Chapter 9
It’s amazing how close you can feel to a person after you’ve suffered through the torture of food poisoning together for twenty-four hours. That kind of intimacy can take months—even years—to achieve. I now know Dee’s cum face—and her puke face.
We both call in sick Monday morning, both of us still feeling wrung out. We take separate showers and I borrow a pair of her cousin’s sweatpants. Normally I’d have issues with going commando in another guy’s drawers, but these were clean and folded in the back of Dee’s closet, so the time lapse from the last time Warren wore them makes them okay. Plus, the idea of putting on my clothes from last night feels nasty.
Delores sits next to me on the couch, her Stompeez rabbit–clad feet on the coffee table, wrapped in a fluffy, purple robe that would look light-years from sexy on another girl. But because I know there’s nothing but smooth, bare flesh underneath it—it’s hot.
I flick on the television and we try to agree on a movie to watch. The problem is, Delores has a vagina, which means her taste in movies ranges from awful to nonexistent.
Don’t scowl at me—I’m only stating what every man in the world knows. The reason shitty movies like The English Patient and The King’s Speech win Academy Awards? Women have chick-boners for Ralph Fiennes and Colin Firth. Sure, Braveheart won a bunch of well-deserved awards, but it wasn’t just because it’s the perfect movie. Mel Gibson, anyone? Enough said.
Dee defends a horrible chick flick suggestion. “I like best friend movies—they’re very empowering. Thelma & Louise, Beaches, Steel Magnolias—that one’s my favorite. I always imagine Kate and me like Ouiser and Clairee when we’re old.”
“What’s a Steel Magnolia? More importantly, what the f*ck is an Ouiser?”
She looks simultaneously surprised and appalled. “You’ve never seen Steel Magnolias? Are you even human? It was one of Julia Roberts’s first movies.”
I throw up one hand as I object. “No—no frigging way am I watching Julia Roberts! Drew went through a whole year of Julia Roberts as a kid and he still hasn’t recovered. To this day, Pretty Woman quotes come flying out of his mouth uncontrollably. Not happening.”
“Then what are we going to watch?”
I scroll through the on-demand movies until I spot a winner.
“Conan the Barbarian. The greatest love story ever told.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Normally I’d be into Schwarzenegger-flavored eye candy, but I’m not in the mood. Let’s watch Steel Magnolias.”
I shake my head. “No. It’ll be two hours of my life I’ll never get back.”
Delores tucks her feet under her and rises to her knees. A sly, persuasive smile slides onto her face, which I’ve come to recognize as a sign she’s in the mood to get busy. She leans over me; I angle my head back to keep eye contact.
“Are you feeling better, Matthew? ’Cause I’m feeling a lot better.”
I do a quick mental rundown of my faculties. “Yeah, I’m good.”
Her smile gets wider—more suggestive. “Then let’s make a bet. Whoever can make the other person come first gets to pick the movie? What do you say?”
It’s clear to me why Delores is such a successful chemist—she has such an amazingly innovative mind.
I scrape my teeth over my bottom lip thoughtfully. “I say this is a bet I’m going to really enjoy winning.”
She tilts back and slowly opens her robe. “Not as much as I’m going to enjoy making you lose.”
It was close. If this were NASCAR, it would’ve been a photo finish—just seconds apart. But . . . Dee was the winner. She got to pick the movie. Although, I wasn’t exactly crying about my defeat. If you gotta lose a bet, that’s the way to do it.
Anyway, Steel Magnolias is well under way. And it just reinforces my opinion about women and films, because nothing is f*cking happening in this movie. It starts off with a wedding and now it looks like Julia Roberts is going to die. Other than that? Just a bunch of girls talking and getting their hair done and talking some more.
Dee sits beside me in rapt attention while the lady from Smokey and the Bandit—she’s Julia Roberts’s mother—starts talking to her friends at the cemetery. Dee’s nose is already red and her eyes are watery. I turn back to the film and listen as the woman starts to scream and cry and ask how her grandson will ever know how much his mother loved him.
And out of nowhere I start to think about Mackenzie and—God forbid—if something ever happened to Alexandra, how Mackenzie would feel. Who would tell her, how much she would miss out on. Steven’s a great guy, an awesome father, but a mother—especially a fierce mother like Alexandra—that kind of love is different. More.
Irreplaceable.
And even though Dee’s apartment doesn’t seem dusty, some particles must have gotten in my eyes. I rub them, to get the irritation out.
And I sniff. Goddamn allergies.
“Are you crying?” Dee asks me with surprise and laughter in her voice.
Disgustedly, I turn to her. “No, I’m not crying.”
Then I look back at the television screen. Where Julia Roberts’s poor, distraught mother is screaming that she’s fine, when she’s obviously not. And about all the things she’s able to do that her kid never could.
Jesus Christ, this is depressing.
“It’s just so f*cking sad!” I blurt out as I gesture to the television. “How can you watch this shit and not want to blow your head off with a twelve-gauge shotgun?”
Dee covers her mouth and laughs into her hands. “The fact that it can make me cry is one of the reasons I love it so much.”
Okay, that? That is like saying I love the table in my parents’ front hall because I’m gonna stub my toe on it every frigging time I walk past barefoot.
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Sometimes it feels good to cry. It’s cathartic. You’ve never cried over a movie?”
I’m offended that she even feels the need to ask.
I shake my head, but then stop as I remember. “Rocky Three. I cried during Rocky Three, but that doesn’t count. Anyone who doesn’t get choked up when Mickey dies has no soul.”
She shrugs. “Never seen it.”
“You’re missing out. Have you seen Predator?” She shakes her head. “The original Escape from New York?” Another negative. “The Warriors?”
“Nope.”
Then a thought occurs to me. “Wait, your cousin grew up with you and your mom, right?”
“From the time I was about six years old, yeah.”
“So you had a boy in the house—how is it you’ve never seen any of these classics?” I ask, though I’m pretty sure I already know the answer.
Dee shrugs. “Billy was happy to watch what I wanted.”
Sure he was. It’s then that I decide to take that poor male role model–deprived bastard under my wing.
By Monday night, I’m well enough to return to my own apartment. You’d think after almost two full days away, I’d miss it—be glad to be home. But it feels . . . quiet. Boring, even.
I develop the pictures I took with Dee at the park. And while I wait in the darkroom, I think about the last time I was here. With her. Her wet mouth, the stroke of her soft tongue, the way her cheeks hollowed out when she sucked me dry.
As my memory runs wild, I just barely contain the p-ssy-whipped urge to call Delores and implore her to come over. I succeed, but only because we already made plans for her to hang out here Wednesday night.
As far as I’m concerned, Wednesday can’t come soon enough.
On Wednesday afternoon, I meet Alexandra downtown for lunch.
The weather is mild, so we sit at a sidewalk table outside. I take a bite of my burger while Alexandra crunches a salad with grilled shrimp. Then I tell her, “So . . . I’ve met someone.”
Growing up with Drew, I always regarded Lexi as my older sister, but the fact that we didn’t share the same genes, or actually have to live together, made our relationship much less contentious than the one she has with her brother. She looks out for me, but she doesn’t “mother” me the way she does with Drew. She gets annoyed by my screwups, but she doesn’t feel responsible for them. For me, it’s the best of both worlds—all the benefits of a big sister without the pain in the ass headaches.
“From what I hear, you and my brother ‘meet’ lots of women.”
I grin. “This one I like.”
She nods. “Once again, you and Drew ‘like’ a whole bunch of poor, unsuspecting ladies. Why is this one worth mentioning?”
“I like her, like her.”
Alexandra’s blue eyes widen. “Wow. A Wonder Years reference. This must be serious. Do tell.”
My eyes abashedly drop to my burger. “Her name is Delores.”
“That’s kind of random.”
“She’s . . . different.”
Lexi tries to pull more details out of me. “Like . . . she has three breasts kind of different?”
I laugh. “No. But, for the record, it wouldn’t be a strike against her if she did. She’s . . . cool. I have a good time talking with her, you know? She says she’s not into relationships, but I think I’m hoping I can change her mind. I haven’t felt like this since . . .”
Alexandra puts up her palm. “Don’t. Do not even say the foul beast’s name. I’m trying to eat here.”
“Anyway, I’m not sure if it’s going anywhere, but I . . .”
I don’t get the opportunity to finish my sentence. Because a wave of icy, red liquid splashes in my face.
Tastes like cherry.
“Lying motherf*cker!”
I swipe my face, clearing the fluid off my eyelashes. When my vision clears, I see Delores standing on the sidewalk—with a now-empty Slurpee cup clenched in her hand.
Which she proceeds to throw at my f*cking head.
“All that talk about not hooking up with other people! Exclusive f*ck buddies, you said! I would’ve liked you if you had just been straight with me! I knew it—I knew you were just another false-faced bastard who doesn’t like to share his sex toys but has no problem playing with a different one!”
By this time, Alexandra and I are both on our feet. And I have no idea what’s going on.
I try, “Delores . . .”
But she cuts me off. “Four days! You tell me four days ago that you’re not interested in screwing anyone else, and here I find you with . . . with . . .”
Lexi holds out her hand for a shake. “Alexandra Reinhart.”
Dee’s incendiary glare turns to Lexi. But her tirade stops as she wonders. “Reinhart. How do I know that name?”
She lets me answer. Finally. “She’s Mackenzie’s mother.”
If you look closely, you can almost see our previous conversation replaying in Delores’s eyes. “Mackenzie . . . the pseudo niece?” Her head turns more fully to me. “That means she’s . . .”
“The girl I grew up with—yes. Drew’s sister.”
Alexandra takes over for me. “Drew’s sister, Steven’s wife, daughter of John and Anne. I have many designations. One, in particular, is about to be put to good use.”
It’s times like this I suspect Alexandra knows about her nickname. And it scares me.
A lot.
Alexandra’s eyes stay on Dee, but she says to me, “I see what you meant about different.” Then to Delores, “You must be Delores. Matthew was just telling me about you. I’d say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’ve reached my bullshit quota for the week.”
Alexandra circles her slowly—like a shark checking out a wounded seal. “You know, Delores, my mother used to tell me that even though a man wasn’t supposed to ever strike a woman, I should never take advantage of that. That I should never act without expecting an equal and deserving reaction.”
Dee folds her arms across her chest and stands stubbornly tall under the weight of Lexi’s disapproving gaze.
“Matthew’s explained our relationship to you. He’s like a second brother to me. And of the two of them? He’s the nicer one. You should keep that in mind before you think about tossing Icees at his head again.”
Dee gives just a little. She looks down at the sidewalk and mutters defensively, “It was a Slurpee.”
Alexandra snaps her fingers at me. “Give me your shirt and jacket.”
After taking off my tie, I hand the items to her and stand on the sidewalk in a plain white undershirt and gray slacks. Dee reaches for the stained clothes in Lexi’s hands. “I’ll pay to have them dry-cleaned.”
Alexandra rolls her eyes. “The dry cleaners won’t be able to get this out. Luckily, I have a homemade paste that should save the day.” She says to me, “You can pick it up Saturday.”
She puts her hands on my shoulders and kisses my cheek while wiping some remaining red slush off my ear with a napkin. “I have to get going. Good luck—you’re going to need it.”
Before Alexandra leaves, Dee offers, “I hope the next time we meet, it’ll be under better circumstances.”
And Alexandra responds, “I seriously doubt we’ll be meeting again. Matthew’s sweet, not stupid.” Then she grabs her purse and walks down the street.
Dee and I watch her go.
Almost to herself Dee says, “Is she always that much of a bitch?”
I smile. “It’s what she does.” Then I run a hand through my sticky, stiff hair. “What the f*ck, Dee?”
The arm folding is back, and she babbles, “I’m not apologizing. It was a natural mistake. I told you I’m not good at this. Apparently, I even screw up f*ck buddies. I was walking around on my lunch break, and I couldn’t believe it when I saw you. What else was I supposed to think? If you want to blow me off, that’s your decision to make, but I’m not sorry.”
I grasp her shoulders, dip my head, and shut her the hell up with a deep kiss. Then I tell her, “I’m not blowing you off. And you don’t have to apologize.”
I know, I know—are you out of your f*cking mind, Matthew? No, I’m not nuts—I just don’t mind a chick with passion, spark. And a little possessiveness is no big deal. Plus, as Barney Stinson has already explained, Delores is hot enough to be as bat-shit crazy as she wants to be, and I still won’t kick her out of bed.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her get by without payback. Which is why I pull her tight against me and rub my head against her face and hair. Spreading the love—and as much of the Slurpee as I can.
“Ah!” she yells and laughs and smacks me on the back.
Eventually, I lean away and say, “There. Now we’re even.” I kiss her lips quickly. “I’m going to head home for a shower.” Then I get an awesome idea. “You want to join me?”
She’s smiling as she rubs the stickiness off her cheek. “I have to get back to work.”
I nod. “But I’ll see you tonight?”
“Sure.”
It’s only as she’s walking away that I notice the white lab coat she’s wearing over her black leather dress, purple tights, and high leather boots. I call out, “Hey, Dee?”
She turns.
“Bring the lab coat home with you tonight. And a pair of safety goggles if you’ve got them.” You may think it’s too early in our relationship for role play. But I’ll tell you a secret: It’s never too early for role play.