Delia Suits Up

by Amanda Aksel

  “So, you know how you said I can be anyone I want?” I take a piece of cold artichoke and stuff it in my mouth, followed by prosciutto, salami, pepperoni.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well,” I start through my meat mouth, “I gave myself—” I try to swallow, but the food’s stuck.

  In my throat.

  I slam my fist into my chest and cough, but it doesn’t move.

  “Oh my god,” Frankie says, the color draining from his face, and before I know it, he’s lifting me out of my chair, hugging my waist, and pressing hard against my abdomen. A piece of salami flies from my mouth onto the plate of fresh antipasti.

  I gasp for air and grab my Little Dickie instinctually.

  “You okay?” he asks, breathless.

  By now the patrons and staff are all staring at me, standing here clutching my Adam’s apple and my crotch. That Spotlight Effect isn’t in my head anymore.

  “I’m okay.” I hunch down and take my seat, my face flaming hot.

  “I’m a doctor. Everything’s fine,” Frankie announces. “She’s, I mean, he’s okay.” He waves proudly and everyone cheers.

  Ah, yes. Everyone loves a doctor.

  I cough. “Thank you, Dr. Ramirez.”

  He boasts to his adoring fans for a few more moments before shooting me a cold expression. “Chew your food, you caveman.”

  “I will. I’m just hungry.” I guzzle my water, soothing my throat.

  He fans himself. “I swear, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

  “Please, like you didn’t love being the hero just now.” I reach for the plate and see my half-chewed breath-stopper lying like a slug.

  Gross.

  Martino hurries over. “Are you all right? Can I get you something?”

  “Another plate of antipasti, please.” Regina bats her eyelashes.

  “Right away.” A smiling Martino takes the plate from the table and leans into Frankie, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “That was amazing,” he says, hushed.

  Not secret hushed, but sexy hushed.

  Then he winks. Winks! My choking might be the best thing that’s happened to Frankie in a long time. If he gets a date out of this, he owes me, and I think I’ll take the suit. Regina’s mouth is a wide hole in her face as she watches sparks fly between Frankie and Martino.

  Talk about a love triangle.

  I stifle a chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” She swivels her neck.

  “The last five minutes. It’s kind of a dramatic lunch. Don’t you think?”

  The three of us shift glances between one another. Our smiles grow wider by the second before we bust out laughing. The kind of hysterical laughter that gets louder and faster until you’re practically snorting. Once again, I can barely breathe and the restaurant’s attention is focused on us.

  “Regina’s in love with the waiter and . . . he, he”—I can hardly speak—“has the hots for Frankie.”

  Regina giggles uncontrollably, holding her stomach. “So what? You almost died by salami. Frankie had to save you!”

  Tears form at the corners of my eyes.

  Frankie’s wiping his eyes too. “And Delia has a dick!”

  After that we really lose it. Laughing off the whole damn thing.

  Finally, we contain the obnoxious pig noises from our table and suck in deep breaths. My cheeks actually hurt. “Where’s the wine?” I glance around for Martino.

  “Right here,” he says, turning the corner, and he places three red wine glasses on the table before uncorking the bottle. “A taste for you, sir.”

  “Oh, yes, please,” Frankie says, watching him pour the sampling with an air of admiration. “Thank you.” Without hesitation, he imbibes the red blend then smacks his mouth. “Mmm.”

  “Good, sir?” Martino asks.

  Frankie sends a flirty smile. “Delicious.”

  “Splendido!” Our waiter meticulously fills each glass before leaving the table.

  I hand my napkin to Frankie. “Here, you’re drooling.”

  With an eye roll he swats my offer away. “You better tuck that over my paisley tie.”

  I chuckle, lifting the red to my nose and inhaling the bittersweet aroma. My friends do the same. It’s exactly how I remember it. Bold, like the new me.

  Regina patiently sets her glass down. “Okay, let’s back up. How did you get a managing director position in just a few hours? Is being a man really all it takes?”

  “It definitely helps.” I motion for them to come closer. “So here’s what happened. When I was picking my phone up at Fairbanks’s apartment, I overheard him talking about Monty Fuhrmann. Long story short, he was going to cancel their pitch tomorrow.”

  “That’s the one Eric’s working on, right?” she asks.

  “Exactly. We’ll get to him in a minute.”

  Regina briskly rubs her hands together. “Ohmigod, I can’t wait!”

  “Anyway, I couldn’t exactly go to Eric with this because, well, you know.” I wave my hand in front of my body. “So, I sorta told them that Liam Golan sent me from the Zurich office to save the pitch.”

  Frankie raises his brow. “Wait, that old dude you’re obsessed with?”

  “You mean the CEO I have extensive notes on, yes. I told them Fairbanks was going to call and he did, so they bought every word. And now I’m running the show.”

  They back away, speechless for a moment. “Maybe you’re right and this is an elaborate dream.” Regina nods as if she’s in the middle of an existential crisis, and I urge her to sip her wine.

  “Whatever’s going on, I have to say that this is the most alive I’ve felt in a long time. I’m leaping before looking, and now I have a corner office overlooking Manhattan. It reminds me of when I first moved to the city and how fearless I was.”

  “Girl, I get that, but aren’t you afraid of getting caught?” Regina is rarely the reasonable one, but that question’s been haunting me all morning.

  “I am. But at the same time, it’s totally worth the risk. Like you said, it’s an opportunity. And who knows? If I can hold out until tomorrow and close this pitch, maybe they won’t care because I’ll be a hero and they’ll keep me on.” I know it’s a long shot, but I’ve gotten this far.

  “Okay, Power Ranger,” Regina mutters into her wineglass.

  Frankie squirms a little in his seat, picking at his nails. “Is that considered insider trading?”

  “No, it’s not stock trading. He said it right in front of me. I’m just turning Monty Fuhrmann’s lemons into my lemonade.”

  “If you say so,” he says. “I just want you to know that I don’t have bail money.”

  My shoulders fall and sweat beads beneath my palms. For a moment, I imagine being escorted from the Monty Fuhrmann Tower in cuffs, a dismal mug shot of a face I barely recognize, and black ink soaked into my fingertips. Wait a second. Are my fingerprints the same? If they are, that means they’re already on file at the SEC. Hmm, maybe my identity isn’t completely lost forever. Even if my vagina is.

  Our waiter returns with a fresh plate of food, and Frankie shifts his attention, complete with a cheery smile. “Grazie, Martino.”

  I take one piece off the plate, chew it, then swallow it entirely before speaking.

  There. Good boy.

  Regina claps her hands. “I want to hear about Eric now.”

  Blood rushes to my cheeks the way it always does when someone brings him up. At least this time it’s not rushing below my belt. “Well, we’re working together again.”

  “Just like old times!” Regina’s voice raises a few octaves.

  I nod, unable to conceal the shy smile that follows. “Not exactly. I am sort of his boss now.”

  “Aw, look, she’s blushing.” Her voice softens.

  “The ironic thing is t
hat now that I’m regaining my confidence, all I want to do is tell him how I feel. But now I can’t.”

  “Any chance he’d be down with the new D?” Frankie asks, pointing below his belt.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He raises his hand. “Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

  Regina and I snicker. If you can’t laugh at your own misery, you’re screwed.

  “Do you guys think I should tell him about ‘the change’?” My stomach swirls with jitters at the thought.

  “The change?” Frankie firmly sets his glass on the white linen as the wine rocks back and forth in his glass. “We’re not talking about menopause. We’re talking about an overnight, miraculous anatomy transformation.” He lowers his voice. “No, you should not tell him. Don’t tell anyone until you can come up with a better story than ‘I woke up like this.’ ”

  I throw my hands up in surrender. “You’re right. I just feel weird not telling him.”

  “Well, toughen up and get over it.”

  “Geez, Frankie, what’s with all the tough love?” Regina asks. “That’s my department.”

  “Sorry”—his tone eases—“it’s been a stressful morning.”

  “No shit,” Regina and I chime in together.

  Martino appears, this time holding an oversized tray with our steaming meals. My stomach jumps at the scent. I can almost hear it shout, “Feed me!” as he lays the plate of tender beef in front of me. I wet my lips and stab a fork into the juicy slab, watching the crimson seep out. I take a deep breath before indulging in my first bite. “Oh, man. This is so good. You guys wanna try?”

  They decline with a look, digging into their own dishes. Frankie lowers his fork. “Are you sure you can pay for this?”

  “I’ll figure it out.” I chew carefully before swallowing my steak to continue. “And if there’s anything I’ve learned today, it’s that we should take advantage of the time we have when we have it. You know, carpe diem.”

  “Well, that’s something, I guess,” Frankie says as he glances up at Martino.

  Regina stands, leaving her napkin on her chair. “I’ll be right back.”

  I reach for the wine and sip slowly. My taste buds seem to be unaltered, because I love it just as much as before. Once Regina turns the corner, I lean over to Frankie. “I need to talk to you about something. Guy stuff.”

  “What guy stuff?” he asks.

  “Well, besides the fact that my balls got a little sweaty when I had to walk a few blocks, I’m having another issue.”

  Frankie cringes. “Eww. I know we’re both guys now, but please don’t tell me about your sweaty balls during lunch.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You can keep the underwear, by the way.” He gives me the kind of look your parents give you when you’ve done something stupid but forgivable. “So what is it?”

  “My Little Dickie’s been waking up. Sometimes with good reason, but other times not so much.” I motion just beneath the table.

  “Little Dickie? Did you just call it Little Dickie?”

  I shrug. “Yeah, I named it in the shower today. Thought it might help. Haven’t you named yours?”

  “Maybe,” he mutters into his glass.

  “What do you call it? Oscar de la Renta?”

  Frankie shakes his head. “Pepe.”

  Huh? “Did you say Pee-pee?”

  “Pepe!” he snaps.

  I giggle but he doesn’t seem amused.

  “Didn’t you have a question about your Little Dickie?”

  I glance around and whisper, “Random boners. Is that normal?”

  “I wouldn’t call it abnormal. But it can be inconvenient.”

  “How often does yours . . . report for duty in a day?” I doubt guys usually talk to other guys about this stuff, but I need to get guidance somewhere. I’m a late bloomer.

  “Oh, at least half a dozen, maybe more.”

  “Really? What a nuisance.”

  Frankie gives me a good-ole-boys pat on the back. “Welcome to penishood, my friend.”

  “Thanks,” I say, rolling my eyes. He takes a sip and ogles the waiter like he wants to devour him the way I’m devouring my medium-rare steak.

  “You should ask him out. He could be your lover.” I nudge him with my elbow while savoring another bite.

  “You think so? He’s not too hot for me?” Frankie is always a little self-conscious, but he has no reason to be.

  “No way. Besides, he’s totally into you. He wants you to ask him out.” We look over at Martino, who’s serving another table. He catches us and sends another smile Frankie’s way.

  “Did you see that?” I ask like a high school girl encouraging my BFF with her crush.

  “Yeah, but I don’t know. He’ll probably just break my heart.” Frankie is classically a dumpee instead of a dumper.

  “Well, you’ll never know if you don’t ask him out. And if I can charge into Monty Fuhrmann and make them believe I’m some bigwig managing director from across the pond, then you can definitely get that guy’s number. C’mon, have some cojones.” I grab mine for the millionth time, completely disregarding that we’re in a five-star freaking restaurant.

  “Okay, I’ll do it,” he says, and I cheer him on.

  Regina pops back from the ladies’ room. “Do what?”

  “Hook up with Martino later.” I bounce my eyebrows in a suggestive manner. She doesn’t seem pleased. Poor Gina. “Don’t look so glum; we’ll get you a guy.”

  “Actually, I’ve been thinking it would be pretty cool to get you a girl.” She mimics my brow bounce.

  “What do you mean? Like sex? With a woman?” My pulse quickens with every question.

  “Yeah, aren’t you a little bit curious?” The naughty glimmer in Regina’s eyes tells me that if she were in my shoes, she’d do it in a New York minute.

  Last night I did mention that if I were a man I could have more sex. But experiencing sex as a man with a woman? For a moment, I try to imagine what it would feel like to have something warm and wet enclose my—

  “Nope.” If I can’t wrap my head around it, then I can’t handle it wrapped around my . . . head. “I think I’m better off keepin’ it in my pants.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Our plates are nearly cleaned and it’s about time to head back to my new job. I set my black napkin on the table. “I need to pee.”

  “Me too,” Frankie says and pushes his chair back.

  I rise to my feet. “Is it cool for guys to go to the bathroom together?”

  “It depends on who you ask. C’mon.” He gives me a little shove.

  I follow him into the men’s room, but pass up the row of porcelain pee stations and head for the first empty stall. Frankie positions himself in front of one of the urinals. The scratching sound of his zipper stops me in my tracks. I shift my glance between him and my chosen toilet. I’ve always found the idea of urinals off-putting. Guys lined up, pissing and looking around at each other, talking about last night’s football game or their hot Hooters waitress or maybe comparatively peeking at one another’s goods. Come to think of it, I could’ve had a little look at Eric’s earlier. I bet he has a nice one.

  Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to learn to pee standing up, since I have my own set of goods and all. Besides, it’s just Frankie and me. I step over to the ceramic wall basin next to him and avoid looking at his Pepe, even though he’s seen my Little Dickie.

  “How does this thing work?” I ask, glancing around, expecting to see a metal drain at the bottom, like the kind in a locker room shower. Instead, it’s a mini basin with a puddle of water—just like any other toilet.

  Frankie keeps his eyes focused on the wall in front of him. “Easy. Carefully take your penis out, direct it at the bowl, and pee.”

  I step back and the urinal flushe
s automatically. The water sucks down the toilet-like drain in a spiral then refills.

  Hands-free, huh? That’s cool.

  Taking a piss in front of a urinal has to be easier than dangling my dick over a toilet. I cringe at the memory of my morning spray-palooza.

  “Here goes nothin’.” I unzip my pants and try to pull the penis out of my boxers. “I can barely fit this thing through my fly. Am I supposed to undo my belt and pants? And why is this underwear hole so small?”

  He laughs, wiping a tear at the corner of his eye.

  “What if I pee all over myself?”

  His amusement ceases. “You better not.”

  “Then help me!” I glare.

  Frankie starts snickering again. “Look, it’s really not that hard.”

  My hand’s swallowed up by my pants’ fly. “Easy for you to say; you’ve had one of these for decades.”

  “Okay, there’s two ways you can do this, over the fence or through the gate.” He demonstrates the motion with his hand.

  “The doorway’s a little too narrow for me, if you get my drift.”

  He shakes his head as if I’m too cocksure myself. “I’ve seen it, Queen D. It’ll fit. But most guys go over the fence.”

  I unfasten my belt. “Hey, how do you know most guys go over the fence?”

  “I just know,” he says like he’s got a secret. “Be careful that your pants don’t go sliding down your legs. That shit’s embarrassing.” Luckily, these pants aren’t oversized and hang nicely on my hips. “Then just whip it out over your boxers and give yourself some space. You don’t want to squeeze your balls with the elastic.”

  Think I’m ready for blastoff. I thrust forward, leaning into the urinal. Please don’t make a mess, Delia. Using my hand, I direct the flow. A slow smile lengthens across my face as I let go, watching the urine drain perfectly into the bowl. I’m doing it! I beam a proud grin at the wall in front of me.

  It feels good to have some control over this thing.