by L. M. Carr
“Boston College. That’s expensive.” Humorless laughter escapes her red lips.
“It is.”
“Your parents must hate that bill, huh?”
“I pay my own way.”
“You must have a really good job to afford that much money.”
I feel as if Remy is being scrutinized by this woman. Dana’s asking some pretty personal questions for having just met my girlfriend.
“Where exactly do you work?”
“A diner.” Remy answers quickly.
“A diner? You can afford BC on a waitress’ pay?” The skepticism and disbelief are clear by the expression on Dana’s face and in her voice.
“It’s a busy diner.”
I feel as though I need to raise my boxing referee hands and send each one back to their corner to chill out, but the tight squeeze of Remy’s hand on my thigh restrains me. I turn to her and the subtle shake of her head, tells me to shut my mouth and let the cat fight continue.
“Really, which one?”
“Lenny’s Luncheonette.”
I hear the ping of Remy’s phone, but she ignores it.
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s across town.”
“You must get some pretty good tips to pay for college.” Dana picks up her martini, takes a sip while keeping her brown eyes on my girl.
I can’t bear it any longer. I need to interject and stop this from escalating.
“She does. Some customers even leave a fifteen dollar tip just for coffee and a muffin.” I say as I lean down and kiss her cheek and then quickly thank the waitress for the full bottle of beer.
“And some leave $15.25.” Again her phone alerts of an incoming text message.
I grin, remembering how mad she was at me. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but she was pissed.
“That’s impressive. Do they get a song and dance, too?” Dana inquires sarcastically.
Remy glances away from Dana’s obnoxious glare to look at me while dragging her hand up my thigh before finally stopping at my growing erection. “Only the really special ones.”
I set my beer down and slip my hand under the table, covering her hand and pressing it down hard. This determined side in Remy has turned me on. Her fighting spirit and strong sense of defense is erotic.
Her fingers reach below and stroke the length of me while she whispers in my ear. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.” A soft promising kiss replaces her words.
My body tenses at her public display of affection, although the actual touching is done privately under the table, and I pray no one notices my response to her touch. She pulls her hand away and reaches for her phone. My girl stands and walks in the opposite direction, looking for the bathroom. Not once does she look back. She simply struts away with an air of confidence to which Dana replies with a questioning huff.
After the beer I’ve nursed for the last hour is all but watered down, Brandon staggers over to where Remy and I are gathering our things to leave.
“Yo, my main man!” I’m assaulted by the stench of his breath. “I’m going to see my girl at the Glass Slipper.
I remember him telling me a few times that he was in love with this stripper but was disappointed because she hadn’t been at the club for a few weeks. We argued about whether someone would actually want a woman who takes off her clothes for other men. He couldn’t care less, but I was of another opinion.
“Good for you, man. Have fun.” I reply indifferently. I hold out Remy’s jacket as she slips one arm and then the other into the sleeves before whispering a quiet “thank you.” I want to tell her that I’d do anything for her, but then I’d sound like a pussy.
“You guys should come, man. Hopefully you can finally meet the girl of my dreams. My boy said she might finally be back. She was probably in fucking rehab, having an abortion or something. Some other chick was there, but I would know that little slut’s body anywhere.” Brandon’s slurred words match the swaying of his body as he leans in and looks at Remy, his eyes traveling the length of her body.
“Maybe you should just go home, Brandon.” A quiet defiance rises from Remy as she speaks sternly.
“Nah, baby, I’m gonna wait for her all night. I love to watch her spread those legs and show me that pretty pussy.” He sticks his tongue out and flicks it wildly. “Then I’m going to make her to fuck me…or at least suck my cock.” Again his eyes rake up and down my girl’s body.
Before I realize what I’m doing, my hands are fisted around his throat and I’ve got him shoved up against the wall, his eyes wide with fear.
“Listen, you stupid fuck, I don’t care if the girl of your dreams is fucking Kate Middleton or some dirty, slutty stripper, show some goddamn respect in front of my girl.”
Our boss Marty steps in and easily pulls my shaky grip from Brandon, separating us with strong, tatted arms. “At ease, boys. Not the time or the place.” He looks at me and then to Brandon. “You have a problem with each other, take it somewhere else. You’re both wearing something that represents our school and that means you’re wearing something that represents me. I’ll be damned if my reputation gets tarnished by a couple drunk idiots.”
“I’m not drunk, sir. Just pissed off.” I step back and look him in the eye. My jaw ticks as my hands involuntarily and continuously clench and release.
“Davis, take that nice girl of yours home and get some rest.” He looks down at my fists and raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take care of this one,” he grunts, eyeballing Brandon whose face is now a shade of green as he struggles to control the liquid contents in his stomach.
“Good night, sir.”
As I lead Remy away from the chaos, the unmistakable sound causes me to look back just in time to see Brandon vomit all over Marty’s pants. The look on this former Navy SEAL’s face is murderous as he grabs Brandon at the nape of the neck and drags him to the bathroom.
I have this overwhelming need to punch the shit out of something and then apologize to my girlfriend for Brandon’s behavior. I’ve come to realize I don’t really like him. I tolerate him and my patience for his antics is wearing thin very fast.
“It’s not your fault he’s an asshole,” she says as she slides into the truck and moves close to me.
“He’s not an asshole.”
“He’s not?” she gasps.
“No, he’s a fucking douche bag, idiot, prick, son of a bitch asshole.” I sound like I have Tourette's Syndrome as my fingers grip the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.
Remy’s laughter fills the space of the truck. “Shane!”
“What? What’s so funny?”
She peels my fingers away and takes them in her hand. “You! You’re funny. You think that adding all those swears makes him a bigger asshole?”
“Yes,” I release a chuckle as I feel the tension in my body begin to dissipate.
“Well, it doesn’t. Brandon is an asshole of the biggest proportions. The way he treats women and talks about them…he’s disgusting. He’s a disgusting asshole.”
“Who thinks he’s in love with a stripper. A stripper for Christ’s sake.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. He’s just so fucking stupid to think anyone would want a girl. Those girls are disgusting.” I shiver at the thought of a stripper spreading her legs for everyone to see.
“A girl like that? Wow! That’s kind of messed up. I mean, who cares what she does.”
“It’s not what she does, it’s who she is.”
There’s an awkward, quiet lull between us.
“That’s awfully judgmental, don’t you think?”
“No.” I could give her a list of reasons why I’m right. “People do what they do because they like what they do. A doctor becomes a doctor to save lives. A carpenter becomes a carpenter to build. A police officer protects the public.”
“And a sanitation worker collects garbage because he loves it? An exterminator crawl
s around in dirty basements to kill insects and rodents because he loves it? The guy who empties Port-O-Lets loves that job, too?”
I mutter quietly. “I doubt it.”
“Well, isn’t that what you’re saying by judging that girl who takes off her clothes and dances for people? You don’t think she’s just trying to make money. You don’t know her situation. What about guys who strip? Isn’t that the same thing?”
I exhale loudly, realizing that she might have a point.
“It’s just a job, Shane.” Her face softens and she sighs heavily.
“Maybe.”
“And it shouldn’t matter if that girl is a stripper, a teacher or a nurse, she shouldn’t have to deal with Brandon because when push comes to shove, like you said, he’s an asshole.”
“You sound like a lawyer. You argue a good case.” I reach over and pull her close by the nape of her neck. “Are you sure you’re going into the right field? You’d make a great attorney.”
“I want to help people. Kids especially.”
“But you don’t want your own?”
“No, thanks. I’m screwed up enough. I’d be afraid to give the kid some really bad genes. The poor thing would never have a chance.”
“You’d make beautiful babies.” I kiss her softly. The sense of calm is completely restored by a single touch of her lips.
She hums in disagreement.
“We would make beautiful babies.” I deepen the kiss until she pulls away and shakes her head.
“I’m not kidding. I don’t ever want kids. Ever. I have never missed getting my shot every three months since I was sixteen-years-old.” Her green eyes, revealing so much truth and conviction, are like a sword piercing my heart.
I can’t wait to have kids. I want as many as I can have.
“Fine. No kids for now. Can we at least go to bed and practice making a baby?”
She rolls her eyes at my joke and then sighs dramatically with sarcasm. “Fine. If you insist…”
I kiss her slowly; my tongue slips in to her mouth ready and willing to play. She hums softly when I pull away.
“Drive fast. I want to get home.”
I turn on the engine and the truck roars to life.
The streets pass by in a blur as we drive home to practice the art of baby making.
Remy
FEELING RESTLESS, I fidget in the long seat in Shane’s truck. We didn’t get to sleep until almost two o’clock in the morning after spending hours and hours tangled up in bed. I was left to work the morning shift short-handed, scrambling to take care of everyone on my own because Jenna missed her flight home. I could’ve called any of the girls listed in Lenny’s Roladex, but I really need the money and didn’t want to have to split the tips. At this point, I need every penny I can make.
“Why don’t you take a nap?” Shane suggests when he notices my eyes struggle to stay open. “We have a couple of hours without traffic. If we hit traffic on 495, it’s a long ride home.”
“Maybe.” I pull my legs underneath myself and lean against the door frame, wishing I had a pillow to rest on and a blanket to shield my face from the bright afternoon sunshine. I stare at the bypassing cars traveling along the same southbound highway that will bring us to his childhood home in Connecticut. If I weren’t so tired, I might be nervous about seeing his sister again and meeting his mom for the first time. I blink lazily until my eyes finally remain closed and I drift off to sleep.
I feel Shane’s hand run through my hair as my eyes slowly open. Everything in my line of sight is tilted on its axis.
“Where are we?” I ask with a croak in my voice, sighing heavily.I tug at the light blanket draped across my face and tuck it beneath my chin.
“Home.” His hand continues a trail down my back over the soft, olive green material.
I pull my hand from beneath my cheek and wipe across my mouth to make sure I’ve not drooled in my sleep. I place my hand back only to realize that I’m resting on Shane’s thigh. “What the —”
“You looked so uncomfortable. I asked if you wanted to stretch out and you took it upon yourself to lie across my lap.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“No need for an apology. Made for a very interesting ride. A very hard one, but an interesting one nonetheless.”
A quick rap at the window draws my eyes upward. My face reddens immediately when I realize Leslie is standing there holding one of her daughters. The older one. The one who might wonder why I’ve got my face extremely close to her uncle’s crotch. Judging by the raised eyebrows and wide eyes, Leslie is wondering the same thing. I sit up quickly and run my fingers through my wayward hair. I’m completely mortified.
“We’ll wait for you two inside.” Leslie smiles knowingly. The only problem is what she thinks she knows is wrong. This is just perfect. The first time we met, I called her a bitch and now she thinks I’ve just given her brother a blow job in his truck. This is not going to go well.
“Oh, God!” I scoff, yanking the blanket over my head to hide my shame.
He peels back the thin barrier, exposing my flushed cheeks. “Remy, I know what you’re thinking and you need to stop.”
“What am I thinking?”
“You’re thinking that my sister just caught you giving me a blow job.” He smirks at me. “My sister wouldn’t care. She’d be happy either way.”
“What? Your sister would be happy knowing that you just got a blow job?”
“No! I mean she’s happy that you’re here…with me.”
“I was going to say… you don’t have that freaky thing going on with your sister, do you?” I laugh as I sit up and pull the visor down to wipe the sleep from my eyes.
“I should spank you for that.” His lips grin deviously, his eyes full of promise.
“You wish! Weirdo!” I chuckle as I open the door and hop out, landing on the broken concrete of the driveway. My eyes sweep across the tiny yard until they land on the small, two-story white house with black shutters.
Shane shuts the door and joins me. He carries two overnight bags in one hand and reaches down to grab my hand to lead me into this place filled with happy childhood memories. He kisses the top of my head.
“This is it. This is where I grew up.”
No sooner do our feet step into the kitchen, Shane drops our bags and scoops the baby from some colorful bouncing contraption. He turns into a pile of mush as he kisses her and begins a conversation with her in an animated, high pitched voice. My smile gives way to laughter as I become acquainted with this new version of him. The cute baby, with a head full of blond curls, is practically thrust in my face as he bounces her around and introduces me. I wince and pull away. I’m sure the look on my face is one of fear and dread.
“She’s not going to bite you,” Shane smiles, “but she might gnaw you to death.” He brings his face to hers and rubs noses.
“Hey, there you are!” Leslie bounds into the room with a child on her back. It’s the same little girl I’d seen a few minutes earlier. “Sorry for interrupting… you two all set?” Her eyes dart between the two of us.
I look down at my sneakers as I feel the heat of mortification flow through my blood and course through my body. I want to tell her that she didn’t interrupt anything, but humiliation has stolen my voice.
“Hey, sis!” Shane kisses Leslie’s cheek quickly and then gives one to his niece.
“Hi, Remy. How are you?” Shane’s sister asks me. I look up into the blue eyes that match her brothers and tell her that I’m good but tired. Nervously, as if justifying my exhaustion, I provide a detailed account of how I’ve been working a lot and how demanding my course work has been at school.
“Oh, I was just asking how you are.” She sets her daughter down and picks up our bags. “You are staying the night, right?”
I glance at Shane who answers with a quick affirmative.
“Cool! I’ve missed you little brother.” She reaches upward and stands on her tiptoes to muss his dirty blond hair.
“Les, you blow my phone up every day!” he laughs.
“Shut it! Someone’s got to keep tabs on you.” She sticks her tongue out and crosses her eyes.
“Where’s mom?”
A moment of strain, of uneasiness, passes between them. “She’ll be back soon.”
“Is she—”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Shane,” Leslie chides with authority, “mind your business. You live your life the way you want; he lives his the way he wants. Leave it alone.”
The warm, welcoming climate drops to a sub freezing temperature. I stand there awkwardly having no idea what to do or say.
“Have you eaten? I could make you a sandwich or we could grab a bite to eat once mom gets home.”
Shane looks at me, silently asking what I’d like to do.
“I’m not really hungry right now. I can wait until later.”
Shane sets the baby back in her contraption after he asks if I want to hold her to which I reply quickly with a panicked shake of my head and answer with a resounding “No.”
The other little girl, with long wavy hair, is scooped up and lathered in goofy sounds and lots and lots of kisses on her belly. Her squeals of delight are a clear indication that she loves her uncle very much.
“Who wants to help me rake some leaves?” Leslie asks with feigned enthusiasm.
“Give me ten minutes, I’ll do it.” Shane replies as he guides me up the stairs to his old bedroom where the walls, painted a pretty hue of green, are covered by tall wooden bookcases which are littered with shiny medals, sports trophies and faded achievement certificates.
For a moment, I’m transported back in time. A time when I didn’t know Shane Davis existed. A time when he was just a normal, awkward, pre-pubescent boy who listened to rock and roll and probably spent hours with his friends.
“Wow.” I step into the room further and really take a closer look. Pinned on one wall is a poster from the Army, encouraging young men and women to “Be All You Can Be.” On another wall is a poster, a huge picture of the World Trade Center towers that fell on September 11th, reminding us to “Never Forget.”