A Mess of Reason

by A. Wilding Wells

  “Tess. Hey, sorry to interrupt, Scout. The guys told me you were back here. Hope I’m not ruining an intimate moment between you two.”

  That would be Creed, taking up oxygen in our intimate moment.

  “Creed…ohhhh, here you are!” She walks quickly over to him with her tail slammed snugly between her asscheeks. I could give a flying fuck that he saw me with my arms around her.

  “Creed. Hey. I’ll let you guys get reacquainted. Nice work, Tess, truly spectacular. Creed, you are one lucky son of a bitch.”

  I walk past as Creed is planting a hardcore mouth-fuck on her. It’s all I can do to not kick him in the nuts and sink him to his knees. How, you might be wondering, am I going to be able to watch her marry this cunt-lick? I have no idea. None. Are you ready for this one? I’m the maid of honor in man-form and yes, she has asked me to walk her down the aisle to give her away to him since her dad uses a cane these days. How about that piece of information to give you the warm fuzzies?

  “Scout!” She’s running at me with that mini-poodle-dog thing in her arms yipping. That would be Liberty Storm, my girlfriend—soon to be ex. I need something to take off the edge. I don’t even do drugs—okay, maybe a little pot now and again—and Lord help me, right now I could use a hit of something. It’s like I’ve walked out of one bad movie set onto another. Funny thing is, I happen to be playing a rather significant role in both of them. Brad Pitt has nothing on me tonight.

  I’m not counting, but there must be forty bows on her. Tess is going to die when she gets a load of Liberty’s get-up. It’s like she got dressed in a candy store. I actually feel sick. What the hell am I doing with this woman? This girl-child? She smells like the candy store, too. Not like Tess, whose neck smells exquisite. She tastes like she smells, just fucking finer than fine. How’s that for flustered vocabulary?

  “Lib. Hey baby, how are ya?” She’s hanging off me. Her legs wrapped around me like I’m a fire pole. Do you think I’m hard? Nope. She is doing nothing for me. Zilch. Zippo. I need to do it tonight for sure. This is over with. I knew it was coming at some point; I don’t stay with anyone for long. But then that kiss with Tess, that first one, got me thinking, and that second one…it sealed the deal. I couldn’t tell Liberty on the phone, or in a text. I’m not that guy. That’s a dick move. I’ll her tell after we have a good time here. I’ll tell her before I go home. She’s not coming home with me. I can barely stand her hanging on me; fucking is definitely out of the question. Even as badly as I need some.

  We’re all sitting around a big table drinking. About every minute and a half, Tess’s eyes find mine. I’ve winked at her twenty times. Creed has his arm around her neck, classic caveman style, but his eyes have been stuck between Rox’s tits all night. I need thank her later—I guarantee she planned that shirt just for me and Tess. She knows exactly what she’s doing with those girls.

  Liberty is trying to talk to Tess, but they exist in separate worlds. So it’s about the most painful thing I’ve ever witnessed. Striker, well…he’s just hanging with me. The holographic concert is halfway done and I’m about to head back to my dressing room to get ready for a walk-on in about fifteen minutes. This is casual stuff—basically, I walk out of the holograph and sing the song live with it.

  “So, Scout, this is it?” Creed asks. “Your new fabulous rocking life? No more road trips, no more fans at your feet, no more of the truly good shit that makes us rockers the lifeblood of the industry? This is where you think we’re all headed…the graveyard of technology.”

  I hear him, but my eyes are on Tess. Her hand flies up to her mouth when he says those last few words. Her whole face changes; it contorts and twists as she looks away from me when her eyes gloss up with tears. She does nothing to defend herself, and to see her just take it from him makes me ill. I want to crawl across the table, pull his nuts straight out of his pants, then choke him on them.

  “You’re kidding, right? You think you’re going to keep on doing things the way you have been forever? Seriously? That’s your plan, Creed? Your life plan with your almost-wife…and what about when you have kids? Are you ever going to see them? Or are you going be out there rocking it as the—what did you call it—lifeblood of the industry? I think you’re full of shit. I also think you owe your fiancée a big fucking apology because she’s created the most cutting-edge concert technology that’s being used around the world right now. Do you get what a game changer this shit is? Get your head out of your ass and wake the fuck up.”

  “Christ, dude, chill out. And don’t tell me how to handle my wife.” Then he gives Tess a noogie…yeah, a fucking knuckle rub on the top of her gorgeous head as tears are streaming down her face. He doesn’t even realize he’s shattered her. But I do.

  “She’s not your wife. Not yet. You don’t deserve her.” My blood is boiling.

  “Man, you need something to smooth out your karma’s mojo. I’m out of here; I don’t need this bullshit. I flew in to fuck my wife, not to eat cock like you. Let’s go, tiny tits.” He jerks her out of her chair, making her scramble to her feet. I can’t move fast enough. I can’t help myself. She’s my Tess. I don’t give fuck who this piece of shit is. You don’t call a gorgeous woman like Tess Harlow “tiny tits,” and you sure as fuck don’t drag her around like she’s your dog.

  “Get your hands off of her, you motherfucker.” My hand is on his shoulder and although he looks scrappy, he’s only about five-foot-nine in his two-inch heels, with arms that look like worn-out plumbing pipe. I don’t need to tell you more than that, now do I?

  “Fuck you, you country hip-hop jack-off. Who the fuck do you think you are? She’s my bitch.”

  Well now. What’s a guy like me to do? My swing barely makes contact with his cheekbone and he is down like a featherweight. I should feel bad that I dropped such a little pussy so hard, but I wasn’t going to push him out the door in a shopping cart. I grab his grungy hood, then drag him across the floor like a dead mop, straight out the door to the middle of the gravel parking lot. Tess is nowhere. There are about a hundred sets of eyes on me, but I honestly can’t give a fuck. Everyone had to have heard every word, and as soon as I turn to walk back into my bar, the crowd erupts in a round of raucous clapping and cheers. I shouldn’t feel good right now. But I do. I just took the trash out and laid it on the curb. I might get dis-invited to the wedding, but then again…so might he.

  Tess is gone. To where? I’ve no idea, but she’s gone.

  I send her a text apologizing and hear nothing back. I ask Roxanne to try to reach her, but she tells me Tess is not texting her back either. My night has gone from stupid to hideous in a mere few hours. Creed is going to wake up, but he won’t come back in here. My fear, though, is he might hurt Tess. I have no idea if that’s true or not; she’s only told me he’s a little rough around the edges. Maybe that drag across the gravel parking lot sanded down some of that.

  *

  The next day, I’m up at five. I barely slept, as Tess never left my mind, not even when I told Liberty we were done. All I could think of was Tess. Not one of my texts was answered by her the entire night. Not one. Today is her twenty-ninth birthday. I hope to fuck I didn’t just push our friend status backwards.

  The thing is, I truly had no choice but to drop the guy. His level of dick is something I have no tolerance for. I don’t care how big of a deal the creep is. I just hope he climbed back onto his jet and flew back to the sewage plant that he was spawned from.

  I shoot Tess a text at five-thirty in the morning. I know she must be up having her tea by now.

  Hey u up?

  yeah

  U ok?

  fine

  I’m not sorry that I did that…he doesn’t deserve u

  Please don’t. Just stop. Please.

  Fuck. Tell me she isn’t with him? Tell me he didn’t fuck her last night. Tell me she’s sitting all alone having tea by her fireplace, reading her Kindle, wrapped up in blanket. Please.

  ok… Happy birthday
.

  Thanks.

  Wow, 29. g’ up there, old lady

  Don’t remind me

  Do we get to celebrate with you? I hope…?

  I don’t get an answer back for more than five minutes. I feel as if I’ve lost her. I make another cappuccino and rub my iPhone’s belly as if it’s a genie about to grant me three wishes. Then I hear the ding of her response.

  I’m going to spend it with Creed. thanks anyway.

  That fuck is still here? Unreal. Un-friggin-real. My guess is she had to tell him it was her birthday. Maybe he’ll go online and buy her a $90,000 diamond necklace from Cartier or some piece-of-shit, cheesy tennis bracelet that says money = love. That fuck wouldn’t know who she is if she came with her own operating manual. I shoot her back a text—just one more.

  I’m gonna miss you today…. I love you, beautiful birthday girl. Love you more than a Hostess-mess-of-junk-food-cake.

  I get nothing back. I figured as much. Please, you cocksucker, be good to her today, be good to her on her twenty-ninth birthday. I can’t hang around here a minute longer without wanting to go over to her ranch to strangle that fuck. So I take my Ducati out for a ride. It’s a chilly morning, but no snow on the roads. I open her up and let off as much steam as I can, all the while just praying Tess has a smile on her face and maybe just maybe it’s because of me.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TESS

  Happy fucking birthday to me! This is a new twist. I’m spending my birthday alone this year. No one knows I’m alone because I’ve lied to everyone I love. I’ve told all of them I’m spending it with my fiancé, Creed. The very man I’m getting married to the weekend after next.

  Wanna know what’s really funny about my lie? Creed left last night after we had a big fight about Scout. Yeah. He’s off to rockerland. I’m pretty damn sure he doesn’t even realize it’s my birthday at all. Oh sure, Scout sent me a text at the crack of dawn. So did my dad, and Rox and Striker and all my other girlfriends. Everyone is hoping to hang out with me tonight to celebrate, but I’m so mortified that the man I’m marrying doesn’t remember it’s my day that I give them all a big fat fucking lie so they won’t feel sorry for me. I’m that pathetic. I need them to believe that my fiancé is a really good guy, because we are going to get married.

  I’ve decided that much. I am getting married. Don’t judge; we all make choices for our own reasons. You only know some of mine. I figure once we get over the early bumps, everything will smooth out and be just fine. I plan on going off the pill a few days before we tie the knot. Who knows, maybe I’ll get pregnant that very first night. I want a baby and a husband and I have his ring on my finger. It’s my fairy tale, my movie…I’m the editor. So what if we fight now and again—who doesn’t? So what if he forgot my birthday? I’ll put it in his iPhone calendar next time I see him—which is actually going to be on our wedding day.

  The next time I see my husband-to-be, Creed Luce, will be when Scout is walking me down the aisle to him. Once I’m married and pregnant, all the fiery flames with Scout will die down, too. He’s my best friend. Period.

  Mrs. Creed Luce. Tess Luce. Tess Harlow Luce. They all sound good to me. Or at least I convince myself that they do.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SCOUT

  “Dude, did you see Creed Luce’s jet? It’s badass man. I’ll say this, yours is the coolest ever, but his…it’s pretty fucking awesome. I got the nickel tour.”

  I’ve been riding for hours. I stopped in the mountains at the Quail and Claw tavern for a few beers, then hung with Striker and played pool for a while, and now the roads have led me to the airport. I ride in to check on the paint job that’s being done on my jet and happen to run into Bobby Guild, an old high school buddy who handles the control center here at the Echo Mountain airstrip.

  “Where is it? Point it out. I’d love to see what a cocksucker’s plane looks like. No balls, no head…is it pink and glittered?”

  “Dude, he came in and out of here in like three hours yesterday. He left last night around nine o’clock. He’s a big deal right? He’s the guy Tess is marrying, isn’t he?”

  “He’s a douchebag. You’re sure he left last night? Positive it was him getting on the plane, not just his pilot and crew?”

  “Yeah, I was talking to him about some tour he was on just before he walked up the steps to his jet. Seemed nice enough to me. Major bruise on his face, and for sure stoned out of his gourd, but just sort of chill.”

  “Dude, I gotta fly. I’ll see you round,” I tell Bobby as my heart starts racing.

  She is alone on her birthday. Alone at home, lying to all of us. She’s humiliated and embarrassed. He did this to her. I knew it. I wondered how the hell she was able to spend her birthday with him, but I figured maybe he pulled off some heroic movie-inspired apology and she’d come around. Now though, I’ll put money on the fact that he doesn’t even know it’s her birthday. He’s an even bigger dick than I thought possible. How the hell in her right mind is she marrying him? What is she drinking? It’s like the asshole has poisoned her and she can’t get it through her thick skull what a bona fide jerk he really is. Twenty-nine is a big deal for her. She brings it up way to much not to notice; it’s as if she thinks she’s going to expire or something, as if some little ticking thing inside of her is going to explode past thirty.

  I fly home way to fast, my adrenaline guiding me. I know exactly what she needs; I know exactly how to give it to her. Every year, one day after Tess’s birthday, I start present-hunting for her next birthday. She’s the easiest person ever to please—that is, if you’re willing to listen.

  Tess is the furthest thing from high maintenance—she’s as you’ve seen—tickled with sentimental stuff more than anything. That’s her Achilles’ heel. Tess came from very little and made herself into something remarkable; she’s always had the drive and ambition of a superhuman. She’s one of those girls who’s got as much moxie and tomboy in her as she does all the girly sugar and spice. She’s that flavorful mix of luscious that startles you with her inner fire.

  That’s why watching her let him—that douchebag, Creed—walk all over her makes zero sense to me. It’s like that ring he gave her has some kryptonite in it that’s zapping her inner power of yummy. She’s the girl who tries to arm wrestle a guy like me and is certain she can take me down. How can you not love her? I can zing a forty-yard sideline laser—I could pin her down with my pinky finger.

  Does it simply come down to fact that she wants to be married and start banging out kids? Is it that? Is it the fact that he got to her first (even though technically I did, but never made my move…where was my rocket shot then? How did I drop that pass?)? Of all the topics we discuss—and man, we cover the gamut—somehow marriage and kids was never one of them.

  I haven’t missed spending a birthday with Tess since we were fourteen. All through college, all the years later, I always made my way to her, no matter what was going on in our lives. You can imagine the girlfriends I’ve pissed off over the years; more than a few breakups came from my insistence to get to my best friend. Problem was, once they saw a photo of her, all hell would break loose.

  Every year since she was fourteen I’ve made her a mess of a Hostess birthday cake. It’s exactly what you’re picturing it be. A mashup of Twinkies, Ho Hos and Ding Dongs that I slam a bunch of sparkler candles into. Don’t ask. All I know is the smile on her face when she’s eating it kicks the ass of the best sunrise in the world. My “Tess birthday closet” is stuffed full of shit for her. It’s like I’m on some kind of holy grail mission each year when I hunt for her birthday presents. Usually by the time November rolls around I’ve forgotten half the crap I got her.

  But this year is different. This year I went all out with major spoilage. Once Tess decided to move back to Echo Mountain, after lots of convincing from yours truly, I knew I had to go for it. Tess is a bohemian babe, always has been. Obviously you know what every bohemian needs, right? Yep. Their very own gypsy c
aravan. It took the carpenter I hired six months to build and trick this thing out, and when she sees it…well, too bad you won’t be able to see her face, because I’ll tell you what. Priceless will not even come close. I’ve tucked all her gifts around inside the caravan, a treasure hunt being right up her alley. You think I’m gonna spoil her and not make her work for it just a tiny bit? Please.

  All the lights are off at her ranch, and now I’m wondering if I’ve been duped. Here I sit with my pickup truck and this over-the-top gypsy caravan blinged out with birthday like I’m entering the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. She has to be here. Rox would have texted me if she went to the Devil’s Tongue. Though I suppose it’s kind of an asshole move of me not to text Rox and tell her what I’m doing. Shhh. Selfish of me, I know.

  I walk around the entire house like a creepy Peeping Tom. Then I get to her bedroom and see one tiny candle burning on her nightstand, and there she is. My heart breaks for her because I can only imagine the day she’s had. It’s kind of déjà vu from the other day when she was lying facedown on her bed in her wedding dress. Only this time she’s lying facedown in a big sweatshirt and the tiniest lace panties I’ve ever seen. Her ass is as big as a seven year old’s and the panties barely cover it. All around her are about a thousand crumpled tissues. I’m sure she’s gone through two boxes of Kleenex today based on the blizzard littering her bed.

  I stand outside of her window and send her a text.