by J. J. Murray
“Well,” Karl begins, “after meeting with that trucker, I came right back, but I took a wrong turn at that damn tree.”
“I have done that, too,” Juan Carlos says. “She should put a light out there or a sign pointing the right way to her house.”
“Let me finish, all right?” Karl says to Juan Carlos. “So I nearly end up in the pond again, I back up, and by the time I get to that big tree, there’s this guy under the hood of his car.”
Right on top of Mr. Wilson’s granddaddy.
“The alternator in the Bonneville is bad,” Juan Carlos says.
“It wasn’t the alternator, fool,” Karl says. “It’s the distributor. My mama had a Bonneville just like that.”
“I am the mechanic here,” Juan Carlos says, “and I know.”
“Whatever, man,” Karl says. “So, we start talking, and I’m like, What are you doing out here, anyway, man? And he tells me about his future wife named Lahhh-na who he’s taking to meet his mama today. And I tell him, No, her name is Lana, no ahh, and she’s my girlfriend, who might be about to have my baby.”
Roger hasn’t spoken. I wish he’d say something. Oh. His ears are wiggling. He’s pissed, too. Everybody’s mad at me today.
“Anyway, while we’re standing there fussing back and forth,” Karl says, “white boy over here rolls by without stopping.”
“I didn’t see you,” Roger says. At least he can speak.
“Cuz you were doing sixty at least, yo!”
Roger was in a hurry. He was in a hurry to ask me to marry him, and now he’ll be in a hurry to leave.
Karl steps closer to me, and I don’t dare look up at him. “So Juan and I decided to go for a walk to see what the hell is going on.”
Silence.
“So, Peanut, what the hell is going on? You pregnant or not?”
“No,” I say.
I hear more than one sigh. Oh, that’s comforting.
“And,” Juan Carlos says, his voice filling with rage, “you have been seeing these two … these two men when you have not been seeing me?”
“Yes.” I raise my eyes to look at Roger briefly. He’s in that chair, but he’s already gone, his jaw set, his eyes glazed over, those ears of his wiggling.
“How long has this been going on, Peanut?” Karl asks.
“What did you call her?” Juan Carlos asks.
“It’s her nickname, Juan,” Karl says. “She must not have told you that, either. Evidently, she only tells a man what he wants to hear.” Karl squats in front of me. “How long, Lana?”
I stare at his chin. “About five months … with Juan Carlos, and about two months with Roger.”
Karl sighs and drops his chin to his chest. “Damn! Shit! You’re good. You played us all.” He stands. “I never would have believed it.” He turns to Juan Carlos. “It’s the quiet ones every damn time, yo. Never hook up with a shy girl, damn.”
“I would not believe it, either,” Juan Carlos says. “And Lana is not so shy.”
Roger says nothing.
Karl whistles “MF” under his breath. “And I’m almost out of gas.”
So am I. I’ve been running on empty for the past five minutes.
“I can’t even escape this fucking nightmare,” Karl whispers. “Peanut, you got any gas left in that barn?”
I nod.
“I’m out.” In two steps, he’s out of the house, the door slamming behind him.
One down, two to go.
Roger rises from his chair. “You need a ride, Juan?” His voice is so gravelly.
I hear Juan Carlos breathing rapidly. “Yes. Yes, I need a ride to my car.”
“I can take you,” Roger says.
“Bunta,” Juan Carlos spits at me, and the two of them leave together, this time without a slam.
I’m alone.
Shit.
Eight months’ work gone in five miserable minutes.
A moment later, I hear shouting again and stumble to the door, expecting to see three men beating the shit out of each other. Instead, I see Roger leaning out of his window waving Karl to his truck. Karl waves my gas can in the air. He wants no part of them. I can’t blame any of them for not wanting any part of me. Juan gets out and puts his hand on Karl’s shoulder. Karl shrugs it off and steps back. Roger gets out. He’s saying something … they’re nodding … they all look my way.
It’s not one of the best moments in my life.
Karl puts the gas can on the bed of Roger’s truck and climbs in after it. Juan gets in the front passenger seat, and Roger is the only one standing and looking my way.
“Go on,” I say, and the tears start to fall. “Go on.”
Roger gets in, the truck rolls forward, and the red glow of the taillights vanish into the darkness.
They’re gone.
Gone.
No friends.
No benefits.
I’m alone.
In five freaking minutes.
Chapter 18
I need more toilet paper.
I’ve already finished off my only box of Kleenex, and I’m down to one roll of Angel Soft. My pillow has become a sponge. It’s just me and Jenny sitting on a bed without sheets in a yellow room while Roger’s boxers get “smoked” in the barn.
I guess this is as bad as bad gets.
My phone rings. It’s Izzie.
No. I was wrong.
This is as bad as bad gets.
The hits just keep coming.
I let it ring five times before answering. “Yes?”
“Why weren’t you at work today, Lana?”
This will teach me to ditch work for three men and a bad ankle. “I hurt my ankle, remember?”
“That’s all? No man or men involved?”
I don’t need this. Not now. And from the happy tone of her voice, I’ll bet Izzie already knows something went terribly wrong. “Izzie, I don’t want any more drama tonight, okay?”
“Did something happen?”
Do I tell her? Do I tell anybody? Would anyone believe it? I can’t tell the witch who tried to take my man … the man who is no longer mine. Hmm. “Remember what you were saying about how it could all end?”
“Yes?”
“Well, it all ended in just five minutes.”
Silence.
“All three of them were just here, Izzie.”
“All at once?”
“Yeah.”
More silence. I bet she’s doing a church-lady dance or something.
“And they’re all gone now?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Lana, are you all right?”
More tears and not nearly enough toilet paper. I need more pillows on this bed. “Of course I’m not all right, Izzie.” I may never be all right again.
“How bad was it?”
I do my best to describe the mess, but I know I’m leaving something out. Oh yeah. “Girl, Roger even asked me to marry him tonight.”
“He didn’t!”
“He had the box and had just proposed when all hell broke loose.”
“You didn’t give him an answer, did you?”
“I didn’t have time!”
“Well, it’s lucky it all ended when it did, then.”
A few of my tears dry up quickly. “Lucky? How am I lucky? I’ve just gotten dumped by three men at the same time.”
“It was bound to happen. You can’t have too much of a good thing. What goes around comes around.”
I ignore her and her stupid sayings. “I had all three of them in the palm of my hand, and they all slipped through my fingers. I never should have listened to you.”
“Hey now, don’t blame me. It was a disaster you created, not me.”
She’s right, of course, but I have to be pissed at someone. “But I took your advice. I forced the issue. I backed them all into a corner with those damn tests of yours….”
And they all showed up at my door swinging.
Wait a minute.
They a
ll showed up.
They all came to me.
I didn’t scare them away.
Karl came to tell me about a deal that would keep him home with me. Juan Carlos came to take me to see his mama. Roger came to ask me to marry him.
They all came to me.
Oh, this is messed up! In solidifying our “love square” by forcing the issue, I ruined it!
And I’m out of toilet paper except for several partial rolls in the bathroom closet. I hope I have some paper towels downstairs, just in case.
“Maybe all this is for the best,” Izzie says.
What the hell? “How? How is any of this for the best?”
She sighs. “You know I tried to seduce Karl last night, and he wouldn’t budge. I tried everything short of doing a striptease. That man loved you, Lana.”
Time to get those paper towels.
“And at that moment, I hated you, Lana. I’ve been looking for a man who would love me that much, and you had three men who loved you like that. It wasn’t fair. And I envied you for that. Girl, you know exactly what you want in a man.”
Which doesn’t make sense, but then again it does.
“I’ve never been able to make up my mind,” Izzie says. “Not many women know what you know about men.”
Or know and feel what I’m feeling right now.
“It’s so weird, though. I just finished reading an article about breakups.”
Oh joy.
“They say it takes half as long as the relationship lasted for a person to fully recover.”
Who measures this shit? What, do they (whoever “they” are) go around talking to the newly heartbroken and ask them, “Let us know when you’re over so-and-so. We’re crunching some numbers for our next article.” As if any woman knows when she’s finally over a man.
“Are you doing the math, Lana?”
“No. Why?”
“I just want to know how long I should avoid you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are going to be a bitch.”
“Ha, ha.” But she’s right again. “Let’s see … I should be over Roger by the end of next month, Juan Carlos by the end of July, and Karl by the middle of September.”
“Have a nice summer,” Izzie says.
I groan.
“Just kidding. Can I ask you one question?”
“Sure.”
“What if one or more of them wants you back anyway? They may have all left tonight, but one or more of them might come back.”
Only in my dreams. “None of them will want me, Izzie. Not after what just happened.”
“I don’t know. That kind of love doesn’t evaporate overnight.”
“It might.”
“You can always stalk them.”
She’s pissing me off! “I’m on crutches, Izzie! How am I going to stalk them?”
“Stalk slowly, then.” She giggles.
I giggle, too. It was kind of funny.
“Well, let’s say all the love you have for these men is still there. Will you take him or them back?”
I wipe my face with my free hand. “They’re not coming back.”
“But what if just one came back? Who would you want him to be?”
I don’t want to think about this. If I couldn’t choose which one man to be with, I sure as hell can’t choose which one man I want to have come back. “I don’t know, Izzie.”
“Oh!” she shouts.
“What is it?”
“I have a call on my other line. What do I do?”
“What?”
“I’ve never had this happen before.”
Geez. Izzie needs to get a life. “Hit the flash button.”
“The flash button … Oh, okay.”
And Izzie disappears without saying “Can you hold, please?”
Sure. Whatever. I can hold. I’ll be holding myself for a while, right? I can hold.
Five minutes later, she comes back on. “Um, Lana, I really feel bad for you, but I have to go. I’ll call you soon, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And did you mean what you said about Sunday?”
I don’t want to see anyone, and I don’t want anyone to see me. “Let’s hold off on that for a while, okay? I need some time alone to think.” About all that went wrong.
“I understand. Take care.” Click.
How do I “take care”? About all I want to do is take more Motrin, take a month-long nap, and take some time to cry.
This house is so quiet. I wonder if I can stand myself. Yesterday, I had three men wanting me, and today …
Today I have only me, myself, and I.
I am such lousy company.
Chapter 19
There’s no denying it.
Izzie has to be right.
They will be back.
That phone will ring off the hook all day, and I’ll be giving my flash button a workout. And in a little while, I’ll be flashing my girls and my good leg at probably all three of them—one at a time, of course.
Oh sure, they will be angry for a spell, but then they will be at my door in no time at all, maybe soon.
I ease out of bed, blinking at the sunrise. I had better get ready for all my gentlemen callers.
I shower for a long time, shaving my legs closer than I’ve ever shaved them before. I bathe in lotion, drowning my girls with some of my “good” cologne. I call in sick to Patrick Henry (“bad cramps this time,” I tell the secretary) and hobble down to the kitchen to make some Chex mix. All three of my men—who’ll be here first?—love this stuff because I use real butter, never margarine. I’ll have to make more than I’ve ever made before.
They’re all going to be hungry.
While the Chex mix is warming in the oven, I call Dial-a-Horoscope to find out how their days will go, something I do from time to time. Karl, a Libra, is supposed to “pursue love and romance.” Here I am, Karl! Come and get your love! I’ll be here all day! Juan Carlos is an Aries, and as long as he doesn’t use “aggression” today, he’s supposed to be able to “charm anyone” into seeing things his way. Juan Carlos, come charm me, you Mexican Prince Charming, you! I’m ready to be charmed, and if you want to get aggressive, I’ll be ready! I don’t like the sound of Roger’s horoscope at all. He’s a Taurus. It says, “The less time spent dealing with personal matters today, the better.”
Well, I am not a “personal matter”—I’m his boo.
I bet they all feel guilty for leaving me. I know that I would feel guilty for leaving someone with a swollen ankle in her time of need.
Karl will feel guilty for not paying close enough attention to me all these months. He’ll get down on his knees and beg me to take him back. I’ll let him stew a bit, of course, and then tell him, “Only if you’re good to me, boo, and only if you stay in town.” He will cry tears of joy and say, “I promise, Peanut.”
Hmm. But do I want Karl to come back to me? He actually wanted to use my place for a fake-shit depository. I may have to let Karl stew for a couple days.
Juan Carlos will feel guilty about not letting me meet his sainted mama sooner. He’ll be back with a rose and a song, begging for one more chance. I’ll let him wait outside a while (and I hope it rains!) before telling him, “Only if you let me be me, Juan Carlos.” He’ll promise, of course, and make mad, passionate love to me until I say stop.
Hmm. But do I want Juan Carlos to come back to me? He probably still doesn’t think I’m good enough to meet his mama. I may have to turn Juan Carlos away for at least a week or two.
Roger … hmm. Roger will feel guilty about not saying anything, for not fighting for me, for withdrawing that ring from its rightful place on my finger. He’ll be back with that ring, begging me to take it. “Only if you take my last name, Roger,” I will say with authority, because “Lana Joy McDowell” does not have a nice ring to it. “I promise,” he, the future Roger Cole, will say. And we’ll just have to have a long engagement so I can ease away from the other two. Maybe … a
four-year engagement. That would work.
Hmm. But do I want Roger to come back? He’s an Indian giver! He offers marital bliss, then steals it away! I may have to tell Roger to take a long hike for at least a month.
Yeah, they’ll be back.
I check my phone for the one hundred ninety-ninth time in the past hour.
I had better charge up my phone. It’s going to have a busy night.
Yep, they’ll be back.
There’s no denying it.
Chapter 20
I am so pissed!
They didn’t call me at all yesterday, and I’ve had to take another day off, another unpaid day off “with the cramps” to wait for them to come to their senses.
What are they thinking? Are they thinking? Do they think I’m made of money or something? Why haven’t they called? What could they possibly be doing that’s more important than I am?
And why is my lower leg so shiny and blue?
Pain is shooting up my leg.
Shit.
Did I break it?
Nah. It’s just a sprain from hell.
I’ll deal with that later. That’s not important.
I have another ankle.
I look out the window for the fiftieth time in the past hour, but nothing stirs the dusty driveway.
Why me, God? I was just doing what men have been doing to women since the world began. If it’s okay for them, why can’t it be okay for me? Men, the pigs, have been catting around like dogs since you made them, slithering around like snakes and howling like wolves.
Would a city girl use all those animals to describe men? I bet she wouldn’t. We country girls know our animals, and we definitely know our men.
So what gives, God? Aren’t we all supposed to be equal in your sight? Aren’t we all your children? Why are you treating me like an unwanted stepchild, then? Why are men your favorites when we are so much prettier? Oh sure, you created Adam first, big deal. You had to create Adam first because he would have been late or gotten lost being second! And you had to create Eve because you knew Adam was going to mess things up. That’s all women are to you: fixers of the problems men create. We’re the long-suffering ones. We’re the deprived ones. We’re the abused, used, and discarded ones. Not men, no. They’re allowed to drop their fluids whenever, wherever, and with whomever they want! It’s so unfair!
