I Am Woman (Laughable Love Book 1) Read online

  “There’s an extra ten there if you keep quiet. You never saw me, you never delivered a pizza here? Got it?”

  “Got it?” he questions with a nervous look, looking over his shoulder.

  “Good boy.”

  “And technically its nine dollars and three cents tip – not ten.” He corrects.

  “Oh, for the love of- just go! Thank you!” I usher him a few steps back and close the door in his face and lock it.

  “Have a nice evening, ma’am.” I hear him mutter from the other side of the door. Boy is lucky I’ve got my hands on a large New York style with extra cheese, pepperoni, and mushrooms otherwise he’d be getting a lesson on when the word ma’am is appropriate.

  I cave in and grab my “in case of emergency” bottle of wine from the back of the refrigerator, and settle myself into the couch. Netflix, it is. I find myself pulled into a girly TV show, and crying into my wine and pizza. Why don’t sensitive, artistic guys like Evan Whatshisname exist in real life? Why am I crying? How did I finish that whole pizza alone? Now I hate myself… and this is why I’m single. I’m twenty-six and single, and I’m going to die alone, and I can’t even have cats because I’m allergic to cats. Why am I crying again? Oh, my goodness, I hate being a woman sometimes. I can’t make it stop.

  I try give myself a pep talk, thinking maybe that will work. There are a lot of single people. There are a lot of single people in this city; one of them that I like is bound to find me eventually. Most of my friends are single, and they are doing ok. Well, that isn’t true. They are single, but most of them are heavily medicated. Most of my socks are single at this point, and they don’t cry about it. Maybe that isn’t the best comparison, either. I’m going to sleep.

  chapter 3

  Lesson #3: Home invasion is a very real thing.

  verity:

  “I smell pizza.” Gigi says sniffing the air around us, and immediately I panic as I try to inconspicuously sniff myself. She couldn’t possibly know I cheated and consumed an entire pizza by myself last night. How does she know Pizza Boy? How much did she pay him? I was sure that nine dollars and three cents would work. Maybe I need to reconsider and research the going rates on hush money and buying people off…

  “Relax.” Tally whispers under her breath at me, and I still, lowering my arms mid sniff. “You lasted longer than I did. Wednesday night, I bought and ate an entire red velvet cheesecake. But it isn’t you she smells. Holly, from reception, brought leftovers from home. That’s what she smells. So, she doesn’t know, but the red wine stain on your lips might clue her in on your other indiscretions.”

  My fingers fly to my lips and Tally rolls a tube of lip stain across the desk at me. I balk at the color. Russian Roulette Red.

  “Are you insane? You know how unflattering this shade is on me?! It’s not a cool tone and this dress I’m wearing will clash horribly.” I glance down at the tomato colored, J.Crew shift dress I’m wearing with cheetah print heels and cringe.

  “Your call. Put the lipstick on, or admit to your dirty secrets.” She hisses. “You should know to carry touch up cosmetics! And you call yourself a beauty editor?” Tally teases, as I pull the mirror from my desk drawer and begin to apply her signature shade of red.

  “I changed bags to match my shoes today.” I try to make excuses between lips.

  “Mmmmhmmm.” She says as she continues to type viciously on her keyboard. She’s not buying it. She knows me too well.

  “Whoa, what’s got your panties in a twist?” I ask, handing her lipstick back to her.

  “Oh, the Feminazi and Tanya are trying to figure out who is getting seats at Spring Fashion week, and asked the contributing fashion editors to each submit a proposal on why we should be one of the ones chosen.” She says absently.

  “Well, that doesn’t seem too terrible. I mean, since there are six of you it would be hard to choose without some sort of justification.”

  “I know.” She says, still abusing her keyboard with her long, manicured nails.

  “Then what’s the problem, toots?”

  “I’m bloody starving!” she snaps, and I laugh.

  “You’re so hangry.”

  “Please don’t use terms like that.” she levels me with a no-nonsense stare.

  “Just testing it out…. you’re right. Doesn’t suit me.”

  I get ready to begin outlining the next Between the Sheets piece, and just as I’m beginning to start laying down some raunchy lingo, Ashley’s office door flies open and she strides out like she’s on a catwalk wearing a black Prada pants suit and some killer embellished pumps by an up and coming designer.

  She makes her way to the center of our desks and leans her slender hip on the corner of Tally and I’s shared work station.

  “Listen up ladies, and gentleman.” She casts a meaningful glance at Preston who is painting his nails a vibrant shade of blue at his desk. He puts the lid back on the bottle and makes a show of waving his fingers dry.

  “We’ve only got a couple hours before we’re calling it quits for the-” she stops short as she looks at me and her lips curl up in disgust.

  “Good god, Verity. Why are you wearing that shade of lipstick with that dress?” she asks loudly and half of my coworkers crane their necks to get a better look at my shame. The other half have the good sense to mind their own beeswax. Silly me though, I genuinely think she wants to know the answer.

  “Well, I was just testing the-” she cuts me off, holding up her hand.

  “Don’t care, don’t want to know… just take it off before you leave here. Someone will try to pay you for services.” She looks at me, and I realize she is actually super concerned with the shade of my lipstick and its negative impact on my safety. I give Tally a sideways kick under the table. It’s her fault.

  She shoots me a dirty look.

  “As I was saying,” Ashley continues, glaring at us. “We only have a couple hours before we’re closing down for the day. If you are participating in the Women’s March tomorrow, be sure to meet us out front of the building on the sidewalk at seven forty-five sharp, and be sure to wear pink. I’ll take care of everything else!” She finishes with a sort of crazed excitement that has me extremely nervous for tomorrow morning.

  You see, I’m not a novice when it comes to protesting. Quite the opposite, actually. My parents are hippies, and I’m not kidding- or exaggerating. They honestly are the most liberal people I have ever met in my entire life- not that it’s a bad thing at all. Most people confuse being liberal with being uneducated and deviant, but that definitely doesn’t describe Denise and Stan Peterson. My mother is a Global Liberal Studies professor at NYU, and my father is an Environmental Lobbyist. So, you can understand why much of my youth was spent protesting everything from lack of urban farming and organic produce at local markets to the elastic in a certain brand of designer underwear that may have possibly been made using child labor. I wouldn’t change a thing about that though. Through my parents, I was exposed to every kind of injustice in this world, but at the same time the beautiful moments that most people take for granted. It shaped who I am, and dang it, if it means marching for women around the world that can’t march for themselves at seven forty-five on a Saturday morning, I’ll freakin’ do it!

  ***

  Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. The five stages of waking up early on a Saturday morning… or any morning for that matter. I smack the button on the alarm clock after hitting snooze for the seventh time. Luckily the office is within walking distance, but an hour still doesn’t give me much time to make myself presentable and get there on time. Anything before nine on a Saturday should be outlawed. I throw a mini toddler tantrum as I struggle with my covers, but it backfires quickly when my feet become tangled in the mess of sheets and I fall to the cold hardwood in a hard thump.

  “You dead?” a voice startles me as I pop up from the ground. I wheel around to find Tanner standing in my doorway, casually brushing his teeth.

&nbs
p; “Tanner! What in the actual fuck?” I screech, chucking my pillow at him.

  He shrugs.

  “Oh my- Tanner! Is that my toothbrush?” I shout.

  He shrugs again, pulling my pink and purple Oral B from his probably STD tainted mouth.

  “I had to get out of there. I don’t remember her name, and I have to get ready for work. I’m hoping she’ll be gone when I get back.” he says around a mouthful of toothpaste, some of it dribbling down his stubbled chin.

  “You are horrible. You are literally like the male version of period cramps.” I say, using the first terrible thing I can think of as an analogy, since I’m currently experiencing said horrors. He makes a fake gagging noise at my mention period cramps and turns to go into the bathroom and spit out the toothpaste and rinse. I follow him, wrapping my robe tightly around me.

  He rinses my toothbrush and hands it to me. “All yours, Ver.”

  I push it back to him, “It’s yours. Keep it. I don’t know where that mouth has been, but I know it’s not coming anywhere near mine. Now, go home and stop inviting yourself into mine!”

  “Verity, you wound me!” He dramatically clutches at his chest. “I don’t have any sisters or female friends, so I’m getting in twenty-eight years’ worth of pent up annoyance out. Just go with it and consider yourself lucky.”

  “Right now, you’re lucky I’m not pepper spraying your ass for home invasion.”

  “Right… you’d assault a concerned police officer. I was just trying to show you the dangers of hiding your spare key in the wreath on your door.”

  “I honestly don’t know how you passed the psych exam. Now get out… I have to change my tampon!” I tell him – anything to get him gone.

  “Oh God, gross! Gone! Bye!” he says, practically tripping to get to the front door.

  I smile in smug satisfaction until I realize that I’ve wasted four precious minutes.

  chapter 4

  LESSON #4: Never dress like a vagina in public. Terrible things will happen-like getting arrested (Kinda).

  VERITY:

  I shuffle the last block to my office building, trying to stall so I’m not standing awkwardly alone outside. I hate being late, so I rushed through getting ready. I threw my blonde hair into a messy ponytail, donned some jeans, a thermal shirt, and a bright pink Patagonia pullover that should be enough to keep me warm on this sunny late October morning. The streets are packed with thousands of women in pink, holding up signs, ready and raring to march as I approach the tall glass skyscraper I work in.

  Out front I see Gigi, Leah, Alex, Tally, Holly, and the Feminazi herself, Ashley.

  “Good morning, Verity!!!!” Ashley greets cheerfully, in a singing voice, and all I can think is the only thing good about this morning is the fact Tally just handed me a large latte. Also the fact that I see the cleanse diet has gone by the wayside as Gigi and Leah are currently stuffing their faces full of donuts from the bakery around the corner.

  “Morning!” I smile.

  “Here.” Bridgette passes me a pink sprinkled donut, and I shove half of it in my mouth straightaway. I pull it away inspecting the other half, and nearly choke when I see the sprinkles.

  “Are thothe wittle uteruthes?” I ask Tally, with my mouth full of reproductive donut, spraying her with crumbs and little uterus shaped sprinkles.

  “Indeed!” Ashley proudly answers for her.

  “Wow!” I say around a mouthful of food.

  “I know, right? Ashley placed a special order on Thursday when this was planned. I have no idea why such sprinkles even exist.” Tally giggles.

  I see the rest of our team has showed up, Preston wearing a full body, pink, sparkly, spandex suit. Suck-up. He sees me and winks, and I stick my tongue out at him.

  “Ok, listen up!” Ashley puckers up her lips, bringing her fingers up and silencing us and probably a hundred other ladies with a sharp whistle.

  “Alex, can you go get that cart from the front desk?” She nods and runs into the building.

  “I took the liberty of having shirts made for everyone, and signs and even some other fun things to help us stand out! We are the women and man of Trend magazine, and we are the face of real women! Let’s make women proud!”

  Alex comes out of the office with Byron, the doorman, wheeling a large office cart overflowing with things, and right about now I wish I could go back in time and punch myself in the face for not coming up with an excuse as to why I couldn’t make it today. The possible excuses are flowing out of my brain at this point: I’m moving, I need to get my IUD removed, root canal, I need to wash my hair…? Yeah, I know I can usually come up with much better excuses on the fly, but honestly any one of those things are higher on my list right now. That’s a sad fact – I’m completely aware.

  “Ok, so the shirts are one size fits most and varying sayings so take one and pass the stack along!” Ashley’s voice rings out. I hear some mixed reactions from my colleagues as they unfold their new shirts. Everything from laughing and groaning to muffled curse words, and maybe a soft sob or two.

  I take mine off the stack and read it. The Women are Cuming. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I practically shout. Really? That is beyond inappropriate. I look at Tally’s shirt.

  “Trade me!” I insist, and she shrugs and we swap without any hesitation on her part.

  I open hers up, and it isn’t much better. The Pussy Parade. Seriously. What is wrong with my boss? I’d really like to know. I glance around at my co-workers who are now sporting various colorful phrases, and I wonder if it is actually possible to die of embarrassment, because the embarrassment level I’m feeling is beyond anything I can even chart at this point.

  I pull the t-shirt on over my clothing, and reach for the stack of signs that’s being passed around amongst the group. I survey my options, and right now it’s between: My Vagina Does It Better and Girls Just Want to Have FUN-damental Rights. I reach for the latter when Ashley stops me.

  “Oh, Verity! Not that one, grab the other one! It will go perfectly with the hat I have for you!” She says, and I’m scared to turn around.

  I hear snickers behind me, and I turn to find my boss holding out, not a hat, but an outfit. Wait, no…Outfit doesn’t really describe what it is. It’s a vagina. A big one – probably the biggest I’ve ever seen, and believe me I’ve been to some interesting art installations in this city.

  “Whaaa-?” I gasp, because words fail me. What do you even say about it that wouldn’t make it awkward?

  “Isn’t it pretty?” Ashley gushes excitedly. Awkward, exhibit A.

  “It’s something…” Tally says from beside me.

  I assess the site in front of me. I can’t wear that thing – it is scary accurate with its layered felt, tulle, velvet and silk in varying shades of pink.

  “I…” I sigh, looking down at my tennis shoes, “I can’t wear that.” Defeat is slowly creeping in.

  “Yes, you most certainly can, and you will.” She says with a certain resoluteness.

  “You are the tallest person here, Verity.” Ashley continues, “And a pretty pussy like that just has to be seen!”

  …And I’m dead. I can’t even. Is this legal? I’m not even that tall. Tally is taller. Now I know my boss hates me. Well the feeling is freaking mutual right now, sister.

  I stand here, silently hating my boss and biting my lip for a few seconds. It takes a moment of adjustment, as I’m sure it would for anyone staring at a wearable version of female anatomy that size, before I decide to put on my big girl panties and wear the damn va-jay-jay. Ashley gives me a challenging look with her perfectly made up face, and I nod at her almost like a silent confirmation before going into battle. So that might be a little dramatic, but until you’re presented with the challenge of whether or not to don a wearable sex organ, you don’t get to judge.

  I take the pink monstrosity from a pleased looking Feminazi. My parents would be so proud – sacrificing myself for the good of others and all.

  “
Can you guys help me into this thing?” I ask Tally and Alex.

  Tally is trying her best to conceal her laughter behind a uterus donut, and I shoot her a look that would kill a lesser human, but I’m grateful for Alex’s sympathetic look.

  “Girl, better you than me. I just got my hair done.” Alex says, running a dark hand over her glossy black waves.

  “Glad to take one for the team.” I smile as they hold the Velcro opening so I can side it over my head.

  I wiggle my way into it, pushing my arms through the opening in the sides, and I feel Tally adjust it and fasten the back closed.

  Ashley claps her hands and looks at me with what can only be described as a look of complete adoration, “Verity Peterson! You are perfection!”

  I glance around, and catalogue the wide range of reactions as people take in my ensemble. There’s everything from awe and wonderment to sheer disgust as a few women in a group of tourists scramble to cover their children’s eyes.

  “Well?” I ask, looking for some sort of validation from anyone other than our boss, who is clearly deluded.

  Tally’s face is full of an odd assortment of emotion, making her usually open expressions unreadable to me. Without saying anything, she takes me by the hand and spins me around to face the wall of windows at street level. In the early morning sunlight, I stare at my reflection in the tinted glass and I can do nothing but blink. But believe me when I say that no amount of blinking can wipe away the site of myself in this thing. The only bonus to wearing it, is it has blocked the chill of the breeze.

  “Holy baloney! I look like I’m being birthed!” I shriek, finally coming back to my senses. Alex and Gigi at least have the decency to try and hide their smiles. Tally has no such tact as she doubles over in laughter and physically pointing her finger.

  “Yeah, laugh it up, Talitha Jenkins. You keep laughing, and I’ll tell everyone about the time you were hung over and threw up on a certain bodyguard to a certain celebrity…” I clear my throat and raise my eyebrows in challenge as she pales.