Something's Come Up

by Andrea Randall

  I couldn’t focus for shit. Red was due back the next night from her work trip to LA, and I planned to turn up uninvited and tuck her deeply into bed. I’d been without her for three days and had embarrassed myself earlier that day by flubbing an answer in Torts. I’d been obsessing about her ass the entire class and couldn’t think straight. My friends Sid and Stephen gave me shit and I confessed that I was distracted by a girl. Then they gave me even more shit and I vowed that was the last time I’d tell them anything.

  In my defense, class had been particularly boring. As I was fantasizing about Steph’s lily white thighs straddling my face, some scruffy delivery boy brought roses into the classroom for Max, and I remembered with mild interest that it was the day before Valentine's Day. My gorgeous study partner’s secret admirer obviously wanted her to have the extra attention of an audience (or to stake his claim), so he’d sent them to class. Bold move. She looked over her shoulder and winked at me, maybe trying to make me jealous?

  All it did, watching Max and the other female students ooh and ahh over the flowers, was get me thinking once more about Stephanie.

  I felt an evil grin spread over my face and I couldn't stop myself. I picked up my phone and sent Red a pound of red M&M’s customized with my name on them and a dozen long stemmed roses. No card necessary, I told the clerk on the phone—what would be the point? When the lecture ended, I went to the law library to finish my homework. I knew I’d be busy all weekend long. First, a night out with the boys. Since all my friends were wisely unattached, we’d planned to shoot some darts and play pool. Afterward, I intended to have a well-planned private rendezvous with the human firecracker.

  The other guys were half drunk by the time I got to the bar and razzing each other about their lack of lady friends. When they tried to pull me into their banter, I told them I was seeing someone, but they didn’t know her.

  Sidney narrowed his eyes at me as he swirled his scotch and rocks. “You’ve been pretty quiet about this new girlfriend of yours, Pace. Is she really that ugly?”

  I shook my head and sat back with a self-satisfied grin. I was dying to show these dickheads the picture Steph texted me the day before. It was a self-portrait of her cheek to cheek with Fergie—the singer, not the duchess. They were making ironic duck faces and seemed rather chummy. Not to mention hot.

  The bar scene proved to be a lot more bland than we’d planned for. Unfortunately for us all, the joint was largely female free. It seemed that single women opted for Ben and Jerry’s and Netflix to drown their sorrows on their high holy day instead of watered down liquor. When it was my turn to shoot, I called eight ball side pocket, but was distracted when my classmate, Stephen, let out a cheer. I missed and glared at him, but saw he was on his phone, presumably checking his email.

  “Woohoo! I nailed that test!”

  The rest of us scrambled onto our email to check our scores. Mine was 98%, and I felt my tension vanish.

  “Shit! Ah well. The dean owes my dad a favor, so I guess, I’m golden,” Sidney commented, and I rolled my eyes.

  I glanced at my phone and saw that it was already after seven. Stephanie should be home from the airport and should have received her flowers and candy. I was suddenly struck with an intense need for her—I wanted to hear that sexy voice of hers. Though I knew it was a terrible idea, I wanted to invite her to come down to the bar and show her off to these inbred assholes. I texted her my location and asked her if she wanted to come down and have a chocolate martini for Valentine’s Day. Twenty minutes later, she still hadn’t responded. I tried to shrug it off and played another round of pool.

  Another half hour later, I was impatient and a little bit worried about her. After a minor internal debate, I finally dialed her number.

  “What do you want?”

  That’s how she answered the phone. And there wasn’t an ounce of humor in her tone.

  Unbelievable. I send her roses and this is the greeting I get? I hung up and tossed my phone on the bar.

  “Trouble in paradise, Pace?” Stephen asked, nudging my frat brother, Jay. They both chuckled.

  “Screw you guys.” I said it not only too loudly, but way too harshly. I sounded like a major dick with a bit of a whiny little bitch thrown in.

  Jay shook his head, his confusion at my shift in mood understandable. “Who crapped in your cornflakes, Pace?”

  “What the hell’s your problem, Turner? Been hitting the books so hard you forgot how to have fun?” Sidney chimed in.

  I went for the throat. “Some of us have to work for our grades, Sid.”

  Sidney reacted to my sour demeanor by chugging a beer. His brother, who’d tagged along, also scowled at me. I was committing social suicide, which was wildly counterproductive to my carefully crafted long term networking strategy. I couldn’t believe I’d let Red get to me that way, but I felt way worse about her dis than any fallout with Captain Trust Fund or the rest of the Douchebag Brigade. The whole situation was just plain embarrassing—I felt pretty sorry for myself and basically just wanted to lay down in a mud puddle and whip myself with a cat o’ nine tails.

  I decided to keep my mouth shut and finish my pitcher of beer. These guys had the collective attention span of a gnat and I knew my outburst would blow over. With my friends all pissed at me, this was sure to be a short night out. I took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths. Then I heard my phone vibrate against the bar. It was Red. I sent it to voicemail and tossed it back on the bar. She needed to learn a valuable lesson in manners and I was just the guy to teach her.

  I heard it vibrate again; it was Her Royal Highness once again. Once more, she got to listen to my exceptionally professional voicemail recording. A moment later, I saw I had a new message. Unable to resist, I punched in my code.

  “Really, Carrington? Am I being punished now? I’ll call you one last time in case this is some sort of user error, since I realize you elderly people tend to have issues using newfangled technology.” Amusement tugged at the corner of my mouth, but when my phone vibrated again I let it ring until it went to voicemail. Then I promptly turned it off. As I’d told her in the beginning, I only played games in the bedroom.

  As the night progressed, the crowd began to swell with patrons who were out in groups for V-day or coming in alone after dates that had been miserable failures. I’d just started to play darts against Jay, who’d soundly thrashed both Stephen and Sidney, when he stopped mid-turn and whistled, staring over my shoulder, his mouth agape. Before turning around, I noticed all of my friends were blatantly drooling at someone behind me.

  I turned and the sight that greeted me was nothing short of divine. It was Stephanie, making her way through the ever-growing crowd in a dangerously short blue and green plaid skirt and a button up white shirt that was left unbuttoned at the bottom of her sumptuous cleavage. She had a tiny green sweater flung over her shoulders, but still had to be freezing. She looked hot as hell. I could see something glittering from her pierced navel and she wore those sheer black over-the-knee stockings and penny loafers. Her hair was off to the side in a ponytail with that green scarf tied in it. The one I’d thought about tying her up with the day we met.

  Her eyes flickered in my direction, never quite meeting mine. Heads turned in her wake as she took a seat at the end of the bar directly across from our table.

  “Hey...isn’t that the girl with the camera?” Stephen muttered, disoriented.

  “Yeah!” Sidney agreed, turning to me. “Holy shit. She looks like Britney Spears in that video! I thought it was Valentine's Day, Not Halloween.”

  “Her name is Stephanie Brier,” Jay supplied with an almost imperceptible glance at me. He must’ve recognized her from the thousands of links he’d compiled for me. I wanted to choke him for telling them her name, but I couldn’t without outing myself as a somewhat creepy stalker for having him investigate her in the first place.

  “I’ll be back, gentlemen. She may have turned me down at the photo shoot, but I think she was just i
ntimidated.” Sidney tossed back the remains of his scotch and clapped me on the back as he passed by.

  I wanted to grab him by his hair and toss him out of the bar, but I knew the blood bath that was about to ensue would be much more entertaining.

  That was a miscalculation on my part. Stephanie turned in our direction just as Sidney reached her chair, a long black straw between her lips as she sipped her drink. Those eyes of hers were on him like a cat that had just spotted a baby mouse. She smiled welcomingly, and against all reason, I suddenly felt very sorry for Sid. She really was a beautiful girl, her face deceptively angelic. Her hair was the only warning a mortal man had that she was truly evil incarnate.

  What did I care? She was an unpredictable brat and there were scores of women who wanted to kill some time with me. I reminded myself that I had no interest in whatever game she was playing.

  Except I did. I was very interested in playing with her. And another thought occurred to me. Wearing that schoolgirl outfit was a concession. To me, and to my carnal desire. And assembling it took planning. There was no way that she’d dug that short skirt and stockings out of the back of her closet. Which not only meant she wanted to please me, but it meant she had been preparing for this for some time.

  Sid flipped his boy band blonde hair out of his eyes as Red motioned for him to sit. He snaked an arm over the back of her barstool and grinned his all-American toothy smile that must have cost his parents a fortune in orthodontia. He slid his hand along her stocking and when it rested on her knee and I knew I needed to do some deep breathing or I was going to be paying his dental bills soon. She tugged lightly on his tie and he leaned in to whisper in her ear. She laughed and toyed seductively with her straw. In an instant, I was on my feet walking in their direction.

  He leaned in for a kiss and she moved away with a cautionary look. Sidney snagged the scarf in her hair and pulled her back toward him. I saw her wince and she didn’t look like she was enjoying it.

  “Get the fuck off me.” Her voice was level.

  “Red.” I made my presence known to them both. “Is there a problem here?”

  “We’re just having a chat. She said she likes it rough,” Sid replied.

  Stephanie’s eyes looked away from him and from me. That delightful mouth of hers had evidently gotten her in over her head and she didn’t want me to see it. She refused to ask for help, but I’d give it to her anyhow. I had no doubt Red could handle herself figuratively, but physically she was very petite and Sidney was a fencing champion and a lacrosse player. He was also a misogynistic asshole, and if he wanted to hurt her, he could easily do so.

  “She’s my girlfriend, Sidney. Remove your fucking hand from her before I permanently remove it from your arm.”

  He looked at me with an expression that made me want to knock all of his permanent teeth out. I’d seen the look before many times in my life, but I was rarely emotionally charged enough to want to act on it. It was the same look John Wyatt gave me in the eleventh grade right before he called me a nigger. My jaw clenched and I took a step forward and watched his machismo dissipate like a deflating helium balloon.

  Sidney let go of her and chuckled. “So she’s not ugly after all. Congrats.” He stood and walked away as if he nearly threw down with his frat brothers daily. Knowing Sidney, he probably did.

  I watched him to make sure he continued on walking, then turned back to her. She looked embarrassed and a little shy. I figured the direct approach was in order.

  “Why are you here?”

  “You asked me to come,” she said defensively.

  “Why’d you bother?” I shot back.

  “Because I wanted to. I like you, Pace.”

  “And the way you answered my phone call tonight. That’s how you talk to people you like?”

  “That’s how I talk to everyone.” She sighed, but when I started to turn away from her she stood and wrapped her arms around my waist. “I’m sorry. I suck at this. But I really do like you. I don’t want to stop seeing you.”

  My stoicism failed me, and I relaxed against her, enjoying the familiar way she melded into my hands. I firmly turned her chin up to me. “I don’t want to see another man touch you again; you understand me?”

  She nodded. I fingered her scarf possessively.

  “So I’m your girlfriend, huh?” she teased, a satisfied smile turning her amazing lips upright.

  “I guess so. I supposed I’ll have to take you out now. Buy you dinner first.” I heaved a sigh of mock annoyance, but I took her hand in mine and led her promptly out of the bar.

  Steph, March 2009

  It would be impossible not to recall with perfect clarity the moment I met Pace’s parents; those two were anything but forgettable. In order to tell this story properly, I have to go back a bit to explain myself.

  The last week in February, Pace and I had finally decided to “go out.” As in a real, honest-to-goodness date. We weren’t sure how else to handle our situation—I had an uncomfortable, driving urge to see him and he seemed fixated on staking some sort of claim with me. We agreed we would make a real and true attempt at least twice a week to “date.” Hopefully we’d see if we had anything in common or actually liked each other outside of sexual festivities.

  The term awkward didn’t begin to cover how this felt at first. After a couple bungling trips to the movies that ended up X-rated on our end, we agreed to approach it as a game and that loosened things up a bit. Unfortunately, Pace and I playing things fast and loose led to some unwanted attention for us both.

  I took him to a particularly cool bijou theater that was showing Casablanca. We were mildly entertained by the kitschy style of the old-time acting and a few choice lines, such as one guy turning to another and saying, “And remember, this gun is pointed right at your heart.”

  Pace and I laughed when the other dude replied, “That is my least vulnerable spot.”

  We got bored after that. I found a way to amuse myself. And him. And anyone watching, most likely.

  A week later, we saw a show on Broadway and decided to go out for drinks afterward in Times Square. Admittedly, we tended to get a bit frisky when we drink and our public displays of affection are pretty sultry. When I ducked into the ladies’ room, two fat-assed tourists from some flyover state cornered me by the hand dryers.

  “You know, young lady, there are families trying to dine here tonight.” She turned her pug nose up at me and I looked over my shoulder like she was talking to someone else.

  “Yeah. Why don’t you get a room?” her soccer mom sidekick chimed in, fluffing her out of date hairstyle in the mirror.

  I smiled sweetly, remembering my mom’s advice on the first day of high school.

  Kill them with kindness, Steph.

  Oh, I’ll kill them alright, Ma. Each and every one of them.

  “Why don’t you put the Ho Ho down and drop fifty pounds, Hoss?” I beamed like Miss America as I brushed past the two heifers like they were unfashionable clothes on a sale rack.

  Pug Nose called after me. “You know your babies are going to be zebras, right?”

  I kept walking, but I felt my face catch fire. By the time I got back to the table, I was fuming.

  Pace pushed up his glasses and looked up from checking his phone. When he saw my face, he frowned. “What’s wrong, Red?”

  “Nothing a little shock therapy won’t cure,” I muttered, snatching up the check. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  He took my hand in his and leaned his elbows on the table. “Tell me what happened.”

  I pulled away from his grasp and looked around, paranoid. I was angry that I’d let some hillbilly’s opinion taint our good time. I realized I was shaking uncontrollably as I waved the check in the air at our waitress. “I want you to take me home.”

  Later, when we were safely in my apartment, I explained what had happened. Pace was unimpressed.

  “How can you not be fucking livid?” I gestured wildly, stalking back and forth l
ike a crazy person. I’d been obsessively replaying the scene over and over during the entire cab ride home. I imagined coming up with a better insult and delivering a flying split kick to both women's empty heads.

  He shed his suit coat and rubbed his eyebrows. “To put this in terms your friends from the ladies’ room would understand: this ain't my first rodeo. I know it’s yours, Stephanie, but I promise if we continue to date it won’t be your last.”

  I shook my head as I followed him into my kitchen and watched him open the fridge. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Did I fall into a manhole cover and climb out in 1955?”

  “It ain’t pretty, but you get used to it, Red. Here. Have a beer.”

  A week later, I modeled my new t-shirt for him, proudly displaying the words “Zebra Nation” in black and white stripes. He smiled tolerantly and kissed me on the nose, then dragged me out for lunch without demanding I change first.

  Pace and I were in the middle of one of our dare wars that day—a unique pastime of ours that I really enjoyed. So when he took me to a kosher deli for lunch and dared me to fake an orgasm, like Meg Ryan’s scene in When Harry Met Sally, I wasn’t the least bit surprised. I told him to get bent, though. I was really enjoying my Reuben and had no intention of performing like a trained monkey. He was still pouting about it when we left. Since he looked like a kid who’d let go of his balloon, I threw him a bone while we were getting out of the cab.

  He covered his smirk and held the door for me as we entered his building. Considering my unladylike behavior a moment before, I thought it rather chivalrous.

  “I can’t believe you flashed your tits at that cab driver,” he finally said.

  I snorted. “I can’t believe anything I do still surprises you.”

  “Nice bra, by the way. I’m going to enjoy removing it with my teeth.”

  We stepped onto the elevator and he pushed me against the wall before the door even closed. His mouth was on mine, his tongue undulating against mine in rhythm with his hips. His hand slid inside my unzipped jacket and groped my breast greedily.