Desperate times.
No help there, though, because he gets stuck at the part where Ally and I got it on and doesn’t move forward.
“I didn’t think hot jungle sex was possible with that chick,” he says, playing defense with his foosball players on the table in his basement. “Maybe I should revisit that land. The view was excellent.”
He goes for a goal. “It didn’t actually take dark club lights or getting smashed to make the vista sexy. Impressive.”
I block his play. “You’re not visiting any land where I’m already on vacation. There are rules.”
Etienne ignores me. “A good panorama both directions. Coming and going. Is our friendship worth that sacrifice?”
“Maybe I should check out Clarissaland,” I retort. “It has such lush peaks and valleys.”
I score.
Etienne pulls the ball out of his net. “Fine. I will holiday elsewhere. But when this ends, I’m on the next plane.”
“Don’t pack anytime soon,” I warn him. I overshoot the ball and it flies off the table.
It’s time for me to take my own advice. I’ve got to own it and control it. Ally must fall back into being my friend and nothing else.
Unless I decide otherwise.
I lay low for a few days until the weekend, when I call her cell. I can hear her typing as she speaks and I know I’ve only got about a minute before she zones out totally into her screen.
“Wes Anderson double bill at seven. I switched shifts so we could go.” Part of what’s great about our friendship is always having a movie buddy around. We are cinema fiends.
“Can’t,” she says. “I’m busy.”
Three guesses what that means and the first two don’t count.
She hangs up.
Irritated, I toss the phone on the couch.
Ally and I have a pattern to our friendship. Since I’ve always been the one with a busier lifestyle (her activism and lame boyfriend not counting), I’ve been the one to mostly direct the action.
This new version of her calling the shots is not working for me.
I have to make a major play to school her back into the place she belongs. Which tonight means going to the movies with me. She can fool around after the double bill.
Three hours later, I’m outside her house looking furtively around. It’s evening, though, and already dark, and there’s nobody else there.
I’ve got my phone pressed up to my ear. “I’ll give you twenty,” I tell Etienne, on the other end. I listen to his extortionist response. “Fifty and fuck you too. Call now.”
I hang up and sneak in the shadows to under Ally’s open kitchen window. I hear the phone ring. Her parents left to shop for a new TV earlier, so I know Ally has to answer it. She hates letting a phone ring.
“Coming,” I hear her call out in a singsong voice that is very un-Ally.
From my hiding place, I hear her shuffle into the kitchen to answer the phone.
“Hello? Hi, Etienne. No, Sam isn’t here.”
I sneak away quietly to her front door where I pick up a small, white bag with a pharmacy logo on the side.
I rap gently on the door and wait. A moment later, some guy in his early 20’s with stereotypical blond, preppy looks opens it.
What a knob.
I hold up the bag and say cheerfully “Delivery.”
“Oh, one sec.” Knob looks back toward the kitchen where Ally is.
I have to move fast to keep him from calling out to her. “All paid for,” I hurriedly assure him. “Here.”
I hand over the bag.
“I know it’s none of my business, but good luck,” I say.
“Huh?” He asks in his best caveman impersonation.
Okay, that’s not fair. I don’t even know the guy. He might have a way better impersonation I haven’t seen yet.
I indicate the bag. “The ovulation thermometer.” Yes, it’s a stretch, but the whole teen mom thing has become a phenomenon so maybe he’ll figure Ally really wants on the cover of People.
And if that doesn’t work— “Just make sure she uses the herpes cream after she inserts the thermometer and takes the reading. Don’t want the fiery buggers to ruin anything.”
I’d laugh at the look of terror on his face but I’m supposedly a professional so I stay poker-faced.
That oughta take care of him.
I dash down the stairs, smug, and then get out of sight.
I jam myself into the perfect hiding spot in the bushes and peer out to watch Ally join knob boy at the door.
She puts her arms around his waist. He flees, still holding the bag, which he drops in her yard.
“Adam?” she calls out after him, in this high, girly voice.
What a pussy. Really I’ve done her a favor because if he’s going to judge her on the basis of herpes, then he’s not the guy for her.
It would have been a great ending except then I blow it by stepping on the driest twig in history. Its snap is deafening.
Standing still doesn’t cut it because Ally comes out to investigate. Neither does playing it cool and pretending to just be passing by.
“Hey,” I say with utter nonchalance.
“You’re unbelievable,” she accuses.
“Told you not to bring them home,” I remind her. “I’m just doing my mentorly duty.”
“You think this is a joke?”
“He was.” I wiggle my pinkie finger meaningfully. “But mostly I think you blew me off.”
Her eyes narrow as she takes in my irritated expression.
“No way,” she says. “You don’t get to be mad. I have at least another ten years of full-on bad behavior before you come close to enduring what I did.”
“Meaning?”
“Always being late to whatever we’ve planned, hitting up girls while hanging out with me. Sound familiar?”
She may have a point. However, she’s missing the bigger issue. “I just felt like hanging out with you tonight.”
“So what I wanted doesn’t matter?” she levels.
“It does.”
She shakes her head at me. “All these years, you’ve just assumed I’ll be around whenever you want.”
“You have been around and I thought it was because you wanted to be.”
“Well, tonight, I wasn’t. But that didn’t stop you, did it?”
“What do you want me to say? I’m sorry, okay.”
“I’ve heard that before. I’m not going to be taken for granted anymore. By anyone.”
“I’m not. You’re blowing this way out of proportion. You PMSing?”
She shoots me one last glower. “I’m going.”
Ally pivots on her heel and marches back toward her house.
This feels bad. Like I better fix this. And now.
I race after her and grab her arm.
“Don’t. You’re right. I’ve never really had to share you with anyone. Not even Jeremy. Which doesn’t say much for him but—”
“Do you have a point?” she asks coldly.
“I get that this is a new chapter in your life. That there are new boundaries. And I’m going to respect them. I mean it. You’re showing some crazy backbone and deserve props for that. So I’m going to be the model best friend.”
Her angry expression softens. “Thank you.”
The next several days, I’m the picture of supportive. Not that there’s much to be supportive about. Mostly it’s us walking home together and chatting about school. It’s not like we’re still in a fight but it’s not like we’re not either.
If she’s going out and pulling guys, she’s not mentioning it and I’m not asking. That said, I’m more than a bit surprised when on my way back from my pickup game, I run into her peering into the window of a hip, upscale sex store.
“You dirty, dirty girl,” I murmur in her ear.
She jumps, startled. “Ever been inside?”
“Nope.”
“We should totally enter. See what it’s like,” she says.
Ally has this thing about checking out new and uncharted places. The weirdest so far was when she made us go to a funeral home open house and forced me to take the grand tour, pretending to be siblings looking for our grandparents’ final resting box. Although I do use the free mug they gave out.
“Try to act mature. They may not like high schoolers in there,” she orders.
“Yeah. Automatically assume I’ll be the problem.”
She “bow chicka wow wows” at me.
I ignore her and hold the door open.
A friendly young salesclerk smiles at us. “Let me know if you have any questions about our products,” she says.
Aside from the more obvious items, it’s hard to tell what anything is for. There are a lot of oddly shaped things. Like modern sculpture odd.
Ally picks up a device that looks like an electric razor body with an oval on one end. It’s attached to a hand pump. “Is this for sex or torture?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty—” I begin.
“Fuckenstein’s lab,” we both finish.
We try to look cool despite the fact that we find this hilarious.
“Igor,” Ally says in a horrible Eastern European accent, waving the thing at me, “you take and get brains.”
I nod and bob as I accept it. “Yessss, master. Braiiinnnns.” I squeeze the pump.
We’re shaking with silent laughter when we hear the salesclerk say, “It’s a vibrating clitoral pump.”
“Pump? Are you supposed to milk it?” I ask.
Ally doubles over in a “coughing” fit.
“It enhances the size of your clitoris.” The salesclerk seems a little less friendly as she takes the device from me and places it on the shelf before walking away.
Ally is starting to make donkey braying noises as she gasps for air so I hustle her to another area of the store.
It takes a minute but she gets herself calmed down.
We walk past a wall filled with large, colorful vibrators.
I shrug. “Eh.”
Ally casually reaches for a florescent pink one. She turns it on. It begins to spin.
I pick up a large black one.
“Sure, Shaft,” she teases.
Ally gets into martial arts stance and with one hand outstretched, beckons me forward.
“Be serious,” I say.
She clucks at me.
No way. I turn on my vibrator and assume my own stance. “Bring it.”
“I’ll bring it and then I’ll show it to you, then I’ll take it away and then I’ll bring it again. And I’ll rub it under your nose and then I’ll take it and put it in my pocket.”
“You done?”
She grins and the vibrator battle is on.
The vibrators spin and clash.
Ally does a fancy spin and comes back to hit my Iron Manny. It’s the name on the tag. Not some weird nickname I gave it.
The battle intensifies with both of us mock deadly and now making light saber swooshing noises.
“‘Luke, I am your father,’” she says.
“You realize he never actually said that, right?”
“Yeah, but everyone thinks he did so it counts,” she tells me.
More light sabering.
I raise my vibrator ready to pretend cut her hand off and end this duel. Ally counters with a sharp smack that causes my formerly rigid vibrator to dangle limply in my hand.
“Cockblocked!” she crows, triumphant.
Pleased, Ally turns off her vibrator, winks at me, and places it back on the wall, before heading for the books.
This shaggy college geek stares after her, practically drooling. “Epic adoration,” he sighs.
“What?”
He gives me a sharp look. Like I’m stupid. “Hot and digs Star Wars? What did you do to get so lucky?”
“She’s just a friend,” I explain.
I glance over at her, standing before an open book on a rack and staring at it with horrified fascination. She sees me looking, points to the book, then puts both her hands to her face and mimes the Home Alone scream.
She’s lit up with laughter and silliness and in that moment she’s completely fabulous.
Geekboy watches me for a minute. “Denial fail.”
I telepathically shoot him the finger and go join Ally as she exits the store.
It’s a no brainer that you don’t invite a guy you’ve slept with into a sex store without ulterior motives. We both know where this is headed but I’m cool with it since I’m the one calling the shots. I’ve enjoyed our friend time and am now prepared to enjoy having my world rocked.
“Your place or mine?” I ask, ultra chill.
Ally freezes. “Oh. No. I have to go…Crap. I should have thought it would seem—”
“Nope. My bad. I’ve got stuff to do tonight anyway.”
I stride off feeling like a loser and a douchebag, which is pretty impressive.
I can feel Ally staring after me so I glance back to toss a casual wave over my shoulder.
But she’s gone.
Chapter twenty
I have a confession to make.
“I’m done being the ‘screw around and screw off’ girl,” I tell Rachel.
She freezes and looks up warily from her laptop, where she’s been researching facts about the Spanish Civil War while sprawled on her bed.
If I hadn’t said I’d come over for a homework jam, I would totally have gone back to Sam’s because I haven’t laughed that hard with someone in a while and that in itself was kind of a turn-on.
“Because you’re pregnant and scared to keep having sex?” she asks.
“How do you come up with this stuff?”
“Finally came to your senses then? I thought it was going to take more than two guys, but I’m glad it was sooner rather than later.”
I start to correct her before remembering that first rule of Sam club is, there is no Sam.
“No. It’s just, you know how Adam was over when Sam showed up being an idiot?”
She nods.
“He wasn’t there for a booty call.” I hang my head in shame. “He was there for a date.”
Silence. Which grows more drawn out and super awkward so I risk glancing up only to find Rach staring at me like I’m an idiot.
“Say something,” I tell her.
“Uh, you’re a loser and deserve to die?”
“Be serious.”
“Serious. What’s the biggie?” She is obviously confused.
“I wanted to go out with him. Not just have sex. Sex is great but it’s like dessert. And I’m a girl with a healthy appetite. I want dinner too. Thing is, does that conflict with my other stated desire of dominance?”
“Are you in love?”
“No.”
“Planning on marrying him?”
“We’re just two people having fun whose activity base has been widened.”
“You’re all good then.”
I study her expression carefully. “Are you saying that to be supportive or because you didn’t think I could do it either?”
“You did do it. Yay you. You proved whatever you needed to and didn’t have to sleep with all the guys in a hundred mile radius to do it.”
She sits up and stretches out her shoulders. “What I never got was why you wanted to. You want more than a random hookup. That’s who you are. It hardly makes you a loser. You and Jer had run your course. That’s all. Doesn’t mean another guy won’t hugely appreciate you.”
“It wasn’t about any other guy. It was about me becoming emp
owered,” I retort.
She snorts in disdain as she re-pins her large white flower barrette back in place. “Cut the crap, cuz. You’re already empowered. That whole screwing around business was you wanting to make sure you could get out first. It was about power, plain and simple. Fine. Now you are ready to return to your normal programming. Even better. Carry on.”
She returns her attention to her laptop.
I think over what she’s just said and realize she’s right and had been from the start.
My breakup pain has faded enough to admit that this whole idea came out of my feeling hurt and betrayed. And more than a little upset at how much I’d let myself come second to Jeremy in the relationship.
Maybe it’s not about dominance and submission, but equality. I want more from a guy. And want to give more in return. Even if we’re just having fun and it’s not serious.
“While I’ll concede you’re right,” I begin.
“A given,” she mutters.
“And that Adam is an interest that I would like to make an activity, he thinks I’m some psycho chick with herpes who was trying to get knocked up. How do we get past that?”
“Simple. Blame it on Sam.”
Yikes. Sam. What do I do about him? I can’t date Adam even casually and continue to sleep with Sam. It wouldn’t be fair to him.
Either “him.”
“It’s a plan,” I agree and get my cutest, girliest voice ready to go call Adam.
I should come clean about my real I.Q., too, but while I’ll take a shot at actual dating, I’d still feel better doing it as my dumber, hotter alter-ego.
Baby steps.
~
Adam proves remarkably receptive to my call, so I’ve come to the Conservatory to meet him. I love this place. It’s a large dome made up of many panes of glass.
Inside are paths that wind through dazzling displays of exotic plants, tropical flowers, colorful Koi fish, and eye-catching birds.
Sam and I have come here billions of times. Which is why, when he called to see if I wanted to hang out, I suggested this place. That and I’m meeting Adam here soon.
Might as well have a soothing atmosphere to break the news that I’m not going to be following his plan anymore. Or sleeping with him.
Sam Cruz's Infallible Guide to Getting Girls Page 10