by Romi Hart
I feel wildly out of place here. Bigwig executives shaking hands, family members hugging, friends talking about old times. I don’t even know anyone here. And it’s not like a baseball event where fans are just dying to meet me. Everyone knows who I am here but they seem…I dunno, unimpressed. I’ve never felt so unwelcomed in my life!
I smile politely as I shake Reagan’s hand and give Nate a bro hug.
“Hey Rey,” Nate says happily.
“I’m so glad you made it, Rey,” Reagan says. With the two of you big names here we’re going to get a lot of publicity for the foundation. I’m so excited.”
“Yeah me too. Really excited. Really.”
I say it blankly, trying to avoid staring at her breasts. Especially since Nate is already giving me glares, as if to say don’t even think about objectifying his sister. Oh gimme a break, Nate, she’s not even your blood relative for god’s sake.
“Ooh! There’s Daniel Clampet. I have to go say hello. Will you excuse me, boys?”
I nod as I watch Reagan wander off, leaving me with Nate who seems oddly jovial. Why does he feel so IN PLACE here? He really is going through some midlife crisis, I think. All I can think about is getting the hell out of here, picking up some milf in a short skirt, and going to drink all night. I just need an excuse to disappear.
“Look man,” Nate says apologetically. “I know this isn’t your kind of thing. Mine either. But you’re really doing me a solid.”
“It’s fine.”
I glance over to the left side of the room to see a familiar face.
“Poor bastard…”
I point out Nicholas Copate, Reagan’s well to do husband. Blond, angry looking and a militaristic glower on his face. We’re all in our thirties, but Nicholas looks like he’s an old retired colonel…who just so happens to be a hard-drinking thirty-five.
“Yeah,” Nate says, finally lightening up a bit. “Imagine being married to my sister. I’m sure his balls are locked in a jar somewhere.”
“Probably,” I laugh. I’ll stop short of saying anything too blue about Reagan. But at least we can laugh about Nicholas. Just like old times. Back when we were in college, we used to laugh about self-important guys like Nicholas and well-to-do-women like Reagan. Now we’re indirectly related to them. Now we’re big shots, with loads of personal responsibility, as these charity people call it.
“Kind of strange how life turns out,” Nate says, strangely nostalgic, even for him. “Hard to believe at one time I was just a kid who wanted to play baseball for minimum wage. Now, look at us.”
“You’re talking like you need a kidney transplant or something. What’s really bothering you?”
“Nothing,” Nate says with a squint, lying badly.
“I don’t believe you. But you know what? I don’t give a shit. I’m going to try and score me some tail.”
“Yeah right,” Nate says jealously. “Just don’t be hitting on those fatties, bro.”
“Why not? Your mom needs love too.”
“Fuck off,” Nate says but with a smile.
I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink. Glancing around the room, sizing up the women and seeing which of them have that “I’ll take anybody face.”
Damn, I spot a big bosom babe at three o’clock. I know Nate sees her too, which is why I give him a secret thumbs up.
Nate laughs quietly thinking the same terrible thoughts as I am. Something like playing the drums with my dick…
Suddenly, I get a tap on my shoulder.
“Excuse me?” the shrill voice says.
“Huh? Oh…go ahead,” I say barely noticing the other person’s head, my interest still on the big boobed girl heading west. With my attention partly diverted to Nate, the chip I’m eating and whoever this kid is trying to talk to me.
“I’m not in line,” she says bitterly. “But I can’t stand it when you double dip.”
“Huh?” I stare in confusion, finally noticing that the other person talking to me is a girl, and a not half bad cutie. If only she were ten or fifteen years older.
“Double dipping.”
I smile in uncertainty and look back at the big-breasted fish I was just fixing to go catch, then back at this girl who is trying to tell me something I just don’t get.
“Yeah please stop staring at that girl just because of her chest. Focus on me!”
“What?” I laugh in confusion. “Double dipping? Are you talking about…?”
“YES!”
“With her?” I point to Chesty Leroux over there, wondering if this girl is thinking the same dirty thoughts as I am.
“WHAT? I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude. I’m saying YOU, sir, double-dipped.”
“I double dipped?” I watch in frustration as big boobs disappears and I’m left talking to this brat who is still harping on about the double dipping thing, whatever that means.
"YES! Are you brain damaged or something? I'm saying, you, the guy who’s objectifying women, double dipped. You took a chip in your hand and you dipped it once. And then you took a bite and you dipped again.”
She stares. Not joking. Just looking pissed, like we’re in fifth grade all over again.
“Ohhh, I see.”
“Yes, you double dipped.”
“And you’re the double dipping policewoman,” I say giving her a sneer. “You go around and make sure hot guys don’t double dip. You’re the law and order in this town. You’re the head bitch in charge.”
“Uhhhh excuse me. Number one, no, I don’t go around policing people’s dinners. And you are extremely full of yourself if you refer to your own person as a hot guy. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder you know.”
“Well…”
“I’m not finished!” she says, widening her diamond-like eyes and staring a hole in my face. “And thirdly, don’t you ever refer to me as a bitch. I’m not one of your bitches or hoes that you objectify.”
“Excuse me!” I say, half-way annoyed, but halfway amused. Who does she think she is? “Well, what is your name?"
“None of your business,” she says defensively. “I would never give my name to such a rude and uncivilized man like yourself.”
I crack up laughing. “Look let’s start over. Do you know who I am?”
“NO and I don’t care who you are. How dare you refer to me as a bitch and then double dip.”
“Ohhh well…” I laugh again. “Which was worse, the bitch part or the double dipping?”
“They are equally disgusting.”
“Okay, okay,” I say with a big smile. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have used that word. It was just an inside joke between my bud and I. It was rude and I’m sorry.”
“Fine. But I don’t forgive you.”
“Jesus Christ!” I say, not just shaking my head at this girl’s angry zeal. “Sorry for existing. And sorry for double dipping. But uh…just so you know, I may double dip again.”
“Yeah and I’ll report you to the staff!” she says with an angry scowl.
She walks away and I shake my head.
I can’t help but giggle at the whole thing. Her audacity was out of this world…she must not even know who I am. Or maybe she just resents me for who I am.
I just now begin to notice she’s a beautiful girl. In her twenties, light brunette hair. Big eyes and bangs, with full lips. A thin body with just a hint of a tummy. And wearing a nice black dress that generously hugs her every curve.
She is pretty smoking hot, now that I’m not focusing on her yelling at me. But I shrug it off, figuring that opportunity is blown. Who knew double dipping was such a thing among the young crowd?
Nate waves me over, smiling a little bit too much. Reagan is next to him and also seems to be in a good mood.
I reluctantly walk over and nod. “Hey you two, what’s up?”
“Hey Rey, I just wanted to introduce you to Lyndia. She’s Reagan’s sister.”
My polite smell melts into a horrified frown as I behold Double
Dipping Girl standing in front of me and still scowling in detest.
“Ohhh uh, hi. Yeah, we met actually."
“Lyndia, Rey,” Reagan says.
“Yeah, we met,” Lyndia says, raising her little nose to me. “He was very rude and sexist.”
I snort laugh at the thought. “How am I sexist? You don’t even know me, kid.”
“Because I saw the way you were looking at that woman. And I heard the way you were talking to me. I don’t like it when men objectify and harass me.”
Reagan and Nate are holding back laughter, even more amused at this disastrous introduction than I am.
“No offense intended, kid,” I say with my arms up in surrender. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lyndia.”
“And I never gave you my name. I really hate the fact that although I chose not to give you my name, you learned it anyway. Now I feel violated.”
“So sorry, princess! I feel the same way. I don’t like you knowing my name, I mean lord knows I don’t need a stalker.”
“Yeah Lyndia,” Reagan says. “Did you know that Rey is a baseball player?”
“I don’t watch baseball,” Lyndia says. “I prefer Association Football.”
My jaw drops at the sheer magnitude of her bitchiness. Not even trolling me, just like genetically brilliant at pissing me off. Association Football? Never even heard of me?! Fuck her, fuck her for hours!
I can’t decide if I hate this kid or if I’m attracted to her.
“If you’ll excuse me, Reagan,” Lyndia says, “I’m going to go talk to Mister Clampet. The man is a genius and I’ve always admired him for his activism.”
God, I hate this girl! Even the way she talks drives me insane.
“Oh yeah please do go away and talk to Mister Clampet,” I snarl back at her. “I’m sure Uncle Jed would be delighted to hear your ideas on world diplomacy.”
“Who is this Uncle Jed?” she says in disgust.
“The Beverly Hillbillies? God, do you fucking social justice warriors even know what existed before the year 1984?”
“I refuse to be assaulted by this man anymore. I’m leaving.”
“Say Hi to Jethro too!” I say in spite, but she ignores me.
“Well, that went well," Nate laughed.
“Yeah great time, great time.”
Lyndia storms off and Reagan and Nate likewise depart from me, probably eager to whisper about how funny it is that Lyndia and I hate each other.
Not only is this Lyndia young and out of my category of dateable women, she’s also totally nuts. Easily offended, alien in her conversation and combative without making any real sense. Reminds me of yet another reason why I only date older women. I may be a player in dating but I sure as hell don’t like to play these stupid head games!
Now I really want to head home and call it a night. I’m so pissed I might not even get laid. Might not even masturbate. Awww hell now I’m just talking crazy.
Maybe it’s time to calm down and take a chill pill. Who is she anyway? She’s just so social justice warrior here to make everyone over the age of 30 feel like shit. I don’t need her. Who cares if one girl doesn’t follow baseball. Millions of older, hotter women do. And that’s what matters.
Guess I’ll just chill out and get a beer. Maybe that’ll make me forget this ridiculous incident. And a few more chips. And I’ll sure as hell double dip them. I’ll double dip them to my heart’s content!
* * *
I feel a helluva lot better now that I’ve had a few drinks. I actually am comfortable laughing about Lyndia now that I’m removed from the experience. Yeah, she has a stick up her butt but it's all pretty funny nonetheless.
I drive down Hulen Road at a moderate speed in my blue 2017 Jaguar XE. I’m not drunk but I do have to drive extra cautiously just in case a police officer pulls me over. The last thing I need is to have “Rey Ramirez Arrested on DUI” all over the news tomorrow morning.
I turn on the radio and start jamming to Johnny Cash’s “I’ve Been Everywhere”, feeling damn good to be alive. Thank God I finally came up with a creative excuse on how to get out of that dreadful party. I imagine right about now Nate, Reagan and little Nurse Ratchet over there are perfectly at home talking about all the great charities in the world and how we ought to avoid doing offensive things like double dipping chips.
Crazy bastards.
Oh hell, just as I feel a good buzz come on I see a most unfortunate sight.
A car on the side of the road, broken down. Someone is standing off to the side, looking upset. Looks like a Toyota car. A working-class stiff.
A milf perhaps, since she’s dressed down, wearing a hat, and wearing high heels. I can’t tell much from her from a far distance, but she’s definitely dateable.
I slow down the car, wondering for a moment if I should stop and help. If it were a creepy looking guy with long hair I probably wouldn’t even think about it. What if he was just pretending to be stranded so he could rob me and kill me?
This is just a helpless woman probably hoping some knight in shining armor will show up to rescue her.
Then again, if I were thinking like a serial killer I would use a seemingly helpless woman as a ploy just to get people to pull over in the first place. Hmm…well, I guess I should pull over, at least to see if it’s just something simple like a battery charge. People keep telling me I ought to start thinking of doing good deeds, at least a few times a year in my hedonistic existence.
I roll down the window and call out. “Hey there. Problem?”
“Yeah!” the friendly and thankful voice replies. “I hate a flat tire. I think I ran over something just a few blocks back.”
“Ah, that sucks. Well if you need help I can change a tire. I’m not good for much mechanically but I do know how to do that.”
“Oh thank you! I’d very much appreciate it.”
I lose my smile just a tad, as I realize her voice is scratchy…young, not really milfy and that deep confidence that drives me crazy. Just sort of bratty, almost like…
I struggle to get a good look at her, since the lack of street lights makes the night scene very dark. I finally catch a glimpse.
A woman…in her twenties. Wearing a hat, black dress and oh…
Those familiar diamond eyes.
“Lyndia?” I say in revulsion.
“Yes? How did you know my…”
She loses her smile too.
“Oh. It’s you.”
“Yeah…”
Well, this is awkward! It would be a lowdown bastard thing to do to leave her stranded just because I despise her personality. On the other hand, it's really hard to work up the enthusiasm to help someone who’s just going to hate you regardless of how nice you are.
“All right. Let me get my jack.”
Well, I guess I made the choice when I slowed down. I frown and grimace as I irritably park the car and turn it off. I open the trunk and start looking for my jack. I can sense Lyndia staring at me, probably feeling ambivalent about our relationship now. Just imagine if we had actually been civil to each other, how not awkward this moment could be.
I avoid eye contact with her and focus on the mission at hand. Change the tire and get the hell out of here ASAP.
I slur responses to her as she asks stupid questions, mumbling politely. I really ought to receive a special honorary award for helping someone who would literally leave me to die.
“Is that called a jack? Are you supposed to hike the car up by the frame?”
“Yep, the center of the subframe. Don’t worry, I know how to change a tire. We don’t all rely on Triple A. Some of us are still old school.”
“Well, I just don't want my car damaged. If you jack it the wrong way it could damage the body."
“Just…just…” I squint my face. “Just trust me. Stop talking please and let me concentrate.”
“Okay.”
I shake my head and sigh as I begin unscrewing the bolts. Long wordless moments pass…Lyndia’s silence i
s freaking me out. I can’t stand silence, especially when a girl is on her cell phone probably playing games or checking Facebook. Whatever happened to human conversation?
“So…how’s Reagan been? Haven’t seen her much lately.”
“You just saw her like an hour ago.”
My blood boils. Really? Can’t even have a forced polite conversation?
“I know. But I didn’t talk to her much.”
Lyndia gets a sour look on her face as if I’m a pig for even asking. “I have no idea. Maybe you should ask her. Or her husband Nicholas.”
“Thanks. Appreciate the advice.”
“How much longer?” she says.
“Why? You got a date or something? Am I inconveniencing you here?”
“No, no,” she says slightly softer. “I was just curious. I really do appreciate you helping me. Rey.”
Ah, finally used my name. Almost a sign of respect. I suppose that’s progress.
* * *
I changed Lyndia’s tire with a spare she had in her trunk. She’s all smiles and giggles now, probably because I was her last hope. Without me, she would have had to call a cab and a tow company…or at least Triple-A, if they offer that kind of service without a subscription. Who the hell knows.
“It’s done. Guess I really saved your bacon there. Without me, you would have had to call an Uber driver. And that’s a nightmare, I tell you.”
She stares at me.
“It’s a joke, kid.”
“I figured. You know I really don’t like being called kid. I’m twenty-four years old next month.
I sigh and put my hands on my hips.
“But…I really do appreciate it. I’m sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. The truth is…I really hate those kinds of events. I feel awkward enough as it is, and being around all these rich people and snobs…you know, it just kind of puts me in a bad mood.”
I nod slowly, figuring it’s safe to finally agree. “You’re right. But hey, we’re family.”
“What?” she says in surprise.
“It’s an expression.”
“How are we family? Nate is Reagan’s stepbrother. We’re not even sort of related. We’re barely friends.”
