"Cripes. Mom! You scared the piss out of me. What happened to knocking?"
Wrinkled cheeks all flushed, it’s obvious my poor mother is shook. "Well, I heard you yelling. I was worried."
Entranced by the talking penis, she pulls dad's glasses from her bosom as she inches closer. "I've never seen anything quite like that."
"That's it. Show’s over.” I slam the laptop closed and turn to plead my case. “Please don't tell anyone about this, mom."
"Who am I going to tell? Besides, you know I'm like Fort Knox. Any secret you tell me, I'm taking to the pearly gates."
"No one, Mom. Not even Jesus," I beg.
4
Sunlight blazes through my bedroom window, and I wake thirsty. Eyes barely open, I stumble into my bushy-tailed mother in the kitchen.
She sings the same song every morning. "Good Morning, Lucy! Welcome to another beautiful day! Planning on running today?"
"Yes," I grumble. As far away as possible.
Surly as hell, I drink juice straight out of the carton. A big no-no in this house. It's like I'm actively trying to piss her off. It's not mom's fault she saw what she did. It's mine. I should've locked the frigging door. Now she's going to think that on top of the virgin thing, I've got some weird puppet fetish too.
Flitting to the cabinet, she produces a Smucker's juice glass. It's her way. If I veer off course, she tries her best to gently guide me in the right direction.
Once I start pouring as a civilized daughter would, her throat clears with a dainty cough. "Made you a present last night."
The hopeful gleam in her eye tells me she worked all night on it too. Reset. Clear the mechanism.
I smile big enough to make my ears hurt. "You did? Yum, I'll have a slice for breakfast."
Her face falls. "It's not baked goods. Remember, you said? No matter what. No more unnecessary carbs. I made you something. A Love Glove for protection. I was hoping you could test it on your run."
"Mom, where did you hear that phrase?"
Please tell me she didn't open a Glytter account of her own.
She swats the air. "Read it on the back of a box of condoms, I suspect."
What the hell?
"Stop making that face, Lucy. It's not that type of Love Glove. Go look. It's hanging in the hall closet. I'm so excited for you to see it. Hopefully it fits. Oh, and the rings go on the bottom." She blows into her teacup before taking a sip.
Rings? What fresh hell is this?
I'm afraid to find out.
The spectacle that awaits me boggles my mind. "Mom, why is our only shower curtain hanging in the coat closet? Does this have something to do with wearing your shower cap to the market? Are you that worried about germs?"
For a second, she's puzzled. "Oh, you mean… Oh, Lucy. I don't wear that for protection. I wear it to hide my roots! No one needs to know this blue hair isn't natural. Can't a woman have a few secrets?” Mighty proud of herself, she pulls the garment out with a flourish. All I can smell is Head and Shoulders.
“Now it did take some finagling, but I managed to get the whole design on the back. See? I know how much you love it."
She did include the entire picture. I'll give her that.
A majestic unicorn with flames shooting out of both ends gallops along a rainbow. Hanging on tight to its luxurious mane is a bad ass Rambo tabby cat. Clutched in one furry paw, the holy grail of pistols. Just two magical rapscallions fighting negativity wherever they go.
My version of seizing the day, it’s possibly the best shower curtain ever made. At least that's what the review from Wish said.
Now fashioned into what exactly? “Why’s it upside down?”
“I thought the rings on the bottom give it a little pizzazz, don’t ya think?”
“Super pizzazzy mom. Especially the way the cat will look like it’s falling out of my ass if I put this on.”
How do I put this delicately?
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll be back in an hour.”
That’s when she decides to play the mom card.
“But it took me most of the night, you know these eyes aren’t what they used to be.”
"Mom, thank you for putting in the time but you see just fine. Where are my shoes?”
“Over there, where you kicked them off yesterday. But Lucy, I worked all night.”
I sit down to tie my shoes. “And I love it. But not enough to jog around Central Park in it. I thought we decided against the advertising my virginity in the streets idea."
"Hush now. Won’t you at least try it on?” she begs in that put upon way of hers.
But I stand firm.
Until she starts blinking up at me behind dad’s old glasses. “For me?”
Absolutely pitiful. “I’ll never make it out of this house unless I do, will I?”
Lower lip trembling, she’s going for broke. Before the old lady tears start, I give in. “Fine.”
“Yeah!” Clapping her hands. What a faker.
“What in the world? There's even a zipper? How do you come up with these things?”
"Pinterest. I added my own touches of course. Made a little pocket for your mace and look! A hoodie, isn’t is so cute?”
That’s not the word I would use. Disaster is more like it.
Holding out the billowy sides, I ask. "Sure this isn’t a parka?"
“Be careful now. You're going to tangle the rings. No, the title of the post was very specific. Shower curtain raincoat.
Just in case a storm blew in during my juice, I turn to the window to fact check the forecast. Nope, still blazing hot. “Mom, just admit it. You’re trying to keep me a virgin forever.”
She stops straightening pleats to give me the stink-eye. "Hush now. In this house, we prefer celibate."
"I know. I'm the one who prefers it."
“Not for long. Wearing this, you’ll be deflowered in no time. Don’t you worry.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Why, Christian Dior even made one for a virtual runway. Which got me thinking. Why can’t Lucy be just as fashionable on all those dates she’s sure to get? There now look at that. Fits perfect!”
“Yeah, if it’s a one person tent. Why’s it so long?”
“Maximum protection against all that glitter that will soon be raining down on you."
"Not that kind of glitter, mom."
"I know." She wipes juice from the corner of my mouth and pulls the hood up.
“Eww. Is that soap scum?”
“It’s just a tiny bit on the outside. Best I could do on short notice. The sun kills everything anyhow."
Sensing my extreme hesitation, the truth comes out. “Well, it’s better than Saran Wrap isn’t it? You’re Welcome!”
There's a rap on the door, and we both jump. "Who the hell is that now?”
"I'm sure it's just maintenance. I called this morning after the bathroom flooded. Can you let him in, dear? I need to get my face on."
She scurries to hide in her room. Leaving me to explain.
“Stop right there. What flood?”
“Well, it’s hard to keep the water in the tub without a curtain, silly.”
There’s another knock. “Mom!” I hiss.
But she’s already locked her bedroom door.
Plastic shower rings slap against the back of my calves with every step. “How do you expect me to run in this? I can't even walk in it," I yell over my shoulder.
Trying to remember that patience is a virtue, I smooth down the layers and open the door.
Turns out today is the absolute worst day to be walking around wearing a shower curtain.
5
Of all the buildings, all over the big apple, turns out ours is the only one to employ furloughed Chippendale dancers.
The man leaning on the doorframe, is straight strip-o-gram sexy. Chocolate brown eyes that smile before his lips do. Nose slightly crooked like he might've boxed back in the day. Got a little of that five o'clock shadow happening and it’s not
even noon.
“Hi, Miss Hazel called about a leak?” That caramel-coated voice trails off when he gets a load of me.
Unfounded accusations flash across his chiseled face. No wonder there's a flood—damn shower curtain thief. Are the people in 301 crazy?
I’ve often wondered that myself. “What? You’ve never seen a raincoat before?”
Typical New Yorker, he comes right back. “Rain? It’s a hundred degrees outside.”
“You can wipe that shocked look off your face. My mother made me wear this.”
Before he calls the guys with the butterfly nets, the truth blurts out. I don’t care if I get stitches. I’m still snitching. “Just so you know, she’s the one that flooded the bathroom too. I’m sorry about that.”
The shower rings clack loudly as I attempt to pass. “Protection, my eye. I’m about to break my neck on the stairs,” I mutter.
"Ohhh. You must be Lucy. I’ve heard all about you," he says with a knowing grin.
I stop short. You know that shock that happens after you drag the soles of your feet over carpet? That’s the way it feels hearing my name on the sexy strangers lips. If we’d ever met. I would have remembered him. Taken aback, I’ve got to ask. “And you are?”
He holds up a laminated badge for me to inspect. "Building Maintenance. But you can call me Dex."
He reaches a hand across the threshold, before thinking better of it.
“Old habits.” He shrugs.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Dax. Sorry, but I haven’t heard a thing about you. Which is pretty surprising in this house.”
"Not really. I’m just filling in. Name’s Dex though. With an E. Okay if I come in?”
“Sure, seems like we need you.” I open the door wide enough so he can bring his tools in.
Head cocked to the side, he asks. "Now, why are we wearing a shower curtain again?"
Shit. I'd completely forgotten.
"My mother's idea of safety. Only I feel like the Stay Puft Marshmallow man intent on taking over the city."
"Good movie. But we can't have you terrorizing New York. I gotta ask though, there wasn't a hand towel available to make a belt?"
Which surprises the first genuine smile of the day out of me. "Wow you’re funny. I was just thinking that what this outfit needed was more accessories.”
“Couldn’t hurt. Listen, my pop does shit like this to me all the time too. Case in point?” Arms spread, he invites me to look at his snug fitting Dickie coveralls.
And I’m looking.
“On top of this? He expects me to wear a hazmat suit too. Doesn’t want me to catch a virus. In this heat, can you imagine?”
“Who you talking too? I’m going out in public wearing a shower curtain. Pretty sure I’ve got you beat.” So he gets the full affect, I twirl like a ballerina.
Whistling through his straight teeth, he’s clearly impressed. "Is that a cat riding bareback on a unicorn?
“Yes sir.”
Grinning, he throws his hands up. “You win. Might have something here to make you a belt.”
He bends to get that something out of his toolbox. The movement makes that shrinking outfit of his look painted on. I’m trying not to notice, but if he’s gonna just put it all there.
Wishing I had X-ray vision, my body tilts sideways as I take all of Dex in. Thick thighs flexing tight against the denim fabric. Steely little ass.
“Lucy, hello?” A roll of duct-tape is waved in front of my glassy eyes.
He’s waiting for an answer Lucy. Give it to him.
Flustered, I blow at a strand of loose hair. “I’m sorry, what was the question again?”
He smirks like he knows I was just checking out his ass. “Your waist size?”
“A little personal, don't you think? Might as well ask me how much I weigh."
He holds up both hands. “Not if you want a belt that fits? Okay if I get a measurement?”
I wave him over. "Measure away. You probably need to anyway. Pre-corona, when I was kickboxing everyday? I got down to a size twenty-nine waist. But that was before all mom’s home cooking and stress baking. She calls me her honorary taste tester.”
Does she? What the hell are you prattling on about? Sound just like Ma.
Good thing I’m shocked speechless when he snugs up close and slides his bare hands around my waist. Wow. The only way I’d be more astonished is if he picked me up and held me over his head. Like that Patrick Swayze movie. We could settle this virginity issue right now if he’d only slide those hands six feet lower.
“How’s that feel, Lucy?”
When he says my name, my thighs squeeze together.
“Great,” I murmur.
The plastic at my sides crinkles as his hands slide down to cup my hips. Never in my life have I had a belt that hung that low.
“Hmm,” is all he says.
Hmmm? What does that mean?
Dex steps away and rolls out a long piece of the tape. He uses his teeth to rip it off the roll. The whole time those silky sweet eyes are looking at me.
With a wink, he promises, “One custom belt for Lucy. Coming up.”
6
When? I could've macraméd a belt faster. Dex has put so much time in, I can’t walk out now. But I'm melting in this sauna suit and if he folds that tape one more time? "Seriously, it doesn't have to be perfect."
He holds up a hand. “Yes it does. Your mom went to a lot of trouble to keep you safe. I’m just doing my part.”
It’s hard to tell if he’s being serious or not. "No new cases in six months, all these precautions must seem pretty silly to you. But I’d gladly go jogging in Saran Wrap if it made my mom feel safe."
"No, I get it." Eyes twinkling, he nods. "Gotta keep our elders safe, I hear that. But I'm still stuck on the other part, the jogging in cellophane? What time does that happen and can I volunteer as your bodyguard?"
Did he just ask me on a date? Yeah but it’s Saran Wrap casual.
The longer he stares, the redder my face gets. "Don't worry. See this pocket right here? It’s for my mace. I'm going to see what's taking my mom so long. Excuse me."
No wonder mom's always calling Maintenance. The guy looks like a walking centerfold. I'm onto her.
Mom’s door is open, so I bang on the bathroom door. “Did you fall in old lady?”
“Lucy! Jeezus, I’ve been hollering for fifteen minutes. There’s no toilet paper in here. We’re out. That's what I was telling you yesterday, but you never listen. We should have went to Stop N Shop.”
I peek my head in. “Look behind you. There’s two extra rolls on top of the tank.”
“Well, a lot of good. How am I supposed to find it there?” she clucks.
“Hurry it up. Maintenance needs to get in here.”
I walk back in to find Dex testing the strength of the makeshift belt.
“All set,” he says and beckons me over.
His hands find my hips like he knows me. Tugging me close, he wraps the belt around my waist. Pulling the ends even, he crosses right over left.
After an impressive square knot, the belt really does pull it all together. Gives the outfit some shape. “Wow Dexx, I’m impressed.”
“You should see what I can do with Gorilla Glue.” He teases.
Mom comes around the corner in a fresh housecoat and that god-awful orange lipstick. Finally.
“Will you look at that Lucy! Just how I pictured it.”
“Thank you,” I whisper to Dex before sneaking out the door.
Was that guy flirting with me back there or am I crazy? I wonder as I push through the outer glass doors. When he asked to measure my waist, I expected a tape measure not his bare hands. Who does that?
You sure didn’t protest. Hell, no I didn’t, he was pretty good with his hands.
I hide a sly smile and push the crosswalk button. While I’m waiting on the light to change, I put my hands around my waist and squeeze as hard as I can. There’s no way I’m getting these thumbs
to touch. Dex has got some serious catcher mitts for hands.
Giggling to myself, I start jogging as soon as I get to the park. We are a pretty liberal city, but I still find it odd that no one gives the shower curtain rings hanging off the edge of my coat a second look.
Despite marinating in the heat, the thick, outer layer does make me feel protected. Against pollen, germs, even aliens. I’ll have to tell mom. She’ll get a kick out of that.
Pushing my limits, I kick into high gear on the way back. Sweaty and out of breath, I see Dex coming out of my apartment.
I raise a hand. “Finished?”
Deep in thought, Dex nods, but doesn’t look me in the eye.
Weren't you just flirting a second ago, what am I missing?
“Hey thanks again. The belt fix worked perfect. Didn’t trip once." I mime the running man dance.
But he doesn’t find me funny. All I get is an eyebrow raise as he skirts around me.
That’s when I get this weird moment of dread. He wasn’t flirting, cuckoo bird. The man was just doing his job.
I watch over the bannister until Dex is out of sight. Unfortunately, there’s no curiosity on his end. Downstairs, I hear a door slam. That’s when it hits me.
The look he gave me. Why he almost looked traumatized.
Oh, no. What did Mom do now? Broke something? Said something that rubbed him the wrong way. It’s highly likely.
I mean, she's old. Everything out of her mouth offends someone. I just brush it off as Americana offensive but to a stranger?
I'm responsible for her!
Imagining the worst, I rush through the door and find her, feet up. Dentures hanging out, dad's glasses all askew. Not a care in the world, napping on the living room couch.
Grateful, I collapse against the door and try to catch my breath.
That’s when I hear the icemaker dump ice in the freezer. The steady ticking of the grandfather clock. What I don’t hear are little nasal-horn Ma snores.
Please no. She’s not…
Scanning her chest for rise and fall, I creep close. Don’t want to give the old bird a heart attack, but she’s about to give me one. “Mom.” Voice stern, I kick the edge of the couch.
Love Glove Page 2