Babe Walker Read online

  “Sounds chic.”

  “I gotta go. Thank you sooooo much.”

  And she was gone.

  About six hours later I was in an Uber on my way to meet Marcus the printer. He sounded like he had a big nose (in a good way) on the phone. I’d just worked with Jo at the winery. She was a really tall, really bespectacled, really nice graphic designer who used to play in the WNBA and had won an Olympic gold medal at the London Games in 2012, which is so major. She looked like a female James Taylor, but she was really pulling it off and I let her know that she was pulling it off. We had translated the label from my drawing to a Photoshop file that we could print. Ugh, so fucking proud of myself. I was beaming in the back of that apple-green, 2014 Chevy Cruze, and felt that Javier, my driver, who had a 4.9 rating by the by, could definitely feel the positivity coming off my aura, because as I got out of the car he turned to me and said, “Cinco estrellas.”

  “Gracias, Javier. And cinco estrellas for you too.”

  If young Eddie Vedder and young Winona Ryder had had sex and created a baby, it would have been Marcus the super-hot, super-aloof, super-artsy label printer. I was planning on flirting anyway because I needed him to print about a million of these new labels for me in the next three days, but I had no idea he was going to make it so easy for me.

  He was wearing white Carhartt overalls that were completely stained with different-colored inks or paints or blood or something, I don’t know. No shirt underneath. Huge work boots. Marcus looked like the 1996 Fuckboy of the Year. I loved it.

  “Are you Marcus?”

  “I am.”

  “I thought you might be.”

  Who the fuck was I? And why the fuck did I say that?

  “That’s cool,” Marcus said with a grin.

  “I’m obviously Babe Walker.”

  He forced a canned grin.

  “So . . . as I said on the phone, I need to get these labels printed, like, right away for Tina Reynolds. It’s a new rosé label.”

  “Cool, Cool. Tina is very cool. She has been very cool to me over the years. Very cool to have her in my life.”

  “Yeah . . . cool.”

  So he was not the brightest bulb, but he looked great and sometimes that’s all that matters.

  “I run a one-man shop here so it’s cool when one of the larger wineries throws me some work, rather than farm it out to one of the bigger fish in the printing game like Design Solutions or the Belloff Paper Company.”

  “I don’t know those references so I’m just gonna move on, ’kay?”

  “Sure,” he said with another smile, this time genuine.

  “So you work here alone?”

  “Yup. Just me and the machines.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  “It’s all good. I work better by myself.”

  “Me too.”

  “So let me show you some paper options. We need to make sure I have something you like in stock.”

  “Oh. Paper. That makes sense. I wanted something white, but it needs to have a certain feel. Like, I’m obsessed with it having a texture.”

  “The tooth.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A paper’s texture is referred to as its ‘tooth.’ The more tooth it has, the rougher it feels.”

  “Love that.”

  “Come on, I’ll show you.”

  Marcus grabbed my hand and began leading to the back of his warehouse. Normally, I would never let a complete stranger touch me like that, but the way he did it made me completely comfortable. When we got to the back corner he sat me down at a little office desk he had set up. A bunch of bookshelves filled with binders lined the wall and he grabbed a few and plopped them down in front of me. As I sat there, Marcus stood behind me leaning over me so we could both see the samples. He smelled so fucking delicious. Like Tide, mixed with paint, mixed with sweat.

  Each time he would turn the page as he looked for the proper samples, his long, wavy Pearl Jam hair would graze the side of my ear.

  “Here we go.” Marcus said quietly. His minty breath was intoxicating. (I know that breath should never be described as intoxicating, I know this, but it’s honestly how I felt.) “This is the page I was looking for. These are the toothiest whites I have in stock.”

  He touched the top of my hand and moved both of our hands over the samples.

  “You feel that,” Marcus whispered.

  Oh, shit. It was about to go down.

  The whole thing was very that scene from Ghost.

  “I like these, but I think I want something even toothier. Something with extra tooth. It’s a really big label so I need to get the paper right.”

  “I’m afraid I know what you’re looking for, but it’s definitely out of the budget that Tina usually spends.”

  “I don’t care about budget. I’ll pay whatever.”

  “I’d need to get Tina’s approval.”

  “No, no. I’m running this show now. I’m the approver. And ‘out of budget’ isn’t a thing because I’ll just pay the difference, personally.”

  “Okay, but we are going to have to bring it in from my supplier. I don’t stock it.”

  “Don’t care. Show it to me.”

  Marcus reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a large binder. He opened it up to the first page and there it was. It was perfect. I could tell from the moment I saw it. Perfect tooth, perfect color, perfect opacity. I felt like Sarah Burton designing her first collection at Alexander McQueen, RIP.

  “Yes. Oh my god, yes.”

  “Gonna be hard to get here in time to print this week.”

  “I told you, I’ll pay for overnight shipping. Whatever it takes. Who do I have to blow around here to make sure this gets done?”

  Marcus laughed.

  DISCLAIMER: I realize as I tell you this that it’s going to seem like I blew Marcus in order to get a wine label printed on time. But I can assure you all that is not what happened. I was beyond joking when I mentioned “blowing” someone. It was only a coincidence that I did end up giving Marcus a blow job immediately following my delivery of the aforementioned question. I blow who I want, when I want. And by the way, even if I had blown someone to help a friend, I would have no shame.

  After Marcus got off the phone with the supplier and arranged for overnight shipping of the paper, he came back over to the desk where I was still sitting. I started to kiss him. I was the aggressor. I had to have him. Just an FYI, his dick was pink, luxe, and slightly above average in length. But this dude was thick.

  Gurth.com/marcus_the_printer

  I highly recommend fucking in a factory setting. It’s dangerous, sexy, dirty, and thrilling to know that someone, somewhere might be watching on a discreetly placed security-camera feed. Marcus fucked me on the offset printer, the floor, the inker, and in the stockroom. It was magic. And well deserved.

  That night Marcus slept at my hotel. We were shacked up together and we barely left the room all night and most of the next day. I couldn’t think about anything other than us fucking and sleeping together. But the next afternoon, I remembered labels. I rushed Marcus back to his shop only to find that the paper had not been delivered.

  FUCK!

  Marcus called the supplier and found out the shipment never went out that first day because it was too late in the day, but he assured Marcus that we would receive it by the end of the next day. Tina was going to be pissed because we were going to miss her deadline. How important could that deadline really be? I thought to myself. So, I texted her and let her know she should call all the stores and tell them that it will be worth wait because the tooth on this paper was going to give them all literal chills.

  six

  My fuckfest with Marcus had me sore all over. It was like I’d been in a seven-hour SoulCycle class. I don’t actually know what that would feel li
ke because I don’t do “spinning,” but you get the idea. My thighs hurt, my arms hurt, my head hurt. It was glorious and pathetic at once.

  So, after I let Tina know what was going on with the paper delay and assured her (lied to her) that we were still in good shape, I decided that what my body really craved was a proper outdoor meditation/nap combo. The sun may give us cancer, but it can also be so healing in times of need.

  I made a pit stop at the front desk on my way out to the grand lawn next to the hotel. The girl who’d supplied me with my brainstorming props (thread, tacks, et cetera) was working behind a computer.

  “What do you guys do on these computers? I’ve always wondered what the fuck you hotel people could possibly be doing, typing so fast, brows furrowed, when there isn’t even a guest around. Are you like emailing with other concierges around the world? Oh my god, is there, like, a secret concierge chat network? Are you all spies?”

  “Hello, Miss Walker.”

  “Hey, skinny.”

  She was very thin.

  “At the moment, I was setting up and confirming some upgrades for a few VIP clients we have checking in later today.”

  “Interesting. Wanna tell me who the VIP people are? It’s okay, I probably know them personally so you don’t have to worry about confidentiality or anything. I am like them, they are like me, this exchange of information is completely safe.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that; it’s just not our policy here to discuss our guests’ plans to other guests.”

  “Interesting. So you’re saying these people are famous?”

  “Nope, not saying that.”

  “Interesting. They’re not famous.”

  “Not saying that either.”

  “Wow, interesting. Okay, I get it. I get it and I like what you’re doing here.”

  “Is there something I can help you with this morning?”

  “I actually just wanted to say thanks for being so helpful and pretty and thin.”

  “Oh, um, you’re welcome, Miss Walker.”

  “I really needed your support the other night because this kind of cursed, sad friend of mine needed my help and without you, she would’ve been fucked because I would’ve been fucked. It’s all just a big beautiful web of women helping each other, isn’t it?”

  “I guess it is, yeah.”

  “And I feel like in this day and age, we are only as strong as our community and the support we have around us.”

  “Sure, yes.”

  “So, anyway. Sorry to interrupt your top-secret concierge spy stuff, but wanted to express my gratitude and give you a little token of my appreciation. You’re an amazing front-desk person and you should know that in my eyes, you’re an inspiration to all women.”

  I pulled an envelope with a check inside from my bag and put in on the desk in front of her.

  “This is so not necessary, Ms. Walker. Really.”

  “Of course it’s not necessary. Fuck necessary,” I said dramatically, coyly, annoyingly.

  I walked away before she could try to give me the envelope back. She deserved it and I didn’t want to give her time to graciously give me back the gift. I mean, I was riding on such posi-vibes after my recent duet of creative and sexual breakthroughs that I had love to spread.

  Now that I think about it though, five thousand dollars was too much to randomly give this woman who at the end of the day was just doing her job.

  Whatever.

  I found a safe place with midintensity sun exposure under a fig tree to lay out my oversized Missoni beach sheet. I got down into shavasana (corpse pose) and stared at the space between my body and the twisted awning of tree branches above me. I connected with the moment. I connected with my body. I fell asleep in thirty seconds.

  “Babe! Get up!”

  I woke up and screamed comically loud.

  My eyes struggled to focus and the blurry figure standing over me quickly became Tina. She was wearing a weird mix of beige-colored sweats and was holding a big bottle of water. The whole look screamed desp.

  “What the cock, Tina?!”

  “We need to talk.”

  “No, no, no,” I said, still shook from my traumatic awakening, “you definitely do not need to talk to me at this moment.”

  “But I do.”

  “No you don’t.”

  “I can’t do this with you right now. Get up, we’re going to the office.”

  “I’m sorry, did you just basically assault me during my nap?” I was heated. “. . . And then bark an order at me? I just want to make sure I’m following here.”

  “Can you just come with me, please?” Tina pleaded, losing patience. “We need to talk about this paper situation.”

  “There’s no situation. The labels are going to be late, who cares. Tell the distributors or the accounts or whatever that they’ll have to wait. I texted you about this before. You should maybe read your texts, Tina. In fact let’s talk about that.”

  “Babe—”

  She wailed and broke into full ugly sobbing, falling to her knees. It happened so fast and was so loud that I gasped. Then I remembered that this is what Tina does. I’d seen her do it in high school.

  “Okay, okay. It’s fine, let’s not talk about that. I have a better idea.”

  I grabbed Tina by the hand and pulled her down to sit the ground next to me. I’d forgotten that I was in a good mood before the drama so I was going to maintain and share that mood if it was the last thing I did. How was I the sane person in this relationship?

  “Before you attacked me with your witch-vibes and yelling I was in a supremely peaceful state. You’re clearly on the actual edge and you need to shut the fuck up and relax. Yes? So, can I ask you to please pause for one second and take a moment to breathe with me, here on this gorgeous blessed day? I think it could really do you some good.”

  “No! It’s all over. ”

  “I’m going to take that as a yes.”

  “Babe—”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Tina rolled her eyes and then closed them.

  “Thank you. Okay, we’re going to start with a little exercise, then move into a guided mediation practice. Are you with me?”

  “How long will this take?” she asked, eyes still closed.

  “I don’t know, ten minutes?”

  “And then we can get to work?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  “They are closed.”

  “They’re physically closed, but can you try and emotionally close them for me?”

  “Um . . .”

  “Are they closed?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great.”

  I adjusted my seat so that I was sitting across from Tina, also cross-legged. I reached out and put my hands on top of hers.

  “What color do you feel?”

  “I thought I’m not supposed to see anything?”

  “I didn’t ask what color you see. I asked what you feel.”

  “Grey.”

  “Pick a real color. Jesus, Tina.”

  “Purple.”

  “And what temperature is the purple you feel?”

  “It’s cold.”

  “Is it soft or hard?”

  “It’s hard.”

  “Okay, now you may open your eyes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are your actual eyes open?”

  Mine were closed so I couldn’t see her.

  “Yes, my actual eyes are open.”

  “Close them. I meant open your inside eyes.”

  “Ugh, okay. They’re closed. And open. Or whatever.”

  “Perfect. Now imagine your entire body is that color purple that you felt before.”

  “Okay.�
��

  “And your body is cold.”

  “’Kay.”

  “And you are very hard.”

  “Okay.”

  “Are you hard?”

  “Yes.”

  “How hard are you?”

  “Really, Babe?”

  I laughed at my own stupid joke. So dumb, yet so funny.

  “Okay, now imagine you are standing as this new purple form of yourself in the largest room ever built. It would take you a year to walk from one end of this room to the other. Are you in the room?”

  “Yes.”

  “Start walking through the room. You’re cold and you’re still very hard but you can walk normally through the room. It’s hot in the room.”

  “I feel the heat.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “I’m melting!”

  “Yes, Tina. Melt.”

  “I’m a warm blob of purple goo!” she shouted.

  “Okay, now you’re screaming, but this is great! How does it feel to melt?”

  “I’m a big, toasty, juicy Tina melt!”

  She burst into laughter.

  “Ha . . . ha. I get it. So fucking funny.”

  “So funny,” she said between giggles.

  “I’m trying to help you!”

  “I know, it just cracked me up. I didn’t know you were so spiritual. Where did you learn to lead meditations?”

  “In the jungle.”

  She looked at me like I was crazy.

  “Just kidding. I was just riffing.”

  She looked at me like I was even crazier than before.

  “Ew, sorry. I don’t say ‘riffing.’ That’s not a thing I say. Sorry. Weird. I was just making that up. But it was kind of working, no?”

  “No. But it did calm me down.”

  “Good. ’Cause you were being annoying as fuck when you walked up here. Old me would have slapped you and old-old me would have slapped you, fucked your boyfriend, and then slapped you again.”

  “I know that’s probably actually true.”

  “It’s amazing how people can change. And by people I mean me. And by change I mean improve in every way.”