by Tara Sivec
My dad bought his first used-car lot for a steal right after he graduated college, using an inheritance he got when my grandfather died. Business sucked and he was barely able to make ends meet. He was a month away from having to close the lot when one of his buddies from college, who graduated with a film degree, convinced him to use every last penny in his savings account to make a commercial. That thing still airs every once in a while, and it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen. They rented every farm animal you could think of and let them wander around the lot while my dad was dressed up as a cow, complete with huge udders hanging down from his stomach. I have no idea what the hell any of that had to do with used cars, but people loved it. Customers started flocking to the place just to meet the crazy man who made the commercials, which made my dad naturally assume he was a genius and should keep making more ridiculous commercials. It didn’t take long for news to spread that he was unlike any other used-car salesman because he was honest. He didn’t sell you a piece of shit and shrug his shoulders when you came back and told him the entire thing exploded on the highway when it got above twenty miles an hour. He sold good-quality used cars and he cared about his customers. If something happened to one of the cars he sold, he’d fix it. If he couldn’t fix it, he’d replace the vehicle. Pretty much every customer he has is a repeat customer. If not, they will be.
“For fuck’s sake, don’t encourage him,” I scold, shaking my head at Eric.
“Did you see the commercial I did where I wore a fluorescent green bodysuit and pretended to be one of those incredible flailing tube men?” my dad asks Eric excitedly.
Eric nods his head and they both shout in unison.
“THIS DEAL IS SO INCREDIBLE, I CAN’T STOP FLAILING! COME ON DOWN TO TRITON MOTORS BEFORE I FLAIL AWAY!”
With a groan, I drop my head and press my hand against my eyes.
Even though my dad is borderline insane now and a big jokester, when I was growing up, he was actually a lot more like the guy who first walked down here. With seven daughters in his house, tampons being left all over the place, makeup and glitter spilled all over every available surface, one week every month filled with seven times the normal amount of mood swings, since my sisters and I were always synced up, and boys sniffing around us at all hours of the day and night, he had to run his house like a militant drill sergeant. There was a lot of yelling. A lot of strict rules. And a lot of spying on us—going through our phones and getting in his car at midnight in his bathrobe to track us down. This is probably another reason why I eloped when I turned eighteen. I never really handled being told what to do very well.
Thankfully, once we all became adults and he had a nice, empty, quiet house all to himself, he lightened up. One might say he lightened up a bit too much.
“My name’s Eric Sailor. It’s nice to meet you, sir. Seriously, I can’t believe I’m meeting the Michael Triton. I used to watch your commercials in college and just crack up. No disrespect or anything.”
“None taken, my boy. The used-car business is tough work. Gotta do something to keep the customers coming in.”
I drop my hand from my eyes and wonder if I should ask these two if they need a few minutes alone, considering they can’t stop smiling at each other like idiots.
“Care to tell me why you’re holding a cat that’s inside out against your crotch?” my dad suddenly asks, pointing at Derrick Alfredo.
“He . . . uh . . . likes the warmth. You know, since he doesn’t have any hair and he’s always cold. My dick warmth comforts him, sir,” Eric replies with a nervous clear of his throat.
“And here I thought you were just covering up a boner. I like this guy, Ariel,” my dad states, clapping Eric on the shoulder before he walks over to the couch and makes himself comfortable.
This night just keeps getting better and better.
Eric quickly tosses Derrick onto the chair where we just finished dry humping, and at least I can be thankful my dad didn’t sit there.
“Not that I’m unhappy to see you show up here . . . unexpectedly, without calling ahead first, but what’s going on? Is everyone okay?” I ask, moving over to sit on the love seat across from my dad.
Eric follows right behind me, sitting down so close to me that our thighs are touching, and he throws his arm over the back of the couch and rests his hand on my shoulder.
This is weird. Maybe I should have sat in one of the chairs. We’re look like we’re dating or something. Wait, are we dating? Is that what’s happening right now? Does dry humping equal dating?
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. Everyone is fine. Your sisters are driving me to drink, like always,” my dad sighs, turning to look at Eric. “Never have seven daughters, Eric. It’s a hell on earth unlike anything you can ever imagine.”
Eric looks at me with a shocked expression on his face and mouths the word, Seven?
I just nod.
“My sisters all work with him at Triton Motors, hence the reason he took up day-drinking,” I explain.
“There’s still a spot open for you in sales, Ariel. You know I’d be happy to have you work for me. I think you’d do amazing in sales.”
Eric snorts, and I shoot him an annoyed look.
“Ariel, in sales?” he full out laughs now. “She’d tell the first guy who said he wanted a better deal to go fuck himself.”
My dad laughs right along with him and nods his head.
“That’s true. She has a very colorful language, with an attitude to match.”
“You can both go fuck yourselves,” I mutter, jerking away from Eric’s hand and crossing my arms angrily over my chest. “I already told you, Dad, I started a business with my friends. As much as I love you, I don’t want to work with you. That would not end well.”
My dad snaps his fingers and his face brightens.
“That’s right! The Nifty Stripper Princesses!”
“Close. The Naughty Princess Club,” I correct him.
“We should do a commercial with you girls taking your clothes off in the parking lot. That would bring in a lot of customers,” my dad muses.
“Never gonna happen.”
“Fine. Then just tell me when you’re stripping so I can put it in my day planner. It’s not every day your favorite daughter takes her clothes off for money. Well, shit. Those are words I never thought I’d say. Eh, whatever. Name the time and place and I’ll be there,” my dad says with a smile.
“Not just never gonna happen, but never gonna fucking happen ever,” I inform him.
“Hey, Belle’s dad got to watch her strip for the first time at Charming’s,” Eric says.
It’s true. After Belle’s dad kicked her out of the house and they didn’t speak for weeks, he tried to fix things by showing up for her first night of stripping. He wasn’t even my dad and I felt sick to my stomach for her.
“Belle’s dad wore a blindfold that his girlfriend put on him, and he sat facing away from the stage, throwing dollar bills at an angry biker because he couldn’t see anything. He almost got his ass kicked,” I remind him, giving him another glare to get him to shut the fuck up.
“Fine. Eric, can you at least take a video? I want to put it in the family Christmas-card email I send out to everyone, letting the cousins know how well my girls are doing.” my dad says.
“If you even think about doing it, that dry humping session we just had will be the last one you ever experience because I will cut your dick off,” I whisper out of the corner of my mouth.
Pasting a smile on my face, I change the subject before my dad gets any other insane ideas.
“So, you just stopped by to see how I was doing? Nothing else is going on?”
“Well, I saw the doctor the other day. He says I’ve got a boggy prostate,” my dad says causally. “It’s fine. He said it’s nothing serious. Just a small infection that will go away with antibiotics Have you checked your prostate lately, Eric?”
Eric tries to hide a laugh with a cough, and it jus
t sounds like he’s choking.
“Too much information, Dad . . . Jesus.”
“Maybe I should do a commercial with that. One thousand dollars cash back on any trade-in if you have a boggy prostate!” my dad announces.
“Okay, seriously. I know you didn’t come over here to tell me about your prostate. What’s going on?”
My dad looks down at his lap guiltily, and I feel vindicated that I was right. Until he looks back up at me with sympathy written all over his face.
“Alana told me Sebastian called her looking for you, and that she told him where you were. I gave that girl holy hell for giving out that information, but she didn’t see anything wrong with it. She thought after all this time there was no reason for you to have any problems with that scum-sucking piece of shit,” my dad explains, his face changing from sympathy to barely concealed rage.
I don’t really want to talk about Sebastian right now. Especially not in front of Eric, and definitely not when I’m still feeling a little warm and fuzzy from my recent orgasm.
“It’s fine. It was totally fine. He showed up on the dock, acted like his usual, charming self, and then he left,” I tell him quickly, not wanting to get into how much of a fucking sissy I was when confronted with him for the first time.
“It wasn’t fine,” Eric suddenly says, his face taking on the same rage-y look that my father is still sporting. “He was an insulting asshole who should be ashamed of himself for speaking to someone like Ariel the way he did. I called him a douche dick and told him to get the fuck off my dock.”
Great. Like I needed a reminder of how Eric had to stick up for me.
I hear the muted sound of my phone beeping with an incoming text and look around for it. It goes off again and I stick my hand down in the cushions, realizing it must have somehow gotten wedged in there when I tossed it on the loveseat before I started my carb overload earlier. Pulling it out, I look down at the screen and see I have a text from Sebastian.
You have got to be fucking kidding me right now.
Chéri, we need to talk. I’m calling you. Please pick up.
“Better you than me, Eric, let me tell you,” my dad says as I continue staring at my phone, wishing I could make it explode with my eyes. “I would have kicked the shit out of that snot-nosed little fucker.”
No, you wouldn’t, because it’s not your fight. It’s MINE.
“Believe me, it was a struggle not to punch him in the face and chuck him into the water,” Eric growls.
“I like you,” my dad tells him with a firm nod. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Take care of my girl and make sure she’s okay.”
All right, that’s enough.
“Jesus Christ, no one needs to take care of me!” I shout. “I can fight my own battles, thank you very much. I don’t need a couple of macho men acting like they need to take care of the little lady!”
“Ariel, I didn’t—”
“I could have told him off if I wanted to!” I cut Eric off, glaring at him angrily. “But maybe I didn’t want to, did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed it to be the right time!”
My phone rings in my hand, and I don’t even glance down at it.
“Well, would you look at that? Looks like it’s the right fucking time!”
With my heated eyes still on Eric’s, I smack my finger against the screen of my phone and bring it up to my ear, not bothering to say hello.
“Listen close, you motherfucking piece of shit. Stop calling me chéri. You lost the right to call me anything when you turned into a giant cock-sucking asshole. We don’t need to fucking talk. There is absolutely nothing you have to say that I want to hear. I listened to your bullshit for years and you can just take whatever you think you have to say and shove it up your fucking ass. Also, it’s not hot when you speak French. You sound like a douchebag.”
I let out a huge huff of air when I finish word vomiting, feeling extremely free and awesome right now. Shit. I should have done this a lot sooner. That felt great.
My dad and Eric are both looking at me with their mouths dropped open, and I’d like to say the huge smile on my face stays firmly in place. But when I hear the voice on the other end of the line, my smile falls and my face gets hot as I look away from Eric and my dad and stare down at my lap.
“No, no thank you. Yes, I am sure I’m completely satisfied with my current cell phone carrier,” I mumble quietly to the poor woman on the other end of the line. “You have a very lovely day and I’m really sorry. You don’t sound like a douchebag at all.”
I end the call and finally look up to find that both Eric and my dad both have their hands covering their mouths to try and hide their laughter.
“Kiss my ass, both of you. I did that on purpose. It was a practice run.”
They can’t contain it anymore and burst out laughing. Pushing myself up from the couch, I stalk over to Derrick Alfredo, scoop him up in my arms, and stomp towards the hallway.
“Where are you going with my cat?!” Eric calls after me.
“Fuck off!” I yell over my shoulder.
“Just promise to be nice to him. He won’t like it if you call him a douchebag!”
Eric laughs, my father joining right in with him as I take Derrick into the bedroom and slam the door behind me to let those two idiots get all the hilarity out of their systems before I murder both of them.
Chapter 16: Cat Scratch Fever
“So, then the guy asks if he can book another party with me, but it would be a party of one, and he would supply the ball gag and strap-on,” Cindy tells me.
“Eeew, that’s disgusting,” I mutter, propping my phone between my chin and shoulder and turning on the faucet to wash my hands. “What did you do?”
I hear a muffled car horn through the phone line, followed Cindy screaming.
“TURN SIGNALS WERE INVENTED FOR A REASON, JACKASS! Sorry, what did you say?”
I laugh, turning off the water and drying my hands on a towel.
“I asked what you did when he said that to you,” I repeat, moving through Eric’s kitchen to sit at the island.
“I didn’t do anything. Our bouncer called in sick so PJ filled in for him. And PJ punched him in the face. Obviously we’ll need to add this guy to the banned-customer list.”
Surprisingly, this would only be the second guy we’ve had to add to our banned-customer list. The first guy was added when he whipped out his dick in the corner of the living room while Belle was giving someone a lap dance and proceeded to jerk himself off. When Cindy and Belle first started dancing, PJ and Vincent always accompanied to parties as bodyguards. Once we started making more money, we hired one of the bouncers from Charming’s, who wanted a side gig to make some extra money. Unfortunately, during this particular party, the dick jerker positioned himself behind the bouncer, and the poor guy didn’t know what was happening until the dude started moaning loudly. He was tossed out on his ass before he could finish, with his dick still hanging out of his pants and his friends refusing to ever speak to him again.
“So, what are you doing today?” Cindy asks.
“I just finished scooping Derrick Alfredo’s litter box,” I tell her as the cat in question jumps up onto the island and sits down right in front of me.
After my dad came over the other night and I locked myself in the bedroom, Derrick and I shared a moment. I was curled up in the middle of the bed with him lying next to me. I tentatively patted his back and realized touching him didn’t feel like fondling a lizard with scaly skin, despite what he looked like. It actually felt like petting a warm peach.
“I’m sorry, what did you just say?” Cindy asks.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” I mutter.
“It sounds very domestic to me.” I can hear the smile in her voice through the line.
“It’s not domestic. It’s just easier for me to keep an eye on his damn cat, since I work from home. I’m just helping Eric out while he’s at work.”
“You mean you
’re helping your boyfriend out,” she laughs.
“Whatever. Shut up.”
She continues laughing and I roll my eyes. Yes, I’ve been wondering what the hell Eric and I are to each other ever since the dry humping session the other night. She’s right, even though I’ll never admit it. We’ve been acting very domestic.
I take care of his cat every day, we text each other constantly, and we’ve had dinner together every night since the humping. This, I’m happy to say, has included some wonderful heavy petting for dessert, minus the voyeuristic ball licking from Derrick, since I’m pretty sure he’s bored with us at this point. Eric even surprised me when I ran to the grocery store the other day and came home to find that all of the Flounders had been evenly distributed back into ten fish tanks, five of which Eric demanded to keep on his boat because he wanted joint custody.
I even bought his fucking cat three sweaters from Amazon two days ago. One just arrived this morning, and I immediately put it on him. It’s black with grey trim around the collar and armholes. Across his back, in grey stitching, it says “This guy loves balls.” As soon as I showed Derrick what he looked like in the mirror, he gave me a look that clearly said, “I will shit on everything you love,” but I think he’s fine now.
“According to Cosmo, if you’ve shared a meal together, swapped bodily fluids more than once, met family members, taken care of each other, met each other’s friends, help each other with household chores, and you don’t even bother asking the other person what they’re doing because it’s a given you’ll be together, it’s affirmative that you are boyfriend and girlfriend,” Belle says.
“Am I on fucking speakerphone?!”
“We’re on our way to a job, remember? You put it on our calendar. A double birthday party,” Cindy says with a sigh. “And that’s not really the important thing here. You and Eric have done all of those things. Look at you being a cute and girly with a boyfriend.”
“Say that again and I will end you.”
