The Kiss Test (19 page)

However, this did nothing to stem the sense of panic I now felt every time he administered the Kiss Test. Which was fairly often.

My burger waited for me by the time I got back from the restroom, where I’d washed my hands and relieved about four hours of bladder build-up since our last stop.

“Oh, thank God. Meat,” I said. The small town we stopped in last night for dinner, in the boonies of New Mexico, had only one restaurant. The Veggie Barn. All veggies, all the time. I like broccoli and Brussels sprouts as much as the next person, but this red-blooded woman is definitely carnivorous.

“Not bad meat, either,” Chris muttered around a mouthful of sirloin. “Shoot me if I ever think eggplant is enough to subsist on again.”

I didn’t bother answering. Gastronomic heaven required a vow of silence. The burger was expertly dressed with blue cheese, lettuce and tomato, oozing out the edges of the heavy roll it was packed between. It had taken us until midafternoon to find this place, but with a lunch like this, I just might make it the rest of the day.

“I asked how far to the next town.” Chris sat back in his chair and rubbed his now full, yet ever flat and muscular belly. “With a hotel, that is, since we missed the last one.”

We’d blown through the last town so fast we’d only seen a gas station and a post office. No homes in sight—but a post office, just in case. We drove on into northern Arizona in search of a hotel and nourishment, until the growling of my stomach eating its own lining grew to such a decibel we could no longer hear the Jeep engine, forcing Chris to pull over for food before I did bodily harm.

The first available food was Spiffy’s Sports, which thankfully sported a non-vegetarian menu. We felt right at home at the sports bar. The Giants played the Cubs on multiple overhead TV monitors, so the late-afternoon patrons could watch Randy Johnson strike out his opponents at every angle.

“How far is that, exactly?” I asked. “Or, more importantly, how much closer are we to any fun I may have on this trip?”

“About fifty miles. Or an hour closer to L.A.”

I drank half of my Coke before answering. “Are you sure we just can’t quit now and go home? I’d even give up Vegas if it meant I could skip the Wedding of the Year, Volume Eleven.”

“And what about my business? And yours?”

“Oh, yeah.” I’d forgotten my interview with Nancy of
Today’s Country Magazine.

“Maybe we could see if our hotel in Vegas has banquet facilities and have Nancy and your business contacts meet us there.”

“Nice try.” Chris pushed his now-empty plate back. “I need to stretch my legs. Mind if I go shoot some pool while you finish up?”

I shook my head and retrieved a chunk of blue cheese from the ketchup on my plate. I needed to check my phone messages anyway. I’d placed a few calls and faxed résumés to some non-country radio stations back home and needed to see if I’d had any response. Branching out and exploring my options was my best move. A job was a job, at this point. After I had work again, I could court the country stations outside the city for openings. I just had to keep my foot in the door, so I didn’t lose my edge. And so I could pay my rent.

Once finished with my meal, I settled back in the booth to make my calls. Chris was in the pool room, a glassed-in area across the bar, with its own TV, its own personal bartender and a boisterous crowd. Pool wasn’t my thing, though I played when I had nothing better to do. Darts was more my style.

My only message was from Katya, who informed me—in what sounded like an extremely relieved voice—that Adair finally made contact with the Wide-Strider in Central Park, only to discover he had a wife and three kids. Adair had immediately purchased a rocking chair at the flea market on Twenty-Sixth and spent his evenings on the fire escape, rocking, and asking Kat repeatedly if he was really so pathetic that he’d be alone forever. She told him he wasn’t pathetic yet, but if he stayed out on the fire escape past October, it would be a different story.

I laughed and flipped my phone off. I missed my friends. Well, not so much now that Chris and I were speaking again. I’d missed them fiercely the days we were giving each other the silent treatment. I don’t do silence well—unless it’s with my mother.

My eyes drifted back toward the pool room and I groaned. Chris locked lips with an exotic, dark-skinned chick, who looked like a cover model. As they broke apart, Chris’s gaze lingered on hers a bit too long, as if considering, and my stomach gave a lurch. What if she was it? What if he liked kissing her so much he kissed her again? And what if that kiss was even better than the first and he brought her to Las Vegas with us, where she auditioned for the part of Mrs. Treem with a Bed Test? And what if she was the jealous type and told Chris she wouldn’t sleep with him unless I was gone, so he gave me bus fare to go on to L.A. by myself? He’d bring her to my mother’s wedding and by the time we got home, they’d be married, and I’d be…nobody.

The possible future Mrs. Treem went back for another kiss and I closed my eyes. I couldn’t watch.

“You okay, miss?”

The waitress, in her khaki shorts and green Spiffy’s Sports T-shirt, looked concerned.

I sat up straighter. “Fine. Just tired.”
And sick,
I thought. Sick of suddenly having to worry about my friendship with Chris. It was dumb to be concerned, right? This wasn’t the 1920s. Men and women could be friends, and surely Chris had enough sense not to marry some insecure twit who couldn’t accept twenty years of friendship.

Another peek at the pool room revealed Extreme Treem attempting the daring maneuver of making a shot while blinded by the drape of ebony hair blocking his view as he sucked face again.

Oh, shit. I needed reassurance. I dialed Adair’s cell phone.

“Single Central,” he answered.

I laughed, cheered up already…a little. Until Chris planted another wet one on Madame Gorgeous and my stomach turned. “It’s me,” I said. “You okay? Katya told me about the Wide-Strider.”

I heard what sounded like the runners of a rocker scraping against the metal fire escape.

“I’m Jim Dandy,” Adair snapped. “I’ve booked an episode on Oprah. ‘Gay Men No Man Wants and the Rockers Who Love Them.’”

“Oh, Adair—”

“No, don’t pity me, Margo. Just enjoy your trip with Mr. Hunkola, who is totally wasted on you.”

“Sorry, but he’d be wasted on you, too.” I pushed my plate away and rested my elbow on the table, nesting the phone against my ear, observing that, at least for the moment, Chris seemed to be keeping his lips to himself. Rolling my eyes, I realized I’d sunk to a new low to care what Chris was or wasn’t doing with his lips. But, dammit, my future was at stake. “Hey, I was wondering…Kat’s your best friend, isn’t she?”

“Every day but those six around midmonth when Aunt Flo visits. That girl is no one’s friend then.”

“I’m serious. If Oprah had a…a ‘Gay Men and Their Best Girlfriends’ show, would you take Kat?”

“Of course. Pre-mens notwithstanding, she’s my most loyal subject.”

But was Adair loyal? Was Chris?

“So, let’s say—hypothetically of course—that you meet the man of your dreams—”

“I met him,” Adair said with an audible pout. “He said he was straight. I called him a liar. He showed me pictures of his wife and kids. I told him he was in denial. He threatened to call the cops.”

“Adair.”

“Sorry. What was the question, love?”

“Say you meet the man of your dreams—”

“What does he look like?”

“Adair!”

“It matters.”

“You don’t even know what the question is, so how do you know it matters?”

“Looks are everything, babe.”

Geez. Maybe I’d called the wrong person.

“Forget—” I stopped when I caught sight of a blonde girl cheerleading Chris’s apparent victory at the billiard table. She planted a smack right on his mouth and he didn’t fight her off by any stretch of the imagination. I needed my question answered. “Adair. Focus. You meet the man of your dreams—and he looks like Adonis.”

“Yummy. Keep going.”

I snorted. “And you decide to become life partners. What would happen to Kat?”

“Why, she’d be my best woman when I stood up in front of God and everyone to get married. As soon as the no-gay-marriage law is overturned.”

I smiled at Adair’s romantic side. He’d probably carry a ribbon-festooned fan up the aisle to prevent sweat stains on the Armani suit he’d wear for his nuptials. But, I was more worried about what happened after the commitment.

“What if Mr. Perfect doesn’t like Kat?” I ventured. “What if he wants you to stop seeing her?”

There was a prolonged pause. “How hot did you say he was?”

“Adair!” I sat bolt upright in the vinyl booth seat. “What difference does that make? Kat’s your best friend. Would you dump her because a damned Adonis told you to?”

The rocking got faster, more agitated. “Everyone likes Kat. That wouldn’t happen. I’d just ban her from visiting during that time of the month.”

“But what if it did happen? Would you dump her just for another guy? Your
best
friend?”

“You know, Margo, this is not helping my depressive state.”

I sighed. It wasn’t helping mine, either. We chit-chatted a few minutes then I said goodbye, and went back to watching Chris play pool. Big mistake. It felt like watching my own death. The death of my position as Head Friend. I was being circled by the two vultures in the pool room, just waiting to get their hooks in Chris. We needed to get out of here before I went crazy.

“Hey, Chris, all done.” I waggled my phone at him as I entered the pool room. Everyone turned to look at me and I sensed hostility from the most recent participants in the Kiss Test.

“Give me a minute, Margo.” He bent down to line up another shot.

“Who’s that?” the blonde asked, never taking her beady little eyes from me.

“I’m his girlfriend.”

Chris choked and dug the pool cue into the felt-topped table, missing the ball entirely.

Rising slowly, he raised his eyebrows at me.

“Come on, darling. Time to go home.” With a wiggle of my fingers at the two now speechless vultures, I turned and headed toward the front door.

Chris caught up to me in the middle of the bar. “What the heck was that?” He was half laughing.

We stood at the counter to pay the cashier for our meal. “I was ready to leave, and I knew they wouldn’t let you go without a fight, either amongst themselves, or with me.”

“So you decided to lie.”

“I like to think of it as self-preservation. Neither of them is welcome in our hotel room once we find one.” I’m sure he assumed I meant preserving my physical health by not having to sleep in the bathtub. What I really meant was preservation of my status in Chris’s life.

I was being an idiot. Possessiveness wasn’t a quality I’d had with any of my boyfriends—well, except for Terrance. And that was just not wanting to share his body with another girl.

This was a nearly incapacitating fear of being edged out of Chris’s life. It was ridiculous. But it wasn’t going away.

Chris pushed the front door open for me and I stepped out.

“Shit! It’s pouring!”

We tore from the door of the bar to the topless Jeep. The sky opened up like I’d never seen. Unprotected, everything in the Jeep soaked up the water like a sponge. As fast as we could—which wasn’t fast enough—Chris and I replaced the top, zipped in all the windows, and dove into the front seat.

For a moment, we sat there panting like a couple of rats after a near drowning. Then we looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” I choked. “What do we do now?”

Chris ran a hand through his hair and then shook his head like a dog, flinging water everywhere, until I shrieked and covered my face. He started the engine. “Find a hotel?”

The roads were treacherously deep with water. It was only a matter of time before we hit a road block and had to detour off the highway. I wondered if they had flash floods in Arizona this time of year.

“Up ahead.” I finally saw something an hour into the detour and pointed through the curtain of rain. “That sign just said lodging is available at the next stop. Rebates Motel.”

Chris gritted his teeth and maneuvered through a particularly deep wash across the highway. Thank goodness we weren’t in some little sports car. We’d have floated away. It took another twenty minutes to spot the glow of neon lights, fighting their way through the downpour. The air conditioner in the Jeep was going full blast, in an attempt to cool down, since we couldn’t open the windows. The downside was that the blasting cold air was turning us into human popsicles in our wet clothing.