3. Billy
THREE
Billy
STRANGER (NO) STRINGS
“Shit. Shit, not again!” Donna pulls out all the hand towels from a drawer and throws them onto the floor. “Turn off the dishwasher—turn it off!”
I leap over the puddle and hit a button on the washer to turn it off. “Wait, your dishwasher really was leakin’?”
“It did the last time I ran it, yeah.” Donna runs to the linen closet in the hallway to grab more towels, or more like shuffles very quickly, because her wicked hot little silky dress thing is so tight.
“Well, why didn’t you say so?”
“What do you mean?!” She drops more towels onto the floor to soak up the hot water. “I did.”
“But you gotta admit—the outfit, the names, you kinda led with the ‘fantasy’ part more than the ‘my dishwasher needs some actual repairs’ part. ”
Donna lets out a big, stress-filled, exasperated sigh. That shouldn’t do anything for me, but it heaves her wonderful rack even higher up out of the top of her tight little dress before it descends gently on the off breath. “Well, that’s because I knew I could just not run the dishwasher when it’s leaking, but it’s a lot harder to not have sex when I’m horny!” She looks up at me. We’re both still breathing a little heavy and her cheeks are flushed. Both from trying to create a flood in her panties and from preventing a flood in her kitchen.
Sometimes I can’t believe she’s real. She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever been with. The lock of hair matted to her forehead from a little sweat somehow only adds to her charm. Everything she does and everything she says only ever adds . If they used pictures of her body in geometry textbooks, guys would understand curvature in an instant. Hourglasses get their inspiration from the shape of her body, not the other way around. When the Animaniacs said, Hellooooooo, nurse! they were talking to Donna and only to her.
But Donna isn’t my girlfriend. We don’t date. We role-play and pretend to be other people—people who don’t really know each other—because it’s fun and it de-stresses her. She gets it. This wonderful, beautiful, fun broad gets it. And I fucking love giving it to her. But I do know her well enough now to see that there’s stress in her eyes beneath all that lust. Her panties may be wet, but so are her floors and her appliance is broken. This is a woman who works hard, and she wants the things in her life to work when she needs them to. She’s not going to be able to really relax until her dishwasher’s fixed. And if she’s awake, she’s out of the apartment for her job, so she can’t wait around during the day.
So I do the hardest thing I think I’ve done since trying to give up Dunkin’ for Lent. I think beyond how hard I am right at this very moment and consider the big picture. “Well, how about I fix it and then we fuck.”
“How about we fuck first and then you fix it,” Donna replies, pouting and trying to get my arms to wrap around her luscious body again.
“If a fake plumber gets you goin’ just wait until you watch me lay pipe for real,” I say with a grin that I know is dangerous.
Donna smirks, trying to arm herself against my charm. Good luck with that, lady. “Well, as I’ve already said many times tonight—hurry up, Rod.”
I inspect the dishwasher, opening the door. A little more water pours out, and I shut it quickly. “Shouldn’t take long at all. Bet it’s just a kinked drain hose.”
“Well, I think it’s unfair the hose gets to be kinky and I’m over here all alone,” she pouts again, completely adorable.
“Just have a seat, sweet cheeks, and watch my big strong hands remove this unit. ”
“I can’t sit in this thing.” She waves her hand up and down her magnificent lingerie.
“Well, then turn around, put your hands on the wall, and spread your legs.” I wink at her. She laughs and shakes her head. Instead, she chooses to fold her arms, pushing her breasts up, and leans one luscious hip against the counter while I get to work.
I take a screwdriver out of my toolbox and start removing the screws that attach the dishwasher unit to the cabinets. “So is it just the dishwasher?”
“What do you mean?”
What do I mean? I’m asking what’s going on with her emotionally. In her life. Even though that’s against the no-strings rules. When we started this arrangement, it was made clear by both of us that if this had any hope of staying fun, we couldn’t burden each other with our real-life problems. Only made-up problems of people like Rod Auger and Ms. Ballcock. Instead of analyzing why I’m asking, I just say, “I dunno. Is there something wrong, or is it just the dishwasher bringing you down?”
“Isn’t that breaking the rules?” Donna asks, as if reading my mind.
I pocket the screws and shrug without looking at her, staying focused on the dishwasher. “You’re not offering. I’m asking. I think we can get off on a technicality.”
She hesitates, and I take that moment to pull the dishwasher out. It covers whatever awkward pause was about to happen between us with the scraping of metal against linoleum. Which I prefer, for some reason. Would it hurt if she says no? That’s ridiculous. That’s literally her business. When the dishwasher is out far enough so I can see the back and the connecting drain hose, the quiet returns. And I just wait to see if she wants to fill it with an answer.
“I had a tough day at work.”
“Oh yeah?” I don’t look at her. I focus on the drain hose, which is indeed kinked and not installed properly. Because I think if I look at her, she’ll stop talking.
“Yeah. No one died. Which as you know, in my line of work, happens.”
“Yeah,” I say, because I don’t know what else to say. Her job as a private nurse is incredibly important and incredibly heavy and something I know I wouldn’t be able to do.
“It was just a miscommunication with someone who was supposed to come to my patient’s house today to help me with something, so I had to do it myself. It was a scheduling conflict that’s falling on me. And it’s not a big deal. It wasn’t a life-or-death situation, which makes me feel even dumber about being so annoyed by it.”
“Well, you can only ever have your problems. Even if they’re not life or death. They’re still yours, and there’s still a problem.” I look up at her when she doesn’t say anything. She’s looking at me with a strange look on her face. “What?”
“That’s pretty wise, Billy Boston.”
“I’m full of wisdom, Donna Fischer.” With a smile that confirms I know just how full of wisdom and charm I am.
“You’re full of something,” she says with a laugh.
The hose is unkinked and the unit is draining again. I start working on hooking the hose in the proper place. “You sound like my cousins.”
Donna sighs again. “Well, that’s the other thing—relatives. My oma was bugging me about dating again. People just don’t get why it’s awesome to not be tied down. Because even though you’re wise, Billy, you’re also wrong. I can have the problems of Ms. Ballcock, who has a jealous ex-husband and the need to be fucked by her sexy plumber.”
“Sexy, wise plumber,” I correct her. I hook the drain hose onto the back and push the dishwasher under the countertop. “Well, I don’t know about the rest, but this’ll be one less problem Donna Fischer has to worry about.”
“Is it done already?”
“Almost,” I say, rotating the screws back in. “I had a similar situation, I guess. Though I’m not supposed to be sharing, am I?”
“I’ll allow it,” she says, waving her hand in the air like a queen. That sounds like a fun scenario for later. I shall serve her and be queened by a queen.
I take a deep breath. Come on, Billy, you’re a fake professional plumber. Focus. “So, I was at this family thing, right? And everyone’s giving me shit about still being single. The usual crap. My cousin Nolan, the one who knows I’m completely full of wisdom, even bet me I couldn’t find a serious girlfriend by November.”
Red snorts. “That’s stupid.”
“Tell me about it,” I grumble, tightening a screw with maybe a bit more force than is necessary. Especially because I’m starting to feel confused about which part of that is stupid. The fact that they think I should have one, the fact that they think I can’t get one, or the fact that I don’t have one.
“So is Halloween the deadline, then?”
“Yeah, I suppose it is.”
“I’ve got Halloween off this year for a change. Gonna hand out candy to the trick-or-treaters in the building. You’re welcome to join me. Contribute some Mounds bars to the cause if you don’t have a girl by then.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got this big Halloween party I’m supposed to hit.” I almost tell her that if I don’t have a girlfriend by then, Halloween is when I’m guaranteed to wake up next to one the day after. Most people find hookups during Halloween. They go out at night, pretend to be other people, get shit-faced, and have a good time. They leave their inhibitions at home for a change. But getting shit-faced and having a good time is my life. Those Halloween partiers are tourists visiting my home country. And on nights like that, the real Billy Boston seems like boyfriend material.
“Well, great. More candy for me, then.” She sounds disappointed, though. Which is strange. I must be imagining things. But we both lapse into silence as I focus on the dishwasher. I run a quick cycle, and everything seems to be working properly.
“She’s draining and running smoothly now,” I announce proudly. “Now, are you ready to…” My mouth snaps shut when I look over at Donna. Her eyes are closed. Not in a I’m so turned on by Billy’s real-life plumbing skills that I’m going to give Rod’s rod the ride of his life and I need to shut my eyes for a moment to contain my pleasure kind of shut-eye. They’re I’m so exhausted that I fell asleep standing up closed.
“Donna?” I say gently.
Her eyes pop wide open in a flash. “What? I’m here. Let’s do it.”
Laughing, I shake my head. Donna is a pretty great actress. I mean, even if she wasn’t I’d have a blast role-playing with her. She’s really good at it. But she’s completely full of shit right now. “Nah, you’re beat. You should go to sleep,” I tell her, even though a part of me—a very hard, frustrated part—is screaming to take her up on her offer .
“I just need a quick little nap,” she mumbles, moving to her bedroom and flopping down onto the bed. She curls up into a little ball, and the seams of her silk cheetah-or-whatever lingerie rips. I sigh, because I should have been the one to rip that off her. She doesn’t even seem to notice that it’s torn. She looks so vulnerable now. She still looks really fucking sexy, but it morphs into something else. Something more. Something beautiful. “Five minutes, I promise,” she says sleepily.
“Five minutes,” I say, playing along. “And then I’ll ravish you before your jealous ex gets here.”
“Yeah, five minutes before my drain gets plugged…” she slurs, already half asleep.
Her bed is perfectly made, and she’s on top of it. I look around, finding a folded blanket on the seat of an armchair. I gently spread it over her and tuck her in with my large hands that should be gripping her and vigorously massaging things by now. Part of me wants to curl up with her, to feel her warmth against me, to wake up next to her in the morning. But that’s against the rules too.
I never stay the night. Those are the rules. No catching feelings. If either of us ever starts to get serious about the other or wants more than sex, we have to end it. We made a pact.
I kiss her forehead, inhaling the citrus scent of her shampoo. “Night, Red. ”
She responds with the heavy, slow breathing of a deep, much-needed sleep.
I pick up my boots and let myself out of her apartment, making sure I lock the door on my way out. Thankfully it’s not a long commute back to my place. Only a few steps right next door.
I take a deep breath. I’m frustrated. And confused. And horny. And maybe a little pissed? Why am I feeling all these things? I know why. There’s only one person who’s making me feel this way.
Nolan.
Fucking Nolan.
Me: Hey, Shitbag. Let’s go get wasted.
Fucking Nolan: Wish I could, but my daughter is having trouble sleeping. She needs me. Another night, you fuck.
Well, I need you too, I think to myself. I need you to get shit-faced with me. Do I not count at all anymore?
Me: Dec. Drinks. Now. Meet me in the bar at your hotel in half an hour or I will come find you.
Manhattan: The answer is no. Even if it weren’t Sunday night, it would be no. And if you show up here and wake up my sleeping child I will destroy you. Or bury what’s left of you after Maddie gets to you first.
Manhattan: But thanks again for organizing Grandad’s party.
Well, that is not ideal. Seems pretty out of bounds to use your cute children against your cousin. And Dec and Nolan know I won’t do what I used to do, which is show up at their residences to party by force. And I know not to disturb Eddie because Pretty Boy needs his beauty sleep for some big movie he’s getting ready for.
The good ol’ days are really over, I guess.
I take off my wet socks and climb into bed with my clothes still on, staring at the wall next to me. Donna’s right on the other side of it. For a brief moment I picture that wall demolished. Then I shake my head and laugh.
Walls are good. Walls keep things fun and not messy. Walls keep you from getting tangled up and strangled by strings.
No strings. That’s the way to go.
Nolan and Dec and Eddie and my ma and Aunt Mamie and Grandad are all wrong. I have already secured my immortality. People know me by reputation. By my deeds and the epic tales of my debauchery. I don’t need a girlfriend.
Donna gets it. She’s fun. And funny. And bright. And beautiful.
But she knows that serious relationships just keep you down. Serious relationships bring down the entire party that is life.
I don’t need a girlfriend. But I’ll get one to win a bet. That’s it.
All I need is Donna.
Who I can’t have right now. Because she’s on that side of the wall and I’m on this one. Which is good.
Because I’m Billy Boston. And when everyone is lame and sleeping, or sexy and sleeping in one case, that’s when I do the real work. That’s when it’s really playtime. I reach for my phone.
Me: Yo, Murph. You still know that guy with a horse?
Murphy: Yeah, he owes me a favor. What do you got in mind, motherfucker?
Me: Don your fanciest suit and hat. We’re putting on the Boston derby in the Common tonight.
I don’t get a text back. Because Murph is already busy gathering horses from his horse guy. He’s single too, so he still remembers what’s supposed to happen after the sun goes down. How to live life to the fullest.
I’m going to turn this day into a night to remember—one that is so much fun I won’t be able to remember most of it tomorrow.
And before I do that, I shall be partaking in a gentleman’s shower. I will take out all of my frustrations on my rod by imagining there isn’t a wall between me and the beautiful nurse next door. That she really did turn to put her hands against the wall, spreading her legs and pushing her luscious apple-bottom ass out, teasing and offering herself to me at the same time. And that I am the one ripping that little silk dress off her, giving her sweet, sweet drain a plunging she’ll never forget.