by Amarie Avant
“Just got in, to my surprise dinner is ready.” I pick up the Chinese food in order to chuck it into the kitchen trashcan.
“Is it still hot… I mean uh…” The laughter of her voice dies, and if I’m correct, Reese is reminiscing on the world of trouble she got into over a lukewarm agnolotti-bolognese. The spontaneity fades as she says, “I saw on the news that the awful Kosyak is part of the La Brea shootout and…”
Since Reese is stumbling over her words, I speak up, “Well, thank you, it means a lot that you considered me.”
“Don’t read anything into it, Evan. I just walked into the dining room of Flour. I’m still on the clock. Anyhoo, I’d cooked dinner for my entire work family tonight. As I’ve said, it’s nothing special. And if you’ve already eaten dinner, put it in Tupperware for breakfast or chuck it. Tossing it works too.”
I nod my head. Why is the woman on the phone so different than the chick that drove her ass over here a while ago?
“I’m not chucking it, Reese, and it’s still warm.” I grab the pie up, and head toward the kitchen for a fork.
“Okay… well, it was just the sisterly thing to do.”
“Umhmmm,” my response is terse. Tomorrow, I’ll see her ass tomorrow evening at my dad’s. It seems we need to jog her memory once more of our little arrangement. For the past few weeks I've decided to allow Reese her space.
“What do you mean umhmmm, Evan,” she counters.
I smile, the wee Little Lamb is turning into the tart from the bar.
“You’ll see what I mean tomorrow, tart.”
“Evan, I’m bringing my boyfriend, you should bring someone too.” It’s as if she’s going through a tunnel, her words begin to echo in my ear.
I have to repeat what Reese says, “You're bringing your boyfriend to the event?” I take on indifference. She's playing a game that she can't win. I don't need words to persuade Reese Dunham. My actions speak it all. In less than twenty-four hours whatever guy she's nabbed is getting the fucking boot. Family or not, Reese is mine.
20
Reese
“What the fuck did I just do?” I whisper to myself, sitting on one of the chrome stools in the dining room of Flour. My elbows rest on the table, foolish face in my hands.
Seeing Grayson reminded me of the kind, sweet guy he'd once been. My slice of simple pie in a hectic world. Though the meditation time has forced me to realize, he and I really were better friends than lovers, Grayson has made me want a man in a suit again. And the only Suit who can do the trick is my friggen stepbrother.
I glance out the window; the moon is full and milky. It’s taunting me that only strange things can happen, and heck yeah; I just did the darndest thing. I got angry with Evan for virtually no reason. He’d called to thank me for being considerate. Sheesh, it’s not even that time of the month. I’m just jealous over what we’ll never be able to have.
“I don't have a boyfriend. I don't want one. I only want him!” I whimper into my fingers. Mouth tensed, I close my eyes so tightly that my forehead tenses. “Shit, shit, shit. Why did I just do that? Who the hell is going to play my mate?” Self-talk helps me rationalize it. “No, I’ll just attend the event solo, and keep my ass away from Jamie.”
I nod my head, that sounds like a plan. Until I enter the kitchen and profess, “I need a man!”
Sandra picks up the remote and presses pause mid-lyric from Coldplay.
“Thank God, The Scientist, yuck!” Jamie waves a hand in disgust.
“I love that song,” Sandra says.
“Boy, you love that song when boo-hooing to the film Wicker Park,” I add.
“What’s this ‘you need a man’ business?” Sandra cuts in.
I had hoped that my momentary outburst went unnoticed as we began to argue over one of my favorite rock bands.
“Ummm, nothing,” I shrug, climbing onto the high chair at my workstation. I grab the rolled, white fondant pearls and set aside the round piping tips.
I’m prepared to coat this section of pearls in luster dust when Jamie orders, “Reese’s Pieces, speak!”
Sandra yawns. “Yeah, keep us awake.”
“We all know you’re up to no-good,” my best friend adds.
“You guys know how I took a short drive right after we stopped for dinner?” I ask.
They nod their heads in unison.
“I took dinner by Evan’s place.”
“Damn…” Jamie sighs. “You’re trying to play wifey, aren’t you?”
I glare at the bite in his tone. “No, I wasn’t endeavoring to play anything. We all saw on the news earlier that the Russian Mafia is…”
“Who gives a damn about the Russian Mafia,” Sandra cuts in. “They have nothing to do with us, Reese. Your stepbrother is doing his job, just as he was before you entered the picture. How about I hook you up with—”
“Oh, please do!” I shout. The perfectly circled pearl before me gets smashed. “Can you get me any warm and able body by tomorrow night?”
Sandra licks her lips in shock, the blonde has attempted a love connection before, and the answer on my end was always a firm ‘no.’
“Tomorrow’s Friday night, though… I might be able to,” Sandra taps an index finger to her lips in thought.
“Reese, what the heck did you do?”
In a rushed voice I tell them how Evan called to offer his thanks for dinner, and I shoved my foot in my mouth. The entire story which seemed so monumental is over in seconds. Silence ensues.
“So are you going to help me?” I arch an eyebrow.
“I can’t,” Sandra says matter-of-fact, “My guy friends will slap me silly for hooking them up with you only to have to attend a family event on the first date. Or just maybe I have a friend… he’ll expect no less than a blow job.” She shrugs as if offering a stranger head is the ultimate means to an end.
“Trick, please,” Jamie rolls his neck. “Our Reese is much too innocent for that!”
“I’m sure she’s gargled her stepbrother’s balls!”
I stand up. “Hello, I’m still here. And I don’t know how to gargle any sort of balls. Though I did enjoy licking Evan’s balls, albeit it was after a few hours… and I don’t mean a typical one-night stand. I knew lots about him, thank you very much. He has a very manly scrotum, might I add. Now who’s gonna help me!”
“First of all,” Jamie points a finger, “saying ‘scrotum’ implies that Reese is not going to do a very good job at sucking a damn dick, so appeasement for one of your friends attending the family get-together is not going to—”
I point a finger at myself, “I know how to suck a dick!”
“Yeah, she has to,” Sandra juts her bottom lip, “if she didn’t, what good of a friend am I or you? What a good friend are you!”
They bicker so loudly that I bust out laughing. It takes a moment, clutching my side to stop laughing. Then I realize I’d just been had. “Hey, you two are friggen awful friends!”
They stopped arguing, and turn toward me.
“I need a date. Stop trying to get me off task, with this foolish talk. Mark my words, one of you hoes will be that date!” I shake a good bit of luster dust at them. The silvery, shimmered powder barely reaches across the island, and now they’re hanging onto each other laughing.
We crank up the music; Rihanna blares through the speakers as they assure me everything will be okay
Now I'm standing in the middle of my bedroom, on the evening in question, second-guessing everything down to my undergarments. I’ve already made a vow before God not to bone Evan, after my entire heart lurched in my chest while watching the La Brea shootout. So there’ll be no hanky panky, but a nice pair of undies might jumpstart my confidence.
My skin is soft, and damp to the touch as I lather on body oil. And my mind goes off on a tangent, which leads me back to him. Butterflies dance in my stomach when Evan was near and fire raced through my veins. It's almost enchanting, spellbinding the way Evan touches my body. Maybe our
doomed fate caused me to say the dumbest thing ever? Subconscious reared up and kicked me square in the ass? Yeah, that's it.
“Reese! Reese!” Sandra and Jamie say from the living room.
There's giggling as I walk past the living room in boyshorts and a push-up bra.
“What the heck, guys, you would tell me if I shouldn't wear the flower printed dress?” I stop before Jamie and Sandra. The gay and the blonde cackle, sharing some sort of secret.
“I'm getting ready to meet all of Tony's family. Are the two of you going to let me down?” I scoff, latching a gold feather earring into my earlobe. My gaze blazes through Jamie, since I’m going to harass him about attending this event until the very last second. It was past one a.m. when they finally told me they had a plan, although I do not know what it is, I’m antsy with anticipation.
“As a matter of fact,” Jamie sits up, “we’ve had your back since day one. Far as I'm concerned nothing will ever change. The dress is gorg. Put it on.”
Before I can thank Jamie for deciding to be my ‘plus one,’ at least that's my interpretation, Sandra says, “We have a surprise for you.”
I reach down and grab her coffee cup from the side table. I can't drink coffee all day long without the consequence of being committed due to my intolerance to caffeine. But her drink isn't spiked with alcohol. They burst out laughing again.
“I swear,” my finger points back and forth from the two. “Whatever games you all are into will be the death of you. When I retaliate–”
“Good God, Reese, you can't fight,” Jamie busts out with laughter again.
“My nails aren’t tacky press-ons, babe.”
“Well, damn, tell me how you really feel!” he says, glancing at his immaculate manicure. "Mmmm, maybe I could use a fill."
Then I huff, giving in. “The two of you made a promise to me, last night. So I’m gonna go out on a limb and believe that it means I have double the date. Both of you are coming?”
“Uh-uhn, girlfriend, not me. If we’re trying to get technical, babe, it’s Sandra’s turn to do anything involving that mother of yours. Now get dressed, then we’ll tell you how tonight will pan out.”
I roll my eyes and step out of the room.
After slipping into an olive-tone dress that brings out the tan in my skin tone, I glance in the mirror. There are tiny, white-gold magnolias all over it. The style is almost ‘60s attire and makes me think of my client, Kitty. I could see myself in a noir crime thriller. There's something sexy about a classic dress. Shit, I put my foot in my mouth calling Evan yesterday. Smoothing out the silk material, I start back into the living room. Yet my confidence is the consistency of Jell-O and ever changing.
While walking down the hallway, my tone is seasoned in doubt, “You guys, this isn't gonna work. I want to show more...” With one leg cocked to display my best attribute, I stop abruptly. If I can't have Evan, truly and honestly, why not leave him hanging with his mouth open? What if he took my psychosis to heart and actually brought a leggy blonde?
The gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach subsides in an instant. Leg jutted for effect, I look up. This odd noise escapes from my mouth only to be closely described as the noise Scooby Doo makes when shocked.
Grayson's sitting on my couch. Jamie has gotten up to stand in the opposite area. I've seen this anger before; he will stalk around as if waiting to pounce. My friend wanted to cuss Grayson’s ass out after the emailed break up. But that makes not a lick of sense seeing that these two so-called friends of mine had to have let Grayson in.
Sandra also seems to be second-guessing whatever it is these two knuckleheads have done.
The ex-Suit’s eyes drag up and down my body, at the same instant the thought slams into me. This modest dress was for him! Prim and friggen proper. Fuck friends. The duo suggested this outfit. My lips are one flat line, eyes shooting daggers at my so-called friends, as Grayson enjoys the view.
“You look stunning,” he pronounces each word.
My mouth opens. What to reply? I've been bulldozed. Lied to. Hoodwinked!
At which point, Jamie turns on his heels, struts toward me and winks. “No, Reese’s Pieces isn’t quite ready yet.”
I sneer, “What the f–”
Jamie grabs my wrist. In his attempt to be debonair while turning me back toward the room, I cave and allow it. Better to be whisked away on a high-note than almost break my ankle. Soon as we've veered down the hall, I snatch my hand away.
“You're begging me to choke you out,” I hiss.
He steps toward my dresser and begins to rummage around. “Hmmm, the Chanel lipstick I bought and you never wear. Yes, girl, this will do.”
“Correction! Your ex-sugar daddy bought it,” I snatch the tube and place it on the dresser still eyeing one of my closest friends with murder in my eye. “And just so you know, I’m referring to the sugar daddy–who assisted you in ruining it with the love of your life, Owen, by the way. And I swear if said sugar daddy was across the street, got zapped by a lightning bolt on a gorgeous sunny day, I wouldn't even allow you to piss on him. Hell, I wouldn't even spit. Because yes, you shitted on true love with Owen for paper!”
“You're angry,” Jamie tries to hand over mascara. I slap it from his hand. He screams like a girl.
“Damn straight. Talk.”
He bites one of his fingernails and then says, “It was all Sandra's fault. She said wouldn't it be fun to bring the guy, the very reason you don't date suits too–”
“No. Not fun,” I snap.
His tongue slithers over his top teeth, and then Jamie holds up a finger. “Let me finish.”
“Finish.” My lips barely move. And at this point we almost seem to be in a ‘90s rap battle, trying to outdo each other.
“So wouldn't it be fun to bring the old suit, Grayson, obviously–”
“Obviously,” I parrot in order for Jamie to get to the point.
“To meet the new suit you've fallen for but honestly shouldn't be able to bang.” His head tilts slightly, “Honey, I've pissed you off royally. Let's both disregard the fact that I only wear my men's suit jackets after a good night of sex, so there'd be no tricking Evan with me as a date. But don't forget, girl, I know you better than you know yourself! You can't keep screwing your stepbrother.”
“But I haven't done so in weeks!” I exclaim, the torture written all over my face. Then I pout, “Okay, so you're saying I can screw Grayson?” My eyes rim with tears. I hold up my hands, flexing and relaxing my claw-like fingers while grumbling. I'm just about ready to plonk down onto the floor and have a toddler meltdown.
“Hell no, Grayson is never to get the cookie again. If he so much as lays a paw on you, the both of you are in trouble. I'm liable to punch him like a man, and bitch slap you for being so dumb.”
“So why Grayson?” Tears fall down my face. I'm truly over him; it's the friggen principle. Sandra and Jamie are as close as siblings, so why do this? And how? “How did you get him here?”
“Well, as far as 'why', can one honestly answer why one does the thing that one does?" When I reach out to slug Jamie, he screeches. "Okay! Sandra and I texted him from your phone last night around midnight when you took a whiz. We had to make it seem like you were apologizing for slighting him. But not too sorry, we didn't want him to run over for a booty call. You barely said a word to him when the O'Neil party came to taste test, understandably. But Sandra and I love you, Reese. What better way to save you from the new suit than to utilize the old one?”
I glance at myself in the mirror. Red rimmed eyes and all. A mixture of despair and hopelessness guides me toward the bed. Jamie grabs me by the waist, and I latch my arms around a canopy post. Sheesh, he has strength when he wants to.
“Leave me alone!”
“No,” he growls.
“But I want to lie in bed, Jamie. Watch The Avengers. Pull out my pajamas,” I whimper, forcing my arms to hook around the post, making our tussle difficult. “I miss Evan’s rugged voice and hi
s smile. He's a nice guy, with hard edges. I want the good. I want the bad. I wanna be spanked. I’d be dumb as a skunk to cross paths with him, hanging onto another man. He will call my bluff. Or worse, he's an eligible bachelor in a tank full of sharks.” The image of him with a size zero in his arms makes a body shattering cry roll through me.
Jamie slacks off for a second, appalled by what I just admitted. Then he gathers his wits and his strength, wraps his arms around my waist, and tugs even harder. “No! Get a hold of yourself, Reese's Pieces. You aren't some simple bitch!”
“I am a simple bitch, I wanna be Evan’s bitch!” I've dummied-down to toddler status with a potty mouth.
His nails begin to dig into my ankle. “Stop it!”
I shout, “Owe, you’re hurting me, you skank!”
“I’m sorry,” Jamie says, but he doesn’t let go.
With my arms wrapped around the railing, I beseech. “Put on your PJs too. I'll make crème puffs.”
“No! Just look delicious, and to die for this evening,” he says, attempting to wrestle me away. With every breath Jamie takes, he ends each statement with a punchline and a gulp of air, “Use Grayson! Pretend that you're back together! This is for your own good!”
“What about I make peanut butter cupcakes?”
“Bitch! Those are my fav.” Jamie stops pulling. Gravity is in no one’s favor as we fall onto the bed. Limbs tangled, it takes us a moment to untwist from each other and sit up within the rumpled sheets.
“Of course, I know, they’re your favorite. All the ingredients are right in the kitchen, too.” I smile though my tears, perched in the center of the bed. There has to be a crazed look in my eyes as I coax, “You can smell it already, I see it in your eyes, Jamie.”
“No,” he shakes his head. Jamie climbs off of my bed, and stands up. He has a wide-legged stance and doesn’t appear to have been persuaded.
I add the icing to the cake, voice soft in a tantalizing commercial, “Fluffy soft, butter cupcakes and the filling–”
“This is for your own good.” He yanks hard onto my dress. This time, we both go falling onto the floor.