Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words

by Tara Sivec

My hand flies up to my mouth to try to muffle the noise, but it’s too late. Brent’s eyes swing in my direction, and I do what any sane, twenty-five-year-old woman would do when she’s spying on the man she has a massive crush on. I duck down behind the hydrangeas as fast as possible before he can see me.

Here I thought finding out earlier today that I’ve been laid off as a kindergarten teacher because of budget cuts was the worst thing that could happen to me. Instead, the sadness and dread sitting like a rock in my stomach right now is because I’m wondering if this is the type of woman Brent is attracted to.

Boy, is it hot out here tonight or what? I know you’re from California and probably used to the heat, but just wait. Minnesotans like to say we have four seasons: Winter, More Winter, Still More Winter, and That One Day of Summer,” I giggle uncomfortably.

One of these days, I’m going to figure out how to talk to that man without making a fool of myself. As soon as I figure out what in the world I’m going to do about getting a new job before my mother finds out and marches into the principal’s office with fifteen dozen of her famous brown butter sugar cookie bars to try to guilt him into giving me my job back, that’s going to be my top priority.

My aunt and my mother are like two sides of the same coin and often get mistaken for twins. They’re both slim and stand around 5’4”, and both go to the same hair dresser like clockwork every six weeks to get rid of the grays and clean up the ends of their dark brown, chin-length bobs. The only difference between them is my Aunt Margie’s mouth. She tends to be a little more… colorful than my mother. She’s also always on my side, no matter what the subject matter may be.

“It’s bad enough she’s still single and hasn’t given me any grandbabies yet. When I was her age, I already had tenure and had been happily married to her father for seven years, God rest his soul.” “Dad’s not dead,” I interject quietly. “He will be if he doesn’t convince Lou to give you your job back.”

I wasn’t passionate about my work, and that made me sad. Shouldn’t you love what you do when you spend more time at work than you do at home with friends and family? I spent four years going to school, another year getting certified, and then taught on my own for two years. And I can’t remember one single moment during that time that I was absolutely confident this was what I was meant to do.

“Call me when you’re on your way, and then call me as soon as the interview is over so I know you’re okay,” my mother demands. “And give me the address, and the name of the owner. I’ll drop off a pan of my lemon bars tomorrow afternoon.”

This is amazing! I wonder what the character in this book wants to happen. I bet this is an Amish romance if they’re talking about pumping something. Must be pumping water from a well during this scene. Oh, my mother is going to be absolutely beside herself!

Oh, jeez! Oh, holy mother of pearl, what is happening right now? Why is no one screaming? Why is Jessica just standing here next to me with a smile on her face? Does she not hear the words Steve is saying? Why is Steve saying the word… pump… like that? What kind of a romance novel is this?

Oh jeez, I know I wanted something new and exciting in my life, but I don’t know if I can handle this much exhilaration. I know my mother won’t be able to handle it. Oh no, my mother! What in the world am I supposed to tell her about this job?

I don’t even know how Dave can say the word book with a straight face. Can this type of story even be classified as a book? I’m not completely oblivious. I’ve seen these types of books in the romance section of the bookstore, and I’ve walked by them as quickly as possible with their muscled, shirtless men covers and suggestive titles. I’m not one to judge people who like to read that sort of thing, but it’s just not my cup of tea.

As Jessica and I exit the room and make our way back down the hall to the reception area, I wonder how hard it would be for me to change my name and move to another country. That’s probably the only thing that will save me from my mother when she finds out what they do here at EdenMedia. I’m certain she won’t be bragging to any of her friends that I’m now an administrative assistant at a place that records… dirty books.

A few hours at EdenMedia and I’ve already been tainted, getting all tingly when a man laughs. By this time next week, I’ll probably be selling my body on a street corner and my mother will have disowned me.

Yep. It’s official. EdenMedia has corrupted me. I don’t know whether to be worried about it or look forward to what the future might bring.

Nothing bad ever happens when a woman is contemplating her entire existence and where she went wrong, home alone with a brand new box of wine chilling in her fridge and a dirty romance novel she’s afraid to even touch, let alone read, which is suddenly calling her name after she heard her extremely attractive neighbor read the blurb on the back cover. Said no one ever.

“Okay. Uh, is this thing even on? How do I know if it’s on? Oh my God. This is so stupid. I’m gonna have the biggest headache in the morning, but this box of wine is really delicious. People hear ‘box of wine’ and they think, ‘Oh jeez. Oh no, I would never drink that, because it probably tastes like a box. But, you guys, it doesn’t taste like a box at all. It just tastes like wine. I wonder how good this microphone thingy is. Can you hear me pouring more wine? Well, I’m not actually pouring it. I’ve got my box of Franzia Sunset Blush sitting right next to me on my kitchen table and it’s got a plastic spout where I just push the button. Glug-glug-glug—I’m inserting sound effects just in case you can’t hear it. Aaand… instant glass of wine!”

“Hi! This is the podcast of a woman who used to be a kindergarten teacher and got fired because of budget cuts, and now she got hired at a place where she sits around listening to people read dirty books all day. It’s like… worse than that time I played Cards Against Humanity at my cousin’s New Year’s Eve party after our parents had gone home, and the card said, ‘During sex, I like to think about…’ and the only card I had left in my hand was one that said ‘Butt Stuff’ and I was so confused, because who thinks about going to the bathroom during sex? But then my cousin’s girlfriend explained it to me and I wanted to die and I kept shouting, ‘People really do that? But why?’”

“Oh my God… I thought I blocked that out.”

“Okay, so… hi! This is a podcast about…. What is it even about? You know what? This podcast is about the fact that I am so stuck right now. I can’t do what my mom wants me to do. I don’t have a job my parents will ever brag to their friends about. I obviously can’t do what Laura’s doing next door with my neighbor, because I don’t know how to say all those dirty things and bat my eyelashes and be so… Laura. I know how to fall into bushes though, let me tell you. I’m really good at that. I’m a bush ninja. Does anyone need to hire a bush ninja? I’m available eve...

“Oh no. I’m not gonna read that. Definitely not gonna read that. Did I mention my neighbor was shirtless when he read the back cover of this thing? Oh, you probably can’t see what I’m holding, can you? That’s probably for the best. I don’t want anyone to know this book is even in my house, let alone that I touched it. But you should have heard him reading the blurb, with all that stuff he has going on up top and his no-shirt-wearing, muscly man muscles, and all that sweaty shirtlessness, and those dimples…. Is it hot in here all of a sudden? I feel warm. Maybe I should have more wine so I forget about how hot I am.”

“I can’t do this. Why am I so boring? This is so sad. I’m just gonna get another glass of wine. Yay, Heidi’s Wine Show! But it’s more like, whine show. Waaah, why is my life so boring?”

“Oh my God. This is a mess. I’m a mess. I’m a boring former kindergarten teacher who can’t even talk about an Amish romance without blushing. How do I expect my hot, muscly neighbor—with dimples that make me feel like melted butter—to even give me a second glance? I can’t. Because I’m pathetic. And now I want butter. I want a big old buttery sculpture of Princess Kay of the Milky Way sitting on my table now. I would eat her face right off.”

“Mom, if you would have died last night, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have called me twelve times and sent eight text messages.”

Sheesh, how much did I drink last night, and what did I do with that equipment?

“It’s just a typical office job where I answer phones and send emails. It’s fine, I’m fine, and there’s not much else to tell right now.” At least nothing I want to tell her over the phone. Or ever.

“I’m sorry. It’s only my second day here, and I have to say I’m a little surprised to see a real, live movie star standing in front of me. No one told me there’d be famous people walking through the doors. You’re like, really famous. And tall. I didn’t think you’d be so tall. Are you filming a movie that takes place in a recording studio or something?”

“You know what kind of books they narrate here, right?” Jameson’s smile deepens, and even though it doesn’t have the same effect on me that Brent’s smile does, it’s a nice smile, and I really can’t believe I’m standing here having a conversation with the Jameson Kenter like it’s no big deal and it happens every day. Working here might actually have some perks. “I hope it’s romance novels, since that’s what I was hired to narrate. Otherwise, I’m in the wrong place.”

Where’s the dinner? Where’s the dancing? Where’s the freaking romance? They’re just gonna get right down to it in chapter one?

Who knew there were so many words to describe female body parts? And why do they have to be so… wet? That sounds like a medical condition the poor character should get checked out.

“Seriously, that wasn’t a complete disaster, aside from you not actually reading what was written,” Dave teases.

“It was much better than that podcast of yours I stumbled upon this morning when I googled you just for the hell of it and found your blog. You need more practice with that, although the whole butter thing was hilarious. Don’t read anymore of those Amish books. You’ll never get your shirtless neighbor to fall in love with you reading those things. Take home some of the extra books that are lying around the break room and practice reading those. Next time I need you to test mic levels, maybe you won’t turn that alarming shade of red.”

No, no, no. Please tell me I did not drunk record a podcast and actually put it on the internet!

Hmm, Heidi’s Discount Erotica. That actually has a nice ring to it.

Heidi really needs to stop thinking about herself in third person.

I too have a lot of important things to do. Like research flights to Siberia.

It really is a blessing I’m no longer molding young minds.

I need to stop thinking that being called spirited and enthusiastic are insults. I like who I am for the most part. I don’t want to change into a completely different person. I just need to find a way to be spirited, enthusiastic, and courageous.

Once I start something, I refuse to quit. I started a podcast, and even though it was a mess, I’m not going to quit until I get it right. Heidi’s Discount Erotica, here I come.

“These books…. I had no idea. I thought they were just about the dirty stuff with no storyline and no plot, but they aren’t. They’re so much more. The women in these books, they take charge of their own lives and learn how to ask for what they want. It’s so empowering.”

I made fun of books like this. I scoffed at the covers and rolled my eyes at the summaries. I’ve been embarrassed about telling people what kind of books they record at EdenMedia, because I know they’ll make the same snap judgements. Now, I just want to tell everyone I know to read these stories and see for themselves that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. For the first time since I accepted this job, I’m proud of where I work and the kind of books they record here, and I want everyone to know it.

I resent that she’s treating me like a child, but even more annoyed that everyone in town seems to know about EdenMedia but me.

Minnesotans are nice, to a fault. Even if they don’t agree with something, they will find the nicest way to state that. If they see a movie, absolutely hated it, and someone asks them what they thought of it, they will use such phrases as “It was… interesting” or “Well, it was… different.” Then, they wait and see what the asker of the question’s opinion is to know whether or not they can word-vomit how they really feel or if they need to continue being diplomatic. They do this so they don’t put their foot in their mouth by saying something that might not be a popular opinion and come back to bite them later on.

“Today is the anal sex chapter. I did a quick read-through of it over coffee this morning. I was pleasantly surprised to see the use of lube. And the missionary position. I’ve read way too many scenes where the butt stuff is done doggy-style and the guy just slams his dick right in there without any warning.”

Boldness and self-confidence, here I come! As long as my mom doesn’t kill me first.

“All you’re going to do is text him, tell him you were thinking of him, and ask him how his day was. Easy-peasy.” Easy-peasy my patootie. “Looks like I’ll be stopping by the store on my way home for some more boxed wine.” I sigh.

“‘He tastes like peppermint and beer…’ That’s an odd combination. Wouldn’t the peppermint overpower the beer? That’s like drinking a glass of orange juice after you brush your teeth. That can’t taste good during a kiss. The last guy I kissed tasted like eucalyptus, because he had chapped lips and used medicated chapstick. I couldn’t feel my lips or my tongue for an hour after he dropped me off.

should maybe move on to the next part of my homework right now and save these other excerpts for later. I’m supposed to send him a text. How am I supposed to send him a text and act normal when I’ve got words like grind, wetter, sucks, and rhymes with flit swirling around in my brain?

If last night’s interaction with Brent taught me anything, aside from making sure my phone is nowhere within my reach after I’ve had wine, it’s that I need to stop being such a wimp.

I’ve spent my entire life constantly asking myself what if and worrying about the consequences of every potential decision I might make, instead of just doing what makes me happy.