“No she’s uh cleaning. Everything. She says your boyfriend sent her.”
My brain freezes.
“John Brandt.”
“Oh right! Sorry. I totally forgot about that. He told me he’d send his housekeeper and I forgot to tell you. Do you want me to ask her to leave?”
“No I want you to have him send her every week dummy. I also want her to adopt me. She made me an iced coffee that’s better than Starbucks!”
“Oh. Okay, well. She’s not like, doing laundry and everything, is she?”
“That’s what she wanted me to ask you, actually, that’s why I’m calling. Because I totally want her to do my laundry.”
“Um. I don’t think I want a stranger doing my laundry. But you go ahead.”
“Suit yourself. I’m gonna drink iced coffee until I get iced diarrhea. Well I guess I shouldn’t because the bathroom’s so clean I don’t want to mess it up.”
“Hanging up now bye.”
I call John, expecting to leave a message, but he answers on the first ring.
“Olivia?” He sounds concerned. I can hear people talking in the background.
“Did you give your housekeeper my key?”
“I had a copy made for her.”
“You can’t just make copies of my house key and give them to people that I don’t know!”
“Olivia, I’m about to step into a meeting. Is there a problem that you need to discuss with me?”
“Well…Not really. No.”
“Great. So we’re on for dinner tonight?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven. Pack an overnight bag. We’ll be staying at my place tonight. You’ll be in the guestroom.”
“Okay.”
“Wear something tasteful and elegant casual, but not so attractive that Phil’s wife will feel intimidated.”
“Roger that.”
He hangs up.
Two hours later, after getting Franklin to cover my last table (which happened to be filled with sexy gay businessmen), I manage to get the flower arrangement home without tripping, running into anyone, falling or dropping it, and there is now space for it on the counter because Johnny’s housekeeper organized all of our random flyers and takeout menus and magazines and notepapers into lovely piles. The apartment looks a thousand times better than it did when I left this morning, and I feel like my life is several steps up from mediocre. Not that it was mediocre.
6
John
SIX YEARS AGO
I don’t know what to do with the hand towel.
I’m a twenty-one year-old genius who’s at the top of my class at MIT and I don’t know what to do with the Montgomery hand towel that I’ve just cleaned up copious amounts of my semen with. They were kind enough to invite me to Thanksgiving and now my splooge is all over their white Turkish cotton towel.
At least I didn’t release it into their seventeen year-old daughter.
That’s not even funny.
I can’t believe I couldn’t even make it through dinner without doing this, but I also can’t believe that Olivia isn’t wearing a bra. On a family holiday. Her very thin cream-colored sweater is so form-fitting that I could see the outline of her nipples in my peripheral vision. I suppose it’s a good thing we were sitting next to each other, so I’m not forced to look at them head-on for over an hour. Except that she smells divine. I haven’t been this close to her for a sustained period of time in ages. It’s like I’ve been inhaling her burgeoning sexuality while trying to concentrate on digesting the first home-cooked meal I’ve had all year. Too much to process all at once.
Over the course of a year she has blossomed into a beautiful sexy young, (legally over the age of consent in Ohio) woman, and thankfully all of her ballet training has not turned her into an emaciated wispy waif. She has curves. Bewitching curves. Stunning long toned legs. That criminally short skirt leaves very little to the imagination, despite the tights. She could do anything with those legs. I could do anything with those legs. I mean—I shouldn’t, but I could.
What should I do with the hand towel?
Her hands. Shit, it’s starting up again. Stop thinking about her. Those long elegant fingers that would wrap themselves so firmly around my throbbing rock hard—
“Hey! You still in there?”
Monty would kill me if he knew. He’d saw off my dick with the turkey carving knife.
“Yeah sorry, just a little stomach upset. Took care of it. Be right out.”
“Gross, man. Open the window. There’s no fan in that bathroom.”
“Will do.”
The window.
I drop the soiled hand towel out the window. I’ll pick it up when I leave, dispose of it on the way home. To my parents’ empty house. I suppose I can’t blame them for working at the office on Thanksgiving. It is a weekday, after all.
“What do you mean you aren’t going to college?”
Olivia smiles as she turns her face towards me. Her hazel eyes always look lit from within, right now they are amber and filled with mischief. “I’ve been accepted to the graduate school program in Pittsburgh.”
“What kind of graduate school? How do you get into graduate school if you don’t go to college?”
“I’m talking about ballet. Duh.” She looks over at her brother. “You didn’t tell him about this?”
“Believe it or not, Sis, you rarely come up in our conversations.”
“Whatever. I’ll be training with the Ballet Theatre in the pre-professional division. It’s an amazing intensive program.”
“In Pittsburgh? Pennsylvania?”
“At least it’s closer than Seattle or Houston,” sighs Mrs. Montgomery.
“And cheaper,” mumbles Mr. Montgomery.
I can see that her parents are resigned to this, but not happy about it.
“Well, I would have been happy to go to any of them, but I chose Pittsburgh to be closer to you guys, so you’re welcome.”
My ears feel hot. Why is this news so upsetting to me? She’s happy. She has always wanted to be a ballerina. She’s Tiny Dancer. I should congratulate her. “Did you even apply to colleges?”
Her mouth is full of stuffing. “I applied.”
“So you didn’t get in anywhere?”
“I got in everywhere that I applied. This may come as a shock to you, but college was always going to be my fallback in case I didn’t get accepted to the good training schools.”
Her brother snorts and shakes his head but says nothing.
“It’s fine, Johnny, it’s what she wants. Would you like more gravy?”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Montgomery, but it’s not fine. Yes I would like more gravy, thank you.”
Mrs. Montgomery passes the gravy boat to Olivia, who places it in front of me, grinning.
“It’s not fine, because your daughter has an excellent brain, and regardless of her talent and passion for ballet, her brain is the only thing that she can rely on to provide for her long-term. That is, if she plans to provide for herself financially. If your plan is to marry a wealthy man while pursuing your lifelong dream of dancing, well that’s up to you I suppose, it’s just disappointing.”
“To whom? It sounds great to me—thanks for the tip. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I really don’t see some rich guy falling for that sasshole.”
“Nathan.”
Olivia gives her brother the finger.
“Classy.”
“Your brain is what you’ll have to rely on when your body begins its inevitable demise. It happens to all dancers. You have to think of your future.”
“Yes I’m aware of that.”
“What kind of job are you going to be able to secure if you break your ankle?”
Mrs. Montgomery gasps at the thought of it.
“I can do administrative work. Arts administration.”
“Any decent administration position will require a Bachelors Degree.”
“It doesn’t requ
ire a degree, but it might help to have a degree. It also might help to sleep with the right person.”
“Olivia.” Her father drops his utensils on his plate with a clang.
“What—I’m not saying I’d do that! Obviously.” She snaps her head around to me. “Do you have any idea how many people don’t get a job after graduating from college?”
“That’s a lazy argument,” Monty mutters.
“And statistically invalid. College graduates earn far more money than high school graduates—even in the same positions. Over fifty percent more. That’s a fact.”
“What about college dropout geeks who fund startups?”
“They’re just lucky,” says Mr. Montgomery.
“They’re an anomaly,” I say.
“They’re geniuses,” says Monty.
“Well, so am I.”
“No one’s saying you aren’t special, Sweetheart.”
“And no one’s telling you flat-out that you’re making a terrible decision that’s disrespectful of your family, except me.”
“I’m being disrespectful? You’re telling me that I’m being disrespectful?” Her face is now flushed. I wonder if her skin is flushed anywhere else. Her nostrils are flared and her chest is heaving. Why is it that a woman’s physical response to anger is so similar to sexual arousal? Or at least it is with the women I’ve been with.
I have to cross my legs. Her voice has always been husky-just-been-fucked, which was disconcerting when she was a child and is life-ruining now that she’s a young woman. No matter what she’s saying or how she’s saying it.
“No one asked your opinion, Nerdballs. You know what—talk to me once you’ve secured post-college employment. And then talk to me again a month later after the person who hired you realizes what a terrible mistake they made. You have zero social skills. You have no idea how to make someone like you, and you definitely have no right to talk to me about family—where is your family?”
You have a point.
“Jesus, O.”
“We’re Johnny’s family. We like you, Dear, we all do.” Mrs. Montgomery’s eyes look moist, bless her heart.
Mr. Montgomery exhales loudly and drops his napkin on the table as he stands. “Time to open another bottle of wine. Apologize to our guest, Olivia. Now let’s talk about something less provocative, like politics.” He retreats to the kitchen.
Her chest is still heaving. Her eyes are fiery and fixed on mine. If we were alone, I have no doubt that we would be tearing off each other’s clothes right now.
“It’s none of my business, you’re right,” I say quietly. “I just want you to have a good life, that’s all.” I don’t realize until I’ve said it out loud that it’s true. I suppose I should have started out by saying that. One day I’ll figure out these social niceties that people seem to put so much stock in. I’m sure I will. When I have time.
Her glare has softened. Her lower lip twitches. Her shoulders hunch forward the slightest bit. She pushes her long wavy hair behind her ear on the side that’s closest to me. She so rarely wears her hair down. It makes her look more mature, and it’s one of the reasons I’ve felt tormented ever since I first saw her today. “No, you don’t have to apologize. I will have a good life. I mean I’ll be working really hard, but I like it.” Her voice is soft and sweet and completely different from her usual tone when she’s engaged in conversation with me. Now she’s only talking to me. Monty and his Mom are now talking about football. “I understand where you’re coming from,” she continues. “Trust me. It’s just different in the performing arts. I believe in following my bliss. I don’t question it. I do care about my parents—that’s why I’m going to Pittsburgh, so I can stay close and they’ll know I’m okay. But this is the life I’ve chosen. I don’t care about job statistics. I care about being the best dancer I can be.”
I nod. “I didn’t say it’s not admirable. I just don’t think it’s prudent.”
“I’m sorry I said what I said about your family.”
She reaches out to touch me—my arm, I suppose—just when I get up to go to the restroom again. Her fingers graze the bulge in my jeans. She jerks her hand away like she’s touched fire, and in a way—she has.
Monty and her mother aren’t paying any attention to us. Olivia’s eyes lock on mine once she can tear them away from the length of my appendage. She blushes. I don’t. I stare down at her and own it. That’s right. I have a dick and it’s hard. I’m a young man who isn’t really a part of your family. Think about that.
She finally looks away and I walk away from the table.
“Aw dude—you still having stomach issues?”
“No,” I say. “Just staying hydrated. Be right back.”
When I return from the guest bathroom, I can hear Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery in the kitchen, arguing about which bottle of wine to open. Monty and Olivia are alone at the dining table. I pause in the hallway when I overhear my name.
“I mean Christ—don’t you have any friends that don’t have Asperger’s?”
“He doesn’t have Asperger’s. And he’s the most loyal guy I know. If you don’t like him then I don’t see why you’re constantly talking to him and about him. It’s like you’re obsessed. You know what—if you paid more attention to guys like Johnny maybe you wouldn’t come home crying every night because some asshole doesn’t treat you well.”
“Um. You’re saying you think Johnny B. treats me well?”
“I didn’t say to date Johnny, obviously, I’m saying somebody more like him. But totally different.”
I hear them laugh.
“You know what I mean.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?” She has tried to keep her voice casual, but she doesn’t fool me.
“Not that I know of.”
“I mean, he could even be attractive if he just took better care of himself.”
“You should definitely tell him that.” Monty laughs.
How do I take better care of myself? What does that even mean? I’ll be graduating MIT at the top of my class. How can I take better care of myself than that?
I’ve been working on an idea for a startup all day. It’s the first idea I’ve had that might actually go somewhere. Hours have passed and I realize I haven’t eaten since dessert at the Montgomery’s last night, so I find a bag of Cheetos in the kitchen when I take a break to make more coffee. Could this be what Olivia meant when she said I should take better care of myself? Is all this coffee and Doritos and Cheetos and Red Vines making me less attractive than I could be? I will look into this. My mother has left a note on the nearly-empty fridge that says: Will try to remember to buy groceries on the way home. If you order pizza please consider getting organic vegetarian. XX
Ever since my parents started investing in the food tech industry, my Mom has been trying to encourage my Dad and me to go vegetarian, despite the fact that we’ve all always worked or studied such long hours that the main food groups we consume are Fast, Caffeinated, and Sugar.
When I feel a vibration in my pocket and see Monty’s Caller ID on my phone, I feel more than a twinge of guilt. It’s not rational. I’ve done nothing wrong.
“Hello?”
“You filthy pervert.”
“What?”
“You jacked it at my parents’ house didn’t you?”
Shit. “I beg your pardon?”
“I found a crusty hand towel in the bush under the upstairs bathroom when I was helping to take the garbage can to the curb. What is wrong with you? You aren’t twelve. My parents dry their hands on that—that’s disgusting!”
“That is an interesting deduction, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. You threw it away, right?”
“Yeah. The hand towel that you don’t know anything about was thrown away. You just better not have been thinking about my sister. Johnny B. Nerdballs. Surely there was some other female human you felt compelled to jerk off to during Thanksgiving dinner at my family home, and not my little sister who happened
to have been wearing an inappropriately short skirt.”
“I…I don’t know what to say. Other than I was sexting with a girl named Jillian.” This is not entirely untrue, as I did engage in sextual activity with Jillian several hours later once I’d returned to my parent’s house. Obviously no one needs to know that even while I was sexting with Jillian, I was thinking of my best friend’s younger sister. Bent over the Montgomery family dining table. Begging me to give it to her harder. Telling me to show her how they do it in college. Moaning about how wrong she was about me.
Thinking about those nipples that got noticeably harder the angrier she got. The infuriating mouth on her. All I can think about is how I want to fill it up with my big hard—
“Who’s Jillian?”
Fuck. “Just a girl from MIT. We aren’t dating or anything. She was back home and she was bored. She’s a very good writer, so as you can imagine, her texts are stimulating. I’m really embarrassed that I couldn’t wait, and I’m really sorry about the hand towel.”
He laughs. “You are full of surprises. Did she send pictures?”
“Affirmative.”
“Hot. But you gotta be careful with that, you know.”
“Oh I am fully aware of the dangers and consequences. But, you know. Occasionally the brain is no longer in charge.”
“No kidding. Okay, well. I gotta go. You good?”
“Yes. You?”
“Yes. Talk later.”
“Talk later.”
I have to find someone like Olivia.
Not any time soon, obviously, because I’ll be busy with this startup, but eventually. There will be a window of opportunity and I will find someone like Olivia.
Or.
By then I will be worthy of Olivia herself.
By then I will have taken care of myself.
By then she will want me.
And I won’t have to worry about Monty.
We’ll be following our bliss.
Everything else will fall into place.
7
Olivia
Cocky Nerd Page 5