Puck Aholic: A Bad Motherpuckers Novel

by Lili Valente

  Cheyenne: You bet your sweet ass we are. There’s nothing to do on base but drink, drink and play pool, or drink and sleep with people you’re not supposed to sleep with.

  *

  Tanner: Why not go off base?

  *

  Cheyenne: I’m working too much. It’s a disease. And I hate shopping for knockoff purses, which is all my friends here want to do.

  Cute pig photos are my only source of frivolous entertainment.

  *

  Tanner: Sorry, it slipped my mind. I forgot to put it on the list, and Wanda’s already asleep. But I’ll write it down right now so I won’t forget next time.

  *

  Cheyenne: No worries. How’s the list thing going, by the way?

  *

  Tanner: Good.

  *

  Cheyenne: Just good? Could I get a little more info? You know Mom stresses and then likes to call me and leave long, rambling, worried messages.

  *

  Tanner: That’s because Mom is a meddler who thinks pills are magic.

  *

  Cheyenne: Well, pills can be magic. Sort of. Sometimes.

  And there’s no shame in needing them, Tanner. It’s no different than a diabetic needing insulin shots.

  *

  Tanner: Except that I’m a professional athlete, and I can’t afford to have a dizzy spell at the wrong time. My career would be over.

  *

  Cheyenne: You could try different meds.

  There are a lot of options these days.

  *

  Tanner: Yeah, I heard tonight marijuana was a thing for ADHD. Who knew?

  *

  Cheyenne: Are you smoking in my house?!

  *

  Tanner: laughter No, I’m not. Relax.

  *

  Cheyenne: I mean, if you need it for medical purposes, that’s fine, but you have to hide it before I get home and accidentally touch it. I had a friend who tested positive on a drug screening just from being in the same room as someone who had a smoked a joint the day before.

  *

  Tanner: I doubt the truth of that story, but I hear you.

  *

  Cheyenne: Do you? For real?

  *

  Tanner: Yes, Chey. I’m actually a fully-grown adult person who takes things seriously these days. I’m meeting with my financial manager tomorrow, and tonight over dinner I was discussing whether I would ever want to be a stay-at-home dad.

  *

  Cheyenne: Oh my God, the thought of you as a father is terrifying.

  *

  Tanner: Thanks for the vote of confidence.

  *

  Cheyenne: I didn’t mean it like that! You’ll be a great dad. I just meant knowing you’re old enough to talk about stuff like that reminds me how ancient I am. I should start trying to find someone I have permission to sleep with and get knocked up. Or maybe get married and then get knocked up, though, with the crazy divorce rate in my line of work, it’s probably better to go straight to the kid and custody arrangements and forgo the brief, foolish interlude of hope and romance.

  *

  Tanner: It doesn’t have to fall apart.

  Some people make hope and romance work for the long haul.

  *

  Cheyenne: Ugh, you’re such a romantic. You always have been.

  Even when you were a baby, crushing on that little girl who lived down the street. You can’t be trusted to see the world as it really is.

  *

  Tanner: Or maybe your pessimism is keeping you from opening yourself up to a healthy relationship. Ever think about that?

  *

  Cheyenne: Stop sounding reasonable and smart. It makes me uncomfortable.

  *

  Tanner: laughs

  *

  Cheyenne: So how are things on your dating front? Have you abandoned your pattern of serial monogamy and taken advantage of your newfound fame to score mad lady-tail?

  *

  Tanner: I’m not really into mad lady-tail.

  Tail without feelings isn’t my thing. I like quality, not quantity.

  *

  Cheyenne: Aw, look at your face right now! You’re so cute!

  Oh my God, are you in love? You’re in love, aren’t you?

  *

  Tanner: eye roll I’m not in love.

  *

  Cheyenne: Oh yes you are. You’re blushing bright red like a big, adorable doofus! Who is it? How long have you been dating? And why didn’t you say anything before now? You know I need gossip to ease my loneliness.

  *

  Tanner: I’m not dating anyone. We’re just hanging out, and it’s only been a couple weeks so…

  *

  Cheyenne: That’s fast. But when you know, you know, right?

  *

  Tanner: Are you the same person who just said hope and romance are dead?

  *

  Cheyenne: Not dead. Just foolish. For me. But not for you!

  Not to give you a big head, baby brother, but you’re a total catch. Sweet, successful, hard working, and easy on the eyes—as long as you like blond guys with creepy golden facial hair.

  *

  Tanner: Thanks. I appreciate the vote of confidence, but it’s too soon to put a label on anything. But she is special. She got me to hug a mannequin tonight.

  *

  Cheyenne: What? Holy shit! Are you for real?

  *

  Tanner: For real. And it wasn’t bad. It was liberating, actually.

  *

  Cheyenne: Get the fuck out. Where is my baby brother?

  What did you do to him, you evil cyborg replacement person?

  *

  Tanner: laughs

  *

  Cheyenne: I’m talking to an alien virus that’s using my brother’s body as a host, aren’t I? Because there is no way my actual real life brother would ever touch a mannequin, let alone hug one.

  *

  Tanner: What can I say?

  I think this is the summer I leave that stupid shit behind.

  *

  Cheyenne: Wow.

  Do you think this girl can help me get over my fear of bugs, too?

  Every time I have to sweep the hangar when the bugs are swarming, I get so worked up I sweat through my uniform and Guzman and Fowler make fun of me for a solid twenty-four hours after.

  *

  Tanner: Maybe. Though, that reminds me, Wanda didn’t like Diana too much at first. She actually bit her.

  *

  Cheyenne: Oh shit, no! Bad pig! Tell Diana I’m so, so sorry!

  *

  Tanner: It’s okay. We’re working on behavior adjustments, and so far Wanda seems to be coming around. At least she’s not hiding behind doors and jumping out to scare Diana anymore.

  *

  Cheyenne: Diana, huh? The new roommate is your new squeeze, isn’t she?

  Ha! I knew it! I knew you couldn’t cohabitate with a woman without banging her. But your captain is going to have your ass, right? That’s against team rules, isn’t it? Like if I decided to bang someone in my chain of command?

  *

  Tanner: Except that I won’t lose a stripe or wreck my career.

  I’ll just have some of the team pissed at me until they realize I know how to treat people I care about.

  *

  Cheyenne: AW!!! You are in love! I knew it!

  *

  Tanner: Oh, shut up! And keep your voice down!

  She’s just down the hall, and the last time I checked, she had ears.

  *

  Cheyenne: Oh good, I like people with ears.

  I can’t wait to meet her! And tell her thank-you for putting up with my badly behaved pig and my weirdo brother. Maybe you could thank her for me. And apologize for Wanda. I should have done a better job socializing her with strangers when she was a baby. That’s totally my bad.

  *

  Tanner: Will do. Chat same time next week?

  *

  Cheyenne: Sounds good. And keep
an eye on the mail between now and then. I ordered something adorable for Wanda. You should put it on her before you walk her next time. It’ll be a great conversation starter.

  *

  Tanner: I’m afraid to ask. This is your way of continuing to embarrass me even though you’re thousands of miles away, isn’t it?

  *

  Cheyenne: Mortification and mockery are how I show my love, baby brother.

  Take care of yourself, okay? And give Mom a call.

  *

  Tanner: I will.

  *

  Cheyenne: All right. I miss you.

  *

  Tanner: I miss you, too. Can’t wait until you’re home safe.

  *

  Cheyenne: Ditto.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Diana

  It’s a gorgeous day for a drive, with the sun shining in the blue, blue sky and Mount Hood majestic in the distance, wearing its tiny, summer-sized snowcap. A part of me wants to keep driving, just head off into the wilderness and get lost for a week or two, but that’s the fear talking.

  That’s the voice in my head that assures me that if I fuck up this interview, I’ll have to get a job flipping burgers or scooping ice cream to make ends meet, and nearly a decade of dedication to my craft will have all been for nothing. I’ll be right back where I started when I got my first job sophomore year of high school, waiting tables at Bill’s Taco Palace. Except this time around I’ll have to find a way to make a minimum wage job stretch to cover my room and board since I won’t be shacking up with my parents.

  “No way, Daniels. you are going to ace this interview,” I murmur to my reflection as I smooth on a coat of lipstick and check my hair in the parking lot of Good Timber’s new St. Johns location, next to several trendy home goods stores and a gourmet cheese shop. “You look good, your portfolio looks good, and these guys are down to earth people who are hoping you’re the one they’re looking for so they can stop looking and get back to making beer and drinking beer and thinking up fun slogans for beer T-shirts.”

  I hold my own gaze for a long moment, waiting until the anxiety tightening the edges of my eyes relaxes and I look like a calm, collected, only slightly crazy professional creative person. My outfit is perfect this time—a short white cotton sundress covered with brightly colored flowers, worn over a pair of suit pants made of jeans fabric, and cowgirl boots. I look like a girl who likes to work hard and think whimsical, publicity-friendly thoughts, but isn’t too uptight to enjoy a beer at the end of the day.

  I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, so it’s time to get in there and knock this interview out of the park.

  I swing out into the day, fetch my battered antique portfolio case from the trunk of Laura’s car—thankful for her willingness to let Brendan shuttle her to and from work today—and head for the tinted glass doors beneath a row of carved wooden animal heads adorning the Good Timber entrance. Inside, the same dim, middle-of-an-enchanted-forest vibe I experienced at the downtown location reigns, making me feel even more at home.

  There are still a few workers laying tile, and the large wall on my right displays a half-finished mural of an owl taking flight, but the same graceful totem poles are already installed throughout the dining room, and the bar is a roughly carved chunk of redwood that is flat-out stunning. I can already tell that this space is going to be even lovelier than the flagship bar, as well as a more hangout-friendly location. In addition to the bar and dining areas, there’s a courtyard in the back, ringed by ivy-covered walls.

  It’s from the courtyard that a tall, dark-haired man in jeans and a Good Timber T-shirt emerges, walking toward me with a smile. “Diana?”

  I nod and hold out an only slightly trembling hand. “Jax?”

  “That’s me,” he says, displaying almost alarmingly white teeth as he takes my hand and gives it a firm squeeze. “So glad you could come chat today.”

  “Me, too. It’s great to see the new place.” I gesture to the room at large. “I love everything you’ve got going on here.”

  “Awesome. Because we love your work.” He motions for me to follow him to the back of the restaurant. “My partners are out on the patio. Come meet them, and we can talk about what we’re looking for. Steve, our current PR guy, is here, too, so he can answer any creative questions you might have. The rest of us are beer makers and money managers, so we’re useless for anything except saying we love a concept or don’t love it just yet.”

  I smile as I fall in beside him, liking that he doesn’t shorten his long stride for me. “I wouldn’t call that useless. Beer making and money managing are arts of their own.”

  “Thanks. I’ll have to get you to talk to my mother next time she’s in town. She thinks I’m wasting my life getting people drunk.”

  “Mothers are tricky like that sometimes,” I say vaguely, not wanting to get too familiar.

  But it’s hard. Jax is easy to talk to, and his business partners for this location—Kyle and Kevin—are the cutest hipster couple I’ve ever met. They have matching well-trimmed beards and beanie caps, and plaid shirts that are clearly trying to pull off a lumberjack vibe but are too crisply pressed and decorated with eclectic buttons to be anything other than adorable. Steve is super nice, too—a tall, thin, serious-looking man in his thirties with expressive hands who tells surprisingly funny jokes.

  We talk for the better part of an hour. The men explain how they want Good Timber to be a culture, a way of life, a family more than a brand. I chat with them about my work with the National Park Service, and how so much of what I did, aside from taking pretty pictures, was keeping the public informed about the gift they’d been given when the parks were created and building a feeling of good will and gratitude.

  “Our goal was that every time you see a National Park sign, you should feel warm, cozy, and thankful inside,” I explain. “And maybe a little nostalgic, for the good old days of camping and hiking with your family when you were a kid.”

  Jax nods. “I get that.”

  “I think you succeeded,” Steve adds. “I started donating to the parks just two years ago, largely because of your publicity efforts. Before that, the parks were one of those things I didn’t think about as often as I should, considering how much time my wife and I spend outdoors.”

  “Well, it wasn’t just my effort,” I hurry to clarify. “I was one of the moving parts. But it was rewarding work. And I think we could do something similar with Good Timber.”

  We chat for another twenty minutes, and then Jax leaves to take a phone call, only to return a few moments later with a beer sampler flight from the bar.

  As he sets it at the center of the table, Kevin says, “I completely agree.” Kyle adds, “Me, too,” and Steve smiles and gives a thumbs-up.

  I blink, turning to watch Jax as he settles into his seat beside me. “Did I miss something?”

  “Not at all,” he says. “Just wanted to see if you would like to try some of the new brews we’ll be introducing this fall. We’re going to offer you the job, so we thought you might want to try the product first. See if you’re still excited to take us on after you’ve tasted the Pumpkin Sour, which we’re warning our patrons is a bit of an acquired taste.”

  My grin explodes across my cheeks, leaving me no time to talk my face into playing it cool. “Really? I’ve got the job?”

  “If you want it,” Jax says. “You had the best interview, and we could really use some feminine energy around here. Since our other partner left to start a brewery in Washington, we’ve been more out of balance than usual.”

  “I would love to be the feminine energy,” I say, fighting to keep from bouncing up and down in my chair. “And I would love the job. Thank you so, so much. I can’t wait to get to work!”

  We celebrate with a tasting of five delicious beers—even the Pumpkin Sour is phenomenal, and I usually can’t stand anything pumpkin flavored—and by the time I head for the door, I’ve worked up an unexpected buzz. If I’d eaten lunch, I would be fine,
but I was too nervous to eat before the interview. Now, I should probably give myself an hour or two—and a meal—before I drive Laura’s car back to my brother’s house.

  Acting on the spur of the moment, I text Tanner, Want to meet me in St. John’s near the new Good Timber location? And let me treat you to dinner? Looks like they’ve got a few places to choose from. Mexican, a bistro type place, a Brazilian steakhouse…

  After only a moment, he responds. I’ll be there in five. Just got done at the gym, so I’m not far. I’m assuming this means the interview went well?

  Yeah, pretty well, I text back, grinning like a loon as I hit caps lock and add, BECAUSE THEY OFFERED ME THE FUCKING JOB AND I FUCKING TOOK IT, MOTHERFUCKER!!!

  Congratulations!!! Tanner responds. That’s amazing news! I’m so happy for you. I knew you’d rock that interview. You’re exactly the kind of smart, creative, crazy person they need around there.

  My thumbs hover over the keypad as I bite my lip and try to think of something more eloquent to say than “thanks for helping me get the interview.” But my brain is beer and post-interview-stress-release fuzzy, so I just tap out, Can’t wait to buy you a beer. Thanks so much for your help. It’s going to be so wonderful to be an employed member of the populace again.

  My pleasure, Pixie. Always happy to help. See you soon. He sends a beer emoji and a confetti emoji, and I continue to smile as I roll my eyes.

  “Such a dork with the emojis,” I mutter as I wander toward the shops and restaurants farther down the street, sending him a smiling poop, a happy monster, and a little alien video game creature jumping up and down.

  I usually won’t touch an emoji with a ten-foot pole, but I’m a little tipsy and I know they’ll make Tanner laugh.

  And I like making him laugh.

  I like it a lot. I like it so much it should be scaring the shit out of me. I know this even before he sends back a unicorn and an eggplant, making me laugh so hard I have to stop to lean against the brick wall of the building next to me and catch my breath.

  I’m still there, giggling and blushing and making a spectacle of myself, when a familiar silhouette emerges from the fancy home goods store just ahead.

  It’s the kind of place where you can buy fine china with limited edition patterns, hand-carved chairs from Denmark, and sinfully soft Egyptian cotton napkins dyed such beautiful colors it seems a shame to use them to wipe spaghetti sauce from the corners of your mouth. In other words, it’s the kind of place I never set foot in. Not because I don’t love beautiful things, but because I’ve moved so much for work that I’ve never had time to decorate. And then there’s the matter of having little or no disposable income. My money goes right back into lenses, flash attachments, and bigger, badder hard drives to handle the processing of massive image files.