by Sarina Bowen
“You can change in front of us. It’s no big deal,” she says and I’m too tired to fight with her. “I’ve had a whole group of people staring at my vagina and it’s really not an issue. Especially when you’re in labor.”
Sadie whips off the gigantic bloomers and the sports bra. She’s good at this. It must be all that diaper changing.
I wiggle into the bra and chocolate-bunny underwear on my own power. And I have to admit, I feel about five pounds lighter. Sadie fastens the dress around me, mercifully covering both boobs this time, and adjusts. “You. Are. Gorgeous,” she says. I grunt. Then she grabs my face and forces me to look at her. “You. Are. Gorgeous. Okay?”
“Ohh-kaw,” I say, because she’s got a hold of my jaw. She loosens her grip. “Let’s just go. Let’s get this over with.”
“That’s the spirit.” Ash gives me an evil grin.
“What exactly is happening tonight?” I ask Ash as she heads for the door. They’d told me earlier, but I was too grumpy to listen.
“We’re going to a party my competitor is throwing. He’s a total dicknozzle but he makes a ton of money and supposedly throws killer parties.”
“If you hate him, why are we going?” I ask. Maybe I can weasel out of this yet.
“To see his mansion and drink his alcohol!” Ash yelps. “Duh.”
“And admire his cute, rich friends,” Sadie adds.
“This house is on Reeds Lake,” Ash informs me. That’s a fancy-shmancy little lake in a decadent neighborhood. So my interest in this party goes from zero to, say, one and a half. “And there will be live music and free booze and lots and lots and lots of men.”
“Is your colleague gay?” I ask hopefully. I don’t want tonight to be all about finding me a hookup. Merely surviving the party is enough of a challenge for the newly divorced.
“He was in a fraternity. Or something. Whatever. We’re going and while we’re there, we are going to help you find someone to flirt with.”
“Someone you’re not attracted to,” Sadie reminds me. “Because red flag.”
“Because my instincts are wrong,” I agree.
“Totally wrong. And that’s okay. It’s fixable. But we’ll find someone who’s the exact opposite of your type.”
“Explain your type again.” Ash says. “Let’s define the problem.”
I squint my eyes, because everyone knows that makes you smarter. I didn’t know I had a type, but when I look back on my few exes over the years…yeah. There seems to be a pattern. “Frail looking. Vegetarian or gluten free. Intellectual. Ironic. Good hygiene.”
Sadie and Ash just look at me for a beat. “Thank god we’re helping you,” Ash says. “I mean…what the fuck? Why didn’t we notice this before?”
Sadie is nodding.
Ash says, “So we just need to find someone who’s huge, a carnivore, doesn’t talk…”
“Smells manly and… What’s the opposite of ironic?”
“I have no idea. Let’s simplify it—we’re looking for a man instead of what you’ve been attracted to.”
“What have I been attracted to?”
“Gwyneth Paltrow, I’m pretty sure. And every time I see her on TV, I just want to kick her.”
Sadie is still nodding. “It’s true. You have to move on from the sensitive pseudodudes. You need to find a…”
“Cock,” they say at the same time.
I can’t help but smile. I mean, come on. These two. Maybe they are my act of god.
3 Top Ten
Brynn
Things I Felt While In My Marriage, And Why I Wanted Out:
In the beginning we were filled with hope, then we were just tired.
We were married for seven years. He never remembered our anniversary, my phone number, or that I hate raw onions.
I wanted to have kids. He wanted a hamster.
My sex drive increased over the years. His libido shrunk. I found comfort in food and started my food blog. I gained weight. Sex was something we scheduled and he tended to as if fucking me was akin to cutting an ingrown toenail.
He never fucked me. He scheduled time for us to “be intimate.”
I started to hate the way he chewed, how he smelled, how his eyebrows were overgrown, the way he said “pasta.”
I started to disappear and he didn’t even notice.
I didn’t feel loved or cherished or wanted. I felt like I was a constant mistake.
When I looked in the mirror, I stopped being able to recognize myself.
He had an ugly penis.
That last one might be a little mean. Still. It was sorta ugly. It had a big vein and it curved in a way that seemed like he was built to actively turn away from my g-spot. But really, the list doesn’t mean squat. The only truth that really matters is this:
I just didn’t love him anymore, and I didn’t even love myself.
4 Lush Willows and Flowering Shrubberies
Brynn
We’re in East Grand Rapids. This is the posh part of Western Michigan, where people are well-groomed and play lacrosse and have kids named Denver and Saurin and Blade. Seriously. Sadie has a teacher friend whose first-grade class last year had a Blade G. and a Blade P. It’s unsettling.
The dicknozzle’s house is tucked off Lake Drive. There’s a giant iron gate that lets you know you don’t belong here, and I’m already convinced it’s true. Maybe they won’t even let us in.
There are shiny, beautiful cars on the cobblestone driveway. The hedges are trimmed. It’s a sultry July night and the breeze blows off the lake, making everything rustle. And there are lights everywhere. I hear music too. It’s like walking into some Hollywood backlot, only this is real.
“Ash,” I whisper as we climb out of the cab. I say Ash the way I’d say it if we were in a horror movie and she wanted to check out the dark basement and see what that strange growling noise is. She is, actually, named after the dude in The Evil Dead, so this seems appropriate.
“It’s totally fine,” she says. “We’ll have drinks and then we won’t even notice how douchey everyone is.”
It suddenly occurs to me that I’m taking advice from the wrong friend. Ash’s love life isn’t going so well. Her ex is in prison, for starters. And, instead of putting herself out there in the way she’s urging me to, she’s invented a boyfriend named Hunter so her parents will stop asking questions. I haven’t really understood this approach, but that’s okay. With Ash, you have to just go with it.
But now my objections rise up inside me like a bad case of gas. I glance around, looking for the best shrubbery to hide behind. But before I get the chance to dart away, the apparent owner of this monstrous house has appeared. He’s caressing Ash. Maybe it’s some kind of hug, but this guy hugs her the way amoebas blend into one another. It’s kind of gross, but also mesmerizing.
“And who do we have here?” he asks, looking at me and Sadie. Mostly Sadie.
But Sadie’s oblivious. It’s strange. She’s incredibly insightful and empathetic, and then there are times when I wonder if anyone is home in her brain. Or maybe she’s relieved to have an hour and a half free of being suckled by her babies. Or maybe she’s just thinking of how much she’s in love with her husband who is out of town right now visiting his mother who just had surgery. Her husband has a high libido, and she once told us that they do it every day.
If I had that, I’d be a little dreamy too.
Ash introduces us this way: “Braht, these are my friends. You can’t touch them. Can we have some drinks now.” She doesn’t phrase it as a question.
I shake my head, wondering if I heard his name correctly. No. His name can’t really be Braht. Like bratwurst? Who has a name like that?
Braht snaps his fingers. He actually fucking snaps and a waiter appears with three drinks on a tray.
And, omigod, it’s a sign! The drinks are served in pineapples, with a banana garnish that’s carved to look like a dolphin. The dolphin has a little cherry in its adorable little mouth. “Omigod!” I
squeal. “I love tiki drinks!”
Braht visibly swells with pride. Not in his pants like our poor waiter—he gets big in a rooster-chested way. “I hired Beachbum Berry to prepare our drink menu! He’s totally famous. A real icon. And his drinks—they’ll get you absolutely hammered.” Braht reminds me of James Spader in Pretty In Pink. The slimy rich boy. And damn if it doesn’t make Braht sort of likable.
“Nice,” I say, helping myself to a pineapple. The night is looking up. Except that I can’t breathe all of a sudden. Panic attack, maybe? Or maybe my wrap dress is really tight. It is really tight. “I can’t breathe,” I complain. Sadie nods, undoes my dress and re-ties it. Right there in front of Braht.
“Lovely,” he says. I can’t tell if he’s being ironic or not.
Ironic! Red flag! At least my well-intentioned friends won’t try to steer me toward a tryst with Braht. That’s a relief because I’d be thinking about bratwurst the whole time. How awkward.
“We’ll see you later,” Ash says to Braht, dismissing him. It makes me love her just a little bit more, that she can come to some rich dude’s party and treat him like he owes her something.
On second thought, maybe he does? I turn around and he’s watching us walk away with an expression of…longing? Then he shakes himself and straightens his spine. He calls “Hello, Edelweiss!” to a woman with perfect, shiny hair. She’s wearing a silver tube top that cost more than my college education.
She turns to him with a grin, and her sparkly chest catches the light. I want to poke my eyes out with a fork.
Ash tugs on my hand and leads the way. The house is all marble floors and shiny things. I want to stop and admire the kitchen. It’s just the sort of chef’s paradise I’ve always wanted. Over the sink there’s a gleaming faucet as large as St. Louis’s Gateway Arch.
But Ash is on a mission, and she tows me toward the oversized back patio. 1950s Hawaiian music is playing, and, against every molecule of my being, I actually like this place.
We walk down some brick steps and into a garden area with lush willows and flowering shrubs. Everything is balanced and beautiful and I don’t really understand how it’s even possible to achieve such perfection. When Braht snaps his manicured fingers, the plants must leap to do his bidding.
“Wow,” Ash says as the three of us look around. I see a look of awe cross her face. But less than a second later she catches herself, shaking it off. With a shrug she says, “Bottoms up!”
And we sip, sip, sip that pineapple until the drinks are gone. They’re really terrific too. Fruity, rummy, and cinnamony. Or something. I should really write a blog post about them. They’re perfectly photogenic.
But ambition slips away as Ash hands me another drink that magically appears, and we sip, sip, sip one more time.
Then everything goes black.
No it doesn’t. I just blinked for a really long time.
Although, things do start to get weird. There must be a glitch in the Matrix, because of all people in the universe, I think I see Steve standing with a small group of people across the yard. I blink twice and then look again. Sure enough, my ex-husband has an arm wrapped around a very tall, very young, very thin redhead and…
I sort of lose my shit.
5 Sheer Propulsion
Brynn
I think I’m hyperventilating. Really. My breath comes in rhythmic, soft grunts that are more primal than sexual. I don’t know what that means.
That’s not true. I do know what it means. It’s the sound of shock.
Because Steve’s hand is slowly pulling the girl closer to him, and then that hand goes creeping down her ass.
Worse, the girl is sort of like the photo-shopped version of…me. Our coloring is the same, but she’s taller and thinner and younger with fewer blemishes. She also glows, probably from buffing. And it’s not fair. It really isn’t! I’d glow too if I did some buffing.
Why the fuck haven’t I been buffing?
The crowd they’re standing with can’t see Steve’s butt-cheek maneuver, but I can see it perfectly. It’s a secret message he’s sending, and I’ve heard the broadcast loud and clear: my ex-husband is fucking a beautiful, thin, younger woman. My ex-husband never laid his hand on my ass like that, never publicly claimed me that way.
My ex-husband didn’t have a problem with his libido. He just had a problem getting freaky with me.
“Uh-oh,” Sadie says. Maybe she sees the tears forming in my eyes about to cascade down my face, or maybe she senses the seismic shift that is happening within me. I’m grunting and I’m vibrating, and not in a good way. Maybe, just possibly, I’m going to self-combust because of pain. “Ash?” Sadie says with more than a little panic in her voice. “Do something!”
“What’s wrong—” Ash inhales sharply as she sees the spectacle over yonder. “Fuckfuckfuck,” she says. “Quick. Brynn. Take a deep breath. You’re not breathing. Breathe.” She spins me so I’m looking at her. “Do not take your eyes off me, okay? You can get through this. You can dance through this beautifully. And you know how you’re going to do that?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “In a minute, I’m going to release you, and you are going to do something totally out of character. You’re going to do what I tell you to do. Do you hear me? Do you?”
This time it isn’t rhetorical. I grunt in response.
“Sadie, your drink,” Ash snaps.
Sadie swaps her full pineapple for my empty one. “Suck it down,” she orders. And I do. I suck for all my worth. This is liquid courage and, by god, I need it.
I’m staring at Ash like she’s the only thing securing me to earth, and maybe she is. Her voice is calm but authoritative. I have known her for fifteen years, and I trust her with my life. So when she says, “You’re going to do what I tell you to do,” I just nod. I nod because I’m hurt and confused and fucking lonely and lost and oh…wait a minute…that feels nice….I’m a little bit drunk.
Ash squeezes my shoulders. “Okay. When I spin you around, I want you to run and kiss the first guy that makes eye contact.”
I squeak a little.
“Don’t question me right now, bitch! This is serious. You are going to do this or we aren’t friends. You hear me?”
I’m not sure the threats are really all that encouraging, but I don’t care, because listening to her is keeping me from going full-on insane over my ex and his happy fingers.
“And…now!” She grabs the pineapple from my hands and spins me around. Then she slaps my ass. Hard.
And I do it! I charge out of the gate like I’m a possessed stallion at the Kentucky Derby. I don’t even spare a glance toward Steve. I just take off running. I think I’m even screaming. It’s like “Yieyieyieyieyie!” Or something. And I’m running as fast as my sturdy thighs can propel me.
The people around me are a mélange of hipsters and yuppies. Since I’m running, they blur together, becoming yupsters.
Whatever. They don’t matter, because I’d be attracted to whatever a yupster is. They’re probably all vegans and sensitive and That Is A Red Flag. So I go against my natural instincts, and zero in on the guy crouching down in the terraced garden and planting a bush. The gardener! Perfect!
Miraculously he stands up, like I somehow commanded him to. Maybe I did. It’s hard to say because I’m fucking insane right now. One look at him and I know he eats meat. He may be the fucking gardener, but he’s got arms like a linebacker. He’s wearing a baseball cap over a perfectly weathered face.
He’s pushing forty, maybe, and he looks like he’s lived outside under the sun, or has at least visited the outdoors once in a while.
And he just looks…like a man. All six feet whatever inches of him. Our eyes lock and I fucking launch myself at him, like a rocket! I mean, with my weight and the sheer propulsion of my body, a tackle from me should send him flying edge of the terraced gardener and straight into the lake. But the dude catches me. He. Catches. Me. And he squeezes my ass!
Although, to be fair, the as
s squeeze might be the only thing keeping me from hurtling over the balcony.
But I don’t analyze it, because I’m already on to the next part of my mission. His lips are full, and I attach mine to them like a barnacle in heat. And then I’m sucking off his face like some possessed vacuum cleaner.
For a moment, I’m the only one sucking. That would have gotten embarrassing pretty fast, but a beat later my gardener gets the memo. His brawny arms lock around my body. He shifts me higher on his body, and my legs naturally wrap around his waist. Like it was meant to be.
And that generous mouth deepens the kiss.
Seriously, it’s better than bacon. Firm lips conquer mine. One of his big hands tightens on my ass, and the other…the other hand goes into my hair and he tugs it a little. Dear god. He was kissing me with more heat than I thought possible outside a movie studio. A manly sound comes from somewhere deep in his chest, and he holds me so close I think we could maybe withstand a tornado. I melt into him, like a good fondue cheese.
And this is why I should never have more than two drinks. Because I almost pee a little.
6 The Gardener
Tom
Now, here’s the thing. I’ve been a TV personality for over ten years, and I have seen some freaky shit. I once pulled down a wall that was humming to find a hive with a billion bees in it. I’m not joking—it was like some Saturday night horror movie. And I’ve fallen through rotted floor boards. Twice.
But this strange episode developing in front of me is so much more interesting.
I feel the woman running before I actually see her. There I am, crouching down to give the new lilac a good start in the earth, when I felt a great thudding. I don’t know what makes me rise as if to meet my destiny. But when I do, I see this demon woman charging toward me.
It’s hard to see the whole picture at once, because there’s a lot of motion. Full breasts rising and falling a surprising distance from the force of her running. She’s wrapped up in some kind of dress thing, and the breeze causes it to flap open, giving me a nice glimpse of what that dress is trying to cover up.
