by Tara Sivec
“Oooooh, that sounds fun!” my mother exclaims. “Can I borrow those later? Reggie would get a kick out of them. I could do a whole goldfish theme and make him eat goldfish crackers off of my-”
“Mom!” I interrupt. “What did I tell you about oversharing?”
Glancing at my watch, I realize I still have an hour before I need to leave the house for my interview. An entire hour of staring at Stripper Barbie and listening to my mother discuss her sex life with my father. I start pacing in the living room, wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt.
“I don’t know why you’re so nervous. Aside from your shoe selection, they’re going to love you,” my mother tells me.
“I’m nervous because this is a big deal. Sam got me this interview, and I can’t screw it up. I have to make a good impression.”
Aunt Bobbie walks into the room and shoves a glass of water at me, holding her palm out that has a little pill resting in the middle of it. “Here, take this.”
I step back and shake my my head at her. “I’m not taking drugs before an interview, are you insane?!”
Aunt Bobbie scoffs, thrusting her hand toward me. “Quit being a little bitch and take it. It’s a Xanax, not meth. It will just take the edge off so you don’t go in there and screw everything up.”
“I love Xanax. I used to take it all the time when I first started stripping. I was so self-conscious about my body and it really helped,” Pinky informs me.
“That reminds me, don’t make any plans for after your interview. Pinky is going to give us a pole dancing lesson!” my mother says with a smile, glancing over at Pinky. “Will we need to be naked for this? Should I have Reggie pick up some more firewood for the fireplace so we don’t get cold?”
Grabbing the little pill from Aunt Bobbie’s hand and the glass of water she’s still holding out to me, I down it quickly and hand the empty glass back to her.
“Good girl. Now you’ll be nice and relaxed and they’ll hire you on the spot,” she tells me with a pat on the head like I’m a puppy.
She walks out of the room to take the glass into the kitchen and I breathe a sigh of relief. I can already feel my nervousness slipping away and I start going over all of the things I’ll say during the interview to dazzle them. I really, really need this job so I can get the hell out of this house.
At this point, I’d take a job at McDonald’s flipping burgers just to get a minute alone with Sam. Not only am I freaking out about landing this job, I’m freaking out about how crazy Sam has been acting lately. Getting his nipple pierced because he’s under the impression I don’t think he’s enough of a man? Where in the hell did THAT come from? I mean, it’s hot, don’t get me wrong, but really? And he hasn’t even mentioned us living together in days. Not one word, when up until our fight, he brought it up every chance he could.
So, not only am I freaking out about getting a job, I’m freaking out about Sam changing his mind about wanting to live with me. Which I know, makes me the biggest hypocrite in the world since I want to be officially engaged before we live together, and even though I was getting annoyed with him bringing it up all the time, it was still nice to be asked. And feel wanted.
I really suck and need to get my shit together.
“I’m going to go soak in a nice bubble bath to get my muscles relaxed so I can be extra bendy for our lesson,” my mother announces, bringing me out of my thoughts.
I take that as my cue to get the fuck out of this house, even if it means I’ll show up to my interview a little early. I’d rather be early and not have to listen to my mother talk about getting bendy, than throw up on the living room carpet and be late.
Grabbing my coat and purse from the couch, I wave good-bye to my mom and Pinky as they both wish me luck, and ignore my mother when she tells me to undo another button on my top and show a little more cleavage to distract them from my shoes.
Oh, my God, it’s so hot in here. Do I have pit stains? I can feel my vagina sweating. Do vaginas smell when they sweat? My head itches. I can’t itch my head or they’ll think I have lice. Eeeeew, lice are gross. Why do my hands look sparkly?
Holding my hand up in front of my face, I turn my wrist back and forth and watch my pretty, sparkly hand glitter in the sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows in the reception area of the building.
Why does my skin look like Edward Cullen’s? My head itches.
“Twilight, Mr. Front Butt will see you now.”
I giggle, dropping my hand to look up at the receptionist as she stands in the doorway holding the door open that leads to the offices.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I ask in confusion, shaking my head to clear my thoughts.
“I said, Noel, Mr. Fronbet will see you now,” she repeats with a soft smile.
Grabbing my purse from the chair next to me, I quickly stand and stumble forward when the room spins, planting my feet wide and holding my arms out to the side to steady myself.
“I think the floors are uneven,” I mumble, my voice sounding like it’s echoing in a wide cavern in my ears. “Do you hear that echo? It’s so weird.”
The woman looks at me in confusion as I walk very slowly past her, running my hand along the wall next to me as I go to keep me upright.
“Turd crawfish on the breast,” she tells me with a tight-lipped smile.
I clap my hand over my mouth to contain my giggle, stopping in the hallway just beyond her to lean against the wall.
“Third office on the left,” she repeats.
“Yes, that makes much more sense,” I tell her with a grin, pulling my shirt away from my body and fanning myself with the material. “It’s like an oven in here. I have boob sweat.”
She lifts her arm and points down the hall toward where I’m supposed to be heading, not saying anything else. Which is probably for the breast. I mean best. Ha ha, oh my God, I feel like dancing! Why aren’t they playing music in here? It could really liven this place up if they had a little techno piped through the speakers.
With a nod, I turn and head down the hall, knocking on the open door of the third office on the left. A man in a grey business suit looks up from his desk and smiles, waving me into the office.
Wow. He’s hot. Like, really hot. I should have sex with him right now. On top of his desk. My vagina feels funny. All tingly, like my itchy head and my sweaty boobs.
“Miss Holiday, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Dick Front Butt,” he tells me, standing up from his office chair and extending his arm out toward me over the top of his desk.
“Wow! Dick Front Butt is an excellent name,” I tell him, walking quickly across the room and grabbing his hand.
He laughs, dropping my hand and pointing to a chair next to me. “It’s Rick Fronbet, actually, but that was pretty funny. Never heard that one before.”
Flopping down on the chair, I toss my coat and purse onto the floor at my feet and take a few seconds to wipe the sweat from my palms on the top of my skirt.
“Sorry, I have sweaty palms. Not to be confused with hairy palms. It’s like, really hot in here. Do you care if I take my shoes off? My feet itch and these shoes are ugly,” I tell him, kicking my heels off before he can say anything.
I sigh in relief when my feet are bare and start rubbing them against the scratchy carpet.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he says with a smile, sitting back down behind his desk. “One of my managers recommended I meet with you. She told me her husband and your fiancé are in the Marine Corps together.”
I start fanning my face with my hand when I feel a bead of sweat drip down from my forehead.
“He’s my fake fiancé, actually. He proposed to me on Christmas Eve, but he was pretending to be my ex-boyfriend at the time because I didn’t want my family to know I’d broken up with the real one right before Christmas, but I gave him a blow job in Santa’s Workshop, so I guess we were kind of legit by that point. I’m honestly still confused about the details,” I tell him, bringing both of
my hands up to my head to start scratching my scalp that feels like it’s on fire.
“Well, alrighty then,” Mr. Front Butt says with a laugh. “As you know, this position we’re looking to fill is for a Creative Director. Instead of doing the same type of boring interview, I thought I’d just give you a notebook and pen, and let you write down some sample ideas for greeting cards. How does that sound?”
I nod distractedly and sigh with relief as I dig my fingernails into my head and the itching finally stops.
“Sounds like fun, can you maybe turn on some music? Something in the techno family maybe?” I ask through clenched teeth.
Why am I grinding my teeth? My jaw hurts. I should ask Front Butt if we can have sex now. Fuck, it’s like an oven in here.
Seven Mr. Butt’s walk around the desk and hand me a yellow, legal pad of paper and a pen, and I smile at all of them as they tell me they’ll give me a few minutes alone to come up with some good greeting card ideas.
Wow, seven hot guys. I’ve never participated in a gang bang. I wonder what it’s like? My teeth hurt and now my hair itches. Why is my mouth so dry? Oooooh, this paper is so sparkly. IT’S EDWARD CULLEN PAPER!
“I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit. Would you like a glass of water?”
I look at him questioningly and realize my mouth is wide open and my tongue is flailing all around while weird slurping noises are coming out of me that actually make a nice little musical rhythm I can bob my head to.
“Mmmmm, water sounds wet. I’ll have that,” I tell him as he chuckles and heads out the door, telling me he’ll have his assistant bring me a throttle of otter, which sounds really weird, but whatever.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I unbutton my shirt to get some cool air on my skin before I melt into a puddle of goo. Sliding out of the chair and onto the floor, I flop onto my stomach with the notepad in front of me, quickly getting to work being a mother-fucking genius.
A few hours later, with a headache that feels like it will be the death of me, along with enough mortification to kill me if the headache doesn’t, I storm into my parent’s house and slam the door closed so hard behind me it rattles the wall and knocks a picture off of it and onto the floor.
“AUNT BOBBIE! GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!” I scream, wincing at the loud sound of my voice and holding my hands against my temples after I toss my coat and purse to the floor.
“Hey babe, how was the interview?” Sam asks, walking into the hallway and stopping in his tracks when he sees me. “What the hell happened to your hair? It looks like a flock of birds attacked you.”
Turning to glance in the mirror hanging on the wall next to me, I groan when I see my long, red hair in tangled knots and sticking up all over the place.
“Did you get the job?” my mom asks excitedly, coming up behind Sam, her eyes going wide when she takes in my sad state.
“Sweet mother of Swiss, Noel, why is your shirt all stained with sweat?”
I sigh in irritation, turning away from the mirror when a guilty-looking Aunt Bobbie creeps up next to her sister.
“So, how’d it go?” she asks nonchalantly.
“YOU!” I shout, pointing a finger at her. “What the fuck did you do to me?”
Aunt Bobbie takes a step back, moving behind Sam as I charge toward her.
“It’s not my fault! It was an honest mistake!” she claims.
“What was an honest mistake? What happened?” Sam asks, grabbing onto my arms to stop me from catapulting myself over his body and beating the shit out of my aunt.
“Oh, no big deal. I just spent my interview scratching myself like a meth addict, taking off my clothes, and having an impromptu dance party on the guy’s desk,” I growl.
“Well, that’s one way to get the job,” my mother says with a laugh.
“THIS ISN’T FUNNY!” I yell.
“It’s kind of funny,” Aunt Bobbie adds, wiping the smile off of her face and screaming in fear when I dive toward her and Sam has to wrap his arms around me, pick me up, and move me away from her.
“Aunt Bobbie, what did you do?” my mother asks, looking back and forth between us.
“I may or may not have switched up my bottles of medication. They both had X’s on them, it’s not my fault I mixed up the Xanax with the Ecstasy!”
“Oh, Jesus…” Sam mutters, wrapping his arms tighter around me.
“I had to give the guy sample greeting card ideas. Do you want to know what those samples were?” I ask sarcastically.
When no one speaks, I continue talking through clenched teeth.
“How about, Happy Valentine’s Day! I didn’t get you a present, but I gave you herpes. You’re welcome!”
Sam snickers and I shoot him a dirty look over my shoulder.
“Or what about this one? Roses are red, violets are blue, I think you’re a pussy, and your mom does too,” I continue. “Or this gem, My vagina is hot, your penis is not. Happy Valentine’s day, go jerk-off in a sock.”
My mother and Aunt Bobbie seem to think this is the funniest thing in the world and don’t even both hiding their enjoyment or their loud laughter. Sam, smart man that he is, keeps his mouth shut.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go take a shower. A scalding hot shower to wash away my shame and any memory of being related to you assholes!” I shout, shrugging out of Sam’s arms, storming down the hall and up the stairs.
“I really kind of liked the herpes one,” I hear Aunt Bobbie muse. “I had this lip fungus thing a few months ago. That card would have come in handy after that Tinder date.”
12
Ballcicles
Sam
“Jesus Christ, woman, we’re not doing The Ecstasy!” Reggie shouts in exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air.
“I’m just saying, it made Noel all tingly and want to dance. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Bev argues.
“If we have any more fun, my man parts are going to rip themselves from my body and start smacking me in the face! I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but it has got to stop before I get dick-slapped by my own dick. Can we please just go back to only having sex on birthdays and holidays?” Reggie pleads.
I stare up to the second floor where Noel disappeared ten minutes ago, listening to the sound of the shower turning on.
“Now, kids, there’s no need to fight. How about we all just smoke some pot and calm down?” Aunt Bobbie suggests.
“YOU’RE CHEATING ON ME! THAT’S WHAT’S GOTTEN INTO ME LATELY!” Bev shouts, dropping her head in her hands as she starts to cry.
“WHEN IN THE HELL WOULD I HAVE TIME TO CHEAT ON YOU? I’VE BEEN NAKED AND TIED TO OUR BED FOR THE LAST MONTH! I’M SURPRISED YOU’VE LET ME OUT TO TAKE A PISS. MY PROSTATE IS VERY ANGRY RIGHT NOW, BEVERLY!” Reggie yells.
“Um, sooooo, anyone mind if I join Noel up in the shower? No? Great, good luck with whatever this is,” I whisper as softly as possibly so there’s no chance of them hearing me over all the shouting and fighting.
I turn and take the stairs two at a time, heading into Noel’s old bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. I quietly move across the room and into the attached bathroom, closing and locking that door as well. I’m not taking any chances in this crazy ass house.
The clear glass shower doors have only partially started to fog up from the steam, and I still have a perfect view of Noel’s naked body and the spray of water dripping down over her skin. It takes me a minute to remember how to breathe and I quickly shed my clothes and knock gently on the glass door before I open it, not wanting to give her a heart attack.
Noel stands directly under the spray with her hands against the shower wall in front of her and her head dropped forward. She doesn’t say a word or even move when I get behind her, close the door, and slide my arms around the warm, wet skin of her waist. Pulling her back against me, her head comes up and rests against my chest and her arms settle on top of mine.
“How are you doing?
Feeling a little more human now?” I ask softly, kissing the top of her head and begin making my way down the side of her wet cheek. She tilts her head to the side to give me access to her neck, and I run my tongue over her skin, licking away some of the beads of water that drip down.
“This definitely helps,” she says with a sigh as I scrape my teeth against her neck. “I’m sorry I screwed up the interview.”
Leaning to the side so I can see her face, I slide one arm out from under hers to grab her chin and tilt it toward me. “Why in the hell are you apologizing to me? You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“You went out on a limb for me and got me this interview, and I fucked it up. I fucked everything up,” she sighs, moving her face away from my fingers and resting her head back on my chest.
“For your information, you didn’t fuck anything up. My buddy called right when you left to come up here. I explained what happened and he put his wife on the phone, who conferenced in the guy you interviewed with. They were both laughing so hard they could barely speak. He really wanted to hire you and give you a second interview, but he had to make a decision today and went with the guy who interviewed after you,” I explain, pulling her tighter against me.
“It’s just as well. I don’t think I could ever work for a guy I couldn’t make direct eye contact with. I can’t believe I took my shirt off and got on top of his desk,” she complains, this time with a little laugh now that she’s calm and can see the humor in the situation. “And I wrote ten greeting card samples all about Herpes.”
Her body shakes with laughter against me, and I press a kiss to the top of her wet head with a smile. “And people think Herpes is no laughing matter.”
She sighs, pressing her ass back into me and I groan.
“Careful there. I can’t be responsible for my dick when you’re sliding up against me all warm and wet and sexy,” I warn her.
“I was hoping you came in here with me to be irresponsible. I don’t want to think about what happened today and I don’t even want to know why I hear my parents screaming at each other downstairs,” she tells me quietly.
