nods her head thoughtfully. She has that engrossed look on her face, with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, coupled with contemplatative nods here and there, like no outside interference can faze her concentration. He loves the way she tucks her long, dark hair behind one ear, while it drapes over the other side of her face like black, silk curtain. She continues to show interest in the one-sided conversation as she tilts her eyeglasses and pulls them lower so that they are cradled comfortably on her nose, exposing her eyes more. He's never seen her without them on, so he treasures the little moments that they descend lower down the bridge of her nose, half her eyes peeking through, before she pulls them back up again.
Then she smiles. A delicate, toothless smile. It doesn't happen often that she smiles when in the presence of another soul. She usually smiles when she's alone in her cubicle, laid contentedly back on her wheeled chair, and strumming her fingers on her desk. He always catches her smiling to the wind, as though a particularly good memory is coming back to her, and it's nice to witness that, makes him want to find out what goes on in that wondrous, mysterious head.
But then she's smiling at this guy right now. He wonders what he told her. If only he could hear.
It's weird to find so much wonderment in a stranger, especially a stranger who works a few meters from your own building and whom you've never seen anywhere else. But ever since the day he saw a girl crying and bawling her tears out while he was looking out of the tinted windows of the studio, Rynan hasn't been able to help himself but stare at her in silence. He wasn't supposed to be so intrigued by this woman, but it feels like she's keeping too many secrets in her that he can decode by looking closer. It feels like there's a line separating this woman from the rest of the world, and he's standing at that line. Weird. But that's how it feels like.
Everyday he takes one hour of his time just to stand where he's standing now and gaze at her almost unblinkingly, uninterrupted. Maybe he wouldn't have been this hooked if her face didn't flash in his mind every time he was kissing another woman's lips. Sadly, that's how things have been operating lately. He can't get laid because he's virtually in love with a next-building neighbor.
Unforgivably unexplainable, but current.
He has watched her and her quietly mysterious ways from a distance. And being the sissy that he is, he doesn't intend to close that distance. He's seen too much of her, and although he wants to see more, he doesn't know if he can.
"Earth to Rynan… Paging Captain Paguio… Hello… Are you still with me, man?"
Rynan suddenly remembers that's he's still on the phone with Phil. "Oh, um, yeah. Still here, buddy."
"Oh, I see what's going on here. Spying on mystery girl again, are we?"
"Shut up. I'm not." Rynan snaps, although he knows he can't really lie to Phil. Phil knows everything.
"You're caught, man."
"I just went to the bathroom for a bit."
"Ding! Ding! Ding! I think I can feel your nose from here Pinnochio!" Phil teases.
"I did go to the bathroom." His cover-up is lousy, as always.
"Why don't you just go up to her and ask her out, man?"
See, Phil wasn't supposed to know. Rynan did all humanly possible things he could to keep this strange thing from coming out, even to his bestfriends, but somehow, Phil found a way around it. Now, he knows not only about it but also acts like he's the master in this little unusual scenario.
"Why would I do that?"
"Because you want get on top of her… don't you?"
"Geez, Phil." Rynan shakes her head and closes his eyes to block the images.
"Come on, Rynan, it's not all that hard to do. Even a pussy like you can pull it off."
"Fuck you."
"No, thank you, I have a date tonight. You can always go to Ben, though."
Rynan laughs humorlessly.
"Seriously, Rynan, just go to her building, climb up to her floor, and give her a surprise visit and voila, maybe you'll be going at it over the photocopy machine."
"You really think everything is based on sex, don't you?"
"I don't think so. I know so."
"Well, I'm sorry, my gerbil friend, but there are some people who don't share that childish, ill-constructed opinion with you."
"Oh, yeah? So you're telling me you're not thinking about fondling her supple breasts when you're trying to figure out what color she's wearing today?" He asks casually.
"No!" He exclaims, loud enough to rouse suspicion from some of his students inside the room.
"Yeah, right." He can picture Phil rolling his eyes.
"I'm not!"
"Okay, you know what, fine. I'm not gonna give you a lecture today. But please Rynan, if you don't have the balls to ask her out, at least go out some. She's not the only the fish in the ocean, you know. There are trout and salmon out there waiting to be tasted."
Rynan sighs, not really knowing to response to that. "Salmon and trout live in the river, moron."
"Whatever. You know what I mean. Stop changing the subject." Phil whines. "When was the last time you actually slept with a chick?"
"That's none of your business."
"It is so, because you're my friend, and I am also concerned about your well-being." Phil puts on a mock-dramatic voice.
"And how are you exactly intending to improve it?"
"To get you laid. Sexual frustration is a dangerous threat to your health."
"I don't your help, thank you."
"You know I'm right, Rynan. You know that behind that youthful, happy facade is a lonely, sex-deprived old man."
"Can we please drop the subject? I thought you were calling me for something more important."
"I was." Phil says, suddenly sounding all business-like. "You are assigned to deliver the booze tonight."
Oh, of course, Joe's big twenty-eight surprise birthday bash. Rynan almost forgot. "What? Why me?"
"Because let's see, Joe's not supposed to know we're throwing him a party, so by associative property, he can't help with anything, Ben's taking care of the food, Kev's gonna be late because he's picking Zeke up from school, Phi doesn't get off from work 'til seven, Chris is assigned with all technical thingamabobs. So that leaves you, my friend."
"And what are you in charge with?" Rynan crosses his arms indignantly. Apparently his friends have all their excuses, and what does that tell him? That they have a life and he doesn't?
"I'm gonna be late, too."
"Why?"
"I have to pick up my date, selfish. And she hates it when I make her wait."
Rynan heaves one, long defeated sigh. "Fine, fine. I'll pick 'em up."
"Good."
"Aight, man, I gotta go attend to the kids now." Rynan turns around to find his students forming a small huddle on the floor. Okay, time to pick up where he left off. He snaps his phone shut and takes one last moment to look at her. She's still smiling, but this time, no one is around to see it.
Well, no one, that is, but him.
Will she still be smiling like that if she finds out there's a voyeuristic twenty-six-year-old dance teacher across her building spying on her behind tinted windows?
Then she looks at him.
Her eyes are searching out, as though looking for answers.
It's not possible – she can't see him. This window is tinted. No… Rynan panics, looks around for help, and then… she looks away.
Phew. That was close.
2
Hayge frowns at the ugly red stain on her compact powder mirror and clicks her tongue. It looks like a giant polka dot situated precisely on the middle of her breasts, standing out in her contritely yellow button-down blouse. That's what you get for eating spaghetti for breakfast on a busy Friday morning. She scolds herself for the millionth time. People at work even go up to her solely to say "Nice blouse" in that wily, sarcastic tone. Ugh. The only person who cared to spare her from the humiliation was Todd, the gay research accountant from Acquisitions, and he came here to say a lot of good things, too. Like how the company plans to give them all a salary raise for this month, and... a possible promotion for her, maybe. Hayge can't help but be happy to hear that. She has always liked Todd; he isn't the typical, prying quidnunc like most gay people are, and he is a man of honest words, so Hayge is feeling lucky. It's nice to know her extended efforts for the company will be honored with the rightful recognition soon.
Speaking of efforts, Cutie McHottie and his little friends haven't exerted any as far as getting back the ball that they carelessly tossed on her backyard is concerned. She has fallen asleep last night deciphering the RSP written on it. Must it be the name's initials of one of them? Must it be Cutie McHottie's initials? Umm… let's see… RSP… RSP… RSP may stand for Robert Steven Pattinson? That's unlikely. None of them looks like a Pattinson. Peralta, maybe, or Perez. But not Pattinson, or Patterson. Robert Steven Peralta, or Rick Samuel Perez. Ooh, Rick would look good on McHottie. But if she really thinks about it, she's up against, what, six billion possibilities and more. There's no narrowing this down, but it is fun to make out what those three letters bear, even if there's a kazillion chances she's wrong. After hours the mind-wrestling, she fell asleep on her couch, the ball by her feet, as her arm dangled innocently down to the floor. She woke up later than usual, got dressed, and ate the spaghetti leftover from the night before. And as fate would have it, some of it spilled on her front. Her mountainous front.
Now it looks like she's setting a new trend: a single big polka dot on a plain yellow blouse. That's not so good. She hates polka dots to begin with, now a big red doesn't make her hate it any less. She finally quits whining and puts her compact powder back inside her purse. The others seem to be gathering their things already as the sun begins to set. It's not even half past five yet but all are itching to go out of the building, finished or unfinished with their work for the day. That's forgivable on Friday afternoons. It's like that song,
"Thank God it's Friday night and I just got paid. Just got paid, Friday night. Party humping, feeling right. Booties shaking all around, pump that jam, that's why I'm getting down."
Time to party. Yay! Not really. If there is ever a hard worker who refuses to partake in the Friday explosion of festivities, Hayge is that hard worker. Not that she has no other choice but to bury her nose into the computer while the others are crowing about the newest joint in town or anything like that – Hayge can very much party if she wants to. But it is in her belief that work unfinished is no work at all. And with all the spreading rumors that the company is giving away promotions, and that she may, God willing, be one of the candidates, Hayge finds it a duty to live up to that hypothetical, but very much possible, privilege. Set a good example for the rednecks, you know.
"I hear Gandalf is in town!"
Hayge shakes her head as the others applaud and cheer and hoot at the news. Gandalf, or originally named Henry Chu, is an ex-accountant who's supposedly this "party wizard", thus the ill-conceived, copied name. Well, if he's the god, or the herald for better living, can he help keep the company from falling into the hands of corrupt officials? Can he help those oppressed interns be provided with less hours and better working conditions? Can he get the ugly red stain off Hayge's shirt? Can he? Can he?
She wonders when would be the time when they can love their work and enjoy it, not daydream about the glorious second that they can run one lightyear away from it. But it is sometimes hard to when there's a whole bunch of anomalies going on behind those walls, when you know that you're being cheated on by the very people you're working your ass off for, when there are too many uncalled-for demands, when you're working with stubbornly difficult people, day after day after day. It's a cycle you have to live with – a sickening, hateable cycle. She wonders what it might be like if she worked on the other side of this street, what it would be like to discover the mystery behind the next building's dark, tinted windows? Might a better, more exciting life await for her there? For some unknown reason, she finds herself looking ahead and staring at it for three hours straight on random days; it helps calm her nerves down when nothing goes her way. Weird. But the mind wants what it wants.
She's planning to pull an all-nighter tonight. A plan she is determined to carry out.
When the last person in the floor turns off his lamp shed, grabs his coat and goes out the door, Hayge scratches her eyes and glowers at the moving digits on her computer. Great. Dancing numbers. What's next? Talking letters? She stands half-way up to check if anyone is still around to share the darkened room with her. But the silence is all she needs to know the answer. It's not like this is her first time to be the last soul left in this building.
Just when she's about to open the files her boss e-mailed to her, a fellow analyst, the newest recruit in their department, Taz, comes sprinting in with a big smile.
"Haygee, you're still here. Overtime on a Friday night?" Taz jerks her face as if to show sympathy.
"Yeah, just… um… staying in the game."
"But it's a Friday night, Haygee." One thing Hayge remembers about Taz is her uncanny fondness to add a little funk in her name – Hay-gee, which doesn't sound all that bad. "There's only one Friday night in a whole week."
Hayge simply smiles, giving her a 'so what' eyebrow curl.
"Oh, come on." Taz scoffs, squeezing herself in the cubicle and sits on Hayge's table. "You really have to learn to live a little, babe."
Taz has always been the little sister out of the lot, keeping friendly ties with anyone concerned. And she's the only girl who can go up to Hayge and talk to her like they're BFF's forever. Not that she has any problem with that all. It's nice to be on the same page with someone like Taz – she has… character.
"I am living. And I'm living a lot." Hayge reasons defensively, pointing at her computer. "And this is how I live."
"No, all of this is just a routine. And life can't possibly be just about that." Taz counteracts. "Life is about work… and party, too. It's all about balance."
"Ehhh…"
"Don't you 'ehhh' me. When was the last time you went out and had a drink or two with your friends?"
"I drink everyday. Water. It's good. Have you tried it?"
"Haygee! I watch you work everyday, and I look up to you and everything, work-wise, but the well-being of your social life is crying out for help."
Hayge remains silent, keeping her eyes glued to the monitor.
"Are you waiting for me to leave?"
Hayge laughs. "Yes."
"No, uh-uh. Because you, darling, are coming with me."
"What? Where are we going?"
"It's my boyfriend's surprise birthday party that his buddies are throwing for him tonight and I'd really love you to come."
"But I can't. I gotta finish this report tonight."
"No, no you don't. All those papers can wait." Taz grabs both of her hands and pulls her up. Okay, this is getting really serious.
"Taz…" Hayge warns.
"You can't say no. My boyfriend is gonna be so sad without you there."
Hayge rolls her eyes, but puts her coat on anyway. She has to admit though, she may want to finish it all tonight, but it can't be done – not when she's starting having delusions. "Sad? He doesn't even know me."
"Oh, but I will tell him about a coworker who stubbornly refuses a generous invite to his party. And trust me – he's really emotional and sensitive."
Oh, well, this party may not be such a bad idea after all. She shuts down her computer and smiles. "You're too funny."
"So I heard about your possible promotion. Congratulations, sister. You should get it and keep it out of that bitch Mia's hands."
"I hope so."
"Always a girl of few words, you are Haygee." Taz says. "…but a girl of few words who's gonna get soooo drunk tonight." Taz hollers as Hayge laughs and follows after her.
3
"This is exactly why I don't wanna be a woman."
Honey rolls her eyes at Phi's reflection in the mirror, making sure not to smear lipstick on her white cocktail dress as he squeezes against her, knocking her off at the side. "What's your problem, dude?"
"I mean, of course, yeah, you're all cute and delicate with your pink lips and long eyelashes ready to bat away anytime, and those dangerous curves all for our viewing pleasure…" He says as nimble fingers button his black Versace polo on. "But I don't know, sometimes I think being a woman also requires the patience to maintain all of that. And I don't have it."
"Are you talking to me?"
"All guys have to do is put some pants and a decent shirt on, and off we go." Phi smoothens down all the creases in his shirt, pulling it by the collars for a better fit and arranges the cuffs into neat folds. He turns to look at Honey and ruffles her hair. "You better hurry. I don't want the guys thinking I'm the one causing the delay."
Honey freaks out and frantically pushes his hand away. "OH! Great, now I have to do my hair all over again. It is you who's causing the delay!"
"No, you look fine. Let's go."
Honey pouts and grabs the combs from the counter, before Phi takes it from her hand. "I'm sorry, Honey. Come here, let me do it."
Oh, now he sounds guilty. Gently Phi brushes her long, brown hair, expertly grabbing a handful here and there to shape it into place. Even unintentionally Honey feels like Phi is giving her a scalp massage. Screw that shit. She hates it when Phi does this to her, regardless of the innocence of the man in question. Honey closes her eyes and stands still as Phi continues to style her hair in his own, cute amateur way. Now that she has shut eyes, all her other senses are heightened. She can hear every Phi's every breath intake, feel every gentle tug he makes on her hair, smell the consuming musky scent of his cologne. She tries to feel relaxed as a jumble of jitters makes an uncomfortable jerk in the pit of her stomach. You know, that butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of feeling when you know you're about to get kissed?
Not that Phi would ever kiss her. The seven plagues would have to happen first.
In the long four years of rooming together, not once has Phi made a move on or shown any particular interest in her. They've carefully kept the bond platonic, and no more than a wholesome, brother-and-sister relationship. Most of the time, it's a relief to know you have someone to care for you and not be hesitant to show it, almost like an insightful kid brother who has all the right aims, someone you can go home to when life goes bad. But sometimes, some super rare times, Honey can't help but ask, "Why can't he just fall in love with me so both of us can be happy?"
That is usually answered by one, ringing word – Tara.
Phi is head-over-heels in love with Tara. She's the perfect woman for him. He's the perfect man for her. Together they're perfect, like a match made in heaven. And she, the insignificant roommate that she is, can do nothing about that.
In her times of desperation, Honey would close her eyes and listen intently as Phi whispers sweet, intimate nothings into the phone, chuckles in soft, low breaths, as a silent, endearing 'I love you' would follow at its wake. Yes, Honey does that, and fantasizes that she's the girl on the other end of the line. If that's not desperate, then she doesn't know what is.
No one can really blame her, though. It isn't hard to fall in love with Phi, especially when you're living under one roof with him. He's always that loveable, passionate guy who knows when to come in and when to come out. He's just easygoing like that.
Honey peeks through one eye and heaves a helpless sigh at the sight of Phi's beautiful form. Easygoing? Don't forget hot.
Phi and polo shirts are a perfect match. Put a Phi in a polo, or put a polo on a Phi – whichever way works. The end result is all that matters. Phi has a face of an angel, with pointy eyes and pouty lips, and a body of a dancer, broad shoulders and long, lean legs. This black Versace shirt has made no mistake of choosing him as its owner. He looks dashing as ever.
"Aight, you're all done." Phi announces proudly.
Honey opens her eyes altogether and turns to check the fruit of Phi's labor on the mirror and shrugs. "Mmm. Not bad for an inexperienced neophyte like you."
"I'm not inexperienced. You just refuse to recognize my talents." There's something about the way he speaks, too, that Honey can't stand not hearing for at least a day.
"Whatever, newbie. Now come on, let's get going before the others think we've been kidnapped and chopped into pieces and thrown into a dumpster on the way."
"Oh, okay, I'mma let Tara now we're heading over."
Honey nods curtly before Phi stomps off the bathroom, fishing his cellphone out of his pocket as he leaves. She feels that nasty tingle in her stomach again. She couldn't help herself if she wanted to. They always wait for Tara. Tara never waits for them. Honey figures she should've just decided to go to Joe's birthday party alone, and let Phi and that girl have their privacy. Maybe it's better than having your face shoved to the idea that Tara is important and she matters the most to Phi, every single time.
Honey is adding the final touches to her good girl ensemble when Phi reappears at the doorway. He has that forlorn frown in his face that lets Honey know something's wrong. He leans against the door frame, and says, in a small voice, "Tara can't go."
"Oh." Why, who would've thought? "Why?"
"Something, uh, came up at work." Phi is looking the least amused, though. "I guess it'll just be me and you then."
Honey is rejoicing over the fact that little miss perfect won't be able to make it, but she is hating the look of hurt on Phi's face with dangerous conviction. "Oh, I'm sorry, Phi."
"See, I knew this would happen. I knew she'd bail out the last minute."
"I'm pretty sure she wasn't expecting this, either."
Phi moping around over his love life and Honey comforting him – this has happened way too many times before.
Phi is looking at her direction, but it seems like he's staring into space. "Well, I do hope you're right."
"Aww, cheer up, Phi-phi." Honey walks over to him and stops when they're only inches apart. "It's Joe's birthday tonight and he wouldn't want to see you looking like that."
"I'm okay." His eyes remain on the floor.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
"I can do a strip-tease for you right now if that can put a smile on your face."
Phi looks up with a baffled expression. "You're scaring me."
Honey releases a laugh when he shakes his head, his tickled little smile showing. "Aww, see? That's so much better." She reaches out and pats his soft, right cheek. "You be a good boy, now."
Phi grasps her hand… gently, just like he does everything else, and squeezes it a little bit, before putting it down. "I'm your good boy."
He always says things that would've have been wonderful if they had meanings behind them, meanings that she wants them to have. But there's an uncrossed line between Phi and her, a boundary that they're forbidden to step out of, an unwritten rule that they cannot break. Phi may be saying these sweets things to her, but she knows at the end of they day, they're all just for her to enjoy while she can.
They're all just words of endearment. They don't hold any concrete, deeper extension in them.
"Of course you are. Now let's go, I'm so hungry I can eat you."
Phi grins menacingly and scoops her up in his arms, her feet leaving the floor, and drapes her body over his shoulder. "Not before I eat you!"
Honey hollers in laughter as Phi races and takes them out of the room.
In the meantime, though, Honey contents herself with little fun acts Phi loves to pull off on her.
Who, in their right mind, would complain anyway?
