by Xavier Neal
“Two foam fingers, please.”
“Two?” Gideon grumbles. “One for each hand? You gotta know how stupid that’s gonna look.”
“One for each of us,” I correct and grab cash out of my back jean-shorts pocket. “I’ll take a silver one.”
“And for you sir?”
My best friend shakes his head.
“He’ll take a black one. Matches his mood.”
“Fuck you,” he huffs under his breath.
The vendor chuckles and exchanges the goods for the money I’m holding out. He begins to count out the bills he should give back when I insist he keeps them. The man thanks me for the tip and moves on to other fans who are now wanting to purchase the accessory.
“Put it on.”
Gideon repeats his previous denial.
“Put. It. On.”
“No, you bite-sized bully. You’re not gonna push me into meeting your demand.”
“You’re right.” I slide the bulky object onto my hand and shove it at his face. “I’m going to poke you into it.”
He laughs at the lame joke against his own volition before swatting it away from his face.
My poking continues, although I alternate attacks. Not having much space to wiggle around in allows for me to successfully strike his nose, his neck, and his ear. Gideon repeatedly curses at the actions and demands for me to cease the playful onslaught. Eventually, he caves and grabs his foam finger to even the fight. Back and forth we duel. Odd jabs taken. Strange slashes warranting theatrical scoffs. Our laughs grow increasingly louder along with the attention on us. I use unfair tactics like smooshing his face with my free hand to deliver rapid pops to the chest. He takes each one like a champion, allowing me to appear triumphant in a fight that could’ve easily been won by him with minimal effort.
All of a sudden, our antics are halted by the sight of an inside the park homerun in action.
We can’t shoot to our feet fast enough. At the top of my lungs, I scream, “Correr! Correr, you magnificent bastard!”
“Run!” Gideon shouts the word in English from beside me.
Arturo Rodriguez sprints towards home while the defensive team scrambles to stop the play. The moment he crosses home plate, our entire section screams in elation. The announcer gushes about the beautiful play at the same time Gideon and I embrace each other in excitement. We squeeze one another too tightly. I wiggle in thrill. He pats me in happiness. Our bodies begin to part, however, he ceases the separation by dropping his mouth onto mine. My free hand grips the edge of his shirt, always needing something to support my weight under the intense pleasure that turns my knees into Jell-O. His teeth nip at my bottom lip requesting entrance, and the moment I oblige, his tongue invades to reiterate not only the joy of our team winning, but the bliss over being able to kiss me as part of the celebration.
The only thing I may have to “settle for” is our friendship.
It’s stolen moments like this I’m not sure I can go back to living without.
Chapter Seven
Gideon
Over the years, my love of suits has grown similar to the way my love of less popular sports has. Once upon a time, I didn’t give a shit about surfing or MMA fighting, but, like most things in life, that changed. My career was, of course, the reason for both, learning quite quickly that extreme athletes are just as profitable to represent though often much more fun to be around, and that in order to be taken seriously as a professional you have to dress like one. A little dispute that has never been put to death between me and Lenny. She insists, “Clothes do not maketh the man.” Arguing, “It is the man that maketh the clothes.”. Then proceeds to lecture that if we would decide collectively as a society that sandals and board shorts were how a Congressman should dress, not only would it be the new attire, but it would have no effect on their ability to do their job. Or avoid their job…depending on the day. These little tangents are always attached to my request she wears the one cocktail dress she owns. The dress I bought her specifically to slip into for these types of events. I’ve even replaced the damn thing four times in the past year alone because of the stains she “accidentally” keeps getting on them. Her stubbornness is fucking irritating.
And, in an unusual way, adorable.
“Are you gonna finally tell me what was wrong with Andi with an I?” Lenny questions from the other side of the closed bathroom door in our hotel suite.
The fidgeting with my cuffs continues. “After the event.”
“Originally, you said after a good night’s sleep.”
To which I insured we both got with a little sixty-nine action that kept me covered in the smell of her until we showered this morning. Together.
Fuck, every day should begin and end with my face between her legs.
“And then you said after we got on the plane.”
I wasn’t lying. The intention was to put her through the ringer over the latest horrible dating adventure, but work required my attention. She shouldn’t complain. My apologies came in the form of letting her stream Clueless and stuff her face with doughnuts.
“When that didn’t happen, you said after your meeting with Mick.”
He wasn’t at all surprised I ended up bringing Lenny, however, that wasn’t the sole focus of the conversation. One of our potential clients who is doing the Taking Too Long to Sign Tango had the balls to demand we take a smaller cut at the same time insisting he knew a better agent who would. While Mick is still a pretty good agent, dealing with direct bullshit is not his forte any more. He’s very groomed in the actual business side of everything. What to do with the money that’s coming in. How to increase our reach. Our value. Our brand. He has versed himself in the aspects of controlling a company, and I focus on the agents. I’m the one who deals with their struggles. The one who spares them the “I understand” bullshit to tell them to pick their nuts up off the floor and get back to work. Most of the time, I lead by example as well as set the bar for what they should be trying to reach. Occasionally, I coach them to get better results or step in to insure a deal that would benefit us all if it goes through. Mick and I are two halves of a powerful machine. He knows how to handle his breakdowns. I know how to handle mine. And putting a buck-toothed, backwoods, barely able to order the beer he enjoys guzzling baseball player in his place was a walk in the park for me. The awkward conversation regarding the status of my and Lenny’s relationship, on the other hand, could’ve sent me into a whiskey-induced coma.
“But then, when you got back here, you insisted I start getting ready or we would be late to this thing.”
“Which we will be if you are just now starting your makeup like I know you are.”
There’s a short pause proceeded by a small huff. “I wanna hear about fecha número cuatro, or I’m not leaving this bathroom.”
My head falls back at the building exasperation. “We do not have time to play this game, Lenny.”
“Better get to fucking talking then.”
I shake my head in silence.
Would it kill her to just do the shit I ask every once in a while?
Is it not enough I’m still going out on these ridiculous escapades just to guarantee she takes this job I know she really wants but is, again, too stubborn to admit it? Is it not enough that we’re going her speed with all this shit, though I’m not complaining about it? Taking Lenny little by little feels like opening the spaces on a Christmas countdown calendar. Each little discovery builds palpable anticipation to unveil the greatest gift of them all. Assuming she doesn’t just decide that we’re knocking at the door of Too Complicated and should back away before we fracture the foundation of our friendship.
Pretty sure it’s already begun to crack.
“You think I’m bluffing,” she says slowly. “You really wanna take that gamble with what’s on the line tonight?”
I toss the door a harsh glare.
Fuck, why does she have to know me so well?
My body moves towards the clos
ed door at the same time I begin to explain, “Andi, with an I, was…atrocious.”
“Too vague.”
“She met me outside the restaurant, though refused to let valet park her car because she doesn’t need a man to do that for her. The reservations were under her name since, as a woman, it’s important that the world knows your name is just as important as a man’s.” I brace my back against the door frame and return to fiddling with my lucky cufflinks. “I can respect those views, however, the ones she gave for her decision to not shave her arms or her pussy, to not wear deodorant or lotion, and to just brush her teeth with water were a bit too much for me.”
“Oh…no…”
“Oh…yeah…” Disgust creeps into my expression. “Look, I can respect a woman who wants to burn her bra and refuse to trim her bush, though I personally don’t want my dick exfoliated, but someone who doesn’t use toothpaste or deodorant because she doesn’t like the way it affects her body chemistry and preaches it’s just one more way the men of corporate America are trying to control the female population…isn’t the type of woman I want to be the mother of my children.” My head turns towards the door. “Maybe that makes me the world’s biggest dickhead to want a cleanly woman to raise my children. Fuck it. I’ll willingly take home the award if that’s the case.”
“Poor hygiene choices…” Lenny says, snickers snuck in between her words. “Is that…all?”
“The unibrow was a bit off-putting, although it was the constant spew of hatred for men, an overly gender biased society, and refusing to be another cog in the oppression machine that really made me skip dessert. There’s only so many times a man wants to be verbally kicked in the balls as he becomes a scapegoat for his entire gender.” My hands slide into my pockets. “Oddly enough, I understand how Andi with an I was picked. She was a strong woman, with strong values, and principles she not only believed in but was willing to fight for. I do admire a woman with that level of strength.” Lenny’s face begins to flutter through my mind. “A woman not afraid to go against societal norms, not afraid to swim against the current, not afraid to be…who she truly is despite the possible repercussions.” A lopsided grin begins to grow over the idea this woman was the closest to Lenny so far. “She was an epic fail, but it wasn’t hard to see how this match was made.”
All of a sudden, the bathroom door swings wide open revealing an unbelievable sight.
The words rush out of my mouth in a jumble, “Holy, fuck…”
Lenny strikes a comical model pose while my eyes scramble to drink in the heavenly creation. Her sleeveless floor length dress is black and white. Its flowy nature is almost easy to forget with the way it clings to her chest as well as the open cut-outs on the sides that wrap around to provide an almost backless gown. From her ears dangle turquoise accessories that look like they should clash yet somehow manage to add a pop of color I didn’t know was missing. There’s a matching ring displayed on the hand she’s using to hold her silver clutch. Her curly hair, that’s unfamiliar with blow dryers let alone other heating tools, has been primarily straightened. The thicker curls on the ends have clearly been added in after the fact and having it all dangling to one side of her flawlessly made-up face has my fingers itching to run through it.
“While you were busy having dinner with the second coming of Frida Kahlo, I was busy letting Jaye and Carly She’s All That me.” She uses her index finger to push her glasses up. “Minus the losing the glasses bit. I need mine. My face looks like a deformed Hershey’s Kiss without them.”
I want to argue it doesn’t but can’t seem to convince my mouth to move.
“I know you were just expecting to treat us to manis and pedis, which, by the way, thank you again for, Jaye hasn’t been that nice or that peaceful in months.” Lenny scrunches her nose. “Even Archer says he owes you one for the surprise outing. Pretty sure my future nephew may be a demon because he’s definitely making me wonder if his mother is gonna actually give birth or need an exorcism instead.”
Although I still don’t speak, I do manage to laugh.
“I um…Well, I thought since this dinner thing was a huge deal, you’d want me in something nicer than the one LBD you repeatedly replace like a dad who keeps stepping on my hamster when I’m at school.”
That’s a grizzly analogy.
“And…I…wanted you to be proud that I’m your date. And I wanted you to…be…impressed.” The nervousness floating in her tone is endearing. “Kept the receipts in case you hated everything, I could return it. Except for the makeup. Apparently once you open that shit, it’s yours.” She instinctively lifts her nail to chew on it but swiftly stops when she catches a glimpse of the manicure. Lenny forces her hands to her side and questions, “What do you think?”
I finally manage to unravel my knotted tongue. “I think I’m the luckiest man alive to have you in my life.”
An unusual redness creeps into her cheeks.
For a brief moment, we simply stare into one another’s eyes.
Now would be the ideal time to say all the shit I need to say. To thank her for going out of her way to try to please me because she grasped the magnitude of this situation. I want to praise her for following through with the request to glam herself and remembering to swing by the office to grab my credit card to do it on my dime, but then chastise her for leaving me a note to grab more beer written in highlighter. I want to tell her loyalty to me never goes unnoticed, and that allowing me to pamper her makes me feel like a fucking man. A man who not only handles his shit in the boardroom but at home too. This would be the perfect opportunity to say how much I love her and want for her to be on my arm at every event as my wife rather than my best friend I’m almost fucking. I should say all that and so much more. Right. This. Minute.
“You look beautiful, Lennox.”
She shyly smiles. “And if you check your very expensive watch, you will see that I am ready on time for once.”
“Proving you are capable of reading clocks.”
My snark receives a small swat to the shoulder with her clutch.
I bend my arm for her to take and the two of us head out of the room for the elevator. When we reach it at the end of the hall, she gives my bicep a soft stroke. “You know you look good too, right?”
A small chuckle escapes. “Thanks. This bowtie makes me feel like I should be waddling along the coasts of Antarctica.”
“Can I call you Happy Feet?”
“No.”
“But-”
“Lenny.”
The playful scolding causes her to concede. “Fine. But only because I know you need to stay focused on impressing Barrett Gallagher so that he will give you his consent to sign his sixteen-year-old son. Barrett Gallagher Jr., who has broken state high school records. Be fair warned, Barrett Jr, who prefers to be called BJ, apparently has his mind focused more on getting his stick touched than touching an NHL stick.”
I lift my eyebrows in question just as the doors ding open for us to step inside. “How do you know all that?”
“His Instagram account reads like a remake of an American Pie movie.”
“You did research?”
“Of course, I did.” Our descent begins. “On him and his emotionally-distant, yet pays to pretend they’re super close, padre.”
“And you know that little tidbit, how?”
“Quick Facebook look. All the photos are posed. He’s missing from almost every one of BJ’s games but has paid for the entire team to enjoy yacht weekends and private chef parties. He has a tendency to treat his son like a trophy he enjoys polishing and showing off. He lacks actual emotional investment, which probably eats him up somewhere deep down inside. This means if I can portray a partnership with you as being the parental figure he cannot seem to be, he’s more likely to sign.”
Astonishment anchors itself into my expression.
“You play the facts and figures game. I play the people.” She tightens her hold. “It’s why we’re a dream team.”
Can’t argue with that…
Downstairs in the ballroom where the charity event is being held, we waste no time making our way around the function. I smile for cameras and mingle among a few familiar faces. Lenny is silently glued to my side, yet the constant closeness fills me with unusual confidence. While I don’t need her to be a pretty doll that other men are envious of, I appreciate the trust in letting me lead rather than fighting for the reins. These aren’t the type of people she deals with on the daily. They’re the ones she hears me gripe about. Occasionally encounters and then mentally gives them a textbook label. They’re often the type of individuals she flees from as well as the type she worked with before abruptly quitting. Most of the events I drag her along to she’s still allowed to be some version of herself. There are always athletes to poke fun at, most of which adore her fun spirit. There’s usually finger foods to distract her from the politics at play or catchy music to help her tune out the diplomatic insults exchanged. This is the epitome of everything she hates in one room…but she didn’t hesitate to come nor has she complained about being here. And her strong, silent support she’s offering with forced smiles is a sign of true devotion to our friendship.