by Tami Anthony
"Hello?" Annie says annoyed.
"Oh my God, thank you!" I say in a frantic whisper. "Annie, I have a problem."
"What?" Annie is still disoriented because it's so early. "Leslee, this better be really fucking good. It's seven in the morning, and it's Sunday. If this wasn't a holy day, I'd put my foot up your ass for waking me up."
"This is definitely something to talk about," I start. "This morning I woke up and I wasn't in my room."
"OK ..."
"I didn't wake up in my house either," I whisper. "Just guess where I woke up at this morning."
"Um, New York?"
"No, guess again."
Annie grunts. "Leslee, if you don't get to the point, I'm hangin' up and turning off my phone. It's too early for this shit!"
"OK, OK!" I say. "I woke up at Eric's house ... in his room ... on his bed ... naked."
Annie gasps. "What?" she says and starts to laugh at me.
"It's not funny!" I sigh. "He's the last person I'd ever sleep with. I don't know how this happened."
"Leslee, it's like this: when a man and a woman get together, and they're attracted to each other…”
"Yeah, yeah, funny, funny. I called you for some friendly advice and you're making fun of me? How typical of you."
"Why is it typical? You did something unexpected and now I'm laughing at you. Friends do that."
"The whole Xavier thing was something unexpected you did and I didn't laugh at you," I remind her and she doesn't respond. It’s an awkward silence, a period of silence where it’s enough to let me think about what’s going on at this very moment. "Wait a second ... you're with him now, aren’t you?!" I ask and Annie stays silent as if there's a frog in her throat. "He's right next to you, isn't he?"
She stutters. "I, well, he invited me over his house last night, so I came over, had a few drinks, one thing led to another, and—"
"You slept with him?" I hiss.
"Um, yeah, I did." You can hear the shamefulness in Annie's voice as if she's embarrassed about what she did.
"All four inches of him?" I ask. Annie doesn't breathe a word. Now it’s my turn to laugh. "Wow, it must be true!" I exclaim. Sadly, I’m finding enjoyment in laughing at her misery. Annie loves a well-endowed man. She'd have it no other way, so I know having slept with a miniature peen/remote control and me knowing about it is killing her. Bwah wah wah! Serves her right!
"Size isn't everything," she says in her defense.
"Oh, sure it's not," I reply with a sarcastic tone in my voice. Karma's a bitch and I love her for it!
"I'm going back to bed," Annie yawns. "Good luck with Eric."
"No, no, wait, Annie," I beg to stop her from hanging up the phone. "What should I do? He's still sleeping. Should I wake him up then leave or should I just leave?"
"Do what Eric does to other women, just leave," Annie replies. "Just take your stuff and go."
"But, we're friends."
"Who fuckin' cares?!" Annie yawns again as if to say my issue is boring her. "Eric is a jerk and we both know this, us and every other woman in the Philadelphia Tri-State area. Don't explain anything to him, just go."
"I can't leave yet."
"Why not?"
"Because ..." Embarrassed by the simple and obvious fact that I don’t know where my wardrobe is, I tell Annie anyway of my present nude escapade. "I can't find my clothes."
"Where are they?"
"Not in his room apparently,” I answer. “I'm in the kitchen right now wrapped up in a blanket like a damn sausage," I respond. At that very moment, I see my panties swaying back and forth in front of my face and long and behold Jeremy, Eric's older brother, is the one swinging them. As I feel my face turn red from humiliation, I rush Annie off the phone. "I have to go. I'll call you later," I say quickly and hang up the phone. With my head hanging down in shame, I greet Jeremy with a low, unenthusiastic, "Hi."
"Long time, no see Leslee," Jeremy says even though I just saw his fugly face the night before, "and today, I'm seeing more of you than I usually do." I put out my hand and he hands me my panties.
"So embarrassing," I mutter to myself.
Jeremy shakes his head. "Tisk, tisk," he says with a smirk on his face. "You do realize that your wardrobe is spread about my house."
Oh, God, I think to myself. This is so humiliating. "This isn't happening. This can’t be happening," I say to myself.
"I found your shirt and pants in the kitchen, your shoes in the dining room, which by the way are still under the table," he tells me, "your bra and a pair of metal handcuffs in the bathroom, and last but certainly not least, your underwear lying in the middle of the hallway. All in all, I'd say you had a very fun-filled night." Jeremy mischievously smiles at me. "Coffee?" he asks.
"No thanks," I say in a rush. "I really should be going."
"What?" he asks shocked by my answer. "You're just gonna screw my brother and leave? Now that's not very nice."
I begin to do the infamous Annie stutter. "I, um, uh ..."
"You know what people call that, right?"
"Um, uh—"
"Screwing and run." Jeremy laughs at his own joke. "It's like a hit and run except in this case, you're screwing and running."
"I don't think that's funny, Jeremy. I'm a little baffled by the situation right now and honestly just a little bit embarrassed." I begin to get irritated quickly.
"No need to be embarrassed, lesbo," Jeremy assures me as he prepares his morning coffee. “You are family … of course it’s by penal injection, but nevertheless, still family.” He takes a small sip from his mug. “Oooh, kinda hot. You sure you don’t want any?”
I shake my head as I pick up my shoes from the floor, grab my purse, and run through the living room and out the front door. I’m too humiliated to search every room in their house for my clothes. As long as my boobs and crotch are covered by the thin bed sheet that I’m wearing, I shouldn’t get pulled over by any cops or get any weird stares from Philly civilians.
I take a deep breath as I plop into my horrible piece of shit car. I throw my shoes, purse, and underwear on the passenger seat and begin to wonder if I should leave or not. Yes, Leslee. I think to myself. You should go. Don’t make matters any worse than they are. Situations like this ruin friendships and this is one friendship that you don’t want to lose. Sighing, I start my car and pull away from Eric’s house still confused and oh-so freakin’ embarrassed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“This is stupid,” I tell Karen, pouting.
“This is not stupid. It’s genius,” she tells me as she zips up the back of my bridesmaid dress. After the night I’ve had, I’m here in the middle of another bridal shop experiencing my own personal Hell starring Karen as the Bride Lucifer.
“It’s five months before your wedding and you already want me to try on bridesmaids dresses,” I say. “Isn’t it too soon for this?”
Karen gasps at my comment. “It’s never too soon,” she argues. “Besides, I want to see what it looks like on you, and if it looks funny, then I’d have to find another dress for you. Oh, and before I forget …” Karen walks over to her purse, pulls out a pamphlet, and hands it to me. “You’ll need this.”
“’Karen Culbertson’s Wedding Workout and Diet Regimen for Bridesmaids?’” I read aloud. Is she serious? Did she actually hand me a pamphlet telling me to starve myself and to work out three hours a day? “You’re crazy,” I say.
“Stop saying I’m stupid and crazy,” she tells me. “I’m a genius. I don’t want my wedding party to look sloppy and out of sorts. Everyone has to look perfect.”
“People come in different shapes and sizes, Karen.”
“Not in my wedding party, they don’t. I don’t want any of my bridesmaids being over a size ten. That’s the limit.”
“Oh,” I say, rolling my eyes. “OK then.”
“And if any of you even think of getting impregnated before my wedding, I will kick you out of my wedding and I will kick you out of my li
fe.”
“Isn’t that a little harsh?”
“No!” Karen snaps. “It’s not harsh. It’s realistic. I don’t want any pregnant heifers walking down the aisle before me. Plus, I have to look at my wedding pictures in years to come. I don’t want that as a memory, now turn around.” I slowly turn my back to Karen. “Nice, now turn again and walk one step.” I sigh and do what she says. “Perfect. If you follow my wedding workout and nutrition regimen, you should fit better in the dress by December.”
“Karen, I’m not starving myself for your wedding, and I’m definitely not doing a master cleanse. You are nuts.”
“Beyonce did a master cleanse for ten days and lost twenty pounds,” Karen tells me.
“And Beyonce is a millionaire who consistently has to worry about her looks. I don’t.”
Karen sighs. “You know, for someone who just had sex last night, you really are uptight.” She knows! I think to myself. She has to know, but how does she know? I didn’t tell her. “Yeah, I saw how you walked in the house this morning with that sheet wrapped around you,” she tells me, laughing. “You must’ve had some night. I thought you were going out with Eric though? Did you have a hot date instead?”
“No,” I say quickly. “It’s complicated.”
Karen begins to unzip my dress and pull it off. “Come on. You know you want to tell me. Who was the lucky guy?” I can feel my face getting hot from embarrassment. I should tell her. She’ll probably find out anyway. I take a deep breath.
“It was Eric!” I blurt out. “I had sex with Eric.”
Karen’s mouth drops in shock. “What?”
“I had sex with him, or at least I think I did. I don’t know.” I put my hands on my head and begin to bite my lip. Why am I even ashamed of it all? Does it even matter?
“What do you mean that you don’t know?” Karen asks backing away from me.
“It means that I had one too many strawberry martinis to remember,” I say as Karen gasps. “First, we were making out, then his shirt was off, then my underwear was off, and then … I don’t know what we did.”
“You’re a dirty girl, Leslee,” Karen says, laughing. “A really dirty girl.” Why does she think this is amusing? The situation isn’t amusing at all. I just had sex with one of my best friends in world and she thinks it’s funny? When did this situation become funny? “So, you ran out of his house with no clothes, huh?”
“I don’t think I ran fast enough if you ask me,” I say as I begin to get dressed.
“Well, did you talk to him this morning?” she asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I was too embarrassed! I just wanted to leave,” I say, frustratingly. “I called Annie and asked her what I should do, and she said that I should leave and not say anything because he does it to women all the time.”
“Wait a second. You called Annie instead of me?”
“Yes, and when I called her, Xavier was in bed with her.”
“Didn’t she meet him like two seconds ago?”
“Yeah, the day before yesterday,” I answer.
“I told you she was a whore,” Karen reminds me as I sit down to put the gloss on my lips. “So what are you gonna do now? You should at least call Eric.”
“No,” I tell her. “We had sex and now our friendship is ruined. It’s over.”
“No, it’s not. You should call him and just talk to him,” Karen suggests. “Maybe it’ll make your friendship a little more fun.”
“Oh, yes, a friend with benefits,” I reply sarcastically. “That’s exactly the type of relationship I’m looking for.” I roll my eyes. “I have to go. I’m going to be late for my interview. It’s only around the corner.”
“So that’s why you were dressed like a librarian today,” Karen says. “I guess it beats wearing a bed sheet.”
I fake laugh. “That’s funny,” I say sarcastically as I finish putting on my original interview outfit. “You really got me there.”
“Can I be honest with you?” she asks me.
“Yeah.”
“Did you ever think that it was meant to be?” Karen asks and I raise my eyebrow. “You know, the whole sleeping with Eric thing.”
“No, because he’s a manwhore.”
Karen walks over to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. “Leslee, you really don’t know how ten years can change a person.”
“Karen,” I start, “people never change.”
“You don’t know that,” she tells me. “Just call him. I bet you can still be friends and just forget about all of this.”
I pick up my oversized purse and rise from my seat. “I have to go now,” I say as I begin to walk out of the bridal shop and onto the streets of Rittenhouse Square. As I walk to my interview, I begin to think how low my self-esteem is getting. I’m a good person, so why do I put myself in horrible situations? I have not only found a way to ruin my relationships with men, but I’ve also found the perfect way to lose friends: have sex with them.
I walk up to the attorney’s office that I have an interview with and sigh. This is my life. I will end up becoming this miserable paralegal with no true social life or real boyfriend. Maybe someone can make my life into a soap opera. That would be cool and depressing at the same time.
“David Kirkpatrick, Attorney at Law,” I read the sign outside the door. “Here we go,” I say to myself as I walk into the office. Inside, I can’t help but to see that Mr. Kirkpatrick is a big fan of classic cherrywood pieces. Don’t get me wrong though. It is kinda beautiful. It’s classic and it’s basic. I’m sure that he’s a straightforward guy. The only thing that’s boggling my mind right now is the oversized picture of dogs playing poker hanging on the wall. Maybe he’s a poker fan? Maybe he likes dogs?
“You have an appointment?” the secretary asks me from behind her desk, a middle aged woman with dark hair and glasses. She looks very Sopranos-like, you know, like a mobster’s wife. A little scary if you ask me.
“I have an interview with Mr. Kirkpatrick today for the paralegal position,” I tell her.
“And you are?”
“Leslee Robinson,” I answer and I pull out the resume from my purse. The secretary snatches it from my hands and begins to read it over. She laughs.
“You know, you’re not like the other candidates applying for this position,” she tells me as she sips her coffee. “One girl went to Harvard Law School.”
“I’m sure I’m not like the other women who applied for this position,” I say as she smirks. “I bet none of them are the daughter of retired Judge Robinson of Philadelphia.” The secretary spits out her beverage in mid-air. Yup, she knows who he is, and yes, I did a name-drop in order to be better qualified for a job. But, wouldn’t you do the same thing? Any advantage at this point is a good advantage. Besides, if I’m working, I can get my mind off of other things such as men … crazy men, psychotic men, horrible dates, Karen’s wedding crap, and Eric.
“You’re Judge Robinson’s daughter?” she asks in amazement.
“Why, yes,” I say, smiling. “Yes, I am.”
“That means you have connections all around the city?”
“I never really thought about it, but yeah I guess I do,” I reply, shrugging my shoulders.
The secretary quickly stands up from her seat. “Hold on one second,” she tells me as she rushes to the office door of Mr. Kirkpatrick. She begins to knock loudly. “David!” she shouts through the door. “Your eleven o’clock interview is here!”
“I’m on the phone!” he yells through the door.
“Well, get off the phone! It’ll be worth it!” she shouts back at him. The secretary looks at me and smiles. “He’ll be with you in a moment,” she says pleasantly and sits down at her desk. “We have coffee if you want some.”
“Oh, no. I’m fine, but thanks,” I reply as I sit on the couch. My God. If I knew that I would be treated so nicely just by mentioning my father’s name then I would have done it more often. Of course, me
ntioning his name didn’t really help me when I was arrested against my own will for something that I wasn’t even apart of. I guess being a retired judge’s daughter has its ups and downs. Go figure.
Mr. Kirkpatrick’s door swings and no one comes out. “I think he’s ready to see you now,” the secretary says. I gulp. The way his office door opened looked like something out of a scary movie and all that’s missing is the mysterious smoke outpouring from inside of it. I take a deep breath as I walk toward his office. You can do it, Leslee, I think to myself. Show no signs of mercy. I enter into Mr. Kirkpatrick’s lair, and sit down in front of his desk.
Aside from the imaginary smoke in his office making this interview one of the scariest things I’ve done in my life, I can’t help but to notice how incredibly hot Mr. Kirkpatrick is. I mean, he’s not Tom Cruise hot because to me Tom Cruise kinda looks like a little kid, but he looks ... Ryan Reynolds hot! Superhero hot! There he is, Kirkpatrick, in his hottie position in his chair with his hottie business suit on and some hottie glasses that he takes off immediately and places on his hottie desk. The hottie smile displays across his face. Am I sweating? Yes, Leslee, you are sweating. It’s gotta be the suit. Something about a man in a nicely pressed business suit and tie just drives me crazy … in a good way of course.
"Leslee Robinson?" he asks as if he knows me or knows about me. He puts out his hand.
"Mr. Kirkpatrick," I say as I give him a strong, confident handshake. "It's very nice to meet you."
"Please, just call me David."
I'm shaking and nervous as hell. My handshake was confident but the rest of me is a complete wreck. I can't do this! And why waste my time? I will never get this job competing against Ms. Harvard Law School; then again I am Judge Robinson’s daughter. If I keep repeating that in my head, then maybe it will help me. I am Judge Robinson’s daughter. I deserve this job. I am Judge Robinson’s daughter …
"Hi, David," I say, and I sound like a dummy saying it because I'm not comfortable calling him by his first name. "I'm Leslee Robinson." I laugh. "I'm sure you already know that because you just said my name."
