Читать книгу A Bitch Named Karma - Stephanie Haefner - Страница 9

Chapter 5

Mom jumped up out of her seat with tears flowing down her cheeks. “I just knew it!” she exclaimed and hugged Abby, then Daniel.

Abby showed off her gargantuan diamond. From the looks of it, Daniel was making up for some sort of shortcoming.

“Are you happy for me, Lexi?” Abby stared at me, her smile wide as a Cinderella-style wedding gown skirt.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. Congrats.” I raised my glass and chugged the rest of my wine.

“A wedding to plan! How exciting!” Mom squealed like a five-year-old. She’d been waiting for this day since the doctor spanked my ass and yelled, “It’s a girl!”

I liked the spanking part of that deal, not the girly things that usually came with owning a vagina.

Even though I despised the gaiety of wedding hoopla, I did want to get married some day. I wanted the security of a penis at my beck and call and to know I’d never be alone. That is what scared me most of all, growing old and gray and ugly and having no one to be miserable with. I’d thought Zak would be the crotchety old fart rocking next to me in fifty years. Apparently, he had other thoughts on whom he wanted to grow old with. I bet those tattoos will look spectacular when her skin’s all wrinkly.

I grabbed the half-empty bottle of wine, took it to my room, chugged from it and plopped onto the bed. A vision of Zak’s face burst into my brain. Maybe I could forgive him and we could go on like it never happened. So he’d slept with my friend, lied to me for months. What’s a little infidelity between friends? There wasn’t anything wrong with being insecure, timid, a doormat of a woman. Except for the fact that I hated those women—the ones afraid to stand up to their man for fear of losing him. I wasn’t that desperate, was I?

I grabbed the phone and dialed Zak’s cell number. I needed answers and the wine had given me the courage to ask the questions.

“Why Brenda?” I spat before he had a chance to say anything beside a hesitant, “Hello?”

“Lex, is that you?”

“Answer me,” I demanded, but stayed calm.

“Dammit, I don’t know. She was something different.”

“Couldn’t you find something different in a girl I didn’t know?”

“It just happened,” he answered. “We never meant to hurt you.”

“A one night stand just happens. A two month affair is bullshit.”

“I know. It never should have gone on as long as it did.”

“Zak, it never should have gone on at all!” My face heated and my voice rose. “You can’t tell me I didn’t make things spicy enough for you. I came to your office and fucked you in your desk chair! How’s that for something different?”

Suddenly a thought bounced into my head. He’d said Ruth left the nail file on his desk that day. Her idea of a manicure was making sure each nail was gnawed to the same length as the others. No possible way did she own a professional grade file and buffer.

“Brenda was there, wasn’t she?”

Zak’s silence answered my question.

“You bastard!”

“Lexi, what did you want me to do? Have Ruth tell you not to come in? I didn’t know you were going to be naked underneath your jacket.”

“Where was she hiding?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Perfect place for a piece of shit, I suppose.”

“Can’t we be civil?”

“Civility went out the door when you fucked another woman in my bed and burned my apartment to the ground. Oh, and once I tally it up, I’ll be sending you a bill for the damages.” I pressed End on my phone, wishing I’d called him on the ancient rotary in my parents’ basement. When you slammed the receiver of one of those down, it made an impression.

I’d thought reaming Zak out would make me feel better, but it didn’t. I wanted another bottle of wine and maybe a whole package of Oreos, double stuffed and covered in chocolate. Instead, I made my way down the hall to Andy’s room for something a bit stronger and less likely to add inches to my thighs.

“What?” he growled after I knocked on his door several times.

“Open the damn door, asshole.”

He opened it a mere six inches. Even when we were kids, he allowed no one the privilege or misery of entering his private domain. “What?”

“Gimme some of your shit. I know you got it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said and tried to close the door in my face. Having anticipated this reaction, I’d wedged my foot between the door and its frame.

“Now, asshole. You don’t want to fuck with me.”

Maybe I saw a glimpse of brotherly love or maybe he knew the problems I could cause for him. Either way, he gave me what I wanted. I walked back to my room and locked the door.

I pressed the Open button on the old bookshelf stereo I’d used as a teen. Nirvana’s Nevermind CD stared at me. I pushed it back in and pressed the play button. The opening chords of Smells Like Teen Spirit thundered into my chest as I opened the window and squished into my hot pink pleather beanbag chair.

I inhaled a long drag. Were smoking a joint and listening to the songs of a man who’d committed suicide in my best interest? My sanity balanced on the edge of my window sill, its vulnerability increasing with each puff as it teetered closer to the autumn air. But it had been ages since I got high, and it felt damn good. I reminisced about college, when I didn’t care about much besides the next party. But as mature adults, we get to a point where drug use seems like such a loser thing to do. Did this mean I thought myself a loser?

* * * *

The light of day blasted my hung-over face as my body still lay sprawled across my beanbag chair. I stumbled down the stairs in search of nourishment. My mother stood preparing her roast for dinner and informed me of the get-together she’d planned. Apparently my stay with them was “a wonderful opportunity” to catch up with my distant kin. I had no desire to make small talk across the dinner table with people I saw every five years at funerals or weddings. And like most things in my life, my mother didn’t get it and made the phone calls anyway. She said she knew “just what I needed,” a night to relax and forget about my problems. If she really wanted to give me what I needed, she would hand me a pair of dull rusty scissors and Zak’s penis.

At six sharp the next evening, the doorbell rang and in trudged my cousin Wendy, her husband Randy and their three brats.

“Wendy Lynn, it’s been ages!” Mom squealed and threw her arms around her. Mom always addressed our family members by their first and middle names like we lived five states to the south. “Alexandra, come say hello to your cousin!”

I forced myself toward the foyer to greet them, almost losing a toe when the oldest boy brat came running at me and stomped on my foot. Holding in what I really wanted to say, I spouted an emotionless, “Hello,” and flashed my fake smile.

“I’ll leave you girls to catch up! I’m sure there’s so much you need to talk about!” Mom giggled. “You two used to be such great friends as children!”

Friends? Um, no. I was more like her prisoner, held captive in her bedroom while she bragged about her extensive toy collection, demonstrating each and every one but never allowing me to touch or play with them. Her parents had spoiled her rotten and given her a superiority complex. As we got older, I realized I did not have to sit there and take her bull so I began avoiding her as much as possible.

After brief small talk, dinner was served. I somehow had the misfortune of being seated next to the youngest brat. I watched him shove peas in his nose, his parents oblivious as they carried on with adult conversation. He sprawled across the table to grab a breaded pork chop off the serving platter, dragging it across Great Grandma Louise’s lace tablecloth to his plate. He speared it with his fork and began biting off of it.

“Jake, baby, don’t do that!” Wendy called and the mini brat slammed the chop back onto his plate. “Lexi, be a dear, and cut that up for him.”

I looked down and he glared back, flames filling his pupils. Surely he came from the devil’s loins. If I didn’t cut up his pork chop, would his head spin and sparks come flying out his ears? That might actually bring some life to this dull affair.

After completing my good deed for the day, I turned my attention back to my plate. I savored the homemade scalloped potatoes and sipped on my wine. As I closed my eyes to wonder how much longer this night would last, I heard a gagging sound coming from the seat next to me.

“Oh my God!” Wendy screamed and Randy jumped up to smack Jake on the back. He coughed up a hunk of pork chop.

“Lexi, what is wrong with you?” Wendy scowled at me.

“What did I do?”

“He’s a child! He can’t eat pieces of meat that big! Why didn’t you cut them smaller?”

“How am I supposed to know how big to cut his meat? He’s not my kid!”

“Yeah, that’s the answer I’d expect from a selfish single woman.”

The meal continued in silence with the exception of the kids, who decided it necessary to make flatulence sounds at the dinner table. Owen began banging his fork on anything and everything around him, seemingly silent to everyone’s ears except mine. Bang! Bang! Bang! on his glass, and then thud. Bright red juice flowed like a river across the table and into my lap.

“You idiotic little cretin! Can’t you be more careful?” I scrambled up.

“Don’t you dare speak to my child like that!”

I knew what I wanted to say to her, but kept it to myself. It wasn’t appropriate for young ears. Amazed at my self restraint, I tossed her a dirty look and walked away from the table as the kids pointed and laughed at the red splotches that covered me.

“Alexandra, where are you going?” Mom asked.

“I’m going to bed.”

“But we’re playing charades after dinner.”

Did a twenty-four-hour sterilization clinic exist? If so, I needed to drive there right away. If I ever found myself with child, they’d better lock me in an insane asylum right from the get-go, cause that’s exactly where I’d end up.

* * * *

Sunday morning came and Mom practically dragged me to church. And of course this week my parents were in charge of distributing coffee and doughnuts afterward. I tried to get out of it, knowing I’d come face to face with Pastor Nerd-a-lot, but no dice. I hid in a corner and sipped my coffee in peace, but of course that wasn’t good enough for my mother. She nagged until I came into the kitchen, and gave me the job of putting doughnuts on paper plates.

“Good morning, Alexandra,” I heard from behind, a nasally voice I could recognize anywhere.

“Hello, Pastor John,” I tried to say in my most angelic way.

“Did you enjoy the sermon today?”

I couldn’t remember one word of it. I’d tuned it out and stared at the bulletin the entire time, counting how many A’s there were, then B’s. I only made it to C before boredom consumed me.

“Oh, it was nice,” I answered. Was it a sin to lie to a pastor? Probably tiny compared to the whoppers on my list for St. Peter when I sit in front of those pearly gates. Pete will surely have a smile on his face as he reads over my transgressions.

“Forgive me if this is forward,” he began. Oh no, a start like that couldn’t be good. “Would you mind accompanying me to the Pot Luck Dinner next Saturday?”

What could I say? I almost felt bad for the poor guy. He couldn’t help his dorkiness. I almost thought of accepting the invitation out of pity. He desperately needed a good lay and visions floated through my head of all the wacky positions I could contort our bodies into. He’d never be the same again.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. I’ll be out of town.” Lie number two.

“Okay, maybe another time,” he said and walked off to chat with his parishioners.

On the way home afterward, Mom asked if I’d accepted the pastor’s invitation.

“No, and how did you know about it anyway?”

“Pastor John asked your father and me if we minded. Why ever would you turn him down?”

“He’s not my type.”

“Alexandra, he is lovely and kind and would make a wonderful husband.”

“What? Are you husband shopping for me?”

“Well, if you’re asking me if I think you need a little guidance in the area, then yes!”

“This is ridiculous. If I even want to get married, and that’s a big if, I can certainly find my own man.”

“Apparently you haven’t had the best of luck lately.”

“Unbelievable! When we get back to the house, I’m outta here. I can’t take this anymore.”

As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I stomped up to my room and packed up my extremely limited wardrobe. I ran to the only person I hoped would be there for me no matter what—Marcus.

I called him on the cab ride back into the city. He didn’t say much, but agreed to meet me at Java House, a coffee shop around the block from his apartment. When I walked in, he sat on a plush leather couch with two lattes in fancy Styrofoam cups with lids. He apologized for not returning the call I’d made to him days before.

I brought Marcus up to speed on my family life and the disastrous visit. He touched my awful hair and had a good little giggle.

We sat quiet for a minute in an awkward silence and I knew what kinds of thoughts flowed through Marcus’s brain. Dread filled me and I prayed the thoughts would stay where they were.

“Are we gonna talk about what happened with us?”

“Do we have to?” I grabbed for the newspaper sitting on the table and held the sports section up in front of me, pretending to care about the Giants’ latest victory.

Marcus pulled the paper away from me.

“Lex, we need to. I have some things to say.”

“Marcus, I already know what you’re going say.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I do. I know how much it meant to you. And it did mean something to me too, but not what it did for you. I’ve known for years how you feel about me. There were times I wished I had the same feelings for you, but I just don’t. You are my best friend and I love you like a brother. Well, not like my brother, but how you should love a brother. I don’t want to lose you and I hate myself for using you the way I did. I wanted to get back at Zak and you were there, ready and willing.”

“Lex, stop. You don’t know how off base you are. Trust me, I wasn’t the one being used.”

“What?”

“I don’t quite know how to say this...other than to just say it.” Marcus shifted in his seat. He rarely looked nervous about anything in his life, but in that moment he looked nearly terrified. “Lexi...I’m gay.”

I stared at him, trying to comprehend his words. Gay? No. I had to have heard him wrong. Marcus was a hot thirty-something guy. Women drooled over him. He’d dated, and also slept with, tons of girls over the years.

“Why are you saying that?” I asked.

“It’s true. I’ve known for some time now, but part of me wasn’t sure. I knew I had strong feelings for you, but I didn’t know how deep they went. When you came on to me that night, I tried to fight you off. I knew it was best for you. But then I decided to do it. If I could make love to you and feel nothing, then I knew for sure I was gay.”

I sat back, trying to process what he’d said.

“Oh, my God.” I laughed. I tried to stop myself, but couldn’t. “I just realized something,” I continued between bursts of giggles. “I get it now. This is karma, a chick lit version of karma. The miserable things I did to those women in my books, they’re all coming back on me. That Karma bitch is gettin’ me good too! You know, like Rachelle in The Chocolate Lover’s Guide to Love. Yeah, she had the cheating boyfriend. The boss from hell, straight out of She Works Hard for the Money. I’ve written about nagging mothers, hair disasters, and whorish best friends. Abby’s wedding is surely my pre-punishment for the wedding themed book I plan to write. And on top of it all, probably the icing on the proverbial cake, I now have the gay best friend who was present in every single story. I’m being punished for writing clichés. This is freakin’ hilarious!”

“I’m glad this is amusing you,” Marcus replied when I finished my hysterical tirade.

“I’m sorry, but you have to admit, it is funny!” I continued to laugh, deep belly-aching laughs. I couldn’t stop myself. I wasn’t laughing at Marcus, just at my pathetic life.

“I expected more from you,” he said as he stood then walked away.

“Marcus, no, wait!” I yelled after him, laughter still in my voice, but he had already walked out the door. There went my place to crash for the night. My visions of re-entering the warm cocoon of Marcus-ville quickly faded.