London Bound

by Amy Daws

  “I know I’m being dumb, but it’s just weird. When they were living with us unmarried, it was like no big deal. It was normal, like Mitch and Julie. It was exactly like the kind of thing I’d expect Finley to do.”

  Frank frowns at me, clearly not understanding my drunken ramblings.

  “It’s like this,” I start, hoping to make things clearer. “Fin and I were always just different together. Alternative or whatever. We didn’t conform to what everyone else in our hometown did. I was proud of that. I loved that. She was my partner in crime, ye know? She helped me not feel so…so…” I sigh, deciding I’ve said too much.

  “So what, Lez? Finish!” Frank snaps.

  “Alone!” I screech, feeling surprised by my outburst. “Now she’s all married, and…normal,” I pout.

  “What am I, chopped liver? Not to mention, I don’t think it’s considered normal to live with four other roommates as a married couple,” Frank says, grabbing my daiquiri from my hand and downing nearly all of it.

  I start to yell at him but his face screws into a look of pain. He clasps his head between his long, slender fingers.

  “Bugger! Fuck! My head!”

  “Serves you right for stealing my drink,” I say, grabbing the glass and finishing the rest. I look around for another server. Instead, I see Angela and Mark come stumbling and giggling toward us. They sit down on my side of the rectangle table and look worriedly at Frank.

  “What’s with you?” Angela asks, looking confused by Frank’s slumped position.

  “Don’t mind me…worry about the Lezbo. She’s the one who desperately needs a good shag.” Frank finally straightens and smoothly tweaks his bowtie. “By something a bit more substantial than a hotdog, I might add.” He eyes me provocatively.

  “Hotdog?” Angela asks, batting away Mark’s hand as he trails his fingertips over her exposed collarbone.

  “It’s my vibrator,” I answer. “I’m not embarrassed. I would never shame my hotdog in public. He’s my knight in shining armor and deserves respect and validation,” I add seriously.

  “Question,” Mark says, finally tearing his gaze away from Angela’s chest. “True or false: Sex improves a female’s bladder control?” I giggle at the ridiculous question and Angela swerves an incredulous look at him.

  “Mark, I’m much more curious as to why you have all of this bottled up knowledge on urine. First the crack during Finny’s ceremony and now this. It’s a bit pervy! I venture to guess that you have a fetish for golden showers.” Frank’s face contorts into one of disgust as he takes a pull of the straw on the now empty daiquiri glass.

  “Answer: It’s true. A strong pelvic floor in the female anatomy is something that we would all do best in our lives to take note of. These women will be rearing our children someday. And if sex is what keeps them healthy and strong, I will surely do my civic duty,” Mark replies, completely serious.

  Angela and I both bark out a laugh and then laugh even harder at the ridiculously disgusted expression on Frank’s face.

  “I assure you that I can’t help with that duty. Does this mean you are into golden showers?”

  “Irrelevant,” Mark replies flatly, not looking the least bit shaken by Frank’s accusation.

  A waitress appears and Frank orders three more daiquiris and a beer for Mark. I smile inwardly at Frank’s courtesy of ordering Mark’s preferred beverage. Maybe he doesn’t totally hate him. Frank looks pointedly at me.

  “What?” I whine, unable to ignore his stare any longer.

  “When is the last time you’ve been with a man, Lezbo? How long since you’ve had a real, genuine dick?”

  I scowl as he scrutinizes me further. Angela and Mark turn toward me, apparently interested in my reply. Refusing to feel embarrassed by being put on the spot, I glare at Frank. “It’s been a while, Frank. I’m not embarrassed about it either. You’re not having a laugh at my expense over this. This is by choice. I’m done with men.” I adjust the bust of my dress, feeling uncomfortable beneath his pointed glare.

  “Oh, pish posh. I’m not saying you have to jump into a relationship. But a certain level of sexual interaction with the human species is…as Mark so eloquently said a moment ago…healthy.”

  “I feel perfectly healthy,” I murmur into my empty glass that I snatched back away from Frank. Finally the waitress shows up with our refills. I grab mine from her and take a deep, cooling drink.

  “Yes, but you’re a scowling wanker right now, Lezzie, and it’s your best friend’s wedding! Surely you can see an issue with that?” Frank screws his eyebrows at me and I take in fully what he’s trying to say.

  I suppose he has a point. It truly is shameful how much I’ve been sulking at Finley’s wedding. I’d be mortified if she and Brody noticed. They’ve had a bitch of a year and they don’t deserve my melancholy jealousy. Maybe Frank’s right.

  “I think you need a spruce, Lez,” he states deadpan.

  “A spruce? And what the hell does that entail?”

  “Like a spa visit?” Angela asks excitedly.

  “Not a spa exactly. More like…a cleanse.” Frank fixes a salacious grin on me as he appears excited for what he has in mind. I squirm, feeling nervous about where the hell this is going.

  “I’ve done cleanses before, they are miserable,” Angela says, dramatically raising her glass and taking a drink.

  “This is a different kind of cleanse. It could be miserable for Leslie, but I know many mates who would bloody love it.”

  “What’s involved?” I ask warily. Why the hell would I agree to something that might make me miserable?

  “It’s…what I would call…a seven-step program. You have to follow all of the steps in order to gain the maximum benefits and achieve full happiness. Do you agree to it?”

  “Agree to what? To doing this crazy cleanse that I have no clue what’s even involved? Absolutely not! I can’t even drink black coffee, Frank. If this cleanse drink tastes disgusting, I can’t do it.”

  “Nothing will taste disgusting on this cleanse, I assure you,” he replies cryptically.

  “I don’t know.”

  Frank’s expression softens. “You need this, Leslie. You’ve been in a funk ever since Finley got engaged to that sex monster, Brody.”

  I blanch. Frank has a huge man-crush on Brody. It all started when he got a full-frontal Magic Mike image of Brody and Finley one morning at the house. Brody’s a good-looking guy, don’t get me wrong. But I see him more like a brother.

  “So, this cleanse you’re suggesting will get me out of this funk?”

  “Without question,” Frank replies, and turns his wide brown eyes on me. He’s sincere. I can see it in his demeanor. He genuinely wants me to do this.

  “I’m not interested in a boyfriend, Frank. I don’t want a relationship.”

  “That’s not what this is about. I promise.”

  “Question,” Mark says, suddenly cutting into my faceoff with Frank. “A quote by Walter Anderson: Our lives improve only when we take chances, and the first and most difficult risk we can take is to be honest with ourselves. True or not true?”

  Frank, myself, and Angela all turn stunned expressions to Mark who appears totally calm, cool, and collected. “Mark, my dear boy, that’s the first mildly interesting thing you’ve said all week,” Frank replies, looking shocked and awed.

  Mark’s quote stuns me and I contemplate the meaning behind it. Angela reaches over and strokes my hand with a soft smile tugging on her lips. I need to be honest with myself and stop moping about like I’m oblivious to the opposite sex. Why shouldn’t I do this cleanse? Why not go balls-to-the-wall and do whatever weird shit Frank has in store for me. Could be a bit of fun! I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge. I can do this!

  I smirk sneakily and Frank jumps up thrusting his hands into the air in victory, knocking his chair down in the meantime. Several people gawk at his obnoxious display.

  Holy balls. This is Frank. What have I gotten myself i
nto?

  ***

  CHAPTER SIX

  Present Day

  FRANKS SEVEN-DAY CLEANSE:

  “When do Brody and Finley return then?” Julie asks, nestled into the booth situated in our large kitchen.

  “Just a couple more days,” I reply¸ dumping a load of milk into my morning coffee. I yawn briefly, leaning myself up against the wooden countertop. “Fin said she had a big pitch for Faith’s Miracle Jewelry that she couldn’t reschedule.”

  “Still, it’ll be nice for them to have a little time to themselves,” she muses. I nod and smile politely while taking a small sip of my coffee.

  “I wish Mitch and I would have had the funds to come. Your tan looks bloody awful,” she adds sadly.

  “You should have taken Frank’s offer to pay! We missed you guys.”

  “You know as well as I do that Frank would give away all of his money if we let him. It’s bad enough he hardly ever cashes our rent checks,” she scoffs sweetly, narrowing her dark eyes at me. Julie’s Asian skin tone is a beautiful olive. She always has this glow about her. Probably because she’s so damn nice—if not a bit ditzy at times. Her boyfriend, Mitch, is polar opposite with his rough skater-boy look.

  Julie and Mitch moved into Frank’s house about a year after I did. Frank and Julie were old friends from when she worked for the catering company that his mother hired for all their posh parties. They keep to themselves a lot but have been a bit more social now that Brody is living here. Mitch and Brody seem to have developed a bit of a bromance. I’m guessing Mitch was just missing some good ol’ testosterone in the house. I’m afraid Frank doesn’t really emit that masculine energy vibe.

  “Hopefully Brody and Finley stay in their area of the house when they get back. I keep catching them sneaking up to the third floor to Finley’s old room to shag. It’s bloody awkward!”

  I giggle at Julie’s disturbed expression. Finley revealed to me a while ago that she and Brody created some fond memories in her old room and enjoy frequenting memory lane. They must have created some pretty fantastic ones to want to do it in that tiny room since they now live in the coolest part of the house. I was right pissed when I saw it had an attached spa bathroom for heaven’s sake! Why the hell is Frank not living in there?

  When Finley told us she and Brody were moving to London, I thought they’d be looking for a flat of their own. But Frank offered them the master bedroom located down the hall from the living room and it took all of three seconds for them to accept.

  Frank’s house is a beautiful Victorian three-story. Frank, myself, Mitch, and Julie occupy the three bedrooms on the second floor. The third floor consists of a small bedroom with cute little curved windows. Brody and Finley’s original love nest. I’ve often thought about making it into my sewing room so I can move my machine and fabrics out, but I hesitate because I love having my stuff near me all the time so I can work on it whenever I please.

  It took me all of three minutes to put the pieces together for why Frank never lived in that master bedroom. Frank craves people. He craves family, friendship, and love. His parents have been absentee most of his life, caring more about society and parties than they did about their own son. I think Frank truly felt like he was living the dream having roommates across the hall. We were the family he never had. Now, it would take a small army, or years of intense therapy, to get him to admit that little nugget of knowledge. But I know it’s the truth.

  “Anyway, I best get to work. I’ve got the lunch shift and Teddy will have a cow if I’m late again. Can you make sure Mitch wakes up before noon? He can’t be late again either.” I nod and smile. “Laters!” she sings, grabbing her handbag and scurrying through the dining room and out the front door.

  I settle into the kitchen nook and sigh heavily. Damn, I am so glad I took an extra day off just to re-coop. Seven days in Mexico is exhausting!

  “Lezzie, love, you’re awake!” Frank bellows, waltzing into the kitchen with an extra pep in his step. Bollocks, why is he so perky this morning? “Are you ready to begin?” he asks, eyeing me brightly. I sip my milky coffee and scowl at him.

  “Ready for what?”

  “Ready for what? Ready for what, she says!” he howls out an obnoxious laugh and rushes over to me, yanking me out of the booth. I grumble and follow him into the dining room. Spread across the table are several white pieces of paper. How did I miss those when I came through earlier?

  “What’s this?” I ask warily.

  “Lezbo,” Frank tsks, apparently disappointed. He pulls one of the ten plush dining room chairs out and directs me to be seated. He flounces over to the other side of the table and grabs the first paper, flipping it over and showing me.

  “Frank’s,” I read aloud and he sets it down and grabs the next sheet.

  “Seven,” I continue and he nods approvingly and grabs two pages at once this time.

  “Day. Cleanse.” He bounces over to the other side and grab’s the last two.

  “2. Happiness.”

  Frank’s Seven-Day Cleanse 2 Happiness. Oh, fuck me sideways. He is taking this way too seriously.

  “Did you steal this paper display idea from Brody?” I ask, feeling like I remember Finley telling me how sweet Brody is with his dumb little notes.

  “That’s rubbish, Leslie! Surely Brody isn’t the first man on the planet to write words on paper.” I roll my eyes. “Not to mention, he knows all about this cleanse I have planned for you and he fully approves! Now love, before you begin scoffing at me, calling a nutter, and telling me to piss off like you always do, I’d like to remind you how serious you were about this in Mexico. Nothing’s changed. You haven’t suddenly snapped out of your melancholy, correct?” he widens his eyes expectantly.

  “No,” I mumble, taking another drink of my nearly cold coffee. Damn, when you load it with so much creamer, it goes cold so fast.

  “Brilliant! Let’s get started then,” he dashes over to me and jerks my seat sideways. I nearly slop coffee all over myself and glare as he drags another chair out to sit straight across from me. Fuck me, he’s dramatic!

  “We can do this one of two ways, Lez.” I frown, waiting impatiently for him to get on with it. “You can either know all seven days’ worth of duties straightaway, or you can wait and I can inform you of each task on a daily basis.”

  “I need to know them all. Now. Yesterday. Immediately.” I peal out before I think about it another second. My stomach is in knots over agreeing to this ridiculousness that Frank has in store for me. Somehow I just know I’m going to painfully regret agreeing to this.

  Mark’s inspirational quote suddenly flashes in my memory bank: Our lives improve only when we take chances and the first and most difficult risk we can take is to be honest with ourselves. I exhale a deep breath, silently repeating the mantra over and over. I need something to get me over this hump. That’s all. Maybe just a quick hump. Oh look! I made a pun!

  “I thought as much. Lezzie, you’re no bloody fun.” Frank sticks his tongue out at me and grabs the blue leather-bound notebook on the table with an etched picture of the tower of the London Tower on it. “This is it, Lez. Frank’s seven-day cleanse to happiness. Now, I wrote two out as a number because this is all about relationships, Lezzie. Romantic relationships.”

  “Oh, fuck me,” I roll my eyes.

  “You hold your tongue! I’m not saying we’re trying to get you a boyfriend out of this. Christ no. But we do need to start getting you back in the land of the living. People fuck, Lez…they kiss, they dry-hump, they flirt! It’s the excitement of the chase. It’s that little chance—that small sliver of hope for love that keeps our hearts ticking, poppet. And Frank’s seven-day cleanse will get you there!”

  I try to interject but he dives in again before I can say a peep. “Now, I’m not saying you don’t have a heart, love. ‘Course not. You’re bloody fantastic.” His lips twitch in a scandalous way and I giggle at his wry expression. “Even your pajamas are fierce.” He adds deadpan. I
smile, glancing down at my purple, satin, button-down night shirt and cheetah slippers.

  “But you’ve focused much too closely on friendships the past few years and now it’s time to focus on your libido.” Frank bites his lower lip. “Hotdog needs new material!” He winks at me—the cheeky bastard!

  “So, here we go. Frank’s seven-day cleanse shall commence! May the odds be ever in your favor.” He winks saucily and clears his throat while cracking open his notebook. “Day One…you know what? I’m going to request absolutely no interruptions until I’ve completed the entire list, alright?”

  “Will you just get on with it?” I cry, growing eager.

  “Brilliant. Here we go. Day One: Speed Date…it’s about quantity, not quality.” He eyes me warily, waiting for my reaction. I frown but give him a slight nod to continue.

  “Day Two: Wing-woman…help a random bloke in a bar close the deal with another woman.” I find myself wondering how that helps me with my own libido, but it sounds easy enough so I tilt my chin in acceptance. It could be quite fun!

  “Day Three: The Tease…balance two guys at the same establishment, on the same night.” My lips screw up in disgust. “No, Lez, not a bloody ménage, you perv.” I exhale in relief. Still sounds tricky either way.

  “Alright, Day Four,” Frank pauses, eyeing me warily. “Girl kiss…self-explanatory.”

  “You want me to kiss a girl?” I ask incredulously.

  “You promised to hear them all before you commented!” Frank blares loudly in my face, knocking our knees together as we sit in the middle of the dining room. He’s clutching his notebook to his chest protectively like I’m going to rip it away from him at any second.

  I go to speak again and then clamp my lips back together. “Let’s just get this over with.”