by Alan Conway
I’m in there for about forty-five minutes before I’m focused enough to do it. I skip the resources available to me and go for blue-sky imagination. Five minutes later, I wash my hands and step out.
“Your turn,” I tell Brian as he’s checking his watch with a smile. I pat him on the shoulder and wish him luck as he goes into the jack shack.
I check my phone and go into the bathroom to take a piss, and when I come back out he’s waiting for me. Oh I give him so much shit about it on the way home.
Lauren had her thing done earlier, but I don't ask any questions about it – although I would have loved to give her details about my generous donation just to gross her out.
I keep getting texts from a number I don’t recognize. I don’t respond. I delete them without opening them. Although I have a sinking feeling of who it could be. I just hope I’m wrong.
We pass a trailer on the road carrying horses. I point them out and say I want some horses.
“Where in God’s name would we keep a horse? In the little storage closet with the water heater?” Brian asks with a laugh. “Besides, I can’t imagine you on a horse.”
“We use to have horses when I was little,” I tell him. “Mom sold them all after Dad died. But damn, I was like six or seven. I wouldn’t do well on a horse now if I tried.”
“Maybe someday,” he says. “Once we're out of that apartment.”
I really would like to have dog. That’s what we need. I almost brought it up before but gave up on the idea. Most people would find it hard to believe that I’m an animal lover. I mention to Brian that if I had ever gotten into a medical profession, it would’ve had something to do with animals, probably veterinary medicine. It’s funny the random things you tell people.
But then Brian tells me that he always wanted to make movies, go out to Hollywood and all that. I already know this but support his dreams just the same. He’s a great writer and he’s got that knack for artistic stuff – and an encyclopedic knowledge of movies that I like to test from time to time – so I know he’d be a great filmmaker.
And why not? He’s a great everything.
Brian helps me with my tie. I only have to wear it three days a week at the bank, and I’ve almost gotten the hang of doing it myself. I kiss him goodbye and drive away. Traffic is horrible and I realize I forgot to fill up the car with gas, so I'm freaking out about being stranded out here just as it’s starting to rain.
I make it to work on time, neglecting to stop for gas on the way in. I’m standing there at my window counting out my drawer for the day when the first customers start pouring in. I jot a reminder to get a few rolls of quarters from the safe when I hear a familiar voice, a voice that triggers countless alarms inside me.
It’s Heather. My God, she’s so fuckin hot now. She use to be a seven, but now she’s gorgeous and I have to give her a solid nine. The last time I saw her was in the dark, so she’s really gone all the way since then. She got breast implants, I think, because her tits aren’t the same. Her hair has been dyed a shade darker and her eyes are now an electric blue – contacts I’m guessing. But she’s wearing her favorite perfume. I hate the smell of it now, because it’s always reminded me of her. And why shouldn’t it?
I picked it out for her.
All those terrible feelings attack me as I wonder what she’s doing here and if there’s any way I can get away from her. Don’t let her looks fool you.
She’s poison.
Heather says hey and slides a check toward me. “Just cashing this.”
I take it, run it through the scanner, and ask, “How do you want this?”
“How do I want what?”
“Don’t play games,” I tell her. “Not here.”
“Large bills, please.”
I count it all back to her but avoid touching her hand as I do it, as if I might contract some terrible disease.
“I miss you.”
“No, you don't. You miss someone else. I’m not that guy anymore.”
“Seeing someone?”
“Something like that, yeah. Well, take care.”
I fold my hands and hope my eyes are enough to push her out the goddamn doors and into the street so a big truck can knock her into the gutter. That’s where I stayed for a long time.
“I've tried texting you.”
“How did you get my number?”
“I have friends that work for the cellular–”
“You know that’s illegal.”
“But I have something to tell you.”
“Please, just go. I don’t need this right now.”
She jots her number on the back of one of my business cards. “Just call me sometime. I want to make peace.”
“Next,” I say to the woman behind her. Heather takes her envelope of cash and leaves.
It takes all the willpower I have to not watch her walk away.
I’m trying not to think about her. It’s difficult. We had a lot of great times, so many memories. But dammit, I’ve done better for myself. I have someone better now. She had her chance and blew it. I’ve moved on.
Haven’t I?
Brian sends me a message to pick up a few things at the grocery store on the way home. I write back and make myself a note.
Heather was a freak in bed. Best pussy I ever had. The best. And those legs…those tits…that tight little ass…
Get a grip. She’s a fuckin bitch. Remember that. Remember what she did to you.
It's been almost two years since I’ve had sex. Brian and I do other things, but we’ve never explored actual intercourse. I don’t mind experimenting, but that’s one thing I don't see myself doing with him. And he understands why.
I could have her. I could have her any way I want her. I know what she likes. She knows what I like–
Control yourself.
I adjust myself to hide the hard-on below my waist. Oh my God, all I can think about is getting her naked and wrecking her–
“Sir?”
I’m holding a stack of bills in my hand while this fat chick’s looking at me with her palm open. “My money, please.”
I apologize and give it to her.
Heather...I want to give it to her.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears and I have to excuse myself. I run to the men’s room and lock the door.
She’s poison, Damon. Poison.
I look down and say fuck this, so I drop my pants and get it over with. A quick nut and I’m back out on the floor, dishing out the dollars with a sane mind.
Before I go on lunch, I can’t help but laugh because this is the second time I’ve gotten myself off in a public place the same day.
The second time was much easier, and for the rest of the day, I ignore the reason why.
Brian
I’m feeling romantic tonight. I’m cooking up a pepperoni pizza from scratch – a new recipe that Damon might enjoy. Groovy tunes play softly through the apartment while I knead the pizza dough. I turn around and scan the living room, assess the mood. I run over and flip off the overheads then light a couple of candles.
This should be a fun night.
Lauren calls and we chat until Damon comes home with the mozzarella cheese I need. I take out handfuls, spread them on the pizza, and pop it in the oven.
Damon looks a little distant tonight. He drops into the recliner and lays back with his eyes closed. Must have been a rough day at work. Hopefully I can cheer him up.
I walk over and rub his shoulders.
“That feels awesome,” he says. “Do we have any Excedrin?”
I go to our bedroom and find some. When I come back into the living room, Damon’s resting his face in his hands. “Your head hurt?” I ask.
He says it does. I give him two pills. “Do we have anything to drink?”
“Sure, what do you want? A beer? Soda?”
“Is that all we got? Do we have anything stronger?”
I see a red flag in my mind’s eye but dismiss it. “Damon, we haven't had any l
iquor in a while.”
“Beer is fine.” I pop one and hand it to him. I feel like I should be worried about something, but I don’t want to get hysterical for no reason. He just had a bad day at work. Probably a snotty customer or something.
Nevertheless, I sit on the couch while I listen for the oven timer. I stretch out and grab his hand dangling over the armrest. “You okay?” I ask.
He says nothing for a long time – he’s thinking about how to answer me – and then he says, “I saw Heather today.”
“Oh yeah?” That jealous ball of chaos in my chest comes alive. “At the bank?”
“Yeah. I don't know what she’s doing down here.”
“Think she was looking for you?”
“Maybe,” he mutters, still distant. We both know she was.
“So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Brian. I'm just in a bad mood tonight.”
So much for fun and romance. It’s best to leave him alone when he gets like this. It usually happens after his favorite football team plays badly or after a losing streak on Soldier’s Fury, a video game he plays into the wee hours of the morning.
But this is something different. An enemy has made contact, and part of me wonders if seeing her has brought back not only bad memories but good feelings. I decide to make the rest of the conversation light and steer it somewhere else for both our sakes.
“I began a new story today,” I say. “In the notebook you gave me.”
“Oh yeah?” He’s void of enthusiasm, but he’s trying.
So much for that. What else…
“I've been thinking about playing that new game with you. At least try to play it.”
“I didn’t know you were a gamer.”
“Come on, man,” I say, getting the pizza out of the oven. “Lighten up, will you?”
“I said I’m in a bad fuckin mood, Brian,” he booms then disappears into the bedroom. He comes out in gym shorts and a hoodie then goes out onto the balcony to smoke.
I brace myself against the counter and try to milk some solution out of this. Things were going so well, and now Heather Meeks strolls in to burn everything. I won’t confront her, but I sure as hell want to. Variations of the possible argument speed through my mind, what I’d say if I ever saw her again.
Damon comes back inside with his hands on his hips, looking at the carpet.
“I’m sorry, all right,” he says.
“It’s okay, really,” I tell him. “Don't worry about it.”
His wet eyes roll up at me. “You sure?”
I walk over to him and give him a big hug. “Let’s eat.”
We eat in silence. There’s nothing on TV, but we find something funny to watch. I doze off with him in my arms and dream about the Meeks girl.
I wake up and he’s gone. There’s a note on the coffee table. It says: Went down to the bar for drinks and to clear my head. I won't be out too late, though. Sorry we fought. Love, D.
I pull the blanket tight and fall asleep again, trying to hush that voice in the back of my mind, the one that says he went out to fuck her, Brian. He’s singing in her snatch right now. He’s getting his dick wet and she’s gonna make him come like you never could. And she’s gonna love it.
The truth is I can’t blame him if he does. She can give him things I can’t, no matter how hard I try. I just have to trust him and hope he trusts me.
But I don’t know if he trusts himself.
Damon
I start off with a draft. The place is smoky and alive with conversation. I’m sitting at the bar watching the celebrity all-star basketball game on a small flatscreen above the bar mirror. The bartender is a nice little hardbody with a ripped shirt that hands loosely at her shoulders, but her hair is bleached so blonde that it’s almost white and it turns me off. I snatch a matchbook from a tall glass and burn a Marlboro. I suck it down and consider ordering a pizza from the kitchen but my nerves are too feisty to handle it. I order a shot instead. An old guy in a Red Sox hat bumps into me and gives me this look like he’s trying to figure me out, studying me, sniffing me out like a bloodhound on a lantern-lit fag hunt.
I chat with the fellow on my right who’s drinking something blue. I don't ask what it is because I don't care. His lips are blue. Behind his thick glasses I can tell he’s not only drunk, he's higher than a seagull. He pulls a roach from his pocket and we go out in back of the place to burn it. He leaves, I go back into the bar and do another shot. Then another. The bartender – her name is Lillian – takes away the litter of shot glasses in front of me before I can count them. I take out my phone and scroll through all the contacts I have, not looking for anyone in particular. Or am I?
She’s shaking her shit just inches from my table. Black dress, black shit in her hair. Live band playing “Life in the Fast Lane.” A couple making out in a dark corner by the stage. “Without You In My Life.” I slip off to the men’s for a while to avoid feeling sentimental and soft. By the time I wash my hands and come out, the band’s busted out “Dr. Feelgood.” Sexy.
I sit down but Heather comes over to me and tries to get me up, but I push her away. I catch a whiff her perfume then I’m on my feet running my hand up her thigh against a Marshall amp squealing a solo. I start to fade from reality. Disconnecting. A few flashes, silence, the roar of my engine, and I'm pulling into my apartment complex. It's just after one o’clock when I get back to the apartment. Brian's still asleep on the couch. I turn on the fluorescents in the kitchen. I squeeze my eyes shut because it makes my headache much worse. I get my bearings and stagger into the bedroom. I strip, collapse on the bed, and I’m swept out of consciousness almost immediately.
I slide an eyelid open and strain to read the clock on the nightstand. It's almost two in the afternoon. I hear Brian shuffling around in the office, the radio softly crooning eighties hair metal – Journey, I think.
I sit up and feel like the world is tilting, like I’m about to slide into the floor because gravity hates me. I think of Brian’s fight with gravity the last time we got hammered, and I can't help but laugh. He comes into the bedroom with a cup of coffee under his nose and I see that he's smiling.
“Hello, sleepyhead,” he says, sitting next to me. “Got some great, great news.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“We're all set! Carter emailed me earlier this morning and says everything looks fine. We're going out there next week. I’ve already booked our flight.”
“Oh, dude, that’s terrific. Awesome! Wait, did you say flight?”
He nods. I’ve never flown before.
“Yes, we’re flying. Get over it. You’ll be fine.” He pats me on the back, kisses my cheek, and disappears down the hall. The goofy bastard’s probably skipping.
While I’m in the shower, I try to remember last night, but I can’t. I remember driving to the Brew Barn for drinks, sitting at the bar with… Oh wow, I ordered a whiskey. And then…
Holy Christ, Damon, you didn't.
Of course I didn’t. Couldn’t have. I don’t even know her number.
She gave it to you. At the bank, remember.
I don’t even lather up or wash my hair. I throw a towel around me and sprint into the bedroom. I grope my crumpled jean on the floor and pull out my phone.
Oh no. I told her to come to the bar. I must have been wasted when I did it. Did she come, though?
She came all right. You made her come in the backseat of her car. And she made you come, too. And it felt awesome.
I slide down the floor and sob like a little bitch. I can't believe it. Stupid.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Damon! You asshole!
Never again. I won't even as much taste alcohol again. I'm done. Finished. It’s gotten me into a lot of trouble, now I've gotta fix this quick.
I delete our texts and block her number. I want to call in to work and put in my notice, but I can't. We need the money.
Brian can’t know. I’m not even going to think about this anymore. What’s done is d
one, and I can’t take it back. From now on, Heather Meeks doesn’t exist.
Lauren calls me and asks if Brian and I will go on a double date with her. I ask her who’s the guy. Check this out. She met the guy at the clinic. He's a nurse. Weird, huh?
I okay it with Brian and we make plans to meet Lauren and Mr. Nurse at the bowling alley on the parkway.
After I get off the phone with her, I realize she hasn’t been out on a date since she moved down here two years ago. Damn. Oh, Brian and I are gonna give her so much shit.
This is gonna be fun.
Lauren
His name is Adam Weiss. He's tall and a little on the thin side, but he has a chiseled jaw that got me going the minute he came into the room.
He noticed me staring at him while he read my chart. I looked away without being too obvious.
“Miss…” He consulted my chart. “Hatcher?”
“Lauren. Please.” I think I was smiling when I said it. Whatever I did made him smile back, and from that moment on, I knew he was interested.
They use an ultrasound-guided needle to extract the eggs, which took less than half an hour. I was lightly sedated while they harvested my eggs (so crazy using that word harvested) and it wasn't as painful as I imagined (I think Brian's wallet felt it more than I did).
It had to be done, but I'm glad it's over.
I meet the boys at the bowling alley and wait for Adam to arrive. I keep asking them how I look and I'm starting to sweat and I'm worried my makeup isn't right since I rarely wear any, and then there's my–
“Would you chill out, woman?” Damon says.
I take a deep breath. Brian's coming back from the snack bar when he points and says, “Is that your guy?”
Adam walks into the place carrying his jacket. I almost don't recognize him in jeans and a polo shirt – the scrubs were pretty hot, by the way. And he's not wearing his glasses. I don't know how old he is, but he's older than any of us. I guess he's probably twenty-seven, twenty-eight.
I wave to him and get his attention. He smiles and waves back, then I hear snickering.
Brian says, “You better watch out, Lauren. He might try to take me home instead.”
