2

Tessa

I couldn’t focus on the conversation the two girls were having, they were looking at clothes that they wanted me to try on when we got to the mall in a few days. All I could think about was the fact that the paper needed the money.

“What size pants do you wear, Tessa?” Cheryl asked while she stared at her iPhone’s screen avidly.

“An 8 or a 10, just depends.” I replied, not really paying attention, I was proud to say my new size. I’d done well to watch my weight and lose a few pounds in the last year. It’d helped me a little bit with my confidence when I came here, but obviously hadn’t helped my closet. It was true, that most of my clothes were in my old size, there was something satisfying with wearing something that didn’t fit. Pants that were too tight, were now joggers. Then again, they weren’t sexy, I wasn’t a Tomboy maybe they were right, I should have been focusing on clothes not worrying about the paper which was all I seemed to do morning, noon and night.

That was when it me, I wondered if Kim could get her dad to pump some money into the paper, even though she’d already tried. Maybe if she turned on those puppy dog eyes…

“What’s crawled up your ass, Tessa?” Kim caught my attention and I realized I’d been staring out of the window for at least 10 minutes. 

“Nothing, just the budget at the paper, again.” 

“You should just let the whole thing die away,” Cheryl gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Focus on blogging and building a readership instead of this journalism stuff.” 

“That kind of is journalism, Cheryl,” I retorted and rolled my eyes, but softened it with a smile. “I hate blogging. I feel like I’m talking to nobody and everybody all at once.”

“Isn’t it the same with the paper?” Kim asked and put her phone down. The gold, real gold, ornaments glinted in the later afternoon sun. 

I looked around the bar, little more than a 12-foot square building that sold cheap beer and other spirits to those of age to buy it, as well as coffee and other drinks to those of us that couldn’t. It was meant to be a meeting point, a room with dark corners and a lot of dark woods, for quiet conversations over homework or a place to start before a night on the prowl. Cheryl, Kim and I had used it to unwind after classes since our freshman year. 

Last year, we’d all been in the same dorm, but now we rented a small apartment just slightly off campus. A short ride on the bus would take us home, but today, like most days, we preferred to take the last bus that would take us home. It wasn’t cheap, but between the three of us, the three-bedroom apartment was manageable. We all took turns cleaning and had our own schedule for tasks around the place. It worked, mainly because we all had different class schedules and extracurricular activities. 

We were rarely home at the same time, and this was our time to meet before we went our separate ways for the next few hours. Kim had a date in an hour, Cheryl had a meeting with her math tutor, and me? Well, I’d be at home, trawling the Internet for ideas of how to improve the budget at the school.

“It’s not really the same, no.” I shook my head, my curly brown hair a puff around my head due to the humidity in the air today. “Online, you have to build a presence, actually interact with people, and give your opinions. In the paper, I state the facts, give my summary of what those facts mean, and I don’t have to talk to anyone really to keep my number up. I just have to write good articles. Or, that’s how it’s supposed to work anyway.” 

“You should write about sex,” Kim nodded sagely, her eyes narrowed as she thought further about it.

“You sound just like my Grandma. All she ever used to do was talk about sex,” I said.

Cheryl nodded, “I know. I remember that one time she came to visit. She was asking if we all wanted signed photos of her. Remember her handing out her signed Playboy mansion photos?” She asked me and I nervously laughed wishing she would forget that day and never mention it ever again. Then again, it did make me popular as Grandma said it would, people wanted to know if it was true, if she was really in the Playboy mansion. I was amazed, by the fact that they were more impressed by her rather than repused by it all.

“I miss her,” I sighed, thinking that I wish she wasn’t in that the hit and run accident last year. I wished that I could just pick up the phone and tell her what was on my mind. The only one in my family who was willing to listen to my problems all the time. 

Kim continued, seeing as I wasn’t responding because my mind drifted as I started to think about Grandma, “Sex always sells, and they can’t censor you, can they?” 

“I…what?” I sputtered and goggled at her.

“If Grandmawas here, she’d probably tell me to get do an in interview with her and publish it in the paper. Besides, I haven’t even had sex. How could I write about it? How does sex pertain to anything that would be relevant in the university paper?” 

“She’s right,” Cheryl nodded too, her eyes taking on the same faraway look. “You could bill it as part of sex education, or isn’t there a class on human sexuality in one of the departments? Psychology or something?” 

“I don’t know,” I muttered and took another swig of my water. “I’ve never even thought about looking for a class like that.” 

“Maybe you should,” Kim teased gently, her talons on my arm before she let them slip away. “Seriously, though girl, you need to put some sex in that paper. Maybe an exploration of the new types of relationships out there.” 

“You mean like polygamists?” I frowned, not sure I wanted to have this discussion. Could I even sell it to the other staff members, like my editor? 

“Totally!” Cheryl exclaimed her face animated with interest now. “Two men, one girl. One girl, a whole tribe of men that she keeps as her own. There are so many different versions of poly relationships.” 

“Sounds like you’ve researched this,” I replied and grinned at her as I leaned in closer to look into those now totally innocent eyes. I’d heard about such relationships, but the idea of it sounded nuts. How could one girl have so many men? Then again, men did it all the time. Two families or even at times three. 

“Of course not.” She sniffed, but then the innocent look crumpled. “But wouldn’t you want two men if you could have them?” 

“I don’t know,” I answered honestly, “from what you two have said one is more than enough to deal with.” 

“Oh, you mean that business with Andy.” Kim’s nostrils flared and her eyes took on a look of distaste. “At least he finally transferred to another school and is leaving me alone now.” 

“I’m so glad he went away.” I answered and put my plain hand over her well-decorated one. 

“My ass hurts,” Cheryl said as she twisted on the chair. “I thought they were going to get in some more comfortable chairs this semester.” 

“What a way to change the subject,” Kim laughed, and I joined her. “Are you going to think about the sex column?” 

“Don’t call it the sex column,” I hissed at her despite the fact that the closest people to us were 8 feet away at the bar. 

“Well, are you?” She prodded and leaned in to look into my eyes. From the bright blue twinkle in hers, I knew she saw annoyance in my plain old brown eyes. 

I looked over at Cheryl, her golden blond hair sleek and straight down her back. There were a thousand shades of gold in her hair and her eyes were the same way. Though her eyes were brown there were flecks of gold in her eyes and sometimes they almost looked like they were gold. Mine were just…brown. 

“I doubt it. What would people want to know?” I was more than doubtful, I wanted nothing more than to change the subject. 

“How it works, do the other partners get jealous, are there multiple partners at once, you know, all the things we’ve all thought about at some point.” Kim added with a smirk. 

“Have you ever wanted to have group sex?” I asked pointedly and saw how her eyes narrowed. She knew what I was doing. Damn.

“I have thought about it but haven’t met the right…people.” 

“The right people. Does that mean you’d have sex with a woman?” My inner journalist now out and digging for information. The fact that the focus had been taken off of me was just an added benefit. I swear.

“I might. With the right woman.” She looked down her nose at me and squinted. “In the future.” 

“But not right now.” I watched as she pulled her arms up to cross her chest and looked away. “Because that’s the kind of things people want to know right? Personal details that even you don’t want to answer. Do you think anyone else would actually come forward for me to interview for something like this?” 

“Oh, people in those kinds of relationships are far more open today. And we’re in Chicago, Tessa. We aren’t in the middle of BFE, Illinois, we’re in a huge city, where people have been getting up to badness since it was founded. Even our great-grandparents were getting up to things that would shock us now in those spoke-easies they used to drink bathtub gin in.” 

“That might be so, Kim, but I don’t think anyone wants to call attention to themselves when it comes to things like that. It’s like asking women whether they prefer anal or vaginal penetration. You just don’t do it.” 

“Well, just think about it, honey.” Kim made a face at her and then stood up. “I have to get ready for my date. You two have fun.” 

Kim kissed the cheek of each of her friends before she left and I watched her go morosely, my chin in my palms, elbows on the table. “What am I going to do?” 

“I think she’s right; you know.” Cheryl said softly. “With the right girl, the right information, you could do a lot with a column like that. And tying it in with the classes would make it seem…not so controversial.”

Cheryl shrugged and patted my shoulder. I looked at her friend, defeat in my eyes for now. “Thanks, I’ll think about it.” 

“I have to go see my tutor, but I’ll be home later if you want to talk some more.” Cheryl, always the kindest of them all, squeezed my shoulder again and got up. She slung her own bag over her shoulder, a sleek leather version of mine that probably cost hundreds of dollars. 

“Thanks, honey, I’ll see you later then.” I waved my friend off and looked at the bottles of liquor lined up on shelves behind the bar. I wouldn’t be allowed near those bottles, not yet, but soon enough. I’d love to have a drink but knew I wouldn’t get one there. 

Kim had a guy that would buy her whatever alcohol she wanted, and we had a full bar at home. I picked up my bag, put my empty water bottle in the recycling can and walked out to the bus stop. I should probably call dad, talk to him about the problems at the paper, but I didn’t for the same reason I didn’t want to ask him for money.

I’d come to university hoping that he would be proud and drop me on my first day. I was going to be a top journalist like him, but instead he called the day before he was due to drop me and asked if mom could do it. She said that she would love to do it and Grandma came along for the ride. It was fun, there was no denying that, but between the divorce and the odd phone call, seeing dad felt as if it was near enough impossible these days. 

Mom had enough of him, before the divorce, he was never home. The only memories I have of him celebrating one of my birthdays was when I was four. I didn’t have the memory of it, but I’d seen it in the photo. The rest of the time, he was too busy always covering a top story,  which was cool for me. I know how important he is and will always be, he has won enough awards to prove it. But, it wasn’t enough for mom, she wanted a man at home and I wanted a dad, but I understand why he can’t be around and I’ve learned to live with it. 

Maybe. 

No, calling my dad now would just put more of a burden on him than he needed and I probably wouldn’t see him for another couple of years because of the phone call. It wasn’t worth the risk. I could talk with the other staff at the paper, but they’d all been through this before, last semester. There were no new ideas, nothing that stood out as a way to save what was the only reason I had wanted to go to this university; the paper that had won so many awards in the past. 

It was a sad reality of the technological era. People didn’t want to buy papers to read the news now, they wanted to touch a screen and have information instantly at their fingertips. They wanted talking heads to tell them their version, their spin, on the news of the day. That was another reason I had wanted to write for the school paper. We were taught to write without bias, without spin, and to just report the facts. There was integrity that couldn’t be found in most newspapers sold around the world today. They’d all taken sides on one or more topics and fallen into the trap of sensationalism. 

I wanted to report facts, information people actually wanted. I didn’t care what the topic was really, because I was eager to learn about all facets of life. I thought about what my friends had said as I waited for the bus. It was a controversial topic, one the school doubtless would hate and would want killed. Which was all the more reason to do it, I snickered to myself. 

I wasn’t afraid of controversy, I’d never shied away from rocking the boat, but would an article on polyamory really go down well with the masses? I watched the people that passed me at the bus stop. Some were alone, some were coupled up, others were in groups, and I wondered about their lives. Had they ever considered having more than one partner? 

One guy caught my eye, a man in his mid-20s, in a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows in gray slacks, a cellphone in his hand. He had dark hair and a 5 o’clock shadow that made the corners of my mouth tilt up with delight. He had dark brown eyes and as he passed me his eyes caught with mine. I saw interest there but he was on the phone, busy, but as he was almost gone he winked at me.

My jaw dropped and then I laughed in delight. If I ever saw him again, I’d definitely be interested, I thought. I saw another guy on the bus when I got on, blond, athletic, full of his own importance, but in that sexy kind of way, that way that oozed so much confidence you wanted to lick it up. 

Which I’ve never done, by the way, I’m a virgin after all. As the bus drove off, headed in the direction of my home, I started to wonder. Could a virgin really bring a paper back to life with an expose on polyamory? I might like to find out.