Walk of Shame

by ANDREA SMITH

  She remained silent, so he continued. “You gals have evolved a little bit since then wouldn’t you agree? I saw your dude. You did well in my opinion. So, what’s your secret? I’m sure there are other chicks out there that wouldn’t toss him out of bed for eating crackers, am I right?”

  She knew he was taunting her, but he tossed her a smile anyway so it wouldn’t be all that obvious. Weston followed up with a wink and a chuckle and then waited to see her face to turn red. Hell, he might even get to see smoke start curling out of her ears like those old cartoons on Nickelodeon.

  But there was nothing.

  Nada.

  The best he got was a hint of a bristle and then she shifted in her seat before lowering her head to jot down his response in her notebook.

  She didn’t take the bait.

  What the hell?

  He would’ve expected an obvious reaction to the shit he just spewed, especially as thinly veiled the innuendo had been about the fact that her “Stuart” was clearly out of her league. But then again, Weston didn’t know shit about Penny. Maybe she could suck like a Hoover and swallowed to boot? Who the hell was to know, right? Those slightly protruding teeth might work some magic if the dude was in to pleasure mixed with a touch of pain.

  He’d been there. Done that.

  He would even go as far as to admit that sometimes some gentle scraping along the shaft and then a hard suck on the head could work him up into a quick, explosive lather. No lie.

  She was watching him again, so he took one last opportunity to yank her chain.

  “I hope I didn’t hit a nerve with you and…uh…Stewie,” he said, trying his best to sound apologetically snarky.

  “It’s Stuart,” she corrected him, “and no, not at all. He is…well, very appreciative of my attributes…doesn’t have a problem at all, but then again, he is of the evolved human male species.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She shrugged, putting her notes away. “It means he peels his bananas with his hands---not his feet.”

  Weston laughed and mentally chalked one up to Penny. Maybe there was more to her than just plain, smart, and boring. But to be honest, he didn’t envy poor Stuart one little bit.

  Chapter 9

  Sometimes the most I can hope for is quiet.

  As in silence.

  As in eliminating all external and internal jabber because, at the moment, it is putting chaos and confusion smack dab in my mind. The problem is that for the life of me, I can’t figure out where it is coming from or when it will stop!

  Blessedly stop. Cease. Desist.

  What is the impetus of this constant jabber that serves to steer me off course, distract the hell out of me and, in short, cause me to want to scream while pressing my hands firmly against my ears and yell at the top of my lungs: SHUT THE FUCK UP?

  The truth is, it is not just ONE thing. It is a cluster of noises from various sources, be it vocal or just in my mind, it manages to drive me to distraction. Right now it is an unwelcome interference into my life in various aspects.

  Let’s start with Eva. I adore her; she’s my best friend and, aside from my father, she knows me better than anyone. We have no secrets from one another.

  Wait.

  That’s a lie.

  I have one secret from her, but it’s justified because I can’t risk having my project inadvertently compromised. It’s nothing she would do on purpose, mind you, but since she is seeing a lot of Marcus these days, all the more reason she cannot know about Penny or my senior thesis or any of it.

  Marcus.

  Therein lies the reason for Eva’s constant chatter while I’m trying to eat, sleep, study, wash my hair, and pluck my eyebrows. It’s constant. It’s distracting and, for the love of God, I hate it that I’m so freaking jealous of her.

  So there. I’ve said it and it doesn’t ease my conscience at all. What the hell kind of friend am I for resenting her newly developing romance with Marcus? My inner voice, which happens to be a girl scout, is yapping at me for my resentment of my best friend’s recent giddiness and overall dreamy-eyed existence as a result of being soundly hit by Cupid’s arrow. She is telling me to chill out, be happy for Eva, and if I’m any kind of friend at all, to at least show a modicum of enthusiasm for the fact that she is über excited about her upcoming third date with him.

  It’s Thursday evening and I’ve been trying to enter recent notes into the log I’m keeping of my interactions with pretty, wealthy college jocks---namely Weston, while they’re still fresh in my mind. I also need to outline his next assignment for Pride and Prejudice, something guaranteed to spoil his weekend I’ve decided. My best friend and roomie is seriously putting a restraint on this as she continues to prattle on about the upcoming weekend and their plans.

  “This is his last free weekend until the season starts and he wants to spend it with me, do you believe it?” She is over at the mirror in my room, slathering on a clay facial, watching for my reaction in the reflection.

  I look up for the umpteenth time since I started typing my notes into my laptop so as not to be rude. Eva is glowing even underneath the green, goopy slop she is patting onto her cheeks. “Well sure I believe it,” I reply smiling. “I mean, why wouldn’t he? You two have been spending a lot of time together these last couple of weeks. He knows a good thing.”

  The only places on her face not covered in green now are her eyes, nostrils, and mouth. She flashes a smile at my remark. “You’re obligated to say that, right? Rules of BFF’s? You’ve been kind of quiet lately – distracted and quiet. What’s up?”

  “First, I am not obligated to say that, and you know it! You are a catch for Marcus and he damn well better treat you as such! And everything is fine with me, just been really busy with my senior thesis prep, that’s all.”

  Her eyes narrow beneath the clay mask and I know she’s not buying it. “Are things okay between you and Stuart?” she asks quietly.

  How do I answer that question? Things are always okay between Stuart and me. Maybe that’s the problem! I mean, if anything, these past few weeks observing Eva walking around on Cloud Nine and seeing how absolutely animated she is when talking to or about Marcus has given me pause to examine my relationship with Stuart. I can’t recall ever experiencing this type of early-in-the-relationship bliss with Stuart. There were no butterflies, or sweaty palms, or ‘I can’t wait until I see you again’ moments. Eva has been acting like a school girl and she’s had a few serious relationships. What the fuck is missing with me?

  “Well?”

  I realize I haven’t answered her. I am jolted back to the reality. “Everything is fine between us,” I reply. “He’ll be coming this weekend as a matter of fact.”

  “How do you do it?” she asks, starting to pick at the dried green mask on her face.

  “Do what?”

  “Go so long without, you know, seeing him? Don’t you ache for him when it’s been a week or two since you’ve last been together?”

  Is she serious? “Do you feel that way about Marcus?” I ask, not bothering to hide my astonishment.

  She shrugs, grabbing the damp washcloth she brought into my room with her. “I’m starting to, and I love that feeling. You know how it is, remember?”

  I nod my lie. I have no clue what she’s talking about, but I pretend that I am on board.

  “So, I’ve figured it out. I mean I know how to keep that feeling around a little longer.”

  Okay, so even though I don’t know about ‘that feeling,’ I would still like to know how to make it last longer just in case…

  “Oh yeah? How’s that?”

  She starts wiping her face with the damp cloth, “Hold out a bit before giving it up.”

  Sex.

  It always boils down to the “S” word, doesn’t it? So overrated, so highly touted as the answer for everything: bad skin, bad mood, bad day, bad relationship. Fix it with sex. Improve it with sex. Avoid it with sex.

  “But y
ou already know that, don’t you?” she continues, turning back to the mirror. “I mean you and Stuart waited…how long?”

  “I don’t remember,” I retort snappily, “A few months, I guess.”

  “So, was it worth the wait?”

  “Definitely,” I reply, turning back to my laptop.

  “Well this is our third date,” she continues, now rubbing furiously.

  “So?” I ask, starting to type in my notes.

  “So, the third date, you know?”

  I stop again to glance over at her. “Obviously, I don’t know, Eva, so educate me here.”

  She turns to face me, rolling her eyes. “I swear you grew up in a convent, didn’t you?”

  “Close enough.”

  “On the third date, well, it’s expected that you’ll sleep together…”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I reply, tapping on my keyboard.

  “Why is it ridiculous?”

  “Because why should the date number dictate two people’s behavior? That is some stupid rule that a guy came up with because he was tired of choking his damn chicken,” I reply, shaking my head.

  Eva starts laughing, “You are probably right. Anyway, I don’t give a damn. I’m not ready to part with the butterflies and goosebumps just yet. I’ve learned from my failed relationships, and trust me, this girl is playing it smart for once.”

  “Glad to hear it. Now please clean up my carpet where that green goop landed before it stains.”

  “Will do. Wouldn’t want Stuart to think you’ve been screwing the Jolly Green Giant,” she says, giggling mischievously.

  Stuart.

  Right.

  He’ll be here Friday evening. I haven’t told him yet that I picked up Eva’s Saturday night shift at Big Daddy’s so that she could go to a concert in Boston with Marcus. It’s not as if we had any particular plans for Saturday night. We generally just hang out at my place, order pizza, watch a movie. No biggie I suppose. I’ll make Friday night our special night.

  And as I think about Stuart, I wonder why I am more bothered by my lack of knowledge about butterflies and goosebumps than I am about having to work a shift while he’s visiting me this weekend.

  I decide it’s up to me to stoke the embers of our relationship before it’s nothing more than a pile of cold ashes. I need to take responsibility for igniting a spark between us, because we’ve never had a real spark. I need it hot, not tepid.

  But how?

  I’m chewing on the eraser tip of my pencil when Eva reenters my room. “I forgot to show you my new underwear,” she says, pulling open the bag from The Story of O Boutique. “Check this out.”

  She pulls out a black, silk thong trimmed with red lace, and a black sheer camisole with a red lace hem. “Sexy, huh?”

  It really is a smoking hot ensemble, but it begs the question that she has to know I’m going to ask. “So, I guess this means you’ve reconsidered the value of butterflies and goosebumps, huh?”

  “Nooo,” she says, frowning, “I didn’t say I was wearing it this weekend, did I? It was on sale and I just couldn’t pass up a bargain.”

  I make a mental note to stop in at O’s tomorrow before my session with Weston since it’s on the way. I guess there is something to be said for trashy lingerie. Maybe it will help ignite the spark with Stuart and me. Besides, I’m all about getting a good bargain.

  Well, I am!

  Chapter 10

  Weston checked the clock on the wall for the third time. Well, well, well---it appeared that Penny Punctuality was breaking one of her own rules. She was fifteen minutes late and he was just about ready to say ‘fuck it’ and leave. His time was every bit as valuable as hers, despite the fact that she had this major intellectual superiority thing going on. What a tight ass – and he didn’t mean that in a sexually provocative way.

  “Sorry, sorry,” she chimed as she crossed the threshold and pulled the door closed behind her.

  There was something different about her. Her voice sounded different. Oh, it was still irritatingly nasally, but there was an almost musical lilt to it. What was up with that?

  “I was just about ready to blow this place,” Weston said, wanting to call her out on her tardiness. Hell, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t ripped his ass for being a few minutes late.

  “I apologize, Matthews. I made what I thought would be a quick stop on the way here and, well, it turned out taking longer than I anticipated. No worries, though, we can work past six to make up the time.”

  Fuck that.

  “Fuck that,” Weston said with a laugh. “Do you think I’m going to stay late on a Friday because you couldn’t practice what you fucking preach?”

  Penny had placed her briefcase on top of her desk, and gave him an eye roll before flipping it open and rummaging through it. She finally pulled out the essay summary he had handed in on Tuesday. Her face broke out into a smile as she handed the graded paper back to him, clearly pleased.

  “You did really well on your essay. I think you’re starting to enjoy female works of classic fiction.”

  Fuck if she wasn’t beaming at him. As if he was some product of her tutelage that had seen the feminist light. Whatever.

  “I studied, Penny. It’s not fucking rocket science, you know? And just so you’re clear on this, there is no fucking way I would ever selectively want to read this shit – or any shit that some dick-deprived feminist spinster concocted. I mean, what’s the point? The chick could write about love but she never experienced it firsthand now did she?”

  Penny stiffened, but as his words sunk in she visibly relaxed and a slow smile appeared.

  “What?” Weston snapped.

  “I’m just curious. How is it that you know anything about Jane Austen’s personal bio?”

  He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s on Wikipedia, okay? I needed to reference it to complete my essay per your assignment, Princess Penny. Remember? I had to do a listing of her published works and brief summary of each? I happened to see it on there.”

  “I see,” she replied with a hint of cockiness in her voice.

  So not cool.

  “So let me ask you this, Matthews---since you were scanning her bio and all, did you find any correlation with Austen’s characters in Pride and Prejudice or any of her other published works and her own personal life?”

  Weston saw this as an opportunity to cut the conversation off entirely. “Except for the fact that her characters were all going without cock and she appeared to be doing the same, not much.”

  Now he had Penny Puritanical flustered! He gave himself a high five in his mind.

  “Seriously, why must you be so crude?”

  Weston sat back and laughed easily, and his laugh never failed to affect Penny because it was so genuine and male and---sexy. “And why must you be such a prude?” he countered.

  Penny had been ready to snap a reply back to his pompous ass, but Stuart’s ring tone on her cell interrupted the banter. She typically turned her phone off prior to entering the building. In her haste to minimize her tardiness, she had forgotten. She cringed as the chords of Taylor Swift’s ‘Sparks Fly’ rang out loudly. She had made that Stuart’s ringtone as a way of being committed to find some sparks.

  “Excuse me for a moment. I have to take this. I have your study packet in the outer pouch of my briefcase, start reviewing it and we’ll discuss it when I come back in.”

  Weston watched as she fled the room with her cell in hand. He shook his head, smiling to himself because he had never seen Penny out of sorts. And today, she definitely was acting out of character. He was curious as to what had propagated such unusual behavior. But fuck, plain or not, she was a chick and there was nothing logical about female behavior at times. That much he knew.

  He got up and rambled over to her desk. As he started to pull the folder out of the front pocket, he stopped when he noticed something pink was sticking out between the top and bottom lid. Penny must’ve not realized it when she’d been rummaging inside f
or his essay paper. He quickly slid the latches over so the lid popped up. His eyes widened as he saw the pink was a paper bag from The Story of O Sextique.

  Interesting.

  His eyes darted over toward the door that was still closed. He quickly opened the bag just enough to peek inside. Penny evidently had plans to get her freak on this weekend by the looks of the black lacey bra and matching G-string panties.

  He pulled the items out. Not much there. More like pasties and butt floss he thought to himself. But why in the hell would Penny buy something like that for herself? It had to be a gift for someone else, he decided. It didn’t fit her personality, and by the looks of the underwear, it wouldn’t fit her body. She had that tummy roll thing going on and---

  “Excuse me?”

  He was busted.

  “What are you doing going through my shit?” she asked, clearly pissed off at his invasion of her privacy. Damn – she’d actually used a cuss word. That was a first.

  “Hey, I was looking for that folder you said was in here, don’t blow a gasket, Penny.”

  “I told you,” she hissed, “it was in the front pocket. Move away from my desk. Now!”

  Weston complied, shuffling backwards completely entertained by her sudden Nazi demeanor. Jesus Christ! He wondered if her undies had swastikas embroidered on the crotch!

  “Chill, babe. It’s all good. Hey, I’m all about trashy lingerie. I’m sure Stewie will enjoy ripping those off of you once you two get your kink on.”

  “Oh, be quiet!” she yelled, her face now deepened to a shade of crimson. She tossed the bag back into her briefcase, and pulled the file from the front pocket, slamming it down on her desk.

  “I’ve taken all the crap I’m going to take from you! Is nothing private anymore? Is everything fair game to you? Don’t you have some sorority slut you can charm with your unrelenting wit? Because, Mr. Matthews, I’m not entertained!”

  Weston reached for the file, and watched as Penny started to compose herself.