My Soon-To-Be Sex Life (14 page)

The text from Ty came through minutes later as I sat next to a drunken businessman in a crumpled suit who mumbled stuff about insider trading and the deal of the century. Somehow I didn't think he'd made
that
good of a deal if he was still on the crowded and foul smelling 5 bus.

I read the message again.

How does he hate you? Let me LIST the ways…
J

While it confirmed everything I'd suspected, it gave me no sense of closure, and left a gaping hole in my gut.

Plus, there'd been no need for the smiley face. That was just cold.

Sucking up my pride, I called Eric one last time. Straight to voicemail.

“This isn't fucking fair, Eric,” I said, right after the beep. “So, please call me, okay?” I hung up.

I dialed Roach. Voicemail there too.
Beep.
“Valentine's Day is the work of the devil,” I yelled. A smattering of applause broke out on the bus. I stood and gave a clumsy bow. The drunk slumped over, his forehead smushed into my seat.

By the time I connected with the 17 and bussed it back to Monty's, I'd been through all the stages. Anger. More anger. Followed by some serious self-reproach that I'd quickly twisted back to anger, and I'd come out the other side. Really fucking mad.

I'd made mistakes and maybe Ty had cashed in on that fact, but Eric shouldn't have stood me up. He'd had multiple options. Telling me off on the street, telling me off in the middle of a crowded theatre, or here's a thought…how about just showing up and asking me what the hell was going on?

I stormed into the house. Kicked my boots off. Fired my hat across the hall. And waited for Monty to react. All I heard was an absurd laugh track from the TV in the living room.

I trudged inside.

Monty sawed logs on the couch with Mona curled around his feet. What was it with old people and the magic sleepy-time hour of nine o'clock?

Deflated, I grabbed the knitted afghan resting along the back of the couch and draped it over my grandfather's suddenly smallish looking form. Mona growled and pulled a section of blanket over herself with her teeth.

Smart little bitch.

Just as I was about to leave, Monty shifted and a piece of paper slipped from his hand to drop onto the carpet. I picked it up. It was an old black and white photograph, you know the kind, with the white border that made every picture look important.

But this one really was. The most important. I turned to catch the glow from the TV. In the photo, a young beauty sat perched on the hood of a classic old Buick with Niagara Falls in the background. Pencil skirt, sailor blouse and man's tie draped loosely around her neck. My grandmother, no question, Mom looked so much like her.

I'd only seen a few pictures of her and each one was imprinted on my mind. This I hadn't seen before. None of the others were when she was so young.

So alive.

Monty must have taken the pic during their honeymoon. I remember Mom wanted Dad to take her to the falls for their twentieth anniversary, kind of as a tribute to Grandma. Course Dad died way before that milestone. And even if he'd lived, their marriage never would have lasted.

But my grandparents? They'd have made it if cancer hadn't stolen Grandma away. They'd really had it, that something special that welded two people together better than sex, better than a head-on collision. They'd been in love.

Flipping the photo over, I noticed words scrawled on the back. A message Monty must have written to himself when he realized he was starting to slip. I wasn't even sure he could read the wobbly handwriting anymore.

This is Vera. She was your wife. Don't forget.

I gently placed the photo on the coffee table and stumbled downstairs, bashing my elbow on the hand railing thanks to tears that wouldn't stop. I stripped off all my clothes, letting them drop to the floor where I stood and fell stomach-first into bed.

The bar in the middle of my pull-out couch stabbed me in the ribs.
Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.
I thrashed on my comforter, but found no comfort. The sharp pain in my ribs was nothing compared to the ache in my heart.

The night of the concert, I worried about leaving Monty and Mona home alone, but I'd promised Roach I'd go and I needed something to shake the funk that had settled over me since The Date That Never Was. But I was hopeful I had everything under control. I hadn't left the house without taking a few extra safety precautions. Creamer was stocked - therefore no late-night trips to the corner store were required. In theory. I'd also locked up Mona's food to eliminate Monty feeding her a thousand times.

They'd be fine.

Maybe I should call to be sure. A scattered phone conversation with Monty had to be better than
this
.

I plastered on a smile, the same one I'd been wearing for the last two days. No one seemed to notice it stopped short of Jack Nicholson in the Shining, you know, the scene where he pokes his face through a hole he just chopped in a door.

But freaky, surface normalcy was better than letting the world see how I really felt. Letting those feelings shine through on my face would make the possessed Nicholson look like he'd been reciting nursery rhymes. And then…the band stuff. Ugh.

We had an hour to go before show time, but it had only taken about three minutes for me to realize the retail industry would
not
be appearing on my list of potential careers. Roach, however, seemed to soak it up. She even developed a special way to give people back their change with a regal flourish.

I picked listlessly at my wool sweater.

Roach shot me a concerned glance. “Are you still stewing? I know my brother is the spawn of the devil and we should probably have skinned him alive, but at least he confessed. And, on the bright side, Ty didn't go ahead and repeat himself and blitz the school with the list.”

“He didn't have to, his mission to make me miserable was accomplished with one direct hit.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Eric still avoiding you?”

“Nothing to avoid. I stopped calling. It's obvious we both have trust issues. I've already made a fool of myself once for him, if he can't return the favor – he's not worth pining over.”

“Then you admit you're pining?”

I shot her a glare, grabbed my phone and decided there was no time like the present to check up on Monty.

“A photo shoot is the perfect distraction, great idea!” Roach snatched the phone from my hands and dragged me out from behind the merch table. “Stand right there…” She had us pose beside one of the band's life-sized cut outs and held the phone at arms length.

“I can't believe how many people showed up for this,” I said as we returned to the table. “And they're rowdy. It's bible thumpers gone wild.”

“What's the matter?” Roach shot me a sideways glance. “Scared some of it might rub off?”

“As if.”

A cheerful looking girl handed Roach a ten-dollar bill. “I'll take a CD, please.”

“That's ten fifty,” Roach said, withholding the CD.

The girl looked devastated. “But I only have ten.”

Roach was hard-core. She was about to hand the bill back to the girl. I couldn't stand it. I dug into my pocket and gave Roach two quarters. “It's half a buck, I'll spot her the change.”

The girl's face lit up. “Oh! How wonderful. May the Lord bless you.”

I flushed, uncomfortable with the gushing and the blessing, and the general politeness when I had such rage boiling under my civil outsides. To Roach I hissed, “Gotta go wiz.”

I left the table for a much needed potty break and a quick call home.

“Monty? Everything okay there?”

“Who the hell is this?”

I sighed. “It's Charlie, you know, the kid who lives in your basement.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't get snippy. Do you need something?”

“No…”

“Are you hurt?”

“No…”

“Then stop bugging me, I'm catching up on my soaps.”

He hung up. I stared at my phone in disbelief. Despite his confusion, his forgetfulness, the old guy could still run a DVR. Life was odd.

Unwilling to go back to work so soon, I wandered, killing time, but after a while I began to feel judged by the portraits of the saints. Nature was calling anyway. I made my way to the washrooms, eyeing the line up with a groan.

I stalked to the front of the line. “Hi there, I don't mean to butt in, but I've been manning the merch table for hours and I really, really have to pee. Can I scoot in?”

The girls at the front huddled tighter together, blocking me out.

“Hey!” I made eye contact with the girl who was short fifty cents, but I sold her the CD anyway. “Nice way to pay it forward.”

Before I could get warmed up, a booming voice came over the hall PA system. The show had started.

“Gather, Brothers and Sisters! Let us make a joyful….noooiiiise…”

I had no idea they'd get the joint jumping like a hip-hop concert. The girls outside the washroom screamed and scattered. I met up with Roach and we made quick work of stuffing all the merch into the band's glorified Tupperware. One of their minions swooped by on a scooter-trailer and within ten minutes the gear was gone.

“Come on.” Roach dragged me away from the main doors and over to a lone security guard standing by a non-descript set of stairs at the far end of the hall. She flashed him a pass and he stepped aside.

We charged up a short flight of stairs and entered a dark hall, careful not to trip over the network of chords and cables duct-taped to the floor. We were backstage, sort of, more like in the wings. We had a side view of the band, slamming their instruments to hell and screaming into their mics. I couldn't believe the crowd, on their feet, jumping into the air. They even had a mosh pit.

My heart thrummed to the pounding base and knock of the kick drum. The vibrations so strong I felt them in my fillings.

Roach danced like a maniac, belting out the lyrics, shooting me looks that said,
do you get it now, do you feel it?

Well, I didn't feel it, not the way she meant.

But I felt…something.

I grabbed Roach's hand and together we surged in to the air. We laughed. We danced. We closed our eyes and let the music, the energy, the crowd take us to some other place for awhile.

Whatever it was, it felt pretty damn good.

The band house, a narrow two-story home in the older, artsy part of town, was lit up like a pack of matches. White Christmas lights outlined every plane and angle of the gabled roof, as well as edged the gingerbread-house windows. Cars lined the street for blocks in either direction. Music blasted from every gap in the weather-stripping drifting on the cool air, begging the neighbors to call the cops.

These guys knew how to throw a party.

Shrieks of laughter and gusts of ear-splitting tuneage greeted us as Roach opened the door without knocking. Sloping piles of coats and heaping mounds of boots lined the porch. We dumped ours on top in a game of random garment Jenga.

Roach easily navigated the tight halls, made tighter by music equipment plunked down in the most inconvenient places. We soon entered what would have been a more open space, and on any other day might have been a living room, but now served as a kind of mini-concert venue, with masses of people occupying every square inch.

The décor was inspired by your friendly neighborhood Ikea catalogue, but not
inspirational
. No crosses, crucifixes or other religious objects were displayed anywhere, unless you counted a bong propped up in the corner of an armchair. Someone had etched “holy grail” into the smoke-stained glass.

Preston, Rory, and Bram stood in a semi-circular formation, dead center of the room. They were surrounded by a gaggle of their Brothers and Sisters. At first I thought they were praying, and began to bow my head out of respect, but then I realized, nope, not praying - they were shot-gunning beer.

“Chug, chug, chug…” The congregation Gregorian chanted as the three guzzled the amber liquid of the gods.

I know the concert should have been enlightening enough, but this little shindig wasn't the hand-holding, kumbaya-singing after party I expected. Somehow I didn't think it was what Mr. and Mrs. Dunmore expected when they'd agreed to extend Roach's curfew to midnight so she could “partake in youth ministry activities.”

Roach stepped into the throng to congratulate her man for holding back his vomit and planted a long kiss on his lips. Preston pulled her in close, inciting catcalls. Yeesh, hail the victorious hero.

After the power smooch, Roach bent and dug out two cans from one of the many coolers around the room, all overflowing with booze and ice.

“Catch,” Roach called and I extended my arms out as a reflex. I caught the beer in what had to be an act of God. “Everybody, meet my best friend, Charlie!” Another cheer from the crowd and then Roach cracked a can open for herself. Had we followed an albino rodent down a laundry shoot to another dimension without my noticing? Who
was
this girl?

Preston dipped his chin in acknowledgement of my existence, and that, as they say, was that. The couple soon got swallowed by the crowd and I stood alone in a sea of the self-righteous and highly intoxicated. Catastrophe was imminent.

With my introduction to Roach's new band of merry gentlemen complete, it was time to fend for myself. Sucking back glugs of beer, I made for the back wall where I'd seen a free butt's worth of couch. Since the locals had revealed their true colors I determined the night would flow like any other night at a house party. Sex, drugs, and – I tilted my head, straining to hear the lyrics of the current tune –
Christian
rock and roll.

What a freaking tragedy.

But there I was with the rest of them, rolling in the hypocrisy, because while I
had
enjoyed Divine Wrath's live show, their CD just didn't do it for me. Polished, without a hint of mosh pit. The fact that they had it playing on an endless loop at the party?

Pure purgatory.

Finally arriving at my destination, I sat, and immediately sunk much lower that the girl on the couch beside me. In fact, my sinking sucked her down as well. Her tall girly drink pitched backward, drenching her Divine Wrath tee. She screeched and bolted for the washroom, holding her dripping shirt away from her body.

No wonder such prime real estate had been free.

“Sorry,” I called after her, smacking the offending couch. “No springs.”

A slow clap from the far end of the couch, the springy end. “Charlie, you just managed to do what I've been trying to do for the last fifteen minutes,” an amazingly attractive guy said.

And he knew my name. Then I remembered Roach
had
introduced me to the world a few minutes ago.

“You called Stephanie Cohen off her prey.” Mr. Tall, Dark and Hot held out his hand. “I thank you.”

I shook his hand, what else was I supposed to do, lick it? Believe me, I was tempted. I set my empty can aside. What was in that stuff? Pheromones? I gestured to the difference in our heights. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

He gave a tug and I landed practically in his lap. “I'm Gavin and I've been watching you all night.”

“Really?” Butterflies filled my stomach as his hand slid to my hip. “'Cause I just got here.”

“Right.” Gavin gave a low laugh, followed by an over the top leer. “But from the moment I saw you, time stood still.” He wagged his eyebrows. Grinned.

Cocky bastard.

This was one I wasn't sure I wanted to tangle with. I was sick of players. Sick of playing, really. I shifted, about to slip away, but as I moved a curious expression slipped across Gavin's features. His grin had turned to a self-deprecating smirk. He gave me a salute like he'd suspected I was bailing, and conceded it was his loss.

Definitely not the actions of guy sure of his success.

That I could relate to. Instead of standing, I bent forward. Placed my fingers over his mouth, let his breath warm my skin. The drone of music and scattered conversations faded. I traced the line of his lower lip, watching Gavin's pulse throb in his throat.

He was a bit dazed, waiting to see what I did next. And what was that going to be? I shook my head at the hint of doubt skirting the edge of my mind. I wasn't committing, just testing the waters. In a fluid move, I straddled his hips and ignored the roar of approval from the crowd of kids around us.

“Don't talk, just do.” I leaned in and kissed him.