The Big Bang

by Linda Joffe Hull

  After a quick sneeze, he took a shot.

  The red ball went into the right corner pocket.

  His balls began to tingle. So did the back of his throat.

  He took another shot.

  Missed.

  Unsure if the light-headed sensation accompanying his now definitely tingling balls was his imagination or the effects of the champagne on a nearly empty stomach, he took another shot.

  The green-striped ball stopped a millimeter from the edge of the center pocket.

  Sweat erupted on his upper lip.

  He tapped the ball in and checked his watch. Still a minute and a half before he was supposed to reappear at the top of the stairs.

  Had he put on too much cream?

  His dick felt simultaneously cold and sweaty.

  Maybe he could wipe the excess off before he went back up to give his report.

  He was headed back toward the bathroom when a familiar giggle traveled through the cracked door at the top of the stairs. “You’re having a sex toy party?”

  His already tight throat went dry. The voice, which sounded like Hope’s, but he prayed was anyone’s but hers, reverberated down the stairs.

  “Sorry I’m so late. I had a landscaping issue to deal with.”

  He needed water, but couldn’t get his legs to propel him the ten steps to the bathroom.

  “As in the playground?” Laney asked.

  The playground?

  Her response was muffled.

  “Frank told me you were consulting on the final plans,” Laney’s voice carried down the stairs like she was using a megaphone.

  He waited for the person who sounded like, but couldn’t be, Hope to say, No way! or at worst, he asked, but I’m afraid I had to decline.

  “I’m really excited to be part of the finishing touches,” she said.

  Will’s tingling crotch went numb.

  “I’m excited Frank didn’t keep you too long. You’re here in time for the grand finale.”

  “Can’t imagine.”

  A throaty giggle followed.

  Couldn’t be her. Couldn’t be her. Couldn’t be…

  “Will and one of the other gals are about to give us a report on a very special cream we had them test drive.”

  Before he could form a coherent fight or flight plan, the door flew open and Laney peered down the stairs. “Ready, Will?”

  The last thing he saw before his legs buckled under him was Hope.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Restrictions: 4.8. Antenna and Satellite Dishes: All antennas/dishes shall be installed with emphasis on being as unobtrusive

  as possible to others in the community. All antennas/dishes shall be screened from view from any street and nearby lots to the

  maximum extent possible.

  After Will came to, downed some Benadryl, and agreed to be checked out at the urgent care where one of the MOPS moms happened to work, Laney was sure the party was ruined. She couldn’t have been more wrong. Of the thirty-five party attendees, all but, understandably, Will, still ended up ordering something. Twenty left with stock on hand, including Maryellen, who went home with both edible body powder and strawberry shave gel.

  Another sign Laney’s business success was meant to be.

  If she could get herself and the girls into and out of the allergist’s office by four, there’d be time to drop off the fourteen sealed, brown bags in her car to her other customers before they kicked off their weekends. Then, she’d have all day Saturday to plow through the Memorial Weekend details before her dinner planning meeting with Frank.

  “Are we going to see that one freaky doctor we saw last time?” Libby glanced out the window down into the Melody Mountain Medical Plaza parking lot.

  “He’s one of the best in the city,” Laney said. She’d expected to have to list off her never-ending sinus symptoms and beg them to let her piggyback her referral appointment on her girls’ time slot, but instead, willed the timing to work, and magically there was a cancellation.

  “I so don’t want to be here,” Margaret slumped into her chair.

  “Wrong attitude,” Laney said. With $350 as a training stipend, four party attendees enlisted to throw Mother’s Helpers parties as soon as she became an official facilitator, not to mention a bag of complimentary sex toys, negative thoughts about anything, financial or otherwise, were a thing of her past. “Shift your focus from what you don’t want to what you do want and you’ll get what you want.”

  “I want to see that one woman doctor,” Margaret said.

  “I don’t want any more dumb allergy shots,” Libby sniffled.

  “How about something more along the lines of, I look forward to confirming my health with whatever precautionary allergy treatments my doctor thinks necessary to ensure my safety and happiness this summer while I fulfill my dream of being a counselor-in-training at camp?”

  Margaret rolled her eyes.

  “You should be thankful your allergies aren’t debilitating enough to make you sick.” She made a note by Will Pierce-Cohn’s blank order line to give him this allergist’s contact info. When she’d called to check on him, he assured her he was okay and that his doctor thought it was probably something he ate and not the hypoallergenic cream he’d sampled. He’d left looking so pallid, though, it was hard to believe he couldn’t use a second opinion.

  “Oh, my God, Mom!” Libby said. “That book you’ve been reading has turned you into a total freak.”

  “Oh, my gosh.” She certainly wasn’t as freaky as Julie Connors or Roseanne Goldberg, who, judging by the laminated code sheet in her facilitator’s training notebook, had a twelve-inch Gutterman and anal balls coming their way, respectively.

  “Oh, my gosh!” Margaret pressed her face against the window glass.

  “Did you just see what I saw?” Libby asked.

  “Oh my God!”

  “It’s bad energy to use the Lord’s name in vain.” Hopefully, it wasn’t worse energy that she couldn’t wait to report to Sarah just how many people had picked up Love Sleeves along with Love Him or Lube Him gel, or the number of butterflies fluttering into people’s homes in the next twenty four hours via brown bags. After all, Sarah was practically her assistant and their training demanded they memorize not only what color and flavor constituted a TO123 or a LM432, but what items sold the best.

  And to whom.

  “I can’t believe this!” Libby said.

  “Can’t believe what?” Laney looked where the girls pointed. A pair of teenagers walked hand-in-hand between parked cars at the edge of the business parking lot. “Isn’t that Tyler Pierce-Cohn?”

  “I know!” Margaret said. “Right?”

  “With Lauren Trautman!” Libby added.

  “Eva’s gonna be pissed,” Margaret said.

  “I didn’t realize Eva and Tyler were dating,” Laney said.

  “They’re not,” the girls said in unison. “But…”

  Tyler slipped an arm around Lauren’s shoulder, she around his waist, and they headed for the Cold Stone Creamery across the street.

  “Sure looks that way.”

  “You got to admit, they do look cute together,” Libby said.

  “Their vibrational wants must be matching up,” Laney said. Like her own. All the things she wanted, a best friend, business success, and community involvement were interlacing in perfect harmony. “So what they want has to be.”

  Margaret shook her head. “I wouldn’t want to be Lauren when Eva finds out.”

  “Or Tyler,” Libby added, already halfway through a text message.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Article IV. Meetings of Members: Special meetings of members may be called at any time by the president or by the board of directors or on written request of members.

  At a regular restaurant, Maryellen could have had whatever she wanted—a salad with extra lettuce, a fish entrée, even a bite of cheesecake for dessert. Instead, she sat dreading the arrival of barely recognizable meat and sa
uce-drenched vegetable dishes.

  “Try the Crab Rangoon.” Laney reached across the table and popped a crab puff in Frank’s mouth.

  “Mmmm.” Frank’s Just-for-Men brown hair reflected clownish red under the crimson paper lanterns and pleather booths of the restaurant. “We just love Oriental cuisine.”

  “Chinese,” Maryellen said. Watching Laney ply Frank with appetizers was that much worse.

  He’d suggested they conduct their Memorial Weekend planning meeting over a dinner he could expense to the HOB.

  Laney suggested the Shangri-La.

  Having spent two days suggesting to Janet Jamison, Sue Perkins, and assorted MOPS moms that the party was meant to be in good fun and nothing to think more about, Maryellen suggested another restaurant on another night, when, she hoped, the details of her last party wouldn’t threaten any conversation related to the details of the one being planned.

  “The pot stickers are outstanding,” Frank said.

  “Told you,” Laney purred.

  The Shangri-La, on Laney’s schedule, it was.

  Maryellen took a calming sip of jasmine tea and looked down at the doughy won tons submerged in her soup bowl. At least the broth smelled half-decent, and contained a generous helping of baby corn, cabbage, carrots, and bamboo shoots. When chilled, though, there would surely be a film of congealed chicken fat to be skimmed from the top.

  “I’ve scheduled the playground dedication to start at ten sharp,” Laney said, pausing long enough from her flirtation to get down to business. “Speeches are slotted from ten to ten thirty, followed by the ribbon cutting and champagne toast at the Songbird Canyon Court playground. The pool will open immediately following at noon, close at five for party setup, and then reopen for the potluck and kickoff party at six.”

  “Timing sounds about perfect.” Crab-tinged cream cheese filled Frank’s front teeth like tub caulk. “I’ll pass that schedule along to the kids.”

  “My girls said the youth group is all excited to help out.”

  “Doubled their budget in exchange for being on call all weekend.” Frank smiled. “Eva said the vote to help out was unanimous.”

  “That’s great.” Maryellen extracted a lone water chestnut from her soup. Before biting, she sucked the liquid, savoring the nutty flavor and apple-like texture.

  “Did the high school jazz band commit?” he asked.

  “Confirmed them this morning.” Laney’s dark circles, which no amount of makeup totally seemed to erase, looked somehow softer under the reddish light. “And Sarah hooked me up with the guy who does all the party decorations for the Broncos.”

  Maryellen pinched herself for overthinking the words Sarah and hookup.

  “Fabulous,” Frank said.

  “Wait until you see the cake.” Laney gave her now telltale wink. “I found a baker who’ll make almost anything you request.”

  Maryellen swallowed the halves of the water chestnut she’d bitten in two. “Egg rolls anyone?” Before either of them could nod, Maryellen placed two of the greasiest specimens on Frank’s plate and gave a slightly crisper version to Laney.

  “Maryellen, you should order an appetizer tray from here for the potluck setup committee and the early birds.”

  “The homeowner’s association is already providing decorations, boxed wine, soft drinks, and a keg.” Maryellen placed the last egg roll on the corner of her own plate where it wouldn’t make contact with the decorative carrots she’d taken from the center of the Pu-Pu platter. “I thought I’d assign the northernmost Phase One households to come a little early with hors d’oeuvres so we don’t exceed the food budget.”

  “Weng Fei caters almost all my parties.” Laney waved to the Asian man standing behind the register and bit into an egg roll that, despite its phallic shape, would have been downright puritan amid the edibles at Mother’s Helpers. “I’m sure he’ll cut us a deal.”

  “But,” Maryellen managed, “the Phase One homeowners—”

  “Can bring appetizers at the regular time. That way the people who’ve volunteered to help will get a special treat for coming early to help.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  “Treats and surprises,” Laney said. “The key to a fun-filled, successful bash.”

  Frank lifted his wine glass. “Here, here!”

  While he paused to pique the attention of onlookers from other tables, Maryellen dipped her spoon into her water, collected some ice cubes, and dropped them into her chardonnay.

  “Maryellen!” Frank pointed to the bottom of the laminated wine list. “It’s Beringer.”

  “Sorry.” She wasn’t. Ice made the wine extra cold and cut the calories in half. Besides, at home, she refilled a Kendall-Jackson bottle with whatever was on manager’s special at the liquor store. In a pinch, she’d even added water and he’d never noticed the difference. She lifted her glass in Laney’s direction. “To you.”

  “Here, here,” he said, his voice growing louder and deeper. “On behalf of the Melody Mountain homeowners, I want to offer my heartfelt thanks for the outstanding job you do and are once again doing for this community.” He smiled at Laney. “Memorial Weekend’s sure to be the most memorable party we’ve had around here.”

  Maryellen felt the slight sting even before the wine glass touched her lips.

  ***

  Eva took a hit from the ceremonial pipe, passed it to her left, and ran the tip of a crystal-handled wand over the candle flame. “Tonight, we praise the Goddess for the success of the diorama spell. To thank her for our future successes, each of us will make a personal sacrifice.”

  Tyler looked away.

  Lauren looked down at her hands.

  She should have known the second Tyler took Lauren’s hand, or the first time Lauren, acting way too innocent, asked if anyone’s seen him yet.

  Eva had to hold her hands at her sides to keep from strangling them both. That they thought they could sneak around playing lovey-dovey without someone spotting them and telling her, showed how stupid they really were.

  She picked up scissors from the table beside her, came around the ping-pong table, and stopped in front of Lauren. “In honor of your spell contribution, we’ll start with you.”

  Before she grabbed a handful of Lauren’s hair, she gave Tyler her most winning smile. He’d make his sacrifice next.

  In private.

  ***

  “Dear Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for this food. Feed our souls on the bread of life and help us to do our part in kind words and loving deeds. We ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.”

  “Amen.” Maryellen dropped Frank and Laney’s hands and examined the steaming platter of Hunan beef beside her. The meat looked fried. The Sesame Scallops were battered and fried. The Kung Pao chicken, while not as oily, was swimming in a sea of hot peppers.The Happy Family looked anything but.

  Maryellen shifted her attention to the next table where the diners dug into dishes of a batter-coated dessert.

  “That green tea fried ice cream is to die for,” Laney said.

  “I’ll try to save room,” Frank said.

  Maryellen’s throat constricted with the thought.

  Frank dumped overflowing spoonfuls onto his plate. “What are we thinking in terms of attendance at the ribbon cutting itself?”

  “Hard to say, yet.” Laney put a mound of rice in the center of her plate. “I have Sarah working on an Evite with RSVP’s for both the morning and evening events.”

  Maryellen gave herself another quick pinch.

  “I’ll follow up with a separate reminder to the board so they know they need to be at the ribbon cutting.”

  Ignoring the mini-Matterhorn of scallops she’d heaped onto her plate, Laney clasped a piece of beef via chopsticks. “I’d hate to have anyone feeling like the celebration is mandatory.”

  “Considering the scope of the project and the impact on the community, it is,” Frank said.

  Maryellen allowed herself exactly two pieces of Kung Pao chic
ken, one spoonful of Mu Shu, and all the snow peas she could collect from the Lo Mein. “Maybe you could make the ribbon cutting be the May meeting?”

  “No can do.”

  “Why not?” Laney twisted a tangle of Lo Mein around her fork.

  “Covenants.”

  “Can’t you invoke some special circumstances rule? I mean, when will we ever be having a neighborhood-affirming, community-building event like this again?”

  “It’s a thought.” He smiled at Laney. “Problem is, Pierce-Cohn will have a field day.”

  “Probably right,” Laney said. “Especially after his performance at Mother’s Helpers.”

  “Mother’s Helpers?” Frank asked.

  “The home shopping party Laney had on Thursday,” Maryellen said quickly and helped herself to an ice cube from her water glass.

  “Eat, Maryellen,” Frank said through a mouthful of scallops. “She’s always watching her weight.”

  “I wish I had your willpower.” Laney looked her over as though she were a department store mannequin. “You can’t be more than a size two.”

  Size zero, she didn’t say, but made a show of nibbling the broccoli flower from the stem instead as Frank took chopsticks to his Hunan beef.

  “Home shopping, like Avon?” he asked.

  “A lot like Avon,” Maryellen said.

  “Much more hands-on, though.” Laney smiled like the Cheshire cat.

  Maryellen scraped excess sauce from a piece of broccoli and prayed Laney would leave it at that.

  “Can’t imagine how Pierce-Cohn can go to those parties and be the only man,” Frank said, post-swallow and pre-bite.

  “Will’s one of the girls,” Laney said. “But I really did think he was going to die of embarrassment when he came back from putting on that cream and saw Hope standing there.”

  “Some sort of allergic reaction,” Maryellen said.

  “My doctor confirmed there was nothing in there that could have caused—”

  “He’s fine though,” Maryellen said, weighing Laney’s reaction to an under-the-table shut-up kick.

  “If you ask me, his reaction was more from overhearing Hope tell me she’d just come from consulting with you on the playgrounds than anything else.”