Emily Uncensored Book 2: Long Island

by Fiona Lexus

“Ok, I’m glad, because I am ready to go soon.” I say this in a normal voice because, let’s face it, father is deaf and mother is intoxicated, so really I have nothing to worry about.

  “Babe, I really need to go over a couple of things with David before we leave. Can you hang on?”

  Right then mother speaks up, “David, darling, I am exhausted. Pay the bill.” I have never been so proud of my mother. Her mothering vibes finally kicked in.

  Father leans over to her, whiskey in hand. “What was that, Gwyneth?”

  “Oh for christ's sake daddy she practically yelled!” I say, feeling irritable and lousy.

  Jonathan squeezes my hand and gives me the look. You know, the one that mothers give when their child says something embarrassing in front of strangers like: “Remember when daddy and you were wrestling on the bed in front of me?”

  Now that shit is funny.

  Finally everyone gets on the same page and the bill comes and is paid for. I glance at the total as it passes by me on its way over to Jonathan.

  $1,029.98!

  Holy shit! I feel like a brat in a first-world country.

  Oh, wait. I am.

  I whisper in Jonathan’s ear, “You are my sexy sugar daddy.”

  He smiles and whispers back, “This is coming from our joint account. Babe, you have way more money than I do.”

  He is right. My inheritance that Grandmother left me (God rest her soul), is far more than Jonathan will probably ever make. I don’t check our bank account, so I wouldn’t know how much is in it.

  I should probably find that out at some point. Even though I am not good with money, and Jonathan knows it.

  I look down at the table to grab my purse and realize that I didn’t have one drop of alcohol tonight. No wonder I am so irritable.

  Fuck! I forgot to order alcohol! How does this happen to a person?

  I am bummed. But just as I am standing up to push in my chair, the puking sensation emerges. I roll my eyes and turn to walk to the bathroom. I don’t say a word. I enter and get to the stall and let all of my food leave me and enter the porcelain crapper.

  When I retreat from the cold floor, I realize there are two other women in the bathroom with me. I don’t look up, but just wash my hands in silence, trying to ignore the stares. Hopefully they will just go away.

  But then I hear a snappy voice which is all too familiar.

  “Emily, is that you?”

  I stop and think: seriously??.

  I turn and see none other than Becky Spencer. Ex-best friend, boyfriend stealer who wanted to slap my face at my parent's’ Christmas party, Becky Spencer.

  “Hi Becky, um what are you…?”

  Before I can finish my sentence she starts in with: “Look I’m not mad at you anymore. Dustin told me what really happened. I hope you are feeling better, but it seems like it came back?”

  I am very confused at this point so I ask, “Becky, what are you talking about?”

  “Oh, well that night when I walked in on you and Dustin, I thought you were kissing, but he said you suffered from this illness where you faint and he was trying to give you mouth to mouth? And he said you were sick and that I should be ashamed of my behavior. You know? Wanting to hit you and everything. I thought that was why you moved away to New York. I heard you weren’t well.”

  She is smiling at me, cocking her head to the side.

  Oh my God. Dustin. You little fucking liar. I think for a second about whether or not Becky deserves the truth. If I should tell her that her husband-to-be and my ex, actually wanted to kiss me the night. But in all honesty I don’t have the time or the patience to deal with this right now.

  So I lie.

  “Yes,” I pause and stand a little straighter. “That is all true. I have a rare disease. I live with my boyfriend who takes care of me. We moved outside of the city. That is why I am now puking in this here toilet.” I point to the stall where I just spewed my calamari.

  “Sorry Becky, it was nice to see you but I really have to go. I need to take my medication.”

  She seems worried and her eyes are wide with questions.

  “Of course, Emily, of course. I wish you well,” she says, as I shut the door to the bathroom and head for the nearest exit. Maybe I should thank Dustin one day.

  Or punch him in the balls.

  We kiss my parents goodbye and Jonathan grabs my hand.

  “Are you feeling alright? You seemed to pee a lot tonight.” He asks this in the sympathetic way only Jonathan knows.

  “Don’t worry, I’m good. Thanks for dinner.” I say, trying to be sweet when really I feel like stabbing someone in the face.

  I continue with: “So can I have the password to our online banking? I want to know how much this sugar momma is worth!”

  Jonathan laughs. He squeezes my hand and says, “No.”

  11

  Birthday Dildo

  Kathy is rich.

  Kathy is turning 40.

  Kathy’s husband owns a boat.

  Rich people have birthday parties on boats.

  Theirs is large.

  I am on it.

  I am sick.

  There are about thirty or so souls partying it up right now on this yacht.

  What technically defines a yacht? I mean this boat is huge, but I don’t know if it’s actually called a yacht. It’s really nice, and fucking sturdy as hell to be able hold all of these people.

  I was really excited about this party when I heard about it last week. The invitation came in the mail.

  Yes, Kathy sends invitations. I was hoping for some girl party time with my women folk, but now that I am sitting here watching other drunk people having a good time, I am just bitter.

  Cindy is dancing with her husband. Darlene is taking shots with Tammy-Lynn, her eccentric cousin from Texas. Kathy is dancing on the table. And I, wild card Emily, am sitting on this lounge-thingy, feeling like I want to die.

  Ever since that dinner in New York I haven’t been able to shake this bug or whatever it is.

  I’m pissed. I have been looking forward to a moment when I could show my drinking skills off to these people, but I guess I missed my chance.

  Yesterday I went to the store to buy Kathy a present.

  What does one get their rich, older friend? A mother and husband-swapper.

  I got her a dildo.

  It took some research to find that kind of store in Glen Cove. But even suburban La La Lands have porn stores.

  The guy at the front was in his mid thirties, wore glasses, and was very excited to show me around.

  “Do you own the place?” I asked, as I was browsing through the crotchless panties.

  “No, my aunt does, but she doesn’t like to tell people she owns it, so I run it. It’s fun because I get to see who comes in here. You wouldn’t believe it,” He said. Very gossipy, I might add.

  Now I am intrigued. “Oh, ya? Like who?” I stood there clutching my purse, hoping that there were some scandals to be revealed.

  “Oh, no I can’t say. It’s policy.” The guy looked around and then stepped in closer, “But I won’t say it’s not the Mayor.” He smiled and backed away.

  This fucking guy was horrible at his job.

  I mean, seriously.

  But I will make friends with him, I thought.

  He may be helpful to me in the future. Plus, knowing that he can’t keep secrets is just a bonus. I fucking love people like that. One ounce of pressure and they cave.

  “Well, my lips are sealed,” I said as I made my way to the video section. “My name is Emily by the way.” In some weird way he reminded me of Derek. Aw, my very own suburban Derek. So sweet.

  “I’m Nick Mitchell, nice to meet you.” He smiled and then followed me around the store. Most people might think of this as creepy, but I was impressed with his diligent service. Then a thought popped into my head. Did he just say Mitchell?

  “Did you say Mitchell was your last name?” I asked and creased my eyebrows at him i
ntensely.

  “Ya, why?” He sat up and looked afraid.

  “Is your aunt Bethany Mitchell? Is she the one who owns the store?” I stepped towards him.

  “Well, yes.” He paused, “But she really likes to keep that under wraps.” He knew he was the one to blow her cover.

  That little sneaky whore. Bethany Mitchell, Gucci Devil #1, husband snatcher, owns a porn store. This is great! I mean, just fantastic.

  I bought the dildo and had it gift wrapped and then I walked out of the store. As I was leaving, I made the motion with my hand to my lips “zipping them shut”.

  I wanted Nick to think he could trust me. He was sweet and seemed like he needed a friend.

  So here, back on the boat, I am waiting for the thrill of Kathy opening her present. But I have a feeling that everyone is a little too caught up in what they are doing to find time to open gifts.

  Jonathan couldn’t come because he is working. Plus I wanted some girl time, but as I am sitting here, sipping on a coke (wishing it had whiskey but it doesn’t), I miss him.

  I guess I am sort of a loser for saying that. For bending to his will. For leaning towards staying rather than leaving. I used to hate this about myself. Giving people chances. Letting them get close.

  Yuck! Is what I used to think.

  Maybe something happens when one turns thirty.

  Maybe there is some Universal force that turns one into a pussy that gets weepy at ASPCA commercials. I never thought I would engage in this sort of behavior. Suburban, upper-middle class frolicking. Reminds me of my mother.

  But, I think we all find our place in the world through the weirdest of circumstances. Cindy taught me that one.

  Speaking of, here she is now, that little hussy.

  “I saw you dancing with that older man, Cindy. You got moves!” I say, as I take a sip of soda.

  “And I see you sitting over here like a wallflower. What the hell gives, little mamma?” She says as she take a sip of some random drink laying on the table.

  “Whose drink is that?” I ask.

  She just shrugs her shoulders and downs it. She is in stage four of drunk-dom. Where you are numb and no longer care about foolish things such as germs, or sharing drinks. This is the stage date rape takes place in.

  The boat is making me feel like shit. I close my eyes for a minute.

  “Emily, are you OK love?” Cindy touches my head, checking for a fever like only a true mother of six would do.

  “No, I have been sick since dinner last week. Ugh, I need to throw up…” I run to the bathroom which is located down a small flight of steps and to the right of the kitchen (or do they call it a galley?)

  I lock the door and puke my brains out. I wash my hands and as I open the sliding door of the bathroom, Cindy is standing there with her hands on her hips.

  “So, Emily, you know that sexy story you told me about jumping Jonathan's bones on the beach?” She asks as she slurs some of her words.

  “Yes, I remember. Why?” I say as I take a seat at the kitchen (galley?) table.

  Cindy sits next to me and takes my hand.

  “Did you use protection?” She asks as she tries to focus her eyes on mine.

  “Cindy, I’m on birth control. We hate condoms.” I say and I smirk like, What the hell? How could you even ask that?

  But then I sit up.

  And I check my phone which is in the pocket of my skirt. I look at the date and I realize that I never refilled my prescription. I never fucking refilled it.

  I was a lazy fucking B, and never drove my ass to the pharmacy to refill it.

  Cindy knows.

  “Love, are you sure?” She squeezes my hand.

  I sit back in my seat. We stare at each other. No more words need to be said. She just smiles and sits back in her chair. We are both sitting there under the dim lighting. We take deep breaths at the same time.

  “I think I need a test,” I say and fold my arms together, protecting my heart.

  Cindy gets up and comes over to my chair and grabs my hand and pulls me up. “Tomorrow.” She says.

  And then we walk back up the stairs onto the deck where everyone is dancing and drinking and the lights of the boat are reflected in the water. It’s a beautiful fucking moment. I wish I could touch Jonathan.

  I turn to Cindy, “Hey you probably already know this because, well, you know everything about this town, but did you know that Bethany Mitchell owns that store called Kiss Kiss? Down on Elm street?”

  I am surprised by Cindy reaction. She turns to me and slaps my shoulder. I jump back. “Ouch! What was that for?” Obviously she is pretty tanked.

  “I did not know that! No. No, I did not. Wow. That is funny shit! Wow!”

  Yep, Cindy is intoxicated. I take her over to her husband and he knows the drill. He escorts her home. I leave as well. I kiss Kathy and tell her to text me when she opens my gift. She can’t hear me over the music but smiles and nods anyway.

  I drive home and it’s 10:00PM. Jonathan must have just gotten home because all of the lights are on. I open the door and, to my surprise, I see Jonathan laying on the couch, watching television with Gertie-bitch-cat snuggled up next to him.

  I swear, every woman is after that man. Even the cats!

  I walk over and he is watching some boring documentary on the Civil War. I just want his warmth, so I lay my head on his lap. I am feeling sick again, but I am too tired to get up.

  “Can you make me some food?” I ask, testing my boundaries here.

  Jonathan pauses the show.

  12

  Bathroom Talk

  I’m not sure how I got to this point, but I am sitting in my bathroom, on the floor, staring at the bathtub.

  I am waiting for Cindy. She should be here any minute. It’s the beginning of October and the first little nibbles of rain have started to fall. I pull out my journal for entertainment purposes.

  I flip through the pages and it lands on this one: The guy at the gas station just asked me for my number. I was flattered, but I am not my mother's daughter so I told him to fuck off. I forgot for a minute that I didn’t live in New York anymore, and I should probably watch my mouth. My first day in petite and stuck-up Glen Cove is not headed in the right direction. It’s early summer, and I can already feel the large crowds of vacationers, rubbing their greasy bodies against mine as they get in line at the local stores, or bars. I hope this was the right decision.

  That was almost five months ago. That journal entry.

  Summer can really change a person, I guess. I had so much apprehension in starting over. I was getting used to my sloppy, going nowhere lifestyle in New York. I was inhabiting that city for the opposite reason most people do. Most want to rule the world, I just wanted to sit back and people-watch.

  I look at the clock and it’s 4:00PM.

  Cindy, where are you?

  Another journal entry: Sex last night with Jonathan was quite comical. Gertie decided to puke right as Jonathan was “releasing”. I then made him clean it up because ‘he was being selfish by not finishing me off’. He doesn’t usually take shit from me like that, but I think he was off his game. Gertie the Gremlin is such a little whore. He cleaned up her mess, and by the time he was ready for round two, I was already on the couch deep into the new season of The Walking Dead. God bless slow moving Zombies.

  That was a fun night, because what I didn’t write down in my journal was that Jonathan tried some of my marijuana, and actually liked it. He’s quite the sexual entrepreneur but when it comes to drugs, he’s usually sort of a prude.

  The clock reads 4:15PM and I hear the front door slam. Cindy runs into my room and she looks disheveled. Her hair is wet.

  “Is it really raining out there?” I ask.

  “No I ran through the neighbor's yard as the sprinklers came on. The rain has lifted,” She says as she unloads the plastic bag onto the bathroom floor.

  This fifty year old women is about to watch me pee on a stick. God bless her.


  “Where are the kids?” I ask.

  “With the hubs, why?” She is taking off her sweatshirt now, preparing for the dramatics.

  “Oh, no reason I just…” She cuts me off.

  “This is important, Emily. Don’t worry.” Cindy reassures me and takes a seat on the tile. “I know you can’t drink, but can I?” She asks me.

  “You bought booze?” I’m sort of stunned.

  “Well, I didn’t know if this was like a celebration or what, but either way I’m drinking.” She pops the lid off of her wine cooler.

  “Okay, fine, but don’t encourage me to.” I start to unwrap the little rectangle wrapper. I look at Cindy, “Are you going to watch me?” I ask, taking my flip-flops off.

  Cindy just stares for a second. “You know you don’t have to get undressed for this love. Just pee on the stick.” She is laughing at me.

  “I know, bitch. I’m just preparing myself.”

  I take a deep breath and sit down on the toilet. Cindy swigs away.

  I pee.

  It’s messy.

  It’s complicated.

  I use toilet paper.

  Lots of it.

  I get up and wash my hands and set the little plastic test on the sink.

  I flush.

  I sit.

  Cindy speaks: “You know I have done this very same thing six times. And every time, it’s as if I am having a mini heart attack. It just is. I don’t know why. I planned my middle four and it was still shocking. Those little tests and I are old friends.”

  She swigs again.

  “Cindy, I do not know how you do it. I am going to be a terrible mother. I mean, just look at my own mother.” I bring my legs together and hold them.

  “Love, you are nothing like your mother. Plus, every parent fucks up. The question is if you want to be a mother. Because if you don’t want to be, then you are really fucked.”

  Cindy sighs.

  “I guess I’ve never really thought about it. I mean I just didn’t think it was in the cards for me yet. I’m still getting used to my husband.” I am stalling. I am trying to talk my way around the fact that the test is sitting right there on the counter staring at me.