Dennis stood up and shook Rick’s hand. “Dennis Barron. Nice to meet you.”
“Rick Diaz.”
We slid our chairs up to the table, ordered our drinks, and sat in silence. My mother would’ve gone into a medley of stories about the zany antics of the madcap crew she sailed with. Where was she when I needed her? A story about cowboys from Wichita Falls singing karaoke on Olivia Newton-John night would have been better than the silence I was enduring.
Thank God, Rick finally said “Did you used to be a trainer at Physique’s?”
Physique’s was a super-gym located near the mall. Dani worked out there. I’d gone once to check the place out. It was three mega floors of equipment and throbbing club music. From what I could tell, no one there was in need of an aerobics class. Membership was made up of tan, scantily clad vixens and studs parading on the elliptical machines. Was I envious? The clientele at Physique’s shimmered after a workout. Their skin actually glistened. I just looked gross and smelled worse.
Dennis brightened. He loved to talk gym. “Yeah, I did. I taught aerobics, Kwando and Bosu classes, and did some personal training.”
“Kwando and Bosu?” Dennis had never mentioned Kwando or Bosu to me. They sounded like made-up men in the Asian Mafia. I wanted no part of that.
Dennis could read my mind. “I’m adding Bosu to your workout.”
“Will I like it?”
“Not the way I’m going to have you do it.”
Rick asked, “Dennis is your trainer?”
A fever rose inside me. Okay, Rick didn’t mean that in a Dennis-is-your-trainer? Because-you-certainly-don’t look-like-you-work-out way. I knew that. But my confidence was like a quivering tower of Jell-O: anything could upset the balance.
I kept my answer simple. “Yes.”
“Do you go to Physique’s?” he asked.
Dennis shook his head. “No way. I train her at my place. I quit working there awhile ago. I couldn’t deal with all the mammaries, and chicks in Spandex were always trying to pick me up. Half the women I was training seemed more interested in getting their hands on me than doing any sort of exercise.”
Rick agreed. “Tell me about it. I used to find a few telephone numbers stuffed in my gym bag every week. I started going to Gold’s.”
I couldn’t help but wonder if Dani had been one of the gym floozies. It really wasn’t her style though. Maybe it was the bitterness talking, but I pictured her doing something a little more obvious—like straddling him while he was working with the free weights.
Dennis brightened. “Hey, that’s where I go.”
Before the topic veered back into “breast” territory, Craig cleared his throat. “You know, boys, listening to you two talk about the over-exposed women who throw themselves at you has been absolutely fascinating. Emily and I love a good gym hussy story. Could we move on to something else? Sweat doesn’t make for good table talk.”
Rick nodded. “Emily’s a mystery to me. We’ve got a history class together and I don’t know much more about her. She’s very secretive; we’ve never even talked about work.”
Craig didn’t give me a chance to say anything. “She works here. She’s my best little waitress.” He stood up. “I think our dinner’s ready.”
He came back to the table with our food, including my favorite, Teriyaki Chicken Caesar salad. Even with the history hottie beside me, I could still get excited about food. It was going to take all my concentration not to gobble down everything. Craig’s teriyaki chicken was that good.
Dennis devoured his salad almost as quickly as I wanted to. He leaned back in his chair and asked the fatal question. “So, Rick, are you a Devil Rays fan?”
Dennis is a Devil Rays fan. He adores the lovable losers of baseball. He looks at anyone who doesn’t support them as a traitor. He still calls them the Devil Rays; for him, it’s like giving the finger to the religious right. Tampa /St. Pete had fought long and hard to get a major league team, and what we got was a team that had just begun to have winning seasons. At any given game, rival fans outnumbered the Rays’ faithful.
“The Devil Rays, ugh.” Craig was speaking on behalf of a large percentage of the Tampa Bay Area.
Dennis issued a warning. “Craig, when you trash your team, you trash yourself.”
“Trust me, Sugar, they aren’t my team.”
“I love the Rays,” Rick said. “I know they can be a good team, not just a flash in the pan.”
That comment ensured that dinner, which Craig insisted on comping, was a complete success.
“Your friends are funny,” Rick said later as he held the door open for me.
“They were showing off for you.” Curiosity got the best of me in the car. “Where are we going?”
“I was thinking we could go to Ybor City, but then I read something in the paper and I got another idea. It’s a surprise.”
Not going to Ybor made my innards happy. So far, I’d lost thirty pounds, but I still felt uncomfortable in bars and clubs. Not only could I not dance, but I was the most invisible then. People looked right through me and somehow that managed to be a big relief and painful at the same time. Watching boys and girls having fun together isn’t that great for the fattest girl in the room, and every chubby girl knows when she’s the fattest girl there. Being with Rick would be a double-edged sword, too. In Ybor, everyone would be looking at us, wondering what he was doing there with me.
I liked Rick. A lot. Not because he was good looking, but because of the way he made me feel about myself. I liked who I was with him. Oh, one glance and he could still reduce me to a gelatinous blob, but that was a good thing. I enjoyed feeling like that. I enjoyed the fact that maybe he felt the same thing, too. I knew I wasn’t a babe, and in real life I would never be one, but maybe in Rick’s life, I could be. It was like he saw me as someone I wanted to be.
“Here we are.”
We parked outside the Coliseum.
I wasn’t expecting that.
Everything I know about the Coliseum, I learned from watching the movie Cocoon, and that’s only because my mom worships Brian Dennehy as a sex god. He was in Cocoon. There’s a scene where all the old people go ballroom dancing and they go to The Coliseum. I had assumed the place had seen its glory days. Craft shows and political rallies were held there, but, other than a few special events, I thought it was closed. Apparently not. There was definitely something going on tonight; the place was glowing.
Rick took my hand as we went up the stairs. “I hope you like this.”
The ballroom was beautiful, with polished, shiny hardwood floors. A disco ball reflected speckles of light all over the room. Tables were set up around the dance floor, a Glen Miller-esque orchestra complete with crooner was on the stage. A bar was set up nearby. A few other youngsters were there, but most of the crowd looked to be in their sixties. I imagined they were still too young to remember the Big Band era, but then again, Frank Sinatra was timeless. It was busy, but not crowded, and we managed to get a table in a quiet little corner.
“Okay, so do you think this is too corny?” Rick asked. “I’m concerned about corny.”
“Oh, it’s very corny, but I like corny.” I felt very shy for some reason, and my shoes suddenly became very interesting. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. “It’s romantic.”
He put his hand on my chin and lifted my head up so our eyes met. “Good. That’s what I was going for.” Then he kissed me very softly. “So how about a dance?”
I loved kissing him, and I thought wanting to dance with me meant that he liked kissing me too.
I still grimaced internally at the thought. “I really don’t know how to dance to this music.” What a lie. I couldn’t dance to any music.
He stood. “Slow dancing’s slow dancing. All you have to do is hold onto me, and trust me, I’m going to like that.”
It sounded easy and pleasant. He put his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the dance floor. “Since you don’t like to talk about
work, I assume you don’t like waitressing.”
“Oh no, I do. I love it. Working for Craig’s the best. It’s just I think sometimes people get tied up in what they do for a living. Yeah, I waitress, but I’m not a waitress. I want to be more than that. People kinda define you by your work, and when people find out you’re… a waitress, sometimes certain people look down on you. They make assumptions that aren’t true.” Could he pick up that I wasn’t talking about waitressing? Worse yet, could he tell I knew absolutely nothing about it? The more I lied to Rick, the less I liked it.
“I have a pretty thankless job, too.”
There was something I’d like to know about. What about his job? He had odd hours; maybe he was a bartender. Working the right nights, in the right clubs, bartenders can make a mint. It would pay his tuition for school and give him days off to go to class.
Before I could ask about his job, he said, “So what are you going to school for, Emily?”
“I’d like to work at a newspaper. Have a column, or maybe do personal interest stuff.” No need to mention the scene that occurred at the St. Pete Times.
“You write?”
“A little. Nothing ever published though.” Unless I counted the piece Dani stole from me. I didn’t say that, though. It was only our third date—there was plenty of time to be bitter later on.
“Can I read something you wrote?”
I couldn’t help but stumble over my words. “I guess. I mean sure. That is, if you really want to.”
He pulled me a little closer. “I thought you said you weren’t a good dancer.”
I wanted to ask him questions. I wanted to know more about him, but I got caught up in the moment. I didn’t know how long we danced, or when I put my head on his shoulder. I do know that when he started to sing Come Rain Or Shine with the orchestra, it was very easy for me to pretend he was singing to me.
It was just after midnight when we got to Rick’s house. At some point in the night, he’d asked me to stop by and meet Dizz. Rick had a cute little bungalow in Historic Kenwood (Residents get mad when the “Historic” is left off). A few years before, it had been described as an “up and coming” neighborhood. It was pretty “up” now. Craig’s house was on Burlington Street in the same neighborhood. Historic Kenwood was made up of old bungalows and invited comparisons to the Old North End. But as the “shabbier” younger sister, Historic Kenwood had something to prove, and it was doing just that. Property values had skyrocketed. It seemed like a fun neighborhood, with gay couples and singles mingling with young families.
Rick unlocked the door. “I have to warn you, Dizz is insane. I love him, but most people think he’s obnoxious.”
The second we walked inside, a flash of black and white fuzz whizzed around the room and slammed into my legs. It jumped up, paws were everywhere, and its tail spinning. It was a furry-faced ninja. I knelt down on the floor so I was on the ninja’s level. “You must be Dizz.”
He responded by giving me enough doggie sugar to make a pie.
I fell in love for the second time that night. I hate it when people talk to children in a fake baby voice, but there was something about Dizz that made me fall right into it. “You don’t look like a crazy boy to me. You’re just a lover.”
After another dose of sugar, Dizz jumped on Rick, got an ear scratch, and took off flying around the house before barreling back to Rick at top speed and nearly plowing him over. Giving Rick no time to pet him, he immediately took off and flew to the backdoor. Rick shook his head. “He has to go out. I’ll be right back. Have a seat; make yourself at home.”
A chance to look at his stuff—exactly what I was craving, only there wasn’t a lot of stuff to look at.
The only decorated room I could see was the living room. It was small but looked like a page from a magazine. A large couch, with a leather base that sported soft cushions of burgundy and purple that looked like they could swallow me in feathery soft goodness, ran the length of one of the walls. There was a fireplace on the left, and Rick’s TV was on the other end of the room. I spotted a picture of him and three women, who I assumed were his sisters. Judging from their smiles, they weren’t so vile.
His DVD collection was on a couple of shelves next to the TV. A man’s DVD collection says a lot about him. I took a deep breath and said a little prayer, hoping he had his porn hidden in the bedroom. He had all three Godfather movies, which I expected. All guys had the Godfather series. There were the first two seasons of “Miami Vice.” Eww! Thankfully Rick was cute, so I could overlook it. What else, cop movies, lots and lots of cop movies. Then I struck gold. He had Vampire Witches of Salem, my favorite horror movie ever. He had the whole Madeline Duprey horror collection, as well as a ton of Vincent Price, Peter Cushing, and Christopher Lee classics.
I heard Dizz’s toenails clicking on the kitchen tile, then Rick joined me in the living room.
“Sorry for the lack of furniture. I’m still working on getting everything together. My oldest sister did most of it.”
“Are those your sisters?” I pointed to the picture on the mantel.
He nodded “In all their freakish delight.”
“They don’t look evil.”
“That’s because their wearing masks. My parents always make them wear masks for pictures. Underneath—ghouls. You really have to trust me on this one, okay?”
“I was looking at your movie collection.” I held up Vampire Witches.
He smiled shamefully. “I don’t really have an excuse for that.”
I plopped down on his couch, sinking into it just like I thought I would. “Are you kidding? I love Madeline Duprey. She was in all the good horror movies: Sins of Dracula, Vampires from the Grave, Satanic Heart of Dracula, Blood World, Pirate Fiends. But Vampire Witches of Salem is the best.”
He sat down next to me. “I know! It’s everything I love rolled into one. Vampires, witches, and lots of cleavage.”
“It was her last movie.”
“Yeah, because she was a murderer!” He dropped his voice. “You know she lives in Sarasota, don’t you? She and her husband bought that old mansion on the water. She caught her husband with his mistress and killed both of them.”
“No one knows what happened for sure. She was tried and found not guilty.” I loved Madeline and I’d defend her tainted name.
“By a star-struck jury. Trust me, she was guilty.”
“I feel bad for her. They say that she lives in that house alone, like a shut-in. No one ever sees her.”
“Then how do ‘they’ know anything about her?” He waited for a second. “Wanna watch it?”
“Are you kidding? I’d love to. There aren’t a lot of people who like Vampire Witches.” He was good-looking, he could dance, and he loved cheesy horror movies. He was either my soul mate or too good to be true.
I’d like to say we started off holding hands during the scary parts, but there are no real scary parts. Vampire Witches is a brilliant piece of seventies horror cheese. Except for the heaving bosoms, everything’s fake and I suspect a lot of those are fake, too. A few minutes into the movie, he pulled me close. When he started to nibble my ear, I was doomed.
It wasn’t long before my heart was racing and my stomach was all flippity. I couldn’t resist ear nibblage. My eyes didn’t want to open, and we were both breathing heavily. There was lip biting and a fair amount of groping. The television screen went dark, the movie was done, and we were still kissing.
Angelina Jolie wouldn’t have anything on me in the morning; my lips were going to be swollen beyond belief. Rick eased me back until I was lying on the couch. His lips were pressed against mine and I felt there was nothing but the two of us. I would’ve been happy to stay where we were, doing what we were doing, for the rest of the night.
At least I could’ve, until I felt a cold nose and an unfamiliar tongue dart into my ear. I squealed and would have done a back flip had there not been a hottie on top of me.
I could feel Rick’s grin. “Di
d I cause that?”
I had to think for a second, because he was really good at this making out stuff. Making me squeal was something he could do without much effort. Before I could answer, Rick said, “I think Dizz is asking you to spend the night.”
Oh. My. God.
He was using his dog to ask me to have sex with him. How adorable was that?
Dizz gave a little growl, picked up a slobbery tennis ball and wagged his tail at me. I had the affection of two males. It was definitely a conspiracy.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to do the deed with Rick, because I did. But there were other things to consider. I didn’t have any make-up with me, so there was the whole morning Medusa face to worry about. Combined with my a.m. dragon breath, I would turn Rick to stone in the morning. What if, after our romantic interlude, I fell asleep in his arms? Oh, it sounded dreamy, until I considered I could possibly drool all over his chest. Who wants that?
The real thing that bothered me was I was just too fat. Earlier in the evening, I’d been concerned about falling down the stairs and exposing my big old bloomers. I certainly wasn’t ready to peel them off and fling them across the room. Nor was I ready for him to see me naked. Since I was finally making healthy choices, about food, it was completely possible I could lose another twenty pounds. I shouldn’t wait to lose weight to live my life, but if I were just a little thinner, I didn’t think the Medusa face or dragon drool would’ve mattered that much to me.
I played with his hair. “I’d love to stay and play with Dizz, and you too…”
“I feel a ‘but’ coming on.” He sighed.
“I want to stay.”
“But you can’t.”
“It’s just this is a little fast, and even though I want too—”
He interrupted me again, this time with a kiss. It was slow and deep and made my toes cramp in a very positive place. He pushed the hair out of my eyes. “How about I take you home then, before I try to convince you to stay?”
That sounded nice.
It was a quick ride home—and it was quiet.
Phone Kitten: A Cozy, Romantic, and Highly Humorous Mystery Page 11