Monkey Business

kimmy works it

Friday, February 13, 5:37 p.m.

Normally I do either the step class or Pilates class. Today I do both.

“Lift that leg,” Gossip, the Pilates instructor, tells me. So I lift.

“Who wants strong legs?” he calls out to the class. I do! I do! In case I have to kick Sharon’s ass.

The nerve of her invading my turf. So what that she doesn’t know I exist? Not true. She must know that I exist, just not that I’m sleeping with her boyfriend. She must have asked him about his learning group. Surely he mentioned me. How does she picture me in her head? I wonder if he described me.

“Hold it, baby, hold it.” The instructor is the most stereotypical gay man I’ve ever seen. He’s wearing pink leggings and a tight purple tank top. He goes by the name, Gossip. Yes, Gossip. It says that on the class schedule.

Maybe Russ told Sharon I was gay. Maybe he told her that Lauren and I are partners. Either that, or he told her I’m ugly. Or stupid.

When Gossip finally tells us to have a fabulous weekend and make sure to make a lot of love, I hit the gym showers. I stuffed my knapsack with all my shower stuff, hair dryer, change of clothes and makeup. I don’t normally bring all that paraphernalia to the gym, but I don’t know what time she’s coming in today. And I can’t have her walking in all dressed up and crossing my path while I look like a shlump. No, way. Russ will obviously be comparing us, the way men must compare their equipment standing at the urinal.

After showering, I blow-dry my hair straight. Then do my best makeup application. I skip the eyeliner, since it scares me despite Layla’s lesson. Sweet Layla. She tried to convince me to come with her to New York.

“No way,” I told her. “I have to check out the competition.” I was lying on her bed watching her pack, drinking tea.

She folded a green shirt into a perfect square and carefully placed it into her suitcase. “You’re being morbid. You’re going to be alone here, miserable. Why do you want to put yourself through that?”

“I’m not running away. Besides, you have a date.”

“I’ll cancel.”

I threw a pillow at her. “Cancel? After we pulled off the best advertising campaign ever? Are you on crack?” I still couldn’t believe we did it. I come up with the best strategies! I must be a strategy whiz. Martin seems to think so, too-he gave me an A on my last assignment. Yes, an A. I almost asked him if he was sure it was my paper.

My strategy for this weekend is to look superhot. I finish blow-drying and admire the effect in the mirror. Beat that, Sharon. As the final touch, I apply my new lipstick. It’s red and called Irresistible. I spent twenty-six dollars on this tube, more than I’ve ever spent on any piece of makeup, so it had better work. I’m wearing my good jeans, and a tight sweater that shows a little cleavage but not enough to make me look slutty. I’m a ten out of ten, if I must say so myself.

I wrap my red puffy jacket tightly around me and head back to the dorm. Not that I have anything to do. Or anyone to do. Layla left me the key to her room. Maybe I’ll borrow her Magic Banana.

I can just imagine telling my germ-phobic friend that I borrowed her most personal of items.

Ew. No, if I were going to use one, I would buy my own. If I were going to use one. Which I’m not. But maybe I should. Maybe it’ll bring on my period, which I haven’t gotten in forever. I stopped taking the pills continuously earlier this week so that I would get it-now that Sharon is here for a few days and I have a sex break, it’s a good time to get it over with-but it didn’t come. What I don’t understand is how Russ hasn’t noticed that I haven’t had it in months. I’m probably just infertile.

Maybe Russ secretly hopes that I’m pregnant?

My running shoes have lost most of their traction and I nearly slip on the ice. I need to buy new shoes. As if I have the money for that.

Almost there. As I’m about to open the door, a cab pulls up in front of the dorm.

There’s a woman in the back seat. My heart stops. Sharon.