Tilly 8.
I’ve got to find a safer alternative to Tandoori Tuesday. My intestines and the plumbing of our rental can’t take much more. How can the food of my people betray me in such a heinous and crampy way?
I stand with my hands on the waistband of my pajama pants, my head tilting to the side as I assess my stomach’s current mood. Satisfied that there are no more rumblings of ancestral colonic vengeance, I wash my hands and exit the bathroom, leaving the exhaust fan on.
I quicken my steps hearing my phone ringing from my bedroom. It’s after 9 at night, it better not be a telemarketer. I hum to the beat of my ringtone, Kashmir from Led Zeppelin, and search through my blanket to find my phone. It’s a local number, so probably not someone checking on my vehicle’s extended warranty.
“Hello?” I answer hesitantly. An intake of breath is the only response and instantly my body goes on alert, somehow knowing without a doubt Wilson is on the other end of this call. Goosebumps dance across my skin, my tank top and flannel pants no longer enough to keep me warm. Nipples pebble and my breathing accelerates. What the heck? He hasn’t even said a word, literally a second has gone by and I’m ready to get on all fours and present myself.
I shake my head and curse my raging libido as he chuckles softly into the phone. Not helping the nipple situation. He has a good laugh. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“N-no.” I stutter, swiping my hair from my face, grimacing at how damp it is. No more Tandoori, any day of the week. So happy this isn’t a video call.
“Why are breathing so hard, Tilly?” His voice is husky and teasing, but I’m not about to tell him I just violated my toilet.
“No reason.”
“Are you in bed?” He wants Sexy Tilly…I’m not sure she exists, but I can damn well try.
“Just getting in now.” I answer, not recognizing my own voice.
“You’re distracting me, Miss Mazekat. I called for a reason.”
“Oh?” I slump onto the bed, realization dawning. “Oh. Did you have questions about the fundraiser? Did you change your minds? It’s a great cause—”
“Tilly.” My name, said firm yet gentle, has my jaw snapping shut. “Good girl. Now relax. This doesn’t have to do with the fundraiser. Well, not directly anyway. I, uh…” My cheeks heat as I smile, realizing Wilson is nervous. To talk to me! “I haven’t talked to you for several days and well, I…didn’t like that.”
“I didn’t like it either. But…I didn’t have a valid reason to bother you.” I admit, my cheeks hotter than the surface of the sun and my throat tight.
He hums a happy sound. “You could never be a bother, Tilly. And you don’t need a reason, valid or otherwise, to ever call me.”
“You don’t either.” I rush out. I sit back against my headboard, my fingers aching from how tightly I’m holding the phone.
“I promised to respect your request for professional distance.”
“Oh. Right. Dumbass.” I mutter the last bit. He hears me loud and clear though.
“Not a dumbass.” He laughs through the words. “You were right to bring it up. I’m just not used to following the rules of society, but I can see why this would be important to you. Your reputation, and the reputation of the fundraiser are at stake. I get it. I don’t like it. But I get it.”
I whisper, “Thank you.” Then I clear my throat and try to get us back into neutral territory. “Why did you call?”
“That. Right. I had…a very interesting evening and wanted to share it with you.”
“Interesting evening?” I cross my legs and grab a pillow, putting it over my lap. “Do tell.”
“We were invaded by the dicks and the boobs.” He begins and I start to snort, but my stomach sours instead at the implication. “No, no, none of that, darlin’.” I inhale deeply, surprised he read me so easily over the phone. “Lincoln, Keenan Kohlman, of Kohlman Associates, is friends with a lawyer from southeastern Ohio.”
“Ok?” How do you get from lawyer to genitalia invasion?
“I’m getting to it.” Shoot, I said that out loud. “Yes, you did. Anyway, Bash, the lawyer friend, is part of a group of friends, one of which is an amazing seamstress. Audrey, Lincoln’s Ol’ Lady reached out to KellyAnne, the seamstress, and asked her to help with gowns for the other ol’ ladies to attend the charity gala. Apparently, nothing happens within the friend group without the others jumping in, so we’re actually gonna need 4 tables for the gala.”
“$32,000?!?”
Laughing, Wilson, says, “Yes. Because the group keeps growing, the little fireball, Merith, refers to them as the dicks and the boobs. So, KellyAnne came in tonight, with her husband Nate, Bash, and his wife Domica, who everyone calls Mama—”
“Is there a diagram somewhere I can study?” I interrupt, and am thankful that he chuckles, not taking offense.
“As soon as I get it done, I’ll send you a copy.”
“So, KellyAnne is going to make gowns for Audrey, Betty, and Stacy?” The ol’ ladies I met at the meeting were intense, but it was easy to see how much they love their men and the club in general. Not to mention how big their hearts are. It’s a shame that the citizens of Independence don’t realize how kind and generous the Congressionals MC can be. Perhaps after this event, it will become obvious.
“Yeah. There was measuring tape and fabric samples, and something called tulle all over the damn clubroom. But that was after Merith slipped on some water in the bathroom, broke the sink, and probably her ass.”
“She broke her ass?”
“Who the hell knows. She kept asking for an ass sling. She’s still at the hospital with her husband Wesley, and a few of my club brothers when I ducked out to call you and head to bed.” I ignore the thrill I get of knowing he’s talking to me while stripping down to his underwear and crawling into bed.
“I hope she’ll be alright.”
“From what I understand, this is common with Merith, she’s a hospital frequent flyer. Damn excited chihuahua is what she is.”
I giggle at the image. “They should keep her on a leash.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if she and her husband have already tried that. They were making out while she was being loaded onto the gurney. At any rate, she’d probably chew through the leash.”
“I bet the ol’ ladies are very excited about their custom gowns. Like a princess.” Even I can hear the wistful and dreamy quality in my voice. Being fitted for a custom gown sounds like royal treatment to me and not something I’ve ever experienced. Off the rack for this girl.
“You’ll have to tell me how it is when KellyAnne measures you tomorrow for yours.”
My heart stops for a split second, then begins again at a frantic pace. “What? I don’t need—”
“You don’t. But we all enjoy lots of things we don’t need in life. And seeing you in a dress made just for you, accenting your beautiful body, complementing your flawless caramel skin…well, I don’t need it, but God, do I want it.”
Holy heck. It’s hard to breathe. “Why?”
“I’d already arranged it with KellyAnne, but just now, hearing the envy in your tone—”
“A little girl’s silly dream?”
“I want to make every single one of your dreams come true, Matilda, even the ones you think are silly. Because those, those are the most important.”
“Who are you?”
“I don’t rightly know. Honestly. I’ve never been like this before with anyone, really. But you…from the first moment I heard your voice, you’ve been all I can think about.”
“Me too.” I answer softly, sliding down into bed with a sigh.
“Tomorrow at noon, KellyAnne will be at the bank to take your measurements and talk about colors and fabrics and whatever dress stuff seamstresses talk about.”
“Thank you, Wilson.”
He clears his throat, and I hear him shifting, fabric moving. Is he laying down? In bed? In his underwear? Or does he wear pajamas? Gulping, I wonder if he sleeps nude. “Now, tell me more about why you were out of breath.” He switches gears so fast; it takes me a moment to catch up. When I do, I choke on my own spit. “Were you thinking about me? Were you touching yourself?”
“Wilson! I was—”
“MATILDA MAZEKAT! No more Tandoori!” Tybalt yells, throwing my door open without knocking. “The toilet needs a therapist after what you just did to it! I don’t care if it is the food of our ancestors, I don’t care if it tastes good, you cannot digest yogurt and heavy spices! We’re switching to tacos on Tuesday, pretend you’re Mexican! Fuckin’ hell, the toilet is weeping, it’s crying, Tilly, fucking crying after the bomb you just dropped!” He shakes his head in disgust, plugs his nose and speedwalks out of my room without waiting for a reply.
Which is good because he’d be waiting a long time. I’m frozen in shock, humiliation, and a little amusement. Seconds pass before the ringing in my ears lessens enough to register the uproarious laughter on the other end of the phone. I don’t think Wilson can breathe. Good, serves him right, finding humor in my digestive troubles.
“I—I can’t---seriously?” I mutter to myself.
“I like tacos.” The warm rich tones of Wilson’s voice are gone, replaced by the high-pitched strain of a wounded cat. It makes me smile. Despite the utter embarrassment raging through my system. “Your brother…is…is—”
“A high-functioning jackass.”
“The toilet…is…weeping—” He cuts himself off, laughing too hard to continue speaking.
“Right, well, I’m going to bed now, and I’ll probably touch myself, and think of…of…”
“Don’t finish that sentence, Tilly.” Wilson warns, suddenly gathering his composure.
“Robert Redford!”
There’s a beat of silence and while it could be considered awkward, it in no way makes me want to take back my choice of masturbatory material.
“The old guy who played a villain in one of the Avenger’s movies?”
“He is quite distinguished in his role in Endgame, but I’m a bigger fan of young Robert Redford.”
“Why’d your voice go all sexy?” He growls over the phone.
“Oh, Robert! Mr. Redford!” I moan theatrically, then end the call when Wilson starts yelling. I burrow down under my blanket and grin so wide my face hurts. He called me. Wilson called me just to talk. And to have a custom gown made for me like I’m a princess.
A princess about to shit her pajama pants. I scramble from the bed and grab the box of tissues from my nightstand on my way. In the hall, I throw them at Tybalt’s closed bedroom door. “The toilet’ll be needing those in a few minutes!”
“Dammit Tilly!”