Текст книги "The Job "
Автор книги: Claire Adams
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“I don’t believe that,” I tell her.
“It’s true,” she says. “This is stupid. I should just give up.”
“I’ll tell you what,” I say, still hunched forward, my hands on my upper thighs, “why don’t we change spots.”
“You’re bigger than me,” she says. “I don’t think I could catch you.”
“We’ll do it on the flat ground,” I tell her. “Stand just a foot or two behind me and just catch me when I start to tip. If nothing else, that’ll teach you that you can be a part of a trusting relationship.”
The look on her face tells me that I wasn’t particularly clear with that explanation.
“What I mean by that,” I explain, “is that I’ll trust you to catch me. You, I have no doubt, are going to prove yourself worthy of that trust. That’s what I meant by trusting relationship. This might be an easier place to start, as I know you trust your own ability.”
She looks at the ground, then at me, then briefly at my crotch, although I have no illusions that there’s any sexual context to the glance.
“Okay,” she says. “Are you ready or do you need another minute?”
After a glass of water and some pacing, I manage to get myself in a somewhat more upright position and we get in our places.
“You do the count,” I tell her.
“All right,” she says. “One, two, three.”
Against my better judgment in this scenario, I fall backward and she easily stops me from falling to the ground.
“Oh, well if I knew it was that easy,” she says as I get my feet back underneath the rest of my body, “I wouldn’t have freaked out when you tried to catch me.”
“In my defense,” I tell her, “even after the smack in the face, I did still catch you. Do you think you’re ready for this?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I can do this.”
“All right,” I tell her. “We’re going to start you on the flat floor this time just so you can get used to it and this time—”
“Keep my arms folded,” she says. “I got it. Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” I tell her, swallowing all of the many parts of myself that want to stay angry at her for inflicting such a massive dose of pain.
She gets into position and I start the count, “One, two, three.”
Jessica falls backward and, managing to keep her hands at least next to her body this time, I catch her easily.
“Whoa, that was cool,” she says. “Can we do that again?”
I snicker, “Sure. Do you want to try it from the step or do you want to do another one from the floor?”
“The floor,” she says. “I’m still kind of nervous.”
We do it again and this time she even manages to keep her hands crossed over her chest. One more time and Jessica’s actually starting to get comfortable doing it. And I’m getting comfortable feeling her body.
Finally, she says she’s ready to try it from the bottom stair.
“All right,” I tell her. “Now, what’s the point of this exercise?”
“To trust you,” she says.
Technically, it’s to show her the benefits of being able to trust, period, but it’s kind of nice to hear the words “trust” and “you” coming from her after having the opposite be the rule for most of the time we’ve known each other.
I think I had a game plan at some point before we started this, but that went out the window when my boys got the pinch of doom. Since then, my brain’s gotten a little hazy.
I do know that I was going to try to work the fact that I’m the one that she’s been sending messages to into the conversation at some point today, but given the fact that she’s only now learning to trust me at all, I’d say it’s worth saving for another lesson.
“Are you ready back there?” she asks.
“Yep,” I tell her. “Just keep your arms to your sides, and I’m pretty sure the four of us are going to be just fine.”
“The four of—” and she gets the joke. Laughing, she says, “Okay,” and crosses her arms over her chest.
I stand with my pelvis a bit farther back than usual, but I’m ready, so I start counting, “One, two, three.”
She falls backward and, thankfully, her arms stay where they are.
I catch her and just hold her there for a minute. “See? You can do this.”
“Uh, Eric?” she says, her voice devoid of the celebratory mirth I’d been expecting.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“You’re grabbing my boobs,” she says.
Not even thinking, I let go of her entirely and she falls to the floor.
Shit.
Chapter Eleven
Steel Wool
Jessica
After I picked myself up off the floor, I couldn’t get my mind off Eric’s hands on my boobs. It was the first time in a long while a guy has touched me like that and it was…nice.
I made sure to clear my head as Eric and I went over some specifics regarding how I should approach and train the person or people I’m ready to promote. He seemed to think that I should get at least two managers right away, but I think I’ll be more comfortable if I only do one at a time.
That said, I’m not sure why I’m so nervous.
I’ve decided to promote Cheryl, mostly based off of Eric’s recommendation that she seemed to have the best overall knowledge and savvy of anyone, other than myself, of course, in the store.
She just walked in the door so I stroll out to meet her.
Cheryl has been with me for a long time, but I think I know her less than pretty much anyone else in the store. It’s not that I’ve specifically avoided her or anything; she just seems to be less chatty than everyone else.
“Cheryl, could I talk to you for a minute?” I ask as she’s making her way to the break room to drop off her purse.
“Sure,” she answers and changes course to come into my office.
“Would you mind closing the door?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says nervously.
“There’s something that I wanted to talk to you about, and I’m not quite sure how to start. This is kind of new to me,” I begin.
“Okay,” she says.
“You’ve been here at this store for a while, and I think it’s time we make a change,” I tell her.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“Well, it’s become apparent to me that things around here need to change,” I tell her. “I don’t think the way I’ve been going about running this business has been—”
“I can work weekends,” she says.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Holidays,” she says. “I don’t mind working overtime. You don’t even have to pay me an overtime wage. I just really need this job.”
“That’s not where I’m going with this,” I tell her. “I’m talking about fundamentally changing the way that I do business—the way we do business. You see, for such a long time, I’ve felt the need to lord over every decision, be here at every moment, and that’s not a sustainable business model.”
“I really need this job,” she says.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I’ve been here since you opened up, and I think it’s pretty screwed up that you’re talking about firing me when I have given so much of my life to help this place off the ground,” she says.
Now it makes sense.
“I’m not talking about firing you, Cheryl,” I smile.
“Oh,” she says. “Well, if you’re going to cut my hours, I really wish you would have told me before now so I could look for another job to supplement my income, I—”
“I asked you in here so I could offer you a promotion,” I tell her.
“Well, you’d better just think about what you’re—I’m sorry, what?” she asks.
“I’m offering you a position as assistant store manager,” I tell her. “It’ll be an increase in responsibility across the board, but you’ll also get a pretty handsome raise. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in, Cheryl?”
She doesn’t answer.
“I’ve come to realize that, despite how much I feel the need to control every portion of this store’s operation, every day, I’m not infallible, and I sure as hell don’t know everything. What I need to do,” I explain, “is start trusting my staff. You and the others have put so much time and so much energy into this place, and I know it wouldn’t be as successful as it is without any one of you. Cheryl, you stand out from the crowd. You have a degree of insight into this place that gets people to stand up and take notice, and I want you to know that you are valued here. So, do you think you’d be interested in being my assistant store manager?”
She looks down at the ground, then back up at me.
“Yes,” she says in a quiet, shaky voice.
“Great,” I tell her. “Now, we’re going to have to help each other out here. This is new territory for me, and so I ask for your patience. That said, I’d like to go ahead and make your new position official today.”
“I’m ready,” she says.
“Great,” I tell her. “First off, I’m going to need to ask you something.”
“What’s that?” she asks.
“What does an assistant store manager do?”
* * *
“You actually asked her what an assistant store manager does?” my text friend writes.
“I’m new to this,” I write back. “I’m sure there are keys involved, but how much of my daily workload do I delegate? I’m not sure what’s appropriate here.”
I’m sitting at dinner with Kristin and Jed.
I do not like Jed.
“Who are you talking to?” Kristin asks.
“Just a friend,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says. “You mean that friend.”
“How long have we been sitting here?” Jed asks. “I feel like we’ve been waiting for our meals for a really long time. What’s taking them so long? The place isn’t that busy. I don’t see how hard it is to make three simple meals and bring it out to a table.”
“We just ordered,” I inform Jed. “It usually takes more than two minutes for a restaurant to cook something.”
“It feels like it’s been longer than that, though,” he says. “I don’t know. I’ve been so stressed lately. I think I’m getting an ulcer.”
“If anything’s going to give you an ulcer,” Kristin tells him, “it’s going to be how much you constantly worry about getting an ulcer.”
My phone beeps and I read the message, “It sounds like you might want to have that guy come back and show you the ropes. Was he helpful before?”
I write back, “He was helpful, but it kind of got a little weird last time.”
“Jay, there’s something we’d like to tell you,” Kristin says. “Actually, it’s the reason that we asked you out to dinner.”
“I know,” I tell her. “You’re still waiting for me to give you that discount you decided you were entitled to as my sister, but we’re just barely starting to recover from the months of construction in the store, and with this new deal—if you can even call it that—I’ve got with one of my main suppliers, I really don’t think I can start offering you designer products for seventy-five percent off. I could maybe do ten or something, but even that would be—”
“It’s not that,” she says, “although I do think it’s pretty sad that you can’t even give your own sister, a woman that you shared the same womb with, a silly little major discount on some clothes.”
“We’re not twins,” I tell her. “We didn’t share a womb.”
“We came out of the same vag,” she says. “Whatever. Anyway—”
My sister is something special.
My phone beeps and I shift my attention from Kristin to the screen.
“It got weird?” he writes. “What do you mean?”
I write back, “Well, it came to light that I might have a little difficulty trusting others, so we did a little trust exercise. There were injuries.”
“You’re not even listening to me, are you?” she asks.
“How long does it take?” Jed asks nobody. “My stomach’s going to start eating itself if it hasn’t already. Oh, this is why I hate going out to eat. Nobody ever—”
“Honey,” Kristin says, “shut up. I’m trying to talk here.”
“Did you bring any antacids?” he asks. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten to bring some from home. This stress is going to kill me, I just know it.”
“Jed,” Kristin says, “shut the fuck up.”
His mouth is closed, but he’s still looking around in every direction, assumedly trying to spot the waiter who took our order less than five minutes ago.
“Jay-Jay—” Kristin starts.
“I hate that name,” I tell her. “I don’t know why you still call me that. I’ve been telling you for years that I hate it when you call me that.”
“I’m pregnant,” she says. “Jed and I are having a baby.”
After a minute of staring blankly, it occurs to me that she’s waiting for some kind of reaction.
“Wow,” I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. It’s not much.
I look over at Jed, who’s wiping his nose on one of the restaurant’s cloth napkins.
Yeah, that kid is going to get the shit beaten out of it.
“I know, right?” Kristin says. “I mean, we’re not like a hundred percent sure, but I haven’t had a period in like two months, and I’ve been getting really sick in the mornings, and I’m not even drinking anymore.”
“That’s fantastic,” I tell her and it’s all I can do to not jump with joy as my phone beeps.
I look down, reading, “Trust fall?”
“Yeah,” I write back. “I got it eventually, but it was a bit of a process.”
“What are you doing?” Kristin asks.
“What do you mean?” I ask back.
“I just told you that I’m pregnant—me, your one and only sister, the most important person in your world. Are you going to come over here and give me a hug or not?” she asks.
“Right,” I murmur and get out of my seat.
“Excuse me,” Jed says, hailing a passing waiter. “We’re still waiting for our entrees.”
“I’m very sorry, sir,” the waiter says. “I’ll go see what’s going on.”
“You know, it’s best not to end sentences in prepositions,” Jed says.
As I’m almost around the table and now close to the waiter, I lean toward him and promise him twenty bucks if nobody spits in my food.
The waiter smiles and walks away.
I bend down and give Kristin a hug.
“Have you been in to see the doctor yet?” I ask.
“Oh, I don’t think that’s going to be necessary,” Jed answers. “I know pretty much everything there is to know about natal care and birthing.”
That’s easily one of the most disturbing things I’ve ever heard.
“I didn’t know you went to medical school,” I tell him, standing back up, releasing the hug.
“I didn’t,” he says.
“Paramedic training?” I ask. “Mid-wifing—or would that be mid-husbandry? That doesn’t sound right.”
“No,” Jed says.
“Have you had kids?” I ask.
“No,” he answers, “but I do have five brothers and sisters.”
“Jed, we’ve talked about this,” Kristin says. “I’m going to the doctor.”
“I don’t see why,” he responds, playing with the tuft of hair beneath his bottom lip. “All you have to do is make sure you’re getting enough vitamins and try not to overexert yourself.”
“I think Kristin’s right,” I chime in, “I’m sure you’ll be a big help, but she needs a doctor to help her through the process.”
“She really doesn’t,” he says. “Medical practice is just a big racket anyway. My mom never went to the doctor and she lived a good, long, healthy life.”
“Jed, your mother was always sick,” Kristin says. “I don’t even know how tall she was because she was always bedridden with something or another.”
“Prepositions,” Jed corrects.
“Whatever,” Kristin says. “If it’s a boy, we’re thinking of naming him Percival.”
Neither Jed nor my sister appreciate the loud, albeit quick burst of laughter that escapes my lungs.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to force my smile down. “Why Percival?”
“It was my grandfather’s name,” Jed says. “It’s a great name with a rich history.”
“I don’t know,” I tell him. “That just seems like something you name your kids if you’re living in the eighteen hundreds. I don’t know that many Percivals walking around today.”
“That’s the problem with you people,” he starts, although what he means by “you people,” I can only guess at, “you’re always thinking that if something’s not already popular, there’s no value to it. I think a name should be picked because it’s a good name, not because everyone else’s kid has that name—and where in the hell is our meal? I must have asked that waiter to check on it about half an hour ago.”
“Three minutes,” I correct. “What are you going to name the kid if it’s a girl?”
“That’s one of the things I wanted to tell you,” Kristin says. “I know that you and I have had our ups and downs or whatever, but I really think that we’re getting past all that. I wanted to name her Jay-Jay, after you.”
And now it’s awkward.
I’ve already told her, earlier in this conversation, that I hate the moniker Jay-Jay, but this is a rather sweet act.
“Why Jay-Jay?” I ask. “I mean, I’m very flattered, but if you wanted to name her after me, why not just go with Jessica.”
“Well,” Kristin groans, motioning her head toward Jed.
“It just seems too old-world to me,” he says. “I mean, I hear the name Jessica and I think of some woman in the renaissance posing nude for Da Vinci.”
“Did Da Vinci paint a lot of nudes?” I ask.
“It just doesn’t have that modern feel to it,” Jed says.
“Whereas Percival is hot off the presses,” I snicker.
Jed glares at me, but fortunately, my phone just beeped, so I don’t have to look at him.
The message reads, “Some friends and I are having a party this weekend, and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”
Hot blood, cold sweat.
“Are you all right?” Jed asks. “You look rather peaked. I hope it’s not that flu that’s going around town.”
“What flu?” I ask, trying to get my mind off the bombshell on my phone.
“There’s always a flu,” Kristin answers, rolling her eyes.
“You should get yourself checked out,” Jed says.
“Prepositions,” Kristin mumbles. She said it quietly, but the look on her face is one of absolute victory.
“Would you excuse me for a minute?” I ask.
“Sure,” Kristin answers. “Want me to go with you?”
“No,” I tell her. “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.”
As I’m walking away, I can hear Jed somewhere behind, telling me to wash my hands.
A party? I don’t even know this man and already he’s asking me if I want to go to a party with him?
I guess it’s not all that outlandish. We have been talking for a while, and we do seem to get along really well.
Opening the door to the bathroom, I walk over to the sink and splash some water over my face.
I’ve been out of the game too long.
The guy didn’t ask me to marry him or bear his children. He just asked if I wanted to go to a party and I’m on the verge of a panic attack about it.
My phone beeps again.
I dry my hands and look at the message.
It says, “I hope that’s not too forward, but my friend, the one that gave me your number, he’s the one that’s throwing the party. I thought it might be a nice, low-pressu”
I wait a minute for the rest of the thought.
The phone beeps and the message continues, “re way for you and I to get to know one another a little better.”
“I don’t know,” I write back and look up into the mirror to see my mascara running from washing my face. I add, “I’m not sure that I’m really ready to start something serious with anyone right now.”
“Keep it together, Jessica,” I whisper to myself.
“I’m almost done!” some woman, apparently in one of the stalls, calls out.
I just grab a paper towel and clean myself up as best I can before going back out to the restaurant.
My phone beeps.
The message says, “I’m not saying we should move in together or anything. I just thought it’d be nice to have a conversation with you face to face.”
This might not feel like such a momentous decision if it weren’t for the fact that I felt a bit of a spark with Eric in the store the other day.
We didn’t talk about it or anything, but I know he felt something, too. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, though.
“Can I bring my sister?” I write.
The only problem with taking Kristin is that I’m going to have to think of some plausible reason why Jed can’t possibly join us.
I would just go with the truth and tell Kristin that her boyfriend or whatever the hell he is to her is a whiny know-it-all and that he annoys the crap out of me, but that didn’t go over so well the last time I said something similar to her.
The phone beeps.
The message reads, “That seems only fair.”
I give myself one more look in the mirror and take a deep breath, steeling for myself for the train wreck that is dining with my sister and Jed.
Chapter Twelve
Placing Bets
Eric
“It’s the fucking boss lady?” Alec asks.
“Will you keep your fucking voice down, she might be here already,” I tell him. “She doesn’t know it’s me, but yeah, I’m sure it’s her.”
“What are the odds on that one?”
“I have no idea,” I tell him. “What do you know about the sister?”
“Sister?” he asks. “Whose sister?”
“Jessica’s,” I tell him. “She’s bringing her sister. You know, the one who gave her my number?”
“Oh right,” Alec says, “the sister. I really don’t know, man. I know she’s a little high-strung, but get a drink or two in her, and yeah, I don’t really pay that much attention to Irene’s friends.”
“What do you think I should do?” I ask. “Do I tell her that it’s me on the phone or do I try to pull some Cyrano de Bergerac shit and go all covert about it?”
“I think I understood about half the words there,” Alec says. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“I don’t know,” I start. “Things are starting to thaw between her and I in the real world, and I’m not sure that I want to try to mix the two relationships this quickly by telling her that I’m the guy she’s been texting all her dreams and aspirations for the last however long.”
“You don’t have the nose for it,” Alec says.
“What?” I ask.
“I was just fucking with you on the Cyrano thing. I’ve seen Evita.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask. “What does Evita have to do with—look, I don’t know what to do here, and I’d really appreciate some advice.”
“Eric?” a familiar voice calls.
I grit my teeth, grin and turn around.
“Jessica,” I say. “What are the chances of us ending up at the same party?”
“I’d say they’re pretty high,” Alec mumbles, and I elbow him in the ribs.
“I know,” she says. “You’re Alec, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” my friend, the one who knows enough about the story of Cyrano to remember the nose, but still somehow thinks he was a character in Evita, answers. “This is actually my party,” he says.
“You two know each other?” the woman standing next to Jessica, I can only assume her sister, asks.
“Yeah,” Jessica says. “These two did some work in the store for me.”
“So, where’s your friend?” the sister asks.
“Friend?” Alec responds, not straining any muscles by acting stupid. “Oh,” he answers, “the one with the phone number.”
“…yeah,” the sister says. “He invited us. I think he really wants to meet Jessica. Do you know where he is?”
“No,” Alec answers. “He just called and said he might not be able to make it. Something about bad clams, I don’t know.”
While Jessica and her sister are looking at each other, I sneak another elbow into Alec’s ribs.
“He might show up later, though,” Alec adds, not helping in the slightest.
“All right,” the sister says. “We’ll hang around for a bit.”
The two walk off and Alec and I smile and wave.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” I ask him. “Bad clams?”
“I thought it would give you the option of ‘showing up’ later if you decide you want to come clean with her,” he says.
“Could you do a favor for me and think about that for just a moment?” I ask.
“What?” he asks. Then it hits him. “Right,” he says. “You can’t ‘show up’ because she’s already seen you.”
“That’s right,” I tell him. “Now, I’m either the guy who just stood there and didn’t bother telling her I’m the one she’s trying to meet, or I’m the guy on her phone with food poisoning from eating fucking bad clams!”
That last part comes out a bit louder than I meant, but the music and general cacophony cover it well enough.
“What are you going to do?” he asks.
“Before or after I bury you in the desert with only your head above the sand so the vultures can pluck your eyes out while the rest of you turns into a raisin?” I ask.
“After,” he answers, not missing a beat.
I sigh.
“What can I do?” I ask. “I can’t just go over there and tell her that I’m the one on the phone. Although I’m pretty sure she’d buy the fact that you’re an idiot, I have no way to account for the fact that I didn’t say something at the time.”
“You’re right man,” he says. “You really should have said something.”
“Do you have anything to drink?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says, “keg’s in the back, just like when we were kids.”
“When I come back, I’m going to explain to you everything that’s wrong with what you just said,” I tell him and walk toward the back.
Beer.
I’ve never really understood beer.
It seems to me that if you’re going to drink something with alcohol in it, you’d either want something that tastes good or something that gets you fucked up, maybe both. Beer always seemed to me to be neither.
Still, I’ve watched enough television to know that when people are stressed and don’t know what to do, they drink.
I can’t say that it’s ever really worked for me, but maybe I’m just not getting drunk enough.
“Hey there, cutie,” Irene, Alec’s wife coos drunkenly as she stands in line for the keg. She leans against me with what I can only assume is supposed to be a hug and says, “I’m going to do a keg stand in a second. Would you like to hold my legs? You’re the only one I trust.”
“How did you know I was coming over here?” I ask.
“What?”
“Well,” I tell her, “if you were already planning on doing a keg stand and I’m the only one you trust to hold your legs—you know what? Never mind,” I tell her as she attempts to stand up straight, but only managing what I can only describe as stumbling without moving her feet.
“You’re so good to me,” Irene says, taking a long drink from her plastic cup.
“Hey, I’m actually glad you’re here,” I start, but she thinks that’s the whole thought.
“Oh,” she says, putting her arm around me again, “I’m really glad that you’re here, too. I’ve always liked you, you know. I don’t know what Alec tells you that makes it so seldom that we see each other places,” she slurs, “but I like it when you’re around with us here.”
“Thanks,” I smile, “but I was wondering if I could get your advice on something.”
“Anything you need, Errc,” she answers, spitting as she talks.
“You know your friend, the one whose sister you gave my number to?” I ask.
“Yeah,” Irene says. “Her name is Jessica. She’s a very prerrty girl.” Irene leans toward me and, putting her hand to one side of her mouth, she says, “I think the two of you would make beautiffful babies together, mmm hmm.”
She nods agreement with her own statement.
“…thanks,” I tell her. “Well, I actually know her from somewhere else, only she doesn’t know that I’m the one that’s been texting her and that husband of yours—”
“Alec!” Irene shouts and, while my little outburst earlier went largely unnoticed, Irene and her famous set of pipes bring everyone’s attention to our attention.
Alec makes his way over and Irene immediately slaps him across the face.
“What did you do?”
“Jesus!” Alec exclaims. “What was that for?”
“Errerric here says that you did something, now what wasssit?” she asks. “J’accuse!”
“Oh god,” Alec moans. “Don’t tell me we’re back to that again.”
“What did you do?” Irene asks.
“I told Miss Davis—”
“Miss Davis?” Irene interrupts. “Is that some sort of sexxx thing? Have you been stickin’ it in other people, ‘cause you know my rule about that.”
“I know,” Alec says, “only if you’re there. But no, we’ve never done anything. Miss Davis, Jessica, she’s the one we were doing that store remodel for and Eric’s concerned that she’s not going to take him seriously.”
“That’s not really my concern—”
“Oh, Errerriac’s a good man,” Irene says. She turns in the direction of the greatest amount of people and loudly announces, “This right herrre’s a gooood man!”
“I really appreciate that,” I tell her quietly, “but what we’re trying to tell you is that she doesn’t know that I’m the guy who’s been texting with her, and I don’t know if it would be such a good idea if she did now that your husband—”
“I’m sorry I slapped you,” Irene interrupts, rubbing her husband’s face.
At this point, I no longer have any impression that Irene’s going to be able to give me any usable advice here. All I can hope for now is that I can somehow convince her that telling Jessica who I am is a bad idea.
“Just tell her how you feel,” Irene says. “I bet she’d be thrilled to know it’s you.”
“Well, we’ve kind of had some problems in the past,” I tell Irene. “Things are getting better, but—”
“Do you want me to talk to herrr for you?” Irene asks. “I’ll totally talk you up—I know! I’ll just tell her that you’ve got a huge dick. Women love that. You have a huge dick, don’t you Errkrr?”
“I really don’t know how to answer that question,” I say, looking to Alec for guidance.
He has none to offer.
“Jessica!” Irene shouts.
“Don’t,” I tell Irene. “I really don’t think that particular line of communication is going to do me any favors.”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Irene says.
I’m furiously trying to think of some way to convince Irene not to drunkenly announce to Jessica anything about what I’ve got in my pants. Don’t get me wrong, I’m quite comfortable with what I’m packing, but it’s really not my idea of small talk.
“Hey Irene!” Jessica says and gives her a hug. “This is a great party.”
“Isn’t it?” Irene asks. “I hear that you know my friend Eric, here.”
Oh god.
“You know,” Irene continues, “there’s something about Eric that I think you should—”
“Keg’s free!” I interrupt and praise whatever deity made Irene an alcoholic because she turns on her heel, quickly hands Alec her cup of beer and, without prompting of any kind, two guys that I’ve never met in my life lift her into position over the keg.
Irene drinks like a champ for ten solid seconds and when she’s the right kind of vertical again, she lifts her arms above her head and lets out a loud, “Woo!” to the cheers of the partygoers.
“Damn, girl,” Jessica says. “You’ve got an iron gullet.”
“Yerr dammn skippity I do,” Irene says. The smile drains from her face quickly, though, and Alec grabs his wife’s hand.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he says, “let’s get you to the bathroom.”
“Do you think she’s going to be okay?” Jessica laughs.
“Yeah, I’m sure she’ll be fine,” I tell her. “In the years that I’ve known the two of them, I’ve never even heard of Irene throwing up. If anything, they’re probably headed upstairs to—so, cool party, huh?” I ask.
Jessica eyes me, saying, “Yeah, I guess. You know, it’s so funny that you should be here. I had no idea that Irene and Alec were married. The times that I’ve been around her, she’s never actually mentioned having a husband. In fact, and don’t tell anybody this, the last time we were at a bar, she picked up this guy, and—I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” she says. “He’s your friend.”
