"Hey Niykee, this is crazy. Would you go on a first date with me in Olympic National Park this weekend?"
Niykee remembered Donovan, the guy who sent her the text. Her producer had rented out the Sky Bar to throw a promotional party. She was sitting with her girlfriends at the far end of the pool at the table with the glass railing that opened up a full view on Los Angeles, the gird like streets and lights that stretched for thirty miles. Mandee had brought out her new white poodle Biscuit. The cute puppy had its fur shaved off except for decorative, fluffy clouds around his ankles and on his head. Without the fur, Niykee could feel his warm skin as she snuggled with the dog on her lap.
Donovan had walked up. He was standing in a confident stance, actually towering over the low couches around the table. The first thing she noticed was that his hair was perfect. Every hair was aligned. There was an elegant shine from the product. He was wearing a tailored suit. He was wearing a red Armani tie. There was a golden tie clip to make sure his tie was perfectly in place. He was wearing golden cufflinks with green emeralds. On his wrist was a gold aviator watch with a brown, textured leather band. Everything about him was very kept in place. His smile was absolutely measured. He waited the perfect amount of time to make his presence felt and to let Niykee admire him.
"Hi, I was standing over there," and he pointed to the other side of the pool, "and I saw you over here. You look absolutely stunning. I had to come over and introduce myself. My name is Donovan."
Now, Niykee was sitting on her bed. She was in her underwear. Her hair was a big puffy mess from napping in the afternoon. She bounced on the bed because she was so excited. Finally a guy, who was ready to make a commitment. Being in the music business, a lot of guys wanted to always have sex with her. This guy actually wanted to spend the weekend with her. He was a rare breed. She looked around the room. There were her dirty socks from Wednesday. There was her still sweaty pink t-shirt from the gym. There was a pile of letter-sized photographs of her that she had been through signing half way.
She pulled a box out of the bottom corner of her closet with her hiking boots. She fished a headlight out of the basket with random knickknacks. She got her pink lingerie underwear. Being a teenager, she had been teased with the nick name of "mushy cupcake" because her hips were so big. She had learned to embrace them as a unique body part that gave her personality. The skinny pink band of her panties ran high over her hips to show offer her whole butt. She put on a white t-shirt with a very thin fabric to let the silhouette of her breasts and areolas show. With the headlight on and the hiking boots on her feet, she made a high angle selfie with the thumb up sign and a deep wink of her right eye.
That's all she messaged him back.
About a year ago, she was sitting on the porch of her mom's house. There was a cocoon like chair hanging from the ceiling. It'd swing around gently. Niykee had pulled her knees up and rested her chin on them. Her mom was in front yard in the sun, hitting the ground with weed puller. She was 45 years old. She had to color her hair to keep the gray in check. Three times a week, she went to Barre class.
"Mom, my first single finally launched. I have so much fan e-mail. I should be excited but a lot of people are calling me a slut. They think that I sleep with my producer. A backstage photo from me at Jay Z's gig came out with the title that he was fucking me as well."
"Child, you must understand one thing about the world. People are narcissistic. When they call you a slut, they are judging themselves or are expressing what they want. This morning, a driver overtook me on a residential street and yelled 'asshole' at me through his open window. Guess, who the asshole is. That's how you must look at all of this."
"When I went to high school, the kids said that I was ugly. The only date that I got was Bernie, and that only happened because I went over to him and kissed him. Now, everyone is saying that I'm only popular because of my body."
"Niykee, you must always remember when you are in my house, we love you. Don't expect that love out in the world. You go out to do your thing. And you come home to get your wounds licked. I don't see any point in you walking around with a turtleneck to proof a philosophical point. Use your body without any shame. If that gets people to pick up the record and give your music a chance, so be it."
After the talk, she agreed to the request of her producer for a second photoshoot to remake the cover for the single. The single had hit a million sales. The studio was willing to fly her with a big time photographer to Miami. She had slept very restlessly the night before because she had decided to follow her photographer's lead and let him peel her completely out of her clothes to take naked shots while her private parts were strategically covered with curtains, plant pots, puppies, and other objects from the big prop box. That's why she had learned to feel more comfortable to send the provocative photo to Donovan.
When the weekend actually arrived, they had to take separate flights because Donovan was pitching a new mutual fund for 25 to 35 year old urban family demographic who care about ecology. Donovan's specialty was packaging mutual funds for retail sale. They met at the Hertz car rental counter after a short airport bus ride. Donovan had rented a BMW. The paint was shiny and new. Donovan politely held his hand to take the luggage from her. He was so good with these little gestures. There was an elegance in how he held his hand to her as if he were trained by British royalty and there was a patience as if he'd never yell at her out of frustration. She curiously eyed how he arranged the luggage in the trunk. It was so neat, just like a Japanese bento box arranged by a master from the lineage of five generations of perfection.
After they seated in the car, he put leather racing gloves on. He put the car into first gear and told her how he preferred the Fahrvergnuegen of a stick shift. Right away, he accelerated to twenty miles above the speed limit. He smoothly, like a race car driver, shifted from one lane to the next to needle through the traffic. There was a smoothness to his driving. When he turned the steering wheel, he almost imperceptibly lightly turned it to shift the lanes. Once, he hit the brakes hard. A motor bike cop on the side of the freeway had his radar gun aimed on their car. Right after they passed him, Donovan downshifted again to accelerate.
Niykee felt very bad when her phone rang, "Sorry, I have to take this." Her producer was on the other end. The lunch with Kanye had to be rescheduled. Her show in New Orleans had sold out. She registered the self-satisfied smirk on Donovan's lips. He liked hearing the big names and all the big things that she was doing. He must have felt very good about his catch. When her producer gave her some lip, she smacked him down with sharp and explicit humor. The smile on Donovan's face started growing. To her, it turned into a game of saying things to affect him.
When she finally finished the long business call, they were crossing Hood Canal Bridge, the largest floating salt water bridge. Whenever a ship came, part of the bridge had to be disconnected and pulled to the side, almost like a boat. On the other side was the Olympic peninsula, the longest untouched coast line in America and plenty of primeval forest. Donovan pointed to the wicker basket on the backseat. She bumped her body against his shoulder as she moved her whole body between the front seats to grab it. The wicker basket was a neatly arranged picnic basket with silver ware, napkins, fruit, cheese, pastry, and beverages.
"Oh, you are a golden boy," said Niykee excited and gave him a big smooch on the cheek.
"I hope you don't take me as too forward. I'm done playing games," replied Donovan.
Late in the afternoon, they arrived at La Push, also known as First Beach by the Quileute Nation. Donovan had rented a cabin on the beach. The beach was littered with giant trees who had washed down the Quillayute River during hefty winter storms. Years on the beach had bleached the trunks. There was one tree trunk lying on its side whose bottom of roots were two to three stories tall. The waves were wild and full of white water. They raged into the bay for quite some length. Red lights blinked on either side of the bay. There was still a last surfer fighting in the man-high surf. A couple of people were lighting bonfires on the beach.
Donovan held Niykee a wine glass that was filled a quarter of the way. Niykee put it down and asked Donovan if he had extra tooth paste. With that, she turned over her suitcase and let the entire contents fall out, so that she could search it more easily. A ball of white socks rolled under the bed. She felt a little sheepish about the condom pack that fell out as well. There was a dog eared copy of the Vampire Diaries, which she had thought about reading for the whole year. Relaxing at the beach had seemed like a good moment to read it. She felt like she had opened up her whole life by letting him peek at all of her luggage. And he seemed to take very keen notice.
