“Please tell me you did more than that,” Evie said.
“Oh totally. You wouldn’t believe what I did.”
And, of course, they wouldn’t. What moron would bed a man and not close the deal? A Catholic, that’s who!
“He had a spectacular penis. And equally large wrinkles.”
Evie looked horrified.
“Face wrinkles, not down there for God’s sake.”
We laughed so hard. Especially when I told them about the vertigo thing. Life was good.
***
On my way back to the city Sunday night, I passed out on the Jitney until I received a belligerent call from Crazy Molly who interrupted a sensuous dream sequence where Buff Boy and I “penetrated” more than just temples. I tried to follow Jitney law and not answer, but she kept calling.
“Samantha, how can you be so incompetent? You left for the weekend without watering Lisbeth,” she said.
“Sorry, Molly, I thought for sure I took care of that right after I sorted and filed two years’ worth of client documents.”
“Well clearly you didn’t, and now her petals are wilted and she’s dead! I hold you responsible for her death. You’re on notice. You’ll have this on your conscience for the rest of your life.”
She didn’t bother to thank me for covering the office for an entire week during her absence. Nor did she apologize for all of the deranged calls she made to me in the middle of the night and early morning. Despite her above-average intellect, she couldn’t manage to figure out the time difference between Europe and New York. Instead, all of my efforts went unrecognized because I forgot to water a flipping plant. Well, flip her! I hung up. Unprofessional, yes, but she ruined a perfectly good fantasy that surely would have ended with Buff Boy and I getting married on a beachside cliff in Capri.
On Monday, I arrived at the office with my happy pants on. My strategy for averting a Molly meltdown.
“How oblivious could you be? I left explicit watering instructions. It’s impossible to understand how anybody can be so insensitive to my needs, and then you don’t even bother to bring a replacement plant. Didn’t your mother teach you anything about manners?” Believe me, we tried. She’s hopeless.
Christ, how had I forgotten to pick up a stupid flower? This mishap would brand me a looser in Molly’s eyes forever and likely result in a pay cut.
“If you respected me and the tranquil office environment I’ve tried to create, you would have never made such a horrid mistake. Do you even care about this job?”
I was once a highly successful business professional making an imprint on the social media stratosphere. Now I fielded tirades from a bi-polar bitch-on-wheels. I must have missed “plant keeper” in my job description.
The only person more freaked out this morning than Molly was our new intern, Sally, who was getting a crash course on home-office politics. I discovered her hiding in the back bedroom sitting on Molly’s treasured cow print ottoman. I quietly suggested she sit elsewhere or risk getting fired. Even the chair looked sacred. I’m sure Sally also missed the fine print warning in the Craigslist ad about a ranting loon of a boss.
“Just so you know, she’s not always this crazy. She just…” I whispered so manic Molly wouldn’t hear us.
Before I had a chance to elaborate, Molly stood in the entryway of the bedroom carrying the dead lily in her hand, with a pair of scissors. She glared at me and then started to weep.
“Thanks to you, I’m off to my shrink to get some help in mourning the loss of Lisbeth.”
Crackpot.
I tried to console Sally while explaining her areas of responsibility. Obviously, I started with the plant procedures. Clearly, I needed a backup in that department.
On her way out, Molly threatened my job one more time. Maybe I should go to a shrink to get to the bottom of why I keep engaging in toxic relationships.
To console myself, I took a moment to daydream about how good Buff Boy might have been in the sack if I’d been given the chance to boink him.
I prayed that three hours with a therapist would help Molly quell her anger. When she bounded into the office carrying two enormous fresh fruit and wine baskets, I thanked God for finally answering one of my goddamned prayers.
Molly stepped up her game. Usually, she followed up tongue-lashings with a miniature bouquet of flowers. I guess a pocket full of posies would have been bad form considering Lisbeth’s passing.
“Sammy, I want to hear all about your weekend! Every last detail.”
Sure thing, whack job.
I indulged her with the high and lowlights of my night with Buff Boy, in an attempt to avoid another outburst. The sad thing about Crazy Molly was that when she wasn’t in the midst of losing it, she was actually fun to be around. Her dating chronicles were legendary; she’d dated many high-profile types back in her day. Even back then, men liked the crazy ones. Maybe I had a chance after all.
“Sammy, don’t get sucked into the game he’s playing. If a woman is good enough to put out for a man, she deserves more than friendship. That’s just common sense. She has none. Once you agree to friendship with benefits, there’s no turning back. Keep that in mind before you sleep with this man.”
As much as I wanted to begrudge her, crazy or not, she had a point. It all came down to self-worth. I should try to get me some of that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I powered through the doldrums of my weekdays, and lived for the weekends and my return to the Hamptons, bent on conquering my “fling-filled summer” mission.
August was bonus month, so we got the house for two weekends in a row. Evie had been schooling me on how to make the most of the occasion with Buff Boy. Even though I knew we were going to be just friends, I was anxious to see how we would navigate our first post-hookup encounter.
Shannon and I spent Friday afternoon primping for happy hour. I borrowed Evie’s plunging purple sundress to optimize my figure, and I drew a larger lip line around my own to make my mouth look lush and seductive, just like the July issue of Glamour demonstrated. The way I saw it, the plumper they looked, the more likely that Buff Boy would want to scrap friendship for smooching, and hopefully sex.
We decided on Cyril’s despite the trek because, according to Evie, it was otherwise known as the sure-to-score spot. She offered some flirting tips such as walking with equal parts sex and innocence, which I planned to test out.
We took a taxi to the bar so that we could drink as much as we wanted. I got a head start by using the flask my father bought me for Christmas—right before he disowned me, again.
I allowed myself a swig of vanilla vodka when we arrived, and at Shannon’s urging, I took one more for good luck, and one for my mother. Evie tugged the V-neck portion of my dress down just a bit further so that my breasts appeared open and available. I didn’t bother fighting her—I felt tingly and free.
We bounced out of the car and into the bar where we were greeted by a scrumptious looking bartender.
“Hey, baby, I love your shorts! Can I get two peach mojitos, and a pinch of you on the side?” I said, winking.
A gnat flew into my eye—a moment spoiler yes, but it was August on the East Coast.
Mr. Suave didn’t seem to catch my flirt, so I moved on to the next barman. He looked like Zac Efron, washboard abs and all. I licked my lips in an attempt to suck him under my spell, until I saw a sun-drenched Buff Boy sidle up to the other end of the bar. He wore pressed dusty brown surf shorts and no shirt. It looked like he lubed up his pecs with baby oil, flesh fashion at its best. My nearsightedness came in handy, because from afar he looked years younger.
I played coy the entire night, making tipsy chit-chat with the girls, never bothering to wave at him. I did glance over in a sexy way every few minutes though. It was all “friendly.” Shannon was not nearly as covert. With each slurp of her mojito, she dispensed love advice.
“It has to come from them, if it is ever going to cum at all,” she gurgled.
&nb
sp; She sounded like a saucy version of my mother, except Shannon rooted for sex and my mother against. The more they drank, the more they repeated their sentiments.
Shannon got a pardon because she was right. As long as the man made the move, you were in a safe zone. But when women start making sexual advances, you risked rocking the dating continuum.
As I reflected on her mantra, Buff Boy snuck up behind me and pressed his toned body to mine as he covered my eyes with his big sweaty hands. I could tell it was him by his scent. He smelled like sex, or maybe that was wishful thinking.
“Hey, babe.”
I didn’t want to be the one to point this out, but his behavior was nothing close to “friendly.” His gentle breath on my neck gave every one of my vertebrae the chills.
I remained unfazed on the outside until I accidentally grazed his lips with mine. Good God, what was I doing? I tried to undo it by forcing my cheek his way instead. Cruel, given I had puffed up my lips with Philosophy Red-Hot Cinnamon lip gloss to taunt him, but barely gave him a chance to taste it.
An uncomfortable few minutes of silence ensued. Evie ditched us for an investment banker who had complimented her on her financial speak as he unapologetically stared at her boobies. She was annoyed with me for the kiss, but I got back on course when I left Buff Boy standing alone with my gloss splattered across his face.
Shannon moved down to the other end of the bar with me, which still left us in eyeshot of him, but just barely. My spot at the bar served great views of the fire-bomb sun that set before us. It reminded me that some love was just too explosive to last. Likely the case between Buff Boy and me; we were just too hedonistic for our own good.
Shannon babbled about letting him come to me until I finally cut her off. Playing hard to get exhausted me, and I needed to step away from the bar before I did something more stupid than the accidental lip graze. We left without saying goodbye to Buff, which was exactly how I wanted to leave things—laced with sexual tension.
The next day, Shannon, Evie, and I headed straight to the beach to sweat off our hangover—a routine that was becoming standard practice for us. I tried to curb my Buff Boy fantasies with wine coolers. When that failed, I conjured up excuses for bailing on the evening’s stupid family dinner. Convening with all of our housemates for a meal of overcooked pasta and boxed wine did not sound like the best way to actualize a romantic future. The group dinners reminded me of home-for-the-holidays gatherings, minus the passing of expletives along with the potatoes. The real problem was the Mansion dinners left little time for mingling with eligible men.
“Summer is almost over; we have done our time with these meaningless gatherings,” I announced. “We need some real company. Preferably company that kisses back.”
“Well, you’ve got a point. I don’t think we committed to group dinners when we joined the house. We’ve hit our quota and then some,” Shannon said.
“Samantha, you have yourself to blame. That public display with Buff Boy set the girls’ bitchery in motion. We need to make amends. We need to have a presence,” Evie said.
I was sure her topless sunbathing played no role in their annoyance. The women had grown to hate us, but the men loved us. Well, they loved Evie’s tits. Between the boobs and her hip-length sateen-black hair, she was package enough for all of us.
“All right, but as soon as the campfire karaoke starts, we are gone, promise?” I said.
There had to be sex somewhere in this God-forsaken beach town, and I was running out of time to find it—the summer was almost over. Your priorities are once again out of alignment, dear.
“Here’s the plan. As soon as we finish eating that sickeningly sweet peach cobbler, Shannon will announce she has a work function to go to, and she can only bring a couple of us,” Evie said. “That’s our way out. Deal?”
The heat eased off with the sunset, and we made our way back home to get ready. We soldiered through supper and even sucked down some cobbler. Shannon dropped our exit line and we peeled out. But not before a roundtable guilt session about our early departure, ending things on an identical note as church and every one of my childhood family meals.
***
On the ride from Sag Harbor to South Hampton, for what we hoped would be a killer party, I downed two shots of tequila—to hell with my self-imposed rules. Sometimes you have to just go for it.
Evie parked the car and commanded, “I want everyone to enter the party oozing sex with every step.”
I wasn’t sure how to make that happen, but I did feel like I was floating. We entered the gargantuan home of some guy named Cass, whose pad trumped ours in every way, starting with gaggles of eligible guys and ending with a plush mauve carpet. I tried to sashay as Evie had demonstrated earlier but it turned into more of a stumble, which caused me to just barely moon someone. Damn Evie and her fashion sense. A micro mini with a thong was not sexy, just stupid. I scooped up my sensible wedge sandal, which had fallen off during my tumble. While I was down there, I noticed a familiar buff ankle. As I tried to conjure up a sultry way to get off the ground, I saw an unfamiliar bronzed foot adorned with a tacky diamond anklet. The owner of said toes, painted electric blue, rubbed up against Buff Boy’s.
Was it possible that he offered her the same “friendship” deal? She was probably smart enough to know better than to accept it. Given the Barbie wannabe looks and skanky toe ring, I surmised she was just as stupid as me.
I played things coy yet friendly as I got up off the floor and smoothed my skirt back down to a respectable place. I should have followed my inner voice and worn boy briefs. What was I thinking? You weren’t, like usual.
I descended from sexy to sloppy when I attempted to squish myself between Buff and Barbie. The fact that I stepped on her perfectly pedicured toe in the process was a bonus. I couldn’t be held accountable for my God-given klutziness. This time it worked to my advantage as the maneuver sent her whimpering to the bathroom.
“Hey, what do you sex like party night later?” fell out of my mouth before I had a chance to form a coherent sentence.
After a few more failed attempts at speaking, I opted for silence with a sassy wink. It was hard to ascertain how I ended up on the floor again. Had Buff pushed me or did I merely fall off his lap? Either way, he didn’t bother to help me up.
Shannon barreled around the corner, motioning for me to come over and talk to her. Wait a minute, what was she doing with Fritz? The lipstick evidence smeared all over her face became my answer. How did she score slippage before me?
“We’re leaving,” she said.
“Give me a minute. I’m talking here. Can’t you see that?” I said.
“Yeah, Sam, you ought to head out,” Buff Boy chimed in.
He wasn’t fooling anybody. I’m on to his hard-to-get routine, it’s hot. He certainly played it hard, all right. He completely ignored me. I pulled myself up, winked at him again, and followed Shannon out of the party.
I panted over my shoulder, to seduce him from afar.
“Sam, hurry up, Fritz is giving us a lift since none of us can drive,” Evie said. “And you’re making an ass out of yourself.”
This coming from the same girl who went topless at the beach.
***
I must have passed out because I had no recollection of how I got back home. I had faint memories of declining a ride with Evie and Shannon and forcing myself into Buff Boy’s car. Perhaps that was why I was riding in the backseat.
He brought the car to a stop, but kept it running as he hopped out of the car to open my door.
“What are you doing?” I said, pulling the door shut. He reopened it. He was a feisty little stud.
“I’m dropping you off.”
He must be running low on protein again, hence the terse words.
“I thought we were hanging out tonight.”
“Not sure what gave you that idea, but I’m going to bed,” he said.
Again with the attitude. Somebody had clearly gotten up on t
he wrong side of the ocean this morning.
“You need protein, you sexy bad boy, bow, wow, wow.”
Tequila made me an excellent seductress. His pecs glistened at me. You gotta love the fact that shirtless was acceptable attire in the Hamptons, even at night. Maybe when he got a glimpse at my hot pink thong he would rescind our “friends” deal for the night. Perhaps Evie did know what the hell she was talking about.
He answered my mating call with a grunt.
“I’ll give you some of Sammy’s special body protein,” I said, and then winked.
I got back into his car after he ushered me out. This time, I sat in the front seat. Cosmo said that men like “take charge” women.
“How about we head back to your place for a starlit swim?”
“Whatever waxes your surfboard, babe.”
Wow, he was really working me.
Since I refused to get out of the car he drove over to his place. He turned me on with his silent ploy. The Jeep came to an abrupt stop and he got out and walked toward his house. Does this mean he wants me to chase him? Ha! The cat and mouse bit, a classic move on his part.
I stumbled out of the car. Despite what Vogue says, wedge shoes are not a sensible footwear choice for summertime. I followed him to the pool where his brother and the rest of the entourage were hanging out.
“See ya, Sam,” he called out as he slammed the front door shut.
Running out on someone you’re hoping to make love to, seemed like odd behavior, but who was I to judge?
I waved to the other fellas and followed Buff’s scent into the house like a bawdy hound in heat. Elle magazine said men liked their women primal, so I barked at his bedroom door. I hoped I was at the right room because everything looked the same in the dark. I jiggled the knob. Not sure why his door was locked, not totally inviting.
“I’m feeling easy, Buff. Open up, you sexy beast. I’m ready to rub more than just temples this time.”
The Dating Bender Page 16