My Soon-To-Be Sex Life (3 page)

“Wasn't my story to tell, Charlie,” Grace said. “Hear her out. She needs to be straight with you. No pun intended.” She gave a weak smile.

Mom continued, “I arrived at my station, read over the previous charge nurse's notes, nothing out of the ordinary. Then, I lost it. I remembered I hadn't taken a Valium before I left home. I panicked, wanted to jump out of my skin. I scrambled to my locker, downed a handful of Vals and went back to the desk. I sat there, seconds later, feeling all was well with my world.” She shifted in her seat. “There's no way they could work that fast. I didn't
need
the Valium, I just
wanted
it. I knew the difference and it scared me to death. Then I almost gave Mr. Plum his meds twice.” Mom looked up, her eyes bleak. “I'd put all those patients at risk. I can't return to work until I have my own power back.”

She rubbed a hand over her eyes.

In the most surreal moment of my life, my mother, the woman who had just folded my clothes into orderly bundles, told me, “I'm going into rehab.”

Resolution rested on every line of my mother's profile.
Rehab.
The bricks in my stomach lurched. This was my fault. Why hadn't I been in Mom's face as soon as I started to notice her taking more and more pills? But I thought she knew what she was doing. Christ, she was a
nurse.
How the hell had I missed the fact that she'd started crossing the line? I felt dizzy, off balance, like someone held up my world and gave it a snow globe shake.

“I'd drag you to my place,” Grace said. “But with my hours at the law firm and Ian being on the road so much – you'd be alone most of the time anyway.”

I sucked back a snort. “I'm old enough to stay here and look after myself.”

Mom shook her head. “For a few days, sure. But not a month.”

“What if I stay with Roach?” The Jesus talk might send me over the edge, but it had to be better than what Mom was suggesting.

“Not going to happen.” Mom put her hands on her hips. “The Dunmore's would ask questions, they'd judge. This is a family issue and I don't want my life turned into a sermon at their church, thank you very much.” Her eyes pleaded now. “It won't be so bad, you'll see. Either you stay with your grandfather, or I don't go.”

Emotional blackmail. Pure and simple.

But oh, so effective.

“I stay with him until you're good to go?” I asked, accepting the fact that no other alternative existed. Grace would end up divorce that much sooner if she took me in, and mom didn't want me at Roach's, wouldn't want to be in debt to the bible thumpers, the self-righteous.

And so I moved in with Monty.

He wouldn't let me call him Grandpa.

A few hours into my existence at Monty's House of Bores and I was already stir crazy. I stalked the small bungalow like a shark stuck in a guppy tank.

There was nothing to cut my teeth on. Except maybe…

“Hey, is this an instant camera?” I scooped the rectangular box up in eager hands, twisting it this way and that. “Man, this thing is old. Like from the 80s.”

“That happens to be a 1977 Polaroid special, young lady. Treat it with respect.” Monty made one swipe for the vintage camera, but I shifted out of reach. “Careful you don't drop it.”

“I won't. I just want to check it out.” The camera had just been lying there on the kitchen table. Alone. Abandoned. Fair game as far as I was concerned. “I've never seen one of these before. So you just focus…” I pointed the camera at Monty, who immediately put fingers up on either side of his head like devil's horns. Laughing, I adjusted the black focus wheel thingy. “Take a shot…” I pressed the faded orange button. “And out pops the picture, right?”

Hum.

Whirl. Chug. Grind.

A three by four slide emerged from the front of the camera like it was blowing a raspberry. I angled the camera to get a better look. Nothing but a black square framed by that trademark Polaroid white boarder.

I made a face. “So much for
instant
.”

“Give it a few seconds.” Monty snatched the photo before it could fall to the floor. He waved it in the air. “A little of this and,” he held up the photo, “there she goes.” Swirls of color began to spread across the film.

“That is so cool.” And it was. The bonus? The awkwardness and strained silences we'd been slipping into since I'd arrived were gone. Monty's wrinkled face gradually appeared on the film. I moved closer to watch the process, conscious that for the first time, I felt halfway comfortable in his presence.

“You have a camera?” Monty squinted at the film.

“On my phone.” I shrugged. “It takes decent pictures and I play around with apps to crank them up.”

Monty frowned. Clearly, I was talking over his head. Pretty obvious after the quick tour of the place he'd given me, Monty was not of the tech world. No computer in sight and he had an old school rotary phone that sat within a special cutout in the main hallway.

“You use different effects to make them look better.” I explained. “Make the colors pop, add text, that sort of thing. Photography is fun, and I dabble in film, but I'm more of a writer. A screenwriter, really. I want to see my characters come to life on the big screen.”

Monty raised a brow. “Movies are moving pictures. Seems to me you should focus on what you're good at. If you have to
crank
your pictures up, they're probably not good to begin with. Better stick with the writing.”

I gaped at him, shocked at his bluntness. He shoved the completed photo at me and in the same movement, plucked the camera from my grip.

“But if you do want to snap a few rounds, this stays here.” Monty placed the camera back on the kitchen table. “So we can both find it easy.” He nodded to a drawer by the fridge. “There's more film in there, but don't go wasting it. That stuff's expensive and hard to come by.”

I opened the drawer, curious about the film, wondering just what kind of effects you could get if you mucked around with the development stage. Inside were a few unopened packages and a stash of photos Monty had taken.

As he shifted into the living room, I flipped through the images. He seemed to be documenting everyday moments, not the big deal, Kodak ones.

A snow-covered tree glowing in the morning sun.

A raven sitting on a stop sign.

A pattern in the clouds.

They were good. Dramatic without added effects.

I slid the drawer shut and followed the sounds of a sit-com laugh track. In the living room, I perched on the opposite end of the couch, forcing myself to stay put during a
M.A.S.H
rerun. Monty was really into it, leaning forward, elbows on his bony knees, eyes fixed on the screen.

Like he'd forgotten I was there.

 “Get out and walk,” Monty told the loogie he'd just horked up and spit out the driver's window of his aged Cadillac. He cackled when I scrunched my face in disgust. “You don't like how I drive, girl, you can get out and walk, too.”

I'm not usually squeamish, but this was my first drive-by-phlegming.

“You plastered a lady on the sidewalk.”

“A little of the green stuff never hurt anyone. I gotta keep my lungs clear. All part of being over seventy and an ex-smoker. Now, where's your stop?” Monty scanned the street, his head barely peeking over the steering wheel.

“Jesus, there's only one mall in town, where do you think it is?” Our relationship had progressed to verbal gladiator matches. We appreciated each other more when we got in a good burn.

Monty harrumphed. “I don't understand you kids today.” He drove onward, proving, as I suspected, he just liked being difficult. “Always inside, spending your parent's money. You gotta get some air, live a little. When I was your age…”

“You snared gophers, caused a grass fire, leveled a neighbor's barn, and stole sacramental wine from the old church – and that was just your pre-teen activities. Mom told me the stories. Monty, you're right. Teenagers today are way too boring. There's a shitstorm of juvenile delinquency techniques we could learn from you old geezers.”

“Go pound sand, you little smartass.” Monty grinned, lowering his upper dentures to flash me his gums – his kill move - it slayed me every time. I laughed even as I held up a hand, soundlessly pleading,
no more
. He snapped them back into place and dropped me off at the mall's main entrance.

“I'm going across the way for a coffee and civilized conversation.” He pointed to the Senior Centre. “I've had my sights on Joy Doyle since her husband croaked a few weeks back.” His cataracted eyes twinkled. “I think today's her lucky day.” Monty waved a gnarled finger in my face. “You've got two hours. Be at these doors or you won't like the consequences.”

“What, you'll ground me or something?”

“Depends. I'll make you buy my diapers. I'm running low.”

I met Roach at the food court. She preened, showing me the loot she'd stolen from the drugstore. Jesus-freaks are great thieves.

“Today, I had true vision. I only nabbed “S” named bottles.
Spank Me
is my favorite.” She held up a flesh-toned vial. “You can use it as eye shadow.
So Venereal
is cool, too. Who names this stuff? Do they really get paid? I want that job. I would kick butt in that job.”

“You would. Can we talk about me now?” I noticed the old fogeys sitting at tables around us. The food court was basically overrun with teens and the elderly – what did that say? We were at the same maturity level? Thank God Monty didn't hang at the mall with his gang of geezers. “The old bastard's impossible, you have no idea. Mom's hanging with stoner rock stars in the hospital's ever-trendy Rehab Club, and I'm stuck in the Museum of Wood Paneling with my guide, Toothless Joe.”

“Monty's toothless?”

“Well, he has teeth, but they're optional and usually spend the night in a cup by the bathroom sink. I swear I hear them laughing when I'm doing the nightly zit squeeze.”

“My mom told me never to pop a zit. Makes them multiply.”

“Roach, you don't have zits. You've got porcelain skin. It's one of the things I hate about you. What does your mother know about the modern zit anyway? Pimples of the fifties were a different beast. Zits have evolved thanks to global warming, air pollution, Febreze. They're tough little suckers.”

I stopped babbling and stared.

Roach spun around.

“Wow,” she said, seeing what I was seeing.

Ty rode the escalator up to the food court, practically riding Jessica Minnows as he pressed her back against the railing. Somehow they didn't trip at the landing and, still fused, navigated the willy-nilly placement of the food court's tables and chairs. Their skill was impressive, if nauseating. The Guinness Book of World Records photo caption would read: Unstoppable Face Melting Lip-Lock, or if I had my way: World's First Kissing Fatality. I was madder than hell, but oddly – I wasn't upset. The logic of that escaped me as I caught up with the two-timers at Orange Julius.

I wasn't looking for sloppy seconds.

“Ty, hey, I guess you're over the worst of the mono.” I smiled into Jessica's near sex-glazed eyes. “I saw you guys kissing back there, and I just know Tyler wouldn't put a nice girl like you at risk. You're on the junior volleyball team, right? Don't worry, I'm sure he wouldn't want to mess up your season with a bad case of stay-in-bed-for-a-month-cause-you-played-sucky-face.”

“Tyler?” Jessica blinked, processing my mini-rant. She glared up at Ty. “Mono? I can't get sick, Ty. You should have told me about this.”

“There's nothing to tell. Charlie's full of shit, aren't you, Charlie?” Ty kept his arm tight around Jessica's waist.

“I dunno, you
have
been sleeping a lot in Bio.” Jessica persisted, bless her, although Ty's mid-day naps were nothing unusual.

Jessica glanced between Ty and me, studied the white-knuckled fists I rested on my thighs. “I thought you said you guys were finished.”

“We are, baby. Charlie's just letting off a bit of steam.”

“Finished?” I watched Ty's fingers massage Jessica's hip. “We're finished? When did this happen?”

“I texted you over an hour ago.” Ty mumbled, nuzzling Jessica's ear.

“How was I supposed to get the message, asshole? My mom took my cell, remember? Because of you.”

Ty peeked at me through the length of Jessica's auburn hair. “Well, you know now.”

He kissed her neck and I could see little oh-damn-that-feels-good pimples raised on her pale flesh.

The one breed of zit I had yet to experience. Despite the groping, the rubbing and tugging between us, Ty had never inspired honest to God, I'm-so-into-this, into-you, goose bumps. I think I was over whatever I saw in Ty long ago, but I resented those goose bumps. Where the hell were mine?

My rage knows no bounds. I'm not in reality anymore. I see the world through the filter of a live-action manga tribute film I'm directing. I strike out and have gone graphic in the same instance.

The illustrated, and slightly thinner, me is high up on a Fifty Percent Off sign, watching the action below. The other me is angry. Cartoon hearts float out of her eyes and crash to the tile at her feet.

Cue the slow mo. She spins like Sailor Moon, hair propelling around her head, and performs a well-executed sidekick.

Close up of her Mary Jane clad foot connecting with the bulge in Ty's pants. Collective gasp from crowd. Groan bursting from Ty as he drops to the floor.

Looking down at Ty, as he writhed on the ground in a fetal position, I realize I have reacted badly. But I sure enjoyed causing some major damage to that ever-ready boner. Jessica stood over Ty for a few seconds, then shook her head and stormed off.

Roach and I took the escalator to the lower level.

“Are you okay?” Roach asked.

I gave her a slow, satisfied smile.

She eyed me with awe.

“Charlotte Webbbb!” Ty shouted above us, really twisting the knife with the name-calling. “I'll get you for this! You hear me?”

“I'm not sure kicking him in the nards was a good idea.” Roach glared up at Ty like a farmer watching a funnel cloud circle over his fields. Waiting for impact.

“You can't think it was the first time,” I said. “He gets kneed on a monthly basis.”

“But in front of Jessica? He's been trying to get into her pants for years.” Roach held up a hand when I started to speak. “Not that he wasn't trying to get into the pants of any number of nubile young things in school, yourself included, but he's always had the hots for her. Your mono scare and ball kick was a brilliant combo. Jessica won't put her game at risk, plus Ty looks like a cheating wimp who got leveled by a girl. In the mall. Location, location, location.” She chanted her mother's real estate agent mantra. “This will be all over school tomorrow. He'll have to save face somehow.”

I crawled into the car.

“You're on time.” Monty said. “What happened? I thought I'd have to drag you out of there.”

“I caught my boyfriend swapping spit with another girl,” I said.

A respectful moment of silence ensued as we pulled out onto the street. Or maybe Monty searched for an appropriate note of encouragement. Having come up dry, he mumbled a trite, “More fish in the sea, child, more fish in the sea.”

“Actually, commercial fishing has drastically depleted fish populations throughout the world,” I quoted. “My friend, Roach, is big on all things brine. She started a Save the Hermit Crab thing at school once, but it didn't fly.”

“I'll bet.” He finally shot me a look, his eyes full of piss and vinegar. “Want me to have a fist-to-face talk with the boy?” He lifted a hand off the steering wheel and flexed his sagging bicep.

Fighting a smile, I shook my head.

“Don't underestimate this old man. I do three push-ups a week to stay in shape.”

“Thanks, but I took care of it.” I tilted my head and studied his wrinkled profile. “How was the sex-pot at Pioneer Village?” Maybe one of us got lucky.

Monty's lips flattened.

Or not.

“Not every old folks home is called Pioneer Village,” he snapped. “I'll have you know, Horizon Way is a great facility.” He made a tortuously slow right turn. A horn blasted behind us from a truck impatient to continue down the road. “I'm proud to be a drop-in member. Although, I heard Sunset Palace, just down the road, has bingo every night of the week.”

“You avoided the question.” I nodded knowingly, adjusting my seatbelt as a precautionary measure. I'd seen enough of Monty's driving to know
erratic
didn't quite give the full scope. “She give you the brush off?”

Monty stepped on the gas and veered in a sharp left. “John Campbell got to her first, the cocksucker. He told me I should wait a few weeks, out of respect for her dead husband, and then made the moves himself. You can't trust nobody these days.”

“Word.”