The Nerd Who Loved Me

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  "That he was." Suz accepted the gin and tonic Leo handed her. "Thanks, Leo. You're a peach."

  Leo distributed mixed drinks ranging from margaritas to White Russians. Lainie could tell that this kind of gathering happened all the time, and that Leo had mem­orized the favorite drinks of each club member. He was a peach, just as Suz had said. Rona was a lucky woman, Lainie thought a little wistfully. And Harry was lucky, too, having all these adopted aunties.

  "Lainie, sure you don't want something to drink?" Leo asked. "It's not like you'll be driving, and you've had a rough night."

  "No, thanks, Leo." She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Depending on how things worked out, she'd like to stay friends with Rona and Leo, both for Dexter's sake and for hers. A relationship with Harry wasn't re­quired for that.

  "I brought the red wig," said a woman with finger­nails painted maroon with silver lightning bolts on each nail. She pulled it out of her shopping bag and laid it on the table in the alcove.

  Lainie remembered that the red-wig person was Cherie.

  "Here's my blond one," said Suz.

  Bags began to crinkle as all the women pulled wigs out and laid them on the table.

  Then Cherie started laughing. "It looks like a fancy hamster convention on that table. Rona, go get your camera."

  "We should take a picture of all of them lying on the table, and then another one of all of us wearing them," said Suz.

  "And then switch!" said the snug-pants woman, the one Lainie had pegged as Babs. That meant the blonde with the rhinestone earrings was Trixie.

  Rona clapped her hands together. "Girls, girls. We're not here to party. We need to get these two on their way. Cherie, if you'll make a fresh pot of coffee, I'll take Lainie upstairs and get her outfitted and packed."

  "What's Harry doing for clothes?" Leo asked.

  "Oh, I don't really need clothes," Harry said. When that was met with shrieks of laughter, he turned the color of a stoplight. "What I mean is—"

  "I keep a small stash of things upstairs," Leo said qui­etly. "Take them. You should at least have clean undies and a couple of shirts."

  "I'll pack you a bag, Harry," Rona said. "Come on, Lainie. Let's get you upstairs and out of that raincoat."

  "I was meaning to ask about the raincoat," said Cherie. "Lainie, are you wearing your costume under there?"

  "Umm, yes."

  "Oh, well, we have to see it! Professional curiosity, right, girls?"

  Lainie had no choice but to open her coat.

  "Ooh-la-la," Trixie said. "Take the coat off so we can see the whole thing. Damn, there's nothing like red, you know?"

  Feeling more like a stripper than a dancer, Lainie took off the coat.

  "Turn," Cherie said, making a circle with her lightning-tipped finger. Lainie turned.

  The women all sighed, almost in unison.

  "Boy, if that doesn't take me back," said Babs. "What I wouldn't give to be back out there."

  "It's a young woman's game," said Cherie. "We had our run. Oh, to be that tight again."

  "The only way I can be tight is to have three White Russians in a row," said Trixie. Her earrings flashed in the light. "By the way, what tune did you use that costume for, Lainie?"

  Lainie was about to answer when Harry blurted out, " Fever.'"

  All heads swiveled in his direction.

  "Umm, it's a catchy tone," Harry said, his color high.

  "Oh, you bet it is." Suz walked around Lainie and sur­veyed her costume. "Gorgeous, Lainie. I can just see it for 'Fever.' Cherie, weren't you at the Sands with me when we did that number?" She put down her gin and tonic and started to hum and move her hips.

  "That's right, I was!" Cherie got up from the table and came over to join Suz. "I think we started out like this." She threw one arm up in the air, tossed back her head, and thrust one leg out straight in front of her.

  "And then we did this." Suz executed a high kick that any dancer on the Strip would envy.

  "Show me the routine. I wanna try it." Babs got up to join them, tight pants and all.

  "And then Lainie can show us hers," said Trixie.

  "No she can't," Rona said. "Lainie and I are going up­stairs to pack, and I hope by the time we get back, some­body's made that coffee. Come on, Lainie. Once they get started on a dance routine, there's no stopping them."

  As Lainie followed Rona up the stairs, she heard Leo call out, "Who needs a refill?" He got several takers.

  "I've known those girls for thirty years," Rona said. "They helped me raise Harry."

  "They seem really terrific."

  "They are." Rona led the way into her bedroom. "I just hope they didn't overwhelm you."

  "Are you kidding? I wish I could stay and hang out with them."

  "I wish you could, too. Oh, excuse the mess. Leo and I... got a little carried away."

  That was putting it mildly, Lainie thought. The floor was strewn with clothes obviously taken off in the midst of passion. A black bra dangled from a lampshade. A lacy pair of black panties drooped from the bedpost. Pil­lows were scattered over the bed, and the comforter and sheets hung off the mattress and dribbled to the floor.

  I want to assure you that nothing like that will go on while Dexter's here," Rona said. "In fact, I'll probably send Leo home. I never used to let him stay over when Harry was a boy."

  "You didn't?"

  "No. Harry had a father, and I wanted him to remem­ber who that was and not get his father all mixed up with Leo in his mind." She opened a door into a walk-in closet. "Let's see what I can find for you."

  Rona had the kind of organized closet system Lainie had always dreamed of. It would be good to be Rona, she thought. "I haven't even dated since Dexter was born," she said. Why she'd felt the need to mention that, she wasn't sure.

  "Oh, you poor dear."

  Maybe that was why. She wanted some sympathy.

  "I know how that is," Rona said. "I didn't date until I met Leo, and by that time, Harry was thirteen and old enough to understand a few things. But I still didn't let Leo stay over." She started pulling outfits from then-hangers. "This would look good with your coloring. Not this. Ah, this one." She thrust the clothes into Lainie's arms.

  "Were you, ah, married to Harry's father?" Lainie hoped she wasn't prying.

  "No." Rona said it with great fondness. "We might have married, if he'd lived."

  "Oh, dear! He died? Was it Vietnam?"

  Rona turned to her with a tiny smile. "He died from having too much sex with me."

  Lainie gulped.

  "I'd better explain, before you think I'm some sort of wild woman. Well, I am, but not that wild." She opened a drawer and pulled out some silky underwear. "Paul was sixty-five when we met and I was twenty-two. He was a chemistry genius at UNLV and a confirmed bach­elor. Then he saw me dance and became infatuated. He begged me to go to bed with him, and I took pity on him and agreed."

  "And you got pregnant?"

  Rona laughed. "Wouldn't have been possible that first time. Poor Paul was so out of practice he couldn't get it up. Talk about your erectile dysfunction. He was the poster boy for it, and he was positively humiliated. His solution was to create a drug in his lab that would solve the problem. It was probably similar to Viagra, but much more crude, and certainly untested."

  "My goodness."

  "So he took the drug, and we had quite a night, Paul and I. He gave me incredible pleasure, more than I've ever had before or since. He was very well endowed, you see. I fell a little bit in love with him that night, so when the condoms ran out, I didn't care. I was sure he'd ask me to marry him. We had at least two rounds of unpro­tected sex, and then he had a heart attack and died."

  Lainie gasped. "You mean . . . while you were . . ."

  "Fortunately not in the middle of sex. He got up to go to the bathroom and keeled over."

  "Oh, dear. That's so sad. And incredible. Sad and in­credible."

  Rona gazed at Lainie. "Harry's a lot like Paul. He loo
ks very much like him, and he's obviously inherited Paul's mind. Very smart people sometimes have trouble figuring out what they want."

  "Even not-so-smart people," Lainie said.

  "True, but Harry has a tendency to overthink things. And I would hate for him to be sixty-five years old be­fore he finds the love of his life."

  "Rona—"

  "I'm not putting that responsibility on you, so don't worry. You have your own problems. I'm just.. . glad the two of you can spend some time together. You never know. You just never know."

  Chapter Six

  That' 'Fever" costume was going to be the death of him yet. Harry pretended to watch the TITS as they put to­gether an impromptu performance in the kitchen, but all he could think about was the moment when Lainie had taken off her coat and turned so the women could see her costume from all sides. Of course he could see her costume from all sides, too, what there was of it.

  From the back, she was nearly naked, with a thong-type deal revealing her perfectly rounded ass, and an al­most backless effect above that. The front wasn't much more concealing, with the rose petal thingies somewhat covering her gorgeous breasts but leaving plenty of cleavage to fuel his fantasies. Add to that the red high heels strapped to her slender ankles, and the black fish­net stockings ... it was a wonder he'd been able to keep from getting a woody right there in front of everyone, including his mother.

  At the moment Lainie was probably changing out of the costume, peeling the tight-fitting cups from her breasts, sliding the thong from between her legs. Oh, damn, he was so dead. If she wore the red nightgown that Suz brought, the inevitable would happen in Sedona.

  With all the racket going on in the kitchen as the TITS proceeded to enjoy themselves as usual, Harry didn't hear Rona and Lainie come back until they were both standing in the arched doorway of the kitchen.

  Leo noticed them first. "Well, don't you look nice, Lainie."

  Harry turned to find the showgirl transformed into his all-American traveling companion, Mrs. Fred Ambrew­ster. She wore a pair of his mother's khaki Capris, a white knit top that clung to her breasts in a most inviting way, and a pair of upscale flip-flops with thick cork soles. She'd pulled her hair into a ponytail and taken off her stage makeup. She almost looked wholesome. Almost. A small rolling suitcase sat by her feet.

  Rona pulled a second one into the hallway and left it there. "All set."

  "What about the wigs?" Cherie asked, gesturing to­ward the assortment still sitting on the table.

  "Just put them in the shopping bag with the night­gown," Suz said. "You wouldn't want to pack them in a suitcase, anyway."

  "Shouldn't she wear one? I thought that's why we brought them, so she'd be disguised," asked Cherie. "I vote for mine."

  "You're right, she should wear one." Rona walked to the table and picked up Cherie's long red wig. "Come on in the powder room with me, Lainie, and I'll fix you up."

  "It's my wig," Cherie said. "I want to help." "We'll all help," Suz said. Whereupon all the women crowded around the tiny powder room off the kitchen. Harry couldn't see a thing.

  'These showgirls, they're really something else, huh?" Leo said, still sipping his coffee and Baileys as he watched the free-for-all surrounding the powder room.

  "You don't have to tell me. I've known this bunch all my life."

  Leo grinned at him. "Yeah—Harry the mascot. Is that why you grew up such a quiet kid? Was that your way of dealing with all that high energy?"

  "No. If I hadn't been exposed to that atmosphere, I might have ended up an even quieter kid. I was born quiet."

  "See, you're making my point for me. You need that kind of stimulation. And I'm betting that underneath, you like living on the edge."

  Harry snorted. "Thank you, Doctor Freud. I'm telling you, I want a plain vanilla life."

  "So you say."

  "I do. The point is, I—" And then he forgot what his point was, as the mass of femininity parted and Lainie came out of the powder room looking for all the world like Nicole Kidman. "Damn," he muttered. "She's even hotter than I thought."

  "Now see, that's the kind of exciting surprise that keeps a man on his toes."

  "Or knocks him from here to next week."

  "Have fun, kid."

  As Lainie/Nicole came walking toward him, a smile on her face, Harry realized he was in so far over his head that nothing could save him.

  "Cheaters!" Suz said. "I almost forgot. Who brought some?"

  Instantly the TITS made for their purses and pulled out a selection of reading glasses. Typically, they were outrageous—cat's eyes, rhinestone encrusted, psyche­delic.

  Rona threw up her hands. "All too flashy. Doesn't anybody have a pair of plain-looking glasses?"

  Silently Leo reached in his breast pocket, pulled out a pair of black-framed glasses, and handed them to Rona.

  "Perfect!" She took them with a smile. Then she paused. "Aren't these expensive? Like designer? I know the girls all buy theirs at Walgreens, but I seem to re­member that you—"

  "Forget it." Leo waved her off. "I have another pair at home. Besides, they're just magnifiers—weak ones at that. And I'm sure Lainie will bring them back to me."

  "I don't even need to take them," she said. "I'm sure the wig will do the trick."

  "Let's see how they look." Rona opened the earpieces and slid the glasses on Lainie as if she were a practicing optometrist. "Oh, that's better. It makes you look really different. I think you should take them."

  All the TITS murmured in agreement.

  As for Harry, he'd been hoping the glasses would make Lainie less sexy, but no such luck. From the neck up she looked something like the nerdy girls he'd gone out with. From the neck down, she was one-hundred-percent show­girl. For a guy like Harry, it was an irresistible combo.

  * * *

  Each member of the TITS gave Harry a hug and good­bye kiss, and then they did the same with Lainie. She had the weird sensation that she was leaving the wed­ding reception with her new husband, instead of escap­ing from her ex-boyfriend. Maybe it was the way Rona and Leo acted like doting parents fussing over details like a thermos of hot coffee and sandwiches in a thermal lunch sack. Or maybe it was the way the TITS treated Harry like a favorite nephew.

  Or maybe it was the way everyone crowded to the front window to wave as Harry backed the Lexus out of the driveway. Lainie waved back and fought tears. She'd forced herself not to peek in on Dexter again, knowing that seeing him sleeping so peacefully with Fred would tear her up.

  "So we're off," Harry said, taking the road to the in­terstate.

  "Mm." Lainie was afraid to talk, for fear she'd start crying. Then she'd have to take off Leo's glasses, and she liked wearing them. They made her feel safe, somehow.

  "I know it's tough to leave Dexter, but—"

  "Don't talk about it."

  "Okay." He reached one long arm behind the seat.

  At first she thought he was going to give her a hug, which would make things worse. Instead he set a box of Kleenex in her lap. She stared at that box of Kleenex and thought about him deliberately putting it in the car, for her, because he knew she'd probably cry when she left Dexter.

  The box of Kleenex might be the sweetest thing any man had ever done for her. And it was all that was re­quired to open the floodgates. With a wail, she whipped off Leo's glasses and grabbed a fistful of tissues.

  She cried for at least five minutes. She couldn't be sure how long she sobbed, but she was amazed at the un­ending cascade of tears that poured out of her. When she was done, about half the box of tissues was gone and the floor mat looked like somebody was stockpiling for a snowball fight.

  At last she tapered off to a trickle. Through bleary eyes, she glanced sideways at Harry. He stared stoically ahead, his jaw clenched. She could imagine how he must have hated driving down the road with a blubbering woman.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "That was really embarrass­ing." She blew her nose and put Leo's glasses back on. There. Th
at was better.

  "Sounded like you needed to do that." His voice was gruff, but friendly.

  "Apparently, but I hate that you had to listen."

  "I hate that you're so upset. I wish I knew some way to make things better."

  "You did." She gave him a watery smile. "You brought the Kleenex. That's what set me off, you being thoughtful enough to do that."

  "So I made you cry? Oh, man, that sucks."

  "No, no, it was a good thing. Good from my stand­point, anyway. But I've never cried like that in front of a guy. I know you all can't stand to see a woman lose it."

  Harry cleared his throat. "That's because it makes us want to do something to fix the problem."

  "So you can stop the leak." Her laughter was unsteady, but thankfully she was laughing instead of crying. "Emo­tional plumber to the rescue."

  "Well, yeah. I mean, if you're crying that hard, it's be­cause things are really screwed up and you don't know how to fix them, right?"

  "Sometimes." She thought about her experience with tears. She'd cried when Dexter was born, because he was so sweet. "Not always."

  "Okay, I know about happy tears, but those were not happy tears. I know unhappy tears when I hear them."

  "I was definitely upset, but not because I couldn't fix something that's wrong. Oh, I won't deny that I have a bad situation with Joey and I'm worried about Dexter, but that isn't why I was crying."

  "You were crying because you didn't want to leave him, though."

  "There's a lot more to it than that." Lainie felt herself begin to relax. The car had a smooth ride as it wound through the hills toward Hoover Dam, and Harry at the wheel was extremely reassuring.

  "So tell me what made you cry," he said. "We have a little time."

  "We do, at that. You want some coffee, or part of a sandwich?"

  He shook his head. "Not yet. It's nice to just... talk."

  She had to agree. She hadn't spent much time talking to adults recently, specifically, male adults. She couldn't remember the last time she'd ridden alone in a car with a man. Yes, she had many problems, but riding down the road with Harry, she felt a lightness that she hadn't felt in years, like something wonderful was about to happen.