Call Me! Read online

  And what I did to him, in order to escape.

  I shake the gruesome thoughts from my mind and start my apology.

  “Dillon? You were great today, at DeWitt’s house.”

  “Damn right I was,” he sniffs.

  “I was lucky you were with me.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I acted like a bitch. I’m sorry.”

  “What are you, on the rag or something?”

  I frown. “That’s your first thought? Can’t I just be having a bad day?”

  “You never have bad days.”

  I cock my head and look at him. For the second time today he seems completely sincere.

  “Dillon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  “You’re welcome…shit bitch.”

  I laugh. Then say, “I’m sorry to hear you’re a virgin.”

  “You probably already knew.”

  “I had no idea!”

  Of course I knew. Dillon could spend the night in a whorehouse with hundred dollar bills taped to his boxers and not get laid.

  He remains in the car, but shuts the door and looks at me.

  “It’s embarrassing,” he says.

  “All your buds are getting laid?”

  “Buds?”

  “Don’t be haughty. You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. They’re all getting laid. A lot.”

  “Maybe they’re lying.”

  “No, they’re definitely scoring.”

  He sighs and goes quiet, and fiddles with the plastic cup holder between our seats.

  I say, “Want some advice?”

  He looks at me. “Real advice?”

  I nod. “I see three flaws in your game.”

  “That’s pretty harsh.”

  “Think of it this way. You’re only three steps away from getting laid.”

  “Of course, you’re a lot older,” he says, “so your advice might be stone age.”

  I shrug.

  He adds, “Then again, you’re a babe.”

  “My advice is universal among babes of all ages. You want to hear it?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.”

  “Hygiene, wardrobe, communication.”

  He frowns. “I bathe.”

  “Twice a day?”

  “Twice a day?”

  “Yes, and clear up the face. Get your mom to take you to a dermatologist. There are tons of products. Creams, lotions, pills…and dermabrasion to get rid of the acne scars.”

  “That’ll take years!”

  “Months.”

  “Still, that’s a long time.”

  “The time’s going to pass either way. May as well have clean, healthy skin and a girlfriend.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “You don’t want a girlfriend?”

  “Nah, I’ll probably play the field,” he says.

  I work to hold back a smile.

  “What’s wrong with my wardrobe? And remember, you’re old.”

  “Older, not old. And your clothes are babe proof.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Like someone dressed you with babe repellent.”

  “That’s bogus!”

  “Dillon, a change is in order. It starts with your hygiene, but the whole package needs an upgrade. And by the way, I’m not finished with the hygiene.”

  “Jesus, you sound like my mom.”

  “Thank you so much for that. Communication’s number three on the list, and that’s no small issue with you. But hygiene is more than showers and clean skin. It’s hair. Nails. Breath. Diet.”

  “Diet?”

  “If you and I were going on a three day road trip and you could bring four things, what would you bring?”

  “Four boxes of condoms.”

  “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment, though it sounds rather ambitious.”

  “Says you.”

  “Four things to eat, Dillon. What would you bring on the hypothetical trip? Four types of sugary cereal?”

  “I’d take cereal, sure. For one of my food groups. I mean, who wouldn’t? After all, breakfast is the most import meal of the day! But I’m eclectic. I’d take other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Chicken fingers, French fries, cookie cake…”

  “Sounds like a six-year-old kid’s birthday menu.”

  He frowns. “If I make all these changes, I wouldn’t be me.”

  We look at each other without speaking.

  Then he says, “Getting laid might not be worth the hassle.”

  “That’s been my experience so far,” I say.

  “Maybe you haven’t met the right woman yet,” he says.

  DINNER WITH BEN.

  We’re home, and he ordered Chinese without checking with me. All these years and he still doesn’t know what I like, so he over-ordered. There must be ten containers on the kitchen table, and twenty packets of soy sauce, which I don’t use.

  The food odor is strong, but I’m picking up a different scent.

  “Did someone stop by today?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “A woman.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I’m smelling perfume.”

  “It’s probably the sweet and sour sauce.”

  I give him a look.

  “What?”

  “You think I can’t tell the difference between perfume and sweet and sour sauce?”

  He shakes his head like I’m crazy. Maybe I am, but this is a scent I recognize. Someone I know wore it recently. But who? Vicky Stringfellow? Carter Teague? Wouldn’t it be funny if Vicky left our lunch date all indignant, but then contacted Ben? I wonder if she sat on this very couch and flirted with him. Did she kiss him?

  I poke around till I find some won ton soup, lift the lid, and stir it with one of the plastic spoons they provided with the order. As a cloud of steam rises above the soup, I wonder if the spoon will melt if I keep stirring. Then I wonder if the Styrofoam container might leach chemicals into the broth. I look up to see Ben grinning at me.

  “What?”

  “You were wild last night,” he says. Then—I’m not making this up—he winks at me!

  “It was nice,” I say.

  “Nice? It was fantastic! Best sex we ever had, by far!”

  I keep stirring my soup. If it doesn’t cool off soon I’ll probably put an ice cube in it.

  “Don’t you agree?” he says.

  “Huh?”

  I fill the spoon with soup and put it to my mouth. It’s still steaming, so I blow on it gently, and say “Thanks for taking care of dinner tonight.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “That was really nice of you.”

  I swallow the soup and wince at the temperature, then pick up the entire container and blow on it. It’s so hot it makes my hand uncomfortable just holding it.

  Ben says, “Was last night the best sex you ever had?”

  I feel like setting my hair on fire and running from the room. Why must he keep going on and on about last night? A few of the minutes were nice. But I also cried myself to sleep afterward.

  I know what he wants to hear: Last night was the best sex of my life, Ben! Wow, what a lover YOU turned out to be! You’re like a god in the bedroom, and I can’t wait till the next session! But I don’t want to encourage him. I see him looking at me, waiting for an answer. What was it he asked? Was last night the best sex I ever had? I shrug and say, “I guess.”

  Ben says, “I never heard you cry out like that before. And the way you touched me toward the end—”

  “Ben?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can we not talk about last night?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s weird talking about it the next day.”

  “You’re embarrassed?”

  “A little.”

  “I don’t understand. You’re a woman. You’re supposed to want to talk abou
t everything. Especially relationships. Here I’m trying to talk about our relationship. Last night was a very happy surprise and I was hoping you had a great time too.”

  “You weren’t asking about us having a great time, you were asking if we had great sex.”

  “What’s the difference?”

  “Seriously?”

  He thinks a minute while we eat. “Okay,” he says. “I can understand how the two might be different things to you. But I was having a great time during sex, and it seemed you were, too.”

  “I was.”

  “So you weren’t pretending,” he says.

  “Of course not.”

  “Okay, then.”

  “But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it the next day.”

  “That’s the part I don’t get.”

  I sigh. “Sex is an in-the-moment thing. If I start thinking you’re going to review and critique my every move the next day, I’ll probably just lie there like a statue next time.”

  He sets his jaw angrily and says, “Thank you so much.”

  “I don’t understand your tone.”

  “You just managed to suck all the fun out of last night.”

  I put the soup container back on the table and stare at the man I’ve lived with all these years, the one who’s angry because I gave him the best sex of his life last night. I pleased him so much we’re actually fighting about it tonight? Does that make sense? And am I really expected to apologize for hurting his feelings over the fact I don’t want to rehash every gasp, shudder, and moan I made? Is there a Guinness category for how many apologies a person has made in a day? Because I may be closing in on it. In the last eight hours I’ve apologized to Sophie, Roy, and Dillon. And now Ben? Well, why the hell not?

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve had a shit day. That’s my only excuse.”

  “What happened?”

  “Let’s just try to enjoy dinner and put this day behind us, okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Moments later Ben grabs his lower stomach and runs to the bathroom.

  “Don’t eat the moo shu pork!” he yells.

  Right. Like I’d ever do that in the first place!

  THURSDAY MORNING

  “LET ME GET this straight,” Meg Worthington says. “You’re trying to fix me up with your husband?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your current husband.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because?”

  “Ben’s a great guy, and he deserves a great woman.”

  “But you don’t want him.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Wait—are you trying to set up a threesome?”

  “No, of course not!”

  “You’re what, trying to dump him gracefully?”

  “Sort of. It’s complicated.”

  Meg eyes me closely. “Does he still love you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Doesn’t sound complicated to me. Would you like to know what I’m hearing you say?”

  People who talk like that tend to have some couch experience.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “I’m hearing you say Ben’s not good enough for you, so you’ve been looking around and decided that out of all the single women you know, Meg Worthington must be the most desperate.”

  “What?”

  “So desperate is Meg Worthington, she’d jump at the chance of dating a married man who’s still in love with his wife!”

  “No, that’s not it!”

  “You said your husband deserves a great woman.”

  “He does!”

  “And you’ve selected me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have we ever spoken?”

  “Of course!”

  “Beyond discussions about yoga?”

  “Well…”

  “Don’t wrinkle your pretty little face worrying about it. The answer is we haven’t. So you don’t know if I’m a great woman or not.”

  “Well, you seem really nice. I mean, you’re always pleasant…”

  “That’s about to change.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend you, Meg. I honestly thought I’d be doing you both a favor.”

  She looks at me with amazement. “How did you expect this to work, Dani? Was I supposed to flirt with him, try to get him to go out with me? See if I could talk him into cheating on his wife?”

  “Yes. I mean, he’s available Monday and Tuesday evenings. I thought maybe I could prep you about him, and you could sort of bump into him and—”

  “You’re insane!” she says.

  I watch her walk down the hall, heading toward the gym exit. But as she passes the snack bar she sees two friends and quickly pulls them into a gossip huddle. She’s animated, they’re stupefied. Now her friends are staring at me in horror. Sophie was right. This plan to find a woman for Ben isn’t going to work.

  My cell phone rings. Caller ID shows Patrick Aub.

  “Hi Pat.”

  “Your boy came through.”

  I’m so off my game it takes me a few seconds. “SeanInPain?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “But I only told you about him yesterday!”

  “Believe it or not, the kid’s got a merchant account. Cheryl authorized payment for the shower pix, he sent her the download link.”

  I take a deep breath. “And?”

  “The quality’s outstanding.”

  “Pat?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Did you mean to say that?”

  He laughs. “I forgot you didn’t know.”

  I frown. I still don’t know. I turn my back to Meg and her friends so I can use a more confidential tone on the phone.

  Pat says, “Hold on, I’ll forward you one.”

  “Wait. Are we breaking the law here? This is underage porn, right?”

  I hear a gasp behind me and realize someone heard what I just said. I turn and see Meg standing there bug-eyed, with her mouth gaping open. Apparently she has something else to say, though I doubt she’s changed her mind about dating Ben. I hold up my index finger and whisper, “Just a sec, Meg.”

  Pat says, “I just sent you the picture. Who’s Meg? One of your hot friends?”

  I turn away from Meg and whisper, “Is it legal?

  Pat says, “The law’s currently fuzzy on this.”

  For a second I forget about Meg and say, “How can it be fuzzy if she’s underage?”

  “OMIGOD!” Meg shouts, and storms off. “OMIGOD!” she shouts as she walks past the snack bar. “OMIGOD!” as she exits the building.

  I wonder how my comments about the law could have had such a major affect on her, so I play them back in my mind, and realize she only heard my side of the conversation, including:

  This is underage porn, right? Is it legal? How can it be fuzzy if she’s underage?

  I have to face the facts. I have no right to lecture Dillon. Communication isn’t my strong suit, either.

  Pat says, “Let me know when it comes through.”

  Within seconds my phone shows I’ve got a download available. I click it and see SeanInPain’s naked sister in the shower. Pat’s right, the quality is outstanding.

  But what I’m looking at is not a photograph. It’s a beautiful full-color, cartoon-type drawing.

  I click back to Pat. “I don’t understand. What type of drawing is this?”

  “It’s called anime.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it’s depicting an underage girl taking a shower.”