Chapter 14 Owen
OWEN
I need to work all this into my act. I mean, if this night doesn’t just define my life as a single dad comic, then I don’t know what does.
Get yacked on by son on the flight here.
Make out with nanny right before show. Tell fart jokes to around a thousand grown-ups during show.
Find out the greatest blackmail material about hot snarky nanny direct from her parents backstage, followed by ninja fart joke-induced sharting by son and aftermath.
I don’t know what the punchline is yet, but I’m pretty sure it won’t involve more making out with the hot, snarky nanny.
What I mean is—it won’t involve more making out with the hot snarky nanny.
I should not be thinking about sex with the nanny after dealing with Sam’s underpants circumstance together, but the way she handled the whole situation was just so gracious.
She was patient and understanding and good humored and hot, and I’m so grateful I want to thank her by fucking her with my tongue and my fingers and my cock and my words and literally any other way she wants me to fuck her—I would do it.
There are other ways to show my gratitude, and I will have to remember what they are when I’m not so fucking aroused, but I would rather do it the tongue/finger/cock/filthy-talk way.
I’m thinking this two seconds after walking out of my former in-laws’ house and saying good night to my son.
He is not happy that he has to spend the night with them, and I don’t blame him.
But he’ll be sleeping most of the time—after taking a butt bath—so he’ll be fine.
Frankie stayed in the car. Once again, she’s not making eye contact with me.
She probably still hasn’t read what I wrote on that old magazine ad because she’s such a stubborn asshole.
But at least I have some context now for the stubborn assholery.
It’s not easy, but I’ll try not to be too cocky about it.
I won’t try very hard, but I’ll try.
She’s sitting in the passenger seat of my rental car, staring straight ahead. I get in and start the engine, saying nothing. The radio comes on automatically, but I turn it off. Just to make her even more uncomfortable.
After another minute of huff-filled silence, as I follow the GPS app’s directions to the hotel, I finally say with great enthusiasm, “Your parents are great.”
She covers her face and mumbles, “Shut up.”
“I’m not even talking about how they told me you were obsessed with me when you were fourteen.”
“Stop.”
“I’m talking about how nice and funny they are. I’m not even jealous that Sam thinks your whole family is funnier than I am. But thanks for sending me that voice memo, by the way. That was good to hear.”
“Sure.” She slaps the palms of her hands on her thighs, shaking her head. “Sorry my dad made your son poop his pants.”
“I’m sure the janitor has found worse things in that dressing room than poop-stained underpants.”
“Like your set-list.” She barks out a laugh. “Sorry. I had to say it. But it was a great show.”
“Asshole.”
“No, really. It was fun.” She seems to genuinely believe this, which is nice.
“I know.”
“Well, you can’t be all that big of a deal since you don’t even have a limo.”
“I actually told Martin to cancel the limo drivers when I have Sam with me. He doesn’t like it when there’s a stranger driving. But I’m glad you think I’m awesome now.”
“I mean, it was better than the last time I saw your act, but get over yourself.”
“I am over myself. You’re the one who needs to get over me.”
She shakes her head again. No response. She just looks out the passenger window.
“Have you read what I wrote—”
“No.”
“Read it.”
“No.”
“I can just tell you what I wrote.”
“No—so I see you’ve taken your glasses off. Do you just wear them for your act now? To make yourself seem like a more likable person?”
“Yes. You should get a pair.”
She finally glances over at me for a second. “Do you even need glasses?”
“Yes. But I know better than to wear them when you’re always one comment away from punching me in the face.”
“Surely I’m not the only one. But it’s good that you wear them for your act. I still think you should abstain from shaving.”
“I’ll be abstaining from plenty of things on this trip, don’t worry about it.”
“So will I. You also don’t have to worry about it.”
“I’m not worried. I’m relieved. The last thing I need is my nanny trying to ride the D train before I have to go onstage.”
“Hey, my hands didn’t get anywhere near the track—they weren’t even in the neighborhood. Not my fault the D train left the station.”
“The anaconda gets restless before a show even when I’m alone, so maybe you should get over yourself.”
“Ahhh yes.” She sighs. “We’re familiar with anaconda problems here in Florida.”
“Oh, there’s no problem with my anaconda, baby. I realize you have little to no experience with real men, but our trouser snakes do exactly what we need them to do—when we need them to do it.”
“I happen to have plenty of experience with pants pythons, and there’s a reason I stay away from men who refer to themselves as ‘real men.’”
“Seriously—why do you have so much resistance toward me?”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I know, but who asks that kind of thing?”
“Grown-ups. Ever dated one?”
She frowns at me. “I date adult men, yes.”
“Not exactly what I meant, and you know it.”
“I mean…”
“Right. Let me guess. Your last boyfriend had two roommates, wore leather bracelets, and made minimum wage, but he was great at going down on you.”
“Wrong. He was a staff writer on a TV show, had his own apartment, and his mouth skills were subpar. But the guy I dated before the last guy was a bartender and a very good kisser.”
“Did they even take you out on dates, or did you just Netflix and chill?”
“What is your point?”
Good question. What is your point, Owen? Because it was supposed to be that you’re not going to have sex with her.
“Only that you deserve better and you might be afraid of falling for someone who could actually take care of you… I’m not talking about me.
I’m just saying. You’re not as terrible a person as you seem to want people to believe you are.
So maybe you should be on the lookout for someone with a well-developed life and love muscle. ”
She is silent for about ten seconds, staring straight ahead.
It does nothing to stop my magic wand from wanting to cast a spell on her chamber of secrets because I can hear how hard she’s breathing. But we both need to arresto momentum.
“Let’s not talk for the rest of the way,” she says.
“Great idea. Let’s not talk for the rest of the night.”
“Fantastic idea.”
I turn on the radio.
The Stones song “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” is playing.
And there’s the punchline.