“Okay, well, I’m going to get going now.” Hank waved as he walked around his driver’s side. “I gotta go meet my, uh-” Pausing mid-sentence, Hank blinked and seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say, offering instead, “Erm, well, I gotta go.”
“Right.” I waved him off, smiling brightly. “Bye!”
Hopping into his car, he pulled out, and with a wave and shouted, “Be good! Take care of yourself, and have fun! Thanks again! Bye!” he sped off down the street.
The second he was out of ear shot, I groaned theatrically, gripping my hair as I turned and stomped up my walk. By this point my hair tie was gone and my thick curls looked like a dark, wild, lion’s mane snarled around my head. “Oh. My. God. I’m an idiot!” Yanking the security screen open and marching inside, I slammed the clanking hunk of soon to be metal scraps and locked it.
Shrieking through muffled lips, I squealed angrily, squawking like an angry cockatoo all the way to the kitchen. “Ooooh, that’s cool,” I muttered, mocking my stupid, airy attempt at Miss We-Can-So-Just-Be-Friends “Gah! I’m a fool! I should have just worshipped him from afar.” Slumping down onto the tiny single bar stool at my equally as tiny bar counter, I huffed, laying my cheek against the smooth, cold tiles. “Once, for just once I’d like to get the guy. He doesn’t even have to be a hottie. He can be older and kinda overly hairy and prematurely balding for all that I care and, hell, he could be hung like a spring roll so long as he knew how to use it and could treat me like a freaking lady, and I wouldn’t say shit!” I thought wildly, then groaned again. Was that so much to ask? Yes. It obviously was.
Gah, the things I’d just said, done! Noooo. “Kill me now,” I mumbled. “Somebody... just kill me now.”
The phone rang, pulling me from my self-recriminations, but I was loath to answer it. Reaching across the small turquoise tiled countertop when that chiming nuisance refused stop, I answered it with a grunt.
“Hola, Rosie! Que-”
“No,” I muttered a tad too harshly.
“Huh?”
“No,” I repeated, “and to whatever you had in mind, or anything else, doubly no.”
Joanie let out an impatient huff. “Pfft. You didn’t even know what I was-”
“No.”
“But I-”
“No.”
“Ugh! Rosalinda Consuela Ju-”
“No!”
“Fine! Be that way!” The line clicked, but then there was rustling, like she’d hit the wrong button, and then another click. Finally, the line went dead.
Closing my eyes, I hung up on my end, drumming my fingers on the countertop idly. “And three, two, one.” With gun fingers at the ready, I pointed them at the phone. “Pew, pew.” Lifting my finger guns to my lips, I blew imaginary smoke off the end of each.
Sure enough, a second later it rang.
Picking it back up, I spoke before she could. “Look, I know you’re my faux-cousin and all and you feel this insane urge to make me participate in this strange dance we call life, but I have no interest in going out to hook up with some random man I don’t know simply because you think it’s weird that I’m twenty six and still a virgin, okay? And, no, I am not going to run off and join a convent. I don’t care what your dad says, okay? He’s kind of a caca brain anyway, and you well know it. Plus, to top it all off, I finally grew the balls to ask the Hankness out and he basically turned me down flat. It may or may not have helped that I acted like a crazy woman as I did so, and that he may or may not have a girlfriend or something he’s going to meet up with as we speak but, you know, nuts to bananas, balls to the wall.” Reaching a hand out to do our childhood high five—with or without her present—as was customary with us—I gave my ass a small shimmy shake from my seat to kick my heel out.
“Well, my dear, I don’t know about nuts and balls on the wall, but I’m sorry to hear things didn’t work out with...” there was the unmistakable sound of someone muffling a laugh, “the Hankness.”
Almost dropping the phone, practically unseating my hefty rump from my barstool seat but catching myself at the last second, my head jerked up and I garbled out a squeak.
The woman on the other end of the line laughed as a dog let off a woof in the background. “I can see I’ve interrupted something but, don’t you worry, I won’t keep you long. This is Rosalinda, I presume? Hank’s neighbor?”
“You- I- Yer-esss?” I squeaked out, for lack of a better sound. Face flushing beet red, I pressed my cheek back against my counter, wishing more than ever my life was a corny science fiction flick and the dishwasher would mysteriously spring to life, lighting up like a Christmas tree, spouting demonic gibberish before sucking me in to gobble me up, spitting me out somewhere on the other side of some alternate universe.
“Hank gave us your number in case we needed to contact you. He said you wouldn’t mind. He also said he gave you ours?”
“I do- I don’t- I mean, yes,” I croaked, feeling rather froggy suddenly.
“We promised Hanky to come by later on our way into town and check on his iguana, Justin. I thought we might drop in and meet the young woman we’d be loaning our cabin out to. If it would be alright with you, of course?”
“I, uh, well...” Be assertive, Rosalinda. Be assertive! Be the tiger, not the fly. I don’t want to meet his auntie and uncle, and most especially not after that fecal mouth movement I’d just had on the woman, thinking she was Joanie!
“Rosalinda?”
At that expectant, motherly, authoritative tone—sweet but I mean business, missy—I buckled so fast it wasn’t even funny. “Uh, sure, heh-heh, I’m not leaving just yet. Why not.” I am so the fly.
No, I’m lower than a fly. Ugh, I’m a gnat.
As we hung up the phone fifteen minutes later, a laundry list of do’s and don’t’s I’d never dream of doing swimming through my brain, I glanced at my bags, all packed and ready to go, sitting neatly piled by the door, wondering when life was going to snub me out with its giant, metaphorical swatter. Would it be bright neon pink? Or electric and industrial sized? Would I see it coming? Or would it be by unconventional methods? This puny little fly would never know. Maybe Cujo could just step on me and put me out of my misery.
Picking the phone back up, I dialed and waited.
“Whatchoo want, fool, huh?”
Nope. Didn’t need this from her right now.
“Fake cousin or not,” I gritted out through clenched teeth, “I’m going to murder you, Joanie.” The one time she didn’t call back to have a bitch fit on me. The one time! I could slap her silly, the crazy woman, on principle alone!
Joanie didn’t miss a beat. “Geez! No need for death threats, girl. All dark and dangerous and shit! So dra-ma-tic!” There was more but it was muffled as a rustling sounded and the jingle of keys relayed across the line. More rustling and Joanie came back on. “I’ll be there in five, ‘kay? Mwah. Loves you, babes, bye.” There was the pop of gum and then the line clicked.
Staring at the phone, I sighed.
“Fudge my life.”
CHAPTER 2
“We’ll call you tomorrow to see how things are going,” Mrs. Rogers instructed, adjusting her shiny black purse on her shoulder.
Smoothing down her skirt as she stood, she straightened her shoulders and double checked her hair. It was still as immaculate as it had been when she first pulled up thirty minutes ago. Thirty very long and interrogation filled minutes ago.
Cujo, my ugly, one-eyed, scruffy doggy spirit twin, was barking his little head off at me from the backseat of their dark green, comfortable looking four door sedan, glaring at me through my front window from his claimed spot while the portable cooling fan plugged into their cigarette lighter blew the floppy top halves of his scruffy ears around.
Auntie and Uncle looked like they did alright for themselves, whatever it was they did—something about a furniture store or something… but I was honestly only half listening, I was so ready to go.
I couldn’t
imagine myself running a furniture store. Saleswoman, I was not—I probably wouldn’t be able to give the stuff away for free! Now, Auntie over there? She could talk me up and probably sell me a bedroom set I didn’t need, she was so effortless with the art of chatting. The woman was pushy but not in a mean way. She was a gentle guider, adamant—like the ridiculous list she’d thought up for me for her cabin—a strong but warm suggester, in a way I almost admired her for it.
A vicious yap-yap-yap drew me from my musings and I blinked, glancing off to my side. Just down the way was my nemesis, a tiny pocket pooch with a superiority complex. I shouldn’t feel that way about the little… uhm, fella, but there it was, and here I am, my eyes narrowing at a yippy furball that’d seen better days but was loved more than I was.
The windows of their nice ride were all partially rolled down so dear little Cujo could be comfortable, as well as be heard loud and clear from down the block. The Cuj-man was not happy.
Against my better judgement, I’d offered to let them bring the little hellion in, but they’d declined. Cujo has new people issues, apparently.
Anger slowly rising, right along with the heat enveloping my face, I was starting to resent Hank’s comparison, likening me to the demon hound, with a passion.
Mr. Rogers smiled at his wife, nothing but love for his feisty woman shining in his eyes, nodding at something she’d said, gently trying to usher his wife along. His hand at her back propelled her forward as she clasped my hand in hers.
Leaning in, Mrs. Rogers whispered, “And don’t you worry about waiting. Nothing wrong with letting Mr. Right come along. God knows there are too many Mr. Wrong’s out there.”
With a gentle pat she let go, leaving me gaping after her as she grinned and strode off, a generous pep to her step, her husband keeping pace behind her. The woman was all sweetness and sass, with a splash of sternness I envied, her tigerlady out and proud. I want to be Mrs. Rogers when I grow up, I thought to myself. The woman could rule the world, should she so wish it. Or sell everyone a dining set they might not even need.
“We have to be going, meeting with our daughter and grandchildren,” Mr. Roger’s explained, tossing his wife an impatient yet affectionate look. “I’m sure she can manage to look after a cabin that sits empty most of the year, Lourdes.”
“Of course she can,” Lourdes called over her shoulder, offering me a friendly wave and a quick grin. “I have every faith in her. Rosie’s a good girl. Our Hankie would’ve done good to nab her up. His loss, I say.”
Maybe she was a little too excited about the good girl thing, and maybe for a minute I was too flattered by the Hank’s loss thing to properly digest what she’d just said exactly but, honestly, it wasn’t like I was going to throw an orgy or anything and burn their place down. Good grief.
Hmm... Though maybe that said more about Hanky-panky pants and who he associated himself with than it did me.
And maybe I didn’t want to be a ‘good girl’. Maybe I wanted to buy a sparkling, gaudy glitter jacket, tight pants, and ten pounds of makeup and hit the slopes. I’d like to have had a chance at hitting his slope, that was for certain. Gah!
But I’m not, because I’m a good girl and no one wants to mess with a good girl. Nope, they want to trade her for their relatives’ cabin and then foist them on you when you least expected it, no warning, no nothing.
I’m going to die a virgin. I wouldn’t say die lonely ‘cause Joanie, and that crazy fool had every intention of moving in with me after her fourth or fifth marriage, I was pretty sure… but, yeah, I’d be dying an old, good girl of a maid.
Wishing more than anything I could crawl in a hole and die, I forced a smile and waved back, hysterical chuckles slipping past my lips as I contemplated melting into a puddle, right here and now, to become one with the lawn.
I could just see it now…
Little chubby virgin woman loses shit in front of her own home and turns to soupy goo. Neighbors all witness phenomenon as she becomes new alien/plant based life form.
Then:
Alien/plant based life form communicates through strange soap bubble/fart noises. Stay tuned.
Up next! The price of cherries has gone up ten cents!
“I would be outdone by cherries, wouldn’t I?” I muttered aloud. “I hate cherries.” Muttering under my breath as I shoved my hands into my pockets, I kicked up a loose clump of sod with the toe of my shoe. “Stupid... tangy... tart bastards.”
Joanie walked up the side of the drive from around back then, clip-clopping right up to me, clunky shoes and handmade themed chunky bangles and all. Stopping next to me, the hot pink What Would Ripley Do? And I Aim To Misbehave bracelets dangling off her right wrist clinking noisily as she tapped a plastic throwaway fork to her lip gloss smothered lips, she glanced around anxiously. “Did they leave?” she called in a loud whisper.
Grunting, I nodded, eyes darting towards the end of the street. “You can come out from the shadows, Elvira,” I grumbled churlishly, snickering at her choice of blood red lip stain today, a bit chuffy she’d left me to fend for myself with Hank’s unknown to me relatives.
Brightening, ignoring my fit of pique, Joanie swallowed the bite of food in her mouth and let out a short sigh. “It’s Vampress’ Delight, you whore. Don’t insult the lady of the night with such nonsense. Everyone knows she’d wear something brighter, deeper,” her voice lowered and she purred, “seductive.”
“Because you were going for a blood of thine enemy’s kind of thing today?” My eyebrows quirked questioningly, but the corners of my mouth kicked up and I bat my lashes at her.
Joanie, her needlessly fried from being repeatedly dyed, originally reddish brown hair—one of the few things she inherited from her absentee mother besides her sunburn-in-a-second skin and puggish nose—brushing her shoulders as she cocked her head, watching me in that shrewd, loving but judging way of hers, gave a firm nod. “Damn skippy.”
The cousin of my heart shoveled yet another bite into her mouth and I paused. One quick glance at her person and the shit in her hands and I gasped, pointing. “Hey, where did you get that?” Scowling, I scoffed angrily as I watched her stuff her rounded face, a familiar looking box of Tommy Takes Out in her hands. “That’s mine! A- You- Joanie!”
A huge chunk of my beef and broccoli wadded up in her generously freckled, lightly tanned left cheek, she grinned, opening her mouth wide to showcase her big old mouth full of already chewed up food. “Mwy bad. You wan’ tum?” Shifting the box, she acted like she was going to spit the wad in her hand in offering, but I waved her off.
“Freak, don’t you dare!”
Joanie shrugged, snorting. Those lips, thankfully, closed, and she finished her oversized bite. “‘Kay.” Then, humming the Tommy Takes Out jingle happily, hefted her fork and immediately shoveled in another heaping helping.
“Oh, you are just- Give it here! That was my lunch, you-” Cursing a blue streak under my breath, I huffed, storming over, and went to yank the fork from her food swindling hand.
“Ish mime, bwitch. Yoow smooze, you wooze.” Joanie’s eyes narrowed shrewdly and she let out a funny noise, her upper lip curling up unbecomingly.
When I ignored her warning and advanced, she had the audacity to growl at me from around her mouthful.
Too slow for her, she slapped my fingers hard enough to make me yelp, grunting at me in satisfaction when I jerked my digits back to clutch them to my chest.
“You are so darned mean.” Sweet as pie when she wanted to be, this wasn’t one of those wanted to be moments.
Glaring at her in a sulk, she ignored me and jerked the box back possessively.
Helping herself to another bite, glancing over at me through big brown eyes much darker than mine, she mumbled around a mouthful, “Whatever. You’re used to me.” With a half-shrug, she dismissed it all just like that.
“Mean. Just friggin’ nasty mean. Cousin of my heart, my ass. Should’ve ditched you years ago…”
“Mama Le
loves me. You love me.” Smirking, Joanie waved her fork at me. “Admit it.”
“I admit nothing.” Sniffing snootily, I scoffed, sending a well-earned eye roll her way. “And my auntie is a few cards short of a full deck, of course she loves you.”
“More than Pops,” Joanie admitted with a small grimace.
“Well, your dad’s kind of a dick, so…”
Joanie almost choked on her next bite. “Kinda?”
I shrugged half-heartedly. “I was being nice?”
Her response was a snort.
“Question,” she said into the silence that followed, the sound of her munching the only thing breaking the strange stretch of quiet.
“What?” Turning to her, I raised an eyebrow, my lips pursing to glower as her finger shot up.
Eyeing me curiously, she swallowed, taking her time in doing so, and ran her tongue along her teeth. Making a show of the whole thing, drawing it all out, she finally gave it up when my look turned blistering. Squashing a smirk, she nodded thoughtfully, asking, “Who’s a tart bastard?”
Blinking, a small snort escaped me and I shook my head. Who was, indeed, I thought, in a moment of reflection, eyeing her critically. “Oh… Joanie.” I sighed the words. “I’m taking this vacation. I am. And I may never come back from it.”
“Cool,” Joanie managed between chomping bites. “Can I have your couch and tv, then?”
˜˙˜*˜˙˜
Kicking her feet up on my coffee table, I raised my sneakered foot, tipping her outdated jelly platform’s toe. “Off.”
Joanie did as instructed, though it was with the utmost reluctance, rolling her eyes as she picked up the remote. Thick legs stretching out along the couch, Joanie wiggled her neon yellow tipped toes in her funky footwear. I chose to ignore it, preferring to pick my battles. She wants to dress like something straight outta an eighties wannabe and failing horribly music video, like a bad acid trip or something painted in rainbows, that was her deal. The outlet store by her house will surely thank her for her patronage, I could be assured.
Bride of Glass (Brides of the Hunt Book 2) Page 2