Lauren Takes Leave (18 page)

Another cab moves off the street and I see Kat tottering
toward me up the driveway on her fuck-me pumps, and I pause to wait for her.
“Hug,” I instruct, arms wide. She leans in and lets me rock her like a baby.
Her head fits in the crook of my neck. “In those heels, you are almost normal
size!” I pronounce.

“Nah, still Lilliputian.” She shrugs. “Though smokin’ hot,
if I must say so myself.”

I pull back to inspect her. Her tight black curls are
shiny and set off her porcelain complexion. Her green eyes are bright and
fierce, probably made more intense by some crying earlier in the day. “You
actually look amazing. I think ‘over the edge’ really works on you.”

“
Bitches!
” someone shouts, making us jump. We turn
to see Leslie standing at the front door of her supersized faux castle under
the glow of a red light bulb, waving us over with something in hand.

“Is that…a whip?” Kat asks, sounding more than a little
bit afraid as we make our way up her flagstone walk and come face to face with
the birthday girl. Four mammoth Grecian columns announce her “porch.”

“Ouch!” I call out, momentarily stung by a slash of
leather against the leg of my skinny jeans. “It’s a whip all right.”

“Bitchaaaaas!” Leslie calls again, making the word last
for at least six seconds, like some kind of
ohm
or other mantra.

“Hey! Leslie! You look…” I begin, taking in the patent
leather corset, fishnet stockings, and over-the-knee, zip-up stiletto boots.
Leslie is wearing tons of makeup, with black kohl eyeliner and ruby-red
lipstick. Her black hair is pulled back into a high, tight ponytail. She has an
extension woven into it, so that the hair falls well past her back, grazing her
generous bottom.

The complete effect is not flattering or sexy in any way.
She looks more slut than high-end escort, more Britney than Madonna. I start
again. “You look…”

“Completely fucked up,” Kat concludes. I jab her in the
side.

“What?” she asks, turning to me but speaking so Leslie can
hear. “She does. She’s dressed like a whore.”

Leslie’s smile cracks for a second, and I worry that her
feelings have been hurt. She quickly blinks away any shame by batting her false
eyelashes at us.

I get the sense that Leslie dressed this way in order to
boss everyone around mercilessly and get away with it. It’s like wish
fulfillment, the way teenage girls dress like little Playboy Bunnies and act
slutty for a night on Halloween without sustaining much damage to their real,
pure reputations the next day in school.

I also get the sense that she has double-dosed on the
drugs that control her manic-depression. She sometimes likes to do this when
feeling festive, usually to negative effect.

Producing a wooden paddle from behind the bushes, Leslie
leans in toward Kat. Her long, fake ponytail sways menacingly. “Bitch!”

“Yikes.” Kat takes a step away from Leslie and leans into
me. “Why are we friends with her again?”

“Bend over and let me paddle you, Katrina O’Connell. You
must not speak negatively about Lady Hoochie. I rule. My word is law tonight!”

“Oh, no, it isn’t!” Kat says, swerving out of the way in
the nick of time and grabbing me as she heads through the front door.

She steals a cocktail from a passing waiter wearing a
tight black T-shirt that says
Tasty,
and tries to regain her composure.
“Leslie’s a goddamned dominatrix!”

“Well, it is her fortieth,” I smirk. My eyes focus on the
large brass pole lit up in the center of the room, and I reach for a cocktail,
too. “In a contest for crazy, between the three of us, I think she might win.”

“Cheers to that,” Kat says, swallowing the pink concoction
in one gulp. “I’m cool taking silver or bronze.”

We see some people we know and make our way over to them.
Like us, they are dressed nicely and are not decked out in any sort of costume.
I am about to touch my forehead self-consciously, but stop myself just in time.

“I’m going to pretend this event isn’t weird,” a woman
named Jen says, picking up a tube of K-Y jelly off the buffet.

“Good luck with that,” Kat says.

“Is the K-Y for dipping the sushi into, or for use as a
salad dressing?” I wonder aloud to no one.

“Maybe it’s a condiment,” Kristen says. She has a daughter
in Becca’s kindergarten class. “Like ketchup.” She winks and pretends to use it
on her mini-cheeseburger. She’s kind of funny, actually.

I watch Kat as she drops some condoms into her clutch
purse. She shrugs. “Nothing wrong with taking some party favors.”

I manage to enjoy a few teriyaki salmon skewers and
another drink or two while Kat and I mill around the living and dining rooms,
chatting with people we know.

I feel my phone vibrate and check to see if the message is
from Laney. Instead, it’s Doug. I motion to Kat and dismiss myself from the
group, trying to find a quiet spot in Leslie’s office.

Not that she works. But still, it’s nice to have an
office, isn’t it? For all that scrapbooking she does?

“Hey, Lauren, it’s me,” Doug’s message begins. I haven’t
heard his voice all day, and the sound of it warms me a bit. He sounds tired.
He must have had a long day. “Listen. I’ve had a really long day.” See how well
I know my husband? “There’s a couple of really important issues that I didn’t
get to complete. I had to push a meeting back, with this guy who is only in
town until Friday morning… So…I’m going to have to cancel our date night
tomorrow night. I’m sorry. Just thought I’d give you the heads-up now, in case
you want to make other plans. Maybe go out with some friends. Or spend some
time with Ben and Bec.” He tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a cough.
“I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

And then he’s gone.

“Those waiters are gorgeous,” Kat mentions as I rejoin
the group. “Did you notice?”

“Mmm. They must be models or actors for hire or
something,” Kristen adds. “Not that I noticed that one over there with the
smoldering good looks or anything.” He turns our way with an hors d’oeuvres
tray and we all smile. His tight black T-shirt reads
Try Me
.

“I didn’t notice him from the neck up. Too much to look at
below.”

I want to get back into the spirit of mockery, but after
Doug’s call, the party just doesn’t feel the same. Disappointment clouds my
vision. Instead of seeing a group of people to either make fun of or have fun
with, I just feel tired of all this playacting that has become my life. I want
to tell someone the truth: I haven’t had sex with Doug in a long, long time.

“Damn, Kat! You need to get laid,” Kristen challenges.

“Et tu, Brute. Et tu.” Then Kat turns to me, looking for a
reaction. “Why didn’t you laugh at that? It was witty banter.”

“Because.” I explain the phone call, then pause and try to
form a truth that won’t reveal too much. “Doug and I never do anything together
anymore. He doesn’t see me. I’m like the secretary in the waiting room of his
life. Purely administrative.” I am thinking about crying some tears of the
angry variety. But I try to will myself to keep it together.

“You should paddle him when you get home. Then he’ll
notice you.”

I cock my head to the side and consider this. “Seems to
work for Leslie.”

“Although, as you may notice, her husband’s gone a lot of
the time.”

“Wouldn’t you travel for business any chance you could get
if Leslie was your wife?”

And with that, we decide to down a few mudslide shooters
and check out the rest of the eats.

“Bitchaaaas!” Lady Hoochie calls, signaling everyone to
the living room.

“Never gets old,” Kat says sarcastically. I roll my eyes
as we reluctantly make our way toward chairs in the back row of the room, as
far away from the dreaded pole as is humanly possible.

“Bitches and Hot Mamas!” Leslie begins again, now that the
crowd around her has thickened like her waistline. “I am delighted to have you
here with me this evening to help usher in my next decade of fabulousness!” She
tosses her hair and jiggles her thighs.

There is a beat of awkward, embarrassed silence. Suddenly,
people make up their minds to agree with her. Hoots, cheers, and catcalls
follow.

“Am I a bitch or a hot mama?” I want to know.

Kat gives me a sideways glance. “
That’s
your
question?”

“I’m pretty sure that we’re out of medal contention this
evening,” I add, as Leslie brings forth a woman of unknown origin.

“Ladies and bitches,” Leslie slurs, raising a glass of
something alcoholic and sweet, “I’d like you to help me welcome the first of
tonight’s entertainers.”

“The
first
?” I whisper.

“Shh…this is getting good.” Kat strains to see over the
heads of people seated in front of us. I can make out orange-tanned flesh, red
lipstick, and wrinkles on the entertainer.

“This gorgeous babe—”

“Not,” Kat coughs.

“—comes straight from the Playboy mansion—”

“After a twenty-year detour,” Kat adds.

“—to teach us all a little bit about…
sex
!” Leslie
cheers. “It’s the one and only…Candy Cox!”

“Woo-hoo!” Kat calls out to the silent room, standing up.
“This sure beats ninth-grade health class, am I right?” Thirty women stare at
her, bemused looks on their faces. “I mean,
bitches
, am I right?” The
room explodes in applause and whistling.

After a good minute of whooping, Kat sits, delighted with
herself. She winks at me.

“Some people just don’t get your humor,” I explain.

“Yeah. My kindergarteners, for one.”

“Still, that’s what makes it so beautiful to be around.”

“To be
in
the moment and yet to make fun
of
the moment. That’s where my true talent lies.”

We turn back to the center of the room, where Candy Cox is
holding the largest dildo I’ve ever seen.

“Is it my imagination, or did everyone just lean in a
little closer?” the woman seated to my right jokes.

“That’s all kinds of inappropriate,” Kristen says, staring
at the slightly floppy, undulating mass in Candy’s hands.

“Now, hot mamas,” Candy begins, “This is my show-and-share
time, like in school.”

“Just like.” Kat nods. She cannot help herself. On a good
day, she’s compelled to create a snappy retort. But at an event like this? With
such good material just waiting to be manipulated for her delight? I stop
trying to restrain her.

Candy starts passing sex toys around the room. “Don’t
worry, ladies. Every one of you is going to get a chance to examine and feel
these toys. And then I’ll tell you where you can put them! Dildos, vibrators,
anal toys, balls, lubricants, ticklers, and condoms are among the surprises in
my bag.”

“I’ve heard of condoms!” a woman named Lexie jokes,
leaning against a wall on the other side of the room, waving her hand in the
air like she’s just won a prize.

“Good for you, sweetie. Your husband must frequent the clubs
along the Jersey Turnpike,” Candy replies matter-of-factly.

Ouch. Lexie slumps down onto the floor.

“Hey,” someone calls out to Candy. “Didn’t I see you on
The
New Newlyweds
? You look so familiar!”

“Indeed you did, hot thing. My husband and I dabble in
reality TV, when we’re not making porn.”

“Now, that’s a nice career. You don’t get stuck in a rut
that way, like you do with tenure.” Kat stands and stretches. “I’m getting a
refill. Anyone?” she asks, glancing around to the group of women seated closest
to us.

We shake our heads no and continue watching the
entertainment.

“I don’t usually start with the largest unit of the bunch,
but I could tell that you wild ladies needed some stiff competition, if you
know what I mean!”

The ginormous faux penis is coming my way. “What is that
made of?” I ask. “Does it have veins?”

“I agree, it looks really authentic,” someone adds.
“Except that it’s twenty times larger than my husband’s.”

The dildo is being passed around the room like it’s a tray
of turkey at Thanksgiving. It is
that
cumbersome. People have to put
their whole upper torsos into maneuvering it around from person to person. My
friend Susie holds it out to me, both palms extended upward. I mimic the
gesture, and the thing sort of rolls onto my palms. It’s heavy and clammy to
the touch, like a huge dead trout. Not that I’ve ever held a dead trout. Or one
of these, come to think of it.

“Huh,” is all I can muster before passing it on to
Kristen.

“Eyes up here, please!” Candy Cox sings, trying to tear us
away from show-and-share time. A low hum of chatter fills the room as small
groups of women giggle away their collective discomfort. “Ladies, if I could
have your attention—”

“Biiiiitchaaaaas!” Leslie—excuse me,
Lady Hoochie
—cracks
her whip against a sofa table, sending pictures of her children flying.
Immediate quiet descends over the room. “Listen and learn, hot mamas, and give
your undivided attention to Candy Cox! I will not stand for misbehavior. Anyone
who does not cooperate has to see me outside!”

“Ooh…” arises from the crowd, on the verge of ridiculing
Leslie.
Who does she think she is?
You can almost hear the partygoers
ask it, souring the mood. But since no one wants to dare her to test her
threat, we get mute pretty fast.

“Raise your dildo if you think she’s taking this
role-playing a tad seriously,” Kat whispers to whoever is in earshot. “Scoot
over, I lost my seat,” she instructs. Susie moves down one and Kat settles in
next to me again.

Candy has the floor once more. “Like to pleasure yourself
on the go? Looking for something compact, something great for travel?”

Candy digs deep into her short-shorts and produces what
looks like a lipstick.

“I don’t see any pockets on those shorts,” Susie says.