by Kate Stewart
Theo: How’s it going?
Laney: Working.
Theo: Coffee Shop?
Laney: No, Bingo.
Theo: You run bingo?
Laney: This should impress you. It’s one of only three jobs I haven’t been fired from.
Theo: Color me impressed.
Laney: For a whopping $50 a week. I get to yell out the alphabet to the fine senior folk of Polk. Sad part is I scare most of them who nap between letters. Yep, the letter O just scared Mrs. Morgan into wetting her Depends. It’s a rough job, but it pays for my gas.
Theo: I won’t keep you.
Laney: I’m good. What’s up?
Theo: There’s a hero party tonight.
Laney: ?
Theo: It’s like a pre-Halloween party where you dress as your personal hero. I wasn’t going to go, but I thought maybe if you had nothing better to do, we could go together.
Laney: Let’s do it. We can shake the dust off from being the only two people who didn’t attend the bonfire. I know just what to wear!
Theo: I’m too afraid to ask. Pick you up at nine?
Laney: You dressing up as a cowboy?
Theo: Dream on.
Laney: You could totally pull it off.
Theo: Sorry to disappoint, but no cowboy exists in me.
Laney: Fine. See you then.
Ten minutes after nine, I hear a knock on my door and open it, leaning against the frame in a sultry pose. “Well, Helluurrrr.”
Theo immediately bursts out laughing when he takes in my curly gray wig, oversized glasses, layered pearls, flowered muumuu, athletic socks, and sliders.
“Good evening, Mrs. Doubtfire.”
“Oh my God,” I chuff in aggravation. “I’m so disappointed in you, Houseman.”
It’s then I fully drink him in and tonight…Houseman looks hot, like h-a-w-t hot. He’s dressed in a black T-shirt, a tweed jacket that’s flipped up at the collar, a kilt, and his Converse high tops. All his hair is gelled up and sticking out in all directions, the rest frames his face. He scrapes his palm down his smooth jaw, and that’s when it strikes me. His beard is gone.
“Do I look weird without it?”
“Not at all. Who are you supposed to be anyway?”
“Angus Mohr, well a member of Angus Mohr. They’re a Scottish-Irish rock band. I couldn’t think of anything else, and I had this in my closet, so I made it work.”
“You just so happened to have a kilt lying around?”
He lifts his chin. “Most real men do.”
“That’s my explanation?”
“That’s the one you get.”
“You get more mysterious by the minute, Houseman, but I’m feeling it.” I give him another thorough once-over. “You’ve got some pretty hot legs.”
His mouth lifts into a lopsided grin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I nod honestly, studying his thick-toned calves while trying to shake off the daze of seeing him in this state. He helps me slide on an old ratty robe before we step outside into the chilly night.
“I’ll give you another chance to guess,” I say under the light of the porch, pulling a loaded black squirt gun from my purse and holding it sideways to his temple in a kill shot. Tilting my head, I widen crazy eyes. “Say one more wort, fool. One. More. Wort, and I’m going back to jail.”
He chuckles. “No clue.”
“Tha Lort is testing me. Madea, man, Madea!”
“Oh yeah.” He nods. “I get it now.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re trying to bullshit a bullshitter.”
“Fine, you look nothing like Madea. First of all, you’re white with female bone structure. No one is going to get it.”
I swallow and try again. “Helllurrrr.”
“Yeah, sorry, no one will guess.”
“You underestimate me.”
“You don’t think this is a little politically incorrect?” he asks as I shut my door and lock it.
“I can have a cross-dressing, gender-bending, hero of color if I want to. And she goes by my moral compass, which is pleasant until pissed.”
He chuckles. “If you say so.”
“Just drive the car, Houseman.”
Theo turns the ignition and bagpipes blare from the speakers.
“You call this noise music?” I shriek, covering my ears.
“Spoken like a true old lady!” Grinning, he turns it up, and I groan.
“You need to expand your tastes, Laney.”
“I have King George. I assure you I’m in good hands.”
“King George?”
“Good God, man, do you know nothing of country? George Strait.”
“Uh huh. Well, listen to this one, you should appreciate it.”
He shuffles the music, hits the gas, and we’re off. After a few seconds of the song, I look over at him and shrug.
“Not horrible, I guess.”
“That’s because I’m betting it’s familiar. Wait for it.” He lifts a finger.
“Oh, he’s singing Johnny Cash!”
I start rocking out to the Irish version of “Ring of Fire” nodding my head enthusiastically with the tempo which makes my wig bob ridiculously fast on top of my head. Theo glances over at me and bursts out laughing.
“What?”
Smirking, he shakes his head, sizing up my costume. “You’re crazy.”
“Just a word to the wise. To any woman, crazy can be the best of compliments or the worst of insults. Be careful how you deliver that word to a woman.”
“Thanks for the advice.”
“Anytime, my friend.”
I’m not sure why, but the mix of humor and curiosity in his eyes makes my heart skip a beat. I love that look. It’s endearing and blankets me in warmth. It’s the kind of look that tells the recipient they think you’re worth getting to know. To me, this look is always the first sign that something’s brewing.
Do I want something brewing with Theo?
He’s the first guy I’ve befriended in a very long line of penis mishaps. The friendship is already important to me, and I don’t want to ruin it. While he’s not my typical type, I find myself strangely drawn to him the more time we spend together.
“What?” He asks, sensing my stare as he navigates us away from my drive.
“Just getting used to you beardless.”
“Shit, I knew it was too much.”
“Not at all, I like it a lot. But why’d you shave it?”
“Starting a new one for Movember.”
“Ah. So, this is kinda like aerating the dirt.”
He chuckles. “Guess so.”
“Well, I like it either way. Not that my opinion matters.”
“I could use all the help I can get.”
“Ah. Trying to get lucky tonight?”
“Always.” He gives me a slow wink. His confession doesn’t sit well, but if he’s making statements like that, then maybe he’s not interested in more than friendship with me.
“Well, if you do get lucky, don’t let me get in your way.”
He draws his brows. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I’ll call an Uber to get home if need be. Don’t let me slow you down, okay?”
“Yeah, sure,” he says, glancing at the GPS on the dash guiding us to the party.
We’re silent the rest of the way which Theo fills with a playlist of the strangest music I’ve ever heard. Russian and French rap, more Irish rock, and a side of EMO. Ears ringing when we pull up, I retrieve my flask from my purse and start to tip it back just as Theo puts a hand on the bottle to stop me.
“You don’t need it.”
“I mean, it’s a party. We’re not going to be sober in half an hour anyway. You know?”
“I do. But you need to know you don’t have to medicate. You’re tougher than you think.”
He’s so sincere, I can’t help but to try and believe him.
“Just my icebreaker, but yeah, fine.” I screw the cap on and pull a tobacco rolled cigarette fr
om my purse as he lifts a brow.
“It’s not a real joint. It’s just a prop.”
“And it does not help your cause at all. Now you’ll look like Mrs. Doubtfire smoking a joint.”
An hour later, we’re both feeling a bit warm and fuzzy as we circle the party avoiding clouds of weed. This shindig is being hosted by not one, but two large neighboring houses that have joined backyards. Several fire pits warm us all while scantily-dressed fairies walk around passing out shots. It’s clear this party’s been orchestrated by a group of campus professionals. Theo and I are both impressed.
I study the fire pit we’re standing at as we warm our hands. “I’m totally going to do this at home.”
“What?”
“Look.” I kick at the bag. “All they did to build the pit was to soak the concrete bags in the package, stack them in this cool pattern, and paint over them. Boom. Fire pit. And it looks legit.”
Theo inspects the bags. “Pretty smart.”
“Bet they got the idea off Pinterest. I’m going to build one for me and Momma. We love a good fire.”
“I’ll help you.”
“I can handle it.”
He frowns and starts to speak when his name is called from a few feet away.
“Houseman!” A guy approaches in a similar kilt toting his girlfriend behind him. She’s a cute blonde who’s dressed in old school running shorts, a Sun Drop T-shirt, and red headband.
“Oh my God, I love it! Sun Drop girl!” The guy lifts his hands and starts beatboxing Snoop Dogg’s “Drop It Like It’s Hot” as she starts to awkwardly white girl break-it down.
“That’s awesome,” I declare through my laughter as she executes a horrible version of the worm. “I wish I’d thought of it.”
“Thanks,” she says with a grin.
“Okay, Houseman, I’m calling bullshit on two guys who just so happen to have kilts lying around the house.”
“Gotta keep the mystery alive,” Theo says just as the girl goes to speak up. “Zach, Lindsey, this is Laney.”
“Helllluuurrr!” I say energetically looking at them both with hope for recognition.
“Mrs. Doubtfire!” They say in unison as Theo looks over at me with raised ‘I told you so’ brows and I drop my head in defeat.
“Not Mrs. Doubtfire?” Zach says with a chuckle. “Then, who?”
“Don’t you dare tell them,” I threaten Theo. “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to guess.”
They both shake their heads.
“No idea.”
“Not a clue.”
“It will come to you,” I assure them.
They both shrug, well, Lindsey more like shudders rubbing her arms against the cool night air.
Zach pulls her close to him. “Cold, baby?”
“A little, I should have thought the shorts through.”
“Why don’t you and I go grab a beer and then huddle by the fire,” I suggest to Lindsey. “You can warm up, and Zach here can play wingman for a bit.”
Theo turns to me with palpable concern. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Hush, I’m in need of some woman talk anyway. I’m going to try and unravel some of your mystery. You go on and try to find some Irish luck.”
I grab Lindsey and start to walk away, peeking over my shoulder to see Zach talking while Theo keeps his eyes trained on me. I wave him away and mouth. ‘Go.’
“Y’all aren’t together?” Lindsey asks when we’re a safe distance away.
“We’re just friends. And I’ve been monopolizing his time lately, so I feel guilty. What’s with the kilts?”
“Zach’s in a band, and they used them last St. Patty’s day.”
“Theo’s in a band, band?”
“He subs for the other guys sometimes.”
She rubs her hands together as we near a fire. “How long have you two known each other?”
“Just a few weeks,” I say.
“You sure there’s nothing there?”
“We have, like, nothing in common.”
“That can be fun.”
“I love hanging out with him, but I’m kind of on the wagon with men.”
“I hear you girl, until Zach, I was in the no penis zone too.”
“Game changer, huh?”
“Most definitely. Three years and counting.”
“Wow. Good for you.”
Lindsey shivers again, and I pull off my robe. She accepts it gratefully.
“This was a stupid idea,” she says shivering as she wraps it around her. “I figured the beer buzz would kill the cold. But at this point, I’m pretty sure I could saw wood with my nipples. It was eighty degrees yesterday!”
I pull the flask from the pocket of the robe. “Gotta love Texas. Work on this to warm you up for now. I’ll be right back with beer.”
Scanning the expansive yard, I manage to find a keg line and take my place surveying the heroes surrounding me. When we all step forward, Austin Powers looks back at me, perusing my costume with a question in his eyes.
“Helluuuurr,” I say, nailing it.
“Ah, Mrs. Doubtfire.”
“No, man. That’s Helluuuuu. I said Helluuuuurrrr.”
“Uh, okay baby. Sounded the same.”
“Yeah, well, your accent sucks.”
A faint chuckle rumbles behind me as I step up in line when it’s my turn. “Two please,” I squeak as a guy in a Trump mask starts pouring while I shake my ass a little to the music pumping from the house.
The same throaty chuckle sounds again when I dip my hips a little in celebration and grab the offered two Solo cups full of foam. Goosebumps rise on my neck as I look over my shoulder and behind me stands…Batman, in the most realistic party costume imaginable. He looks like he stepped straight off the set of the movie. And front and center of that bat mask shines sparkling blue eyes. Beneath the perfect rubber nose, thick lips.
“Nope,” I say, sidestepping him.
“Nope?” He repeats, eyes widening. “Hey, I know you.”
“No, you don’t,” I say, scrambling for my senses.
He stops me with a hand on my arm. “And now I know you remember me.”
“Wrong again. Haven’t been spelunking lately.”
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
“You should stop that.”
He chuckles. “Who are you here with?”
“A date.”
“Tired of him yet?”
“It’s a she for the moment.” FUCK YOU ALL TO HELL, GINA!
“Even better.”
I lift my nose in an attempt to keep my glasses from sliding off as he lifts a gloved finger to help me, slowly pushing them back in place. In thanks, I give him the hairy eyeball. “Of course, you would say that.”
“I just meant, I’m glad it’s not a guy.”
“Well, I’m here with one of those too.”
Take that, Gina!
“At least let me get your number.”
I scour his costume, it’s incredible. No man has ever looked better in thick gray tights. The bulge between those two muscular thighs is enough to make my mouth water. The Lort is testing me in a big, big, bat way.
I look up to the sky. “Why? I’ve been so good. I’ve been going to church. I only showed up tipsy that one time.”
A deep chuckle sounds out, drawing my attention back to my nemesis.
“Maybe it’s His intention we get together.”
“Don’t use the Lort as an excuse for your agenda.”
“I would love to take you out.”
“Yeah,” I say, lifting a beer and draining half of it, eyebrow cocked before I let out a harsh exhale. “And show me a good time?”
“Exactly.”
“Best fifteen minutes of my life?”
“Ah,” he says, his bat cape catching in the wind as he extends to his full height, chest out, voice gravelly when he speaks. “I have a much better hang time than that, I promise. But I was thinking of something more along the lines
of dinner and a movie. A proper date.”
Gina bursts to the front of the line, waving a white flag.
“You don’t want to buy me dinner.”
“Well, I can see by your costume you’re more into old man river or some shit, but maybe I can try and remedy that.”
“I’ve dated quite a few of you, and I promise you I’m not bat-ting a thousand. Pun intended.”
“Cute. But I really would like to take you out.”
I summon my inner Madea. “Look, boy, the only number you’re about to need is Nine. Onet. Onet. You got dat? I know it’s hard to comprehend.”
He chuckles. “Are you Madea?”
Why Lort? Why must he be the only one to get it?
He leans in, the smell of his cologne magnifying my loss of brain cells.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
“That wig and those glasses can’t disguise how beautiful you are.”
I jerk back. “Flattery will get me pregnant. I’m seventy years old. Do you really want that? I’m well past the men-da-pause.”
He throws his head back with a laugh. “Come on, beautiful, just give me your name.”
“Ma to the damn d-e-a. Madearrrr and I don’t date batmens no mo, you heard me?”
He towers over me, his masculinity blinding. It’s all I can do to keep from clutching my pearls when he speaks again, his voice low. “Silky dark hair, legs for days, shiny perfect kissable lips, I remember you well, Ms. Nope.”
“That’s right, it’s Ms. Nope, as in no-pe-nis.” Thick lips and a blinding smile render me speechless as he shakes his Bat head. “Now, run off to ya cave and leave an old woman alone.”
“Just one date?”
“Lort no, I’ve outgrown you! Now I really mus-be going.”
“You’re breaking my heart.”
“There you are,” Lindsey says scouring Batman from head to foot, her eyes widening a little when they meet mine. “And I can see what’s keeping you.” I thrust the beer her way to shut her up, and it sloshes over my hand before she takes it.
“Mr. Dark Knight was just on his way to fight some injustices.”
“The only injustice here is you not giving me a chance to take you out.”
I’ve reached my limit. “Take your cave dwelling firm ass on!”
He lets out a long breath and leans in again as I stand on shaky legs. “I’m not giving up. I’m going to find you.”
“Good luck with that, I’m no longer on your radar.”