The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series)

by Tami Anthony

  “It’s nothing, really,” I say nervously. “Just a little project I came up with.”

  “Don’t be shy, Les,” Karen tells me. “Discovering all the secrets of men and uncovering the dating experience is good. You could write a book in the future with all of your findings.”

  Eric smirks. “If you wanted to know about men, then why didn’t you just ask me?”

  “Well, for starters, you’re not the type of man that I would ever have a relationship with,” I tell him. “In fact, you’re the type of man that doesn’t have relationships. You just sleep with girls then dump them afterward. Why would I want to research that?”

  Eric playfully gasps at my comment. “Whoa, I’m offended,” he says. “I have feelings.”

  “Eric, you think with your penis,” Karen says blatantly.

  “That might be true, but about eighty percent of men in the world think with their penises,” Eric tells her. “Maybe that should be part of your research.”

  “No,” I say. “I’m convinced that there is more to men than just sex, food, sports, and video games.”

  “Are you sure about that?” Eric asks me. Well, come to think of it, I don’t really know. Am I sure?

  “Well, we’re calling the second guy right now,” Karen says as she rises from the table and sprints into the living room. I jump up from my seat to follow her.

  “This is a bad idea,” I say as she rummages around the living room for my purse. “I will call him later,” I tell her, “on my own time.”

  “Where’s your purse?” Karen says as she searches about the room. I spot it on the fireplace and say nothing. I need to convince her that this is a bad idea. How in the world can I convince her?

  She freezes as she spots my purse. She looks at me then smiles. “There it is,” she says as we both run toward the fireplace, me jumping over the couch in the process. We grab the purse at the same time and stare at each other.

  “Let go,” I say sternly.

  “No,” she replies with a mischievous, demonic look on her face. “Leslee, this is a good idea.”

  “No, it’s not,” I argue. “I’m not gonna call a man and ask for a date in front of you!” I snap.

  “We can guide you through the conversation,” she tells me as she snatches the purse out of my grasp. “Look, you have two very intelligent men in the dining room who can tell you what to say. You’re confused about men, and you have men to help you … and me, of course.” I sigh. I guess in a sense she is right. If I blurt out the wrong thing, then they could help me get the conversation back on track. I finally decide to give in.

  “OK. I’ll do it,” I say. It’s not as if I had a choice in the matter. Peer pressure is such a bitch.

  “Great!” Karen exclaims as she skips back into the dining room and I follow her. She opens up my purse and dumps the contents on the table. She rummages through my things and picks up my cell phone and a small piece of paper.

  “Brian,” she says aloud. “Nice name.”

  “For a douchebag,” Eric mutters under his breath and I ignore him. Karen dials Brian’s number on my phone then places it on the table.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “Speakerphone,” she says, smiling. I panic.

  “No, no speakerphone,” I tell her. “Can’t I just—”

  “Shh!” she says. “It’s ringing.” Oh, shit! I think to myself. If the Scrabble game wasn’t humiliating enough, my night is only getting worse. Please don’t pick up the phone, please don’t pick up the phone …

  “Hello?” a woman answers angrily. I can feel the sweat forming underneath my arms and on my forehead.

  “Hi,” I say cheerfully hoping she doesn’t detect any nervousness. “Is Brian available?”

  “Who the hell is this?” she asks in a tone where I know that this woman could potentially kick my ass. I gulp.

  “Um, this is Leslee,” I say. “I met him after the speed dating event a few days ago.”

  “Speed dating?” she asks. “What the fuck?!” she yells into the phone. I look at Eric and he motions for me to keep talking.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry, but are you his secretary?”

  “Secretary?!” she exclaims. “Bitch, I’m his wife!”

  “Uh oh,” Karen says as she turns away from the phone.

  “Hang up the phone, Leslee!” Russ whispers. “Hang up the phone!”

  “I, um …” I begin to stutter. I don’t know what to do. She sounds like a woman scorned. I genuinely feel bad for her. Eric’s right. Brian is a douchebag name and Brian is an actual douchebag.

  “Look, bitch,” the woman yells from the phone, “I’m sick of you disgusting little tramps trying to hit on my husband!”

  “Well, actually he hit on me,” I say which ultimately adds fuel to the fire. “I meant flirting, not actual hitting. I’m sure your husband isn’t a violent person per say.”

  “Fuck you, you dirty whore!” she snaps. “When I find you, and I will find you, I’m gonna beat the living shit out of—” I end the call. I look at my friends’ blank faces and they have nothing to say.

  “So I guess I can officially say that Brian is unavailable,” I announce. “Therefore, I won’t be pursuing him.”

  Karen nods blankly. “Yeah,” she says. “So, I’ll be getting that tiramisu out of the fridge,” she tells everyone as she walks quickly toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll help you with that,” Eric says as he and Russ follow her.

  So, I’ve learned a few important things from this experiment. For one, I’ll never let my friends invade my own personal experiments (and my personal business for that matter), and two: tiramisu might be the choice dessert for mistresses who don’t even ask to be mistresses like me. My hypothesis for tonight: Never date a man named Brian, even if he claims that he is single.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  I can’t sleep. It is physically and mentally impossible for me to sleep right now. Despite Karen and Russ’ hardcore “love making” (the moaning, the groaning, the occasional slap of the whip, etc.), I still can’t get that phone call out of my mind. I’ve been tossing and turning in my bed for three hours and I can’t get any sleep. It’s like I’ve been living this dating nightmare of weird and unavailable men. Yeah, I know I’m being a little overdramatic considering I’ve only been on one official date since I’ve been back, but still. My little project is becoming a bust, slowly but surely.

  I look at my alarm clock on my night stand. 3:13 a.m. At this rate, I’ll never get any sleep. I feel the wall adjacent to Karen and Russ’ room shaking. What the hell are they doing in there and do I really even want to know?

  “OH!” I hear Karen moan loudly followed by one of Russ’ infamous grunts. The last thing that I want to hear are people having sex, especially if I’m not getting any. It’s been four long months since I’ve had sex and I’m beginning to think that my metaphoric libido well is drying up. I don’t even have a toy to play with!

  “Do me harder!” I hear Karen scream through the wall followed by an obvious slapping sound. I just … can’t. I can’t listen to this anymore. I’m becoming jealous, envious, and quite frankly, annoyed. There has to be something on television that I can watch, some sort of late night, pointless shenanigan like Jimmy Fallon or Conan O’Brien or something. Anything is more entertaining at this point than hearing sex through walls.

  I quietly pull myself out of my bed and tiptoe myself out of my room and downstairs into the kitchen. You can’t watch crappy TV without having crappy food, can you? No, of course not! And since the leftover tiramisu is calling my name, I can’t help but to pull it out of the refrigerator, get myself a plate, cut a big ol’ piece, and pig out. Since I’m not having sex, I will eat to get pleasure, even though in the long run, it may not be the best strategy. If I eat food every time I’m horny, I’ll gain about 50 pounds by the end of the year which brings me to an enlightening conclusion. I don’t need food or crappy television. I NEED SEX! But of course, sex
seems so far away from me. How can I have sex if I can’t even find a decent man?

  SMASH! I hear the sound of broken glass coming from outside. CLUNK, CLUNK, SMASH! I place my fork on the counter in mid-bite, tiramisu sitting on my tongue. What in this crazy world could that be? I mean, I know it’s Philadelphia, but really? Why are things so incredibly strange in this city? Of course, I’ve heard worse things in New York, but maybe I’d just accepted it as the norm? Who knows?

  I swallow my dessert nervously, barely tasting any of it. The clunking noise continues from the street as I walk slowly through the darkness of the living room and carefully to the front door. I can hear the lightness of steps behind me, and I freeze. I take a deep breath and reach for the lamp next to me. I pick it up and turn around swiftly ready to attack.

  “What the hell are you doing?!” Karen snaps at me as I hold the lamp in front of her. “It’s just me!”

  “I didn’t know who it was!” I exclaim while I try to catch my breath. “I thought someone broke into the house.”

  “No, dumbass!” she says. “I heard noises from the outside.”

  “Me too! I don’t know what it is.” I can’t turn on the light because, well, I’m still holding it in my hands. The only thing that I can see is the glare of Karen’s shiny latex cat suit. I just shake my head. So, THAT’S what she was doing in there!

  CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK! We both freeze, scared of what we might find. Karen pushes me against the door. “You go first,” she whispers and I shake my head.

  “Are you crazy?!” I snap. “I’m not going out there by myself.”

  “You have the lamp to protect you!”

  “It doesn’t mean that I want to die today,” I reply, then sigh. “Fine. We’ll both go out together.” I slowly open the door to peek my head out and Karen does the same. My mouth drops. Not to my surprise (considering how my life has been going lately), I observe a short, overweight, middle-aged woman in a hairnet with a bat going completely Babe Ruth on my vehicle. “Is that my car the woman is hitting?”

  “Oh, shit. Yeah, it is,” Karen smirks as she opens the door. She pushes me on the front step and I begin to shake. The woman pauses from hitting my car, glares at my existence, and begins to charge toward me like a bull in heat.

  “You whore!” she screams with a baseball bat in her hand. “I’m gonna kill you!” Oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD! I think to myself. I’m going to die, all by the hands of this psychotic, obese woman that I don’t even know. I pull Karen out in front of me and she begins to scream.

  “She’s going to kill me!” I yell frantic and scared. “She’s going to kill me!” Karen puts out her hands trying to stop the woman from attacking me.

  “Whoa, little slugger!” Karen says as the woman stops mere feet away from us.

  “It’s you, you whore!” the woman yells. “You’re the one sleeping with my husband!” At this moment, it hits me. It’s the woman from the phone! I can remember that annoying, raspy voice from anywhere.

  “I’m not sleeping with your husband, I swear!” I tell her as I clutch onto Karen’s arms for dear life.

  “You lying little bitch!” she yells. “I told you I’d track you down. My brother works for the FBI and he told me exactly where you were!” She lifts up her arm with the bat as Karen and I stumble backwards.

  “No, no, no!” Karen says, trying to calm the woman down. “My friend did not sleep with your husband.”

  “Why should I believe you?” she asks. “Look at the way you’re dressed. You’re probably both whores.” I gasp at the woman’s insult, and Karen tries to elbow me.

  “I didn’t sleep with him!” I ramble. “I met him at a speed dating event. He said he was single. If I knew he was married, I wouldn’t even have talked to him.” The woman pauses for a second and thinks.

  “Speed dating, huh?” she asks.

  “Yes, yes!” I exclaim. “Now if you could please put the bat down!”

  “Please, lady. My friend is telling the truth,” Karen says as she pulls me next to her. “She did not sleep with him.”

  “Really?” she asks her and Karen nods her head.

  “Yes, really,” Karen says and I nod my head frantically. “Look, my friend couldn’t have had sex with your husband. She hasn’t had sex in four months.” I put my hands on my hips and glare at Karen. She did not have to air out my business like that.

  “Thank you, Karen, for just putting my lack of sexual intercourse out there in the open.”

  Karen smiles. “You’re welcome,” she says and turns back to the woman. “My friend had no relations with your husband. Besides, you should be angry with your husband if he’s cheating on you, not the other woman.”

  “Yeah,” I say nodding. “I agree.” Please get this crazy woman away from me! I deserve to live!

  Karen puts her arm around the woman’s shoulders and begins to walk her to the curb. “This is what you should do. You should go home right now, get in bed with your husband as if nothing’s wrong, then in the morning while he’s at work, you go out and you find yourself the best damn divorce lawyer that you can find, and then you take him for all he’s worth. Alimony, child support, everything you can, OK?”

  The woman begins to sob as Karen talks to her. “I can’t believe I let this go on for so long,” she says through her hurtful tears. “How could I be so stupid?”

  “No, you’re not … stupid,” Karen tells her and I tend to disagree. “You are a very smart and beautiful woman who was just put in a bad situation, that’s all. So, you go home right now with your baseball bat, have a nice cup of tea, and you divorce his ass, OK A-Rod?”

  “OK,” she sobs.

  “Great,” Karen responds as the woman hugs her tightly. Karen turns beet red from the lack of oxygen. She finally releases Karen.

  “You’re so nice,” the woman says to Karen.

  “Yes, I know,” Karen responds. “Well, you have a good night, and we’ll take care of the car situation, okay?”

  “OK,” the woman says as she starts to walk away. “I’m sorry about your car,” she says to me.

  I shrug. “It’s fine,” I say, waving. I’m just happy to have my life and not be hit over the head with a baseball bat. “It was nice meeting you!” I yell after her as she walks off into the night. Karen turns to me and smiles.

  “See, no harm done,” she says. “All is well in the world.”

  “No harm done?!” I snap. “Look at what that crazy bitch did to my car!”

  “She was a woman scorned,” Karen says as I throw up my hands in frustration. “Her husband’s a douche … obviously. At least she didn’t attack you. That’d be another unnecessary hospital visit on your part.” I can’t fathom why my luck is so bad. Did I do something horrible in a past life and karma is getting back at me now? How do these shitty things happen to me and only me?

  I look Karen up and down, from the cat suit to the pointy stilettos and her long, jet black wig. “And what the hell are you wearing?” I ask her.

  “It’s Dominatrix Thursday,” she replies, smiling.

  “Oh, nice,” I say sarcastically.

  “Hey, just because you’re not having sex doesn’t mean you get to judge,” Karen says and I roll my eyes. “I have a very fulfilling, and healthy sex life …” Karen’s words drift off as her eyes move toward the neighbor’s house. I see an awkward looking figure jogging down the steps in an undershirt and boxers. “Is that … Mike?” Karen asks and I nod. “Did he just come from Shrek’s house?” she asks and I nod again. She shakes her head in disgrace. “This night is just getting weirder and weirder.” We turn around toward the front door and see Russ standing there in his tighty whities with tape over his mouth and his hands handcuffed in the back.

  “Weird, indeed,” I say hoping that this visual of Russ isn’t real but I know I can’t escape it. “Weird, indeed.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Two shots of Patron should do the trick … no, maybe three. Anything to get my mind off of
it. Anything to get my mind off of the simple fact that last week that I was almost killed by a deranged, psychotic housewife, and also how my poor, innocent feet were completely violated by this podiatry-obsessed freak who wanted to do nothing more than stare, lick, and suck on my toes. There’s nothing wrong with fetishes, you know, as long as the other party is into whatever fetish you may have whether it be a foot fetish or an elbow fetish, whatever. I’m just not the type of girl who gets aroused by shoving my size nines into someone’s face for sexual pleasure. Nope, not me, and probably will never be me. So, tonight I’m going to a bar, wearing heels … toes completely covered. No more foot fiascos for me, and no attacks from crazy, delusional wives (hopefully).

  Once again I’ve recruited Annie to be my single woman partner in crime. She’s my wing-woman. At first she said no and used her daughter as an excuse: “I have to spend quality time with Brianna.” Blah, blah, blah. But, once I told her that I’d pay for her drinks, no limit, she couldn’t get rid of her daughter any sooner: “I’ll drop her off at her grandparents’ house.” And that was that. I got my wing-woman back … her and an unexpected non-single recruit.

  “Karen, why are you coming with us?” I ask my already engaged friend. She knows there’s a task at hand here by going to the bar. Annie and I, well mostly me, are on a mission to find Mr. Right whereas Karen has already found him in Russ. “And why in the world are you wearing that ridiculous wig?” She decided to go blonde tonight, a very fake looking blonde. She looks exactly like an overgrown Lil’ Kim wax figure of some sort: tall, long stringy hair, way too much eye shadow, and a lacy, low-cut shirt showing just about ALL of her assets. She’s no competition for me though, the normal looking folk. I decided on a navy blue sleeveless shirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and a pair of fierce black stilettos. I’m keeping it casual, yet sexy at the same time.

  “This will be my time to shine!” says Karen smiling as she drives.

  “Shine like what, an amateur runway drag queen?!” I ask. “Please, Karen, take off that awful wig. You don’t need it.”

  “I don’t think you understand the premise of all this,” she begins to explain. “This is my one night to act like I’m single again.”