The Other P-Word

by MK Schiller

  “What do you mean?” Evan asked.

  “My sisters and I all have singer names. They all kind of reflected what she was going through when she was pregnant with each of us. You know, the soundtrack of your life.”

  “That’s awesome. Who are you named for?”

  “Billie Joe Armstrong of Green Day.”

  Mike elbowed Evan in the ribs. “Maybe we should learn some Green Day, eh Evan?”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “You guys seem really in sync.”

  “Don’t know any ’N Sync either,” Mike joked.

  I shook my head. “How long have you played together?”

  “It’s been a while. Evan and I had a garage band in college.”

  “More like a basement band, since we didn’t have a garage at the frat house.”

  I could picture Mike in a frat house, but I couldn’t imagine Evan belonging to a fraternity. I couldn’t imagine him doing anything but riding in a motorcycle, strumming a guitar, carving wood, or fucking me. Wow…I wasn’t just plastered—I was three sheets to the wind and two shots past sanity.

  “Time to kick everyone out,” Tilla said. She turned to Evan. “Thanks for packing them in as usual.”

  “Thanks for giving me a place to play,” he said. There was a pause that passed between the three of them. A heavy look that spoke of something deeper than idle conversation. I felt like an intruder so I busied myself with my phone. That didn’t help because I had several texts from my family, wondering how I was doing.

  Mike started singing Closing Time by Semisonic. I had a feeling this was a tradition here because the guests started mumbling their goodbyes and ambled toward the exit.

  “To quote ’N Sync, Bye Bye Bye. I should go,” I said as Evan took the stool beside me. “Thank you for tonight.”

  “I’m not done with you yet,” Evan said.

  “You’re not?” I sucked in a deep breath. Someone was seriously depleting the room of its oxygen and I didn’t appreciate it.

  He inched closer to me, his warm, minty breath washing over me. Damn, did he just brush his teeth? “I’ve got just what you need, Billie.”

  “You do?”

  “Uh huh, wait here.”

  He walked to a room off the back. Was he getting a condom? Did I want him to be getting a condom? My thoughts raced in a confused cacophony devoid of any harmony.

  He returned with a steaming mug. “Coffee. Black.”

  I stared at it for a minute.

  “Drink.”

  It was freshly brewed. I blew on it before taking a sip, wincing at its bitterness. “I get it,” I said.

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, this coffee is a symbol based on my very complicated order at the café. You’re saying I should simplify my life in order to enjoy it more.” I held up the cup, toasting him. “Well played, Evan Wright.”

  He grinned, pouring a glass of ice water and setting it next to me. “Um…actually, I was thinking you need to sober up.”

  “Oh.”

  “But what you said is good too. We can go with that. I’ll be right back. Drink the whole thing—and the water too.”

  I drank my coffee as Tilla, Mike and Evan escorted the last of the customers out. A few girls hung off Evan. Some did the same with Mike, but Tilla’s sharp glance quickly put them in their place. When he came back, my mug and glass were empty.

  “Thanks for tonight, Evan.” I stood up, but the dizziness had me reaching for the counter. He helped me sit back down.

  “Billie, can you help me with my problem?”

  “What problem?”

  “Well, there’s this girl who is really drunk. I need to figure out how to get her home safely.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. I can take the bus.”

  “A drunk girl on a bus is never a good idea. Besides, the busses stopped running an hour ago on this side of town.”

  “Oh.” I held up my phone. Suddenly, I had three of them in my hand, so I concentrated on the middle one. “I’ll call my family!” A simple phrase that didn’t really deserve the exclamation point it received, but I’d said it too loudly to use any other kind of punctuation.

  “It’s late.”

  He was right. Marley needed her sleep and I’d wake up the kids if I called Stevie or Mom. There was Dillon, but he’d mentioned having breakfast with his parents. He was always nervous before those events. It wouldn’t be a good idea to wake him up either.

  “I can call a cab then,” I stammered, scrolling through my contacts as if I had a cab company listed there, knowing full well I didn’t.

  He took my cell from me, laying it on the counter. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone in a cab. A girl not too far from here just got raped taking a cab home from a club. So that option is out.”

  I’d heard about that too. I looked around, cursing myself for not finding a good solution.

  “I would say I’d give you a ride, but I know better than to have a drunk girl on the back of my Harley.”

  “I guess this is a conundrum then.” Note to self, never attempt to say words like conundrum when drunk. It took three attempts before I finally managed to vocalize it. Evan, to his credit, waited patiently.

  He snapped his fingers suddenly—even that sound had rhythm, coming from him. “I got it, we’ll take a cab.”

  “I may be drunk, but I’m pretty sure you just said I couldn’t take a cab.”

  “I said you couldn’t by yourself. I’ll come with you so I know you made it home.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Humor me,” he said, standing up.

  He helped me with my coat and let me lean on him while he walked me out. His muscles pulsed and flexed with each movement. I gave the cabbie my address and slunk toward the window on my side. As the car started moving, a sense of dread filled me. The taste of salt and saliva filled my mouth. The scenery moved too fast, causing my tummy to flip as it were being jostled in a mosh pit.

  “You want him to pull over?” Evan asked.

  I couldn’t answer. I just breathed heavily.

  “Look at me,” he said. The sight of him— the very thing that made my heart bounce and my breath ragged, actually calmed me too. He rubbed my back until the nausea passed.

  “I’m okay.”

  He uncapped a bottle of water and held it in front of me. “Drink.”

  I took a gulp.

  “Slow sips, Billie.”

  I did as he’d said. He reached over and cracked the window on my side. I was grateful for the fresh air. I leaned my head against his shoulder.

  “I forgot my wig,” I said.

  “It’s a good reason for you to come back.”

  “Why didn’t you take me to your place?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “I thought that might be what you wanted. I probably would have gone too. I’m vulnerable and drunk.”

  “I don’t do vulnerable and drunk. If a girl wants to be with me, I want her sober and sincere. Is that what you think of me?”

  “Only because you made yourself sound like that.”

  “I guess we interpret things differently then. I told you I was an honest person, and that’s all I was doing back there. I’m not the kind of guy that takes advantage of a girl when she’s hammered.”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I’d hurt him without meaning to.

  “I’m sorry, Evan. You’ve been nothing but kind to me.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” His tone wasn’t exactly forgiving.

  A change of subject would be good. “That song you sung tonight. The one you wrote. Was it about…” I didn’t finish the sentence, waiting for him to complete it, but he didn’t.

  “What?”

  “You know.”

  “No, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He smiled, but it was a sad smile, not the usual grin that lit up his face.

  “The thing you call a cat.”

  �
�A feline? No it wasn’t about that.”

  “No—a body part that starts with p?”

  “A penis?”

  “You know what I’m saying.”

  “They why not just say it?”

  “Because I don’t want to.”

  “Prude.”

  “No, that’s not the word.”

  “I mean you’re a prude. You’re prissy with a proclivity for make-believe. Have you ever been properly fucked?”

  My mouth gaped. “That’s not an appropriate question.”

  “Here’s the thing, Billie, you can’t complain about how hot it is and hang around the fire at the same time.”

  “In this analogy, are you the fire?”

  “Guess I am.”

  “Well then, let me assure I am not a stupid moth. You don’t scare me. Maybe this works for other girls, but I have no problems dousing any flames.”

  “You sure about that?”

  I took some water in my palm and flicked the drops at him. He flinched, holding his hands up.

  “What the fuck was that?”

  “I wanted to demonstrate my skills. Evan, I’m not looking to be some fling. That’s not me.”

  “Shut up. You totally want me.”

  “Yeah I do.” The look of shock on his face was perfect. “I admitted it just now, didn’t I? You’re a super-hot, motorcycle-riding, tattoo-clad bad boy with the perfect amount of charm and manners. You would be the ideal rebound for me, but it’s not going to happen.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re dangerous and I have a strong sense of self-preservation. But I think we can be friends, if you’re up for that.”

  “That’s right. You’re the girl who knows what she wants. Here’s the thing, Billie. I don’t have many friends. Just Mike and Tilla.”

  “What you did for me tonight proves otherwise. Three is a good number, don’t you think?”

  He considered it for a moment. “It’s a great number.”

  Chapter Five

  I spent the next week in Marley’s ode to House Beautiful kitchen in my favorite pink pajamas, listening to Joni Mitchell’s soothing voice, scrolling through want ads and reveling in sweetness of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey to drown out my own bitter mood.

  I replayed the strange night with Evan Wright. Even though I’d put up a strong front, my feelings were muddled around him—and it wasn’t just the alcohol. I’d decided that a little bit of distance would be good, so I was staying away. Unfortunately, the space just heightened my overall depression. But in the end, distance equaled perspective—at least that’s what I thought.

  It didn’t take long for Stevie, Marley and Dillon to hold an intervention.

  “Enough,” Stevie said, taking the spoon away from me mid-bite.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded. “I need that.”

  “You need to get a hold of yourself.” She flung the spoon in the sink and took a hold of my shoulders. “Look at you. You’ve been wearing the same clothes for three days and you have a spaghetti sauce stain on your crotch.”

  I stood up. “This isn’t spaghetti sauce, for your information.”

  Their faces broke out with expressions of horror followed by a disgusting symphony of simultaneous gagging sounds.

  “Relax. It’s tomato soup.” I gestured to the laptop. “I’m looking for a job. I need to find one.”

  “Actually, you don’t have to look anymore. Rick’s assistant is getting divorced. Isn’t that great?”

  “Do you think someone else’s misery is going to cheer me up?” I asked.

  “No, what I mean is, she’s moving to Ireland where her folks live. The position is open. I talked to Rick and it’s yours.”

  “I don’t know. Working for family could turn out very bad. It’s exactly the reason I didn’t accept Damien’s offer to work in one of his hotels.”

  “This is different,” Marley insisted. “You can work from home and you’d be reporting right to Rick. He’s a great boss.” She winked at me. “I should know.”

  “What would I do?”

  “You’d make his appointments, create presentations, prepare spreadsheets and book his reservations. I can show you.”

  “Marley—”

  “Let me do this for you, Billie.

  I looked at her, then at all three of them. They were worried about me, just like my mom.

  “Thank you,” I said, embracing her.

  Dillon clapped his hands. “Now that that’s done, let’s move to a bigger issue.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your hair. I can’t be looking at that mullet any longer. It’s offending me on many levels.”

  “You want to give me a haircut, Dills?”

  He cracked his knuckles. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “We’re going to Damien’s benefit dinner tonight,” Stevie said, moving the chair to the center of the room.

  “I’m not going.”

  “C’mon, you have to get out there again.”

  “It’s only been a week.”

  “That’s long enough. Preston doesn’t deserve your mourning.”

  “I’m not mourning him. I just don’t feel very pretty right now.”

  “Good thing you have me then,” Dillon said, combing through my hair. “Mood music, Marley,” he said, wetting my hair with a spray bottle.

  I don’t know if Marley had made a break-up playlist just for me, but every song was about survival and moving on with your life. It worked though, because even as much as I protested, my lips began mouthing the words anyway.

  Stevie put a brownie in front of me. I knew what that meant. “Let’s dish.”

  I took a piece of the brownie but hesitated before eating it. “Did Mom make these?”

  Stevie laughed. “No, I did.” Mom had a tendency to sneak vegetables—or, even worse, beans—in her desserts.

  “Do you miss him?”

  “Preston? Yeah, I guess so. I know we didn’t have this crazy romance or anything, but I thought it was worthy of something more.”

  “Don’t feel bad for feeling…bad.”

  My laughter, tinged with hysteria, died off suddenly. “I think you guys were right. I see things not as they are, but as I want them to be.”

  “That’s because you’re compassionate,” Marley said, taking my hand. “It’s not a bad thing. When the rest of us manage to have these impenetrable shields around our hearts, you…you give all of yourself.”

  “Thanks, Marley, but that doesn’t help. You’ve all found these awesome men that would go to the ends of the earth for you. And me, I keep falling for these losers. Maybe I should protect myself more. There were signs with Preston but I ignored them.”

  “Everyone does that,” Dillon said.

  Marley cleared her throat. “Speaking of signs, have you given any more thought to going out with Josh, Dillon?”

  “That was a horrible transition, kid.”

  “Who’s Josh?” I asked.

  “Some guy Marley wants to set me up with. I’m not interested.”

  “You won’t even give him a chance?” Stevie asked.

  “Set-ups never work out.”

  “He’s really cute, Dills. He works out and—”

  “Thanks, but I’m super picky, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “It’s hard not to notice,” Stevie quipped. “You wash your car.”

  “That’s not weird,” I said.

  “It is if you do it every day,” Stevie said. “Not to mention, he washes his car keys too.”

  “Yeah, she has you there, Dills.”

  “Josh is very clean too. His desk is always impeccable at work,” Marley offered.

  Dillon huffed. “How many times a day does he shower?”

  “That’s not really a question I thought to ask, but I’m sure he showers once a day like a normal person. How many times do you shower, Dillon?”

  “Not a crazy amount. Once in the morning, once at night and after sex.”<
br />
  “I guess that’s not so bad,” Marley said.

  “Yeah, just four to five times a day.”

  “What?” Marley gasped. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I didn’t have sex for a long time. I’m making up for it.”

  “Wow, Dills, no wonder you seem so chipper lately,” Stevie said.

  “Sex equals happiness?” I asked.

  “Not necessarily, but it does stimulate a good mood,” Stevie answered as if she was an expert.

  Marley put her hands on her hips. “So you’re just fucking random men, Dills?”

  He sighed. “We have an understanding.”

  “You got yourself a rotation, Dills?” Marley asked with a sharpness I wasn’t expecting.

  “Let’s talk about Billie again. I liked it when we were trying to solve her problems.”

  “Why won’t you try with Josh? I think you guys are perfect for each other.”

  “How many gay men do you know, Marley?”

  “Lots,” she answered.

  “On a personal level.”

  “A few.”

  “How many are single?”

  She swallowed. “Two.”

  “Me and him, right?”

  She nodded.

  “Just because you know two gay people doesn’t mean they are right for each other.”

  Marley let out a breath so deep it blew her bangs off her forehead. “Fine. What about you, Billie?”

  “What about me?” I asked.

  “Josh is bi.”

  “You’re kidding. You honestly gonna offer him up to both of us?” Dillon asked.

  “He’s a person, not an accessory. And if you don’t want him, then why not let Billie go out with him?”

  “Thanks but no thanks. He sounds great, but I need to take a step back.”

  “Little Bird, stop waiting around for Mr.—”

  “Mr. Right?”

  “No, Mr. Perfect. He doesn’t exist. Mr. Right does, but you’re never going to find him if you sit around here all day, knitting with Mrs. Garcia.”

  “I like Mrs. Garcia. Although she still thinks I’m Marley, no matter how many times I tell her.”

  Dillon paused in his cutting, and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Billie, I think it’s a good idea. You can’t mope around here forever. Plus, it might give you an excuse to shower more, ’cause you really stink, sweetie.”