Almost Matched (Almost Bad Boys)

by A. O. Peart

  And the smell! Once you experience the perfect mixture of sweet and savory baked goods with the aroma of strong espresso, it always stays with you.

  I snap out of my food fantasy and realize that my stomach is growling, demanding some attention. I call out to Caroline, still bustling in the kitchen, “Ali will be here with Garnelli’s cranberry scones. But let’s order pizza too. I’m seriously starving.”

  I pick up my cell phone, dial the Papa John’s Pizza down the street, and give them my order—three large pizzas, each with different toppings. I know each of my friends’ preferences so it’s a quick phone call.

  Caroline comes out from the kitchen with a glass of apple juice and another glass filled with ice for me. Holding a can of Coke pressed between her torso and the inner side of her arm, she sets everything down on the small coffee table and wistfully says, “I love Garnelli’s scones. Is Jena joining us?”

  “She’s busy getting laid. But yeah, I suppose she will. Eventually.” I grin.

  “Again?” Caroline’s eyes get round. “I swear, that woman gets laid daily. Who’s she seeing now?”

  “I lost track. She was with that model dude Carlos for a while. But he moved back to Milan last month.” I shrug. “I wonder what the hell he was doing in Seattle in the first place. It’s not like this is some hot modeling spot.”

  Jena is a stunning college student. At twenty-two she’s the youngest of our group. She lives close to the University of Washington campus and doesn’t believe in owning a car. She rides her bicycle everywhere. That’s really bizarre, especially in winter. Although we rarely have snow in Seattle, our winters are often cold, and usually very rainy, which never deters Jena from her quirky commuting ways. However, we all tease her about not having issues with taking taxis quite often, while not buying her own car on the principle of caring about the environment.

  The buzzer announces someone wanting to come upstairs to the apartment. Caroline presses the button on the wall by the front door, and Ali’s voice comes through the ancient intercom, “Little piggy, little piggy, let me come in.”

  Caroline cracks up. “Come up, you crazy maniac.” She buzzes Ali in and waits in the opened door to her apartment.

  “When the heck will you get an elevator in here?” I hear Ali grunt.

  “Let’s both keep wishing.” Caroline hugs Ali kind of sideways, careful not to squish the big white box with the Garnelli’s logo on it.

  “Why do you even live in this old building? It smells like someone died and was half-eaten by her cats.” Ali puts the box on the small hall table and grins at me. “Hey, gorgeous.”

  “This building is close to a hundred years old. It’s a beautiful piece of architecture.” Caroline always defends her decision of living in such a place. “And it’s witnessed a lot of history.”

  “Yeah, too much, I’m afraid. The smell in the hallways tells all kinds of stories.” Ali snorts.

  The building is actually really cool, with red brick, huge windows, and a grand entry framed by tall marble columns on both sides of the half-circle steps. I like it a lot, but Ali prefers modern architecture and cringes at the mere thought of living in any structure older than twenty years.

  Caroline opens the box of pastries and inhales, closing her eyes. “Oh, man. This is heaven.” She plucks up one of the scones and takes a giant bite, moaning in delight.

  I chuckle and say to Ali, pointing with my chin to Caroline, “We are privileged to witness Caroline’s orgasmic sounds first-hand without even being lesbians. Now that’s something to celebrate.”

  “You said it, girlfriend.” Ali takes two scones out of the box and passes one to me. She bites into her pastry and matches Caroline’s sigh of satisfaction. Well, she exaggerates of course.

  I do the same. Caroline bursts out laughing, bits of food flying out from her mouth. She laughs so hard, watching me and Ali lick and pretend-kiss our scones, that she starts to hiccup.

  “You dorks,” she rasps between hiccups.

  “Mine likes it rough,” Ali says with a little growl in her voice and viciously bites into her scone.

  Caroline and I howl in laughter. I wipe my eyes, mascara helplessly running down my cheeks.

  “Lord, if Jena was here, I would lose it and pee my pants. She always tops it all.” I sit on the floor next to Caroline and put my head on her shoulder, still chuckling.

  Ali joins us on the floor, bringing the Garnelli’s box to put between us. She takes another scone, looks at it, a pretend disgust look on her face, and says in a deep French-accented voice, “Oh, Monsieur, I wonder where that mouth of yours has been.” She tsks a few times, theatrically waves her hand, and adds, still keeping the thick accent, “I do not really give a flying crap.”

  I feel the mascara flow down my face from my eyelashes in black, unattractive streaks. This time I almost pee my pants. I race to the bathroom, close the door behind me, and, doing a little dance, manage to peel my underwear from my butt just in time. I quickly sit on the toilet to relieve myself and start to wipe the mascara mess off my face with toilet paper. I sigh loudly, marveling at the thought of how good it feels to empty my overflowing bladder. Such a little thing can make one feel so mollified.

  After I’m done, I turn to the miniature sink—the perfect fit in Caroline’s microscopic bathroom. My grin fades. On the top of the sink, in full, glorious display is perched a sparkling, pink, enormous dildo. Without picking it up, I inspect it. I had no idea my best friend’s size preference hovered in the mega section. My, my! I love the color though. This must have taken her a while to find. I try to imagine Caroline in the Lovers’ Alcove store, choosing and fussing around with different styles and colors, finally settling on this beauty. Nah, she probably bought it online. With a fake name and a P.O. box. Hell yeah, that sounds more like my proper Caroline.

  I lift the dildo off the sink, applying some girl muscle since it has a suction cup as a stand. Whoa! Nifty. Holding the pink glittery giant in one hand, I put the other hand on my hip and, whistling Aretha Franklin’s You Make Me Feel Like A Natural Woman, enter the room where Ali and Caroline nibble on the scones.

  I bring the dildo up, holding it close to my lips like a pretend microphone, and belt out the tune. I’m obsessed with Aretha Franklin’s work in general, but this track is my favorite.

  Ali’s mouth opens in a silent, ‘Oh’, and then she shakes from laughter, pointing at the object in my hand. “No way! Where did you get this color?”

  Caroline’s eyes become round, and she’s actually blushing. She gets over the initial shock, and grins. Before she says anything, Ali continues, roaring in laughter, “Nat, I had no idea you carried this around. That explains why you favor those luggage-sized purses.”

  A puzzled look must be crossing my face, because Caroline breaks into giggles. “It’s mine! She found it in the bathroom.”

  Ali looks at Caroline, still chortling. “Why the hell would you keep it in the bathroom, girl? Oh, okay. Too much information.” She lifts her palm out to stop Caroline from making any explanation.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” I declare, turning the thing around in my hand, mesmerized by the sparkly glow. “She had it on display. Right on her sink.”

  “Caroline.” Ali shakes her head. “You need a boyfriend.”

  I point the pink rubber penis in my hand at her and say, “You have a point.”

  “Hey, that looks like a sword,” Ali changes the subject, motioning to the dildo.

  I scrutinize it and slowly say, “Yeah. It kinda does. A princess’s sword. All pink and glittery.”

  Ali jumps up from the floor, runs to the kitchen, and returns a moment later armed with a French baguette. She takes on an impressive fencing stance—one arm bent and raised behind her head, the other grasping the baguette aimed in my direction as if it was a sabre. She bends her knees, legs apart, feet in the proper angles. Ali’s dad is a fencing instructor, and she’s spent years practicing with him.

  Caroline scoots
back on her butt, yelling, “Opponents assume your positions! On your mark, get ready… set… wait for it… wait for it…”

  I take a stance similar to Ali, grinning in delight. Ali pretends to concentrate.

  Caroline sticks two fingers in her mouth and whistles loudly, then shouts, “Go!”

  “What kind of referee whistles to start the match?” I snort.

  Ali takes advantage of me not paying attention and pokes me in the chest with the baguette. “Ah-hah. Got your tit.”

  “Score for Ali,” Caroline announces, lifting one finger up. She stands up, hands on hips.

  “Not fair. Her sword is longer than mine,” I object. “Mine is actually too wobbly.” I give it a violent shake.

  “Sorry, grasshopper. This was your weapon of choice,” Ali rebukes.

  “Fine. I will show you what this beauty can do.” I swipe my hand at a strand of hair clinging to my forehead. “A-yah!” I charge and thrust.

  Ali and I dance forward and back, attacking and retrieving, crossing our ‘weapons’, and smacking them against one another. We squeal and yell, laughing.

  Ali dashes back, and then comes forward, baguette at the ready. She strikes, I parry; she strikes again, I dodge. We clash, and she pokes her elbow in my ribs.

  “Heeyyyyy!” I yell, twisting away. I try to hook her leg with mine, but she sidesteps, and I almost lose my balance. “Just wait, missy.”

  “Forgive me, your highness, but I won’t take this particular advice.” She smirks and strikes again and again.

  I deflect and block, fending off. We break off, and Ali leaps back. I thrust, and she parries. I thrust again. She ducks, bending her front knee. She slices at the inside of my thigh, her rear leg straightened.

  “That would be your femoral artery. You’re down on the ground, wheezing in pain. And bleeding to death.”

  “And that would be your carotid,” I say, calmly pressing the dildo to the side of Ali’s neck. “The blood is pumping from your wound in powerful, rhythmic spurts.”

  “Touché.” She bows. But then she charges again. “But I’m a villain. I play dirty.”

  “You both suck.” Caroline laughs.

  I parry, forcing Ali to retreat. I smack the rubber penis against the baguette, putting some force into it. The baguette breaks in two, one part flying to the side and hitting Caroline in the shoulder.

  Ali bellows like a barbarian, brandishing the remains of her sword, its crumbled end jagged. She shakes it up in the air, as if it’s a real weapon, and then brings it down to her mouth and takes a fierce bite, eyes blazing.

  I collapse onto the floor, pretending to be exhausted from the fight. Caroline high-fives me. Ali chews on the baguette, a big smile on her face. “The winner is the last one standing,” she announces.

  I open my mouth to object, but then the buzzer sounds, and Ali walks to the door. She presses the intercom button. “Who is it?” she sing-songs.

  We hear Jena’s voice, “Little Red Riding Hood. Who the fuck else?”

  “Did you bring your granny a basket of goodies?” Ali continues, buzzing Jena in.

  “Yeah, I have it right here, Granny.” Jena snorts.

  Caroline and I move from the floor to the sofa and get comfortable. The pink dildo rests across my lap. I want to see Jena’s reaction when she notices it.

  Jena enters the apartment and stops in her tracks, seeing the pink multi-use object. “Uhm… is this the next stage of our sisterhood or something?”

  “Something.” Caroline smiles at her. “Do you want to join us, darling?”

  I pat the sofa next to me, running my tongue suggestively over my lower lip.

  “Hah, hah.” Jena shakes her head. “Whatever you two are smoking, I want some too.”

  “You wish, sister,” Ali teases.

  “Is there any liquor in this house?” Jena asks, walking into the kitchen.

  “Do you really need to ask? Or you just like the sound of your voice,” Caroline hollers back.

  “If I throw a stick, will you chase it?” comes from the kitchen.

  “If you honestly spoke your mind, you’d be speechless,” Caroline fires back.

  They both have a whole arsenal of insulting comebacks, and are just getting started, so I intervene to shut them up, “Okay, okay, both of you. You’re smart, funny, and witty, but you have terrible taste in men.”

  Caroline and Jena snicker. Ali stays out of this, flipping through a magazine and quietly smirking. This isn’t the first exchange between Caroline and Jena, but we all know they do it just for kicks. In truth, they are very fond of each other.

  Jena rummages in the fridge. “Hey, finally you had some sense while grocery shopping, Caroline.” She walks into the room with four bottles of Pike Place Ale in her hands. “Or maybe you’ve just gotten laid, and the euphoria of the experience translated into a quality beer purchase.”

  Ali and I woo-hoo in appreciation. “Thank God, not that Busch crap.” I move the dildo off my lap and stand up to grab a bottle from Jena.

  “So, sweets.” Jena looks soberly at Caroline while opening, and then passing her the beer bottle. “You’re unhappy with your girls?”

  Caroline takes a swig of beer, swallows, and makes a face, looking at the label. “This is heavy.”

  “After drinking that piss-of-a-beer the real stuff overwhelms you?” I offer.

  She shrugs. “I could get used to it.”

  “Don’t avoid my question.” Jena sits cross-legged in front of Caroline. “Your titsies are fine.”

  Caroline snorts and sticks her flat chest out, pointing to it, “You call that fine? They are nonexistent! Like they’ve forgotten to grow. Or maybe they are still waiting for puberty to hit. Well, it hit at fourteen.”

  We all murmur something incoherent, not wanting to argue otherwise, since she’s got a point. But her decision doesn’t sit well with any of us, so we had to try.

  “What if something goes wrong? If, I don’t know, they make one boobie higher than the other?” I start.

  “Or if one is much smaller than the other?” Ali supplies.

  “Oh, that’s just stupid.” Caroline looks at us as if we’re a group of morons. “The plastic surgeon I saw has done over six hundred of these procedures. He explained the whole process to me, including any possible complications. I have a list of happy patients that I intend to contact. And yes, I asked those very questions that you just bombarded me with. He makes sure they will be of the same size and properly positioned.”

  “But you never know. Things happen—” Ali tries to appeal, but Caroline interrupts her.

  “I have actually done my homework. I spent two months researching the doctors and the procedures. I know more about breast implants than I know about how the damn Swiss cheese is made, despite eating it all the time.”

  Jena and Ali have puzzled looks on their faces. It was the Swiss cheese comparison.

  I say, somehow stupidly, “I didn’t know you ate cheese all the time. You know how much fat and salt is in that stuff?”

  Caroline looks at me as if I traded three quarters of my IQ for a box of tampons. But Ali and Jena are nodding in agreement. I know Ali eats cheese with everything, from her favorite burgers to pasta to some greasy cheese curls. But I’m not about to point that out.

  “Ugh,” Caroline grunts unhappily. “Would you just for once let me do what I want, you guys?”

  “But sweetie—” I try, but she doesn’t let me finish.

  “This is what always happens: I want to do something so badly, but the three of you, freakin’ Fates, always have to shut me down with your reasoning.”

  “Is that a correlation to Greek mythology?” I ask, trying to decide if she just insulted us or not.

  “She means the Three Weird Sisters in Macbeth.” Jena clanks her bottle with mine, winking. “The prophecy bitches.”

  “Oh, oh!” Ali says excitedly. “Do you remember the Orson Welles’s adaptation? The witches were these Haitian voodoo—”
<
br />   The buzzer from downstairs disrupts Ali’s animated recollection. She looks at Caroline, “Are we expecting boys?”

  “Yeah. One. Probably a pimply sixteen-year-old. Not your type, I hope. Pizza’s here.” I get up and march to let the delivery boy in.

  We drop the subject of Caroline’s implants for now, and instead indulge in eating the greasy goodness called pizza. Jena tells us about her date with Jeff, her sex buddy. Jeff attends some of the same classes at the UW as Jena. They’d met a few months earlier, but remained good friends until recently—after Jena broke up with the latest psycho boyfriend.

  “You and Ali are probably doing it right,” Caroline says around a bite of pizza. “No attachments, no jealously, no control freak boyfriends. But I don’t think I could do that. I fall for them too easily. It wouldn’t work.”

  “It would, if you weren’t expecting anything in return, just great sex and friendship. I mean, you gotta be friends with the guy, really like him… you know, like a good friend,” Ali explains. “Brian and I can watch TV, play chess, walk his dog, you name it. We don’t have to end up in bed if we just want to hang out. Although we always end up in bed.” She smirks. “But the point is, this is temporary, and we both know it. If one of us finds someone else… not another sex buddy, but someone to actually have a relationship with, there is no drama. We agreed to it. And we know what to expect from each other.”

  “Still, I’m not built this way.” Caroline sighs.

  I wash down a piece of my pizza with a long swig of beer. “I’m not either. So you and I get screwed in life, while Ali and Jena have fun.”

  “It’s all in your mind, girls.” Jena licks her fingers and reaches for her third slice of pizza. “You need to snap out of the teenage mentality—first love is the only love, crap like that. Take your life by the horns, or whatever that saying is, you know?”