Rita Finds True Love Pt 01

Part 1 Rita makes a very bad decision and hits rock bottom. Will she ever find true love again and heal her broken heart?

I look at my face, looking at my face, looking at my face.....perhaps if I look deep enough I can find my true self in there. I doubt it though. I have tried before and got lost.

Instead, I will try to focus on just one reflection. My other selves will just have to wait for another day. I can only deal with just one of me today. It is not a good me, but one of necessity.

My eyes look tired. I need rest. I didn't sleep well last night. For now, the trickery of makeup will have to do. In a few hours the trick would fool more than a few in the dim light.

I hate my life.

That is today's narrative. Unlikely to change anytime soon. It would be better if I could turn that channel of my brain off, even if that means by turning it off, I turn off my entire brain. I can't seem to think of anything else. An empty brain, empty of thought, would be better. But I know it's impossible.

Why do we have such thoughts when they serve no good purpose? Can I change anything? I am stuck in a trap. Anyway I can think of, to get out of it, only make things worse.

All the forking paths of my future are either dead ends, or go over a cliff it seems. I am destined to be smashed into a thousand pieces. I know it.

I hate my life.

Ok, there it is. I will have to live with that for now, rattling around in my brain. A constant hum of despair. I have no choice. I need to find something to distract myself. But what?

Smiling

I smile at myself. Then another. I have spent countless hours perfecting my smiles.

My many smiles.

I have heard hundreds of times. "You have such a nice smile." Well yes, I do, in fact. It's from practice. I walk the streets day and night looking at faces. You'd be surprised how few smiles there are. Difficult to find material to copy. I search the internet constantly. Yes, I like that one. Why? I look closely at each muscle of the face, the eyes, cheeks, forehead, the lips. Then back to the mirror. I have a hundred smiles now to choose from.

Maybe if I try out a few more smiles I'll feel better.

There. There. There

Hopeless.

Though I could fool anybody else, I can't fool myself. I see the pain in there.

I am good at reading faces. That can be a good thing and bad thing. I know whether you truly love me or not. Even your words can't fool me.

Someday I want to hear, "I love you," and believe it.

So far it has never happened, even though I have heard those words so many times. But it wasn't real. It wasn't love. It was desire, lust, or something else. Not love. I know how to read faces. Really well. I know when they are lying to me.

Why are you lying?

They have their reasons to make me want to believe it, maybe even believe it themselves. But, I'm not buying it. Soon they will tire of this game and move on to another, who is fool enough to believe their words. Believe it when they say, "I love you", when it's not true. Then I learn they broke up with them, or worse divorced them. They proved my point.

Their love was as changeable, disposable as their latest interest in a music song, or a shirt they could put on and take off, and throw in the laundry. That restaurant they heard was so great, the food to die for, until the next restaurant opens up.

True love never dies. Real love has no ending. It's impossible. I know. The pain of endless love lives heavy in my heart.

I was loved without the words once. Truly loved. And I loved him back. I loved him so much. But he disappeared. An accident swallowed him up, and with it my happiness. Is that why I am so bitter now? Sad? Lonely? Broken? Do self-destructive things?

It's a piece. A piece. One big piece.

The puzzle of me is a box with so many pieces inside, that everyone is afraid to open it, and try to put it all together.

Somehow I managed to go on, and have learned to smile again, even if it is only from practice. But I am still broken inside.

"You have such a lovely smile. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Sure!"

Let's begin the dance of talking, of being, of living, of understanding "us". Maybe this time it will turn into true love.

I loved to dance. The dance of person to person interaction. The dance of the mind. The dance of love. But who will dance with me now? I need a good dance partner. They are usually only want one dance. And a bad one at that. I am tired of bad dancers, of dancing solo. I am starting to become a very bad dancer myself. It scares me.

He was a great dancer. The greatest dancer of my life.

Don't go there or you'll start crying, I tell myself in the mirror.

I am broken. I find myself dancing with partners I know will never work out, just to fill a hole, make a bridge over the hurt, just to make it to tomorrow. I always think tomorrow will be the day. But so far it's been an endless stream of waking up even more empty than before. Yet, I keep doing it. I can't go on like this.

One last look, and smile.

I have completed the magic act, and am ready to go out. My dog gives me that look.

Again?

"Yes, I am afraid so. There is food and water for you. I will be back before you starve. I am not a good mom, am I? Yet, somehow you love me. If you could only speak and be a human. No, actually it is better this way. If you knew the true me, you would pack up your dog bowls and run away."

He looks up and agrees. Let me be a dog. It is good enough. I love you.

I see it in his face. I don't need words.

Good night, my love. I lift him up and give him a kiss.

I close and lock the door behind me. Why do hallways always seem so lifeless? I know just behind those doors lining it, so close by, people are living, doing things, loving, laughing. I feel like crashing all the doors down permanently, so when I walk by I can see what they are doing, wave, have a chat. We could have a party. I need their company. Maybe they would love me. But no. I am faced with silence. I walked to the elevator.

Is anyone else alive in the world? At the moment, it would hard to prove one way or the other.

The opposite is true when I walk out the front door. It seems as if all of humanity is walking by my building. There is noise and light, honking, sirens, engines, the buzz of voices, flashing neon signs. The tempo of a thousand heartbeats.

Where were they all going? Coming from? I love looking at people. I try to guess.

That woman has worked all day in some upscale store or office. Look at her clothes. She was off to meet her boyfriend at a nice restaurant. I can see it in her face. She is filled with anticipation, happiness. I am jealous.

That man looks beat, his face angry. His shirt all rumpled, coat in his arms. He is talking loudly on his phone. His wife is probably giving him hell about something. Or perhaps his boss. What's the difference really? He is a slave to both. I had to laugh.

A bicycle courier zips by, a little too close, scaring me.

A very old woman shuffles by, barely moving with a cane. All of her years are written on her face. She is alone now. Maybe she has a cat, just like I have a dog. There is still a splinter of love of the past, stabbing her heart. It hurts, it hurts a lot, but she wouldn't for the world have it removed. True love never dies until you die.

A young man passes listening to something on his earbuds, looking down more often than not at his phone, oblivious to just about everything around him. His walk from A to B could be anywhere, he couldn't have cared less. He will go home and play video games. One day is much the same as another.

A group of teens pass by, giggling, constant chatter. They are still trying to sort out who they were, where they fit in. Until then, it was a mad circus of hyperactivity, uncertainty, ecstasy, and depression. Right now they were maniac, life is good. As good as it gets, I think, and they don't even know it.

I would have liked to stay. I really want to stay, and watch the people, avoid what I am about to do, but I need to get going. I can't put it off.

I surf along with the herd from light to light. We are all flowing south. What's pulling us this way like a vacuum cleaner?

My destination is within sight. Soon I will leave all those flowing south and take a tack to the west, cross current, hopefully avoiding a collision. I open the door to my favorite bar/restaurant.

Inside the noise is produced by just a few things. Glasses clinking, voices fighting to be heard over the music. Music. Overly loud music. The lighting is dim, especially at first, as my eyes get adjusted. There's my seat awaiting.

What will this evening bring? I never know, but it seems as they say, there are a lot of fish in the sea. Its fishing time. I have one particular fish tonight. And he is already on the line. I don't even have to haul him into the boat. I have a sickening feeling I will want to toss him back in the water right away. Right away. An eel, a bottom feeder, or worse. An old worn out stinking boot. Not a keeper.

I walk up to the bar and before I even say anything, a drink appears in front of me. I sit down.

"Evening Rita,"

"Evening Joe."

I pick up my drink and giving him a nod of my head of thanks, I take my first sip. Joe and I go back a long ways. Though honestly I hardly know anything about him personally, except he's married. There's a picture of his wife neatly pin behind the counter. Maybe a constant reminder to keep him on the right path.

Her eyes are always on him. Eyes are important. I read once where a park was having trouble with vandalism until the town put up a large pair of eyes. The vandalism stopped and the theory was that the vandals felt they were being watched by someone. God? Who knows? But having a photo of your wife staring at you all night probably helps keep your pecker in your pants.

As for what Joe knew about me? He made it a practice that besides knowing the first drink I wanted, he had amnesia. It was better that way for both of us. He was very good at not commenting on any of my dates. He has seen so many over the years he has lost count. He doesn't judge. At least not in words. But I have seen it on his face. Really Rita? Him? You could do better. I look back. I know. I know. But I don't want to go home alone. I can't be alone tonight. He looks sad for me.

Then he pours me another drink.

I was going on my second drink when a man walks up next to me, obviously trying to get my attention.

I look at him and say, "Yes. Can I help you with something?"

He raised his voice so he could be heard over the music, "Rita, right? I recognize you from your photos on the internet, and at my brother's office. My brother Ed set us up. You know Ed. You work for him."

I don't like his face, his hair, his clothes, his body, his voice, his body language.

Rita what's wrong with you. So critical. Give him a chance. Surely there is something about him that you can like. Focus on that. But I couldn't see anything to like yet. Nothing.

I resisted raising my eyebrows. Or saying something like, "What kind of dumbass are you that you need your brother to set you up on a date?" I only knew him 5 seconds and I already was ready to bail. But I owed his brother a favor. Like more than a favor. Like a big favor. Ok, truth be told, he owned me. Let's be clear. I wouldn't be here otherwise.

I smile.

"Yes, I'm Rita. And you are.....?" I knew who he was. I just wanted to hear how he said his name.

"Ralph. Ralph." There was no conviction to it. Pride. I don't like the way he said it. He also has no smile. Just a stupid look.

He put out his hand. What is this, a business meeting? I put out a limp hand and let him hold it. What the fuck's next?

"Ed has told me a lot about you. Nice things. He told me you would take care of me." He smiled at me in a funny way, and a sort of wink.

Oh good god. Hold it right there partner. Take care of you. I don't even want to talk to you. Fuck Ed. How was I going to navigate this? There has to be an off ramp where I didn't piss Ed off. I couldn't care less about hurting this guy's feelings.

"Well, Ralph. We will see about that. Let's have some dinner first. You made a reservation right?"

"Yes. For sure." He looked at his watch. "We can probably get seated now. Let's go."

I down the last of my drink in a gulp, and we go to the reservation desk. And soon we are seated. I will spare you the details of dinner. For one reason, I can't remember it, except for the facts it was long, boring, and unpleasant. It was only saved by the food. I let my mind float away with each bite, trying to analyze what the ingredients were. Letting my mind savor them like watching a fire.

I tried as hard as I could to seal my ears. I have learned how to carry on a conversation with people I really don't want to be with, without listening. Normally I am a great listener. I love hearing everything about people. Really love it. I'm not a bad, selfish person. Really. But this wasn't one of those times. The less I knew about Ralph the better. If there were any more things I could put on his "don't like" list concerning him, I would probably run screaming from the restaurant. I couldn't afford to do that.

It's an art to do both at once. People instantly pick up if you are not paying attention to them talking. I can look as if I am in rapture of every word you are saying, while at the same time, thinking something totally different. Luckily most people love to talk, so it only takes a few words interjected here and there to make it look like a two way conversation.

And Ralph could talk for sure, so it was certainly not a problem. My ears were especially tuned to become alert on hearing questions. That's when you could be caught. I was safe though, as he never asked me anything about me, after the first five minutes, so I could peacefully zone out. I would occasionally come out of it, just long enough to ask him another question though, to keep things moving.

After an eternity, dessert.

Dessert! I love desserts. I can't have them often. I order two. I know they are not good for me, put on weight, but my tongue and brain were begging for pleasant stimulation. Each fork or spoonful sends me into ecstasy. It is almost worth being with Ralph the past couple of hours.

He paid the check.

My brain awakens.

"I got a room at the hotel next door for the night. Why don't we go over there? Have a couple of drinks." Ralph made that silly funny face again. He would be terrible at poker.

Was I really going to actually do this? My mind rebelled. Fuck Ralph, Fuck Ed, Fuck life, Fuck the money. But in the end I knew, yes, I was going to let Ralph fuck me.

Though my dating life is pretty pathetic, I can select who I am going home with at least. They come to me at the bar, a lot of guys. And I can have my pick. Say yes or no. Tonight is yes or yes, whether I like it or not.

My game plan is a quick fuck. No foreplay, oral, multiple positions, after play, cuddling, hugging, kissing. Keep it simple, simple. Just as quick a fuck as possible. Spread my legs invitingly, and have him jump aboard. Ralph didn't look like he could last long, so it should be easy. I would use all the tricks I knew to make him cum faster.

I smile at him. A seductive sweet smile.

"Ok."

I didn't even want to waste words on him. I would be Calvin Coolidge, or someone from Finland. Maybe I should have just said, "K".

In the meantime, I would be in my own world. As we walk I look at people. Tried to guess where they bought their clothes, where they worked, if and who they would make love to tonight. I see a lot of couples. Were they dating, business meeting, married, affair, what, what, what? I want to know.

And smiles. I collect three, two in the restaurant and one at the hotel.

I also saw at least ten men I would have rather been with than Ralph. Tomorrow or the day after I would go fishing again for a trophy. I hoped they would still here then. I try not to let them see me with Ralph. That would wreck everything.

Like a teenager with her parents, I pretend I am not with Ralph. It almost works until we were in the elevator alone and he wanted to kiss me. I was evasive, I offer him my neck, which he nibbles. It seemed to satisfy him.

More empty hallways. These were even worse than my apartment as there were dozens and dozens of doors. My mind raced with the possibilities of what was going on behind them. This was a hotel after all. The rooms were for sleeping. And when there were two people sleeping together there was love and a lot of fucking going on. This was a thirty story hotel. So many rooms. There was a lot of sex, fucking, going on all around me. I could feel it. I could feel the energy, hear the groans and moans.

And love, so much love. I was swimming in a sea of love. Give me a floaty so I can just stay here and drift around soaking it all in. I want to be loved so badly. I bet there is someone is this hotel that could love me. Those fucking doors keep us separated so we can't find each other.

Unfortunately, I was not with someone I wanted to be with, much less be loved by, so it dampened my excitement. Under normal circumstances I would have soaked my panties thinking about it.

We got to his room. Fuck.

As soon as we get inside, I said I needed to use the bathroom. I went in, looked at myself in the mirror. I was holding up pretty well. The makeup just needed a little work. I redid my eyes, cheeks, and lips.

I took off all my clothes. Look again in the mirror. Well? You've still got it girl. Ever since I was a teen I have exuded sex from every pore of my skin. My boobs swelled to perfection. Even my mother said so. My girlfriends were jealous. Really jealous. I check them out. Fucking perfect. I've been a clothing and swimsuit model. I still do some of that work. The photographers love me. What's not to love? I twirl around.

Same with my ass. I turn my ass towards the mirror. Is it sagging? Nope. Perfect. My waist is thin, my stomach flat. I have long blonde hair, like silk, that falls almost to my waist. My blue eyes are so piercing that at times people seem to become transfixed to the point I have to yell at them to break the spell. Though to be honest, most of the time men get transfixed instead on my boobs. I've had entire conversations where guys have been looking down more than up.

The swim suit advertisers love to hang their products on me. I make what they are selling evoke thoughts of summers on the beach, fun, sex, I want to buy that. And not a few guys have whacked off to my image. I have even been told that from a couple of guys. They can't believe they are actually talking to me.

I can't eat dessert like tonight though, anytime soon, or I am going to wreck my figure. My excuse? I needed it to make it through the meal. To somehow block Ralph and the thought of fucking him out of my mind.

Why am I with Ralph?

Fucking Ed. He has a really big contract for me. He called yesterday to tell me. Really big. Pay for everything for years, big. He said though, I needed to do him a favor. I didn't like the sound of that, and liked it even less when he told me what the favor was.

"Come on Rita. It's no big deal. We both know that you're no virgin to put it mildly. Sorry to be so blunt (Fuck you, Ed). My brother needs this. I am worried about him. He needs his confidence back. He needs a fuck. A good lay. He's driving me crazy. You need to do this for me. I am afraid if you say no, I will find someone else who will say yes, and they get the job. What do you say?"

"You're fucking kidding me. You would do that to me. I'm not a hooker."

"Sorry, baby, but that's the way it's going to be. Fuck him or no deal. That's it. What's your answer?"

"No way!"

"No? No? I have a lot of other girls just waiting for this. A phone call away. Don't make me do it. I WILL. I want you. But my brother comes first."