I push the button down until my motherfucking fingertip turns white.
Buzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz . . .
When that doesn’t get an answer, I admit, I start to panic. I walk onto the sidewalk, below Delores’s front window, and cup my hands around my mouth. “Delores! Hey Dee-you awake?”
Because this is New York City, a neighbor immediately yells back, “We’re all awake now, asshole!”
A few “Shuddups” come from various directions, and I think one woman may have thrown a potted plant at me.
But I’d like to believe it was an accident.
With no other recourse, I throw my head back and go for my best Marlon Brando impression. “Stella!! Steeellllaaaa!!”
Delores’s window opens. Fucking finally.
“Matthew?” she calls down, surprised.
My fingers hook my belt loops, going for a nonchalant stance. “Hey,” I answer. “S’up?”
“What the hell are you doing?” she asks.
Here is when I realize my grand plan to stop her and Tony from getting busy . . . only reached this point. Damn. From here on out, it’s all improv.
“I wanted to . . . Can you come down, please?”
Miraculously, she doesn’t tell me to go screw myself.
And two minutes later, she’s walking out onto the sidewalk . . . with Goomba Johnny trailing behind her. Thankfully, she’s still fully dressed in her club clothes. That doesn’t really mean much-especially considering the outfit covers little more than a bra and underwear would, but at this point, I’ll take whatever bright side I can.
The wise guy wannabe walks in front of Dee and shoves me back. “The fuck’s your problem? You some kinda psycho?”
On instinct, my fists rise to a defensive posture. “I didn’t come to fight you, but you wanna go? We can go.”
Then I notice the tattoo low on his bicep-a tattoo of the Virgin Mary with AVE MARIA scrolled below it. And I take a different approach.
“I’m just trying to save my marriage.”
Yes, lying is a low blow-but desperate times . . .
His head snaps to Dee. “You’re married?”
She’s horrified. “No, I’m not married. He’s out of his mind!”
I open my wallet to the picture of Mackenzie and force sincerity onto my expression. “My family is my everything. I know you don’t know me, but could you just do me a steady and . . . walk away?”
Now Dee is seriously pissed off. She pushes my shoulder and turns to the Jersey Shore reject. “Mickey, that is not my daughter, and he is not my husband!”
He replies, “My name is Mikey.”
It’s a relief to see I’m not the only one having trouble with names tonight.
Exasperated, Dee asks, “Does it matter?”
For most guys, it doesn’t matter-we don’t care if you scream the Pope’s name while we’re giving it to you. But apparently, “Mikey” isn’t most guys. Because he throws his hands up in surrender. “This is way too heavy for me. I’m outta here.” Then he turns on his heel and walks away.
I watch his retreating form with glee. Then I turn to Dee and hook my thumb over my shoulder. “Some people are so gullible.”
That’s when she punches me-right in the mouth.
I stumble back and taste blood. Delores may be petite, but she can throw a hell of a right hook. She points and wags her finger as she rails, “I don’t know what the fuck this is, but it is not okay!”
My hand drops from my injured mouth to my side. And my mind is blank-not a single smooth line or witty comeback in sight. So all I can do is ask, “Why don’t you like me?”
“What?”
“We had a great time-the sex was hot, we laughed-but now you don’t want anything to do with me.”
“This is a new concept for you?”
I snort. “Shit, yeah, it’s new. Everybody likes me. I’m a great fucking guy.”
Dee massages her forehead with her fingertips the way my mother used to do when she had a headache brewing. Then she sighs and admits, “Okay . . . the thing is . . . it’s not you, it’s me. I’m the problem.”
My eyes crinkle with revulsion. “Jesus Christ, are you serious? I’m practically pouring my heart out here, and you can’t even be bothered to make up a decent lie?”
Dee throws out her arms, “I’m telling you the truth. I do like you. You’re very cute, you’re very funny, and you’re fantastic in bed. But I . . . I’m a more content person when I’m not in a relationship. When I get serious with someone . . . I go a little crazy.”
“Who’s said anything about a relationship? Let’s just . . . keep having a good time. See what happens. It’s not like we’re going to take off for Vegas and get married.”
That would just be ridiculous.
Dee shakes her head. “You don’t understand. It never ends well. This won’t be any different, Matthew. I used to think it was the men I picked, but I’ve finally accepted the fact that it’s me. I make good guys go bad. I’m like . . . a penis pump . . . I turn men into gigantic pricks. I’m the girl your mother warned you about-bad news.”
And her expression is so serious, I can’t not laugh. “No, you’re not.”
“You don’t know me.”
“What I know so far is pretty awesome.”
She starts to deny what I’ve said, but I push on. “You’re overthinking this. We can be fuck buddies if it makes you feel better. New friends with fabulous benefits. I’ll be the scratch for your itch . . . the booty to your two a.m. call. Just . . . don’t screw any other guys-you won’t need to.”
She begins to shake her head. Until I remind her. “And the world could end tomorrow, remember? The aliens could invade . . . global warming . . . we’ve got to live for the now, ’cause you never know when the now will be gone.”
I hold out my hand. “Take a chance, Dee. I won’t let you down.”
Her honey-colored eyes look wistfully at my hand. “God, you’re good.”
I smirk. And it just comes out. “That’s what she said.”
Dee cracks up.
Then she takes my hand in hers. They’re a perfect fit.
Like two middle schoolers experiencing their first crushes, we stand like that for a few moments, smiling at each other. Wordlessly, we turn and walk toward her apartment.
Much too seriously, Dee says, “Hey, Matthew?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“When you’ve had enough? Just remember I tried to warn you, okay?”
I don’t know what kind of fucked-up, douche bags Dee has been going out with, but that kind of talk ticks me off. I’m determined to prove her wrong and lighten the mood. So I lean toward her and whisper, “You’re too beautiful to ever get enough of.”
Delores rolls her eyes. And I get the distinct impression she thinks I’m bullshitting her. Guess I’ll just have to keep calling her beautiful until she believes it.
Chapter 8
Waking up in a place that’s not yours is always slightly disorienting. My eyes open to sunlight streaming through sheer purple curtains and to a clothes-cluttered bedroom. Last night, Dee and I talked some more after going inside her apartment. Turns out, she didn’t have sex with the homeboy. She said he spent the majority of their time at her apartment on the phone with a friend. Idiot. She asked me if it would’ve bothered me if she had-my answer was yes. But . . . I would’ve gotten over it.
I slip on a pair of boxers, then I follow the smell of bacon and the sound of music to the kitchen. Dee stands at the stove with her back to me, singing along to “Beneath Your Beautiful” that pours out from the stereo, which is mounted below her cabinet.
Her voice is adorably bad-off-key and screechy-like a mating cat’s. Her reddish-blond hair is pinned up with chopsticks-still color-streaked from last night-and the only piece of clothing she’s wearing is my button-down, blue shirt. As the song ends, I applaud.
She spins around, spatula in hand. “Morning.”
“Nice shirt.”
She shrugs. “Since I was making you breakfast, I decided to go full fledged cliché and wear it.”
I step up close and plant a sweet kiss on her lips. She smiles, shyly. “Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
Dee hands me two glasses of orange juice and grabs a platter of bacon and scrambled eggs from the counter. We sit at her small, two-chaired dining table and dig in.
“This is good,” I comment.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.