I Remember You

by Joyce Armor

  Ellie couldn’t remember feeling so optimistic romantically since, well, in practically forever. It wasn’t just Russell, although he and his cute butt were a big part of it. Thinking about him and Brian had sort of opened the floodgates, allowing her to think that maybe she wouldn’t have to live her life alone after all. And that was positively mind blowing. It reminded her of that song about free falling. Was she free falling toward love? Even if you’re just free falling toward sex, that’s good. Real good.

  “I just know this is going to work out. Your time is coming. I can feel it. Ooh, I can feel that, too, Rob.”

  “Okay, now I think I’m going to be sick. Hang up.”

  “But you’re still going to call those last two Brian Morgans I found when you get to Vegas, right? Promise me.”

  “Yes, Toni, I’ll call. Probably.”

  And she would. Probably. Unless things progressed really fast with Russell. But what if Brian was everything she remembered and more? What if he had matured past the I-would-rather-die-than-make-a-commitment stage? After all, he was almost five years older. Shouldn’t he be almost five years wiser? Of course, maybe he didn’t even live in Las Vegas anymore. Maybe he wasn’t still alive. There were so many variables. She had no business feeling optimistic about any of this. And yet…Fantasizing about two different men. What a slut.

  “Butt out.”

  “I’m just trying to help you.”

  She had to stop talking to Head Voice.

  “No, you’re fine. I was…um, referring to a driver who cut me off.”

  “Oh, okay. I can’t wait to hear all about the convention. This is your year, Ellie. I know it. And have a great road trip. Sounds like it could be interesting. Very interesting. Hey, you could stop along the way and have desert sex.”

  “Sadly, that doesn’t sound too bad at this point,” Ellie laughed. “Ta-ta.”

  Any sex, period, didn’t sound too bad. You are so pathetic. Didn’t she know it. But it didn’t hurt to dream, did it? Brian was always attractive, and for a guy who apparently made his living sitting on a piano bench, Russell looked surprisingly fit and sinewy. What a great word. Sinewy. She’d like to be molded to his sinewy body right now. She’d like to run her hands through his sinewy sinews. Stop it. Stop it right now.

  Moments later she pulled into the Full Court Press parking lot, where she was meeting up with the others to caravan to Las Vegas. Roger’s beat-up old beige VW van and Wesley’s blue Taurus—again not what Ellie would expect him to drive—he should be in a Batmobile or a Hummer or something—were backed up to the loading area as Roger, Bonnie, Wesley and Chantella carried boxed and bagged items to their vehicles. Ellie, wearing a yellow polka dot top with her fashionable, ass-grabbing shorts—and if she had been thinking of Russell as she tried to choose the right outfit, so what?—parked and strolled over to them.

  “What can I take?”

  “How about some boxes?” Bonnie suggested. If Ellie had to describe Bonnie to someone who had never met her, she would say she was the earth mother poster girl, pretty much always dressed casually in dirndl skirts or mommy jeans and a colorful blouse or shirt. Her red hair was typically out of control, although she tried to tame it most days by tying it back with a scarf or ribbon. To look at Bonnie’s round, open face, dotted with freckles, you might expect her to bake you a tin of muffins and iron your clothes, which she no doubt could do, but the woman was wickedly intelligent and intuitive. She was rather large, but in a curvaceous way, tough and ballsy and not a pushover by any means. She generally got her own way.

  “Glad to,” Ellie smiled and began stacking boxes before lifting one and carrying it to her truck. “Where’s Muskman?” she asked, hoping she sounded casual.

  “He’ll be here,” Roger promised. He was absolutely convinced he had chosen the right man for the role. Ellie felt awfully happy he’d chosen Russell, too.

  Every once in a while, like now, Ellie got this picture of Roger as a mad scientist, with his brilliant intellect melded with an almost innocent, slightly goofy mindset. Roger was smart, quirky and just an all-around good egg.

  As he helped Ellie load the boxes into her truck bed, a little green sports car screeched into the parking lot, spewing gravel. It wasn’t a Batmobile, but the Green Hornet would have liked it. As she watched in stunned awe, Russell and a petite blond—a very young, curvaceous thing—emerged from the car. The trunk opened, and he grabbed their bags and slammed the lid down. The duo approached the others as a guy drove the car away, sending gravel flying again. Ellie eyed the pair coolly.

  “Put them in the back,” she gestured toward the luggage.

  “Oh, everybody, this is Tiffy,” Russell said.

  Of course it is.

  “Hi!” The little bleach blond beamed. Ellie could see her pointy little nipples through her gauzy, skintight white shirt, which ended a couple of inches above her navel, where, good Lord, was that a gold waist bracelet, glistened in the sunlight. She was wearing blindingly red short shorts revealing beautiful, flawless actually, tanned legs and red sandals with three-inch fuck-me heels. Her toenails were painted fire-engine red. Ellie truly wanted to laugh. Or cry. She definitely wanted to change into more comfortable clothes for the long drive.

  Roger just gaped until Bonnie elbowed him, and then he mumbled a greeting. Bonnie and Ellie both also said hello. And then Wesley and Chantella greeted Tiffy as well. To his credit, Wesley didn’t seem to hardly notice the bombshell. Bless his little leather heart. Raised by a single mother who worked her tail off at a diner and cleaning houses on weekends, Wesley respected women and liked his edgy. Tiffy was the antithesis of edgy, all curvy and fluffy. Russell turned to Ellie.

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Oh, heavens no. Why should I mind?” Ellie said a little too quickly, as she tended to do when she was nervous or wanted to stick a fork in someone’s eye. You are such an idiot, a complete and utter dolt. And he is such a dog.

  Russell tossed the bags into the truck bed and turned back to Ellie. “I didn’t have you figured for a pickup.”

  “I’m not,” she said, and he grinned. A real dog.

  Roger took one last look around, then shut the warehouse overhead door and wiped his hands on his holey jeans. “We have to run some errands. If you still want to caravan, meet us at the Elm Street Foster Freeze at 9:15.”

  “We’ll be there,” Wesley said.

  “So will we,” Ellie chimed in.

  As Russell directed Tiffy toward Ellie’s truck, his hand on her flawless bare back, he stopped suddenly, slapping a palm on his forehead. “Oh, shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot.”

  They all looked at him.

  “I forgot the costume.”

  As if Ellie didn’t know what was on his smutty little mind to make him so forgetful. She gave him a disapproving look.

  He didn’t seem to notice, although he looked directly at her. “It’s at my mom’s house. It’s on the way.”

  “Sigh. I can see why you don’t want to wear it on the drive, but make sure you’re wearing the costume when you check into the hotel.” Roger opened his van door, then turned back to Russell. “You’re sure it looks like the real Muskman?”

  “As opposed to the fake Muskman?” Chantella asked, but no one responded.

  “Will do, boss. It’s a dead ringer.”

  “This is going to be so much fun!” Tiffy gushed, and Ellie wanted to leap off a cliff. Not to mention slap her silly. No desert sex for you, missy.

  Ten minutes later Ellie was sitting alone in her truck in Dee’s driveway, ready to make good on that leap. Impatiently drumming her fingers, which compared to Tiffy’s delicate little fingers, looked like fat sausages, on the steering wheel, she blew her bangs off her forehead, checked her cell phone for messages for the 90th time and finally hit the horn softly. Several moments later, Russell stuck his head out the front door.

  “Sorry, Tiffy had to pee and the doorknob fell off in her hand and trapped her in there. My mom c
ouldn’t find a screwdriver but she’s looking for a crochet hook. We’re going as fast as we can.”

  What could she say to that? Ellie lowered her head to the steering wheel and counted to 30, figuring she was about three times crazier than she had been a minute ago. Even as she counted, she knew she was reacting way out of proportion to the circumstances. So they were delayed and couldn’t caravan with the others. So what? It wasn’t the end of the world. She knew the way to Las Vegas. What was it about this guy that got under her skin and made her want to punch a clown?

  Russell watched Ellie’s mini meltdown in the truck and chuckled. He knew without a doubt he did the right thing bringing Tiffy along. Ellie was way too dangerous. He especially liked the way her eyes blazed as she tried to keep it together. Any moment now he expected to see smoke pouring out of her ears. Now that he had Tiffy as a buffer, this was shaping up to be a great trip.

  Ellie looked up to see Russell smiling. Smiling. Just get it over with. Throw a rock at him.

  Just then Tiffy breezed past him out the door.

  “Why don’t you put the outfit on now?” Ellie suggested. “It’ll save time later.”

  “Too hot,” Russell said.

  Tiffy turned around. “Ooh, I bet it is hot,” she cooed in a tone so dripping with sexual innuendo that it had Ellie rolling her eyes. This was going to be a loooooong trip.

  As Tiffy climbed into the truck, most likely giving Russell a great view of her buoyant little buns, which couldn’t possibly totally fit into those skimpy shorts, Ellie’s cell phone rang. Russell headed toward the pickup, without the costume, then suddenly turned and dashed back toward the house.

  “Hi, Bonnie,” Ellie said, trying not to sound as frustrated as she felt. “Sorry, we got hung up. No, you go ahead. Yeah, I’m sure. Will do, thanks.”

  Russell came out of the house again, this time carrying the costume on a hanger, covered in plastic. Dee followed him out. They hugged warmly on the stoop, and Dee waved at Ellie, who waved back. In spite of herself, against her darn will, Ellie found a tiny little part of her admiring Russell. Any man who loved his mother couldn’t be all bad. Hitler probably loved his mother. He placed the costume in the truck bed, laid a bag on top of it and then jumped into the truck. He was still trying to get his seatbelt fastened when Ellie backed out of the driveway and gunned it.

  They had barely started out before Tiffy, comfortably established in the middle position, picked up her oversize purple and red purse from the floor and began digging through it. “Do you like Ne-Yo?” she said to no one in particular. Without waiting for an answer, she popped a DVD in and cranked up the sound. As Ellie drove and Ne-Yo serenaded them, Tiffy yammered on. And on.

  “I thought about going to cosmetology school, but then I thought, hashtag, I’d rather go into business or catering or something.”

  “Don’t you have to finish high school first?” Ellie asked innocently.

  Russell chuckled. Yes, this was shaping up to be the best road trip ever.

  “Hashtag, I’m twenty-one,” Tiffy said, not affronted but as if Ellie should have somehow known.

  Mercifully, at last, Tiffy fell asleep, the Ne-Yo DVD ended and Ellie reveled in the glorious peace, which lasted all of five minutes before Russell began to sing.

  Does your shoe have a boy inside?

  What a funny place for a boy to hide,

  Does your shoe have a dog there too?

  A boy and dog and a foot in a shoe.

  Well the boy is Buster Brown

  And the dog is Tige his friend.

  It’s really just a picture,

  But it’s fun to play pretend…

  Chapter 5

  Ellie had obviously done something very, very bad in a previous life to be tortured so in this life. Every mile they drove, she had to keep telling herself, was one less mile she would be in this freak show. Even cranking up the air conditioning as high as it would go couldn’t drown out the sound.

  Two hundred miles into the 450-mile trip, Ellie pulled off the interstate and followed directions to a gas station. She was pumping gas when Tiffy walked out of the mini-mart with her hands full of purchases. As she climbed back into the truck, Russell approached Ellie and handed her 20 bucks.

  “Here.”

  “Uh…thanks.”

  “You don’t have to sound so stunned. I’m not a leech.”

  “Never said you were.” A dog, maybe. A rat. A weasel, for sure.

  He smiled. “Want me to drive for a while?”

  She was tired. “That would be great.” Then she looked at him suspiciously. “You have a license, right?”

  The road trip resumed, with Russell driving and Tiffy eating little marshmallows, studying each one thoughtfully before she popped it into her mouth. As Ellie tried to block this image out so it wouldn’t haunt her for the rest of her life and get a little sleep, Russell’s singing grated. It wasn’t his voice, which, she had to admit, was quite good. It was his bizarre—and oh-so-irritating—song choices.

  …Never forward, never bold,

  Not too hot and not too cold,

  But the very thing, I'm told,

  That in your arms you'd like to hold!

  Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!

  Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!

  Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!

  Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay!

  For the love of God.

  Later, as Ellie and Russell sat in the truck at a rest stop, mercifully not talking, singing or drumming fingers, Tiffy came out of the restroom area and headed toward them. Suddenly, she stopped and stomped her foot several times. Ellie and Russell looked at each other. Then Tiffy sat down and very methodically unstrapped her shoe, took it off and shook it several times. Then she blew on it repeatedly. Ellie looked at Russell again and he shrugged. A few moments later, Tiffy, all put back together again, came bouncing back to the truck.

  Hashtag, an itch is sometimes worse than a big hurt.”

  “From the mouths of babes,” Ellie said under her breath, and Russell chuckled.

  Awhile later, Tiffy was asleep on Russell’s shoulder as he drove and Ellie watched the scenery. This wasn’t the road trip her impossibly romantic…Another word for stupid?...mind had envisioned, but it could have been worse, she supposed. Tiffy could have been awake the whole time. She smiled to herself at that horrifying thought. Then she studied Russell for a moment. He really was the kind of guy who attracted her, a guy who looked like a guy and not a man. It had nothing to do with age; it was the difference between an approachable, friendly fellow and a…a…a Gawayne. But even that wasn’t quite right. There were plenty of men who were fine men but just not the kind of men who turned her on.

  When he wasn’t watching the road, Russell kept looking at her.

  “What?”

  She hoped he hadn’t seen that dreamy look in her eyes.

  “You had a strange look in your eyes.”

  Argghhh.

  She cleared her throat and pointed out that he was supposed to be watching the road. He grinned, that annoying melt-your-heart kind of grin that made her organ temperatures rise. He was a player, all right.

  “Did you grow up in Bella Casa?” she asked. Good one. Way to cover.

  “Yeah, my dad had an appliance store on Main Street for 41 years. I can take a refrigerator apart in 12 minutes.”

  He looked a little sad reminiscing, which affected her more than it should. To save him any more pain, she switched gears.

  “It’s a great town, not too small, not too big.”

  How long have you lived there?”

  “Almost five years.” She took a sip of her bottled water. “Still, it’s not a very big town. How come I’ve never run into you?” Not that she would remember him. Hah!

  “Didn’t you buy any appliances in five years?”

  She had to think about that. “I bought a toaster…”

  “I spent most of the last seven and a half years on the road. Just moved back here a few weeks ago.” He mentione
d regular gigs at Em’s Hideaway, a local speakeasy on the other side of town and voiceovers that kept him busy. He asked her what had brought her to Bella Casa and she gave him the sanitized version, about vacationing there as a child and always wanting to go back. He had a way of looking at her that was innocent and discerning at the same time. It was disconcerting.

  She was about to mention that very fact when Tiffy made a little squeaky sound and nuzzled in closer to Russell. God, she was even attractive in her sleep. It wasn’t fair.

  “Why’d you take this job?”

  “Are you kidding? I grew up with Muskman, even though the early issues came out long before my time. He was so funny and so cool. This’ll be great. I can’t wait.”

  Do men ever really grow up? Of course not.

  Tiffy sighed.

  Yes, naturally. Even her sighs sound sexy.

  It was all Ellie could do not to come out with one of her own unsexy sighs. Instead, she mentioned to Russell that Tiffy sure seemed to sleep a lot.

  Russell glanced at the young girl attached to him like she had suction cups down her side. “Yeah, she’s pretty much a night person. She’s never been to Las Vegas. She’s excited.”

  “I’ll bet.” She hesitated, then decided to yank his chain. “She seems a little…I don’t know…crazy.”

  She didn’t know why she wanted to get a rise out of him, but he didn’t take the bait.

  “All women are crazy,” he agreed, nodding.

  She looked at him, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, really?”

  “Oh, yeah. Guys just have to figure out if it’s the good crazy or the bad crazy.”

  She shook her head but had to admit to herself, there was probably some truth in that. She wouldn’t tell him that, though. Crazy didn’t mean dangerous, just a little bit, or a lot, off. But the same no doubt applied to men. Sadly, she had met far too many of the “bad crazy” types in the last few years. Sometimes she felt like she had a sign on her forehead: Normal Loving Men Need Not Apply. For the zillionth time, she asked herself, what’s so bad about being alone? Half the laundry, she could eat whatever and whenever she wanted, she owned the remote control, her bed was comfortable and roomy. No one to care when you walk in the door, no one to do the heavy lifting, no one to rub your back. No one to rub your…