7. Jeanie
7 /
jeanie
Dealing Pussy
When I return to my hotel room, Bobo the sex doll sits in a bathrobe on one side of a freshly made bed, looking like he should be enjoying an after-sex smoke.
He’s giving me his come-hither look, so I oblige and throw myself on the mattress face-first and spread-eagle at his feet. Meanwhile, my headache has returned with a force I’m certain will make my skull explode.
This divorce-cation isn’t going as I planned.
Sophia’s probably already told Roman about my “boyfriend.” What will he say, especially after I begged him to come back only a few hours ago? I tug my knees to my chest, curling into a ball.
The adjoining room door opens and I sit up, ready to send away housekeeping, but my mom, Betty, steps through.
Where did she come from? My lips tighten as Mom glides across the room like a beach goddess in a flowing caftan.
“Oh, good, you’ re finally awake,” she says and plucks the bejeweled sunglasses from my head and slides them on her face like they’re hers. I should have recognized her over-the-top Florida glam style.
I roll back onto the bed and groan.
“Jeanie, you okay?” she asks but keeps her distance. Even when I was young and at home sick from school, she would set tissues and meds inside my bedroom door and run in the other direction like I was patient zero.
“I’m in hell,” I scream into the comforter.
“As if God would let me into heaven.” Mom’s evil laugh signals she’s delighted by the thought.
Clearly in a good mood that can’t be touched by my drama, Mom dances the rumba. I realize why when a shirtless twenty-something man appears from her room. He joins her dance as they sing a rap song like it’s smooth jazz.
“For the love of God.” I peer through splayed fingers at the two as they dirty dance.
“Edwin, darling, please fly that thing outside. It’s killing my buzz.” A tiny drone circles Mom’s head and she swats at it.
“Maybe we can use it later? I’m thinking aerial sex videos, Betty,” he says, cooing her name.
They cuddle up, giggling at the devious plan.
“Please stop.” I want to scratch out my eyes.
“Now you’re showing off, Captain.” Mom runs a teasing finger across his chest. When she tugs him closer by the loops of his pants, Edwin gives her a sensual kiss.
I clear my throat. When their making out continues, I cough, prepared to hack up a lung .
“Some people can’t take the heat, mi amor ,” Mom says and gives me a dirty look.
Still, he kisses her neck one last time before returning to their adjoining room with his toy.
“Bye, Jeanie,” he says as the door closes, even though I can’t remember meeting him.
“I’m surprised it took this long to get to sex tapes. How long have you been dating, thirty-six hours?” I ask, knowing she never keeps anyone around for more than a few days.
“He’s got serious grandma issues. He’s perfect for me.” She sips a drink with a pineapple slice balanced on the rim.
“Doesn’t he have a wife to bury?” I give up on sleep and edge upright.
The last few days are slowly coming into focus.
Only yesterday morning in Chicago, Mom was browsing the obituaries and searching for new man meat. Edwin made the cut when his ninety-nine-year-old wife passed. Mom reached out, offering a shoulder to cry on, and the rest is recent history.
“After we got here, Edwin decided on cremation. We’re spreading Mildred’s ashes on the beach. Can’t you see it? Beautiful sunset, swaying palm trees, dolphins swimming in the distance.”
She jazz-hands the air like she’s presenting a tropical-themed sideshow.
“We loaded you and Mildred’s coffin into Edwin’s private jet and flew down yesterday. Don’t you remember? Besides, funerals are cheaper in Florida. ”
“I heard they do it in bulk here,” I deadpan. “Exactly how trashed was I?”
“You said you wanted Roman back. That’s pretty trashed in my book.” She stands beside me and plays with my hair, tugging out several more colorful hairpieces. She drops them onto the bed like she’s pulling weeds from her garden.
I shrink deeper.
Mom zigzags the room and returns with a glass of water and an aspirin. I take the offering, praying it will quell the hangover. Even better if it can wipe the last few years from my mind.
“I talked to Roman this morning.” I set the glass on the nightstand.
“I thought I heard a war brewing.” Mom sits, and her knees peek out the slit of her dress. The low V-cut of her top shows her papery cleavage, along with her newly lifted C-cups, courtesy of her last man-toy. She might have gotten a butt lift too if she hadn’t broken his heart.
“It was more like Armageddon.” I curl back onto my side. Guilt pangs when I think of Dex.
“What’s the game plan now, snickerdoodle?” Mom kicks off her embellished sandals.
“There’s been a very bad development.” My cheek presses into a pillow, garbling my words.
“Oh, let me guess. Roman and Dex found out you’re here to crash the wedding, and they’re pissed. And Sophia? For some reason, she’s ecstatic.”
“Are you psychic now?” I scrunch my nose, terrified at the thought .
“Ran into them downstairs. The little blond twat had the nerve to give me a hug and ramble some incoherent rubbish about your new boyfriend and some dinner party.” Mom twiddles her fingers in the air like it’s impossible.
“Me having a boyfriend is not impossible.” I’m becoming annoyed because this is the second time today someone’s suggested I will die alone. “What if I’ve been dealing pussy on the side to a very hot dime-piece all this time?”
“Does this dime-piece have anything to do with your very bad development?” Her penciled brow arches higher.
My face crumples with guilt.
“Tell Mama more.” She waves her curling fingers.
“I may have lied to Sophia about having a boyfriend.”
“And the dinner party?”
“There may be a willing participant in this date masquerade.”
“Details!” Her hazel eyes brighten.
Ashamed, I clutch a pillow to my stomach. “I dragged a very nice man into this mess.”
“What’s he look like? Where’d you meet?” Impatient, she taps the arm of the chair.
“You’re losing focus. Nathan agreed to a dinner, but he doesn’t get what’s at stake.”
“Nathan?” She looks confused.
“Long story. We met this morning in the elevator.”
“Hmm.” She eyes me strangely but snaps out of it when she drifts into a memory. She inhales like she’s savoring something delicious and nibbles her botoxed lip. “I date Nates whenever I can. They whack bushes so hard. It’s simply delightful.”
I recoil. “You did not just say that.”
She opens her eyes. “You can deal pussy, but I can’t get whacked?” She stands like she’s offended and moves to the minibar. She selects an energy drink and snaps shut the fridge door.
“You know I have not been dealing pussy. It was a bad joke,” I say, scowling.
“But why not?” Her arm swings in grand gestures. “You’re officially single. Why not go out and have fun? Deal the cat, whack the bush, let someone new burrow in the bunny hole. Now that would make Roman jealous!” She pops the can’s top and takes a swig before pouring the rest into her pineapple drink.
Shaking my head, I say, “That would be lying.”
“Says the woman who lied about having a boyfriend.” Mom rolls her eyes.
“Then, then, that would be sneaky.”
“The rules of decency were tossed the moment Roman started dating your vile stepsister. I don’t care if you were divorced and you hadn’t seen her since she was in diapers.” She places a hand on her hip.
“She’s not my stepsister,” I grumble.
We were simply two kids forced to coexist in a blended household for a few years. When my dad and her mom went their separate ways, we became strangers again. Until now. Now Sophia is my sworn enemy .
“Nathan’s an innocent bystander,” I say, changing the subject.
Mom harrumphs. “Sounds like he’s a willing participant.”
I guess he is.
I tap my lip and consider her terrible idea. The more the scenario plays in my mind, the stronger a strange palpitation in my heart grows. And the longer I think on it, the more the beats start pounding to the sound of revenge.
Earlier, Roman suggested I’d never find another guy. Even though he claims he doesn’t care, I’m certain he wouldn’t be able to see straight if I were with someone else.
Images of Roman’s face in this enticing scenario fill my mind. Perhaps this date with Nathan has potential.
Something inside pivots. I roll on my stomach and trace the seashell pattern on the comforter, slowly getting comfortable with the idea.
Groveling and crying clearly aren’t working. If anything, my antics have pushed Roman further away. Perhaps it’s time to try something new. What if one date with Nathan changes everything? At this point, I have nothing to lose.
“If I wanted to go on a fake date with Nathan, would you have anything I can wear?” I ask.