Life Unbothered Read online

  “Well, being married hasn’t stopped a lot of people. And I didn’t know if you’d been married before.”

  “No, I’ve never been married.”

  Alexa catapulted next to our table, interrupting the blossoming dialogue.

  “You being good to my sister?” Alexa asked.

  “As good as I can. Trying to get her to talk, you know?”

  Alexa slapped Sophia on the shoulder. “Loosen up, bitch.”

  “I’m talking,” Sophia said, then punched Alexa in the stomach. “Get out of here.”

  Alexa recoiled back a step and held her right side. “Beeyach,” she said before leaving the table and latching on to a random guy.

  “Let’s see, what were we talking about?” I said, trying to keep the conversation going.

  Sophia looked bored as she slumped back in her seat and crossed her arms. She stared at me momentarily with a blank gaze, perhaps calculating if the interaction was even worth her time. I looked away from Sophia and glanced at the bar crowd, averting my eyes for a couple of seconds before turning my head back to her.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Give me your hand.” She sat back up and placed her elbows on the table. “I hate question and answer sessions. I’ll learn more about you by reading your hand.”

  I jutted my right hand in front of her with the palm up. “Okay, read it. What am I all about?”

  She fixed her eyes on my palm for a moment, then gently grabbed my hand and twisted it so the palm was facing downward. “I read the back of hands, not the palms.”

  I couldn’t help laughing. “The back of hands? There aren’t any of those lines on the back.”

  “There are plenty of lines on the back of your hand, they’re just more subtle. You also don’t have very discernible veins on the palm. The veins are very important. Are you right-handed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Place it flat on the table with your fingers spread.”

  “Are we going to do something weird? I hope so,” I said.

  Her eyes met mine. With a look of emotional detachment, she said, “The hands never lie.”

  I slapped my hand on the table. She studied it for a moment and adjusted my fingers so they were fanned apart equidistant to each other. Her long fingers tickled my skin, and I felt a tingle run straight down to my crotch. Sophia leaned over the table, putting her face about a foot away from my splayed hand. She traced the tops of the larger veins delicately with her index finger, and then ran her fingertip down the sides of each digit. The soft touch was sensual, like some variety of ancient mystic foreplay. It began to drive me crazy—in a good way.

  “First of all,” Sophia began, “you have a round scar between your middle and ring finger.”

  “That’s what happens when your fist collides with a brick wall.”

  “That is your love crevice,” she said.

  “No, I don’t think so. I’ve been with enough women to know all the crevices I love.”

  Sophia managed a regulated grin, but did not take her eyes off my hand.

  “There has been difficulty in past loves,” she noted, “though your digital venous arch is protruding on your ring finger. So basically you are very sensual, but feel no love.”

  “My Venus arch is protruding?” I looked down at my pants. “It is not.”

  She kept scrutinizing my hand, ignoring the joke. “Your cephalic vein is more subdued. That’s a sign of intelligence.”

  “Did you say phallic? I think you’re turning me on.”

  “Maybe I was wrong about the intelligence part.” She ran her finger across my skin. “Your knuckles show some stress, like you’ve worked with your hands at some point. Not in an artistic way, but more from labor.”

  “Well, I did own an auto detailing shop before I moved here.” I held up my left hand and moved it in a rapid circular motion. “You know—wax on, wax off?”

  “I get it,” she said. “The lines between your thumb and index finger chronicle your life into a pattern of early prosperity, then sadness, then chaos—but will stabilize ultimately.”

  Her analysis made my joking halt abruptly. I was now concerned about the ‘sadness’ and ‘chaos’ part. “When will it stabilize?”

  Sophia nodded her head. “I don’t know, but someday.”

  “I hope I’m not dead by then.”

  Slowly, she shifted her eyes to me. “Oh, you won’t be.”

  “Okay, tell me more,” I said.

  Her fingers worked the top of my hand as if she were reading Braille. A strange look materialized on her face. She cocked her head slightly and went into deep thought.

  “You see the protruding vein running up to that scar? That’s a dorsal metacarpal vein. It’s a little lump that disappears suddenly. This means you have untapped vitality, but something is holding you back.”

  My shoulders became tight. I was trying to come up with a snappy response, but I just looked at her. She glanced at me quickly before returning her gaze to my right hand.

  “That line right there,” she pointed by the knuckle below my index finger, “shows there has been some sadness surrounding you. Not just things in life that happen, but something of pleasure has been taken away.”

  “Yeah,” I murmured, thinking about traveling. “Man, this is now getting me depressed.”

  Sophia smiled. “Here, let me find a happier line.” She twirled her middle finger above my hand, teasing me with her next analysis. “You see that last line on your pinky?”

  I leaned over the table, our heads just an inch apart. “Yeah, I see it.”

  “Well that line says, ‘Please get Sophia another drink.’” She kissed my forehead. A full smile appeared on my face while she sat back in her seat a bit and crossed her arms. I got her two more drinks and hurried back to the table.

  “Here’s your drink—or drinks.”

  “Thank you,” Sophia said.

  “So… are you done displaying your impressive hand reading talents?”

  “For now, yes.”

  I took a small sip of my Crown Royal and water, which was mostly water due to my slow drinking pace. Sophia downed the first of her two fresh drinks.

  “So besides reading the back of hands, what else do you like to do?” I asked.

  Sophia placed her glass on the table next to the full one. “I love to read. I read about two books a week. It’s my great escape.”

  “Who’s your favorite author?”

  “I really don’t have a favorite, but if I were to pick one, I’d say Anais Nin.”

  “That’s pretty erotic stuff. You’re turning me on again.”

  She didn’t react except for a slight downward tip of her head.

  “Hey, let me read your hand,” I said.

  “I’d like that, but you don’t know how to,” Sophia replied. I fired off my best groveling look. She watched the act for a few seconds before putting her right hand on the table. “Okay, go ahead.”

  I stared at her beautiful hand. Her long fingers and flawless skin sat flat on the table. I stroked my fingers across the top as I looked into her eyes to see some kind of reaction. She sat patiently, letting me take in the feel of her skin.

  “This isn’t fair. You don’t have any veins sticking out like I do.”

  “That’s because skin thins as you age, and the veins become more prominent.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.”

  “You’re a year older than me,” I said.

  “But I’ve lived a clean life.”

  “That explains it,” I said. “Your hands are beautiful. You could be a hand model. I mean, even your fingernails are perfect.”

  “You going to read, or are you just going to admire?”

  “I want to do both at the same time.” I moved my face c
loser to her hand. “I would say from the only vein I can see, that you are very sensual, yet repressed. Like you need something… something someone can provide.”

  “Like you?” Sophia said facetiously.

  “Yeah, exactly.” I put my nose to her fingers. “And your hand smells good, real good. That’s the sign of a clean soul.”

  “Smell is not a part of hand reading.”

  “What about taste?” I kissed the top of her fingers one by one, starting with her pinky and working my way to her thumb. Sophia didn’t move her hand. “They taste good too.”

  She pulled her hand away carefully. “You’re woefully lacking in hand reading, but pretty good at finger arousal.”

  “Maybe I just found my next career.”

  As I felt a spark had ignited between us, a younger male made a quick entrance into the bar and sat warily on a solitary chair a few feet away from our table. A decent looking guy, his eyes shifted over us and passed across casually. Sophia glanced his way and quickly leaned over the table close to me.

  “That’s my old boyfriend,” Sophia said in a loud whisper. “Act like you’re my boyfriend now, I don’t want to talk to him. He still wants me.”

  She rushed around the small table, wrapped her right arm tightly around me, and knelt down far enough so our faces were level. Then to my surprise, her smooth wet tongue deeply struck my mouth, pushing my head back in astonished delight.

  I proceeded to take advantage of this by dancing my tongue around hers, creating a mesmerizing kiss that must have lasted half a minute. I opened my eyes long enough to see the old boyfriend zeroed-in on us. After a few seconds of watching he exited the bar, pushing open the front door with angry force and disappearing into the street.

  Alexa, along with other people in our proximity who spectated the two of us intertwined, cheered us on as we made out. Rosa missed the spectacle. She too was getting some action at the end of the black fake-marble bar spanning the side wall. Her arms were dangling around some guy, lips in motion. Alexa had also hooked up with a married guy who served as an occasional sexual satisfier when the feeling struck. They were working each other with rekindled interest.

  When we gained our composure after the extended kiss, Alexa approached the two of us as we resumed our original positions across the table from one another.

  “Wade, I’ve got my man for the night and Rosa is going to stick around here. Why don’t the four of us go back to your apartment? You might get laid,” Alexa shouted into my ear.

  I turned my head to ask Sophia, “If you go with us to my apartment, will I get laid?”

  Out of embarrassment, she gave Alexa a look of sisterly hatred. She shifted her eyes to me and dropped a bombshell that I least expected. With an expressionless face, she coolly replied, “Maybe.”

  “You better use it Soph, or else it’ll dry up,” Alexa said.

  “Let’s go!” I said before Sophia and Alexa could get into a brawl and put an end to our impending interlude.

  Alexa gathered up her married man, a guy named Tony, and the four of us went back to my apartment.

  17. The Love

  “Thanks for letting me and my guy friend use your living room last week,” Alexa said. “I’m glad Sophia finally got laid,” she added.

  I hadn’t seen Alexa since our night at Fathom’s. She was hanging around the docks socializing with longshoremen on their breaks. Most of the harbor waterside area was inaccessible to the public, but the facility at the Blue Berth was one of the last remaining unguarded entrances, and Alexa took advantage of that. Her free reign of the docks had limited time due to the planned security upgrade at the berth.

  “What do you mean ‘finally got laid?’” I asked.

  “It’s been like eight years for her. I was getting worried.”

  “Eight years? No way.”

  “I’m not shittin’ you, Wade. She’s only been with one guy in her life, and that was when I was still in high school.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “No, it’s true. She went out with him for a couple of years, then caught him fucking some other chick. I’m glad you got together with her. She’s been a lot less bitchy since she spent the night with you.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “No, but that’s not surprising. I know she likes you though, or else she wouldn’t have spread her legs, no matter how drunk she was.”

  “She really likes me?”

  “Of course she does, stupid. You should call her up and take her out tonight.”

  Alexa gave me her phone number and I ran into my office to give Sophia a call.

  Instead of Sophia’s silky voice on the phone, a standardized electronic female voice greeted me. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed has been disconnected, or is no longer in service…”

  Confused, I looked at the receiver as if it had made a mistake. I redialed, only to hear the same woman robot delivering the identical message. I walked back outside to find Alexa.

  “I called the number, but it’s disconnected.”

  Alexa puffed up her large chest as she shoved her hand in her jeans pocket, retrieved her phone and confirmed the service outage. Little creases formed around her pursed lips as she prepared for the outburst. “That old bitch!”

  “Who, Sophia?”

  “No, my mom. She didn’t pay the phone bill again.”

  “Why would your mom have to pay Sophia’s phone bill?”

  “We all live together and are on the same phone plan. She was supposed to cover the bill last month, but the dumbshit didn’t pay it again. Our cell phones work on and off because of her.”

  “How about if I go and visit her in person instead?”

  “Yeah, go do that,” Alexa said. “I’ll give you the address.”

  * * * *

  After work, I drove to the south side of San Pedro, making a stop at a neighborhood liquor store owned by a Korean family. White plastic buckets filled with small bouquets of flowers lined the front door—varieties of carnations, daisies, and a few dwarfed roses. I picked out two bunches of flowers, hoping Sophia would like at least one of the bouquets.

  Their apartment was near 34th Street and Peck. A peek of the Pacific in the form of a blue three-quarter square was visible through the rows of small houses and apartments sloping gently down the coastal hill. As I drove by the white two-story building, I saw Sophia’s Firebird parked on the street and parallel parked behind her car. With the flowers in my hand, I walked the building from one end to the other until I located unit number eight, the downstairs corner apartment.

  I rapped on the door three times. A moment later I was greeted by a woman about fiftyish with black hair and dark eyes that blended into her olive skin like a doll figurine. She had the presence of having been very attractive in her younger years, but daily life and extended birthdays had tugged at her face. Her expression was classic premature aging—the culmination of hard work and unfulfilled expectations.

  “Hello. I’m Wade Hampton, and I’m here to visit Sophia.” I lifted the flowers in my left hand.

  “Oh, my,” she said. A nervous smile crept upon her face.

  A piercing voice came from inside the apartment. “That’s Wade, Sophia’s new man. Don’t just keep him standing out there. Let him in, Mom.”

  “I’m letting him in, Alexa. Please don’t shout.” She took a step back to let me pass through the narrow doorway. “I’m Barbara Syros, Sophia’s mother,” she said, staring down at the two modest bouquets.

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Syros.”

  I walked around a small partition by the front door. The bare off-white walls of the apartment’s interior contrasted the well-used furniture encapsulated in time from the 1980s. Alexa was sitting on a tattered turquoise cloth couch with marred black lacquered wood armrests, watching a rerun of some millennial realit
y show on the small television.

  “Hey Wade,” Alexa said. “Sorry you had to come over here, but my mom forgot to pay the phone bill again.”

  Barbara flushed with embarrassment. Her hand draped across her chest, appalled by Alexa’s accusation. “I didn’t forget, there was just a mix-up at the bank,” she said.

  “No, you just forgot to pay the bill. Alzheimer’s must be setting in.”

  “Alexa! I’m telling you, there was a mistake at the bank.”

  “Sure there was, Mom.” Alexa turned her head and looked at me. “She pulls this crap all the time.”

  “Alexa!”

  In one quick motion, Barbara drew her body inward like a dog about to receive a swatting. She looked at me with desperation as I stood rigid, not wanting to get in the middle of a mother-daughter catfight.

  “Is Sophia here?” I asked Barbara, trying to diffuse an impending argument.

  “Yes, she’s in her bedroom, probably reading. She’s always reading. I’m sure she heard you come in, but she’s a little shy.”

  “I wouldn’t call her shy,” I said. “Maybe a bit mysterious.”

  Barbara smiled. “It’s in her genes. Her father was a brilliant man. He was an engineer. Many of Sophia’s mannerisms come from him.”

  “Where’s her father?”

  “He died before Sophia was one-year-old.” She sighed. “A motorcycle accident.”

  “Oh… I’m sorry.” I lowered my voice. “So that’s why Sophia and Alexa have different fathers. I guess that explains the sibling difference.”

  “Yes.” She turned her head to Alexa. “Alexa’s father is a stupid bum,” she whispered. “That’s why Alexa took the Syros name. I should have never married him. But, I was a young widow with a child at the time, and he came along during a vulnerable period.”

  I glanced at Alexa’s large frame settled on the couch, not knowing if she could hear the conversation. She was staring at the TV, momentarily oblivious to our presence.

  Barbara darted her eyes to a closed door at the end of the hallway. “But Sophia… she’s the most loving and caring person I’ve ever seen. She does have a way of putting up a cold wall around her, especially around new people.” Barbara moved her head closer as if she were going to tell me a secret. “You know, she’s been hurt before by a man.”