 
### A Discourse on Dating From A to Z

by

Lisa Pacheco

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 Lisa Pacheco

Cover Design by Laura Shinn

Formatting by Laura Shinn

ISBN: 978-1-4580-0220-4

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

A Discourse on Dating From A to Z is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any names or characteristics similar to any person past, present or future are coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Dedication:

For my husband Jeff, who makes me laugh and is a constant

source of inspiration, and for Monica, my dearest SSF.

And to my _Blythe*Star_ and the happy memories

I'll always have of her.

Acknowledgements

I believe in angels, and I want to express my sincerest thanks to Laura Shinn who has spread her wings over this project. Finding her was a true blessing.

Thank you to my book club for being the first to read this book. Your encouragement and feed-back were my motivation to get this book published. Sondra, Paula, Gail, Betty, Gloria, Karen, Pat, Barbara and Lynn— _You are all beautiful flowers in my garden of life._

Also, special thanks to my earliest readers: Monica Grift ( _aka_ _SSF_ ), Shannon Kelly, Young Kim, Connie Chen, Sue Klinger, Christy Moskovitz, Estelle Reinitz, and my mom—Mary Pacheco. Thank you _all_ for believing in me.

Lastly, thank you to my husband, Jeff. I know you're not a "reader," but thanks for listening from beginning to end. Your input definitely shaped the pages in this book, and I am forever grateful to you, my one and only precious love.

Reader Reviews:

_"_ This _discourse_ is a key to unlocking the intricate labyrinth of dating in the 21st century." —Connie Chen

_"A Discourse on Dating from A to Z_ is a clever, tongue-in-cheek commentary on the American woman's search for true love." —Anonymous

This book is a must read for every _Cosmo_ girl. Whether you're new to dating or happily married for 31 years! _A Discourse on Dating from A to Z_ is simply too much fun! —Shannon Kelly

" _A Discourse on Dating from A to Z_ is an interesting and delightful study of the psyche of the single, modern American woman." —Julian Rodriguez
Chapter 1: Adios

_A_ is for adios. Adios to my life as a married woman. Adios to security and the life of being Mrs. Harold Stifniple.

When we met, you can imagine my shock at learning I was dating a Stifniple. The name just sounded lewd, crude and even somewhat lascivious to me, but Harold, or Harry as I liked to call him, espoused to me the virtues of being a Stifniple and implored me to believe it was something honorable and lofty, even distinguished to be part of the clan of Stifniples.

Our first date was spent discussing the long lineage of Stifniples he came from—there was Papa Stifniple: Harry Senior, a circuit judge; Uncle Charlie Stifniple, a doctor; Grandpa Abe Stifniple, a retired cop; and of course the proud women Stifniples: Mama Jean Stifniple, Grandma Gertrude Stifniple and Auntie Fran Stifniple, all homemakers, of course. Harry strongly believed women should be goddesses of domesticity and the Stifniple women certainly were that.

Two years later, in the summer of 1998, after much coaxing on Harry's part, I too became a member of the Stifniple clan—Stephanie Marie Stifniple to be exact, and I too became a homemaker, of course—as the esteemed Stifniple women before me. However, Harry did encourage me to go to school so I could fill my time; plus, he said it would be good for me to expand my mental horizons, so I could pass along my knowledge to the children we would be having. We never did have kids, but thank God Harry urged me to pursue an education. I was a single woman on my own now. Fortunately, I had experience as a food server, but I really wanted to be an English teacher. One could not grow old gracefully in the food industry; plus, it was murder on the joints carrying those heavy trays.

Almost two years to the day after we got married, I went back to being a Melendez, Stephanie Marie Melendez, my given birth name. It was okay. I never felt like a Stifniple anyway, and all Harry harangued me about those two years was about becoming a Mama Stifniple like his mother, but like I said before, that never happened. I was not ready for a life of dirty diapers, snotty noses and screaming brats. It was a deal breaker for Harry.

He claimed his biological clock was ticking (I know mine should have been, but it wasn't) and he needed to make fatherhood his main vocation, _now_ —and if not with me, with someone who was ready and willing. He found someone that was ready, Suzie, his secretary whom I will refer to as Suzie the Floozy. One day he came home from work, and he explained to me that the life of an accountant was a boring one at times, and Suzie the Floozy had taken to entertaining him in his office during his lunch hour, and what do you know, _now_ she was pregnant and _now_ he was fulfilling his lifelong dream of becoming a father, without me.

I was curtly informed I was being dismissed of my wifely duties, which he claimed I was neglectful in fulfilling anyway, and that he and Suzie the Floozy were moving in together, pronto. He further made it known to me that as soon as our divorce was final, she—the floozy, would become Mrs. Suzie Stifniple. That was it, the end, adios to my Stifniple existence. According to Harry, I just couldn't live up to the Stifniple name.

* * * * *

But that was not what Antonio said. I was now a thirty-year-old, single woman, and it was a new millennium. Antonio was the first guy I "dated" after my divorce. Antonio, as the name suggests, was a full-blooded Mexican from across the border. He was a dishwasher at McKee's, a fine dining establishment in Glendale where I was a waitress. I should have known never to date him. My mother warned me to never date a Mexican; they were all cheating louses that would just leave you broken hearted and used up. She should know—she married one and her mother married one. When I was a teenager, my father left her with three children to raise—my older brother Brian, my younger sister Marilyn, and myself. As far as I know she never dated anyone after my father. At least she was lucky enough to get rid of her cheating louse, unlike my grandmother who just dealt with hers.

I did not heed the wise words of my mother. I know firsthand that a horny divorcee in her thirties with raging hormones is hard to contain, and a mother's words of wisdom don't sound nearly as appealing as sweet nothings whispered in your ear, especially when they are being uttered in broken English by a _twenty-something_ , hot-blooded caballero that wants to take you for a ride on his horse.

Our dalliance started with flirtatious glances over the counter that he stood behind, washing those dirty dishes day in and day out. He had long, dark, wavy hair that he ponytailed to keep from getting suds on it. He always wore a red bandana round his forehead to keep those wild locks at bay, but I could envision them unleashed and falling in my face. His brown skin was the shade of molasses and I just wanted to lick him up. Soon enough, I was smitten by his big smile and "Hola, Chiquita's"—and before you knew it, I was taking other servers dirty dishes to the back for cleaning.

Now Antonio didn't speak much English, but that didn't stop us from communicating. Despite my Mexican background, my parents insisted that I not learn to speak Spanish; I was third generation _American_ , and the fact that I did not speak Spanish attested to that. However, I had just finished a semester of Spanish at Glendale Community College, and I could say everything I needed to convey to the object of my lust, and body language, I soon found, speaks volumes.

I just loved looking into Antonio's dark eyes across the dishwasher bay and saying, "Tus ojos son muy bonito mi amor."

He would pay the compliment back while reaching his sudded hand across the stainless barrier that separated us, grabbing my pulsing, sweaty palm—and passionately express the words, "Your eyes so pretty," in a voice just audible enough for me, but not the boss to hear. This went on for some time, and then the boss did start to notice.

Randall, the restaurant manager, had his suspicions about Antonio and me. He observed I was spending too much time in the back talking with the dishwasher. I think Jose, the line cook who had a crush on me, clued him in. Ah, jealousy can be such an evil and devastating thing.

Antonio and I could not be kept apart despite these newly infused challenges. We made a date to meet after the restaurant closed when no managers, or Jose's, would be around to foil our fun and flirtations. Did I mention, another aspect of Antonio's job was cleaning the restaurant in the middle of the night, which entailed polishing and scrubbing and vacuuming and now, making mad, hot passionate love to me.

The relationship was perfect in every regard. We rendezvoused the nights away on the worn industrial carpet, over wooden tables covered in cloths, across the bar, bent over chairs, and chased each other from room to room; we even had sex at our meeting place, the stainless countertop with the dishwashing machine nestled behind it. Life seemed so grand, until Antonio asked to go to the museum with me.

One of my assignments for an art history class I was taking was to visit a museum. I chose to visit LACMA, the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, for my cultural adventure because they had an Andy Warhol exhibit I wanted to check out. When I told Antonio I was going, he said, "Really, you going look at art? I want go to museum with you."

It was quite something arranging the date, what with our crazy schedules. It was one thing meeting in the middle of the night when all the world slumbered, but quite another during the waking hours. He worked a lot of double shifts, and I had classes during the day and worked nights, but we managed to find a time that was conducive to our busy lives.

Saturday afternoon, Antonio showed up in his cowboy hat and caballero boots, explaining, "I thought I dress up for museum date." He did make for a dashing sight, I must admit, and all I could think of was seducing him. The phallic display of Warhol art only helped to inspire my sexual imaginings. The day went quickly and I soaked up the lurid display of strange objects and brightly colored paintings and appreciated the creative, if not warped genius, of Warhol—all the while enjoying the attentions of Antonio.

We capped the day off by going back to my apartment. This was Antonio's first visit there, and I opened the door with a, "Ta-da—here it is, my sweet little abode."

"Your what? This nice place, Chiquita." I saw his eyes scan my living area— a one room apartment with a Murphy bed tucked into the wall, futon leaning against it, with a chest my grandmother passed down to me serving as a coffee table sitting before it. That was the majority of my furnishings. I didn't get much from the divorce. We hadn't accumulated a lot in the two years we were married. Harry had been too busy spending our money gallivanting around town with his mistress. Shortly after we made our entrance, my cat Phantom appeared. There weren't many places for him to hide. "I don't know you have cat," said Antonio. "Es muy grande."

"Phantom. Yeah, he's big." However, my mind definitely was not on my big cat. The phallic display of artwork we saw exhibited at LACMA was flashing through my mind, and I did have my twenty-something boy toy in my lair for the first time. My mind was definitely on other big things.

"Let's sit on the futon," I enjoined. "I'll get you a beer."

I returned with the beer, plopped myself on the futon, and that's when Antonio looked in my eyes and proceeded to utter five words that ruined our perfect relationship. "I want to marry you."

"What! _Are you mad, Antonio?_ I was just married and now I am unmarried and I want to remain unmarried for the time being. Me no marry right now," I spattered out in desperation.

"But, I love you, Chiquita."

"Impossible, Antonio. Yo no te quiero me. Yo soy veija. I'm used goods, an old lady. You want to marry a nice girl from Mexico that hablas Espanol, un virgen that will give you Mexican bambinos."

"But you so smart and beautiful, Chiquita. I want you."

"No. No. No! Where's the ring? You can't ask me to marry you without a ring," I cried out—looking to buy myself some more time with my sexy Antonio.

"No more talk now. We make love," he commanded the next instant.

That was so very, very fine with me.

Saved by our passion, we ripped the clothing from our backs and stretched across the hard futon making rough love on the rigid and unforgiving surface. This is when I came to learn Antonio thought I had "stiff nipples," contrary to Harry's claim that I didn't live up to the name.

I also came to learn Antonio was a biter.

"You have nipples stiff, Chiquita. You horny or cold?" questioned Antonio.

"A little of both if you want to know the truth, my caballero—ride me."

Legs in the air and while I was screaming, "Ride 'em cowboy!" Antonio was suddenly stricken with a ravishing hunger and started to bite my breasts. At first I thought it was kind of cute and a little on the painfully erotic side. He was just being playful and fun in a kinky kind of way; at least that's what I thought until I was left with bite marks around my left nipple. I tried to push him from me, but those dishwasher biceps I had always admired held me firm, and he continued to gnaw away at my breasts ignoring my "Owww's" and "Get off me's."

Finally, he was spent and rather than biting, he was tenderly kissing my breasts while mumbling, "Muy buena. So good."

The biting episode was it for Antonio and me. The boss was happy about my new found aversion to the back of the restaurant. I was happy my first post divorce "relationship" was behind me, and Antonio was very unhappy I was not going to be Mrs. Antonio Martinez. His dreams of getting a green card and becoming an American citizen were demolished, but that was none of my concern.

_Adios_ , Antonio _._ All that remained of him were the bruises on my breasts.
Chapter 2: Boylicious

_B_ is for boylicious. And boy, were there some yummy boys at Glendale Community College.

I know you're wondering what a thirty-year-old woman is doing going to a community college, right? Well, all I can tell you is that we're late bloomers in my family. My Dad, Alex, didn't open his bicycle shop until he was in his thirties. He was a beautician before that. He met my Mom, Gloria, in beauty school. Working as a hairdresser provided him with a steady stream of women with whom to philander. My brother, Brian, didn't start his trucking business until he was in his thirties either. Now, he's quite successful.

I had no entrepreneurial dreams for myself. I wanted to be an English teacher. I have always loved reading, and I figured teaching the classics would be a breeze, since I'd read so many of them on my own. I envisioned myself lecturing to an audience of rapt teens, captivated by my masterful interpretation of the symbolism in _The Great Gatsby_. They'd never think of a _green light_ in the same way. The genius of Ms. Melendez would forever be imprinted on their young minds.

If I actually succeed in making it through college, I will be the first in the Melendez family to toss my mortarboard in the air. What a triumphant day that will be for my family and me. Our very existence would be elevated—no longer would we be of a class of uneducated folk doing menial labor to earn a buck, but we'd be catapulted into the realm of scholars, using our minds to make a living—and all thanks to me.

That is, once again, if I managed to graduate. Between working at McKee's Restaurant, going to school during the day, and fending off all the ' _licious_ boys at school, I didn't find much time to study. Nonetheless, I was maintaining a 3.5 GPA, and I could live with that.

Being the social person I am, I had no trouble making friends at school. It didn't seem to matter that I was twelve years older than the majority of the student body. I was always honest with those I fraternized with about my age, but it never fazed a one of them. If anything, it made it cool to hang out with me. After all, I could buy beer, and to an eighteen-year-old that is something to take notice of.

What surprised me the most about my popularity was how interested the boys were in me. Maybe they had seen _The Graduate_ with Dustin Hoffman in a film studies class—or it was a favorite of their parents, and they had acquired a _Mrs. Robinson_ fixation. It never ceased to amaze me when one of them asked me on a date. I mean, like where would he even take me on his Mickey D's salary? They must have sensed my low standards; after all, there was Antonio, and he certainly wasn't rolling in the dough.

I was a master at turning them down. I didn't want the reputation of being the reigning cougar on campus, preying on pimply-faced horn dogs barely old enough to vote. I wanted to exude an aura of class and sophistication. If anything, I wanted to attract the college professors. I was sure I could hold a conversation with the brightest and most intellectually savvy minds around. I knew my Heathcliff and Catherine back and forth and what that _Scarlet Letter A_ Hester wore was all about.

While I waited for Professor Johnson, Franklin, and Watson to ask me out, the offers continued to pour in from the boys. My resolve was strong, until Ray crossed my path.

It all happened innocently enough. It was around noon, and I was between classes. I was hangin' with some people I knew, and there he was. I had never seen him around before. He was okay looking, but not the type I generally go for. He had short, dark hair with Julius Caesar style bangs. His eyes were brown—no bedroom quality gleaming from them, not that I could see through his nerdy glasses anyway. He was a little on the chubby side, but not obese. Like I said, not really my type—there were definitely not enough muscles and he wasn't tall enough for my liking. It wasn't till he opened his mouth that I found him even remotely attractive.

Unlike these other guys, Ray liked to consider himself of a philosophical mindset. He could take a conversation way beyond the kegger party he went to last Saturday, or the latest flick he caught at the local theater. He liked to chat about those big rhetorical issues, which definitely appealed to the Transcendentalist in me. He'd ask me questions like, "Who or what do you think God is?" Or, "Is the human soul immortal, Stephanie?" Best of all, he'd actually listen to my response.

While I am a little superficial about appearances, I looked beyond Ray's baby fat and fell in love with his beautiful eighteen-year-old mind. Clearly, he was wise beyond his years.

We'd spend afternoons after class sitting on benches under trees, digging into those meaty topics, picking each other's brains, trying to make sense of the vast universe and our insignificant selves in the midst of it.

Ray had this ability to make me feel not only intelligent and worth listening to, but also like a goddess. In fact, on several occasions, he compared me to Aphrodite. He'd run his hands through my thick and luscious brown hair and hold my round face while looking into my hazel eyes, and say something like, "Stephanie, even Helen of Troy would envy your curvaceous and perfect figure." Or, "Your breasts are as tempting as the apple Eve plucked from the tree of good and evil."

Oh sure, I'd give my half-argued attempts at modesty trying to convince him I was no Cindy Crawford. He'd laugh and say, "No, you're way better than her."

"Oh no. You're so wrong about that, Ray," I'd half-heartedly disagree. "What I wouldn't do for her height. I'm no supermodel."

Then he'd declare adamantly that she was a cow, and my five-foot, four-inch frame was ideal. I ask you, who wouldn't melt into all of that?

I couldn't resist his charms, his intellect; the adorable fleshiness around his abs that encased the six-pack I just knew was under that baby fat. In two months time, I was utterly infatuated with an eighteen-year-old that had no job or job prospects and still lived at home with his mom. And yet, none of that seemed to matter at the time. He had become _boylicious_.

* * * * *

My Catholic guilt was starting to kick in.

Thoughts of Ray started to occupy my mind more than I felt comfortable with. When he popped into my daydreams, I felt myself starting to get wet between the thighs. My heart would beat a little faster. I think I even felt some butterflies start to flutter about inside me. I told myself this was oh, so wrong. I couldn't have sex with a teenager; that was almost akin to being a pedophile in my mind. What would my Grandmother Rose, who religiously said her Hail Mary's every night, think of me if I did such a thing?

Ray did his best to move my iron conscience, but I wasn't budging. The problem was my loins were not so rigid, and the soft pink flesh beneath my self-imposed chastity belt was screaming out for mercy. I didn't know how much more I could take, but it so disheartened me to think about giving up our friendship.

This situation called for serious intervention—girlfriends! Who better to give me the so desperately needed advice I craved and knock me back into reality? They would set me straight and tell me I was insane for even letting my mind wander into such a taboo pasture.

I called Shelby first.

One ring, two rings, three rings..."Hi, this is Shelby. I'm not in to take your call, but leave a message at the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

"Hey, Shelby. It's me, Steph. I just needed to talk to someone really bad. I kind of have a situation. Call me."

Dang it! I needed to talk _now!_

I was in grave danger of being seduced by an eighteen-year-old. That is, if I didn't seduce him first. I didn't know that I had the emotional wherewithal to ward off those silken words Ray was so good with, and God knows I wanted him, but it was just sooooo, so wrong. Maybe Candy was home.

One ring, two rings—"Hi, Stephanie. What's up?"

"How did you know it was me, Candy?"

"Caller ID."

"Oh yeah."

_What a relief, she's home_. I was hoping for Shelby, the more grounded and sensible of my two best girlfriends, but Candy would do.

"Hi, Candy, thank God you're there. I really need to talk."

"I'm here for you, girlfriend. Tell me what's on your mind, Steph."

"Well, you know that guy I mentioned to you last week, my new friend, Ray?"

"Yeah—the eighteen-year-old?" said Candy.

"Yeah, that one. Well, things are going in a direction I don't like. What started as a friendship is turning into more than I bargained for. He wants to have sex. I don't know what to do. I like him so much, but that just goes against my moral code. He's just a kid."

"What do you mean, just a kid? He's legal. It's an ideal relationship. A woman peaks sexually in her thirties and a man in his late teens. Just imagine the possibilities. I bet his recovery time is a lot faster than an old guy our age. Sounds like fun to me, Steph."

"You are not helping me deal with my mental torment over this, Candy! I've got another call coming in. Hold on a sec, let me see who it is. Hello."

"Hey, Stephanie. It's me, Shelby. You sounded distressed on that message you left. Is everything okay?"

"Kind of. I was talking to Candy on the other line. Let me put us on three-way."

"Candy, I'm back and Shelby's on the line. Let's put our heads together on this."

"What's going on, Stephanie?" questioned Shelby. "Catch me up on things."

"What's going on, Shel, is that Steph's got a young one hot on her tail. He's barely legal," giggled Candy.

"What? Are you serious? Stephanie Marie Melendez, what the heck is Candy talking about? Please, explain."

"Well, you know how I told you all these boys are always asking me out at school? Well, I think I may actually like one. And, he wants to have sex with me."

"Are you kidding me? I thought you were trying to hook a professor. A teenager? Are you serious? Have you had your head examined lately?"

"It's not her head she's thinking with, Shelby, if you know what I mean," interrupted Candy.

"Stephanie, you are not a female cat in heat. You can't stoop that low. What would your Grandma Rose say? It's ridiculous to even consider it. He's a kid. Break it off, now," implored Shelby. "You'll never forgive yourself if you do this."

"What do you mean, Shel? This is a chance of a lifetime. This is something she'll smile over when she's an old lady. Stop being such a prude," retorted Candy. "Let the girl have some fun."

"Can I get a word in edgewise, please? I don't think this is something we can resolve over the phone. Let's meet at O'Malley's Pub. Are you guys free? I really need a drink."

"What time is it?" asked Shelby.

"7:30—The night is still young. Are you working tomorrow, Shel? It's a Saturday."

"I have to show a house in Brentwood at ten in the morning. I guess I can make it."

"How about you, Candy?"

"Oh sure, Steph. I'll sleep when I'm dead. I'll see you in thirty minutes."

* * * * *

I haphazardly threw on something a little nicer than the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing. I decided on a stretchy, little top and a skirt. I slipped into my high heels, fluffed my hair, put some red lipstick on and was out the door.

I forgot it was _Van Halen_ night at O'Malleys. They advertised it for weeks, but it had slipped my mind.

As I walked in the door, "Jamie's Cryin'" was blasting from the speakers. The lead singer from the cover band was screaming out the lyrics.

It looked like I was the first to arrive, and this song was certainly not helping my mood. I took a seat at a bar table in the corner and tried to block out the noise.

"Would you like to order a drink?" asked a sexy cocktail waitress wearing a leopard mini skirt and a top so tight her silicone boobs looked ready to pop.

"Yes. Give me a rum and diet coke, tall, double lime, please. Thanks."

My drink arrived, but Shelby and Candy had not. Twenty minutes later Candy walked in the door wearing a hot pink mini with a zebra striped blouse, very low cut. Clearly, she was wearing a push up bra. Her long, wavy blonde hair bounced as she sashayed over to my table. I scanned down and noticed her shoes matched her blouse and her lipstick matched her skirt. Every man's eyes followed the sway of her hips as she walked toward me.

"Hey, girlfriend, I'm here."

"Yeah, I noticed. And so did everyone else."

"Can I help it I'm so hot?" she replied.

"I looked into her blue eyes and smiled. No, I guess not. I only wish I had half your hotness," I said.

Candy seated herself on the high barstool to my right, smiled and said, "Where's Shelby? I can't believe I beat her here."

"I dunno. I guess she's on the way."

The cocktail waitress promptly approached Candy and asked, "Can I get you a drink?"

"Sure, I'd like a lemon drop, no sugar on the rim please, I'm sweet enough."

The _Van Halen_ music was still blaring. "Hot for Teacher" was reverberating off the walls. I observed the lead singer was checking me out as he belted out the song. I started to feel a little uncomfortable under his steady gaze. He noticed me noticing him. He smiled and continued to belt out the words. Did he somehow know I wanted to be a teacher?

I was diverted from his gyrating hips encased in black leather chaps when Shelby walked in.

"Hi, Steph. Hi, Candy. Sorry I'm late. I got a call from a client. I had to take it. That set me back a few."

As Shelby took a seat to the left of me, the cocktail waitress arrived with Candy's drink. "Do you want a drink, love?" she asked Shelby.

"Sure. I'll have Beefeater Martini, straight up and dirty, double olive," Shelby answered.

"Just how I like my men," Candy purred as the waitress walked away.

"Oh please, Candy. Can you refrain from the sexual innuendoes for just once—please?" snarled Shelby.

"Why would I ever do that? It makes life so much more interesting," asserted Candy.

"So, have you come to your senses, Stephanie?"

"I'm still perplexed as what to do. Ray has become such a good friend. It just so happens he's only eighteen, but I'm no ageist. Why did he have to ruin a perfectly good relationship by pushing the boundaries? I was so content to sit on benches under trees discussing Greek philosophy and English literature. I know if I reject him, he'll be crushed and that will be the end of our friendship forever."

"Thank God for that!" exclaimed Shelby.

"Give the girl a break, Shel. You know how she has a way of falling into these emotional entanglements," shouted Candy over the loud music.

Shelby's drink arrived and she proposed a toast: "To friends, may we meet mature men that are a match for our beauty and intellect."

As soon as we had finished taking a sip, up walked band boy, the lead singer that had his eye on me earlier. He was oozing sweat from his pores, and his long, highlighted and permed hair was wet and hanging about his forehead. I thought of Antonio for a second.

"Hi, girls. What do you think of the music tonight?" he huffed, still out of breath from all the exertion he had been putting out on the stage.

"We're women," snapped Shelby.

"Well, excuuuusse me, _Miss High and Mighty_. I was just trying to be sociable."

"He looked straight at me and asked, "What's your name, gorgeous?"

_He can't be talking to me_ , I thought. He should be looking at Candy or Shelby. I know he and Shelby had started off on the wrong foot, but how could he resist those luscious, long red tresses and her green eyes that glowed from her face like a cat's, illuminating her pale white skin? Every man turned to Jell-O in her presence.

"I'm Stephanie. This is Candy to my right and Shelby to my left," I answered.

"My name's Mick. Can I hang with you _women_ while I'm on break?"

"Sure. Take a seat," I invited, happy to be the center of attention—my two beautiful girlfriends at my side. Shelby glowered at me, but I didn't care. Candy just grinned at me and winked.

"So, you gals live around here?" he asked.

"Yeah. We all live in Glendale," I offered.

"I live in Hollywood. I rent a room up in the hills from some fancy, smanchy rich guy. The air is clean up there. When you drive down the hill, though, it's mucky," he added.

"Oh really, it's nice up there," I replied.

"You ladies hanging around for my next set?" Mick asked. "It's going to be sizzling hot, just like you, Stephanie."

I blushed.

"Of course we're staying," gushed Candy.

"See you from the stage, then," he shouted out to me as he sauntered back to his band mates who were waiting for him.

"He's so into you, Steph. I can't believe it. The boys in the band always go for me," hissed Candy.

"He's no prize, Stephanie," expressed Shelby. "But at least he's a grown man, and I'll settle for that. Maybe he'll take your mind off that teen boy that's making your panties wet."

The music started up again, and it was no longer noise, but music to my ears. I'd had a couple of drinks by this time, and Mick was looking and sounding better and better. The dance floor was full as we stepped on to it. We couldn't resist rockin' out a little when Mick said, "This one's for Stephanie, a beautiful girl I met tonight." We had to angle for a spot in the front; we wiggled our way up there. He looked so _boylicious_ on stage, staring at me and screaming his lungs out.

As I danced, sandwiched between Candy and Shelby, looking up at Mick, my mind wandered off...I had my toes in the sand and a drink in my hand, and I felt like such a beautiful girl. I was on top of the world and I had forgotten all about Ray.
Chapter 3: Cheap

C is for cheap. I did everything I could to avoid cheap men in my life of singledom, but I could never be sure until I actually went on a date with a guy if he was a penny-pinching cheapskate or not. There were signs, but not always. Some of them were very good at hiding their skinny wallets.

Mick and I had exchanged numbers at the end of my girls' night out at O'Malley's. I had talked to him a couple of times since then, and we'd made plans to go out on Thursday. He had gigs this coming weekend, and I was working too, so it worked out perfect. I had Wednesday and Thursday off this week. He was taking me out for a bite and to see a friend of his play afterwards at the Whiskey a Go Go down on the Sunset Strip. That sounded good to me. I just hoped he wasn't one of the afore-mentioned tight wads. He didn't seem like it, but like I said, you never can tell.

My first semester finals were quickly approaching, and I needed to crack down and get some study time in during the week. Math was killing me. I was simply not a math person. In my child-development class I had learned about Howard Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences, and one thing was certain, I did not have mathematical/logical intelligence. If someone said to me, "Solve this algebraic equation correctly using the quadratic formula or you're dead," my life would be over.

Professor Johnson told us that learning to factor polynomials was essential to our basic knowledge as algebraic scholars. He had taught us to complete squares, find square roots and all about how we could use the quadratic formula to solve the most complex problems. Our final was coming up, and I needed to somehow make sense of this headache-inducing stuff. I wondered if Professor Johnson could write a good essay as I grappled with radical and complex coefficients. Why did God invent math? Now there was a question for Ray.

Speaking of Ray, he was avoiding me like the plague since I told him I was not having sex with him—period! Despite Candy's urgings to go for it, it just didn't feel right. I saw the wisdom in Shelby's words and kept my hormones on lockdown. She was right—I wasn't some wanton feline looking for a tom cat to scratch me. I think I always knew somewhere in the back of my mind that things would end this way between us. Thankfully, we didn't have any classes together. I don't know that I could stay so strong if we did.

I was meeting with my math tutor, a Chinese girl named Jenny Cheng, this afternoon to prepare for my algebra final. She charged $15.00 an hour, and on my waitress salary that was a strain on my budget, but without her, I didn't stand a chance in hell of passing that class.

We met in the library and seated ourselves at a long table with several other students studying various subjects. I seemed to be the only one in Dante's innermost region of hell, circle nine—Judecca, where those who were bad at math suffered the most tortuous of punishments. The girl next to me had her face in a philosophy book and the guy across from me was studying human biology. Those lucky ducks! What I wouldn't do to be reading Decartes' proclamation that states we as beings are separated into two different parts—the mind and body. His most famous words came to mind—"I think, therefore I am." That's not how I felt right now—not with these complex math problems threatening to send my mind into oblivion from overuse. Human biology sounded pretty good right now too. When I was taking that class, I loved looking at the textbook pictures of the male genetailia.

I saw Ray on the other side of the room, which was somewhat of a distraction. He'd lost a little weight since I broke things off with him, and he was looking all right these days.

"Hello, Stephanie, are you out there?" interjected Jenny's voice in the midst of my mental wanderings. "Earth to Stephanie. We need to focus here. Your final's on Wednesday, and we only have two days to prepare. What do I always tell you?"

"Yeah, yeah. I know, I know—if you fail to prepare, prepare to fail. Okay, okay, let's get on with it."

We spent the next hour solving confounding mathematical equations that made my brain feel like it would explode. At the end of our session, Jennie—the odious sadomasochist—assigned me homework. We arranged to meet at the same place and time tomorrow. It was 4:00 o'clock and I had to rush home and get ready for work. I didn't know when I was going to find time to do Jennie's homework.

* * * * *

I was late as usual in punching the time clock. Randall was waiting for me at the back door and told me to hustle and get into my uniform. Customers were already seated in my station. He said he'd have Francie get my table started.

I ran up the stairs to the girls' locker room, speed dialed the numbers on my padlock and threw on my ridiculous Little Bo Peep outfit. McKee's was one of those themed restaurants where every server wore a different costume. People flooded the place to celebrate birthdays and special occasions. All the servers were trained in the fine art of making balloon animals for the kiddies, myself included.

I looked in the mirror to make sure my bonnet was on straight and my pink bodice was laced properly; I adjusted my ruffled skirt, pulled up my bloomers, ran out the door and down the stairs like a bat out of hell. My regulars, the Goldzman's, were waiting at table forty-one.

"Well, hello, our sweet Stephanie. What could have been so pressing that you were late for work and kept us waiting—again?" asked Mr. Goldzman with a slight frown on his face.

"I was studying for my math final. I'm so very sorry," I uttered, still out of breath from my mad dash.

"Oh, then all is forgiven. Do you think you're ready for the big test?" asked Mrs. Goldzman.

"Sort of. You know math is not my strong point. I still have a day to study. Are you having your usual, Mr. and Mrs. Goldzman—grilled wild salmon, hold the herbed butter, baked potato dry, broccoli, no carrots?"

"Yes, dear. As you can see, Francie already brought our drinks. Put the order in right away. We're famished," said Mr. Goldzman.

"It'll be out in a jiff. I promise."

My station filled up quickly. I was surprised we were so busy for a Monday. There were quite a few birthday celebrations going on. I had already made a pink poodle for a girl who was turning six, and a green dinosaur for an eight year old boy, and it wasn't even 7:00 yet.

By nine things were dying down, and Randall told me to close out for the night. As I counted my tips, I thought to myself, not bad for a Monday night. I walked out the door with $67.00 in my wallet, enough to buy a new outfit for my night out with Mick. The question was, what does one wear on a date with a "rock star"?

* * * * *

Before I knew it, Thursday night had arrived. My algebra final was behind me, and I had no worries. I took my time getting ready for my date with Mick. He was picking me up around 8:00. I hopped in the tub around 5:00 and luxuriated in a rose water bubble bath for about an hour. I shaved my legs, armpits and made sure my feminine area was looking its best. I trimmed her up and shaved the sides; I'm not one of these women that want to look like an eleven year old down there. I didn't know where the night would take us, but I wanted to be ready for anything.

I talked to Mick on the phone last night, and I found that I was actually starting to like him, which surprised me. I'm generally not into the boys in the band. I prefer to date men that aren't surrounded by screaming females that idolize the ground they walk on. A groupie is one thing I have never been. But he didn't seem negatively affected by all the attention. He actually seemed down to earth. He claimed he was a one woman kind of guy, and he was just looking for the right girl. Maybe that was me, Stephanie Marie Melendez—or...I tried his last name on for size—"Stephanie Marie Presley." It had a nice sound to it.

As I towel dried myself, I thought about what he had said on the phone last night. I had asked him why he picked me over Candy and Shelby, and he said—"Candy was too hot, Shelby was too cold, and I was just right." That brought a giggle from me, and he commented on my cute laugh.

I wanted to look sexy for Mick, so I put on my matching red lace bra and g-string panties. I slipped in to a little black dress I had picked up at Always 21, and decided on my black, peep toe pumps—no stockings. Why cover my newly shaved, silky legs with those uncomfortable things? I looked in the mirror and determined I looked classy, but very tempting at the same time. Mick should be happy. By the time I finished brushing my straight, long brown hair with the drier and applying my make-up, it was 7:30.

I decided to call Candy while I was waiting for Mick to arrive. First dates always made me a little nervous. I poured myself a glass of wine, took a seat on the stool in front of the breakfast bar and dialed her number. She picked up right away.

"Hey, Candy, it's me. I'm waiting for Mick to pick me up and I thought I'd give you a call in the meantime."

"Tonight's the night? I couldn't remember if it was tonight or tomorrow. Did you shave down there? What are you wearing?" Candy asked.

"A little black number, short, and yes I did shave. Not that anything's going to happen tonight, Candy. You know I don't sleep with a guy on the first date."

"Why not? Why would you delay gratifying yourself with that Adonis body of his. He is scorching. I'm getting fired up just thinking about him. If it doesn't work out between you two, can I make a move on him?"

"Candy, would you stop it already. Let me at least go on the first date before we have this conversation, will you?"

"All right, all right. So where's he taking you, Steph?"

"Out to dinner somewhere and then the Whiskey a Go Go to see some friend of his."

"That sounds fun. Maybe I can meet you at the club, if that's okay with you. What do ya think, Steph?"

"I don't think so, Candy. I want him to myself tonight. Maybe the next date, if we make it that far."

"Yeah. I guess you're right. I have to finish up a presentation for work tomorrow anyway. I'm pitching an ad for a new body wash product. Call me tomorrow and let me know how it goes with Mr. Sizzling Hot."

"I will—don't worry, you'll be the first to get a play-by-play of the night. Love ya, girlfriend. Don't stay up all night working on that presentation."

"I won't. It's almost finished. Just a few last minute touches to work on. Love you, too. Later gator."

Well it was almost 8:00 and Mick wasn't here yet. Should I have another glass of wine? No—better not. I don't want him to think I'm a lush. I popped a mint in my mouth and flipped through a copy of this month's issue of Vogue while I waited.

At 8:10, the bell rang. I was relieved. I was starting to worry. I waited for him to ring a second time, not wanting to seem too anxious, and then I opened the door. There he stood, holding out a plastic red rose—like the kind you get at the dollar store. I thought to myself, not a good sign.

"We'll helloooo, Stephanie. You look smokin', baby."

I observed he was wearing tight, black jeans with black boots to match and a retro Van Halen t-shirt, also tight. He was showing off his biceps. I felt a little dressed up for the date, but judging by his appreciative gaze that looked me up and down, I don't think he seemed to mind all that much.

"Do you want to come in for a drink before we go?" I asked.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Let's get movin', sexy lady. My friend's band goes on at 10:00 and I don't want to miss a minute."

"All right. Let me get my bag and we'll head on out."

* * * * *

There I sat in a Ko's Ko's Coffee Shoppe booth, not believing I had dressed up for this. Mick was trying to make small talk, but I wasn't listening. I was fuming mad inside and outside. I was sweating against the vinyl and my legs were sticking to the booth, making me feel all the more uncomfortable.

Our geriatric waitress approached our table and said, "I'm Rhonda, what can I get'cha to drink?"

"I'll have a glass of white wine, please." I reasoned I might as well get drunk. This date was not going how I'd imagined it. I thought I'd be sitting in some eclectic, trendy hot spot where rock musicians hung out. What was he thinking bringing me to a place like this?

"We don't serve alcohol here, darlin'—sorry. The owner is a Mormon," announced Rhonda to my horrified ears. "And he don't want to corrupt no people," she explained. I'm sure Mick noticed my visible expression of displeasure.

"Okay, then I'll take a raspberry iced tea," I politely uttered.

"We don't serve none of them fancy drinks here, doll face. All's we got is regular iced tea. You wan' it?" asked Rhonda, who was starting to lose her patience.

"Just give me a Diet Coke with lemon," I said, too exasperated to use my manners anymore.

"Sure. What'll you have, Mick?"

"I'll take the same, Rhonda, hold the lemon, sweetie," he replied.

As she walked away, I commented to Mick, "You know her?"

"Yeah. I take all my dates here," he returned. "You got a problem with that?"

"Well, not really," I lied—not wanting to seem too superficial. "I was just expecting something else, that's all."

Rhonda returned with our beverages and suggested we have the meatloaf special with mashed potatoes, brown gravy and vegetables for $7.99. When Mick found out it included the soda and a salad, he jumped on it and proclaimed, "Steph will have the same thing."

"Ahhh... I'd rather have the grilled trout, Mick," I stammered, shocked that he didn't even ask if that was okay with me.

"I've had the meatloaf before, Steph. Trust me, it's the best around—just like my mom makes. Try it for me. I know you'll love it."

"Okay, well, can I at least hold the gravy?" I begged.

"Sure, baby. Hold the gravy, Rhonda. Make it quick. We're in a hurry," he added. "We're catching my friend Kat's act at the Whisky a Go Go."

By this time, I was sitting as far away from Mick as possible. Our booth was one of those curved ones, and he kept trying to inch towards me. I had inched so far around, I was almost out of room to inch.

Dinner arrived, and when Rhonda put Mick's plate down a splatter of his gravy got on my top. It was an ugly mud color and was a perfect symbol for how things were going.

Mick told me all about his friend Kat's band over dinner. The band went by the name Robo Sluts. It was an all girl group and they wore silver spandex cat suits, very low cut, down to their navels with six inch stripper heels. They jammed on guitars that were rhinestone encrusted and they wore their hot pink hair in bouffants. He went on and on about how they rocked, naming their songs between his glorifications. The list of titles went something like this: "Wet Metal Pussies," "Gotta Have me Some Robo Cock," "Flash me, Bash me," "Give me Some Electric Sex," and several other choice titles that aren't worth mentioning.

Finally, I managed to get a word in as he chomped down a forkful of meatloaf. "I was just wondering, how do you know Kat, Mick?"

"She's my ex-girlfriend," he choked out between chews. I could see the meatloaf mixed with broccoli in his open mouth and it made me want to puke.

"Oh—I see," I responded, mortified as Mick took a sip from my Diet Coke. His Diet Coke was empty.

The wheels in my mind were going a mile a minute. How was I ever going to get out of going to see the Robo Sluts? It turns out Mick solved my problem for me.

As we walked out of Ko Ko's, he slapped me on my ass and said, "I can't wait to get me some of that tonight. The Robo Sluts always put me in the mood. I can ask Kat if she wants to join us—if you want."

My three-inch heels had me halfway down the block before Mick could even get the words out—

"Stephanie, wait up. Where are you going? I thought things were going good... Stephanie, wait up! Stephanieeeee!"

It turns out Mick was one of the cheap ones.
Chapter 4: Dirty Old Men

_D_ is for dirty old men. What would the world be like without them? Personally, I wouldn't know. I seemed to have a way of attracting them. I wondered if that has anything to do with the fact that my dad is a dirty old man. He constantly flirted with my girlfriends when I was a teenager. He was always telling Shelby and Candy he'd chase them around the block a few times if he were a younger man.

It was my dad, Alex, who told us about the pencil test. We were about thirteen at the time. I remember the moment vividly. My dad was working in the garage on some project, and Shelby, Candy and I were hanging out talking to him. This was before my parents split up. They just adored my dad. He's quite a gregarious guy and a true ladies' man. Women of all ages loved him.

He had a pencil propped behind his ear, and he pulled it out and informed us girls how it was a valuable tool for measuring the _pertness of our breasts_. He asked Candy if he could demonstrate, using her as a test subject? She was more than willing. "Sure, Mr. Melendez. What should I do?"

"Well, you place the pencil under your breast horizontally, like this," he said, smiling and putting it under Candy's right breast. The pencil immediately fell to the floor, and my dad proclaimed, "You passed the test!" He went on to further explain that had her breast held the pencil in place, she was sagging.

Candy gushed and said, "Thank goodness I passed!"

I just looked at my dad with raised eyebrows and took a sigh of relief, grateful that he asked Candy and not me to be the test subject.

I didn't know what women saw in my dad. His hair was thinning and his beard was graying, but that didn't seem to be a turnoff. He even had a little paunch, but it didn't seem to matter. My dad was a _chick magnet._ Maybe it was his green eyes that the ladies like so much. I got half Mom's eyes and half Dad's—a hazel color that was a perfect blend of Mom's brown eyes and Dad's green ones. I always wished I just had Dad's eyes.

My sister, Marilyn, was the lucky one. Not only did she get Dad's eye color, but she also got Grandma Ida's height—my dad's mother. What I wouldn't do to be five-foot-nine and have more room to distribute my weight. This five-foot, four-inch frame took a lot of working out to keep in shape. I went to the gym five days a week just to keep the cellulite at bay.

Now, that's a place some dirty old men frequented. Once I was in the Jacuzzi tub and it was really crowded. This guy sitting next to me, he had to be at least sixty-five, offered to let me sit on his lap if I didn't want to be elbowed on both sides. _Ewww!_

Then there were the really _dirty_ old men. I'll never forget the time I was evacuated from the pool because this eighty-year-old geezer pooped in his swim trunks and it ended up as a floater in the deep end. And one time there was this aged dinosaur that wore seventies running shorts hiked up to his groin while he rode the recumbent bike. The first time I saw him, he gave me this perverted smile as I walked by. I looked down at him and noticed he had no underwear under those pink shorts, and I could see his gray ball sack hair sticking out. It was so disgusting! After that, I avoided going by the recumbent bikes or acted like I didn't see him. Boy, I could tell you some stories. But they weren't all that way. There was my friend, Harley.

Harley was fifty-seven. I met him when I was bench-pressing a fifty-pound barbell. He saw me struggling with it and offered to spot for me. We started up a conversation about how many times a week we trained and what our fitness goals were. I found him funny for an old guy, and I had a genuine affection for him. He was from Chicago and he had this gruffness to his voice that was kind of sexy. If I closed my eyes while I was bench-pressing, I actually found him attractive. He had these sparkly blues eyes that were quite mesmerizing—too bad they were surrounded by all those wrinkles. He was in pretty good shape for a man the same age as my father. He worked out on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays—and he became my regular spotter.

For the first few months, our relationship was the best. We were regular gym rats, scurrying around the room from one weight machine to the next; then we'd get a little cardio in and hit the spa. It was the ideal gym relationship, until Harley started coming on to me.

* * * * *

Everything changed one day when we were alone in the steam room. Our athletic club had co-ed everything. We were sitting on the wooden bench, drenched in sweat, when Harley started talking about his ex-wife. I could barely see him—the mist was so thick.

"You know, Stephanie, you remind me a lot of my ex, Melanie. She was a real looker when she was young, just like you. She had a body men would kill for. We met in college and I used to strut around campus like a prize cock because she was my gal, and everyone knew it. I don't know what she saw in me. I thanked God everyday she was mine. Ya know what broke us up?"

"No—what broke you up, Harley?"

"A sports car."

"A what?" I said.

"A 911 red convertible, to be exact. Well, really it was the salesman who sold her the car. His name was Gus. It was Melanie's lifelong dream to have a Porsche and once the kids were grown, she decided now was the time. She talked endlessly about the wind blowing through her hair and the exhilaration she would feel behind the wheel while revving the gas pedal. After weeks of talking about it—finally, we decided to take a trip down to the dealership. Gus saw her and me coming and saddled his way right up to us. There was an immediate connection between Mel and him. She was smiling, looking up at him as he opened Porsche door after Porsche door for her. When she sat in the red one—that was it. They took it for a test drive and the next thing you know, she was signing papers in the finance office."

"Yeah, so, how did that lead to your break up?"

"Well, she kept Gus's business card, and unbeknownst to me, they kept in contact—very close contact, if you know what I mean. When I came home from work early one day, I caught them in the garage crammed in the front seat of her car, and Mel was screaming, 'Harder, faster, drive me like a fast machine, baby. I'm all revved up and ready to take off... faster, harder...aaaaaahhhhh...faster, faster...'"

"Oh, I see. I'm so sorry to hear that, Harley. I'm sure you're a million times the man Gus is. She must regret that she lost you to a car salesman named Gus," I consoled, as I patted him on the back.

"She married the guy, Stephanie. Before the ink was even dry on our divorce papers, she was walking down the aisle with him. And now, around the holidays, I have to share my kids with the man who stole my wife. I've been alone ever since. Until I met you, I was feeling pretty depressed. You've brought the sunshine back into my life, young lady. Have you ever dated an older man?" he inquired at that moment. "You know, Stephanie, I could take care of you. You'd never have to work again. You could have anything you wanted. I'd worship you like a goddess. We could travel the world together, drinking the finest champagne and eating foreign delicacies. My buddies down at the country club would love you. What do you think, Steph? Can you imagine a life like that with me in it?" He looked at me with pleading eyes. Suddenly, I could see him quite clearly through the mist.

"Whoa whoa whoa...Harley. What the hell are you talking about?" My astounded voice echoed off the steam room walls. "We're just friends, and that's all we're ever going to be. You're old enough to be my father! Hey, Harley, you know, I have a single mother, Gloria. I could introduce you two sometime. If things work out, maybe you'd end up my stepfather. She's closer to your age and still very attractive," I offered.

"That's not quite what I had in mind. Think about it, Stephanie—will ya? I could give you everything your heart desires and more," he whispered as he took up my left hand. "Just think about it, my precious dove."

"Okay, okay, Harley. I will. I'll think about it," I stammered, still not believing what my ears had just heard. "I will."

Just then, the door opened and someone walked in and saved me from the awkwardness of the moment.

* * * * *

I couldn't sleep that night. It wasn't that I was actually considering Harley's offer that kept me awake. I just liked him so much, and I wanted to let him down easy. What on earth was I ever going to say to him? He was just such a sweetheart.

I avoided the gym for a couple of days. Harley left several voicemail messages on my cell phone, which I didn't return. I had conferred with Candy and Shelby, and as per usual, they had totally different takes on how I should handle the issue. Candy's first question was, "Is he in good health?" When I told her yes, she lost the enthusiasm in her voice. She said I should go for it if I thought he'd kick off in a few years, but it didn't sound like that was likely—so her advice was forget it. Of course, I was mortified by her suggestion and reprimanded her for even thinking such a thing. Shelby was repulsed altogether by the situation. She didn't understand why I even started up a friendship with a man twice my age. Her advice was to change my cell phone number and gymnasium.

When I finally schlepped myself into the club, around my usual time—three o'clock, there was Harley waiting at our spot near the treadmills. He had a solemn look on his face as he approached me. The first words out of his mouth were, "Hi'ya, doll face. How you been? I had a feeling you'd show up today."

"Yeah, I was starting to feel fat. I eat when I'm depressed," I said, not able to look him straight in the face. "Harley...ummmm...I think you're a really nice guy, but—"

I was abruptly cut off.

"Steph, don't say it. I understand. I'm a big boy. I can handle us just being friends, but you can't blame an old guy for trying."

"Really?" I exclaimed as I breathed out a sigh of relief. "I was so worried about hurting your feelings."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about nothing, sweetheart; let's workout. I'll chase you around the gym."

I didn't like the way that sounded. Maybe Harley wasn't ready to let go of the notion of a romantic entanglement just yet. _Ahhh, what the heck_ , I thought to myself— _who cares about that right now_. I was just so happy to have my gym buddy back.

* * * * *

Several weeks went by, and Harley seemed to be okay with the way things were. He hadn't propositioned me again— _thank God_. Our friendship continued to grow deeper.

As we sweated our way through our workouts, he'd chat about his sons, Robert and Kirk. Robert, the eldest, was married and had three kids: Robert Jr., Jeff and Ariel. They were all under ten, and kept Harley busy on his downtime. Kirk was thirty-two and still single; according to Harley he had trouble in relationships. He hadn't found the right one yet, but Harley was optimistic he would get married one day. He talked about his print shop business, which was well-established and pretty much ran itself. He told me he checked in on things every morning, but his employees would scurry him out, telling him to enjoy his retirement.

I'd babble on about school, how I was almost done with my sophomore year, and how I was thinking about where I should transfer. He was so impressed that I wanted to become a high school teacher, and he assured me God would surely have a spot reserved in heaven waiting for me because of the great sacrifice I was making to society.

It felt really strange, but in a way I was starting to fall in love with Harley, but only as my comrade in sweat. I had no romantic inclinations towards him, and he completely respected our vow of friendship.

Then, one Friday as I said my goodbyes to Harley at the entrance to the gym, encouraging him to have a good weekend, he grabbed my hand and said, "Wait up, Steph. I'm having a little gathering at my house tomorrow, and I want you to come. You can bring those two gal pals you're always talking about. What are their names...Sheila and Candy?"

"You mean Shelby and Candy," I corrected.

"Yeah, those two. I'm just having some friends over from the country club, and my son is popping in. There'll be a dozen or so of us. It's going to be a retro-themed evening, old-schoolish—I'll be serving up martinis and big steaks—maybe a little Sinatra. Do you think you can make it, Steph?"

"I don't know, Harley. I have to work, but maybe I can trade shifts. Let me talk to Shelby and Candy and see if I can get out of work. I'll call you later tonight and confirm. It sounds fun," I said in an encouraging voice as I pulled my hand away—the one he had been so firmly gripping.

"All right, Stephanie. I'm pulling out all the bells and whistles for this little shin-dig. I hope you can make it, doll face. I want to meet those friends of yours. Call me later, cutie," Harley yelled out as I exited the gym.

Safe in my car, I considered Harley's invitation. It did sound like an entertaining evening, and if Candy and Shelby came with me, I'd be safe in case Harley planned on _trying anything_.

* * * * *

Shelby, Candy and I showed up on Harley's doorstep at approximately 8:00 p.m. on Saturday evening. I told them to dress conservatively, which was no problem for Shelby who was attired in a nice gray pantsuit that she was still wearing after spending the day at an open house. Candy had on a nice pair of black slacks that were a tad tight, but not as tight as her red blouse that was cut just a little too low. She just couldn't resist showing off the investment she had made in her cleavage last summer. I opted for a new floral print dress I had bought a couple of weeks ago. It was cut at the knee with spaghetti straps—very appropriate for springtime and a casual affair.

When I had called Harley last night, he said we'd be dining outdoors on the patio, and he encouraged us to bring our swimsuits since the weather was so nice. If the mood stuck us, we could take a dip in the pool or hot tub. I held a bag in hand that contained our three suits: Shelby's black one-piece, Candy's tiny bikini, and my slimming suit with a cute little skirt attached.

Harley answered on the first doorbell ring.

"Hey, ladies. Come on in," he invited in a most hospitable tone. "My guests are anxiously awaiting your arrival. I told them all about you gals."

As we approached the dining room, I observed two attractive older men sitting in high-backed chairs at a rich mahogany, candlelit dining table. Neither of them looked like Harley's son and there were no other guests present. I immediately realized I had been duped. I thought to myself, _Damn that Harley!_

Candy and Shelby quickly surmised the situation as well. Candy gave me a sideways glance and mouthed, "What's this?"

Shelby elbowed me in my side and cast an evil eye in my direction. I just half smiled and whispered, "Let's stay a while. Give it a chance."

Harley conducted the introductions with flair. "This is Charles," he bellowed out—pointing to the man with the full head of black hair that was graying at the temples. "He's my oldest and dearest friend at the club, and this is Edward over here; we go a long way back. He was the best man at my wedding. We're all divorced now," he declared.

As Harley went on with the introductions, I noticed Edward's receding hairline and bulging midsection, but I also observed the handsomeness of his face and the distinguished air he gave off as he puffed on a cigar.

"Charles and Edward, I present to you three beautiful ladies. This is Stephanie, the one I have told you so much about, and her two friends, Shelia and Candy," Harley proudly announced as if he had fashioned us himself.

I raised my eyebrows at Harley and corrected him, "Shelby, Harley—remember...her name's Shelby."

"Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I'm really bad with names sometimes," he apologized sincerely.

Upon being introduced, both men stood up simultaneously and walked towards us. Edward immediately went to Shelby, took up her hand, kissed it, and imparted in his deep voice, "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my dear." I was a little stunned when he did the same thing to Candy and then me. Boy, Harley wasn't kidding. This party was very old school—so far, anyway.

Charles followed Edward's lead, but offered kisses on our cheeks and hugs. We said our hello's as Harley led us out onto the patio where the glow of the colored pool lights reflected off the water—and Sinatra, as promised, crooned from the outdoor speakers. Martini glasses surrounded the table.

"Sit down, you gorgeous gals. Steph, have a seat next to me—and Shelby why don't you sit next to Edward. Candy, you and Charles make a stunning couple—get to know each other better," Harley suggested in a joking manner.

I couldn't help but feel awkward with the way things were progressing. _Harley is going to pay for this_ , I kept thinking to myself. "You girls like Martinis?" Harley offered as I seethed over the arrangement I had been bamboozled into.

"Why, sure. Who doesn't?" Candy giggled. "What kind you pouring?"

"Well, I picked up some chocolate liqueur today at the store. I'm mixing up some _Chocotinis_ for us," Harley answered as he poured the ingredients in the jigger.

"What is it you're mixing?" Shelby gasped. "That sounds disgusting."

"A _Chocotini_ , sweetie—a combination of vodka, chocolate liqueur, a splash of chocolate syrup and a bit of crème de cacao. You're gonna love it!"

"Okay, I'll give it a try. It sounds fattening, though," Shelby remarked as she watched him pour the syrup in the jigger.

"What are you worried about? You have a beautiful figure—not an ounce of fat on you. You're a skinny-Minnie. You could do with a few extra calories," Harley retorted as he shook the jigger and the ice rattled. "Ain't that right, guys?" he added as he poured the liquid brown beverage in our glasses.

"You won't have any argument from me, Harley," Edward chortled. "She's one foxy looking lady that I would like to get to know better. What do you think of her, Charlie boy?"

I looked over at Shelby, and she rolled her eyes at me.

"Shelby, honey, you have a divine body," Charles confirmed while he was staring down at Candy's cleavage. By this time Harley had finished pouring the drinks.

"A toast to new friends, especially beautiful ones like yourselves," Charles exclaimed as we raised our glasses to meet his. I saw his free hand on Candy's knee and was astounded to see she wasn't moving it.

"So, where are all the other guests tonight?" questioned Candy. "Steph told us there would be a dozen or so people here. What happened?"

"Oh, they cancelled. My son had a family emergency and the others had last minute changes to their plans," Harley informed us in an apologetic voice. "I hope you're not upset."

"Well, it's just that I thought we'd have more people to mingle with. I'm not really that into intimate gatherings. I always feel so exposed," Candy complained.

"Well, I can see why, honey, you are a bit exposed there," a smirking Charles acknowledged while looking down at Candy's double-D's. "Ya know, those are beautiful jugs you got there. I don't know if those are real, but they're reallllly nice."

"Well, I'm glad you find them so pleasant to look at," Candy blushed like a schoolgirl and winked at Charles as she said it.

"So, Shelby, listen, like I was saying, I'd like to get to know you better. You look great in clothes, but I bet you look even better naked. I love your red hair. Does the carpet down there," Edward dared while looking at Shelby's crotch, "match the curtains?"

"I beg your pardon," a very perturbed Shelby blurted out. "You have some nerve asking me something like that. Not in a million years would I let a fat old man like you get near me."

It was at that point that Shelby gave me the eye—the one that indicates it's time to leave. A kick to my knee under the table further emphasized her point.

"I think it's time for us to go, Stephanie," Shelby sternly commanded.

"Yeah, Harley, I think it's time for us to make our exit. We're gonna go now. Candy, are you coming?"

"Candy, we're leaving," Shelby asserted firmly. "Are you coming or not?"

"All right. All right. I'm coming," Candy moaned as we pushed our chairs out from the patio table to make our exit.

Harley, Charles and Edward stood with us, and followed behind—knowing full well that nothing they could say would stop us from leaving. Shelby could barely contain herself from running to the door. I made polite and thanked Harley for having us over. Shelby was ten paces ahead of me and Candy was ten behind. She was exchanging some last words with Charles.

The next thing you know, Candy was yelling out, "You guys go on ahead without me. Charles is going to give me a ride home. I'll call you tomorrow."

I was dumbfounded by Candy's resolve to stay, but I guess some girls just like _dirty old men._ That night I found out that Candy was one of them.
Chapter 5: Engaged

_E_ is for engaged. Being engaged was so much fun. I just loved saying _"my fiancee"._ I used those two words at every given opportunity from the time Harry popped the question till the day we walked down the aisle. Those were the happiest days of our relationship.

The reason I bring it up is because I'm going to a wedding this weekend. My friend Ginger is marrying a stockbroker she met on one of those dating websites. I never really thought people actually hooked up that way. It just seems like a scam to take your money, but she swears this is the real thing. I wanted to be happy for her, but I was still a bit cynical on the subject. I was still licking my wounds from Harry running off with Suzie the Floozy.

As I was wrapping her gift, a set of Waterford crystal glasses that cost me an arm and a leg, the phone rang. I let the answering machine pick it up. I have found it is always best to screen your calls. I didn't want to risk having to talk to the dreaded telemarketer or a guy that was a dating disaster. Thankfully, it was just Candy.

As she started to leave her message, I ran to the phone and picked it up.

"Hey, Candy—I'm here. I've been waiting to hear from you. Where have you been? It's already Thursday."

"Well, Steph—you're never going to believe this, but I've been in Las Vegas with Charles. I took a few sick days. We left Sunday night and we just got back."

"Please, Candy, don't tell me you married him!"

"What, are you kidding? No, nothing like that. The only thing we united was our bodies. You'd be amazed at the wonders of Viagra. I could barely keep up with him. We screwed like rabbits—in between seeing shows, gambling, and dining in the finest restaurants, of course. Charles is a high roller, and we got the royal treatment. The _Bellagio_ comped him a suite. You wouldn't believe this room. It had marble everywhere and a big screen T.V. There were so many places for Charles to ravish me. We did it in the spa tub, the shower, bent over the couch, nestled in the arm chair, on top of the desk, and, of course, on the king size, pillow top bed. The room had one of those little refrigerators loaded with all kinds of snacks and drinks, which room service stocked twice a day. I lost count of how many glasses of _Dom Perignon_ Charles poured me. Even though the room was free, the checkout bill was well over a thousand dollars. I looked at the itemized printout, and I was astounded at how much the porno-films cost. They were $20.00 a pop, and we must have watched at least a dozen. Charles likes the really raunchy ones with girl on girl action. I had a blast, Steph! Charles is loaded, and he sure knows how to treat a girl."

"It sure sounds like it, but I think he got his money's worth, based on what you're telling me, Candy. So, do you think you'll see him again?"

"Yeah, probably. I already told him the parameters of the relationship—sex and fun only— _period_. I warned him not to even try to make this something serious, like a girlfriend/boyfriend thing. He seemed okay with that. By the way, he gave me a little parting gift. On the way out of the _Bellagio_ we passed a jewelry shop, and he bought me a two-carat, diamond, bangle bracelet. It's simply divine. I can't wait to show it to you. When can I see you, Steph?"

"Well, I'm going to a wedding on Saturday. On Sunday, I'm having a barbecue. Do you think you can make it—around 4:00ish? Shelby's coming; my mom will be there too, and a few other people. Do you have plans yet?"

"No. I'm beat from my Vegas trip. I still have a little jet lag, or some kind of lag, but I should be rested up by Sunday. Do you want me to bring anything?"

"No, but you can bring Charles, if you want."

"Maybe. I'm kind of tired of him right now. I'll let you know if I'm coming solo or not by Saturday. I need at least a day off from that guy."

"Okay, Candy. Talk to you soon, girlfriend. Love ya."

"Love ya too, girlfriend. Ciao."

* * * * *

I woke up Sunday around 10:00. I was a little hung over from the wedding. Frank, Ginger's new husband, introduced me to one of his friends, Rob. He was one of the groomsmen. I thought he was pretty cute. He had blue eyes and wavy blonde hair that was a little mussed up. I've always had a thing for blondes, and I just adore a man in a tuxedo. I danced the evening away with him, and at the end of the night we exchanged numbers. I invited him to my barbecue, and he said he'd love to come.

That meant there would be eight of us at my intimate gathering—Shelby and some guy she met at an open house, Candy, Charles, Harley, my mom Gloria, Rob, and myself.

I had forgiven Harley for the shenanigans he pulled last Saturday. I just couldn't stay angry with him. In this particular situation, I took to heart the words my Grandmother Rose was fond of saying, "Don't get mad, get even," and that's exactly what I planned on doing. I am a firm believer in _an eye for an eye_ , _quid pro quo_ , _tit for tat._ Harley was going to pay for putting me in that uncomfortable situation. He was going to feel equally as uncomfortable as I did. I was setting him up with my mother.

Now, of course, Harley was clueless that my mom was coming tonight, nor did he know about Rob. I reveled in the thought of him squirming. He was going to pay. He had no idea what he was in for. I smiled at the thought of it as I marinated my steaks and wrapped my baked potatoes in foil.

I decided to wear my favorite skinny jeans and a polka dotted halter-top. That should hold Rob's interest. I have been told I have really nice shoulders, and I was sporting a nice tan I picked up a few of weeks ago at the apartment pool when I was studying for my linguistics mid-term. Oh God, how I just hated linguistics. I was barely pulling a "C" in that class. I just couldn't understand what morphemes, phonemes and sentence diagramming had to do with teaching English literature. I found the subject almost as boring and confusing as math.

It was already 2:00, and I was a bit behind schedule because I woke up so late. I picked up my bag that contained a plastic tablecloth, napkins, cups, paper plates, plastic tableware, silk flowers, and the river rocks I had taken the time to paint each guest's name on earlier. I ran downstairs to the apartment recreation area to set up my table. Fortunately, no one was using the barbecues yet, so I picked the one closest to the pool area and set up at the table nearest to it.

I felt very pleased with my table arrangement. As I finished up, I stepped back to admire my work and smiled with satisfaction. I placed Harley's spot right next to my mom's—and I positioned myself across from them, with Rob sitting next to me, of course. The flowers were strewn between each setting and the rocks were holding the paper plates down. It looked perfect for a spring get together. I ran back upstairs to start bringing the food and drinks down. _Where on earth was Candy?_ She was supposed to help me set things up.

Just as I opened the door, struggling with a box full of liquor and a bag of ice, Candy appeared around the corner. I could see the diamonds glistening from her wrist as she made her way towards my stairwell. She was wearing a pair of shorts that ought to be outlawed. They looked like jean cut offs that had been snipped just a bit too much, but knowing Candy, she paid top dollar for them. She was fond of saying that anything that went on her body had to show off her hotness to the max, or she wasn't wearing it. It was embarrassing to shop with her. When she would come out of the dressing room to get my opinion, she attracted quite a crowd. The old ladies _tskd tksd_ and shook their heads—muttering _oh my's_ under their breath, and the men waiting for their wives were more than happy to offer up their opinions. Every now and then, one of them would get his head slapped when his wife exited the dressing room and caught him ogling Candy.

Her upper half was attired in a low-cut, leopard print tank top that exposed her _assets_ , as per usual. She was showing off her tanned midriff. Her outfit made my outfit look conservative in contrast. That was my Candy. As she bounded towards me—long, blonde curls bouncing with a big smile on her face, I could hear her strappy black heels tapping on the concrete.

"Hey, Steph. Sorry I'm late. Just tell me what you need me to do. I am at your service."

"Thank God you're here, Candy! You said you'd be here by 1:30. It's already 2:30. Everyone's due to arrive in about thirty minutes. Here, take this box downstairs. I'm gonna run and get the charcoal and lighter fluid. Where's Charles, by the way?"

"He's coming with Harley. Hey, did you notice the bracelet?"

"I saw it glistening as you turned the corner. It's beautiful, Candy. That guy is really loaded. Looks like you hit the jackpot this time."

"Yeah—I guess I did. He wants to take me to Paris in June. I don't know if things will last that long, but maybe. Do you think he's too old for me, Steph?"

" _Yes!_ He's got to be at least sixty. I can't see you having children with the guy, Candy."

"You know I don't want to get married or have kids, Stephanie. My biological clock is broken, and I want it to stay that way. Dating an older man does have its advantages. I know I advised you to forget Harley, at least any romantic entanglement with him, but I hadn't considered Viagra at the time. An older man does know _things_ a younger man doesn't. Plus, he's settled and knows what he wants. Best of all, he's willing to pay for it and has the money to do so. Maybe you should reconsider Harley, Steph."

"Are you crazy, Candy? No way—let's talk about this downstairs. We've got to move our tails. Come on already."

"Okay, okay. I'll meet you down by the pool, grouchy pants," Candy grumbled as she made her way down the stairs with the box in hand.

"Just move those hot pants a little faster, sister. We're running late, no thanks to you."

I ran back inside and grabbed the charcoal and put it under my left arm. I opened the fridge and reached for the vegetable tray, then placed the lighter fluid on top of it, praying it wouldn't open and leak on my sliced cucumbers, carrots and celery. I made it out the door and did a careful balancing act down the stairs and over to the barbecues. I must admit, being a waitress did come in handy sometimes. It was amazing how much these arms could carry.

Candy had already poured herself a drink. I couldn't believe it. It looked like she made herself a Cape Cod based on the cranberry color. "Couldn't you wait for me?" I scolded her as I set my tray down.

"Somebody has to get this party started. Loosen up, Steph. Everything will work out. So what if we're running a little behind. Shove a drink at 'em and they'll be fine. What do you want me to do?"

"Stay here and guard the alcohol. I don't want the college kids that live across the way to steal it. I'll be right back. Enjoy yourself. You're good at that."

"Do you want me to pour you a drink, Stephanie? You could use one."

"Yeah—pour me a rum and diet, double lime. Start up the barbecue. Back in a flash."

Two trips later, I had safely brought down the steaks, corn on the cob, coleslaw, chips and dip. The baked potatoes were in the oven and I was starting to feel like I had things under control. I was going to wait till the guests arrived to put the steaks and corn on the grill. I didn't want them to dry out in case the guests were running a little behind. I took a seat next to Candy—who was already on her second drink—and exhaled, still out of breath from my jaunt up and down the stairs.

"Relax, Steph. Here's your drink. I propose a toast. To good times, girlfriends, and hot men that satisfy all of our primal needs."

"I'll drink to that. I haven't had sex in months. Not since Antonio—I've just been too busy with school and work to meet anyone, I guess."

"Stephanie—there is always time for sex. Don't you have a _booty call_ you can ring up to service your needs? And what about Harley? I'm sure he'd be more than willing to _check your oil._ "

"Candy, I told you in _no way_ am I interested in Harley. I can't believe you! You screw an old guy, and now you want the whole world to join you. Give it up already. Besides, I'm setting him and my mom up—today."

"You're what? You didn't tell me about this, Steph. Really? You know, I can so see those two together. Did you tell your mom about him?"

"No, are you kidding? There is no way she'd come today if she had the slightest inkling about what I was planning. Didn't you notice my seating arrangement?"

"No—you know I'm not one much for details, unless, of course, I'm looking a man over." Candy's eyes then proceeded to survey the table with a smirk on her face. "You sly devil, Steph. You've got them sitting right next to each other. Does Harley know anything?"

"No, not yet."

"You know he's infatuated with you, Stephanie. I don't think he's going to be all too thrilled with this. By the way, who's Rob?"

"Oh, that's a guy I met at the wedding yesterday. I think he might be my next sexual conquest. You're gonna like him, but he's mine. Stick to your old guy and keep your talons out of my fresh meat—promise me that, Candy."

"I'll do my best, darlin'. Hey, there are the guys. Charlie, we're over here," Candy yelled while waving them over in our direction, her diamonds shimmering in the sunlight.

"Hi, gorgeous," Charles exclaimed as he squeezed Candy between his arms.

Both Harley and Charles were dressed in Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirts. "There's no one more beautiful than my girl," Charles sang out as he released her from his embrace.

"How you doing, Harley?" a cheery Candy blurted out.

"Doing good, Candy, but not as good as Charles from what I can see. I'd be doing better if I had a drink. What you drinkin', sweetheart?"

"A Cape Cod—you want one, Harley?"

"I'd prefer my vodka straight—no cranberry juice? Do you have any olives, Stephanie?" Harley asked.

"Yeah, how many olives do you want in your martini?"

"Put three in there, sweetheart. You're looking good, Steph. Did you dress up for me?"

"Harley, we've talked about this. There is no chance of you and me getting together. In fact, I have someone I want you to meet today."

"Stephanie, you are so _not_ setting me up on a blind date."

"Oh, yes I am. And it's too late to do a damn thing about it because here she comes now," I announced. Everyone's eyes darted in the direction of my mom at that moment.

"Hey, Mom, you look beautiful," I beamed. "I love your dress. Is it new? You highlighted your hair. Harley, this is my mom, Gloria," I said smiling from ear to ear.

"Nice to meet you, Harley. Are you friends with my daughter? You're a little old for her, so I hope that's it—or I'll have to neuter you," my mom brashly warned him.

"Of course, of course, we're only friends. I know Stephanie from the gym. She's a doll but a tad out of my league," Harley nervously spat out.

"That's a relief to hear. My daughter doesn't always use her best judgment when it comes to men. Her jerk-o-meter is slightly off—no offense to you, Harley," my mom declared.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Gloria. That's my friend, Charles, over there. Hey, Charles, let go of Candy for a sec and come meet Stephanie's mom."

Still holding Candy's hand, Charles sauntered over and took up my mom's hand. He looked her straight in the eye and uttered, "Now I know where Stephanie gets her beauty. You have an amazing figure for a woman your age."

"I think that's a compliment, Charles. Thank you. You look okay for an old guy too, but what are you doing with a young thing like Candy—you pervert. By the looks of it, your body is not as hard as hers."

"Mom, Mom, would you please stop it. Don't be an ageist. People can find love at any age," I interjected while looking pleadingly at her.

"You mean to tell me Candy loves that guy. She might as well hook up with your father. He's always had a thing for her," my mom snapped back, grabbing Candy by the arm and away from Charles. "Candy, come with me for just a moment."

While Candy was getting read the riot act by my mom, I apologized to Charles and Harley for her behavior. "Guys, forgive my mom, but she's kind of bitter about older men dating younger women. My dad, Alex, ran off with some young thing several years ago. It really affected her in a bad way. She hasn't dated since."

"We have something in common at least," commented Harley. "You didn't tell us you had such a pretty mom," he added. "How old is she?"

"I don't think she would appreciate me telling you that, Harley. A woman has to have some secrets."

"Yeah, I guess your right about that, Stephanie. She doesn't look a day over forty-five. She's very well preserved for a woman who has a daughter your age."

"I think you should go for it," Charles said, elbowing Harley in the side. "She's a hot mama."

"Would you stop it already, Charles," grunted Harley. "I don't want to meet anyone right now. I'm still getting over the heartbreak from my divorce," he added as he glowered at us.

Just then, along came Shelby with her arm locked at the elbow in a very handsome man's arm. He was at least six foot two, with a nice pair of biceps on him. His dark hair was parted on the side, and he had the look of a businessman that was uncomfortable in his shorts and tee because he wore a suit most days. He came off as being a bit uptight, kind of like Shelby. My grandmother Rose always said, "Like water seeks its own level." Looking at the pair as they approached, I sure couldn't argue with that!

Upon seeing Shelby arrive, my mom broke away from Candy and came over to greet her. Harley's eyes were clearly following her movements.

"Shelby, it's so good to see you," my mom exclaimed, looking her up and down. "It's been so long, but you look as beautiful as ever. How have you been, and who's this good-looking man beside you?"

"Thanks, Mrs. Melendez. This is Chad," she revealed as we surrounded her, waiting for introductions. "He's a lawyer, and I just sold him a house. Chad, these two," she said, pointing at Candy and me, "are my dearest friends—Stephanie and Candy. This is Gloria, Stephanie's mother, and this is Harley and Charles."

"Any friends of Shelby's are friends of mine," he smiled—showing off his pearly whites. It crossed my mind, if he wasn't a lawyer, he certainly could pose in _Calvin's_ for a living.

While my guests chatted, I got the steaks and corn grilling; all the while wondering where the heck Rob was. It was nearly 5:00. If he stood me up, I was going to be so embarrassed, especially since I had set a place for him at the table. How was I going to explain the river rock I had painted with his name—the one I had taken extra time to put hearts and flowers all over. No one else got hearts and flowers around their name. If he didn't show up, it would just remind everyone what a loser in love I was. That vacant spot would just be screaming out _loser_ all night. Harley would have a hey day with me at the gym.

Just as I was the flipping the steaks, I felt someone's arms on my shoulders. I looked over my shoulder then up, and much to my relief, there was my blonde-haired angel wearing a five o'clock shadow. His hair was mussed up more than yesterday, and I imagined how his hair would look if he had just made love to me—it made me horny thinking about it.

"Sorry I'm late, Stephanie. I was sleeping off that hangover from last night. I got here as soon as I could."

Looking up into his baby blues, it really didn't matter what his excuse was. I was so happy to see him. His smile lit me up like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July, and I was grinning a silly smile and looking _ga ga_ , like someone just told me I won the lottery—and to be honest, that's exactly how I felt as he embraced me from behind.

"Those steaks smell good. I'm starved. I haven't had a bite all day. When we eatin'?"

"In about twenty minutes. Let me introduce you to everyone," I prompted as I turned around to face him. I took him by the hand and floated over to my guests who were chatting away. I noticed that Harley was facing my mom and they were gabbing intensely about something. That made me smile even more.

"Hey, everybody, I want you to meet someone. This is Rob," I intervened in their conversation, and all eyes turned to face us.

"Hi, Rob," my mom said while rushing up to meet him. "Where have you been hiding him, Stephanie? He's an absolute doll. Have you ever been married, Rob? You don't have any children, do you? What do you do for a living?" my mom sputtered out in rapid fire.

"Mom, please—Can you stop embarrassing me?" I begged. "Rob, don't mind my mom. She's just a little nosy when she first meets someone," I apologized.

"Oh, no problem, Stephanie. I'm chill with it. I'm a thirty-two-year-old owner of a skateboard shop, never been married, and I have a pit bull named Bowser, but no kids," he reported without hesitation. "It's an honor to meet you, Mrs. Melendez."

Candy and Shelby were next. They surrounded him on both ends, with my mom sandwiched in the middle. Both of them had stupid grins on their faces. Shelby proceeded to ask him what his intentions were, while Candy asked how good he could _ride_ a _skateboard._ I put a stop to their interrogation by telling them the steaks were almost ready. As we made our way to the table, I introduced Rob to Charles and Harley. Charles gave him a pat on the back—complimenting him on his good taste in women. Harley shook his hand firmly, warning him to be careful with my heart— _or else_. Gee, he was acting like my stepfather already!

I assigned them their spots at the table and ran off to get the steaks and corn on the cob. I sent my mom to fetch the baked potatoes out of the oven, and ordered Candy to play bartender.

When I returned with a platter of steaks in hand, surrounded by corn wrapped in foil, Candy was sitting on Charles' lap and Shelby was nuzzled up to Chad. Harley and Rob, much to my surprise, were chatting like two old school chums.

"Where's my mom?" I inquired.

"She's not back yet," Harley answered.

"Let me check on what's taking her so long. Guard the food, guys. Shoo the flies away. I'll be right back." I bounded up the stairs two at a time, wondering what was causing the delay. As I entered my apartment, I didn't see my mom anywhere. She certainly couldn't be hiding in my one room hovel. Where was she?

"Mom, are you in here?" I yelled out.

"I'm in the bathroom, Stephanie." I walked in to find my mom reapplying her lipstick. The room smelled like a combination of hairspray and my _Calvin Klein Eternity_ perfume.

"Mom, you look great. Let's go. The food is getting cold."

"Wait a minute, Stephanie. I'm so nervous. Your friend Harley asked me on a date, and I told him I'll think about it and let him know by the end of the night."

"That's fantastic, Mom. Harley is the nicest guy you would ever want to meet and a real gentleman. You should definitely say yes."

"Really, Stephanie? You know I'm kind of out of commission when it comes to dating. What if he breaks my heart?"

"Mom, don't worry about that. It's only a date. Just go out and have fun."

"Okay—I think I will. I am going to say yes. I deserve to be happy after what your father put me through."

"You sure do, Mom. Now, come on. Let's go. Everyone's waiting for us."

The rest of the evening was spent laughing and talking by the light of the tiki torches I had set up. I was so happy to see my mom glowing under the attentions of Harley. I had no idea things would go so well. In a way, I was a little jealous of her because she and Harley seemed to be getting on better than Rob and I. Rob was nice to look at, but he didn't have much of interest to say. I just couldn't relate to skateboards and all that. I now knew what a 180 and a 360 were, and the words _dude_ and _rad_ were starting to get old. I kept asking myself, "Is this the same guy I met last night?"

As I wallowed in my disappointment, I observed that everyone else seemed to be having a grand time. The drinks kept flowing and before I knew it, it was almost eleven. I told everyone we had to pack it up because I had to work brunch tomorrow morning.

The guys helped me carry up everything, and thankfully, I didn't have to deal with the first kiss embarrassment, since Harley and Charles were there guarding me like their daughter. I told Rob I would call him, knowing full well I wouldn't. By this time, Candy, my mom, and Shelby had made it up the stairs behind us. We all hugged and said our good-byes. Exhausted, I pulled my Murphy bed from the wall and collapsed on it.

* * * * *

I awoke to the sound of the alarm clock the next morning at 9:00.

I didn't spend a lot of time getting ready. I made my morning cup of coffee, guzzled it down, and headed out the door. I'd eat when I got to work.

When I walked in the back door of the restaurant, there was Randall, the restaurant manager, standing by the time clock—holding a vase full of red roses. "These are for you, Stephanie. They just arrived. Who did you sleep with?"

"Shut up, Randall. I haven't had sex with anyone in so long, the cobwebs are building up down there."

"Well, you did impress someone. Who's the new guy, huh?"

"Just someone I met at a wedding. At least that's who I think they're from."

"Read the card, Steph—I already did."

"You what?"

"I read it. I didn't know who they were for. There was no name on the envelope. Come on already, read it."

To Stephanie, the coolest dudette around.

Looking forward to getting rad with you and doing some 180's.

Rob

"What are 180's, Stephanie? Is that anything like _69-ing_?"

"Shut up, Randall."

* * * * *

I wrapped up my shift around 2:00 and decided to go straight home. I was beat. I had a little studying to do, and I was in the mood to put on my pj's and watch some _Lifetime_ television.

The flashing light was blinking on my answering machine like crazy. I had three messages from Rob and one from my mom. Rob wanted to go out later, and my mom informed me Harley was taking her to dinner tonight. She sounded like a blushing schoolgirl. I said a little prayer to myself that things would go well for them.

Before I could sit down on the futon and rest my aching legs, the phone rang. It was Rob. I politely declined his invitation to hang out with him at his skate shop till closing time. He wanted to take me to his favorite fish and chip spot after he wrapped things up for the day, but I told him I was worn out. Maybe another day. That was easy enough.

I changed into my pj's and settled into a night of bliss, munching on fat free popcorn and watching one chick flick after another. I fell asleep on the couch, and the next thing I knew I was waking up to the phone ringing. It was 1:00 in the morning. My mom started to leave a message: "Steph, I think I'm in love. Pick up the phone. Are you there?"

"Hi, Mom. I was sleeping."

"Well, wake up, my little kitten. I've got good news. Harley and I had the best time. He took me to the most elegant restaurant. You wouldn't believe this place. They carve your prime rib tableside, and the waitresses wear maroon dresses with starched white aprons wrapped around their waists and little maid caps on their heads. I ate Yorkshire pudding with sauce poured on top of it, and Harley ordered the finest champagne they had. It was a truly magical evening. Harley is such a gentleman."

"I told you so, Mom."

"I didn't give him a kiss at the end of the date, but I think I will tonight. He's coming over for dinner."

"That's nice, Mom. Tell me all about it later. I have to get some sleep. I have school tomorrow."

"Okay, sweetheart. I just wanted to share the good news with you. I'll call you tomorrow night and let you know how things go."

"Yeah, okay, Mom. Don't sleep with him, whatever you do. It's too soon. Harley's kind of old-fashioned."

"Stephanie Marie, I can't believe you just said _that_. Girls from my era play hard to get. You can't get a man to buy the cow if you give him the milk for free."

"Mom, I can't believe you just said _that_. You and Harley are perfect for each other. Have fun. Bye."

After only two and a half months and about fifty or so odd dates, Harley and my mom were _engaged_ , and I was the asked to be the maid of honor.
Chapter 6: Frenzied

_F_ is for frenzied, which is what I was! I was frenzied getting ready for the wedding, frenzied studying for my final exams, frenzied making out my commencement announcements, frenzied calming my mother's nerves over her impending nuptials—frenzied, frenzied, frenzied!

Somehow I would get everything done. I have found that working thirty hours a week and going to school fulltime has made me a master of time management. I was just getting less sleep than usual. As of late, I had adopted Candy's mantra, _I'll sleep when I'm dead._ These days I was lucky to be getting five or six hours of sleep a night.

It was the end of April, and if I passed all of my exams—God willing, I would be walking across the stage next week. The only thing that kept me going these days was imagining my elation when I shook the president of Glendale Community College's hand as I received my _AA Degree_ in humanities. My literature and history of women final exams were going to be a breeze; it was my linguistics and science finals that were keeping me up nights. While science was a little more brain friendly for me than math, I still had trouble with keeping all those formulas straight. I simply do not have a linear intellect. I have always been an _outside the box_ thinker. If daydreaming were a major, I'd graduate with honors. I like to think of my brain as being like a diamond, multi-faceted and gleaming in all directions, amazing people with its brilliance. Despite my limitations in the areas of math and science, I did not think of myself as a _Dumb Dora_. I truly believe that each and every person has his or her personal brand of genius; one just has to uncover what it is.

For me that was _bullshitting._ Let me explain what I mean by that. Writing literature essays is largely a matter of _bullshitting_ , and that was my field of expertise _._ As long as you make a viable claim in your essay, and support it with evidence from the text in a persuasive manner that impresses your professors, you get an "A"—which for the most part I did. I just loved reading all those comments that were scrawled across my pages. Mr. Whitman, my _Study of Shakespeare_ professor, paid me the highest compliment of all at the end of one of my essays—and I quote:

" _Ms. Melendez,_

You have a unique writing style that is eloquent and forceful.

I am impressed with the quality of your prose and am certain

you will make an excellent English teacher. You relate well to

the Bard—A+."

I can assure you that was the most blissful of days. I was walking on a cloud for a week!

My dad used to always tell me I was a great salesperson. I could sell a bike to anyone, and, of course, _BS-ers_ make good salespeople. I have never had a job where I didn't have to put my _BS-ing_ skills to use. I would say my most challenging job was working as a telemarketer. It's hard to _BS_ when people hang up on you before you can get a word in edgewise. Even so, I was pretty good at it. If it involves the use of language, verbal or written— _I'm in like Flynn_.

I could talk my way out of almost anything. However, I was having trouble talking my mom out of making me wear this outlandish, lavender gown with taffeta ruffles to her wedding. Shelby and Candy were none too happy about it either. My mom elected them to be bridesmaids, and she was attiring them in a variation of the same dress. Since I was the maid of honor, my number was full-length with a rose-colored sash at the waist, while Shelby's and Candy's were three-quarter length with no sash. To be honest, I would prefer to be less distinguished and wear the same dress they were. It wasn't quite as over the top as mine.

The big day was nearing and we were busy making lavender sachets for the bridal shower, which would be distributed to each guest. The lavender was wrapped in a cream colored organza and tied with a lavender ribbon that read: "Harley and Gloria ~ the sweet smell of love." The shower was being held at a quaint little teahouse that specialized in scones, clotted cream and finger sandwiches. Mom and I had been there several times, and it was one of her favorite places. I was meeting her and my sister, Marilyn, there for lunch today to decide on the menu for the shower, which was only three weeks away.

My mom made us both maids of honor. She was insistent that both her daughters be at her side when she said her vows. We were her "two beautiful flowers," as she put it, and she could not just pick one of us from the garden. This perturbed me a little, as I was her firstborn, but there was comfort in knowing I wouldn't be the only one wearing that ridiculous dress. It was already 10:00, and I was just rolling out of bed. I had an hour to get ready and hightail it over there. Mom was so uptight about everything these days, I didn't dare want to risk being late, otherwise I might have to incur her wrath. I jumped in the shower and readied myself as quickly as possible, not paying much attention to the aesthetics of my appearance. Jeans and a t-shirt would have to suffice, and I didn't put on much makeup. I was out the door in thirty minutes and at _The Cottage Rose_ right on schedule.

My mom and Marilyn were waiting outside the place. They had a look of impatience on their faces like they had been there for a while, but my watch read exactly 11:00, so they'd better not complain about me being late.

As I strolled up the walk, they approached me with smiles and open arms. In two steps, I was being hugged on both ends. "Hey, Sis, we've been waiting for you. Thank God you're here. Mom is driving me a little batty with her nervousness."

"I'm right on time, Marilyn."

"I know. I know—but we arrived fifteen minutes ago. The place wasn't open yet, so we couldn't even go in and have a cup of chamomile tea. That's supposed to be soothing. You'd think Mom was planning the queen's coronation the way she is obsessing over everything."

"Marilyn, it's not every day a woman my age gets married. I don't want to blow my chance to make this the most perfect day of my life. The day I married your father certainly wasn't. This time I'm going to do it right," Mom rebuked Marilyn, while I just smiled and kept my mouth shut.

"They're open now," I offered, as Marilyn continued to be lectured. "Let's get on with this already. I've got to work this afternoon."

We were seated under an arch of silk flowers that matched my maid of honor dress perfectly. How fitting, I thought to myself. Mom ordered up a pot of Earl Grey tea and a sampler platter of finger sandwiches, which included egg salad, cucumber mint, goat cheese and watercress, chicken salad with cranberries and pecans, and an herbed cream cheese with liverwurst— _yuck!_

As we waited for our food, Mom broached the subject of our hairstyles for the wedding. "I'd really like you girls to wear your hair up in a French twist with long curly wisps hanging down at your temples. Won't that be a romantic look? I think that would be very flattering on you both. What do you think?"

I interjected first. "Mom, I'd really like to wear my hair down. Isn't it enough I'm wearing the dress you picked that I'll never be able to wear again?"

"What do you mean you'll never be able to wear again? Don't be silly. If you hem it to the knee, you'll be able to wear it countless places, dear. What do you think, Marilyn?" my mom inquired.

"Yeah, I could wear it again, Mom—maybe to a costume party, or a Pollyanna convention," my sister groaned. "I wished you would have picked something a bit more contemporary. I'm not the ruffles and lace type."

"Me neither, Mom," I interjected.

"Well, this is my wedding, girls, so deal with it! You're going to look lovely in those dresses. Don't forget, we have a fitting this Friday at _Dashing Bride_. Remind Shelby and Candy about it, Stephanie. Our appointment is at two o'clock sharp."

"We'll be there, Mom. Stop being such a worrywart. Here come our sandwiches," I sighed with relief, glad to have a diversion from her fretfulness.

"This one looks good," I said picking up something that looked like tuna or chicken salad. It had red things in it, so I assumed it was the chicken salad with cranberries and pecans. One bite was all it took to sell me. "Try this one, you guys. Ummmm...it is so good. It has just the right amount of mayo in it."

"You're right, Stephanie. That one is a keeper," my mom affirmed.

"Have you tried the goat cheese and watercress yet?" Marilyn asked. "It sounds gross, but it's actually quite delish. Try it."

"If it has goat cheese," I reassured, "I'll love it. Put it on the menu."

"I agree. I also want the egg salad and cucumber mint. Those are old standards when it comes to finger sandwiches," Mom proclaimed. "The liverwurst is definitely out, though. It's disgusting."

"Okay, done. What about dessert, Mom? Should we bring in our own cake, or order some scones and clotted cream?"

"I say we bring in our own cake," Marilyn broke in. "This is going to get expensive. We're not made of money, you know."

"But I really want the scones and clotted cream. That's what this place is known for. My shower won't be the same without the scones. Please—I just have to have them. I'll pick up the added expense if money is a problem," Mom whined.

"Mom, you'll have your scones. I'll see to it. Marilyn, we'll manage somehow."

"On what—our college student income?" she quipped.

"I'll pick up an extra shift or two at the restaurant. Don't worry about it. Mom will have her scones."

"Okay, Steph, you're buying 'em. I'm broke," she moaned.

"Fine. I'll buy the scones. Do they serve champagne in this joint?" I posed the question to further irritate Marilyn.

"No. They don't serve champagne," she barked. "Money doesn't grow on trees, Stephanie."

"I know, but I just want Mom's shower to be special. We have to toast the happy couple's future. I'll see if we can bring our own in," I suggested.

"That sounds wonderful, Stephanie. I just love that idea. A little bubbly always makes things more fun," my mom said, clearly delighted with the prospect. "Why can't your sister think more like you?" This comment elicited a snarl from Marilyn. I just smiled back at her.

"Bubbly it is then, Mom," I confirmed—thinking to myself that's the only thing that was going to keep me sane at a shower with two dozen, fifty-year-old women.

"I hate to break this lovely lunch up, Mom and Marilyn, but I have to get some studying in before work. I've got a final tomorrow. I'll see you both on Friday at _Dashing Bride_."

"Don't forget—two o'clock sharp," my mom reminded as I headed out the door.

"See you then and there, Sis. Don't be late."

"Yeah, okay. See you then. Love you guys," I yelled as the door was shutting behind me.

"Love you, too," I heard them chorus through the paned glass door. I adored my mom and sister, but they could be a little trying at times. My sister was five years younger than me and always seemed to be vying for Mom's attentions. You would think it would be the other way around, since she's the baby of the family, but being Mom's firstborn gave me a special place in her heart that my little sis couldn't steal from me, despite how hard she tried. It was a relief to be in my quiet car on the way to work.

* * * * *

Friday arrived and so did my linguistics final. I was just leaving school, and my brain felt like a twisted pretzel after diagramming sentences for the last hour and a half. The good news was it was my last final. I would know by Monday if I was wearing the mortar board cap and gown I had already purchased—or not.

I needed a break, but that was not to be. I had to be at _Dashing Bride_ in an hour. I was famished and had a few minutes to spare, so I stopped and had a couple of tacos at _Mexi Fresh._ I washed them down with a diet coke and headed to the bridal store. At least my stomach wouldn't be growling during the fitting. Shelby and Candy better be on time, or I would be the one who got scolded for their tardiness, since I was reminded several times to make sure to tell them two o'clock.

It looked like I was the first to arrive, but I was running a little early. I didn't see anyone else's car in the lot. I went inside the store to wait it out.

"Hi, I'm Janet, welcome to _Dashing Bride_ ," the salesgirl greeted me as I entered. "Are you looking for a wedding dress?"

"No. I have to find a man first."

"You and me both, honey."

"My mom is the bride—Gloria Melendez. We have a fitting here today at 2:00."

"Oh yes. We're expecting you. Geraldine, our seamstress, has been working like a mad woman all morning to finish up the dresses for the bridal party. Your mom sure picked a busy time to get married. May is our busiest month because we're servicing all those June brides. What weekend is her wedding again?"

"She's getting married the first weekend in June," I answered.

"My, my—you all must be busy then. That's only a couple of weekends away. Not to worry about your dresses. They'll be ready on time. Come and take a look at the wonders Geraldine has accomplished. You're just going to love what she's done."

I doubted that.

The next thing I knew, Janet was pulling me by the arm into the backroom where Geraldine worked. "Geraldine, this is..." she stumbled. "I'm sorry, I forgot to ask your name."

"Stephanie, Gloria's daughter," I offered.

"I know who she is, Janet. Who do you think took her measurements for this getup? Come on over here, darlin', and let me see how this fits you. Strip down in there. I have your dress waitin' for ya. Excuse me for sayin' it, but your mom has some strange taste. I feel a bit sorry for you, but I just make 'em as they order 'em, honey," consoled Geraldine.

When I walked in the fitting room and saw my dress hanging on the hook, my eyes bulged with visible shock. My mom had taken the liberty of adding sparkling, silk roses to the neckline. The edges of the flowers looked as if they had been dipped in lavender glitter, and the hemline had the same sparkling effect. This was not the dress I had seen in the picture. It seemed to have more ruffles and flounces than I remembered. There was no way I was wearing this thing.

Just as I was about to exit the dressing room and instruct the seamstress to remove all the glitter, I heard my mom's voice outside. Geraldine informed her I was trying the dress on.

"Is she—right now?" my mom asked excitedly. "I can't wait to see my sweet angel of a daughter in that dress. Stephanie—are you in there? Come on out and show Mama how beautiful you look. Grandma Rose and your sister are with me. We want to see you sparkle."

I felt like gagging as I slipped into the garment, but I felt obligated to at least try it on. "I'll be right out, Mom. Hi, Grandma. Hi, Marilyn," I bellowed from the stall. I called Geraldine in to zip me up in the back, and then I made my grand entrance from the dressing room in my purple flip-flops. They actually kind of matched the dress and completed the ludicrous getup. As I stepped through the dressing room curtains, I was met with open mouths and _"ahhhs"_ by Grandmother Rose, and my mother. Marilyn was visibly laughing.

"Stephanie Marie, you look gorgeous," Grandmother Rose cried out. "The only thing you would look more beautiful in is your wedding dress when you walk down the aisle one day."

"Grandma, you've seen me walk down the aisle in a wedding dress—remember, with Harold," I pointed out.

"Oh yes. I'd prefer not to remember Harold—that two-timing _son of a bitch_ that broke my Stephanie's heart. Let's not go there now. This is a joyous occasion."

"Stephanie, you look breathtaking in that gown," my mother clucked with glee. My daughters are going to be the most stylish maids of honor that ever were, or ever will be."

"Aren't you going to try yours on, Marilyn?" I said with raised eyebrows.

"I already did—yesterday. Mom couldn't wait."

"I still can't get over how beautiful you look, Stephanie," my mother cooed.

"Yeah, Stephanie," added Shelby and Candy with smirks on their faces. "That dress is really you."

"When did you two slip in? Your dresses are waiting for you in there. Join the party, why don't you," I invited.

"We've got to run, girls. I made an appointment with the florist for 3:00," my mother informed us. "Shelby and Candy, I know you're going to look like fashion models in your dresses. Toodles."

"Yeah, toodles—have fun," added Marilyn. "Come on, Grandma. We have to get her to the florist on the double."

"Fashion models indeed," Candy whispered. "Wait till she sees the modifications I've done. Geraldine, did you do what I asked to my dress? You know, that little request I made the last time I saw you—after everybody else left."

"Sure did, darlin'. Go try it on." Geraldine was smiling and pointing her in the direction of the dressing room. The conspiring tone of their voices made me nervous.

"Candy, you're scaring me. What did you ask Geraldine to do to your dress?" Shelby asked, a hint of worry in her voice. She sensed what I did too.

"You'll see, Shel. I'll be right out. You're going to love it," she assured us both.

Out walked Candy in the same dress as me for all intents and purposes, with the exception that it was cut a little lower in the bodice and it was the _microest_ micro mini I had ever seen in my life. In my mind, I was cheering Candy for her daring, and I was happy that someone had the gumption to stand up to my mom's tyranny. She had really become a _bridezilla_ lately.

However, despite the applause that rang out in my head for Candy's bold maneuver in fashioning the dress to suit her taste, I was a bit mortified thinking about how my mother was going to take this.

Shelby and I were both taken aback by the shortness of the garment. Shelby was the first to speak. "Candy, sweetheart, we're going to a wedding, not turning tricks down on Hollywood Boulevard."

"This isn't a disco ball, Candy. Although, by looking at all the glitter my mom added, you wouldn't know it. Candy, you can't go in _that dress_. A holy man is marrying Harley and my mom. Granted, he's not a Catholic priest because they've both been married before, which is a great disappointment to my Grandma Rose, but a man of some cloth or other is still marrying them. You won't even be able to bend over in that number. It's indecent."

"I don't plan on doing much bending over, not until after the wedding anyway. Charles is getting us a penthouse suite at the _Boneventure._ He says there's nothing like looking down at all those city lights while doing _it_. He claims it's quite a euphoric experience, and he's assured me that I'll enjoy it immensely. Since when did you two turn into _Polly Prudes_ anyway? This is who _I am_ , and _I am_ wearing _this dress_ ," huffed Candy, as she pulled at the hemline that rose a tad higher.

"Suit yourself, Candy. You're going to be the one who has to contend with my mother—not me."

"Don't worry about that. I can handle her. Let's go get a drink. You're graduating next week, aren't you? We need to celebrate," Candy insisted.

"Wait up, Candy. I still have to make sure my dress fits," Shelby said. "Give me a minute."

* * * * *

Twenty minutes later, we met up at Jack's. Four drinks and two hours later, a guy across the bar was looking pretty good to me.

One hour later, we were at my apartment having _frenzied_ sex. It was just the release I needed after a very stressful week.
Chapter 7: Graduation Day

_G_ is for graduation day, and it was finally here. I was all ready for my moment in the spotlight.

I don't know what it was, but there was something quite liberating and exhilarating about having unabashed sex with a total stranger that you know you will probably never see again. That would be Dan, the guy I met at Jack's the other night. From the second our eyes met, we had this primordial attraction that drew us together and straight into my bed. He had done wonders for not only my libido that had been on hiatus since Antonio, but also for my self-esteem. Over the course of the last two days, I couldn't help but think about how he spanked me again and again, each time with a greater zeal than before. Fortunately for him, I don't mind a little _spanky_ here and there. He couldn't keep his hands off my _tush—_ as he referred to it. Dan was a real _ass_ man, and apparently mine pleased him to no end. Now I was ready to sashay that _tush_ down the aisle and get my diploma.

My rehearsal was yesterday, and I was certain I wouldn't—really couldn't fumble things up. All I had to do was follow the person in front of me whose last name was Melankyte. It was Wednesday, and I usually worked Wednesday nights, but Randall gave me the night off. He said he was real proud of me, and it was so cool that one of his waitresses was going to be a _real_ college graduate. He was worried I would be too good for the place now and he'd lose a fine waitress, but I assured him I wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. I still had at least three to four more years of college. I had to get my bachelor's degree and teaching credential yet, and that was going to take some time.

My mom and Harley were coming to my graduation, as were my Grandma Rose and Grandpa Henry, my dad and his Filipina girlfriend, his parents—Grandma Maria and Grandpa Jose, my sister Marilyn and brother Brian, and of course Shelby and Candy. I hoped my mother and father would be on their best behavior. You never knew with them. I just don't understand how those two ever managed to have three children. I guess they loved each other at some point, but there certainly was no lingering evidence of that now. You could feel the tension in the air whenever they were in the same room. Fortunately, they didn't see each other very often, except on occasions like this when it was absolutely necessary.

We were all going out to dinner after the ceremony. Mom insisted we go to some fancy place on the hill in Glendale called _Kalloway's Steak House_. I had been there once before, and I remember it being a pretty expensive place. Mom said she was sparing no expense. It wasn't everyday your child graduated from college. Harley and she were footing the bill, and they wouldn't hear of going anywhere else.

This was the first time my dad was meeting Harley. He had heard about him, but had not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance yet. As he put it, he was looking forward to meeting the man who was crazy enough to marry my mother. I think I recalled my dad referring to him as, "the poor sucker." I set my worries aside about all that for now and started to get ready for _my big day_.

I wore a nice pair of black slacks that matched my black gown and a black and pink striped, silk blouse with capped sleeves. I didn't want to wear anything too weighty under that gown. It was going to be hot out. For the same reason, I wore light makeup; I'd probably end up sweating off whatever I put on anyway, I rationalized. I did go heavy on the lipstick, though. I glossed my lips with a bright fuchsia so I would stand out in the crowd. I was all ready to go.

Where were Candy and Shelby? They were picking me up at 3:00. The graduation started at 4:00. They'd better not be late, or I would never forgive them.

Just as I was starting to really worry, my cell phone rang. It was 3:20. It was Shelby.

"Steph, we're waiting in front of your apartment. Sorry I'm running late. I had a client that tarried me. Meet us down here."

"Okay. I'll be right there." I took up my cap with a few bobby pins to put it on later, grabbed my purse and headed out the door in my flowing black robe.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw Candy and Shelby waiting in Shel's silver Jaguar—and pride surged through me. Not because I was graduating, but because they were my friends. I had already seen both of them graduate, and now it was my turn.

"Hey, girlfriends. Are you ready to see me strut my stuff?" I called out as I approached the car.

"Honey, you've been struttin' it since the day you were born," Shelby announced.

"Yeah, girlfriend, the only difference is now you're strutting it in that silly, black gown that should be reserved for monks and nuns. No one should ever cover that much flesh," Candy piped in. "Who ever thought of such a thing?"

"I don't know, but I think I look pretty snazzy in it—and I don't care what you think, Candy."

"I can't say much. I wore one myself many moons ago," Candy conceded. "At least it matches your hair. That stupid black cap totally clashed with my beautiful, blonde locks."

"Only you would think of such a thing, Candy!"

"Well, they should make those hats in gold. Why don't they?" Candy proclaimed indignantly. "Hey, Steph, Shel, I brought my flask. Do you want a sip? It's loaded with Grand Marnier. Only the best for my girl."

"I'm driving, Candy. Do you want to get me arrested?" Shelby reprimanded.

"Don't be such a fuddy dud, Shelby. We're celebrating," Candy shouted over the freeway traffic. "No one will see us. We'll duck, right, Steph?"

"I don't think it's a good idea, Candy," I agreed with Shelby.

"Okay, okay. I know when I'm beat. We'll take a few gulps in the ladies' room when we get there," Candy said with a sigh of defeat. "I just want to get this party started already. By the way, how did it go with that guy, Dan, the other night?"

"He was pretty good in the sack, and he was a _spanker_ ," I divulged—smiling at the memory of it.

"Really, you got yourself some _hanky-spanky_ —that sounds fun," Candy said with a jealous edge to her voice. "Why didn't you call me up? I like to do a little rump smacking myself sometimes, and you have such a cute one, Steph."

"Candy, you know I don't share my men, and girls aren't really my thing. Plus, it would ruin our friendship. Once you go _there—_ there's no turning back. I love you too much to use you for sex."

"You two are nuts. Did you use protection with this guy, Stephanie? You don't know anything about him. You could get some disease, you know," Shelby sternly remarked.

"Yes, I have a drawer full of condoms in every color of the rainbow right next to my bed. He chose neon green, which complimented his _member_ quite nicely—I must say."

"Well, that's good. At least you had sense enough to protect yourself," Shelby concluded. "It's good to know my lectures have not been in vain."

We arrived without a minute to spare, and much to Candy's disappointment, there was no time to duck into the ladies' room for a quickie drink. She would just have to wait till after the ceremony. I slammed the car door shut and scurried to the center of the football field where the graduates were seated. The bleachers were full, and I could see Harley and my mom but couldn't manage to find anyone else in the sea of faces. I was sure they were all out there somewhere.

The ceremony began with an address delivered by the valedictorian, followed by a speech by Morgan Smithers, the college president. He encouraged us to all keep reaching for the stars as we continued to fulfill our dreams. Upon the completion of his speech, he enlisted the aid of Professors Johnson and Whitman to call out the names of the candidates. They started at the beginning of the alphabet and worked their way down. It was evident they had all done this before. President Smithers knew just when to look at the camera and smile as he shook each graduate's hand. I patiently waited for my turn as the line snaked towards the stage. I was actually feeling a little nervous. I couldn't believe this was actually happening. I had worked so hard and waited so long for this day. I thought it would never come, but here it was. In fact, I was only three people away from holding that piece of paper, and then two, then one...

"Stephanie Marie Melendez," called out Professor Johnson as I stepped forward to accept my diploma. I was hoping it would be Professor Whitman, my Shakespeare professor who called my name and not my math professor, but that was of little consequence at the moment. I had done it! I smiled proudly for the photographer as I shook the president's hand and accepted that glorious piece of paper amidst the congratulatory screams that echoed throughout the stadium. I soared back to my seat feeling on top of the world, thinking to myself—this was only an _AA degree_. Just imagine what I would feel like when I got my _BA degree_.

The rest of the ceremony went by in a whirlwind. The last thing I remembered was the band striking up the school's victory song and trailing out amongst the other black-cloaked seraphs into the waiting arms of my friends and family. I just fell into their praise and ate up their glorifications and pronouncements of my genius. The next thing I knew, I was sitting at the head of the table at _Kalloway's Steak House_ , my parents on both sides of me—their respective mates at their sides, while they argued over who was responsible for my smarts. This was not going to be pretty. I could sense it was going to be a long night.

* * * * *

We barely had a chance to sit down and order our drinks before the trouble started.

"You know, Stephanie, you are not the first college graduate in this family," my dad informed me. "Your great Uncle Antonio graduated from a religious seminary. He was a priest for many years before he passed on—God rest his soul. Your mother cannot say the same about her side of the family. Any brains you got, honey, you got from my side," he affirmed—his slutty Filipina girlfriend Melissa nodded her head in agreement.

"Stephanie, your father fails to mention that his Uncle Antonio was removed from service for sexually deviant behavior when he was sixty. He was found in bed with another priest, one considerably younger than himself—committing lewd and lascivious acts. The church tried to rehabilitate him, but it happened again, and again—and he was forced into retirement. He was no saint, honey. You get your intelligence and curious nature from me. While I may not be college educated, I have read more books than I can count. I'm the one who instilled you with a love for literature. Your father has never read a book in his life."

"For someone who reads so many books, you sure are stupid, Gloria. Let's not forget about your brother, Gustavo. He's as gay as a gooseberry, and I have too read a book," my dad attacked back.

"What would that be– _Playboy's Centennial Issue_ in hardback?" she retorted sarcastically.

"Would you two stop it already," I begged.

"What do you two have against gay people anyway?" asked Shelby. "Some of the finest people I know have proclivities for the same sex."

"Yeah," Candy agreed. "You oughta try it with a guy sometime, Mr. Melendez. You gotta dance on the other side of the fence every now and then. It makes life more interesting. I kissed a girl once, and—"

"Candy, save that conversation for another time," I warned—my eyes piercing her like arrows.

"Dad and Mom, this is Steph's special day. Don't ruin it with your bickering," my brother Brian interrupted. "Let's just enjoy our dinner and have a peaceful evening. I'm really not in the mood to hear your squabbling."

"Yeah, Mom and Dad. Just shut it down now," my sister Marilyn pleaded.

"He started it. I can't help it your father is such an idiot, kids. The man can't keep his ignorant, big mouth shut."

"I can't help it if you're so annoying, Gloria. Thank God Stephanie and Marilyn didn't turn out like you. One nagging hag in the family is enough."

"Hey, hey, that's my fiancée you're talking about, buddy. Leave it alone before this gets ugly," Harley threatened.

"You don't know her like I do, pal. She's a _top shelf_ pain in the ass. I'd take your ring back and run for your life while you still can. I'm lucky I still have my balls; you might not be so lucky."

"You are lucky you still have your balls. After all the whores they've been near, you would think they'd have fallen off by now," my mom fired back—looking straight at Melissa. "I must say, Alex, you haven't changed much. The only person you have ever cared about is yourself. You don't care a whit that you're ruining Stephanie's big night. You are, and always have been, a disgusting pig. Why don't you pick up your women at a nursing home instead of a nursery school? You make me want to puke. Melissa, I don't understand what you see in that old goat."

"Keep her out of this, you cow. She's a hell of a lot prettier and smarter than you'll ever be. You couldn't even hang on to the best thing that ever came your way— _me!_ And you wonder why I strayed. Good luck with that one, Harley. Melissa, we're leaving. I can't stand to be in the company of this woman for a second longer. Congratulations, Stephanie," my father screamed out as he dragged Melissa towards the door. "Enjoy your dinner, everybody, although I don't know how you can with that woman here," he added and was gone.

I looked over at my mother, and I observed the smug smile on her face. I must admit that the tense mood dissipated once my father cleared the room. We enjoyed the rest of the evening dining on filet mignon and lobster while drinking martinis, and no one seemed to miss my dad _at all_ , not even his own parents. In fact, they apologized for his behavior to my mother and her parents—and assured them that this was not how they raised their Alex. They insisted on picking up the dinner check, much to my mother's delight, as we had run up over a thousand-dollar tab. They wished her better luck with her second marriage, handed me an envelope with a _Ben Franklin_ gleaming through, and politely made their exit. I couldn't help but think— _How did two classy people like that produce an imbecile like my father?_

And that was how my _graduation day_ went.
Chapter 8: Hoopla

_H_ is for hoopla. I have never understood all the hoopla that surrounds weddings. If I ever get married again, I am driving straight to Vegas and the cheapest chapel in town. Why spend the money on the wedding when you could spend it on the honeymoon, or something more substantial, like an investment in your future—maybe a house? I didn't know how much money Harley and my mother were spending on their wedding, but it was an exorbitant amount. My mom refused to deny herself anything her heart desired, and Harley catered to her every want. For example, she wanted a $5,000 designer wedding cake, and she got it. I just could not fathom paying that much for something people were going to shit out. It just seemed absolutely preposterous. She wanted roses flown in from Ecuador; she got them. She had to have _Swarovski_ crystals on her gown—done. I got tired of hearing Harley say, "Nothing but the best for my girl, Gloria." With each passing day, I was starting to think I liked my mom more before Harley created the monster she had become. On more than one occasion, I wished I had never introduced them. I would be relieved when this whole affair was over, and hopefully—God willing, my mom would return to being her former self.

The wedding was this Saturday, and I still didn't have a date. Candy was taking Charles, and Shelby was bringing Chad. Who was I bringing? I had no idea—maybe no one. I thought about ringing up Rob, but I had given him the brush off, and I didn't imagine he'd be all that interested. I would never think of asking Dan, he might spank me in public and that would be quite humiliating—especially if someone like Grandma Rose witnessed his indiscretions. Plus, he wasn't really my type. I knew one thing for certain—I didn't want to go alone.

The rehearsal dinner was Friday, and ideally, I needed to find this _Mr. Right Date_ for the wedding by then. Everybody would be coupled off at the dinner, but _me_. People have a strange way of treating single people in their thirties. It's almost like you have a disease they don't want to catch. They look at you pathetically and pry into your social life, trying to discern if you have any prospects on the horizon. At weddings, it was even worse. I only had three days to find a date, and I was really feeling the pressure.

I had to work tonight; I had the opening shift. I showed up to work at 4:00 and started brewing the iced tea. When I was finished with that, I folded silverware in cloth napkins and checked my tables. I polished the wine glasses and made sure my salts and peppers were full, and I was ready to go. Tuesdays were not real busy, so I wasn't expecting a big night. It was almost 5:00 by the time I finished. I checked my lipstick in the bathroom mirror and adjusted my Bo Peep cap and sauntered over to my station. I already had a customer waiting for me.

He was a beautiful black man dressed in a gray suit. He had an imposing stature; even sitting down—he looked to be well over six feet. His face was perfectly chiseled. He had a square jaw and prominent cheekbones, and dark brown eyes the color of silky, smooth dark chocolate. He looked like he had just come from a _GQ_ _Magazine_ cover shoot. As I approached, he smiled at me, and I observed that he also had beautiful, straight teeth.

"Good evening," I said. "My name is Stephanie, and I'll be your server tonight. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Hi, Stephanie," he responded, still smiling. "You look adorable in that Little Bo Peep costume."

"Thanks," I gushed, thinking God was not on my side. This could be the man of my dreams, and here I was dressed for herding sheep.

"My name is Tony. What kind of merlot are you pouring?"

"The house merlot is _Kendall Jackson_. Will that suffice, or should I get you a wine list?"

"That will be fine. I had a long day, and I need to unwind a little bit. Can you rush it over?"

"That shouldn't be a problem, seeing as you're the only customer in the place. I'll be right back."

As I went to fetch the wine, I couldn't help but wonder what a good-looking man like him was doing dining alone. Maybe he was meeting someone. As I returned with his beverage, I observed he was still smiling, even more so because I had his wine in my hand.

"Here you go, Mr.—ummm...Tony," I said as I placed the wine on his table. I noticed he wasn't wearing a wedding ring on his left hand.

"The last name is Williams, but I really would prefer that you call me Tony," he graciously offered.

"Have you decided what you would like to order, Tony?"

"I have. I would like the porterhouse steak, well done with a baked potato—loaded with butter, sour cream and chives. Throw some bacon on there too, if you can. I'm celebrating. I just won a case. I'm a divorce lawyer, and I got her the house, yacht and the kids. You don't need a good divorce lawyer, do you?"

"Not exactly, I'm not even married," I replied, casting a downward glance—feeling ashamed, but not really sure why.

"That's what I was hoping to hear. What are you doing tonight after work, Stephanie? Would you like to go out for a drink with me? I'd really like someone to celebrate with, and while you look like a doll in that uniform, I'd like to see the _real you_. Somehow, I have a feeling that costume doesn't do you justice," he jested—still smiling, and looking straight into my eyes. "What time do you finish up?"

"I should be done by 9:00. I'd love to go out and celebrate with you, if you don't mind waiting," I offered, delighted to have something to look forward to.

"It's a date then, Little Bo Peep. Go on and get my dinner order in, and we'll chat later. It looks like your station is filling up. You'd better get moving."

* * * * *

The night passed in a flash, and I was anxious about my date with Tony. I told him to pick me up at my place at 10:00, so I would have a little time to freshen up. I put on my _sexy, little black dress_ , some red stilettos then sprayed my wrists and neck with _Cool Water_ perfume. I wanted to smell fresh, as I didn't have time to shower. I touched up my makeup and brushed my hair, which I decided to wear down. Men just love long, unencumbered hair. I wanted to look my sexiest. I was hoping to broach the subject of the wedding with him and snare him as my date. I figured I was going to have to use all my feminine wiles to make that happen on such short notice.

He rang my doorbell right on time. As I greeted him, I observed he was no longer wearing the gray suit, but a white polo shirt that showed off his stellar physique. I just love a man with big biceps, and his were beautiful specimens. I also noticed that he filled out the pair of black jeans he was wearing in all the right places. I was rather taken aback by his presence.

"Hi, Tony," I stammered, as I checked him out. "You look nice—not at all like a lawyer anymore. You look more like a nightclub bouncer now."

"Ha ha! You're funny, Stephanie. I hope that's a compliment. You don't look like you're mindin' no sheep no more either. I knew you were somethin' under that cap and ruffles. I have an eye for beauty," he said—casting me a wink. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, where are you taking me, Tony?"

"It's a surprise. You're going to love this place. It's right around the corner, and I bet you didn't even know it's right in your backyard, Stephanie."

"You have my curiosity up, Tony, but I'm sure I've been there. I've been everywhere in Glendale."

"I don't think you've been to this place. I'll be amazed if you have. It's in Burbank, not Glendale. It's my secret _eagle's nest_. Not many people know about it," he said confidently.

"Really, we'll see about that," I returned, fairly certain he couldn't surprise me.

He drove about a mile in his _BMW_ , when he pulled into the _Holiday Inn_ parking lot. I thought to myself, _this is his clandestine spot?_ I wasn't in the least impressed. I feigned interest. Although, I must admit, I was surprised.

"So, Tony, you know, you're right, I haven't been here before. It's not exactly known to be a hot spot in these parts. You win for originality."

"Come on, Stephanie—I know it doesn't seem all I talked it up to be—but just wait and see. I assure you that you're going to love the place."

"Okay, whatever you say, Tony. I'm yours for the night."

"I like the way that sounds. Come on, let's go in."

Being the perfect gentleman, Tony rushed to my side of the car before I could open the door and did me the favor. I can't recall the last time a man did that. It was impressive. He ushered me through the double-paned, glass doors of the _Holiday Inn_ and straight to the elevator. He pushed the button for the top floor, and we were there in no time. When the door opened, I was shocked at what I saw. Few people surprised me, but I was in a state of shock.

We stepped out of the elevator and into a room that overlooked the city. The place was virtually empty, proving that it was a well-kept secret. We took a seat in a cozy niche that was located in front of a glass wall that overlooked the city. We had a perfect view of all the lights. I should have known Tony was as classy as he seemed.

"What do you think of the place, Stephanie?"

"I really don't know what to say, Tony—I'm speechless."

"I told you so," he remarked triumphantly. "Let's order a drink."

Tony ordered a bottle of the finest champagne they had, reminding me that we were celebrating. When we finished that, he ordered another. We closed the place down, and I was sad when the night ended. I had been too nervous to broach the subject of the wedding, and who knew if I would ever see him again.

In desperation, on the way home, I invited him up for a drink. He gladly accepted the invitation, but we never got around to that nightcap. As soon as we entered my apartment door, he had me in his arms—guiding me towards the futon that Phantom, my cat, was soundly sleeping on. I felt like a heroine in a romance novel as he gently pushed me down on the hard mattress, awakening my cat—Phantom, and all of my senses with his masculine touch. I was in ecstasy, and he hadn't even taken off an article of my clothing. Tony was a phenomenal kisser—his moist, sweet luscious lips made the juices flow in every orifice of my body. I felt myself breathing heavily against his pecs as he unzipped my dress, and pulled it down over my shoulders. I had not been this hot since my Latin lover ravished me. All of Tony's muscles were pulsating, and I wanted him as badly as he wanted me.

I pulled his shirt up and over his chest and shoulders, losing sight of his beautiful face for a moment as I brought it over his head. I relished the view—what a dazzling chest he had. I shuddered just caressing it. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him, only solid muscle, and the color of his skin was like dark chocolate—my favorite. I lost myself in the grinding of his hard flesh against my body and gave in to the feeling as he slowly removed the last of my clothing. There I was, stark naked, but he still had his pants on. It only took a matter of seconds to resolve that problem. I proffered my collection of rainbow condoms, and a minute later he was inside me and I was in a state of total bliss, again and again and again. Tony was a phenomenal lover, and I was a very happy girl.

* * * * *

I woke up in Tony's arms. He was in a state of panic, asking me what time it was. I glanced at the clock and told him not to worry—it was only 6:00 a.m.

"Six—already? I gotta run, Stephanie. I'll call you later," he said while rushing to put his clothes on. "I'm meeting a client at 8:00, and I have to shower and look over the case file."

"Tony...before you leave, I have a favor to ask you. My mom is getting married this Saturday, and I need a date. Will you come with me?"

"Stephanie—you know I'd _cum_ with you anywhere. Sure—we'll talk about it later. I've got to run. You sure look cute with your hair all tossed about like that. Did I do that to you? I wish I didn't have to rush off. You look very tempting. Can I see you tonight?"

"I'd love that. We can talk about the wedding then," I reminded him—thinking to myself, _this is too easy and good to be true_.

"Sure—I can't wait to see you," he said passionately. "I'll be thinking of that hot, little bod of yours all day long. I don't know how I'm going to keep my mind on my work. I can't wait to taste some of that sweet honey again."

"Me neither," I said breathlessly, feeling my insides starting to warm. He gave me a quick kiss and a hug good-bye, and there I was all hot and bothered with no one to satisfy me—but my vibrator.

* * * * *

Tony rang me up around 4:00. It turns out he couldn't make it tonight. He apologized, informing me that he had to have dinner with a client and he had an early morning. We did discuss the details of the wedding, and he said he could make the rehearsal dinner on Friday and the wedding on Saturday, but he probably wouldn't be able to see me until then. I was a little disappointed. Every time I thought of him, my heart fluttered—I felt like a _feline in heat_ , and my body craved meeting up with his again, but that would have to wait.

When I hung up the phone, I decided to call my mom. I was anxious to tell her the good news. The phone rang several times before she picked up.

"Hello, who is this?"

"It's me, Mom, Stephanie."

Stephanie—how are you doing, darling? Have you been watching what you eat? You can still fit into your dress—right?"

"Yes, Mom, no problem. Hey, I've got great news for you. I have a date for the wedding, and he's coming to the rehearsal dinner too."

"You do? Why, that's wonderful, Steph. Who is he? Do I know him?"

"No, Mom. I just met him. I waited on him yesterday. He was dining alone, and we just hit it off. He took me out for a drink after work yesterday, and well— _one thing led to another_ , and I asked him to be my date."

"Wow—what a difference a day makes! So, what's his name? What's he like?"

"He's gorgeous, Mom. He's tall, dark and handsome. He has a body that could grace the pages of _Playgirl Magazine_ —and he's a lawyer. He graduated from UCLA. You're going to be very impressed with him, Mom."

"He sounds like _Mr. Right_ , Stephanie. I can't wait to meet him. I'm so happy that you found someone to bring with you."

"What time should we be at _Dominico's Steak House_ on Friday?"

"Six o'clock sharp, Stephanie. Our reservation is for nineteen people—oh, I mean twenty, and they won't seat us until our party is complete."

"Okay, Mom, Tony and I will be there. I just know that you and Harley are going to love him."

"I'm sure I will, Steph. Make sure you remind Candy and Shelby what time they need to be at _Dominico's_."

"I will, Mom. Love you—see you soon."

"Love you too, darling. See you Friday."

* * * * *

Tony called on Friday at 5:00 and told me he was running late. He would have to meet up with me at _Dominico's_ around 7:00, but he wasn't going to let me down. He promised he would make it.

I was okay with that, but I didn't know if Shelby and Candy would be. After everything I had told them about Tony, they couldn't wait to meet him. Shelby said he sounded like a classy dreamboat, and Candy said she'd like to take my sloppy seconds if it didn't work out, but that wasn't happening. I was going to do everything I could to hold on to this one.

I was dressed very elegantly for the rehearsal dinner. I was wearing a satin, cream-colored suit, with a rose-colored camisole and shoes to match. I put my hair up and pinned it with rhinestone bobby pins. I must admit I was looking pretty classy. I was hoping to impress Tony. He'd only seen me dressed in my McKee's uniform and that sexy, little black number I had on the other night. I wanted him to see a whole different side of me—the side that could be a lawyer's wife.

I arrived at _Dominico's_ promptly at six, and Shelby and Chad, and Candy and Charles were waiting at the door for me. Shelby and Candy had stunned expressions on their faces. The first words out of their mouths were, "Where's Tony?"

"He's running a tad late. He'll be here in about an hour."

I could see them visibly exhale with relief.

"Thank God," exclaimed Shelby. "You had us worried there for a second."

"Yeah," said Candy. "I was thinking you blew it with him already, Stephanie. You do have a way of scaring away the good ones."

"I do not. What are you talking about, Candy? I rarely attract the good ones."

"You do have a point there," she conceded.

"Is my mom here yet?" I asked.

"Yep," offered Charles. "She and Harley are setting up the table. They're tying balloons on the backs of the chairs that have each guest's name written on them."

"Let's go in, why don't we? It's nice to see you again, Chad." He had been silent up to this point.

"You too, Stephanie. You look nice tonight."

"Thanks Chad—you too. I think you and Shelby make a great looking couple. You know Chad, my date Tony is a lawyer like you."

"Oh really, what kind of lawyer? Where did he graduate from?"

"He's a divorce attorney. He graduated from UCLA School of Law."

"He did—what year?"

"I'm not sure, but he told me he's been practicing four years—maybe in '96 or '97."

"What's his last name, Stephanie?"

"His last name is Williams."

"Tony Williams... You know, I think I might know him. I graduated from UCLA Law School in '96. The name sounds very familiar."

"Really—that would be great if you two knew each other. We could double date sometime. You two could make lawyer talk."

"Nah, Stephanie. I leave all of that at the office. When I'm with Shelby, I just want to be with her." I couldn't help but notice the intensity of his gaze in Shel's direction. It sure did look like love to me. I envied them for that.

"You got yourself a good one there, Shelby. Don't let him get away."

"I don't plan on it, Steph," she said as she turned and kissed Chad affectionately on the cheek.

As we entered the dining room, my mom and Harley were waiting for us with smiles on their faces. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Henry were already there, as were my aunts and uncles, Frances and Art and Rebecca and John. We were seated and ordered drinks while we waited for the rest of the guests to arrive. True to his word, Tony showed up exactly at seven. He had a harried look on his face as if he had rushed to make the deadline, but he was here. My prince had arrived.

I ushered him around the table and introduced him to everyone. When I got to my mom, she seemed cold and distant and somewhat perturbed, and I had trouble reading what was going on in her head, that was until she excused herself and invited me to join her in the bathroom.

"Stephanie Marie Melendez, what were you thinking inviting a colored man to my wedding as your date? There is no way you are bringing that man to _my wedding._ How am I going to explain that my daughter is dating a black man to my friends and relatives? Now, you just go back out there and have a nice time with Tony tonight, but don't you even dare thinking of bringing him tomorrow. Do you understand me?"

"Mother, are you serious? No, I do not understand. You are the one who always told me to never judge people by the color of their skin. I'd understand if dad was the one telling me this—but not you."

"Stephanie, it is one thing to practice tolerance for others, but when it threatens to change the makeup of your family, you have crossed the line. I am not letting you bring black blood into this family. I don't want half-breed grandchildren. Do you hear me?"

"I do. I hear you loud and clear, and what I hear is a bigoted and hateful woman that I am ashamed to call my mother. If Tony was any color but black, you would be embracing him as your next son-in-law. He's a college-educated lawyer, for God's sake!"

"I don't care if he's the president of the United States, Stephanie. I will never accept him. Haven't you ever noticed how people gravitate towards people that are the same race as them? It's unnatural to mix races, Stephanie."

"You didn't say that when I married Harry, and he's as white as flour. Last time I checked, my skin was closer to the color of Tony's than Harry's."

"Stephanie, when you have lived as long as I have, you'll understand this better. You would just be making your life a living hell with someone like Tony. People just don't understand that kind of thing."

"You're right, Mom. I, for one, don't understand who this woman is standing before me with these hideous, _Hitler-like_ ideals. She certainly is not the person I thought I knew and loved."

"Stephanie, I only have your best interest at heart. I don't want you to make your life difficult. Life is already hard enough. I see how people stare at interracial couples. I don't want my daughter to be the person they are staring at."

"Mom, for God's sake, I'm only dating the guy—I'm not marrying him!"

"I know, Stephanie, but one thing leads to another, and then..."

My mother was cut off by Shelby's entrance.

"Hey, what's taking you two so long? The rest of the guests have arrived and we're waiting for you. People are hungry, and we can't order dinner without the bride. Break this conference up already. Come on—let's hustle, ladies."

"We'll be right out, Shelby. Give us a minute more," I said with tears in the corner of my eyes. Tell everyone we're on the way."

"Sure, but hurry up," she said, giving me a funny look. I could tell she knew something wasn't right.

"Mom, this is the last thing I'm going to say about this. I am bringing Tony, or I am not going to your wedding. I don't care what you think about who I date, and if you don't like it—too bad. Do you understand me?" And with that, I opened the door and proceeded to slam it in her stunned face.

Five minutes later, my mom joined us at the table. She looked very composed as if nothing had transpired between us. The dinner was pleasant and everyone seemed to have a good time, with the exception of my mother, who I could tell was still visibly agitated by the conversation we had earlier in the evening. _That isn't my problem_ , I thought to myself. She was just going to have to _deal with it_.

* * * * *

I was sitting on my futon, sexually frustrated, thinking about how disappointed I was when Tony told me he was going straight home. He was beat from a long day and just couldn't _perform,_ as he put it. As I sat there, alone and horny, the phone rang. I thought maybe it was Tony changing his mind about coming over. He looked so hot tonight—I would settle for a booty call.

I picked up on the first ring, and I was surprised to hear Shelby's voice—it was almost midnight.

"Hi, Shelby, why are you calling so late—is everything okay?"

"Well, sort of," she stammered. "I've got something to tell you. Is Tony there?"

"No. He was tired. He left as soon as he dropped me off."

"Well, the truth is that he had to go home, _to his wife_."

"What, his wife? Nooooo, he is not married, Shelby. He invited me over next weekend."

"Steph, he is married. His wife is an executive that travels a lot on business. Chad told me he ran into Tony and his wife at some legal gala a few weeks ago for _UCLA Law School_ alums. He didn't want to say anything at dinner tonight and risk watching you make a scene. I'm sorry, Steph."

"Not as sorry as Tony is going to be," I fumed. "Well, this does explain Tony's surprised look when I introduced him to Chad."

"Steph, don't do anything stupid. Just let it go. There's nothing you can do about it. Adultery isn't against the law, you know?"

"Oh yes, there is something I can do. I am going to give him a piece of my mind. How dare he use me like that!!! You know me, Shelby—I would never knowingly date a married man. Not only did he use me for sex, but he also made me compromise my code of ethics. This is so wrong. He is going to be so sorry."

"Stephanie, I don't want to have to tell you _I told you so_ later. Just let it go. He is not worth it."

"I have to get off the phone, Shelby. I have a call to make. Bye— Thanks for letting me know."

"Okay, do what you will. I can't stop you. Try and get some sleep so you don't look like a zombie tomorrow."

"Oh, I'll sleep like a baby after I say a few choice words to that two-timing rat. Don't worry about me, Shel."

"Okay, whatever you say, Steph. I'll see you at the wedding. Love you."

"Love you too."

After I hung up the phone, I sat there fuming for about twenty minutes putting my thoughts together and trying to calm down. How dare he do this to me! All men are pigs. I guess it didn't really matter what race they belong to. My mom would be delighted by this new turn of events. Part of me was tempted not to say a thing to Tony and bring him as my date anyway—just to piss her off. But, I knew I couldn't do that. It's just not who I am.

I took my cell phone out and started scanning my recent calls. Most of Tony's calls were from his cell phone number, the one he gave me. However, there was one call he made from a different number. After scrolling down a bit, I found it. I pressed the enter button on my phone.

My legs were shaking as the phone rang. Maybe no one would pick up because it was so late. Maybe he called me from the law firm. I was just about to hang up when a groggy sounding woman answered. She didn't sound happy to have her sleep interrupted.

"Who is calling us at this hour?" she asked me.

"Is this Mrs. Williams?" I managed to get out—this was not going to be easy.

"Yeah, who is this?"

"My name is Stephanie and your husband lured me into a sexual relationship. I didn't know he was married. I thought it was the decent thing to tell you."

"You bitch. What the hell you talkin' about? You cheap tramps are always chasing after my husband. Wait a minute, slut...Tony...Tony...wake up—there's some whore on the phone tellin' me you had sex with her. What the hell's this bitch talking about?"

I could hear Tony in the background very clearly while I waited for her to return to the phone.

"Baby, that's just someone at the office who's mad at me because I _won't_ have sex with her. She wants to break us up so she can have me. You know I wouldn't do you like that. You're my princess, baby."

"Did you hear that, bitch? Stay away from my man. He wouldn't risk bringing a disease home by sleeping with some skanky ho like you. Get a life, bitch."

I heard a click on the other end before I even got a chance to respond to that. To be honest, I don't know what I would have said if I had the chance. As usual, Shelby was right.

I went to bed and tossed and turned all night, dreaming of cheating spouses dressed in clown costumes. They lied to their wives, who remained straight-faced and unwavering in their devotion to their philandering husbands.

At this point, my faith in marriage was at its lowest, and yet I had to go to a wedding tomorrow and face all that _hoopla._ I just couldn't fathom how I was going to make it through the day, but somehow I would survive. I always did.
Chapter 9: I Do

_I_ is for I do. After a fitful night of tossing and turning, around 7:00 a.m., I decided to just roll out of bed and get this whole affair over with. In five hours, my mom and Harley would be saying their _I do's_.

As I rolled over, I almost crushed Phantom, who was purring very loudly—that is before I almost flattened him into a pancake.

"I'm sorry, Phantom. How could I do that to my most loyal boy? You would never cheat on your mama, would you, Phantom?" He returned my question with a passionate rub against my arm and a deep meow. "That's what I thought. I love you too, big boy. Let's get up. I wish I could take you to the wedding as my date."

As I tried to sleep last night, I kept thinking about my _dateless_ situation. Before I met Tony, I had asked my friend Lance—a gay guy I work with, to go with me. He was really into it, raving about how much he just loved weddings. He was very let down when I told him I found a _real_ date. It was last minute, but maybe he would still go to the wedding with me. I was just about to give him a call when the phone started ringing.

"It better not be Tony," I huffed to Phantom. Just in case, I let the answering machine pick up.

"Stephanie, it's me—your mother calling. Can you please talk to me? I'm sorry about last night. Stephanie—pick up the phone."

"Hello, Mom, it's me."

"What's the matter, darling? You sound horrible."

"I found out Tony is married."

"You what? Are you kidding me?" she uttered in a tone of astonishment.

"Yeah, Mom. He's married. Chad met Tony and his wife at a function a few weeks back. Shelby phoned last night. She broke the news to me."

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Stephanie. He seemed like such a nice, young man. I was just calling to say that I had a change of heart; you're right—I was a shameful and bigoted fool yesterday. Harley talked some sense into me. I just feel awful about the way I acted."

"Don't worry about it, Mom. It doesn't matter now anyway."

"Oh, but it does, honey. I don't want you to think that your mother is that _kind_ of person."

"I love you, Mom. Nothing you can say or do is ever going to change that. I was just disappointed in you."

"Life sure is strange, Stephanie. That sounds like something a mother should tell a daughter. When did you get so grown up and wise? I am really sorry that you had to find that out about Tony, but better now than later, sweetheart."

"Yeah, Mom. I gotta go get ready," I said dejectedly. "Hey, Mom—thanks for calling. I really do appreciate you saying what you did. You're right; it does matter. I'll see you at the church in a few hours."

"Okay, darling. Just remember that no man can ever replace a mother's love, and you will always have me. I'll see you soon."

For the first time since last night, I felt a tear begin to well up in the corner of my eye. Why do these things always happen to me? _Men suck_. I picked up the phone and called my backup date. Three hours later, I was at the church with a very happy Lance in tow.

* * * * *

Lance and I were the first to arrive at the church. The place was empty. Since they couldn't get married in a Catholic church, Harley and my mom decided on a Unitarian church. According to my mom, the Unitarians were much more progressive than the Catholics. I didn't know much about the faith, but one thing is for certain, their churches didn't have the same flair. There were no golden saints to grab your attention, or sparkling stained glass windows to stare at when you got bored with the sermon. Lance was not impressed at all. Not even the Ecuadorian roses my mom had insisted on did much to spruce the place up. I didn't understand why they had to get married in a church anyway. I tried to talk them into an outdoor wedding at a park or the beach, but my mom insisted their union wouldn't be sanctified by the Lord if they did something like that.

As we waited for the others to arrive, I looked Lance over. He wore his spiked, highlighted hair with a little too much hair gel for my liking. His diamond earring sparkled in his right ear; a symbol of his sexuality that he wore proudly and never took out. He was always saying, "You never know when you are going to meet Mr. Right, Stephanie, and you certainly want him to know you are gay when you do"—not that you couldn't tell that from a mile away.

Everything about Lance was _gay_ —from the way he talked, to the way he dressed, and everything in between. He was wearing a lavender dress shirt, matched with a pink tie to go with my bridesmaid bouquet. He topped that with a cream colored sport coat and pants a shade darker. He actually looked handsome in his ensemble, and I certainly couldn't argue that we clashed. I was happy he was still available on such short notice. Not only was he available, he was delighted beyond belief that my date fell through. He claimed he had kept his calendar open, praying that very thing would happen.

As I straightened his tie, he reached over and pinched my cheeks. "Stephanie, you are just cute as a button in that lavender dress. Who designed it? I just love all these glitter roses on the bodice," he commented as he twirled a wisp of hair that hung from my temple. My mom got her wish about the French twist.

"I don't know—some designer that works for Satan, I think—" I snapped, pulling my curl from his grasp.

"Don't get all _Little Miss Huffy_ on me, Steph. I like your glitter eye shadow too. Where ever did you find that purple color? It really brings out your eyes, girlfriend, and it matches your, ummm... _roses_ ," he added as he reached towards my chest, attempting to accost a glitter rose.

I was just about to smack him when in walked a man dressed in a black suit. _This must be the minister_ , I thought, although he looked a bit young for the position.

"Hello, my name is Paul. I'm the one marrying Harley and Gloria today," he said, shaking my hand vigorously. "By the looks of it, you must be in the wedding. Sorry I couldn't make it to the rehearsal, but not to worry—I have done this hundreds of times before."

"I'm Stephanie Melendez, Gloria's daughter, and this is my friend, Lance. It's nice to meet you."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. By the way, that's an attractive tie you're wearing, Lance."

"Why, thank you. I picked it out just for this occasion."

"Did you know your mother is in the bridal room waiting for you? She asked me to come and see if you were out here. She's down the hall on the right. I'm going to get the altar ready. I need some fresh candles, and I want to rehearse a little. I'll see you both in a bit."

Sure enough, my mom was waiting for me, surrounded by Shelby and my sister, Marilyn. Why was I always the last to know? "Hi, Mom, you didn't tell me to meet you here."

"I didn't think I had to. Shelby and Marilyn figured it out. Where's Candy? You did tell her to be here by 11:00 this morning, didn't you?"

"Yes, Mother. I told her; you told her; Shelby told her—she knows what time to be here. You know Candy, she's always running late."

"Yeah, that's true, but today is my wedding. You would think she'd make a more concerted effort to be on time."

"Don't worry, she'll be here," I groaned—thinking how grateful I was that this was finally her wedding day and all of this would be over soon. "Mom, this is Lance, my friend from work. After I told him what happened with Tony, he took mercy on me and agreed to be my date."

As my mom reached out her hand to shake Lance's, he took it up and kissed it right where her wedding band was. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Melendez. You are just as radiant as a bride can be. I am honored to be here."

"Why, thank you, Lance. Excuse us for a moment, but I need to have a word with Stephanie."

My mom pulled me towards the bathroom, a popular meeting place for us these days, and whispered, "What are you doing bringing a gay guy to my wedding. This is the house of the Lord. He shouldn't be here. Those people don't lead Godly lives."

"Mom, I don't believe that. In fact, I believe that God made Lance that way. No man is that _gay_ of his own making."

"Well, I guess you do have a point there."

"He's a really nice guy, Mom, and he's doing me a favor. Just be nice—okay?"

"Okay. I don't want to ruin today over petty things. I don't know what Harley is going to think, but if Lance is okay with you, then he's okay with me."

"By the way, where is Harley?"

"He's arriving in about a half hour. He can't see me before the wedding, so there's no use in him standing around here. He went out to brunch with his sons to fritter away some time and calm his nerves. He woke up with some wedding day jitters."

"You look beautiful, Mom," I observed as I gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

"I really love the cream-colored gown you picked out. The beadwork is simple, but elegant, and I'm glad you went with a dress that doesn't have a train. That's just too much for a woman your age. This is very classy, and the pink roses in your hair add the perfect touch. I just love how it's swept up like that. Who did it? Imelda, your regular hairdresser?"

"Yeah, I had a hair appointment at 8:00 this morning. It took her over an hour to create this masterpiece."

"Well, she did a really good job. It looks very flattering. You look like a queen."

"Stephanie, do you think you can get Lance out of the room? I don't really feel comfortable with a man seeing me in my wedding dress. It's bad luck."

"Mom, first of all, Lance isn't really like a man, he's more like one of the girls, and secondly—I thought it was only bad luck if the groom saw the bride before the wedding."

"I know, but please, Steph—I just want it to be us girls right now."

"Okay, I'll send him out to wait for Candy."

"Thanks, baby. I'm already nervous enough without a man around," she complained as I rolled my eyes at her. Thankfully, waiting in the sanctuary didn't bother Lance at all. He thought the minister was cute and possibly gay. He said he'd get back to me on that.

While we waited for Candy to arrive, my mom talked about the honeymoon she and Harley were embarking on tomorrow. Harley had insisted they go to Maui; he had a timeshare there. They were going to spend their days sunning themselves with their toes stuck in the sand, rubbing sunscreen on each other. To be honest, that image kind of grossed me out.

I stepped out of the room to check on Lance, who I found engaged in a conversation with the minister. Not wanting to interrupt them, I was about to turn back when Candy came bustling through the church doors. She ran straight up to me, apologizing profusely for her lateness. Both Minister Paul and Lance turned to look at her. I wasn't surprised because I had already seen her dress, but they both wore astonished expressions on their faces. She had ample cleavage popping out on top, and while she wasn't exceptionally tall, her legs seemed to go on forever—seeing as her dress was so short and her heels so high. She seemed unaffected by the staring. She was used to it.

Lance was the first to break the stunned silence. "My, my—now who is this lavender angel, Stephanie? Hi, I'm Lance," he stammered while reaching out his hand. "I'm gay, but someone like you could turn me straight. You are one delectable bridesmaid. I didn't think anyone could look better in that getup than Stephanie, but you have proved me wrong, sister. The alterations you have made to your dress are very befitting."

"Why, thank you. You don't look so bad yourself. Where have you been hiding him, Steph? You know I love gay guys. I'm Candy."

"What a perfect name for you," commented Minister Paul.

"Candy, come on. My mom's waiting for us," I said, dragging her away from her adoring fans. "She is going to flip when she sees what you've done to the dress."

"I don't see why. Everyone else seems to like it. Charles loves it."

When we walked in, my mom was still babbling on about the honeymoon. We caught her eye mid-sentence, just as she was saying something about snorkeling.

Her mouth dropped open and her eyes bulged as she surveyed Candy's dress.

"Why, Candy, whatever have you done to your dress?" This was all she could manage to choke out as she held her hand over her heart.

"Don't you like it, Mrs. Melendez?" Candy asked with a perfect seriousness on her face.

"Like it? Candy, you look like a streetwalker. How could you do this to me?"

"I don't understand, Mrs. Melendez. My dress is the same as Shelby's and Stephanie's—just a little shorter, that's all."

"Candy, that is the understatement of the millennium. Everyone is supposed to be looking at me today, not you. You do like to be the center of attention, don't you? I'm putting you at the back of the line, so you're not so noticeable. Can you at least try to pull it down a tad?"

"Okay, I can do that," Candy muttered compliantly.

As she was tugging at her hemline, her breasts bulged out even more, which prompted my mom to say, "On second thought, leave it the way it was, Candy."

My mom was just beginning to recover from her astonishment, when Lance came running in to announce that the guests were seated and Harley was waiting at the altar. It was time to get this show on the road.

As we exited the room, I could hear the organ music ringing down the hall. I was the first to enter, followed by my sister, then Shelby and Candy. My mother's strategy didn't work at all. Putting Candy last in the lineup only got her more attention. I could feel the eyes burning into my back as the guests watched her sashay back and forth towards the front of the church. As we took our places, _Mendelssohn's Wedding March_ started up, and all eyes turned towards my mother—who had opted to walk down the aisle solo.

I looked at Harley who stood at the altar, facing forward—his sons and my brother at his side. He stood straight and proud, and it was evident that he was completely mesmerized by the vision of my mother walking towards him. Everyone was. She looked like a royal queen as she walked towards us. When she reached the altar, she took Harley's hand and they turned to face the minister.

"We are gathered here today to unite this man and this woman in holy matrimony. May the Lord bless their union. Let this couple be a lesson to us all that it is never too late to find love," Minister Paul began. My mom and Harley looked somewhat perturbed by his last comment. "They are a perfect example that one's golden years can truly be golden. Rather than choosing to rot away their final years in solitude, waiting for their time to be up, they have chosen to do that together—and that is the miracle of God's grace. Not a one of us knows when it will be over for us. Ask any elderly person on their deathbed if they are ready to relinquish their time on this earth, and they will adamantly declare ' _No!_ ' Truly, life is God's most precious gift, and these two are so fortunate to have each other," Minister Paul continued, oblivious to the looks of horror on Harley's and my mother's faces. It was apparent they hadn't gone over his sermon with him.

"Harley, do you take this woman to be your lawfully, wedded wife, to care for her in her old age, till death do you part?"

"I do, but hopefully that death you speak of is a long time a coming," he firmly stated. This elicited a chuckle from the audience.

"Gloria, do you take Harley to be your lawfully, wedded husband, to care for him in his old age, till death do you part?"

Looking straight into Harley's eyes, my mother returned an "I do."

"Why, that's wonderful," beamed Minister Paul. "Harley, you may now kiss your bride."

The kiss was quite passionate, certainly not indicative of the geriatric manner in which Minister Paul described them. It appeared Harley still had some life left in him, as did my mother.

"I now pronounce you Mr. and Mrs. Buttski," announced Minister Paul to shouts of joy from the pews.

* * * * *

Harley and my mother exited the church, followed by the wedding party. The guests were waiting with birdseed in hand, and I felt myself being pelted by it as we made our way to the limo that was going to whisk us away to the _Embassy Suites_. My mom had chosen that location for the reception because of its atrium garden, koi pond and fountains.

We managed to squeeze ourselves into the tight quarters. The limo was designed to seat ten, not eleven passengers. Fortunately, the girls were small, which left more room for Harley's big sons and my brother—Lance and the minister didn't take up much space at all. Still, I felt a little claustrophobic.

Harley and my mom looked elated as we took off. As we turned a corner, my mom gleefully announced to us all, "I can't believe it—I'm Mrs. Harley Buttski!"

I looked at her in earnestness and assured her, "Yeah, Mom, I can believe it. Remember—I used to be Mrs. Harry Stiffniple. You don't have it half so bad."

"Stephanie, I love being a Buttski. I will wear the name proudly because it belongs to my Harley, and now it belongs to me too."

"You got a problem with the Buttski name— _Stephanie_?" a smirking Kirk, Harley's youngest son, asked. He was showing off his dimples—dimples I hadn't noticed he had before. Hmmm... _I just love a man with dimples_ , I thought to myself. It just dawned on me that Harley's son was pretty cute, _and single_.

"Oh no, no, Kirk. I think it's a fine name, but I bet you got razzed a lot about it as a kid, seeing as it has the word _butt_ in it."

"Yeah, so what about it? You got a problem with butts?"

"No, of course not. I like a nice, rounded derriere. I can't stand a man without a butt, but I guess you Buttski's have that covered," I joked. "What do you think of the name, Lance?"

"Who me? Steph—you _so know_ I am an ass man," Lance affirmed. "The Buttski name is fine and dandy with me."

"Well, I'm glad to hear that it's not a problem— _Sis_ ," he said while looking down at Candy's legs, who was sitting across from him.

"What did you just call me, Kirk?" I asked in amazement.

" _Sis—_ You are my stepsister now, ya know? Did you overlook that detail? Your mom and my dad just got married."

"Hmmm...I guess I didn't think of it like that, but I suppose you're right," I surmised—trying to hide my disappointment. What a turnoff. I was just starting to fantasize what sex might be like with him before he blurted that out. Thankfully, we were pulling into the _Embassy Suite's_ parking lot about then, so I could get out of this uncomfortable situation.

"We're here," Harley announced. "Let's get this party started!"

* * * * *

I walked into a room full of pink. There was pink everywhere. Pink tablecloths, topped with pink roses and pink candles, pink napkins tied with pink ribbon, pink boxes filled with pink chocolates—pink, pink, pink! To say the least, my mom had gone a little overboard on the pink. Even the lighting had been converted to pink for the occasion. I felt like I was in a vat of pink cotton candy.

Lots of the guests were already there. We were detained taking pictures in the _Embassy Suite_ gardens. Mom insisted the bridal party take some pictures amongst the roses—also pink. If I ever saw another pink rose after today, it would be too soon.

I looked across the room and saw Mom's parents, Grandma Rose and Grandpa Henry, who were seated with Grandma Maria and Grandpa Jose. I was surprised Mom had invited them, seeing as they were dad's parents, but she had insisted they come. She had known them too long, she said, not to invite them.

Minister Paul, Lance, Chad and Charles were sitting with a few of my cousins—Adrian, Joe and Sam. Lance waved excitedly as Candy and I passed by his table, arm in arm, and blew me a kiss.

We arrived at the head table and seated ourselves. Mom and Harley still hadn't made their grand entrance. The DJ was in position and ready to announce their arrival. I didn't know where Shelby had run off to.

Just as I was about to look for her, she ran in and took her seat next to me, and just in a nick of time. The next moment, in walked Harley and my mother to a room full of cheers. Mom had put kissing bells on the tables— _little bells with instructions attached; guests were to ring the bells every time they wanted to see the happy couple smooch_. Guess what color they were _?_ Instantaneously, the bells started to go off, and amidst the ringing and the cheers, the happy couple made their way to the dance floor—kissing all the way there.

The DJ proceeded to announce, "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Harley Buttski." They took a bow and then Harley proceeded to swirl my mother around the dance floor as Anita Baker's _"Caught up in the Rapture"_ blared from the speakers. Harley was such a romantic; it was he that suggested this be their first dance song. I sat back and enjoyed the spectacle, taking in the music. It certainly did appear that my mother was flying free in the arms of Harley, as the song so passionately espoused.

As I watched them circle the dance floor, part of me wanted to puke. This was all a little too sappy for me, but I had to admit that my mom and Harley did look so perfect and so happy out there, just like Cinderella and her prince as they continued to twirl and whirl, oblivious to the faces around them. So, I tried to put my cynicism aside. After all, I did introduce them.

I was relieved when the song was over. It made me think of Tony, which just made me angry. I didn't know why the song made me think of him, but it did. Maybe because one of the lines was _"On my mind constantly"—_ and he had been, but not in a good way. I have never been one to have homicidal thoughts, but since last night, I had pondered quite a bit the possibility of murdering him. How dare he use me like that! And to think, I had been dreaming about what it would be like to be a lawyer's wife, when all along he already had one!

I guess I must have looked like I was in a trance because Shelby was snapping her fingers in front of my face.

"Earth to Stephanie, come in Stephanie, are you there? Earth to Stephanie."

"I'm here, I'm here. I was just thinking about _something_."

"Well, get your little somethin' up—we're going to congratulate the happy couple."

"All right, all right, let's go."

* * * * *

Two hours later, I was so burnt out. I so wanted this whole thing to be done with. Mom was getting ready to throw her bridal bouquet. Shelby dragged me over to the spectacle, demanding that I be there with the throng of single girls, herself included, ready to catch what fate threw our way. I insisted we stand towards the back, claiming my mom had a good throwing arm, when in reality I just wanted to be in position to avoid the pink puff of flowers. I could tell that Lance was disappointed he couldn't be in the midst of all the anxious girls. I looked behind me, and there he was—rootin' Shelby and me on, standing as close as he could, without looking like he was part of the group. He had a martini glass in one hand, and his other hand was on Minister Paul's shoulder. It appeared they had become pretty chummy with each other.

My thoughts were interrupted by a soaring blur of pink that flew right over my head...and straight into... _Lance's drink_. Everyone turned to look in amazement as he retrieved the small bouquet that had landed upside down in his glass; he proceeded to hold it up like a trophy.

"I guess I'm getting married next," he announced loudly in his gayest voice—he was smiling and looking straight at Minister Paul.

By now, everyone was over their shock and laughing hysterically, and Lance was waving his pink trophy to and fro and smiling like a prom queen. I was just thankful it didn't land on my head. Where was Candy—I wondered? Why wasn't she here to enjoy this special moment? I decided to take a trek around the room and search her out. It just wasn't fair that I had to endure all _this_ without her.

I found her in the bathroom. She was fixing her hair, which looked a bit disheveled.

"Candy Lynn, where on earth have you been?" I grabbed her by the arm and turned her towards me. I sounded more like a parent than a friend. I noticed she was cold to the touch.

"Steph, you won't believe this, but I just spent the last half hour in the walk-in refrigerator."

"No wonder you're so cold. I want to get away from all of this absurd, wedding hoopla too—but not enough to freeze my _roses_ off."

"Well, it's not really like that, Steph. I wasn't alone in there."

"Don't tell me you and Charles did it in the walk-in, Candy."

"Well, no. Blake and I did."

"You and who?" I asked—quite flabbergasted.

"Blake, Blake Adams. He's an actor. Well, actually he's one of the waiters working the wedding tonight—but he's an actor too. I thought he was so cute, and I just couldn't resist. He made me so hot. I just had to take him in the walk-in to cool off."

"Oh Lord, help me. What am I going to do with you, Candy? Come on; let's get back out there. Charles is going to wonder where you ran off to."

"Okay, just let me finish straightening myself out."

"Okay, but hurry up. Harley and my mom are getting ready to cut the cake. You don't want to miss out on that."

* * * * *

Two hours later, after a slice of pink wedding cake, and having danced with every Tom, Dick and Harry, Lance floated over towards me. Minister Paul was still on his arm. "Hey, Steph, do you want to bounce from this shindig yet?"

I'm sure you can just guess what my answer was— _"I do!"_
Chapter 10: Just Wrong

_J_ is for just wrong. So many things in life are just wrong. For example, the call I got from Lance the day after Harley and my mom's wedding. It was just so, so wrong. I was drinking my Sunday morning coffee, easing into my day and looking though the paper, when I got the call. I thought it was my mom calling to tell me that she and Harley made it safely to Maui. They had taken the red eye, and I figured they had touched down by now and made it to the condo. But no, it was Lance.

I thought about letting the machine pick up. I'd had a little too much of Lance yesterday, but I decided to answer it—and boy was I sorry. The conversation was just a bit too much to take on a Sunday morning. It went something like this...

"Hi, Stephanie—how's my little rose-breasted chickadee this morning? Sit back, girlfriend, because you are not going to believe your ears. You, my dear, are talking to a gay man that shagged a minister. I'm going to be the Belle of West Hollywood. Not only did I shag a minister, Steph—but I shagged myself a cute one. How many gay men can say that, sister?"

"I'm sure you're not the first, nor will you be the last, Lance. There has certainly been more than one gay sex scandal involving ministers. When did this happen? You said you were tired when you dropped me off last night."

"Well, I was tired—that's true, Steph. But I had given little ol' Minister Paul my number before we made our exit last night, and when he called—much to my little ol' surprise, the sound of his voice just woke me up. And Steph, while it may be true that other gentlemen have lured ministers into their bed, I assure you they were no Minister Paul. He was umm, umm, good—I don't want to go into all the details, but—"

"But nothing, spare me the particulars. It's too early, and I'm not into gay sex. No offense, Lance, but some things are better just left private."

"Oh, Steph—you're no fun at all. Why are you in such a bad mood?"

"I'm just suffering from post wedding day blues. Weddings always make me depressed. Anyway, hearing about your romp with Minister Paul is just a little too much reality for me to take, especially on a Sunday morning. Call Candy. She'll appreciate what you have to say much more than I can."

"But I don't have Candy's number. Come on, Steph, just let me tell you a little—Pleeaassssee."

" _No_ , Lance, but here's Candy's number. I don't think she'll mind if I give it to you—she absolutely adored you. She should have a few stories to tell you as well. You two should get along famously."

"Really, Steph? You'll give me her number? Okay, okay—that'll do. I adored her, too. What's the number?"

"555-265-4035—and Lance, don't call before noon, Candy sleeps in on Sundays. If you want to make friends with her, take my advice."

" _Oh my God_ , how am I ever going to wait to tell someone about all this till then. Pleeaassssee, Steph. I promise I'll leave out the most explicit details."

" _No_ , Lance. Why don't you write a short story about the episode in the mean time? That will keep you busy. Then you can read it to Candy later."

"Why, that's a good idea, Stephanie. Maybe I can get it published in a gay anthology of short stories one day."

"Yeah, great idea, Lance. I didn't even think of that. I've got to go now. Ciao."

"Love you, Steph."

"I know. See you at work tomorrow, Lance."

"Muuaah."

"Kisses back—bye."

Like I was saying, some things are just wrong. I hoped my mom didn't find out she was married by a gay minister. She would throw a fit."

* * * * *

The rest of my day went by in relative peace and solitude. That was until Candy called. I was watching a _Lifetime_ movie I had taped about an attractive and skinny high school student who was making a documentary about being fat. She dressed up in a fat suit everyday to expose the horrors of what a fat teenager goes through. I was really into it, but I put it on pause and took the call like a good friend should.

"Hey, Candy, what's up."

"Stephanie, you're never going to believe this—"

"What, Lance called and told you he hooked up with Minister Paul?"

"Well, no, Steph, that's not what I was going to say. I thought you already knew that."

"I do, Candy, but I didn't know that you knew that I knew."

"Oh no. This is much more shocking."

"More shocking than that? Hold on a sec, Candy, I'm going to need a glass of wine for this... Okay, I'm back. Go ahead."

"Well, like I was saying, Steph, you're never going to believe this. Charles just called and broke up with me—and do you know why? Why, you ask? Because he met someone new. Can you believe that? Nobody breaks up with me— _I break up with them_."

"Candy, are you pouting? You're not the pouting type."

"I know, Stephanie, but I just wasn't expecting this. We were only just at your mom's wedding yesterday. I wanted to keep him around until I got some diamond earrings to match my diamond bangle bracelet, and maybe a pendant—possibly another trip to Vegas. This is _just wrong_."

"Welcome to my world, honey. What is _just wrong_ is that if someone like you can't keep a man, then there is no hope for me."

"Oh, Stephanie, of course there's hope for you. You're the kind of girl a guy wants to marry. I'm the kind of girl a guy wants to—"

"It sure doesn't feel that way lately. I sure have been dating a string of losers."

"That's not true. There was, hmmm...let's see, and...yeah, I guess you're kind of right. Don't worry about it, Steph; when the time is right, your prince charming will walk into your life when you least expect it. I won't weigh you down with any more of my shit today. You sound depressed. And anyway, who cares about Charles. I was ready to cut him loose anyway. Maybe he met someone his own age."

"Yeah, you probably wore him out. Your libido is a bit ravenous. Have you talked to Blake since your _chilly encounter_? Do you think you'll see him again?"

"Oh no, Stephanie—certainly you jest? He's just a kid. That was just for fun."

"Aren't they all for fun, Candy?"

"Well, yeah—but you know what I mean. I never date guys whose moms are less than ten years older than me. It's an embarrassment if I ever meet them and _just wrong_. I was just scratching the _cougar post_ , or should I say he was scratching the _cougar_ with his _post_ —that's all."

"Time for me to go, Candy. I'm in the middle of a good movie. Talk to you later."

"Okay, Steph. I just had to tell you that. I still can't believe it. The nerve of some men."

"Bye, Candy."

"Okay, bye. Love ya, girlfriend."

"You too."

I finished my movie without further interruption, and then the phone rang again. _What now?_ I thought to myself. I looked at my machine, and the incoming number was not one I recognized. I thought it might be Mom and Harley. I picked up on the second ring.

"Hello, who's this?" I asked.

"Hey, baby. It's me, Tony. I'm missing you."

"Tony? Tony—married Tony?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about her. Beatrice is a little jealous, but she's really cool with it. She knows I play around."

"She didn't sound so _cool with it_ when she called me a _bitch._ You have some nerve calling me."

"Don't be that way, Steph. I need some of your sugar, baby. I've been thinking about that honey pot of yours, and I want to dip my _finger_ in it. What are you doing right now? I just dropped Beatrice off at the airport. She won't be back for a couple of days. How about I come over and keep you company? Are you into that?"

"Absolutely _not_. I wouldn't let you near me if you were the last man on earth. You make me sick. You totally lied to me."

"I didn't lie to you, Steph. I just withheld a little information—that's all. You see, Beatrice and I, we have some problems—our marriage isn't so good. Snuggling up to her is like snuggling up to a barracuda. All I wanted was a little warmth. You were a ray of sunshine, that's all."

"Well, I'm done being anyone's _ray of sunshine_. So get lost, Tony. Don't ever call me again—do you hear me?"

"Yeah, I'm hearing you, but I don't like what I'm hearing."

"Too bad—and while you're at it, don't ever come into McKee's again either." _Click._

My heart was beating a mile a minute—partly because I was so mad, and partly because I was so hot. This was _just wrong._ How could a man I detested so much still make me wet between the legs? What the hell was the matter with me? I needed to have my head examined, but that would have to wait. I was exhausted, and I had to work a double shift tomorrow. I didn't even need to change into my pajamas, seeing as I never changed out of them this morning. I pulled my _Murphy_ out from the wall, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out.

* * * * *

I woke to the sound of Phantom purring next to my ear. I had slept well, and a good night's sleep seemed to do wonders for my mood. I was feeling refreshed and I had bounced back from my wedding day blues.

I had to be at work at 10:30. It was almost 9:00. I took my time in the shower and spent a little extra time putting on my make-up. Looking good always makes me feel better. I got to work around 10:10, and Lance was already there. He had the opening shift. The coffee station was already set up, and I proceeded to pour myself a cup. I gathered things must have been going well with Minister Paul because he was singing "My Girl" by the _Temptations_ , but he was subbing in the word _boy_ while he filled coffee filters and made iced tea for the lunch service. As I passed him, he smiled and winked at me. He changed the lyric back to _girl_ and added my name.

I quickly changed into my Bo Peep costume and helped Lance finish setting up. I took a look at the reservations before we opened. I wasn't expecting much, seeing as it was a Monday, but to my surprise, one of my regulars was coming in, a party of five. That would put a little money in my pocket. Mr. Johnson was a big tipper. He was scheduled to arrive at six-thirty, so maybe I could turn a few of tables before then. I hated working Mondays because they were so slow, but tonight might not be so bad.

The Johnson's were celebrating a birthday. Mr. Johnson's father was turning ninety today. Mr. Johnson instructed me to give his dad whatever he wanted—rationalizing it's not every day you turn ninety. He turned me aside and whispered in my ear, "He might not make it another year."

Mr. Johnson's dad started off with a vodka martini straight up, and followed that with another and another. He ordered prime rib for dinner with extra horseradish, creamed corn and Yorkshire pudding. He certainly had a good appetite for someone his age, and he could hold his liquor too. I can only hope I would be doing so well at his age, if I made it that far. Everybody seemed to be having a grand time, eating and drinking it up—that is until the end of meal.

As I approached the Johnson's table with a candle lit piece of cake in my hand, I observed that Mr. Johnson's father was facing the wall—bent over. Lance and I were just about to start singing happy birthday, when Mr. Johnson waved at us and yelled, "No cake—Dad got sick. It must be all that rich food combined with the alcohol. Thanks for the sentiment, Stephanie, but just bring us our check. We've got to get him home."

"No problem, Mr. Johnson," I sympathized and scurried off to get the check and some busboys to clean up the mess. The busboys were none too happy when I told them what happened, but I was. It turns out that Mr. Johnson felt so bad about his dad throwing up, he left me a fifty-dollar tip. He also expressed extreme regret for what his dad had done. He must have said sorry at least twenty times, but the money meant so much more.

A half an hour later, Randall told me I had a phone call at the front desk. It had better not be Tony. I told him never to come into McKee's again, but I hadn't told him not to call me here. Was he that dense?

Cathy, the hostess, handed me the phone and told me Mr. Johnson was on the line. I hope he didn't realize he gave me a fifty by mistake, and now he was calling to ask for it back. "Hello, Mr. Johnson, is everything okay? Is your dad doing better?"

"He is—thanks for asking, sweetheart. I think he threw up everything that was in his stomach. We gave him some soda crackers and _Seven Up_ when we got home, and that seems to have settled his tummy. I hate to ask this of you, Stephanie, but I need you to do me a favor. Can you have the busboys look through those napkins they used to clean up dad's _mess._ It appears that dad threw up his dentures. I didn't realize it till we got home. I'll make it worth their while—tell them there's a fifty in it for them if they find the teeth. I'm sure they've got to be there."

"Sure, Mr. Johnson. I go tell them right now. Can you call back in ten minutes?"

"Sure, angel. This is just so embarrassing."

"It's okay, Mr. Johnson. You didn't know any of this was going to happen. You were just trying to make your dad's birthday extra special. I'll talk to you in ten."

"Okay, Stephanie. Thank you so much."

The busboys refused to do Mr. Johnson's dirty bidding, so guess who got the job? You guessed it, yours truly. As I opened one crumpled, barf-filled napkin after another, I kept thinking, this is _just wrong_. Nowhere in my job description did it say I got paid for this. This was way above and beyond the call of duty. I got Lance to join me for moral support, but he refused to help me sort through the vomit. He stood at my side with his fingers pinching his nostrils, letting out an, "ugggg...that is just so gross, Stephanie," or an "ewww" periodically in a very nasally voice. As I opened the last napkin, there they were, gleaming like pearls. I shook them loose and they landed on the floor. I proceeded to pick them up in a clean napkin and rinse them off. Just as I was towel drying the teeth, Cathy came back and told me Mr. Johnson was on the phone again.

He was delighted that they were found and rushed right over to pick them up. He put another fifty in my hand and told me to give it to the busboys. I didn't tell him they refused the job. I thought it would just embarrass him even more if I told him I had to do it. I happily pocketed my second fifty-dollar tip of the day and thought—sometimes things that seem _just wrong_ turn out to be just right.
Chapter 11: Kai

_K_ is for Kai, which rhymes with fly and bye; apparently it comes from a Latin word that means happy. I had never heard of a person with the first name Kai before—that was until an auspicious day in August.

Candy, Shelby and I had made plans to dine at Casa Blanca in Los Feliz, a trendy restaurant that was right down the street from the Griffith Park observatory and the Greek Theater. We were celebrating; Candy was celebrating the fact that she had closed an ad campaign for Lacy Lady Lingerie, Shelby had sold a 2.5 million dollar home in the Hollywood Hills, and I was matriculating to Loyola Mary Mount University (LMU) in Westchester, which was about a mile away from Los Angeles International Airport.

Grandma Rose was thrilled, seeing as it was a Catholic school. It was private and a bit pricey, but because it met Grandma's religious criterion, she was going to help out with the tuition. They had an excellent teacher-credentialing program, and I could take classes towards my masters as an undergrad. It was kind of far from Glendale, and I thought about moving, but ultimately I decided against it. I worked out a deal with my manager Randall to only work dinner shifts so I could go to school during the day. He promised to schedule me for the 6:00 o'clock shift, and that would give me ample time to commute. I was surprised by how accommodating he was about the whole thing. He claimed he was just doing his part to help educate future teachers of America. He had two children enrolled in public school, and he hoped by the time they were high school age, they might end up in Ms. Melendez' English class. He was very encouraging and always told me what a fabulous teacher I was going to be.

Anyway, back to that day in August. Shelby was driving, and she was picking me up first. I scanned my reflection in the mirror as I waited for her to arrive. I was dressed very smartly for the occasion. I was wearing a black, knee-length pencil skirt with a blazer to match. To give the ensemble an ultra feminine touch, I wore a satin, pink camisole under my jacket and a pink rhinestone broach on my lapel. My shoes were a black, lacey mesh. I decided to wear my hair pulled back with a barrette. The diamond studs my dad had given me sparkled from my earlobes. I knew Candy and Shelby would still be dressed in their business attire, and I didn't want to appear out of place. I looked more like I was going to a job interview than a night out with the girls, but I liked what I saw in the mirror.

Just as I was applying my pink lip-gloss, the doorbell rang. Shelby was ten minutes early; it was only 5:50, and she was scheduled to arrive at 6:00 p.m. I opened the door to a green goddess. Shelby was dressed in a stunning chartreuse jacket that had black piping around the collar, pockets and hemline. Her skirt was the same color. Her red hair blazed against the green fabric, and she wore the glow of success on her cheeks. It hadn't worn off from the 2.5 million dollar deal she closed a couple of days ago. _God, I have gorgeous friends!_

"Come on in, Shel," I stammered as I opened the door, still taken aback by how beautiful she looked. "You're a little early. Do we have time for a glass of wine?"

"Yeah, Candy is running late. She just called me from her cell phone. She said to just meet her at the restaurant at 7:00 p.m."

"Perfect! We can catch up on some girlfriend chat without Candy around. She always monopolizes a conversation."

"Uh-huh—I've noticed that, Steph. Candy will be Candy, and we can't change that."

"Nor do we want to," I added. "Just think how boring our lives would be without her, Shel?"

"Speak for yourself, Steph. My life is plenty exciting. Closing million dollar plus deals regularly keeps my adrenaline pumping at warped speeds."

"I envy your life, Shelby."

"No. I envy your life. I wish I could return to a simpler existence sometimes. With excitement comes complexity. Hey, where's that wine you mentioned?"

"Do you want red or white?"

"Pour me a glass of red, Steph. It's supposed to help one's blood pressure."

"Red it is. I think I'll have the same." I poured the wine in our glasses.

"So, have you heard from Tony again?"

" _No_ —Thank God! If I ever do, it will be too soon. I can't believe I didn't know he was married. I should have guessed he was too good to be true. A man that dreamy in his thirties is either A, married, B, divorced and hates women, or C, a social reject. He wasn't B or C, so I should have assumed he was A—live and learn, Shelby...live and learn."

"Sorry you had to learn the hard way, Steph. Put it behind you, darling. There's a pot of gold at the end of your rainbow and I have a feeling he'll be even hotter than Tony. Don't stop believing in love. Don't let one man turn on the fountain of cynicism that can flow from this kind of ordeal. I hate women who become like that. You're better than that, Steph, and you deserve and will find true love one day. You're the sweetest person I know."

"Thanks for saying that, Shelby, but being sweet isn't getting me far. Men just seem to use me and lose me. I don't think I'll ever find a man I can trust enough to marry again. Men are all dogs. Harry's a dog, Tony's a dog—it seems they all are."

"If it makes you feel any better, Steph, I'd marry you if I was a man, and I'd never even glance at another woman."

"Ahhhhh, really Shelby? If I was a man, I'd marry you too!"

"Speaking of men—how's Chad?"

"He's okay. He's becoming somewhat of a pest lately, though. He has been bugging me to move in with him, and I'm not really into that. We've only been dating a couple of months. Plus, he's getting a little too jealous for my taste. He always wants to know where I'm going and who I'm with. I think he wants me to move in with him to keep closer tabs on me. I ask you, Steph, how can a man that good-looking be insecure?"

"You're asking me? I can't figure men out. I think I need to read the book _Men are from Mars—Women are from Venus_."

"No. You need to read _The Rules: Time Tested Secrets for Capturing the Heart of Mr. Right_. The problem with you, Stephanie, is you're too easy. Men like a challenge. Stop being so nice and don't jump into bed with guys so fast."

"Have you read _The Rules_ , Shelby?"

"Yeah, Steph. My mom gave it to me one Christmas, years ago. I flipped through it."

"Then how come you're not married, Shel?"

"I don't want to be married, Steph. Trust me, if I did—I would have gotten married long ago; then I wouldn't have to hear my mom lecture me about being an old maid."

"You—an old maid? _Are you kidding me?_ "

"She'll say anything to guilt me into getting married. She wants grandkids. I keep telling her I like my life the way it is. Who wants to clean up after a man and cook for him? That's not for me—I can assure you. I like to be footloose and fancy-free. You never know when the next, best guy is around the corner. Most men bore me after a while. I don't think I could ever marry, unless—like I said earlier, I was marrying you, Steph."

"Ha ha—Shel, if I ever feel lesbian tendencies creeping up on me, you'll be the first to know."

"We'd better get going. We don't want to keep Candy waiting."

"Do they still have lamb shank on the menu at _Casa Blanca_ , Steph?"

"Last time I was there, they did. Personally, I love their roast duck."

"Me too, but I'm in the mood for lamb, or maybe prime rib."

"Drive fast, Shelby—I'm famished."

* * * * *

Candy was waiting in the lobby when we got there, looking remarkably appropriate in her fuchsia suit. Few women could wear that color, but it looked great on Candy. Her blonde hair hung loose. It appeared she had cut it since last I saw her. It was hanging just below her shoulders. Despite the fact she wasn't wearing anything low-cut, she looked very sexy. Candy could be wearing a potato sack and look like a sultry siren. Her skirt was cut just above the knee, but that was long for her. I couldn't help but think again— _Damn, I have stunning friends_.

As we approached her, she held her outstretched arms towards us and we walked straight into her embrace.

"Hi, girls. You two look _smokin' hot!_ Steph, you look so pretty and sophisticated in that black suit. I love that color on you, Shelby. Are you hungry? Let's sit down right away. I'm starving. A little _afternoon delight_ always works my appetite up. I know I said I wouldn't, Steph, but I did. Blake was over for a quickie. Once again, I just couldn't resist."

"Whose Blake?" questioned Shelby.

"He was one of the waiters at the wedding."

"Was he the one with the dark hair that wore it a little on the long side? I think he had blue eyes."

"Yeah, that's him."

"He was flirting with me at the wedding, Candy— _watch out_."

"I know, Shelby. He told me he likes redheads. He's already inquired as to whether or not we're friends and if you were into threesomes."

"He did? What did you tell him?"

"Well, I told him we were friends and that I didn't know. I said I'd ask you."

"Candy, it will be a cold day in hell before I jump into bed with you and some kid."

"I'll let him know—but you might want to think it over, Shel. He's pretty good in bed, and he's in his twenties, so he can just keep going and going—just like the _Energizer Bunny_. He has plenty of stamina for both of us."

"Thanks, Candy, but I'll pass."

By this time we were seated and our waiter approached. He was pretty cute, but he was a little too perfect for my taste. He looked a lot like Chad. I preferred them a little on the scruffy side. He was wearing a pin with his name on it—Todd. He asked us what we'd like to drink.

We ordered a bottle of red wine and nibbled on bread while we waited for Todd to return. It was after 7:00 p.m. and we were all ravenous.

After finishing her slice of sourdough, Shelby interrupted the silence.

"So, Candy, I heard about Charles. I'm really sorry," she offered sincerely.

"Don't be. He couldn't keep up with me. I think I was a little too wild for him. The guy is twice my age, Shelby."

"I know, but I thought his _little blue pill_ put him on an equal playing field with you."

"I thought so too, but I guess not."

"I think she wore him out, Shel," I offered.

"He said he met someone new. I suppose she must be older—more his speed."

Just then, our waiter approached with our wine. He opened it and he filled our glasses. We ordered dinner and when Todd left, Shelby proposed a toast.

"Ladies, lift your glasses. To staying young and remaining friends forever—through wrinkles and Botox, lipo-suction and plastic surgery—may we always look gorgeous and drive men mad with desire." Our glasses chimed in harmony, and then Shelby excused herself to go to the ladies' room. Five minutes later she returned open-mouthed.

"Shelby, is everything okay?" I asked.

"Shelby, what's wrong? You look visibly shaken," Candy said with a look of concern.

She sat before us, unable to talk for several seconds. "You'll never believe what I just saw. I was walking back from the restroom and I saw a man holding a buxom blonde's hand. He was leaning in towards her, whispering something. I was just about to pass them when it dawned on me—it was Charles. I hadn't noticed on the way to the ladies' room because his back was facing me."

"How old did she look?" a curious Candy inquired.

"I hate to break it to you, Candy, but she looked about twenty-five—maybe younger," Shelby surmised.

"Younger? What? Did you say _younger?_ "

"Well, Candy, he did say he met someone new. You can't be upset. You already knew that." I tried to console her as best I could.

"I know, but I just assumed he'd met someone older. That _two-timing_ jerk. Is she attractive?"

"She looks kind of like Heidi Klum," Shelby eked out. "If you think she's attractive, then I guess she is."

"Did he look happy?"

"I couldn't tell if he was happy, but she sure looked happy. She was leaning in towards him, that's how I could tell she was buxom; her breasts were practically falling out of her dress onto the table—and she was giggling over something he was saying."

"I can't take anymore of this. I have to go give him a piece of my mind."

"Candy, _don't_. You'll make an idiot of yourself," I pleaded sternly. "You have more class than that. You'll end up making a scene."

"I'm not going to let him get away with this. He has to at least face me eye to eye with his young, big-breasted bimbo."

It was evident Candy was not going to be swayed in this regard, but we managed to talk her into waiting until after we finished eating. She was worried Charles would be gone by that time, but Shelby assured her they hadn't even ordered dinner yet—their menus were still on the table when she passed by. I was dreading the end of our meal, but it came quickly enough. We paid our tab, left Todd a twenty percent tip, stood and straightened our skirts and made our way towards Charles' table, with Candy standing tall and leading the pack. Oddly enough, my heart was beating fast, as if I was the one that was going to confront him.

Candy very nonchalantly approached their table acting as if she didn't care one bit that Charles was out with a woman ten years younger than herself. We stopped behind her and faced Charles, waiting for all hell to break loose, but it never did. Candy made me proud that night.

She reached out her hand to Charles' date and introduced herself. "Hi, I'm Candy. Charles and I we're seeing each other, before he met you, that is. And who are you?"

"I'm Kai," she offered, reaching her hand out to Candy.

"Why, that's an unusual name. I don't think I've ever heard of anyone else with it."

"It comes from a Latin word that means happy."

"Well, it certainly does appear that you are making Charles happy. What an appropriate name." At this point, she turned towards a smiling Charles and addressed him. "Well, hello, Charles. I see you've been busy. Is this the woman you told me you about?"

"Yeah, Candy. This is Kai. You pronounce it like fly and bye. She's a real sweetheart, just like you."

"Not quite like me, Charles. Since when did you start frequenting the local high school for dates? She's a tad younger than I am—a tad too young for you, if you ask me," Candy sneered at him.

"Kai likes older men," Charles shot back. "Don't you, Kai?"

"Yes, _Daddy_. You know I do. I love a man with _experience_."

"And I'm sure his fat wallet has nothing to do with your attraction, Kai?"

"No—not at all. I knew I liked Charles the first time I looked down at him from the stage. He has such a nice smile."

"From the stage? We're you attending a theatrical production, Charles? Are you an actress, Kai?" inquired Candy.

"No. I'm an exotic dancer. I met Charles where I work—at _Sweet Thang_."

"You have done so well for yourself, Charles. I can't believe you left me for that _thang_."

"Hey, that's an insult, isn't it, Charles? Well, I may be a girl who earns her living twirling around a pole, but at least I'm not ready for a retirement home like you. Charles was attracted to my pert breasts from the second he laid eyes on them. I bet your tits sag to your naval!"

"Come on, girls. I've had enough of this. Let's _fly_. Good- _bye_ , Charles."

As we left the table, we could hear Kai saying, "God, Charles—she's got to be older than my mother. What did you ever see in her?"

Candy, Shelby and I held our heads high as we went out the restaurant door, never looking back. Kai and Charles were now a part of our shared pasts, and we were united, as only middle-aged girlfriends could be. Sags, bags, wrinkles and all, we knew we were more beautiful than _Kai_ would ever be.
Chapter 12: L Word

_L_ is for the L word—lesbian. I have always wondered if I have lesbian tendencies. I guess that's natural when you have girlfriends like Shelby and Candy. Men and women alike sought after them, and while Shelby had no interest in visiting the island of _Lesbos_ , Candy had been there a few times, but never with me. To be honest, the thought of having sex with Candy repulsed me, not because she was a woman, but because she was one of my best friends—having sex with her would be like having sex with my sister.

This semester, I was studying the works of Sappho in my Greek literature class. Sappho was a poet from the Greek isle of _Lesbos_ , and I could certainly relate to the infatuation she expressed for various females in her poetry. I have had a girl crush myself a time or two—but never anything that spurned my curiosity to the point of experimentation. However, I couldn't help but fantasizing about what lesbian love might be like as I listened to Professor Draper lecture on the erotic undertones expressed towards women in the Sapphic excerpts we read.

Professor Draper looked to be about forty, and she was a very well put together woman. She was always dressed immaculately, her hair pulled back and not a one out of place. She wore wire-rimmed glasses, but I imagined how she would look without them—her brown hair let loose and falling down her back. I could sense there was a tigress hidden under that carefully manicured appearance. She didn't wear a wedding ring. On more than one occasion, I found myself wondering if she might have something in common with Sappho. However, those thoughts would just have to remain left to my imaginings. I would never dare to ask about her sexual proclivities.

After my first couple weeks of classes, I was completely immersed in the _LMU_ experience. I loved the campus and it's openness. Unlike Glendale Community College, the grounds were vast and sprawling. It took me a couple of days to navigate my new environment and figure out where everything was, but I quickly mastered the physical layout of the school, and now I was pointing other people in the right direction.

I found I was really fitting in. I had even made a friend. Her name was Veronica—she sat next to me in Ms. Draper's class. It was Veronica who got me thinking about what direction Professor Draper swung. She just flat out asked me after class one day, "Do you think Professor Draper is a lesbian?"

I didn't really know how to respond to her question, but I told her I thought it was possible. That got me to thinking about whether Veronica liked girls. She was so feminine, not the _dyke type_ at all. If she was one, I guess she would be what is referred to as a _lipstick lesbian_. Veronica looked like a cross between Britney Spears and Pamela Anderson. She was curvy and big breasted like Pam, but had a pop star fashion sense like Britney. Despite that she was at least ten years younger than I was, we were both juniors, and we got along famously.

We had made plans to go out this Saturday. She was driving out to Glendale so I could show her my side of town. I was taking her to Jack's. It was Peter Frampton night. When I told her about it, she was immediately into it. She loved retro-music, and she said she especially loved the seventies. There were several singers that would be mimicking Frampton, and the one that was voted best at the end of the night won a hundred-dollar prize. I was looking forward to getting out. Since the new semester started, I hadn't been out once. Shelby and Candy were complaining about what a recluse I had become. I was just tired—between the driving, studying and working, I just didn't have the time or the energy.

I didn't tell Shelby and Candy about my _date_ with Veronica. They'd probably be jealous. The more I got to know her, the more I found myself attracted to her, and I believed my suspicions about her sexual orientation were right on. As of late, Veronica had taken to meeting up with me every day at lunch, our relationship was deepening—and it seemed our attraction was too. I consider myself to be a good reader of body language, and I could swear she was flirting with me. She was always leaning in during our conversations and sometimes she would curl a lock of her hair, and one time I caught her licking her lips. I think I was describing Candy to her when it happened. Then there was the _gaze_. She would lock eyes with me like what I was saying was the most important thing in the world. To be honest, that _gaze_ made me feel a little uncomfortable.

I was also uncomfortable with the fact that Veronica was invading my conscious thoughts while I was in class, at work, in bed— _at all hours of the day_. My mental meanderings had me imagining what it would be like to kiss her. Would it be like kissing a man? Would I feel the warm sensation I felt between my legs like when Tony kissed me? Would I welcome the caress of my breasts by her soft hands? Would I like the feel of her feminine curves or would they repulse me?

Maybe I was bi-sexual, I rationalized. I still found myself attracted to men, after all. Or, maybe I had always been a lesbian, and I just didn't know it—I just thought I was attracted to men. I had never given much thought to the fact that I may have been seeking fulfillment with the wrong gender all these years. That sure would explain a lot. A woman certainly could offer a woman what no man could. I wondered about the tenderness shared between two females in the act of lovemaking. Would a woman be more prone to please her partner before herself? I imagined that she would be. Men are so selfish in that regard. I found myself entertaining the thought of multiple orgasms with Veronica. Even though she's younger than me, I sensed she had more experience with women than I did—( _which was zero)_ , and I was sure she could teach me a _few things._

All of these thoughts were so crazy, and the more I thought about Veronica, the more I wanted her, and the more I wanted her, the more confused I became. I had to know— _am I a lesbian or not?_ I determined that I would try to find that out on Saturday, which was still two days away.

* * * * *

My thoughts of Veronica we're driving me mad, and I just had to talk to someone. I asked Lance to meet me at _Starbucks_ on Friday afternoon. I told him I had something I just had to tell him, but it had to be in person and _not_ at work. I definitely peaked his interest and he promised me he'd be there.

I was sitting outside in the sun under an umbrella when Lance walked up. He was dressed in a ridiculous floral print shirt and he had white sunglasses on. Sometimes he just went over the top with his "fashion."

"Hey, Steph, how's my little chickadee?" he cheerily called out as he took his glasses off and winked at me. After eyeballing me a moment, he raised his eyebrows and declared, "You don't look so good. Are you losing sleep? You have dark circles under your eyes. What's doing? I hope it's because you're staying up late getting a little _somethin'-somethin'_ , girlfriend."

"Not quite, Lance, but I have been losing sleep. You're the only one I can tell this to. I think I might be _gay_."

"What? You mean gay as in happy, right? You— _gay_? I don't think so, Steph. I can't picture you as a fan of the hairy taco, a sushi aficionado, a carpet muncher, a clitty/titty licker—a friend of Dorothy? No, no, no... _not even_. You're foolin' with me—right?"

"No. I'm dead serious, Lance, and you're not helping my situation. Who's Dorothy anyway?"

"Why, Dorothy from the _Wizard of Oz_. Everybody knows a 'friend of Dorothy' is code for lesbian. At least every gay person knows that, which just proves my point—you're not gay. I have never seen you as having _LP,_ Stephanie."

"What the hell is _LP,_ Lance?"

" _Lesbian Potential—_ Don't you know anything about being gay?"

"No, not really, but I really do think I may be."

"Is that why you have dark circles under your eyes? Have you been making passionate love to a woman all night?"

"No, but I think I want to. Her name's Veronica and I met her at school. I am so attracted to the luscious pucker of her lips and the pertness of her breasts—and she's so smart. Her brain definitely turns me on. Every time I see her I just want to stick my tongue in her mouth. There's only one problem. I'm not sure if she's gay."

"Honey, you're not even sure if you're gay. Let's take this one step at a time. I'm going to need some caffeine before I can counsel you on this. Let's go inside, and you're buying, sweetheart."

"Sure, Lance. This might take a while. I assure you, I'm going to get my money's worth."

Lance ordered an iced, caramel macchiato, and I ordered an iced skinny, vanilla latte. We settled ourselves in some comfy armchairs in a corner with our cold beverages in hand, and the conversation heated up.

"So, dearest, aside from your hormones kicking in like a pubescent teen every time you see this Veronica, what makes you think you're gay?"

"Well, I get butterflies. My heart beats faster. I want to hold her hand. I don't know—it's just a feeling I get."

"Well, you wouldn't be the first to _change direction_ mid-stream. My friend Bob did that. He thought he was straight for years; he even got married and had kids. It crushed his wife when she found out he was gay. It turned her gay. She said she could no longer trust men after that. Fortunately, the kids were young enough not to know what was going on. Now they just think they have two mommies and two daddies. At least you didn't create a mess like that."

"Yeah, I guess that's one consolation, but what will my Grandma Rose think if it turns out I really am gay? She'll disown me. One thing is for certain, she'll stop paying my tuition. She won't want to support the education of someone heading straight for hell. Lance, you're gay—how did you know for sure?"

"I've known since I was born. My parents knew too. Look at me, for God's sake. How could I not be gay?"

"You do rate high on the _gaydar_. I knew instantly the first time I laid eyes on you. You're so lucky that you never had to struggle with coming to terms with your sexual identity."

"That's true, but everybody else did. High school was rough going. There are no people more homophobic in the world than teenage boys. The girls were wonderful, though, and that's why all my friends were girls back then."

"Okay, Lance. What I really need to know is— _how can I know for certain that I'm gay?_ I need to know now."

"Well, honey, there is really only one way to know if you're positively gay—and that's to try _it_. You'll have to do a little muff diving and see how you like the waters. It's as simple as that."

"But that thought terrifies me, Lance. I've never swum upstream. What if I don't know how?"

"Trust me, Steph, if you're a _lesbo_ , it will come naturally."

"You think so?"

"Of course, and what doesn't come naturally, you'll be schooled on. No lesbian likes her pussy licked the wrong way."

"Ewwww...that sounds disgusting. Maybe I'm not a lesbian. I'm so confused, Lance. I'm meeting Veronica at Jack's this Saturday. Can you make it? It's Peter Frampton night. I need you to check Veronica out and tell me what you think. Can you imagine if I made an advance towards her, and it turned out she's straight? My _lesbometer_ is a little out of whack. I can't even tell if I'm gay—pleaassssee."

"I am on the schedule to work that night, but I'll see what I can do. This is important."

"Oh, thank you so much, Lance. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Probably make a fool of yourself is what—but not to worry. I'll know if she's gay. I always do."

* * * * *

It seemed like forever till Saturday, but it had only been a day since Lance and I had coffee. Lance advised me to wear a skirt for easy access— _just in case_. I threw on my favorite little black dress and kept the make-up to a minimum. Veronica had never seen me all painted up, and I didn't want to scare her off. I wore my hair in a ponytail because it seemed something a lesbian would like. We were all meeting up at Jack's at 8:00.

I walked into the dark room and saw Lance sitting at the bar. It looked like he was flirting with the bartender. A Peter Frampton impersonator was belting out " _B_ _aby, I Love Your Way_." Veronica didn't appear to have arrived yet. I took a seat next to Lance and ordered my usual rum and diet. I noticed he was wearing the same lavender shirt he wore to my mom's wedding, but the sleeves were rolled up, and he had it unbuttoned a few notches.

"Hey, Lance. You're early."

He kissed me on both cheeks and gave me a hug. "Yeah, I needed a drink. I thought I'd get a head start. You're looking fetchin', Steph—but about as nervous as a person bungee jumping for the first time."

"Have you seen her?"

"Seen who?"

"Veronica, of course!"

"How should I know, Steph? I've never laid eyes on her before."

"I told you she looks like a cross between Britney and Pam."

"Oh yeah—I forgot about that. No, I haven't seen anyone that matches that description. I wouldn't miss that."

"She's supposed to be here at 8:00 p.m. It's already 8:15. Do you think she's standing me up?"

"No, of course not. She's probably stuck in traffic. You did say she's driving in from L.A.—right?"

"Yeah, that's true. You're right, she must just be stuck in traffic." Just as I was about to toast Lance to my new _adventure_ , I felt some long fingers caress my shoulders. I turned around to face a goddess named Veronica. She was here. _She cared_...at least enough to party with me tonight.

"Hi, sexy—you look pretty hot, Steph. I've never seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt. Black is your color."

"Thanks, Veronica. You look gorgeous too—as always." I felt myself quavering inside as I said it. "I want you to meet my friend, Lance. We work together. He's really into Frampton too."

"Hi, Lance. It's nice to meet you. Have you guys been here long?"

"Nope, I just got here about fifteen minutes ago. You haven't missed much. This is the first Peter Frampton of the night performing," I informed her.

"That's good. I wouldn't want to miss any of the fun," she uttered through her perfectly, painted red lips. "Bartender, can I have a mojito? Extra mint, please."

Before our glasses even finished clanking, Lance was questioning Veronica up and down. "So, Veronica, where in Los Angeles do you live?"

"I live in Silver Lake. It's a great town."

"Do you have a lot of _girlfriends_ there?" asked Lance.

"A few, but Steph is my new favorite." She was looking straight into my eyes as she spoke the words.

"I see... Well, that's understandable. She is a doll." Lance affirmed, winking at me. "Are you into the nightlife there?"

"I like hittin' the _Metromix_ down on the boulevard when I'm in the mood, but I spend most weekends studying. Stephanie will tell you how that goes—right, Steph?"

"Umm-hmm, yeah—I do a lot of studying. More than I'd like, to be honest. This is much more fun."

"Oh, I've been to the Metromix," Lance interjected. "That's a raging club. A lot of gays go there."

"Yeah, so what? You got a problem with gays, Lance?" Veronica sneered.

"Who me? Are you joking? I'm as gay as they come. Can't you tell?"

"Of course, I can tell. I'm just messin' with ya, Lance. How long have you and Steph been friends?"

"About a year—ever since I started working at McKee's. Has Stephanie told you about the getup they make her wear? She wears a Little Bo Peep costume. There is nothing more adorable than Steph in her uniform. I wear a court jester costume. We work at one of those places where the servers dress up."

"No, Stephanie didn't tell me about that. That's something I'd like to see sometime. I'll be right back—you two. This drink is flowing through me like water. I gotta go tinkle."

Once she was twenty feet away, Lance gave me the two thumbs up. "Stephanie, she is definitely a _lesbo_. Silver Lake is the gay epicenter of Los Angeles, and she frequents the Metromix. That's a sure sign. Go for it, girlfriend."

"Oh, I don't know, Lance. I'm having second thoughts."

"Why? She's _sooooo_ tantalizing. She makes me want to be a woman."

"I don't know, Lance. It just doesn't seem right."

"That's not how you were sounding yesterday. You sounded more like a bitch in heat. _Now_ —you don't know? You are confused, aren't you, darling? Give it a chance, at least. You'll never know for sure if you don't at least give it a try, one time. Do you want to go to your grave not trying everything on the menu? I can tell she is definitely into you. She is giving you the green light—have you noticed the way she looks at you? I have. She's checking you out like you're a piece of lobster ready to dip in butter."

"I'm back, you two." Veronica sidled up beside me and grabbed my sweaty hand. "Come on, Steph, they're playing my fav song— _'Show Me the Way.'"_

As we made our way to the dance floor, I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. Why was I so nervous? This is what I had been fantasizing about—wasn't it? The song resonated throughout the room and I got lost in the lyrics. I really did want her to show me the way. This was such uncharted territory for me. I still couldn't figure out if I was gay or straight, but I felt like I was getting closer to finding out. As we floated around the dance floor, I felt like I was dreaming and I felt so unashamed. I knew I could get used to this every day.

Before I knew it the song was over, and _"Lines on My Face"_ began to be belted out by a different singer. I felt dizzy as Veronica dragged me back to our table. I needed to regain my bearings. I needed to be alone for a few minutes and think this whole thing out.

"I gotta go use the restroom, Veronica."

"I'll go with and keep you company, Steph." _Oh great. So much for being alone_.

As I entered a stall, Veronica followed me in, and closed the door.

I turned around and before I knew what was happening, she pushed me up against the side of the stall and had my arms pinned over my head.

"Stephanie, I've wanted to do this to you since the first time I laid eyes on you in Ms. Draper's class." She proceeded to put her lips on mine in an ardent frenzy, and I reciprocated with full force. She let my hands go and they dropped to her shoulders. I felt my palms resting on her petite and bony shoulders and it was such a turnoff! There was no muscle to grab onto. My hands slid off her shoulders and down her skinny arms, and I became even more disinterested—and she could tell.

"What's wrong, Stephanie? Aren't you into this? I was sure that you were. I'm usually never wrong about this. You are into girls, aren't you?"

"Well, I thought I was, but now I don't think so."

"What do you mean? You either are—or you aren't. Are you into guys and girls?"

"It's just that I think you're so smart and so beautiful—and I was imagining what it would be like with you...but I've never been with a girl. Now, I know I never will be."

"Why? What did I do to turn you off? Do you know how many girls want to be with me?"

"I'm sure they do, but it's not you—it's me. I like a man's build. I just never knew till right now how much I appreciated the muscular body of a guy. It just doesn't feel right."

"I think I can change your mind about that," she panted as she put her hand up my dress.

"Veronica, stop it!" I yelled as I was pulling her hand out of my panties. "I said I'm not feeling this. Let me out of here!"

"I can't believe this is happening. I thought you were so into me, Steph."

"Well, I really thought I would be. I'm sorry. I'm not."

"I'm bouncing from this joint, Stephanie. There's still time for me to get some action tonight. Clearly—this is going nowhere."

And there I was, left alone and sitting on a toilet—100 percent positive that I was not a lesbian. The _L word_ was not for me.
Chapter 13: Men

_M_ is for men. Since my realization that I was definitely _not_ a lesbian, thoughts of men began to preoccupy my thoughts again. Now that I was no longer tormented by visions of Veronica and plagued by thoughts of how apt I would be at cunnilingus, I was free to roam the testosterone jungle. Where you ask is the testosterone jungle? Why the gym, of course!

I had really lagged in my workouts since Harley and my mom got married. I was so pressed for time since school started, but I decided that I better get my butt to the gym again—as it seemed to be getting bigger by the day. The only space I had in my day was after work in the evenings, which was usually after 10:00 at night. I belonged to one of those twenty-four hour gyms, so this wasn't a problem.

Men seemed to abound everywhere late at night at my gym, and I couldn't help but notice them. My eyes followed these Adonis' as they floated by with their pumped up biceps, their swollen pecs protruding from their t-shirts like proud peacocks, awakening my senses with the manly odors they left behind as they passed me by. It was really quite intoxicating taking them all in.

I had recently read an article about pheromones and how they played a crucial role in male/female attraction. The article stated that even though pheromones can't be seen, felt, touched or tasted, the vomeronasal organ (located in our nasal cavity) does detect the small particles that waft through the air. These pheromones apparently have a direct effect on our biological processes and influence our desire to have sex and with whom. The article cited the way a male cat is attracted to a female cat in heat as evidence of the powerful effect these airborne chemicals have on our primal need to mate.

Is that why all the men seemed to be following me around the gym? Was I giving off the same scent as a female cat in heat? Whatever was going on, it was making me hot, and I needed to cool off. That's how I ended up becoming the Goddess of the Pool.

I had bought myself what I considered to be a modest one piece bathing suit with a skirt attached, but I might have just as well been naked the way men's eyes traced my every movement as I promenaded around the pool area. From the time I exited the women's locker room till the time I went back in, their eyes followed me. Did they somehow sense I was an _almost_ lesbian? I've heard that turns men on.

When I would ascend the steps after jogging in the pool for an hour, I commanded the attention of every man in the room. It wasn't until a conversation I had with Thomas Lajoie, a French man, that I realized just exactly why that was.

I met Thomas sitting in the Jacuzzi after one of my aerobic, water workouts. He kept staring at me across the bubbles. He was an older man, probably in his mid to late forties I guessed—judging by his hairline and the wrinkles around his eyes. The last thing I needed was another Harley. I wouldn't have anyone to pawn him off on this time—well, maybe Candy.

After about ten minutes of staring, despite my best efforts to pretend he wasn't there, he got the nerve up to talk to me.

"Excuse me, miss, can I ask you where you're from? Are you French?"

"Who me? No—I'm not, but you certainly sound like you are."

"I am—I am from Paris. It is the most romantic city in the world. Have you been there? You look like you could be French. Are you sure you don't have any French blood in your family?"

"Positive. I'm Mexican through and through, and American—of course."

"I like your bathing suit. It's very nice. It shows every curve of your body perfectly. The men here like it—I think. It looks like you're wearing a wet dress. When you get out of the pool you look very beautiful. I have heard some of the men say they are waiting for that moment, and they refuse to leave until it happens."

"What? You're kidding me, right?"

"Haven't you seen the eyes follow you?"

"Well, yeah—kind of."

"What's your name, Mexican-American girl?"

"Stephanie—Stephanie Marie Melendez."

"Well, Stephanie Marie Melendez—do you know what some of the men around here call you? They call you the Goddess of the Pool."

"The what? Me—a goddess? Hmmm... That's amusing. I never quite thought of myself that way."

"Oh, but you are. You have gorgeous skin. And when your hair is wet and you shake it...it is something to see."

"Well, thanks for that...ummmm...what's your name?"

"I am Thomas Lajoie. Are you married, Stephanie? Is there some boyfriend? If not, I would very much like to take you to dinner sometime. Would you go out with me?"

"I'm not married, and there is no boyfriend. However, I'm taking a break from men right now, but thanks anyway."

"What happened, Stephanie? Did some man break your heart? Come on—it's only dinner. Give me a chance. I would love to go on a date with a beautiful, American woman like you."

"Well, Thomas, since you put it that way, how can I refuse? You're good for my ego. Do you promise to keep the compliments coming?"

"Oh yes—that and so much more. When can we go on this date? Are you free tomorrow?"

"Actually, I am. Where are you taking me?"

"I know a little bistro in Los Angeles. They have the best French food and wine. I will take you there and we will fall in love."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Thomas. Can we have dinner first?"

"Of course, of course. I am only dreaming of what can be. I am so attracted, and you are such a nice girl. I want to know you better."

* * * * *

Well, we never did fall in love. We didn't even go out to dinner. Thomas and I had exchanged phone numbers that night on our way out of the gym. He was supposed to call me the next day and let me know what time he would be picking me up for dinner. He did call, but not for that reason.

As it turned out, Thomas was separated from his wife, who happened to be seven months pregnant. Even though they weren't living together—he had been staying with his brother—he was overwhelmed with guilt. He said he just couldn't do it, and he was so sorry. He claimed to have lost his senses when I was sitting so close to him, and he just wasn't thinking clearly at the moment. He and his wife were trying to reconcile their marriage before the baby was born.

It didn't bother me in the slightest to learn this information. I really didn't see myself falling for Thomas. He seemed like an okay guy, and I thought we could have a pleasant dinner together, but I didn't foresee much more than that between us. He was utterly astounded when I told him to go back to his wife and tell her he was madly in love with her and that he couldn't imagine his universe without her in it. He viewed this as some munificent gesture of great sacrifice. His exact words to me were, "You would wish that for me, Stephanie, when you could have me for yourself? You are the most unselfish woman I have ever met. I could fall in love with you. I thank you for this."

To be honest, I didn't feel like I was giving up a great prize. It felt good to give him permission to go back to his wife. I do believe everything happens for a reason, and maybe Thomas came into my life for that very purpose. Now that he knew another woman would accept his affections, however brief, he could go on with his life with his wife. Besides, he was too old for me and not my type at all. Although, I really didn't know that I had a type anymore. I used to think I liked guys who were a little roughed up. Not like a biker or anything like that, but I have always hated the pretty boy types like Tom Cruise. Give me a Sean Penn over a Brad Pitt any day. But I didn't know about that anymore.

There was a new waiter at work that was definitely pretty, and I seemed to turn to Jell-o whenever he was around, and I wasn't the only one. Lance and I were both vying for his attentions. His name was Tim, and he had charisma to spare on top of his good looks. He was tall, at least six-foot two. I loved his wavy, brown hair that he wore short and parted on the side, and his eyes were an unusual shade of blue—dark like the depths of the Caribbean Sea. It turned out we both went to the same gym, but his workouts seemed to be paying off more than mine. His physique was stellar; you wanted to bump up against him just to feel his hardness. Muscles were bulging everywhere. And despite that I didn't like pretty boys—I did love a man with muscles. I concluded he was the _anti-Veronica,_ and that is what drew me to him. There was nothing bony or skinny about him. He was _one-hundred percent man_.

Lance insisted he was gay, but I was positive he was straight. We made a $100.00 bet to see who was right and who would find out first, but the winner had to provide solid proof. Not only did I love a man with muscles, but I also loved a good challenge. This was going to be fun.

* * * * *

Tim was Superman, and boy could he really fill out his tights. Watching him fly through the restaurant with his red cape streaming behind him made me want to be Lois Lane instead of Little Bo Peep. I put in a request with Randall, my manager, to change my costume—and he granted it. I was now Wonder Woman. I felt my odds of winning the contest went up at least one hundred fold. There was no way Lance could compete with me in his ridiculous court jester costume.

The first time Lance laid eyes on me in my new costume he stopped dead in his tracks, and his eyes popped out like he'd seen the devil. He shook his head and said, "You _bi...achh_ —you play dirty, Steph."

Lance immediately put in a request to change his costume too, but he wasn't as fortunate as me. Randall turned him into a white bunny rabbit. He did look adorable shaking his cottontail around the restaurant, but he was none too pleased about it. The one consolation was that he was making more money. All the snotty nosed brats begged their parents to sit in _Peter Cotton Tail's_ section. Much to his chagrin, he had become the resident expert at making bunny balloon animals.

I had given considerable thought to how I could win this contest I had going on with Lance. Tim didn't seem to be into me, even with my new super powers. I wore a padded push up bra under my leotard, but nothing, not even a compliment came from him. I was starting to wonder if Tim was into men; one thing was for sure, he wasn't into Wonder Woman. It would just kill me if Lance was right about him being gay—I just hate losing a bet. It was time to bring out the heavy artillery— _Shelby and Candy._ Any red-blooded, American male would get a _stiffie_ from one of them, or for sure he was gay.

I three-way called Shelby and Candy as soon as I got home and explained the situation. I had to beg for several minutes, but I finally got my two best friends to come in tomorrow night and check out the situation. It was a weekday and they needed their beauty sleep, but they would do it for me. However, I was informed that they didn't work for free. I had to buy them a round of drinks. I could do that. I was fairly certain they would help me pocket that $100.00 prize, so I could afford to ante up for a couple of drinks. As my dad, the entrep-reneur, always said, "You have to spend money to make money."

I had made reservations for Shelby and Candy the night before and, of course, I had requested they sit in Tim's section. I told them to dress as provocatively as they possibly could for a place like this. I needed as much of an advantage as I could get.

They walked in promptly at six, and I was waiting for them. They over met my every expectation. Candy was wearing a tiffany blue, baby doll chiffon blouse that cinched at the bust line. It was pretty low cut and showed her _twins_ off well. The jeans she had on were as tight as they could be, and I just loved the fuchsia-colored, wedge heels she was wearing; she had a bag to match. Shelby was dressed all in black, and her red hair dazzled against the dark backdrop. She accented her sleek black jacket and matching straight leg pants with a silver cami and lots of silver jewelry. She wasn't showing off her _twins_ like Candy, but she sure looked like a class act. Tim had to fall in love with one of them.

They were a bit taken aback by my new costume, seeing as they had never seen me in it before. Candy was the first to speak.

"Stephanie, I never pictured you as a super hero. I guess...it suits you. What happened to Bo Peep?"

"I retired that get-up last week."

"But why ever so? You looked like a living doll in it," Shelby declared, giving me a hug. "Tell Randall you want it back."

"I don't think so. If I never again say, _'Hi, Welcome to McKee's—may I go out to the pasture and get you a drink?'_ —it will be too soon!"

"Too bad," Candy lamented. "I guess nothing stays the same, but personally, I always loved that costume too."

"It's time for a change, girls, and time for you to make me some _change—as in cha-cha-ching—_ if you know what I mean. Let me take you to Tim's station and introduce you."

As I seated Shelby and Candy, Tim was refilling the ice tea glasses on the next table over. When he was done, I introduced him.

"Tim, I want you to meet my best girlfriends in the world. This is Candy," I said, pointing at her. "And this is Shelby. Take good care of them. And by the way, their first round of drinks is on me, okay?"

"Sure, Stephanie," he said, offering the ladies each a hand to shake. "A pleasure to meet you both." I had to run and check on my tables, but things seemed to be off to a good start.

I came back fifteen minutes later to check up on the scene, and I observed they both had martinis in front of them. I was just about to ask them what they thought of Tim, when in walked Lance with two guys that looked like gay porn stars. He seemed surprised to see Shelby and Candy sitting at one of Tim's tables, and it appeared he had assessed the situation quickly, because he gave me the dirtiest of looks as he passed by. He sat the hot guys across from Shelby and Candy. They didn't even seem to notice them, and that's when I figured out what was going on. Lance had the same idea as me. He had invited his gay friends!

As I came to this stunned realization, Lance beckoned, "Hey, Stephanie, come over here. I want you to meet two of my best buddies. This is Karl and Shane. I invited them to meet Tim. I've told them all about him, and they just couldn't wait to be introduced. It appears you had the same idea as me. I take it you want Candy and Shelby to meet Tim for the same reason I want Karl and Shane to meet him. You know what they say, _great minds think alike_."

"I guess they do," I said, as I stared him down—and he did the same.

" _Game on, Steph_. May the best man or woman take home the _booty_."

I huffed away in a state of anger. _How dare he have the same idea as me?_ Unfortunately, I was unable to keep tabs on the drama playing out in Tim's section. It got really busy around 6:30. Candy and Shelby would have to fill me in later on what went down. I did manage to check on them once, but they were in the middle of dinner, and it appeared like they had met Karl and Shane, as they were chatting across tables.

Wouldn't it be something if the four of them ended up together? That wasn't happening, I rationalized. Those two guys were as gay as they come— _right_? Could the possibility exist that Candy had infiltrated my plans to Lance, and now he was trying to foil me by setting Shelby and Candy up with these two guys, and thus effectively ousting Tim from the picture. Candy wouldn't do that to me—no, never. She had become pretty chummy with Lance lately, but she wouldn't commit an act of high treason like that, would she? And, they had to be gay, I reasoned.

Before I knew it, the night was over. I was beat, and I sat with my feet up on a stool in the back break area. Seeing as all my tables had cleared, I could take a moment to myself before closing up shop. I was just about to get up when Lance and Tim walked in. Lance was dropping some plates by the dishwasher, and Tim had a coke in hand. He plopped himself next to me.

"Hey, Steph, busy night, huh?" he said, yawning. "I'm tore apart. I was flying faster than a speeding bullet tonight—that's for sure. It's hard to believe this is a Wednesday. By the way, I liked your friends. That Candy is something else. Does she have a boyfriend?"

I glanced over at the dishwasher area and noticed Lance was still standing there, ease dropping on us. His bunny ears were perked up. I looked away from Tim and directly at Lance—smiling like a cat that had eaten the canary, and smugly announced, "Why no, she is as free as a bird."

Lance shot me a dirty look as Tim asked, "Do you think she'd be into me, Steph?"

"Oh, I'm sure she would be. You're just her type."

"Really, you think so?"

"I know so, Tim. Let me set a date up between you two—okay?"

"You'd do that for me? You barely know me."

"I know, but I do know Candy, and I know what she likes. I'll take care of it."

"I'm off Sunday. Do you think you can swing it for then?"

"Let me get back to you, but I'm pretty sure I can."

"Cool. I just met her, but already I can't stop thinking about her."

"Candy does have that affect on men, Tim. This just tells me you are a man, a red, hot-blooded male, and I have yet to meet a man that's not attracted to Candy—and, of course, you're not gay."

"Me—gay? _Hell no!_ The thought of sucking a dick or taking it in the rear grosses me out. Hey, do you know if those two guys sitting across from Shelby and Candy were gay? It sure did seem that way. I think they were trolling me."

"You mean, as in trying to pick you up?"

"Yeah, it sure seemed that way. One of them asked me for my number."

"Really, did you give it to him?"

"I sure didn't. That's not for me in any shape or form. I'm into chicks—not dicks. He gave me his card and told me to give him a ring. I threw it out at the first available trashcan."

"Good for you, Tim," I snickered through smiling teeth while rubbing my thumb and forefinger at Lance. I observed that his countenance seemed to be that of a pouting child, and his bunny ears looked droopy. He knew he was beat. I kindly excused myself at this point, telling Tim I had a bet to settle. He didn't get that at all, but he didn't seem to care what it meant.

He was too wrapped up in his thoughts of Candy, and I was the one that was going to make his dreams come true. He had no idea he had just made mine a reality. I left work that night $100.00 richer, and Lance was $100.00 poorer.

Some men have all the luck, and some don't. _Men_ —they are so easy to defeat—so easy to manipulate. It didn't matter if they were gay or straight, for all their beef and brawn, they couldn't beat a woman—not today, not ever.
Chapter 14: Never in a Million Years

_N_ is for never in a million years. Never in a million years did I imagine I would get asked on a date wearing an old sweatshirt, and a pair of worn jeans, and no makeup. My hair was in a ratty ponytail, and I looked like absolute hell when I met Kevin. I was frantically putting up fliers with Phantom's picture on them. I had left a window open and he had clawed his way through the screen, and now I was in a panic to find him. I just imagined my poor baby wandering the streets, hungry and ill prepared for the outside world. What if he was lured by a Satanist who sacrificed him in some ritual? He was a black cat after all. What if a car hit him? What if someone took a liking to my Phantom and decided to keep him? My mom cat instincts had come out in full force, and nothing else mattered but finding my sweet, sweet Phantom.

I was in front of Thrifty Drug putting up a sign when he approached me. He gave me a smile, and stopped to look at my sign. I noticed the corners of his mouth visibly turn down as he read it. "I'm sorry to see you've lost your cat," he commented with the utmost sincerity in his voice. "Can I do anything to help?"

"I wish you could. Just keep your eyes open. He's a very large, domestic cat with green eyes—and oh, I forgot to mention he's black. He's very friendly."

"I'll do that. It's good to know there's not a black panther running the streets. I feel safer now. By the way, what's your name?"

"Stephanie," I said blushing with embarrassment, wishing I could be anywhere but here, standing in front this good-looking man, looking like crap. His smile was back, and I noticed he had dimples.

"Is there another man in your life beside your cat, Stephanie?"

How much more humiliating could this get? I looked like I just rolled out of bed, and he was actually trying to pick me up. I couldn't help but question whether or not he needed glasses. Either that, or maybe he was just released from prison and was desperate for female companionship—that, or just plain insane. I not only looked bad, but I smelled bad. I hadn't even taken the time to brush my teeth or put deodorant on. I was just plain gross, and yet he seemed interested. What was wrong with this guy?

For all appearances, he looked perfectly normal. Actually, better than normal. He had sparkling white teeth than emanated from a perfect smile, sultry eyes the shade of a rich molasses, a little scruff on the chin (which I like), and a full head of hair. He looked to be about thirty-five, and I had a hard time believing he was single. It occurred to me he might be married, despite that he wasn't wearing a wedding band. Maybe he was just looking for some skank to cheat on his wife with. I certainly looked skanky enough, if that's what he was looking for.

I heard there are guys out there like that. They look for a woman who is easy prey, someone who is unattractive or unkempt, and then they make their move. These predators figure she'll open her legs right up—seeing as men don't give her much attention. I saw some movie once—I don't remember the name of it, where one guy told another that these type of women have no self-esteem. He labeled these liaisons as ugly sex encounters. I recall that he touted these interludes as hot, hot, hot—even better than sex you pay for. Best of all, he added, if you don't call them, they already know why, and if you do, they'll be ready to spread 'em again. I'll be damned if I was going to be some hard up, married guy's ugly sexcapade! This idiot could just go screw himself. I dare him to think of me that way! I may be desperate, but I'm not that desperate...

"Stephanie, I asked you a question," he interrupted my thoughts, startling me. "Are you single? I'd really like to ask you out on a date."

"Are you sure? A real date? I don't even know your name."

"I'm Kevin...well, will you?"

"Will I what?" I answered back with a tinge of anger in my voice, still thinking about ugly sex.

"Will you go on a date with me? I'd like to take you to dinner."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. Yes or no? —I've got to get back to work. I'm on a break."

He had a job too. This was too good to be true. "Yes, yes. I'll go on a date with you. Let me give you my number."

"I don't need it. I already have it."

"You do? Are you some kind of psychic or something?"

"No. I got it off your sign."

"Oh, I completely forgot about that," I said guiltily, feeling like the worst mom cat in the world. My darling Phantom was somewhere in the universe wandering aimlessly looking for his mother, and here I was all distracted by a man. "I better get back to putting these signs up."

"I'll call you tonight. Are you going to be home?"

"I have to work, but I'll get in around 9:30."

"Expect your phone to be ringing when you walk through the door, pretty lady."

_Pretty lady?_ Was he high on something? I was about to object when I remembered what Grandma Rose always said. "A lady always accepts a compliment graciously."

For some reason this guy seemed to think I was a lady, even though I looked like a homeless bag woman, so why should I be the one to taint his delusions? I was sure Grandma Rose would agree.

* * * * *

Things were pretty slow at work tonight and I got home early, around 9:00. I was certain Kevin was not going to call. He'd probably come to his senses by now and realized that he was way out of my league. It's not that he really was, but the way I looked this morning would put me out of anyone's league.

The lesson I learned was don't leave your house without any make-up, and take the time to at least put on some deodorant and brush your teeth because you never know who you're going to meet. For all I knew, Kevin could have been the man I would have married, that is if he wasn't already married, but I had blown my chance. Worst of all, rushing out to look for Phantom had amounted to nothing. No one had called saying they found him yet, and my mind continued to race a mile a minute, thinking of all the horrendous things that could be happening to him right now.

While I was waiting for Kevin _not to call_ , my mind wandered into Fantasyland; I imagined the story Kevin would tell our children about how we met. He would tell little Stephanie how mommy looked really ugly the day he met her, but being an expert at detecting beauty, he knew there was a drop dead gorgeous girl under her mucky appearance. And little Kevin would ask daddy what he liked most about mommy—and he would say mommy's inner beauty, which he saw radiating from her the first second he laid eyes on her.

It was all a very nice dream, and my mind danced through the reverie—spinning my Cinderella tale, when all of a sudden the phone interrupted the trance I had fallen into. It was precisely 9:30. Could this be the start of the rest of my life? It occurred to me that I didn't even know Kevin's last name, so if we did get married, I didn't even know what _Mrs._ I would be. Would I be a Mrs. Jones, or a Mrs. Davis, maybe a Mrs. Meyer? If it were him, which it probably wasn't, that would be the first question I'd ask him—what on earth was his last name?

I picked up the phone holding my breath and exhaled, "Hello—who is this?"

"What do mean, who is this? It's Kevin. I told you I would call at 9:30. Were you expecting another call from some other guy?"

"Oh no, it's not that. I just didn't think you'd call—that's all."

"Why not? I always do what I say I'm going to do. I am a man of my word, Stephanie, and you can count on that. _I'm a say what I'm going to do, and a do what I say kind of guy_."

I didn't know why, but I noticed I was visibly nervous, and I never get like that with a guy—not in person, let alone on the phone. Maybe Kevin was the _one_ , or should I say the _second one_ —unfortunately, Harry was the first.

"I like that about a man," I affirmed. "In fact, I think that's what separates the men from the boys. By the way, what's your last name, Kevin?"

"You tell me yours first, and I'll tell you mine," he said teasingly.

"No, you first," I insisted.

"Ladies first. I'm a gentlemen," he returned.

"Okay, okay, already. My last name is Melendez."

"You're kidding me, right? You can't be a Melendez."

"Why not? I most certainly am."

"You can't be one because I'm a Melendez. How did you know my last name? Are you trying to become Mrs. Melendez already?" he joked.

"No, Kevin. Don't be preposterous. I am a bona fide Melendez, and I have been my entire life—well, almost my entire life."

"I can't believe it. Fate must have brought us together. Just think—if we get _married_ , you wouldn't even have to change your last name, Stephanie!"

I was astounded that he just said the _M_ word. Men never use that word with a woman they've just met. It's natural law of the universe that when women say it, men run for cover. In the book, _The_ _Rules,_ the authors are adamant that a woman refrain from using that _word_ for as long as possible, lest they chase their Mr. Right away. They strongly urge prospective, want to be wives not to even drop the word casually in conversation. Say for instance, you are going to your cousin's wedding, and you happen to mention her marriage to your date. Apparently, just the very utterance of the despicable _word_ is enough to send your prince charming heading for the hills as fast as a coyote chasing after a jackrabbit. And yet, Kevin had just uttered that very word. I was in awe.

"Stephanie, are you listening to me? Can you hear me?"

"Oh yeah, Kevin. I can hear you—loud and clear. I'm here. Sorry, my mind was somewhere else."

"You have a habit of doing that. You must have an over active imagination. So do I. Hey, Stephanie, what are you wearing right now? I want to envision it. Tell me every last detail."

"You really want to know? You're joking, right?"

"No, I really want to know. Tell me. I'm going to close my eyes and picture your pretty face and your long, beautiful brown hair while you do. Go on already."

"Well, okay. It's not much really," I stammered anxiously.

"That sounds good already," he shot back.

I had to admit this guy was quick-witted.

"I have on a cotton chemise."

"What's a chemise? It sounds sexy."

"It's a nightie—the kind you sleep in."

"Is it tight-fitting?" he asked.

"It hugs my curves, if that's what you're asking."

"What color is it, Stephanie?"

"It's white, and it has little pink flowers all over it."

"Can you see through the fabric?"

"Ummm...I never noticed, and that's really none of your business. I don't know that much about you. I am certainly not going to reveal such intimate details on our first phone conversation. What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"I'm sorry. I got carried away. Forgive me. I noticed you said _first phone conversation_. Does that mean there will be more?"

"That's up to you, I guess."

"Then there absolutely, positively will be more to come. I can assure you of that, Miss Melendez. I want to get to know you better. Can I call you tomorrow—same time?"

"I'd like that, Kevin," I said, feeling a bit more at ease by the end of our conversation.

"It's a date, sweetheart. Be waiting by the phone. And oh—Stephanie, wear something different. I want to keep things _stimulating_ ," he commanded with an air of breathiness. I realized at that moment that I really liked the tone of Kevin's voice. They say women fall in love between the ears, and if that's true, I could sure hear myself falling for Kevin.

My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest as I hung up the phone. I felt super turned on, and I couldn't explain why. It was just a phone conversation, for God's sake! I reached between my legs, and I felt a familiar wetness there. It was time to break out my trusty ol' vibrator—the savior of every single girl.

* * * * *

I realized that Kevin had not even asked me on a date. Wasn't he supposed to ask me on a date? I clearly recall him saying he wanted to take me out when I met him outside the _Thrifty Drug_. Maybe he would propose dinner when he called tonight.

My day had been a busy one. I had the day off from work, but I had a paper due on Friday, and I had spent the day in the library doing research. I was comparing Pecola Breedlove in Tony Morrison's _The Bluest Eye_ to Faulkner's Caddy Compson in _The Sound and the Fury_ , which I was finding was no easy task. I didn't like the works of William Faulkner. I didn't see what genius people saw in his writing. It was just a bunch of garbled mumbo jumbo as far as I was concerned. My thesis statement was: _Both Pecola Breedlove and Caddy Compson sacrifice themselves to men in families that are devoid of love: both are disempowered and objectified by men, but Caddy proves stronger than Pecola in the end_.

After looking through dozens of periodicals and reading scholarly essay after scholarly essay, my brain was about to burst. I got home around 8:30 and walked into an empty apartment. Phantom still had not come home, and my answering machine wasn't blinking. No leads yet as to his whereabouts.

I went straight to the fridge and poured myself a glass of Yellow Tail Chardonnay. I turned on the television and an episode about _Child Stars: Where are They Now?_ happened to be on the _E Channel_. I fixed myself a cheese quesadilla while I listened to the background noise. I threw a few baby carrots and celery sticks on the plate for roughage, poured some salsa over the quesadilla and sat myself at the breakfast bar next to the phone, waiting for Kevin. Tonight, I was confident he would call. After all, he did say he was a man of his word.

After my first glass of wine, I decided to change into something more comfortable—something that would excite Kevin. I put on a pair of pink, cotton booty shorts and a high-rise tank top of the same color with butterflies on it. This was one of my favorite outfits to sleep in. _I think Kevin will like this_ , I thought, as I pulled the shorts from my crack.

I poured myself another glass of wine. I needed to wind down. My brain still hurt. It was 9:00 now, and the _True Hollywood Story of Jennifer Aniston_ was on. I wonder if she had the same problems with men that I did. The woman was married to Brad Pitt, so I guess not. By the time the phone rang, Jennifer had met Brad. It was 9:30; he was right on time.

"Hi, Kevin," I said as soon as I picked up the phone.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked.

"You said you're a man of your word—right?"

"That I am. I've been thinking of you all day, Stephanie. What are you wearing?"

"Does it matter? Can't we talk about something else first, Kevin?"

"Like what? I can't think of anything more interesting than that."

"Well, you haven't asked me out yet, for one. You said you wanted to take me on a date—remember?"

"I'll take you to dinner. Of course, I remember. I just want to get to know you a little better before our first date...so, what are you wearing?"

"Well, I have my favorite pink booty shorts on."

"Pink booty shorts, huh? How short are they?"

"My ass hangs out of them. Is that short enough for you?"

"Ummm... Sounds delectable. What else?"

"I have on a matching tank top with butterflies on it."

"Are your nipples hard? Can I see your belly button?"

"Well, yeah, since you ask, I guess my nipples are kind of hard. My apartment must be a little chilly. And yeah, my belly button is showing."

"Uhhhh... ohhhh... That sounds soooooo good, Stephanie..."

"Kevin, Kevin, are you still there?"

"Sorry, Stephanie. I kind of lost myself there for a moment."

"Are you back?"

"I'm here. How 'bout dinner tomorrow night?"

"Okay, I thought you'd never ask. What time are you picking me up?"

"How about 7:00—what's your address?

"2420 Louise Lane."

"I'll be there at 7:00 o'clock sharp...and Stephanie, wear something sexy."

I hung up the phone in a stupor, partly from the wine and partly because I was not sure exactly what had just happened, but somehow it felt shamefully sinful. It was time to pull out the vibrator again.

I didn't think Grandma Rose would approve.

* * * * *

What to wear? What to wear? He said sexy. Hmmm...well, I didn't want to look like a hussy. No man wants to marry a hussy. I needed something sexy, but yet sophisticated, with a touch of _I could be your wife_ added in. I decided on a knee-length black skirt that flared out, paired with a silk, capped sleeved blouse. The blouse was black with pink and white pansies spattered about it. It had a scoop neck and the sleeves fell slightly off the shoulders. It was very sexy, yet classy. I was certain Kevin would like it. My sexiest black heels finished off the outfit. I put on some dangle earrings that matched the pink pansies on the blouse and applied some pink lipstick. I wore my hair pulled back in a rhinestone barrette, and I left some wisps hanging from my temples.

I was feeling kind of nervous about this date. This was no ordinary guy; he said the word _marriage_ , which must mean he was ready to settle down. I better not blow this date. My prospects were dwindling as I got older. I didn't want to die single in an old folk's home. I wanted someone to share my life with. Maybe that would be Kevin.

He arrived promptly at 7:00, as promised. I opened the door, and he had a big smile on his face; he was holding a bouquet of pink roses. _I thought of my mother's wedding_. "You look beautiful, Stephanie. Wow, I don't remember you looking this way, but I knew you were something to look at. You clean up real nice. I brought you some flowers."

"Those are lovely, Kevin. How did you know I love pink roses?" I said, lying through my teeth. "Thank you. Come on in while I put them in some water."

"Have you found your cat?"

"No. Phantom is still in limbo somewhere. I have lost a lot sleep thinking about him. He's never had to rough it in the _real_ world. His momma spoils him. He's a lap kitty. I just hope no one has cat napped him. He's such a friendly boy."

"I'm sure he'll turn up. He's probably just sowing some wild oats. He's a male, Stephanie. We don't like to be coddled."

"Yeah, maybe you're right. I do baby him too much. Where are we going for dinner?"

"Do you like cheesecake?"

"I sure do, but my hips aren't a big fan of it."

"I wanted to take you to the _Cheese Cake Factory_ in Old Towne Pasadena. Let's get going. I'm starving."

I grabbed my purse and headed out the door behind Kevin. I noticed that he had a nicely-shaped rear. That was a must in my book. I don't like guys without an ass.

He opened the passenger door to his shiny, black Lexus and I sidled onto the leather seats. They were a little hot against my legs. I was already feeling hot—I didn't need any help. He started up the car, and Madonna's _Lucky Star_ blared from the speakers. I always liked that song. It seemed like a good omen.

When we got to the restaurant, there was a wait, and Kevin told the hostess we'd be in the bar. He was speaking my language already. He ordered us both apple martinis and when they came he made a toast to my beauty, especially to my shapely legs, which he wasn't aware would be so divine.

The night passed in a haze of apple martinis and cheesecake. The theme of the night seemed to be apple. He ordered us a salad with caramelized walnuts and chopped apples, followed by an apple wood barbecued chicken dish—finished off with a slice of cinnamon apple strudel cheesecake. We shared everything, and Kevin fed me throughout dinner, which I found tantalizing. It was a perfect date. I was pondering asking him up for a nightcap when he dropped me off. Would he get the wrong idea if I did?

We left the restaurant about 9:00 and by the time we pulled up to my apartment complex, I had made my decision. I was going to ask him up; I didn't want the night to end.

"Well, Stephanie, I had a great time. Let's do this again. I'll call you when I get home—let's say around 9:30. Change into something more comfortable."

"Don't leave so quickly, Kevin. I was hoping you'd come up for a nightcap."

"I've drunk too much already. I think I better get going."

"How about a cup of coffee to sober you up a bit? Just one—I don't want this night to end."

"Well, since you put it that way, okay."

I led Kevin up to my second story hole in the wall and instructed him to have a seat while I made our coffee. "Do you take yours with cream and sugar?" I asked from the tiny cubicle that was my kitchenette.

"Sure—but easy on the sugar, extra cream. Are you going to change into something more comfortable, Miss Melendez?"

"What did you have in mind, Mr. Melendez?"

"How 'bout that pink outfit you had on yesterday."

"Are you sure you're ready to see all of this in all of that?"

"Hmm-hmm...you don't know what you did to me thinking of you in those pink booty shorts last night."

"No, I don't, but I think I have some idea," I said, handing him his coffee. "Let me go slip into that for you. I'll be right back."

I stepped into the bathroom and quick as Houdini, slipped into my pink tank and booty shorts. I decided to keep my heels on. I sprayed myself with body spray and made my grand entrance. Kevin had a smile on his face a mile wide.

"Well, Miss Melendez, you have over met my expectations. You are much better in 3-D. Your phone description did not do you justice. That is some outfit you have on there. Come over here and sit next to Mr. Melendez." He patted the futon and set his coffee on the table.

"Do you like it?" I said coyly.

"Like it? I love it. You should buy one in every color of the rainbow, so when we're married, I'll never get bored. You do want to get married one day, don't you?"

"Sure, but this is only our first date."

"Don't you believe in love at first sight, Stephanie? When I saw you putting up that lost cat flier, I knew you were the girl for me. I just felt it like nothing I have every felt before. If you don't find your cat, we'll get another one. Every home should have a kitten to call their own. Come a little closer, Stephanie," he requested, as he moved in for a kiss.

His lips felt like velvet against mine, and as I got closer to him, he reached his hand up my tank and deftly started rubbing my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I could feel my juices starting to flow as he stuck his tongue in my mouth. While he moved his hand to my other nipple, he gently pushed me down on my futon and started to grind his pelvis into mine. I could feel his sizable girth rubbing up against me, and I let out an audible gasp.

"Do you like that, _Mrs._ _Melendez_ ," he groaned and flipped me over so that I was now on top of him.

"Uhh-huh," I sighed. "I likeee very much, Mr. Melendez."

I leaned into kiss him and he got a full view of my breasts in his face. He pulled my tank aside and started sucking on them. "Ummm...you taste yummy," he moaned as he reached his hand up my booty shorts and into the wet valley between my thighs. I was just about to unbutton his pants when...

The weirdest thing happened. He bolted straight upward, like he was a fireman hearing the alarm bell go off in the middle of the night.

"I've got to go, Stephanie. I'm taking my mom out to breakfast tomorrow. She likes to eat early. Sorry to cut things short. I had a good time. I'll call you—okay."

And just like that he was up and out the door, leaving me utterly baffled as to what had just occurred. It was time to pull out my vibrator again. The batteries were getting low. I'd better change them, or I'd be left out in the cold next time I needed it.

_Never in a million years_ did I think the night would end like this.
Chapter 15: Operation Fashion Show

_O_ is for operation fashion show. I woke up on the futon, still in my booty shorts and tank (a reminder of last night's fiasco), to a ringing phone. It was my mom. She wanted me to be in a fashion show. Her women's club was putting it on to raise money for charity. It was being held at the senior center and they desperately needed models. I begged her not to make me do it, but she guilted me into it. I could still hear her voice ringing in my ear as I hung up the phone. "Your sister Marilyn is doing it for her mother. She's a good daughter that cares about the starving orphans in Africa. You only care about yourself, Stephanie. Just be happy you're not a starving orphan in Africa." When I finally broke down and said _yes_ , she insisted that I call Candy and Shelby too. They had to model as well, and she sternly ordered me not to take no for an answer.

I called Candy first. Maybe she could figure out what happened last night. If anyone was an expert on men, it was her. It was Saturday, and hopefully she would be home. This whole thing about Kevin was really bothering me. What could I have done to chase him off so fast? The phone rang five times before she picked up.

The first words out of her mouth were, "Do you friggin' know what time it is, Steph?"

"Yeah, it's 8:00 in the morning. What's your problem? Somebody needs some coffee."

"No, somebody needs some sleep. I was out late last night with Tim. He took me out for Cuban food and then we went to listen to some big band music at Jupiter's. I had an out of this world night, if you know what I mean. I need my rest, Steph. This better be important."

"Well, it is, kind of. I have two reasons for calling. I need your expert opinion, and my mom wants me to ask you to be in a fashion show."

"Did you say a fashion show?"

"Yes, I did— _a fashion show_."

"Are you going to be in it?"

"Yes, unfortunately—I am going to be in it."

"If you're going to be in it too, I'll do it. What kind of clothes are we modeling?"

"Let me put it to you this way. The fashion show is going to be at the senior center. Need I say more?"

"Forget it then. I can't be seen in old lady clothes."

"No one you know will be there, Candy. It's for charity. The women's group is raising money for starving orphans in Africa."

"Do you think I care about starving orphans in Africa? I've got my own problems. You wouldn't believe how big Tim is. I'm so sore today. Can they raise money for a thirty-year-old woman who needs to have a torn labia repaired? Owww, it hurts to sit up."

"I don't think so. Nobody is going to have much sympathy for you. I'm sure you had a good time acquiring your injury. Come on, Candy. Do it with me. My mom says we'll be modeling a line called Raymond's and Rapier's. Yes, the designer does cater to older women, but my mom assures me it is very fashionable. I'm begging you, Candy. Don't make me do this alone."

"All right, but I wouldn't do this for anyone else but you. With a name like that, the designers must be gay. Their clothes can't be all that bad. Is Shelby going to join us in the geriatric fun?"

"I don't know yet, I still have to call her. I need to talk to you about my date last night."

"Can I at least have my coffee first?"

"Yeah, go start making it while I give you all the details. You know that guy Kevin that I mentioned to you? Well, we went out last night and the most bizarre thing happened. We went to the Cheesecake Factory and we had the most wonderful dinner. He fed me all night long. I felt like a goddess in a modern day Greek myth. Everything was going so well, I decided to invite him up to my apartment. He was reluctant at first, but I talked him into it. I made us some coffee, and he asked me to change into my pink booty short outfit. I was feeling pretty secure because he was so attentive towards me all night. He seemed to really want to see me in it, and I didn't want to disappoint him."

"Yeah, so what's the problem?" Candy questioned me.

"Well, we ended up making out, and things were getting pretty steamy. We we're on the verge of having sex, when he bolted up like he had seen a ghost and made an excuse to leave."

"Okay—what was his excuse?"

"He said he was having an early breakfast with his mother."

"Well, that explains everything," Candy said assuredly. "He has Madonna Whore Syndrome."

"What the hell is that?" I asked, utterly perplexed by her diagnosis.

"It's when a guy can't have sex with a woman he sees as a potential wife because he equates her with his mother. Elvis Presley had it. Just be happy you found out before you married him. These men seek out prostitutes to have sex with, or they have affairs because they just can't bring themselves to have sex with their wives—who also happen to be the mother of their children. This guy is really screwed up. My advice, don't see him again, Stephanie."

"But I really like him. We were going to get married and have a cat together. What am I going to say to him when he calls me?"

"I don't know, but drop him like a hot potato."

"Wow, what a difference a day makes. Yesterday, I was ready to get married, and now I am _prospectless—again_. Life's a bitch."

"No, it isn't. What sucks is your attitude. Stop worrying about finding Mr. Right. That didn't work the first time—remember? Just have a good time like me. When the stars are aligned, he will come into your life."

"Just like he came into your life last night?"

"Well, yeah—kind of. Have you been to Jupiter lately?"

"No, I haven't had sex in months. I was hoping last night I would get lucky, but all I got was a vibrator that was low on battery power, and I didn't have any replacement batteries. I had to use my fingers."

"Now, that's a bitch. I've got to go, honey. Tim is taking me to brunch—not his mother. Remember what I said, Steph, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, dump him. I will—like a hot potato."

"And oh, Steph, don't forget to pick up some batteries."

* * * * *

"Hey, Shelby, answer the phone. It's me, Stephanie. Wake up, Shels— _wakie, wakie, it's time for eggs and bacie_."

"I am not amused, Stephanie. What do you want at this hour? I was in the middle of a dream about Pierce Bronson. This better be good."

"Well, I have a couple of reasons for calling. I need to ask you a question about my date last night, and my mom wants you to be in a fashion show."

"Did you say a fashion show?"

"Yes, I did— _a fashion show_."

"The answer is _no!_ I haven't been in a fashion show since high school, when I modeled dresses in the prom fashion show. I vowed never to do it again."

"Come on, Shelby. Candy is going do it. It's for a good cause. All the proceeds go to benefit starving orphans in Africa. My sister is going to be in it too."

"I said _no_ , Stephanie. The last fashion show I was in they put me in a yellow, flounced, satin monstrosity. Never again—I promised myself. _No way!_ "

"All right, all right. I get the message. I guess there will just be one more starving orphan in the world, thanks to you."

"I won't be guilted into this, Stephanie. Forget it."

"Okay, okay, but can I at least ask you the question about my date last night, _Miss Grouchy Poo_?"

"Can I at least have my coffee first?"

"Yeah, go start making it while I tell you all about my dilemma."

"It's too early for dilemmas, Stephanie. It's a good thing you're my best friend. Go ahead."

"Well, you remember that guy, Kevin, I told you about?"

"Yeah, the one you met while putting up your lost cat poster? Uhh-huh...what about him?"

"Well, we went on a date last night, and it was magical, that was till he remembered he had to go to breakfast early with his mother. Candy diagnosed him as having _Madonna Whore_ _Syndrome_."

"I'm missing something here, Steph. The guy remembers he has to go to breakfast with his mother, so he has _Madonna Whore Syndrome_. I don't get it?"

"We were just about to have sex when he remembered."

"Oh well, that's another story, Candy's right. Now I get it. Too bad, Steph—you haven't greased your wheel in awhile. I presume you didn't have sex with him."

"You have presumed correctly, but he said he'll call me."

"If he calls, don't answer. Those kinds of guys are all messed up, Steph. You don't want to get involved. I went out with a guy like that once, and while we did have sex, he kept getting his mother and I mixed up during intercourse. He called me "mom" on more than one occasion while we were in the _act_. His wires were all crossed. I think that disorder has something to do with a genetic defect. Take my advice—don't answer the phone."

"Really? But I liked him so much. He was going to make me Mrs. Melendez."

"You're already a Melendez. You don't need him, or his mommy problems. Stay away, or you'll be sorry."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Don't do it. If you do, you'll regret it."

"All right, all right. I won't pick up the phone. If I screen my phone calls for a while, you'll know why."

"I really have to get going. I'm showing a client and his wife a property. It has a mother-in-law house attached. They're thinking of moving in with her, but they need some distance. Now, there's a man who wants to make his wife _scream_ in the bedroom, without his mother hearing. Find one like that—a normal one. This guy's all screwed up. Sorry to disappoint you, Steph, but for once, I agree with Candy."

"I've got to get off the phone, Shel. I have to go concentrate on _not_ answering it."

"Good girl. I'll talk to you later. And Steph, if it makes you feel better, I'll go to the fashion show."

* * * * *

I wanted to get a male perspective on all this, so I called Lance. When I explained the situation to him, the first words out of his mouth were, "Maybe he's gay." After I convinced him that he wasn't gay, he said, "This guy has got major problems, Stephanie. No self-respecting gay man would get that close to booty and run away. There's some kind of psychosis going on there. You better stay away, honey."

So, the consensus was unanimous; all my friends agreed on how to handle the Kevin situation, but I still wasn't sure I agreed with them.

Five days went by, and still no call from Kevin. There were no opportunities not to answer the phone, and while I wanted to dump him, it looked like I'd never get my chance. The more I thought about it, the madder I got. How dare he do that to me? I wanted answers. Maybe Shelby and Candy were wrong about him. He said he would call me. Why hadn't he called? I decided if he didn't phone me by tomorrow, I would call him. I knew Shelby, Candy, and Lance would kill me, but I just had to know what the hell happened. How could things go from him wanting me to be Mrs. Melendez to _zilch_? There had to be a reasonable answer. Maybe there was a family emergency that came up, or he had to fly out of town on a last minute business trip. Maybe he was in a serious accident. There had to be a reason. He seemed so nice—so _real_.

There was still no call by the time tomorrow came around, so I fathomed all the courage I had and dialed the seven numbers. It was already Thursday; almost a week had gone by since our date. As I waited for him to pick up, I almost lost my nerve and hung up, but on the fifth ring, I heard his cheery voice on the other end. I guess he wasn't in an accident— _What an_ _asshole_ _,_ I thought to myself.

"Hello, this is Kevin. Who's this?"

"This is Stephanie—Stephanie Melendez. You said you were going to call and you never did. Is everything okay with you?"

"Oh yeah, Stephanie. Everything's great. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just dandy. So, why haven't you called me?"

"I've been real busy, Steph. I've been thinking about you, though."

"You have?"

"Yeah—you are the kind of girl who makes a guy think."

"Really? What have you been thinking about me?"

"About our phone conversations. Those were hot."

"And...what else have you been thinking about me?"

"About your pink booty shorts."

"That's all?"

"Well, yeah—that, and how I can never go out with you again."

"Why's that?"

"Well, you're not the kind of girl I can take home to my mother."

"And why the hell not, Kevin?"

"If you were willing to _let me in_ that quickly, Steph, then you're not the girl for me. Sorry, that's just who I am."

"Who you are is an asshole, Kevin. You seemed to be pretty interested in doing _it_ yourself at the time."

"I'm a guy, of course I was interested. I'm just disappointed. I thought you were the _one_. I can't get over what happened. That's not the kind of woman I want to marry."

"This is insanity, Kevin. We only went on one date."

"That's the point. I'd never marry a girl who gives it up on the first date."

"Well, screw you, Kevin. I never want to see you again either. That's what I was calling to tell you." _Click_.

I didn't want to hear another word from that asshole's mouth! _Men!_ That's what I say. It's okay for them to sleep around, but if you do the same, you get labeled as a whore. This just made me want to screw every man in the universe, just to prove I could. I never understood Candy so well as I did at that moment. It also became glaringly apparent to me why Kevin wasn't married. He probably lived with his mother, for all I knew.

I fumed out the door on my way to the fashion show fitting. No men better try and make pleasantries with me at this Raymond's and Rapiers. I just might cut their heads off, even if they are gay.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I noticed my mom's car and Candy's were already there. I slammed the door behind me as I entered the store and huffed on over to them.

"Where's Marilyn?" I asked my mom.

"She's in the dressing room. She got here before us. What's the matter with you?"

"She didn't get _any_ when she thought she was," answered Candy.

"Well, don't take it out on us, Steph. I'm your mother—remember?"

"Don't talk to me about mothers—Mother."

"Her date has _Madonna Whore Syndrome,_ " Candy explained.

"What on earth is that?" my mom asked.

"It would take too long to explain, Mrs. Melendez. Just know it's not a good thing. Let's get going on this, girls. I have a project I'm working on right now. _Lacy Lady Lingerie_ loved my first ad campaign so much; they've commissioned me to do another one. They raved about the devil horns I crowned the models with, and they loved the glittery, red pitchforks I had them holding. Mr. Davenport, the top CEO for _Lacy_ , said he'd take a girl wearing that lingerie any day over one with angel wings. Their sales have sky rocketed since the ad ran."

"I'm sure they have, Candy. I saw the commercial," my mom commented sarcastically. "They don't seem to cater to my age group. If I wore that kind of underwear and it rode up my ass, I might never get it out."

"Ha ha, Mom— That's too much _information_. Let's get this fitting over with. I have to work tonight."

* * * * *

Saturday, the day of the fashion show, arrived in no time. Neither Candy, nor I, were happy about what we were modeling. Mr. Raymond and Mr. Rapier kept telling us that the clothes we were wearing were not about us. We didn't have to like them. We just had to pretend we were walking hangers as we sauntered down the runway and _sell, sell, sell_. We were offered a twenty percent discount on anything we wanted to purchase, but that was not going to happen. I couldn't wait to tear these clothes from my body. Everything fit me big and had elastic waistbands. _Monochrome_ also seemed very in fashion with the elderly. All my outfits were one color— Each was comprised of elastic-banded, cotton pants, a matching camisole, and an oversized jacket with very large shoulder pads. The pastel pink made me want to puke, and the green reminded me of what came out Linda Blair's mouth in _The Exorcist_. The yellow and lavender were equally as putrid. The only outfit that was two colors was my formal gown; it was a deep purple and covered in silver sequins. It was gaudy as all could be, but it was better than the rest. I could picture a woman in her seventies looking good in it, but it didn't do much for me.

I peeked from behind the curtains that were shielding the stage from view to see how many people had showed up. The room was filled to capacity with seniors chatting and eating desserts that were part of the price of admission. Shelby sat dessert-less, front and center. Lance was on her left, and Harley was to her right.

I went to look for Candy and found her in the changing room trying to pull down her bubble gum pink cami. I startled her when I came up behind her and she saw my reflection in the mirror. "What am I going to do with this outfit, Stephanie? Do you have any scissors?"

"No. I don't think Mr. Raymond or Rapier would appreciate you chopping up their garments."

"I know, but I simply can't wear this out there. I look like I'm the cover girl for _Senior Living_ magazine."

"And I don't? Let's just get this over with. Remember, it's for charity."

"Charity, smarity. I have a reputation to hold up as a goddess of seduction. I couldn't seduce an octogenarian wearing this thing."

"Don't underestimate yourself, Candy. You still look sexy to me."

"Steph, promise me we'll never let ourselves dress like this."

"That's a promise, Candy. Come on."

We walked out of the dressing room and found my mom huddling everybody off stage left where we would enter onto the stage from. "Are you ready to make your modeling debut, girls? You both look beautiful," she encouraged enthusiastically, winking at us.

The music started up, a jazzy melody, and the curtains parted. My sister was the first to go, followed by my mother, then Candy and I. The audience ooohhhhed and ahhhhed as we strutted our stuff and pivoted, then made our way back behind the stage to do a quick change into the next getup. I observed that while most everyone was looking at us appreciatively, Shelby sat stunned, with her mouth open, each time we stepped on the runway. Lance was vigorously clapping his hands, and Harley was snapping pictures.

After the four _m_ _onochrome_ horrors, I changed into my formal gown. It had an a-line bodice and thick straps, and my shoulders were draped with a sheer, silver wrap that was held together by a gaudy broach. The audience broke into a wild applause as I walked out onto the stage, a whirl of purple and silver. For a second, I almost felt pretty, until I remembered what I was wearing. By this time, Shelby couldn't contain her laughter, and I felt like sticking my tongue out at her, but I refrained. I would get even with her later.

There we all stood on stage, looking out at a standing ovation. My mom in her red number, my sister, Marilyn, clad in blue organza, Candy in a yellow, shimmery thing, and myself in my purple and silver. We were wearing formal gowns that Mr. Raymond billed as the ultimate dinner attire for any elegant cruise. As we stood there showing our best beauty queen smiles to a throng of blue-haired old ladies that were bringing down the house with their raucous applause, we took up each other's hands and took a bow. As we walked off the stage, I was already undoing the broach on my wrap, almost tearing it off.

I made excuses to leave right away. I did have to work tonight. I needed some time to nurse my broken ego after the whole Kevin affair. I may have survived _Operation Fashion Show_ , but my ego had taken a beating, and I needed to recover in my own time.

I straggled up my apartment stairs, and when I reached the top of the landing—much to my amazement, there was my Phantom waiting for me to open the front door. It was like he had never been gone, except for the fact that he looked visibly thinner and his claws were worn down. I picked him up and cradled him like he was my baby, and I felt better already.
Chapter 16: Pre

_P_ is for _pre_. _Pre_ has always been my favorite _pre_ fix. There are so many great words that begin with the prefix _pre,_ like: _pre_ sentation, _pre_ menstrual, _pre_ occupation, _pre_ tentious, _pre_ lude, _pre_ posterous, _pre_ -ejaculation, _pre_ vented. The list goes on and on.

It just so happened I had a presentation to give today. I couldn't believe it, but I was almost done with my first semester at Loyola Marymount. The year 2002 was looming ahead, and while I hadn't found love, I had made great strides in my educational goals. I was passing all my classes with A's, and I had made quite a splash on the LMU campus. I had numerous friends, Veronica among them (she had gotten over the fact I wasn't a lesbian), and I was thriving academically and socially.

Life was good on the day of my presentation, aside from the fact that I was premenstrual. I was bloated and feeling moody, but I took a _Midol_ , drank my coffee, ate a banana muffin, grabbed my graphic representation of the poem I was presenting on, and headed out the door. We were studying the _Romantics_ and I was presenting on Robert Blake's "Tyger, Tyger Burning Bright." We had to explicate the poem line by line to the class, while relating it to our visual representation. I had painted a tiger against a black background leaping through a ring of fire into a forest of trees. On the upper right hand corner, I had a hand reaching down from the heavens, which represented the possibility it was God that "Dare frame thy [tyger's] fearful symmetry," as Mr. Blake put it. I really liked the _Romantics,_ particularly Blake. I was relieved when I was assigned this poem.

The traffic was light today, and I arrived at school in no time. I rehearsed on a patch of grass under a tree for about 20 minutes, and then I went to class. I had volunteered to go first, and Mr. Wagner, my Survey of Poetry instructor, nodded and gave me a reassuring smile as I went to stand before the class. I wasn't nervous at all. Michael, my fellow classmate who sat front and center, followed my every movement and seemed entranced by my analysis. I knew my presentation was good, but I had no idea it was mesmerizing. I finished up by commenting on the question that Blake leaves us with at the end of his poem, that being from where does creation leap? My final words were, "That remains up to the reader and what he puts his faith into."

Everyone applauded as I took my seat, and after class, Michael came up and told me how brilliant I was up there on the stage. He knew I was smart, but he had no idea that I was such a genius at analyzing poetry. He invited me out for a cup of coffee to celebrate my, as he put it, "perfect performance."

Michael was kind of cute. He wore his hair in a buzz cut, the kind that you just want to run your fingers through because it looks so fuzzy. I usually didn't go for guys that wore glasses, but his looked good on him. They magnified his green eyes. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and I liked that. Plus, he had a nice smile. I hadn't paid him much attention before today. We had worked in a group together once, but he hadn't stood out to me at the time. Now that he was my biggest fan, he had caught my attention.

Over coffee at _Starbucks_ , I found out that he was twenty-eight— _better than eighteen_ , and he lived with his parents— _not good._ He had a degree in biochemistry, but after working in the field for the last few years, he discovered he hated it, and now he was pursuing a degree in English. Like myself, he wanted to teach— _good_. We had something in common. I learned that he had been married before, but he didn't have children— _thank God_. His marriage fell apart because he was too young and he didn't know what he wanted at the time. That's what he claimed anyways, but I knew first hand there were always two sides to a story. He told me he was just staying with his parents until he finished getting his teaching credential, which should be completed by the spring of next year, if he took summer classes. Then, he'd be on his own once he found a job.

When he finished telling me his life story, he asked to hear mine. "So, Stephanie, tell me about you. Tell me everything fascinating there is to know."

"That's a tall order, Michael. I don't know if I can fill it. There's not all that much that's fascinating—really."

"I doubt that. Every person is fascinating in his or her own right, and someone as beautiful as you should be extra captivating. You've got my attention, and you haven't told me a thing about you yet."

"Let's see, where to start? I was married too, but my husband left me for a floozy named Suzie. (I generally would never share this information with a prospective date, but he had already told me he was divorced, so I figured it was okay.) I work at Mc Kee's as a waitress, a restaurant where they make me dress up as Wonder Woman. I have a cat named Phantom that I named after my favorite musical—the _Phantom of the Opera_. He ran away recently, but thankfully he just came back home. What else do you want to know?" I was careful to leave out the fact that I was four years older than him.

"I'd like to know, do you have a boyfriend? Are you seeing anyone?"

"Not right now. I'm too busy with school and work to pay much attention to men at the moment."

"There's always time for romance, Stephanie. Has anyone ever told you, ' _Thou art more lovely and temperate than a summer's day_ '?"

I felt like saying _Cut the sappy, Shakespearean crap, Michael_ , but I didn't want to come off as cynical. "No, I haven't, but I have heard that ' _I walk in beauty like the night_.'"

" _Of cloudless climes and starry skies_?" he added to the famous lines from the Lord Byron poem.

"Yeah, something like that."

"Well, I can tell you that ' _all that's best of dark and bright meets in the aspect of [your] eyes_ ,' Stephanie. Has anyone ever told you that?"

"You're the first," I answered, thinking how impressed I was that he had memorized the poem.

"So, Stephanie, what do you do with yourself when you're not working or at school?"

_Let's see_ , I thought to myself, _masturbate because I'm a thirty-two year old woman with raging hormones, and I can't find a guy who will have sex with me_... Not lately anyway.

"Nothing much, really. I'm your typical working student without a social life."

"Let's go out sometime, Stephanie."

"I thought we were out— _right now_."

"No, I mean, like on a real date. What do you say? Do a lonely guy living with his parents a favor."

"All right," I agreed. "Say when and where, and if my schedule's free, it's a date."

"How about going out tonight?"

"Actually, I was planning on washing my hair, but for you, I'll clear my schedule."

"I feel honored. I'd like to take you to a really great place in L.A. called the _Stinking Rose_. Have you heard of it?"

"Is that the place known for its garlic dishes?"

"That's the place. They have awesome food there. How about it?"

_Not a good place for a first date_ , I thought. I'd have to be sure to have _Altoids_ in my purse, just in case Michael went in for a first kiss at the end of the night. "Well, I have to go home and change, and I don't live close. My apartment is in Glendale. How about you give me a few hours and I'll meet you there at around 6:00?"

"That sounds good. Do you know where the restaurant is?"

"Isn't it on La Cienega, near the Beverly Center?"

"Yeah, that's the place. I'll see you at 6:00, Stephanie. Don't be late."

* * * * *

As I drove home, my thoughts were preoccupied with Michael. He seemed like a nice enough guy, nice enough to have sex with anyway. I was in a real drought lately, and I was getting tired of having sex by myself. The fact that he lived with his parents lost him points in my book, but the fact that he was an English major gained him points. He seemed reasonably intelligent, and that was important. He was romantic too. He didn't seem pretentious, and that was a must. There's nothing worse than a guy that's too stuck on himself. This Michael might be okay.

By the time I got home, it was almost 3:00. I decided to draw a bath and wind down. I'd take my time getting ready. I had a couple of hours. I popped in a Kenny G CD, put some rose-scented bath beads in the water and waited for the tub to fill. Just as I was getting ready to step in, the phone rang. "Darn it. The water is going to get cold," I commented to Phantom, who was waiting to keep me company. It was one of our rituals. I bathed, he watched.

"Hello."

"Hey, Stephanie. This is Kevin."

"Kevin, Kevin Melendez?"

"Yeah, I'm that Kevin. I was just wondering how you're doing these days?"

"I'm doing fabulous. In fact, I have a date tonight. How about yourself?"

"I don't have a date tonight, but I'm fine. I was just thinking I made a mistake about you. Can you put what happened behind us and go out with me sometime?"

"Are you serious? I told you I never wanted to see you again and I haven't changed my mind."

"Okay, your loss. I won't be giving you another chance—you're sure?"

"As sure as I am you live with your mother."

"Hey, how'd you know that?"

"Some things a girl just knows. Have a nice life, Kevin." _Click_.

"Phantom, you'll never believe who that was. It was that Kevin-jerk. Mama has a date with Michael tonight. I think you'll like him much better than that idiot." I bent down to pet him and then stepped in the tub. It was still hot.

My preoccupations of Michael continued as I listened to Kenny jam on the sax. I wondered if Michael would be as smooth in bed as Kenny was with his saxophone. I once heard an interview with Kenny in which he said, "Playing the sax is like making love to a beautiful woman." I could see that. Some of his music sure sounded erotic. Would Michael be _big_ or _small,_ _skinny_ or _wide_? He had big hands, and you know what they say about men with big hands. I looked down at Phantom, who sat still as a sentinel, staring at me. "What do you want?" I asked him. He just continued to stare and purr and then he started licking my hand that was sticking out of the tub, which is exactly what I hoped Michael would do. Only, I hoped he'd be licking somewhere else.

_My God_ , I thought to myself. _I need to get laid soon_. I couldn't stop thinking about sex, sex with Michael, sex with anyone. What was wrong with me? According to Candy, nothing. Shelby and Lance agreed with her wholeheartedly. Shelby said that I was just a normal, thirty-two year old female who had needs like any other woman. Lance said that everybody needs sex—it's like water. You dry up without it. He encouraged me to find a river my body could drink up. I guess they were right. Maybe Michael could quench my sexual thirst tonight.

I got out of the bath and dried myself off. I put my sexiest bra and panties on, _just in case_. I decided to wear my hair down to give myself the best advantage. I put on some tight black pants and a blazer to match, layered it with a Kelly green blouse that I left unbuttoned one button too many. I looked down and saw that my push-up bra was doing its job. I got out my strappy black high heels that showed off my red toenails, and applied some red lipstick to match. I checked my purse to make sure I had some condoms in it, and I was ready to go. It was 4:30, but I thought I'd better get on the road. I was sure to hit traffic at this hour.

Preoccupations of Michael kept me entertained on my long journey to the _Stinking Rose_. I thought of his analysis of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's sonnet, "How Do I Love Thee." In his explication, he upheld it as the classic demonstration of love and passion, and declared that despite the fact that it was written during the Romantic period, over two-hundred years ago, it was every bit as relevant today. In his words, "There are only so many ways one can express love." His graphic representation of the poem depicted a woman holding a rose, a classic symbol of romance, and she was staring off into the distance at the setting sun. I thought he really captured the essence of Browning's poem well in his presentation, further evidence that he was a true romantic, which is just what I needed in my life right now.

I arrived at the _Stinking Rose_ at precisely 6:00 p.m. Michael was waiting in the lobby for me. He gave me his beautiful smile as I walked up to him and then he hugged me. "Hey, Stephanie, you made it, and on time. I'm impressed. I hope you're hungry; you're in for a real treat. I already got us a table—come on, gorgeous, follow me."

_So far, so good_ , I thought to myself. When we got to our table, there were already drinks waiting for us. By the looks of them, they were martinis. There was a clove of garlic on the rim of each glass. "I hope you don't mind. I took the liberty of ordering us the house specialty—the garlic martini."

"The garlic martini? I've never heard of such a thing. Are they any good?" I asked as I took my seat.

"They're different, but like the old saying goes, ' _When in Rome, do as the Romans do_.' Cheers, Stephanie, to our first date."

As I took a sip, I took in my surroundings. This was a swanky place. It was decorated in rich hues of burgundy and gold. The décor bordered on the side of gaudy, but it had a warm feel to it. I felt comfortable, and surprisingly, the garlic martini wasn't all that bad. "This is a nice place, Michael. Thanks for inviting me."

"My pleasure. I've had my eye on you for a while. I just couldn't get the nerve up to ask you out. But after your presentation, I thought to myself, you only live once—don't let this one get away. She's special...she's different."

"Really, you thought that about me? I'm not so different, really. Different than what?"

"You're not like the girls I usually date. You're smart, Stephanie."

"And the girls you usually date are dumb?"

"Pretty much. I usually go for the dumb, blonde type. Stephanie, you light up a room when you enter it. You sparkle. And damn, you're intelligent as all hell. That's sexy."

"Well, I never thought about myself that way, but thanks, Michael." I felt like I was glowing at that moment.

Michael had also taken the liberty of ordering our food in advance. The first course was a dish of anchovies smothered in olive oil and garlic cloves. Sounds gross, I know—but it was really quite delicious. After that, we had a garlic bouillabaisse followed by a sizzling skillet of mussels that was loaded with garlic, of course. To finish things off, the waitress brought two servings of garlic ice cream. Once again, sounds gross, but it wasn't. I thoroughly enjoyed everything, including the company. Michael was a wonderful conversationalist. About now, I felt like a fire-breathing dragon. I didn't know that an _Altoid_ could take care of this breath. Before we left, I popped two, and said a prayer to the Roman gods.

"You want one?" I asked Michael, looking across the candlelit table.

"Sure. But what I'd really like is to spend more time with you. Do you have to rush home?"

"No, the only one waiting for me is my cat, Phantom."

"Let's take a walk down by the beach. We'll take my car, and I'll drop you back here afterwards. What do you say? Are you up for it?"

"Sure, why not."

Twenty-five minutes later we had our toes in the sand and we were watching the waves crash against the shoreline. The moon was crescent-shaped, and it was clear as a bell out tonight. The stars were shining brightly, lighting up the evening sky. It was chilly, but Michael had us bunched up in a blanket he kept in his trunk.

"So, what do you think of me, Stephanie?"

"I think you're wonderful so far." I could tell he was thinking about kissing me. I wished he would. This whole night had been one romantic prelude to a kiss, and I was ready for it. I was ready for a whole lot more.

"What'd you think of the _Stinking Rose?_ "

"I loved it. That was truly a unique dining experience. I'm so glad you took me there."

"Hey, Stephanie, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, go ahead. I may not answer, but you can ask."

"Okay, here goes. _Can I kiss you_?"

"I thought you'd never ask, Michael. Sure, I think I'd like that. You don't mind the garlic breath?"

"Not if you don't."

The next thing you know we were caught up in a passionate make out session. Suddenly, I wasn't cold anymore. I was hot with desire and so was Michael.

"Hey, Stephanie, do you want to?"

"Do I want to what?"

"You know, _do it?_ No one's out here but us. No one will see."

In answer to his question, I unbuttoned my slacks and put his hand down my panties. "Is that a yes, Stephanie?"

"What do you think, Michael? I just opened the door for you, aren't you going to come on in?"

"Hell, yeah!" he said, unbuttoning his pants as fast as he could. His ass was gleaming under the moonlight as he pulled my pants down, and I was panting in anticipation. Finally, I was going to get laid. I started reaching for my purse to get a condom, but as it turns out, it wasn't necessary. Michael rubbed up against my abdomen, and it was all over.

"Oh my God, Stephanie. I am so sorry. I just haven't touched a woman in so long, and, oh my God, you're so soft. I didn't mean to, really I didn't."

I wanted to be nice, but I was pissed. How much more could I take? In the last few months, I had gone through the torment of not knowing if I was a lesbian or not, being dissed by a guy who had mommy issues, and now this.

"Michael, this is preposterous. You didn't even get close to my vagina. What's the matter with you?"

"Well, I kind of have this problem with pre-ejaculation. To tell the truth, that's the real reason why my wife left me. It happens when I get too excited."

"You should really get help for that."

"I can still please you, Stephanie _._ "

"Please, don't. I just want to go home," I said angrily, zipping up my pants. "It's been a long day."

"All right, but I hope we can see each other again. I am really sorry."

"Me too, at least one of us got off." I picked myself up off the sand and stormed off to his car thinking, _Why me? Of all the guys in L.A., I had to go out with the one who couldn't even keep it up long enough to stick it in me_. I must be cursed. What had I done to anger the gods?

Michael dropped me off at the _Sticking Rose_ , and I thanked him for a stinking good time. On the way home, all I could think about was how if only I didn't have a _pre_ sentation that day, and I hadn't been moody and _pre_ menstrual, I never would have allowed myself to have a _pre_ occupation with Michael, even if he wasn't _pre_ tentious, and things would have never led up to a _pre_ lude of that _pre_ posterous thing that happened in the sand known as _pre_ -ejaculation. This whole thing could have been _pre_ vented, if only... Ultimately, I decided that I _pre_ ferred to forget any of this ever happened.

_Pre_ was no longer my favorite _prefix_.
Chapter 17: Queen Looking for a King

_Q_ is for queen looking for a king. I made the mistake recently of going to lunch with my mother and grandmother. They spent the whole afternoon casting me pitiable looks that a single woman in her thirties knows only too well, which made my dining experience quite uncomfortable. After considerable urging and being on the verge of losing my lunch, I was coerced into placing a newspaper ad in the singles section of the classifieds. They really wanted me to join one of those online dating sites, but that was not for me. I wasn't going to put that kind of information out about myself for any guy to see. I had heard all kinds of horror stories about women who were duped and led astray by dating shysters that frequented these websites. A personal ad in the paper would protect my anonymity more, and I felt it was a safer option.

My sister, Marilyn, had just found a new boyfriend, and that seemed to ignite their passion to find me one too. Grandma Rose claimed it was such a shame, a gorgeous girl like me, wasting away her youth with no man. When she was growing up, a woman in her thirties that was manless had something seriously wrong with her. She was either so ugly, even her own mother couldn't love her; she was gay (which people didn't talk about back then)—or she had some sort of social/mental disorder. She touted how my mother was gloriously happy with Harley, and she insisted that I certainly deserved the same. There was no reason I should be living the life of a leper. If my mother could find a man, then I surely could too.

Of course, my mother probably would still be living the life of a leper, had I not introduced her to Harley, but I kept my mouth shut about that. Let my mother think it was all her doing; I didn't want to take that away from her. She was always telling the story of how Harley fell in love with her the first instant he laid eyes on her—and how they were just meant to be. I couldn't argue with that. I may have played cupid, but Harley shot his own arrow straight into my mother's heart. She was equally as smitten with him, as he was with her from the very start. I envied them for that. Maybe I would meet my soul mate, as she liked to refer to Harley, by the time I was her age.

According to my mother, I was young and smart and beautiful—and a great catch. I only needed a little help to lure the right man into my life. Her cousin, Bernie's daughter—Annette, had found her husband on Matchyou.com, and she had the face of a horse and the body of a giraffe. If she could snag a husband, then I could. My mom and Grandma Rose both decided then and there that I needed to place an ad, and on the double. I wasn't getting any younger.

I moaned and groaned that I wasn't interested in snagging a husband. I assured them I was perfectly content to live alone; I didn't want or need a man to pick up after and serve like a king. What for, so he could run off with some floozy when he got tired of me?

Oh God, that was the wrong thing to say. After that, I was lectured into submission. Of course, I wanted a king in my life. How could I be a queen if I had no king? _You can't have one without the other_ , they argued. In my defense, I pointed out Queen Elizabeth never married, and she was perfectly happy. That just riled them all the more. They countered, first of all she was ugly as sin, and she had more money than God; she didn't need a man to spoil her, just to have sex with—and Lord knows she had plenty of those on hand.

I, on the other hand, they insisted, did need a man to spoil me, and oh so much more. I needed a king, and they were determined to help me find one. And that was the day my personal ad was born. It read: _Queen Looking for a King—SHF (Single Hispanic Female)—attractive, 32, looking for fun, friendship and a future king. If you think you'd like to be crowned, you could be the guy for me_.

It was simple and to the point, but it was approved by the committee and ran in the paper next Sunday. Candy thought it was a great idea to meet men; "It's a numbers game, Steph—this will get you the numbers you're looking for. You won't meet any men sitting at home feeling sorry for yourself." Shelby was mortified by the idea; "Only losers that can't get a date place those kinds of ads," she squawked. Lance's only comment was, "If any queens called looking for a queen by mistake, refer them straight to me."

When I got home from work on Sunday, I checked my newspaper ad messages, not really expecting to have any, but much to my amazement there were several. I punched my access code in, sat back, and listened.

"Hi, my name is Max. I was reading the personals, and your ad caught my eye. I was a bartender, and I used to meet a lot of women, but now I'm working as an office manager, and my flow of women has kind of dried up. You sound cool. Let's get together. Call me—okay?" _Message deleted_.

_Bartender? Not good. I'm thinking STD's. They get around too much. Next_...

"Hey, Queen. I'm your king. My name is Alan, and I'm an attractive thirty-four-year-old, physically fit, successful businessman. I'm searching for someone that's got a hard body and is good-looking, like myself. If you think this is you, and you are mentally stable and aren't on any kind of medication, I could be your guy. And oh, no kids—okay. If you aren't just looking for a free meal, then call me. Otherwise, don't bother. Just throw my number out." _Message deleted_.

_Huh? What kind of freak was that? Talk about someone unstable that needs meds. No thanks_.

"Hey, my name is Josh...Hold on a sec—Hey, you guys, stop yelling. I'm trying to get a date. Stop hitting her, Tyler. Justine, leave him alone. You guys are going to drive me crazy. Sorry about all that. Anyway, I just read your ad, and I'd like to meet you. I'm thirty-five, and I think I could be your king... You guys, I said stop it— _now!_ I'd love to take you out sometime. Call me." _Click_.

_I don't think so. The last thing I needed was to become the evil stepmother to some gremlins from hell. Next_...

"Hey, it's me—Josh again. I was just thinking with all that noise in the background, I might have scared you off. I just wanted you to know that those aren't my kids. Those are my sister's kids. I'm babysitting. Anyhow, give me a call. I'll treat you like a queen."

_Hmmm... Maybe... I'll have to think on that one_. I wrote his number down and took a deep breath. This was just too much to take in all at once.

There were several more messages to listen to, but I couldn't stand any more tonight. I went straight for the fridge, poured myself a glass of wine, and turned on some brainless television. It was just my luck—You've got Mail was playing on Lifetime TV. The last thing I was interested in seeing right now was a romantic comedy, especially one starring Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. People like them never had problems finding dates and falling in love.

I turned the channel to the Animal Planet. There was a special on about the preying mantis and their mating rituals. I listened in fascination as the host narrated the following scene that was being acted out on the screen. "Imagine that you are a male mantis, irresistibly attracted to the smell of a female hidden behind a rose bush. You creep up behind her, and attempt to mount her, but have mis-positioned yourself slightly, thus frightening her, prompting the angry female to bite your head off in payment for your clumsiness. However, because you are equipped with a special nerve center, once you have established contact, you are able to proceed—headless, pumping your sperm into your female victim, thus securing your future legacy."

I was grossed out as I watched her decapitate her mate, but I had to admit I respected a creature that could do that. She wasn't going to put up with any idiots. No second chances. Get it right the first time, or you're done. Now this was a show I could relate to. I was disappointed to later learn that this type of sexual cannibalism wasn't the norm, but it was still cool to know it happened from time to time.

Around 11:00, I decided to call it a night. I was beat from a long day and I was ready to hit the hay. I changed into my pajamas, switched off the lights and television and fell in to a fitful sleep. All night I dreamt of Josh's and Max's and Alan's that were trying to mount me from behind, but instead of biting their heads off, I let them take me. Each one wore a crown, and had a puppy dog look on his face. The words, "I'm your king...I'm your king..." echoed over and over as they each pumped their sperm into me. I awoke in a sweat, panicked and alone—thank God! I looked at the clock. It was 3:30.

It took me a while to get back to sleep. After two cups of sleepy time tea, I dozed off, only to be awoken by the phone at 7:30. It was my mom.

"Hi, darling. It's your mother. Wake up, sweetheart."

"Hi, Mom. I was still sleeping. I woke up in the middle of the night. I had a nightmare."

"About what, darling?"

"You don't want to know, Mom."

"But I do. Maybe I can help you interpret the message your dream was trying to send you. I'm very good at that. Dreams can be very telling."

"If that's the case, I think my dream is trying to tell me not to date a guy I meet from a personal ad."

"That's why I was calling, Stephanie. How's that going? Your ad has been running a day. Have you had any interest?"

"Yeah, but I don't know, Mom. These guys seem...ummm—weird."

"How can you tell that from a phone message?"

"I can tell, believe me."

"Well, don't lose heart. It only takes one to get it right. Just look at how happy Harley and I are."

"You two are perfect for each other. I knew you would be."

"So, are you going out with one of these guys? Have you talked to any of them yet?"

"No, not yet, and I don't know if I will. I still have more messages to check. I'll keep you posted."

"You do that, darling. I've got to go make Harley breakfast. Have a good day, and stay positive. I have a good feeling about this ad you placed."

"I will, Mom. Tell Harley I say _hi_."

"Will do—love you."

My mom—you've got to love her. She always has my best interest at heart, even if she is a bit meddlesome at times. Well, I was wide-awake now. I might as well get up. I made some coffee and decided to check some more messages.

"Hi, there, my name's Frank and I am an assistant manager at Mc Kee's Restaurant in Glendale. I'm a good cook. I'd love to meet you and make you a gourmet meal. I'm in my forties. I hope you don't mind an older man. I look good for my age. Call me." _Message deleted._

Frank—Frank from Mc Kee's? He didn't look good for his age. He had a paunch and was balding. No way. I never would have guessed he was looking for love. Not a chance I'd ever go out with him.

"Hi, Darlin'—my name's Dirk, and I'm a cowboy living in L.A. If you'd like to be crowned with a cowboy hat instead of a tiara, we could have some fun wrangling around town. I know how to ride me a filly, if you know what I mean. _Let's go riding sometime._ Call me."

He actually sounded kind of cute, but a little too forward. I'm not looking to tame a wild stallion. Then again...maybe I was. I wrote his number under Josh's.

"Helllloooo, sexy. My name's Mick, and I'm looking for a girl to rock my world. I'm in a band, and I need some arm candy. You sound _delish_. I love myself a Mexican cutie. I'll be playing at Jack's in Glendale this Saturday. Come check me out. I'm the lead singer. We do Van Halen cover songs—I'm the _David Lee Roth_ of the group. Hope to see you there." _Message deleted._

_What are the chances? Of all the guys in the universe, one I already dated calls me, and one I'd prefer not to remember at that! Mick_...the name left a bad taste in my mouth.

I was finding I could only take three messages at a time. The only problem was I had fifty-three messages waiting for me. At this rate, I'd be eighty by the time I listened to them all. I made a snap decision to call Dirk. What did I have to lose, except maybe some sleep—that is, if things went right? Josh sounded nice, but I feared we'd get stuck babysitting his niece and nephew, and I wasn't willing to take that risk. A kid's scream fest didn't sound like the ideal date, but some bronco bucking could be fun.

I dialed the number I wrote down and anxiously waited for someone to pick up. On the third ring, a young sounding woman with a husky voice answered—

"Hello, who's this?"

Hmmm...I wonder who that is?

"Hi, my name's Stephanie. I was calling to talk to Dirk."

"Hold on, wait just a sec...Dirk—telephone," she yelled out.

"This is Dirk. Who's this?"

"My name's Stephanie. You left a message regarding my ad. I'm the queen looking for a king."

"Well, I'll be darned. I didn't think you'd call me back. You must be ready to do you some wrangling. How ya doin', darlin'?"

"I'm doing great, now that I'm talking to you."

"Hmmm...hmmm, now that's what I like to hear. You sound like a real sweetheart. So, when can I meet you, Miss Stephanie?"

I suddenly remembered something I had read in _The Rules_ about making them wait, so you don't come off as too desperate. I decided to keep him on hold till Thursday, my day off. "Well, Dirk, I'd love to meet you, but I'm not free until Thursday. I have final exams this week, and I'll be studying."

"You mean to tell me I lassoed a school girl? I hope you're not too smart for me. I'm just a dumb ol' cowboy from Tennessee. How 'bout I take you to a place called Dickie's Road House Barbecue. Do you like you some barbecue? Back where I come from, if you don't like barbecue, they ship you out to a place like California where everybody eats tofu and lettuce wraps. That sure ain't how I ended up here, though. I'm in construction, and I got me a good job out here working for a company that builds houses. They pay more here than in Tennessee. All I got to say is, thank God for places like Dickie's, or a Southern man would starve to death. Are ye up for some yummy barbecue, Miss Stephanie?"

"That sounds perfect."

"They got some good ol' boys who play the fiddle and a guitar down at Dickie's, too. We could listen to some country music after dinner and do us a little line dancing. What do ya say, filly?"

"It just sounds better and better. I've never been line dancing, but I've heard it's fun."

"Honey, you haven't lived unless you've done yourself some country dancing, especially with me. You like yourself some big biceps, Miss Stephanie? I worked mine up a bit swingin' my hammer over the years. I can eat like a horse, but there ain't an ounce of fat on me. I hope you like muscles, little lady, cause I got me some. I'm real pretty to look at. I bet you got yourself a cute little bod. I can't wait to meet ya."

"Well, I have been told I have a nice figure. Do you like curvy women?"

"You bet I do. You got to have somethin' to grab on to, sweetheart. I don't like me no skin and bones. I like my women the way I like my ribs, with some meat on 'em. We like 'em farm raised and corn fed back where I come from—like that Jessica Simpson. Now, there's a sexy woman."

"I'm nothing like her. I'm more like a Jennifer Lopez type—have you heard of her?"

"Oh yeah...I know who she is. I get a woody just thinking of that one. She's a hot little Latin number. You mean to tell me you got a body like her? Whooeee! I done hit the jackpot!"

"Don't get too excited, Dirk. You haven't even met me yet."

"I know, but I sure can't wait to hook up with you, little darlin'. You sound cuter than a June bug in a rug. Can I call you tomorrow? I don't think I can wait to hear the sweet twang of your voice until Thursday."

"You don't have my phone number. I'll call you when I get home from work, around ten."

"You work too? I got me a date with a smart girl and a hard workin' lass, too. Can I ask you a question, little lady? Why'd you pick me? I'm sure a whole gander of fellas left messages for ya."

"I like me some cowboys, I guess."

"I won't disappoint you, sweet thang. Don't you worry yourself none. Me and you are gonna have the time of our lives. I gotta check out right now. My roommate is callin' me in for supper, but I'll talk at ya tomorrow, okay."

I hung up the phone with a big grin on my face. A date with Dirk, without a doubt, wasn't going to be boring. He sounded like a cross between Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies and Gomer Pyle. I looked forward to Thursday. Maybe being a _queen looking for a king_ wasn't going to be so bad after all.

I only had two questions. What does one wear to Dickie's Road House Barbecue? And who's his roommate?
Chapter 18: Really Big

_R_ is for really big. When I walked into work on Tuesday night, Randall was yelling at me, and it was obvious I was in really big trouble. "Stephanie, I can't believe you did this," he fumed, holding out a note written in my handwriting. It was accompanied by a typewritten letter. The note read, "Thank you, ladies, but I think you need this more than I do—Your waitress, Stephanie."

"Stephanie, what is this all about?" ranted Randall. "And you signed your name to it. That was brilliant, Einstein! This woman says you gave her horrible service, and she left you an appropriate tip—seventeen cents. You had the nerve to give it back to her?"

"Well, I tried to give it back. She and her friends dined here on Saturday night. They were in a big hurry. They were seeing something at the Greek theater. I expedited their service and was as nice as I could be, and this was the thanks I got. I was so mad, I rushed outside to return the tip, but they were already gone. I asked Juan, the valet, if he they had already left and he said they had, but that they were coming back after the show because they left another car in the lot—so I promptly went back inside and wrote the note, tucked the seventeen cents in it, and asked him to put it on the vehicle."

"Stephanie, that's crazy. This woman has expressed extreme dissatisfaction with your service, and I quote from her letter, 'Our waitress was incompetent, slovenly, unprofessional and rude. She ignored our request for expedient service and we were late to our event. She is lucky I left her anything at all. She should be terminated immediately for her imprudence. I will never return as long as she remains in your service.'"

"Randall, you know that is _not_ true. They're just cheap little old biddies and they're pissed that I called them on it. Have I ever had a customer complaint before?"

"Well, no—but there's always a first time. Stephanie, I hate to do this, but I am going to have to suspend you for a week. This isn't coming from me; it's coming from the top. This letter was sent to corporate. You're lucky you still have a job."

"A week? But I need the money, Randall. I can't take that much time off."

"Stephanie, you don't have a choice. Enjoy your vacation. I'll see you next Wednesday."

I could see there was no fighting this. I went to look for Lance so I could tell him what had happened before I left, but it was already all over the restaurant. Tim gave me a high five as I walked through the kitchen, and Jeanie and the other servers surrounded me with awe struck looks of admiration on their faces. They wanted a minute breakdown of what happened that night. Apparently, I had done what no server had dared to do before. This was legendary, as Lance put it, when I finally found him.

"Stephanie, you're a hero to all food service professionals," he beamed as he hugged me. "I knew I always loved you, but now I know why. Girl, you have balls—grande cajones, sister! Can I have your autograph?"

"Lance, don't be ridiculous. I was just mad, and I acted impulsively. To be honest, I wish I hadn't done it. This is going to be an expensive mistake. Randall just suspended me for a week."

"I know. I heard. Let me take you out to dinner tomorrow. It's my day off. That's one meal this week you don't have to worry about paying for."

"Thanks, Lance. I'd like that. Where are you taking me?"

"How about Leather and Lace, the trans club I was telling you about. They serve a mean hamburger, and the entertainment is included with the price of dinner."

"That sounds fun. What time should I be ready?"

"I'll pick you up at 7:00, and be sure to wear some leather and lace. Wear those knee-length, black leather boots I like—and that pink, lacey halter-top, the one with the rhinestones. The "girls" will love that. You'll be like Cinderella at the ball. Hard as they try, they can't compete with the real thing. I want you to make an impression."

"But why ever so? Are you going to be my prince charming?"

"No, but I have the hots for one of the performers. I'm not sure if he's into girls or boys. You're going to find out for me. If Medusa goes for you, then I'm out. If he doesn't, then he's got to be gay, and I stand a chance. You should see the tukas on that queen—boy would I like to rub up against it. He's got a tight little package I'd like to open."

"Lance, have you considered what he does for a living? Of course, he's gay."

"Not necessarily, Stephanie. Some drags are straight as arrows, and I even know one that's married with children. Medusa hasn't given me any outward signs that he's a homo. This one has me baffled. I'll see you around 7:00, girlfriend, and Steph—for what's it's worth, I'm so proud of you. I wish I had the guts to do what you did. We all do."

"Thanks, Lance, but the thought of being poor for a week doesn't feel so good."

"Well, about that, Stephanie—we took up a collection."

He handed me an envelope.

"There's over $300.00 in there. That should get you through the week."

I was truly at a loss for words. I put my arms around him for what seemed like a very long time, not caring how ridiculous I must have looked hugging Lance in his bunny costume.

I whispered, "Thank you, thank you," and then turned to leave, but I couldn't get past the crowd that had formed. Every server in the house, the cooks, and even the managers, Randall and Frank, had formed a circle, and Ivan, the head chef was holding a cake that read: To Our Wonder Woman—Stephanie.

My face turned red as a beet, and I tried to wave them away, but they just crowded in closer and started singing, "For she's a jolly good fella, for she's a jolly good fella..."

Two pieces of cake and a couple of glasses of wine later, I was on my way out the door, a little tipsy and feeling like a movie star. Life sure is funny. I was just being myself when I gave that seventeen cents back. I hate an act of injustice in any form, and I felt truly wronged by those horrid women. I guess there is really something to the karmic principle. Those crotchety old hussies wanted to get me fired, and instead they got me a week's paid vacation. I walked out of the restaurant, my head held high, thinking of how proud Henry David Thoreau would be of me. I was the epitome of Civil Disobedience.

* * * * *

Sleeping in felt great. Not only was I off from work for a week, but I had also just wrapped up my finals, and I didn't have school to worry about. Life couldn't get any better than this. I had a leisurely morning drinking my coffee and reading a book—one of Dave Pelzer's novels, _A Man Called Dave_ . I just loved his books. This was the third one in the series, and I had never gotten around to reading it.

I was thinking a day by the pool might be nice, but opted for the gym instead, seeing as it was a little overcast. By the time I finished my workout, the sun was shining, but it was too late for lounging poolside. I had to pick some stuff up at the grocery store. My frig had nothing but condiments and wine in it, and even a single girl can't live on that. Phantom was almost out of cat food too. I decided to head over to Alton's Market. I changed out of my gym clothes and threw on a pair of jeans and a tank top, slipped into my flip-flops, and headed out the door.

I had already been down the frozen aisle and loaded my cart with _Lean Cuisines_ , and I was making my way down the produce aisle. I was heading for the melons, bypassing the brightly-colored citrus fruits, when a stunning man caught my attention. _Maybe some oranges would suffice in lieu of a cantaloupe._ I stopped and grabbed onto a _really big_ navel and held it up for inspection, trying not to stare at him. He was tall and dark, kind of Julio _Englesis-esqe_. I noticed he was glancing at me through his long lashes, and I also observed he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. He bagged a couple of grapefruits, and I thought he was about to turn and leave, but instead, he made his way over to the oranges and said, "Beautiful, aren't they?"

"Oh yes," I stammered back, surprised that someone so magnificent looking had just spoken to me. "Alton's is known for their high quality fruit," I said, feeling stupid, but not knowing what else to say.

"I wasn't talking about the fruit. I was talking about your eyes." He gazed intently into them. "They're dazzling. What color are they?"

"I think they're kind of a hazel color—not quite green or brown," I nervously spat out. "They're the same color as my grandmother's."

"They are lovely. They have a hint of gold in them too," he added. "Here's my business card. I own a boutique down on Rodeo Drive. Come in sometime. I'll give you a good deal. I have some wonderful bags and shoes I think you'll like. Ask for Gerard."

I looked down at the card. His full name was Gerard Dieux. The name of his store was _Dieux's Fine Fashions._ I think I had been in there with Candy and Shelby, and I recalled it was a bit pricey. "I'll do that sometime, and I'll bring my girlfriends."

"I would love to meet them. What is your name, and what are your friends' names?"

"I'm Stephanie, and my friends are Shelby and Candy."

"I look forward to seeing your beautiful eyes again. Don't keep me waiting too long, Stephanie." As a parting gesture, he lifted my right hand and gave it a shake. "It has been a pleasure."

I was left in stunned silence as he released my fingers, and I noticed my other hand was still clutching the orange I had been inspecting when he walked up. In my stupor, I dropped it, and watched it roll down the aisle after him. I wanted to run after it and him, but I just stood there watching the sway of his _Haggar_ clad rear making its way to the register. _Nice_ , I thought— _very nice_.

* * * * *

Three hours later I was sitting front and center with Lance at a cocktail table with a mojito, a cheeseburger and plate of fries before me—and Medusa. She was _really big_ , at least six foot seven inches tall with her platform heels, and she wore her hair in dreads that had the appearance of long, flowing snakes, hence the name _Medusa_. She did have a shapely backside and nice legs that were clad in a hot pink lace mini skirt, but other than that, I couldn't figure out what Lance saw in her. She wasn't pretty. She could belt out an awesome rendition of Madonna's, _Like a Virgin_ , though.

"What do you think, Stephanie?" he asked as he nibbled at a fry. "Pretty hot, huh?"

"Yeah, if you like that, I guess. She's not my type."

"Well, that's good. I don't think Medusa would be that into you either," he snidely commented, pointing at himself. When she was done belting out her song, she walked up to our table.

"Hey, Lance. Who's your friend? She's a looker. Is she the _real thing_? Hi, honey, I'm Medusa. I'm the star here, so don't try to move in on my territory," a deep voice boomed out through glossy, big red lips. She didn't sound anything like she looked.

"Don't worry about that, Medusa," I assured her. "I can't sing a lick."

"None of us can, honey. We all lip sync," she whispered. "Don't tell anyone."

I noticed her skin was the color of a dark, rich chocolate, and I was tempted to reach out and touch her arm to see if it felt as smooth as it looked, but I refrained for fear of how she would react.

"So, Lance, is your friend a _real_ woman?"

"Yeah, Medusa, she's a genuine female. There's nothing hanging between those legs, far as I know anyway—right, Stephanie?"

I kicked him under the table for saying such a thing and eyed him sternly.

"Of course, there isn't. I'm as girly of a girl as they come."

"Yeah, you got a boyfriend?"

"No, not right now."

"Are you into boys who dress like girls, sweetie? I'd love to look through your wardrobe sometime. What size shoe do you wear?"

"I wear eight and a half."

"Damn, not even close—I wear a twelve. We could have had some fun exchanging shoes. We can still have fun. You want to go out sometime?"

At this point, I could see Lance was visibly upset. I had won again, although Medusa was no prize—that's for sure! "I don't think so. You're just a little too much of a walk on the wild side for me. Are you into boys, Medusa?" Now it was Lance who was kicking me under the table, and there was a visible blush forming on his cheeks.

"Well, that depends. Are we talking pretty boys?"

"How about someone like Lance here?"

"He's a cutie. I could get into him. Or maybe he could _get into me_ ," Medusa hissed. "Lance, I had no idea I was your type. You've been keeping this from Medusa all this time, honey. You want to hook up sometime?"

"That'd be cool, Medusa. Let's talk about it sometime when Stephanie's not around, okay."

"All right, sugar pie. I got another set coming up. I better get going. I have to do a costume change. See you around, Stephanie. If you have second thoughts, let me know," she breathed out in a sultry voice as she strutted away from us.

"I knew it! She likes you. I knew I shouldn't have brought you here, Stephanie."

"It was your idea, not mine, Lance. Besides, she said she was into you."

"I'd be her sloppy seconds. She'd be on your tail like a horny jackrabbit before she even looked my way. I'd never go out with her now that I know she's not 100 percent gay _._ I'd just be something different on the dessert menu, but I'd never be the main course. That's not for me, Steph."

"Then it is a good thing you brought me. Now you know she swings both ways. To tell you the truth, Lance, I really don't know what you see in her anyway. I think she's disgusting. Who knows what's living in those dreadlocks. You can do better than that, and so can I. Hey, by the way, I forgot to tell you, I have a date tomorrow."

"You do? With who? What's his name? Is he good-looking?"

"It's a blind date, so I'm not sure if he's good-looking. I only know that he's from Tennessee, and he considers himself a cowboy. I hooked up with him from that personal ad my mom made me place in the paper. His name's Dirk."

"Hmmm...Dirk the cowboy. I wonder if he looks good in chaps? Where's he taking you?"

"Dickie's Road House BBQ."

"Dickie's—really? I once dated a waiter that works there. He was a cowboy too. We used to play _ride 'em cowboy_ all the time. I was always the horse. Those were fun times. I miss Russ, especially his whip. He left me for another cowboy."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Lance. Nothing lasts forever."

"Ain't that the truth, Steph? You ready to blow this joint? I found out what I needed to know. I want to hightail it out of here before Medusa goes back on stage."

"Yeah, sure. I need to get my beauty sleep for tomorrow's big date. Thanks for dinner, Lance."

"Anything for you, my cupcake. Hey, tell Russ, Lance says hi if you run into him. Let him know that I miss his rump smackin' and cattle driving."

"I think you better tell him that yourself. That's a little too personal."

"Yeah, I guess so. Can you keep your eyes open and tell me if he still works there? You'll know him by his tattoo. He had a memorial tattoo of his dead horse, Tipsie, inked on his right arm. He always rolls his sleeves up, so you'll be able to see it."

"I'll be on the lookout."

"Have a good time, Steph, and enjoy your week off. Call me and give me the lowdown on your date. Love ya."

"I will. Love you too, Lance." I smooched him on his right cheek then his left. "See you next week."

"Ciao, bella. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

_That should be easy_ , I thought to myself.

* * * * *

I decided to wear my tightest pair of jeans on my date with Dirk. They were so tight that I had to lie on the bed to zip them up. I put on an adorable pair of red, patent leather high heels, and I wore a matching long-sleeved, red satin blouse that I left unbuttoned at the bottom. I cinched the tails. The look had a western edge to it, without being too over the top. I hot ironed a few curls into my hair to amp it up and sprayed it to hold it in place. I went light on the eye shadow, but heavy on the black mascara and the red lipstick. I looked sexy, without looking sleazy. I spritzed myself with some vanilla scented body spray and I was ready to go. I took a final look in the mirror and was pleased with what I saw. This look oughta get that cowboy's blood pumping.

Dirk was picking me up at 6:00, and I had some time to waste. It was only 5:20. I called Shelby to burn some time and calm my first-date jitters. She was home.

"Hey, Steph—long time no hear. How are you doing? I was starting to wonder if you were abducted by aliens or kidnapped and forced into a life of bondage as a sex slave."

"It's only been about a week since we talked, Shelby. Don't say such crazy things."

"I know, I know, but I miss you. When can we get together? Are you doing anything tonight? Let's go grab a drink somewhere."

"I can't, Shel. I have a date."

"You do? With who?"

"His name's Dirk. I met him through that personal ad I placed."

"You mean to tell me you've never seen this guy? What if he weighs five-hundred pounds?"

"He says he's pretty to look at," I offered.

"Beauty, as they say, is in the eye of the beholder. Of course he's going to tell you something like that. He has to get you interested—interested enough to go on a date with him anyway. What do you know about this guy?"

"I know he's a cowboy."

"Did you say a cowboy? Since when did that become a profession? Does he rustle cows and tend horses for a living? This doesn't sound good, Steph. Don't you know anything else about him?"

"He's a carpenter by trade, and he's from Tennessee."

"Oh well, that's a relief. He has a real job, at least. Where's he taking you?"

"Dickie's—Dickie's Road House BBQ."

"Run for the hills, Steph—run faster than his horse. That place is a dive. They have peanuts on the tables, and people eat them and throw the shells onto the floor. It's really tacky. I don't recommend wearing nice shoes. The shells are murder on the leather. A lot of gay guys go there. The waiters are really hot. I think most of them are gay."

"I know. Lance told me. Hey, how do you know so much about this place, Shelby?"

"I hate to admit it, but I once dated a guy that worked there. I was in my twenties, and I didn't know better. It was a mistake. Turned out he was as gay as Rock Hudson. He left me for some pretty boy."

"Really—he did? What was this waiter's name?"

"His name was Russ. He sure did break my heart, Stephanie. He claims he didn't know he was gay when he met me. I've heard he still works at Dickie's. If you see him, tell him he's a son of a bitch. Also, tell him Shelby Lorraine is doing just fine, and she's as beautiful as she ever was, even more beautiful."

"Did he have a tattoo of a horse on his right arm?"

" _How do you know that?_ "

"I hate to tell you this, Shelby, but the guy that Russ left you for is Lance. The good news is—if you want to call it that, Lance got dumped too. Russ left him for one of the waiters."

"Well, you know how those gay guys are. They get around. Poor Lance."

"I thought you'd be mad at him, Shel. Why the sympathy?"

"Well, Lance is gay. At least Russ dumped me for a reason beyond my control. I couldn't turn myself into a man to suit his tastes."

"Oh, I see. I didn't think of it that way. That makes sense. I've got to go, Shel. Dirk should be here any minute."

"Have a good time, darling. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Love ya."

That would be more of a challenge.

* * * * *

Promptly at 6:00, my doorbell rang. I was almost afraid to open it. I wasn't sure exactly what a modern day cowboy was supposed to look like. I waited for the second ring, not wanting to seem too anxious. I slowly opened the door to see what fate held on the other side. It turns out what fate held was a cute, little cowboy hat adorned with a red, satin ribbon. It was covering his face. He moved it aside and proceeded to place the hat on my head.

"Well, howdy, ma'am. You must be Miss Stephanie. I figur'd you wouldn't have a cowboy hat, so I done brought you one. You sure look pretty in it. I knew you was going to be pretty, but I didn't know you'd be no beauty queen. I'm Dirk."

"I figured as much," I gushed as I took him in from head to toe. He was one good-looking cowboy. He had wavy, dishwater blond locks tucked under his cowboy hat. Wild strands of it were sticking out here and there. His eyes were blue, the color of the sky. He had a moustache, which I'm not a big fan of, but it looked good on him. It wasn't one of those weird handlebar types, but a nicely trimmed, neat one—and under it was a goatee. Goatees are a funny thing. They look great on some guys, and just awful on others. Thankfully, Dirk's goatee suited him, and completed his look. He was just what I'd expect of a modern day cowboy from the neck up.

As I scanned my way down, I took in a beautiful set of biceps sticking out from his rolled up sleeves. He also appeared to have a hulking set of pecks under his button down, plaid shirt. I was certain he must have washboard abs, and his thighs filled in his jeans quite nicely. From the looks of them, I'd say he'd ridden a few horses in his day. I couldn't get a look at his rear without asking him to turn around, but I was sure it wouldn't disappoint. I must say, I was quite pleased with what stood before me.

"You ready to git goin' Miss Stephanie? We got some bronco buckin' to do. I hope you like ribs. Dickie's has got some of the best ribs this side of the Mason Dixon Line." He took my hand without waiting for a response. We were out the door and down the steps in a matter of seconds. He opened the passenger door to his Ford Bronco for me. I should have known that's what he'd be driving.

"So, Miss Stephanie—"

I cut him off mid-sentence.

"Do me a favor, Dirk. Don't call me Miss Stephanie. It makes me feel like a second grade teacher. How about just Stephanie, if you don't mind?"

"Sure, Miss Stephanie— _I mean Stephanie_. That's just how we speak in the South. That's how my grandpappie raised me—to respect a lady."

"Well, I do appreciate that, Dirk, but we just don't talk that way out here in the west."

"I knows it. I just can't shake this ol' southern boy in me."

"So, where's this Dickie's place at?"

"Just a little further up and 'round the bend. Up there in them hills. You mean to tell me you've never been there?"

"Nope. This will be my first time."

"Well, you're in for a treat. It may be your first time, but it won't be your last."

Dickie's was just how I pictured it, peanut shells and all. A tall, hunky-looking man in a tight plaid shirt with a holster around his waist greeted us at the door. I wondered if this was Russ, but I didn't see a tattoo of a horse on his arm, so I figured it wasn't.

"Well, hi there, y'all. Welcome to Dickie's Roadhouse BBQ, where we grow our pigs fat. My name's Jake. Do you want a table for two?"

"Yep, shore do. Can you put us in the bar?" Dirk asked politely.

"No problem. Follow me—right this way."

We arrived at a table nestled in a corner, and Jake took two rolled up menus from his holster and plopped them on the table. "Will this be okay for ya?"

"You couldn't have got it more perfect," Dirk affirmed as he sidled in beside me.

"Your waiter's name is Russ. He'll be right with ya. Have yourselves a nice dinner. Have you ever been to Dickie's?"

"I haven't," I spoke up, "but Dirk has."

"You're in for a treat, little lady—enjoy."

"So, whatcha think so far, Stephanie? It's a nice joint, ain't it?"

"So far, it's just like I thought it would be."

"So, Stephanie, what da y'all think of me so far?" Dirk dared as he looked into my eyes. He was tipping my hat up.

"I think you're just grand, so far. I barely know you, though."

"Oh, don't you worry none about that. I have a feelin' me and you are gonna git to be real good friends and more, if I can help it."

"I'm sure we will." Just as he was coming in for a kiss on my cheek, our waiter walked up. Sure enough, he had a horse tattooed on his right arm. This was definitely the Russ that Shelby and Lance told me about.

"Hi, y'all. I'm Russ. What can I get y'all to drink? How 'bout some of our Cow Poke Punch? It's what we're known for."

"It's real good, Stephanie. We'll take two."

Two shakes later and Russ was holding two drinks in cowboy boot-shaped glasses. He proceeded to set them on the table. The best way to describe a Cow Poke Punch was to compare it to a Tequila Sunrise—only it was made with _Jack Daniels_ instead of Tequila. After a few Pokes and a mountain of ribs in my belly, Dirk suggested we ride the bull.

I was feeling just _lit up_ enough to take him up on his offer. He escorted me to the center of the bar where a gigantic mechanical bull was standing in the middle of a padded floor surrounded by ropes. We ducked under the ropes and mounted the beast. The operator asked, "Are ya ready? Hold on to your man, honey, 'cause this is one mean bull."

I hadn't noticed till now, but the bar was full, and we were attracting quite a bit of attention. Dirk was positioned behind me. As the machine warmed up and started to sway, I felt his manhood grow with the steady movement, and I was feeling pretty turned on. His hands were firmly adhered to my hips. He whispered in my ear, "I ain't lettin' go, Stephanie. If I fly off his thang, you're comin' with me."

I had seen something like this in a movie once, and I recalled the rider being violently thrust from the bull and flying though the air. But this was nothing like that—until the operator said to the audience, "You all ready for a little fun out there? You want to see if they can hang on to this here wild bull? Should I speed things on up on 'em? What da ya say out there?"

" _Faster, faster, faster!_ " The audience screamed at the top of their lungs. And that is just what they got. Contrary to Dirk's claim, he was the first to go, and I watched him fly though the air and land face up before me. I looked down at him; by this time, I was laughing my ass off—still hanging on for dear life. The next thing I knew, the audience started screaming again, " _Faster, faster, faster!_ " That was it for me. I went flying too, very much like I had seen it happen in that movie, and much to my amazement, I landed right on top of Dirk, face down. The audience started cheering, " _Ride him, ride him, ride him!_ "

A couple of hours went by, and I downed a couple more Cow Poke Punches. Dirk and I listened to the band and did some line dancing. Around ten, he suggested we leave Dickie's. I was feeling pretty adventurous by this time.

I finished the night off riding me a _really big_ cowboy on worn, brown leather seats—high on a hill in Glendale. That night I _came_ in the Bronco that Dirk had come in, cowboy hat still on my head, and feeling like a queen. The only thing was my crown was made of straw and satin instead of tin and rhinestones, and that was just fine with me.
Chapter 19: Surprised

_S_ is for surprised. The day after our first date, Dirk surprised me by showing up on my doorstep with a picnic basket. I was still in my pajamas when the doorbell rang. It was already noon, and I should have been dressed, but I had nowhere to go and nothing to do, so I was just lazing around the apartment reading and getting my caffeine fix on. Imagine my surprise when the bell rang. I looked through the peephole, having every intention of ignoring the caller, but when I saw Dirk standing there with his cowboy hat on his head and a picnic basket in hand, I just couldn't pretend to be out. He looked so adorable, and I wanted to know what was in that picnic basket.

"Hi, Dirk," I yelled through the door. "Give me a second." I did a quick change into a pair of shorts and a tank, splashed my face with water, brushed my hair and teeth and put some lip-gloss on. I certainly wasn't the beauty queen from last night, but it was an improvement from my pajama-clad, rolled-out-of-bed appearance of a minute past. I opened the door and announced, "I'm here."

"Yes, ya sure are. Hi, baby. You look amazing. Are ya up for a picnic?" Dirk invited. "I missed you, sweet thang."

"You did? It's been all of ten hours since I last saw you," I said looking up at him, twirling a strand of my hair. "Well, whether we picnic together or not all depends on what you have in that basket."

"My roommate cooked us up some southern fried chicken and potato salad. I picked up some strawberries and a can of whip cream. I thought we could have some fun with that. And I got some us wine too."

"Aren't you working today?"

"No, ma'am. Things are kinda slow right now. I'm free as a bird. Got the whole day off, and there ain't nobody I'd rather spend it with than you."

_How can I refuse? This guy thinks I look beautiful after spending all of one minute on myself, and I am famished_. "Sure, I'm up for a picnic. Where are we going to have this picnic?"

"Well, seeing how ya live so close to Griffith Park, I thought we could head on over there and find us a little place under some tree away from prying eyes."

"Sounds perfect. Let's go."

* * * * *

It's a good thing I opted for my tennis shoes. Sandals would have been murder on my feet. My legs were getting a bit scratched up from the thistle and brush we were treading through as we went up a hill, but in the end it was all worth it. Dirk found us an unlikely spot that seemed somewhat of an oasis in the midst of the dry, mountainous terrain we had been trekking through. After a half hour or so of hiking, we landed on a flat, grassy area that was littered with trees, and there wasn't a soul there but us. The spot overlooked the city, and I felt like we were in God's paradise. There were picnic tables to sit at, but we opted for a blanket on the ground that Dirk had brought along. It was the perfect place to fall in love, to make love, to just exist in the company of this gorgeous man.

In the full light of day, he was every bit as good-looking as he was the night before. I observed he had crow's feet around the corners of his eyes, and there was some gray speckled through his goatee that I hadn't noticed yesterday. It just made him look all the sexier. As I've said before, and I stand by it, I don't really go for the pretty boy types. This was a 100 percent man, and I couldn't help but notice it as he splayed himself out on the blanket, face up, reaching his muscled arms in my direction. I nestled myself in them and relished the kiss he planted on my lips. In that instant, it was as if Kevin, Mick, Harry, Tony and every other guy who had ever wronged me disappeared from my memory. From this day forward, it would just be Dirk and I, and no other man would ever matter again.

* * * * *

I phoned Candy as soon as I got home. I couldn't wait to tell her about my latest s _exploit_. I just had to tell someone how I was feeling.

"Hi, Candy. Thank goodness you're home. Guess what? I'm in lust, maybe even love!"

"You are? How delicious—with who?"

"With the man I just spent all day making love to on the side of a hilltop."

"I'm jealous. Things have kind of dried up between Tim and I. Does your new _lust interest_ have any friends?"

"I'm sure he does. I know for certain he has a roommate named Mary Lou, but I don't think she's your type. She sounds really manly. I'm meeting her tonight. Dirk assures me I'll like her. She cooks up a hell of a fried chicken, and I loved her potato salad. Dirk brought a picnic lunch with him today, and when he wasn't making love to me, he was feeding me chicken wings and drumsticks. She's making us dinner tonight."

"Really? He has a female roommate, and that doesn't bother you, Steph?"

"No, not really, Candy. Dirk says they're just friends. A man and a woman can be just friends."

"Not in my world, unless the man's gay, of course—or just plain ugly. And in that case, I really don't want to be his friend. I don't hang around ugly people."

"Well, maybe she's ugly. I don't know, but he's very insistent I meet her."

"Something about that sounds fishy to me. Let me know how it goes. Where'd you meet this guy anyway, Steph?"

"Through that personal ad I placed."

"You're kidding. I'm surprised. The only guys I ever met that way were societal rejects. Personally, I have to see what I might have sex with in advance. That's a risky game you're playing, Steph. You got lucky this Dirk guy isn't a total dog."

"He's no dog. I guarantee that. Well, maybe a horn dog, but that's okay with me. Candy, I'm happy to say I think my sexual drought is over."

"Well, goody for you. I think mine has just begun. I've totally lost interest in Tim. He was fun while he lasted, but he can't wine and dine me in the fashion I'm accustomed to. A waiter's salary doesn't go very far. I don't know how you even survive on the pittance you make, Steph. Having a job where you have to rely on the charity of strangers must suck. I always thought most people tipped fifteen percent, but now I know that's simply not true. I've started tipping twenty percent as a standard, just to make up for some of the cheapskates out there."

"Thanks for that, girlfriend. We need more customers like you."

"It sure sounds like you're enjoying your week off. Give me a call this weekend. Maybe we can get together. I miss you. I'd like to meet this new guy."

"Okay. I'll call you soon. I miss you, too. Love you, Candy."

"You too, Steph. Muah."

"Muah back."

After I got off the phone with Candy, I decided to take a nap. The last two days had caught up with me and I was exhausted. I had a few hours before Dirk picked me up for dinner, so I snuggled up with Phantom on the futon and fell into a blissful world of dreams where muscled cowboys rode me into the sunset.

* * * * *

I woke up around 4:00 and stumbled into the shower. I wanted to look fresh and smell good. I wasn't so concerned with what this Mary Lou thought of me as much as I was with making a good impression for Dirk. He seemed to think it was important that I meet her. As I got ready, I couldn't help but thinking about Candy's comment about something being "fishy" about his roommate situation. It's true, most guys didn't have girl roommates, but that didn't mean anything. Maybe she was one of those girls that's like one of the guys. They probably watched Monday night football, shot hoops together, and drank beer on the weekends when one or the other couldn't get a date. I didn't see anything wrong with that. Candy could be so cynical.

Dirk was going to love the way I looked tonight. I was hoping to ditch the roommate after dinner and do some dancing. It was Friday after all. I was wearing a clingy, leopard-print dress that hugged all my curves in the right places and a pair of sky-high sandals that showed off my perfectly manicured feet. I found out this afternoon, Dirk loved feet. When he wasn't feeding me strawberries and whipped cream or making love to me, he was massaging my feet and kissing them. He went on and on about how absolutely perfect they were. I must admit—I do pride myself on always having my feet perfectly manicured. In fact, I don't think they've been without polish in twenty years.

As I waited for Dirk to arrive, I decided to have a glass of wine. I couldn't say exactly why, but I was nervous about meeting the roommate—a glass of wine would calm my nerves. I was feeling how I do when I'm meeting the parents of a guy I'm dating. Mary Lou was from Tennessee like Dirk, and according to him, he had known her since he was a youngin'. They used to tramp through the cornfields, catch grasshoppers, and drink her mama's sweet tea together.

Just as I was finishing up my glass of wine, Dirk arrived. I opened the door, and once again he had a surprise in hand. He was holding a gold box of Godiva chocolates and a single red rose. "Sweets for the sweet," he offered, handing me the chocolates. "And a red rose for my beautiful flower," he added, stepping inside my apartment and kissing me warmly on the lips.

He wasn't wearing his cowboy hat, which also surprised me. His hair was somewhat in disarray, like he'd been caught up in a windstorm, even though there wasn't a tree branch rustling, I observed as I looked out the door. That didn't bother me—in fact, it turned me on. I like the disheveled look. I just couldn't resist taking my hand and messing it up even more. "Hey, little lady, watch the hair. It takes a while to get it just so," he teased, as he put his fingers around mine. "Not all of us are born with a perfect mane like yours, my feisty lioness. You ready for some real southern vittles? Mary Lou is cookin' us up some catfish, hush puppies and collard greens. You ain't ate southern food till you tasted her's. You're gonna love it, sweet darling. You ready to go? You don't look like you're going out for a home cooked meal—you look like you're going to the academy awards or something, all dolled up the way you are."

"I thought maybe we could go dancing after dinner—that is, if you want to."

"I'd love to do some two-stepping with you. I know a great country club we could check out later. Let's hightail it out of here. I worked myself up a real appetite this afternoon," he murmured in my ear, grabbing my backside and pulling me into him. I was tempted to turn away from the door and lead him straight to my bed, but I knew if I did, we'd never leave, so I grabbed my purse and we were on our way to meet the roommate.

Twenty minutes later we arrived at Dirk's apartment. He lived in Hollywood in one of those old ramshackle places that needed a facelift. The rent was probably cheap by the looks of the neighborhood. He led me up some stairs that were cracked and broken in parts. I hung onto the shaky railing—which appeared to be missing a few screws—for dear life. When we got to the top of the third floor landing, we walked down a few doors and he stopped in front of one that was painted red, with the numbers 311 on it. He pulled on the gold doorknocker, which I thought was odd, seeing as he lived there.

A few knocks later, a very large woman wearing a floral print apron answered the door. She had long, blonde hair that she wore in braids that fell just past her broad shoulders. I couldn't help but notice that she had very large breasts; if I was going to guess, I'd say her bra size was a 44 FFF. She had ample cleavage she was showing off—it was popping out of a low cut, polyester, red halter-top that was stretched to the limit. Not wanting to stare, I averted my eyes downward and took in her very stout calves that descended from a three-quarter length black skirt that appeared to be made from the same fabric as her top. Her chunky, wedge sandals completed the look. I was shocked when I saw she had the name Dirk tattooed on her right ankle. His name was surrounded by a ring of daisies. I felt like I was in the middle of a _Twilight_ episode as I waited for her to say something.

"This here's your new one, Dirk? Got yourself a real pretty thang this time 'round. Sure beats the toothless gal you brought home last month," were the first words out of her mouth. It was definitely the same gruff voice I had heard on the phone the first time I called Dirk. "Well, come on in, princess. I'm Mary Lou—Dirk's _roommate_. Supper's a gettin' cold. I done cooked ya up a hell of a Southern meal."

We stepped over the threshold into a world of hand crocheted doilies, lace curtains and over worn, leather furniture. The textures were a contradiction in style, very much like Dirk and Mary Lou. He came off as this cosmopolitan cowboy living in the city, and she reminded me of a German Babushka, aside from her southern accent. I was seated at an old, knotty pine table covered with a see-through, vinyl tablecloth. The center held a vase of what appeared to be hand-picked wild flowers. There were three empty wine glasses and Mary Lou proceeded to fill them from a bottle of _Red Muscadine Wine._ Upon closer inspection, I observed the vineyard was located in South Carolina. I wondered how they got that way out here. As Mary Lou finished up the pouring, Dirk lifted his glass and proposed a toast, "To two fine young ladies who are near and dear to my heart."

Up to this point, there seemed to be a visible strain in the air. However, once we lifted our glasses and took our first sip of wine, the ice seemed to break. The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and chit chat as we dined on cornbread, crusted catfish and my first taste of collard greens, which were unexpectedly delicious. Mary Lou was a first rate, southern cook, and I could easily see getting as fat as her if I noshed on fair like this on a regular basis.

Mary Lou was a big personality as well as a big woman. She entertained me with stories of Dirk and her chasing fireflies as children, and told me all about how they got a whippin' once for stealing her grandma's apple pie from the windowsill. As she told it, Dirk couldn't sit straight for a week after that. The more I listened to her talk, the more I took in her booming laugh, the more I watched her cleavage bounce up and down, the more I liked her. When she picked up our dinner plates, I followed her into the kitchen to help clean up, and that is when I learned the truth of their relationship. They were more than just friends.

"You know why Dirk brought ya here tonight, don't ya, Stephanie? You know I'm not just his roommate—right? Dirk and I been married now for three years. We have one of those "open" relationships. Ya see, I like girls, but Dirk's the pretty one, so he attracts 'em, and then brings 'em home for us to share. I ain't seen him this excited 'bout no one in all the years I known him, and I can see why. We could fall in love with you real easy, Miss Stephanie. Would you like to share a bed with us?" she asked, cupping my chin and looking intently into my eyes. "I want you, pretty baby. How 'bout we go have some of this peach cobbler I made and then see where things go?"

It's difficult to explain what I was going through and feeling at that moment, but I'll try. There I stood with soapsuds on my hands, trying to wash a plate, when I got the shock of my life. I pushed Mary Lou away and stepped back five paces, my mouth agape—ready to catch flies. As I digested what I had just learned, in walked Dirk. He saw my expression and knew right away what had happened.

"Ya done told her, didn't you?" he screamed at Mary Lou. "I told you to let me tell her. Ya done scared her to death!" he ranted.

"Stephanie, don't mind her none. Ya don't have to do nothin' ya don't feel comfortable with, darlin'. My wife gits impatient sometime, that's all. I seen she's been drooling over ya all night. I just knew somethin' like this was gonna happen. She always scares the good ones off. I shouldn't a let ya be alone with her fer a second. I'm sorry, darling." He tried to comfort me as he took me in his arms.

"Did I scare ya, Stephanie?" cried Mary Lou. "I didn't mean ya no harm, sweet darlin'. I only want to love you. I'm as harmless as a newborn puppy dog," she said, joining our hug. There I was, definitely in the middle of a _Twilight Zone_ episode, not knowing what to do. The experience was somewhat orgasmic, and part of me felt great being sandwiched between Mary Lou's pillowy soft breasts and Dirk's rock hard abs, and it didn't take much for me to imagine what it would be like to make love with them. I always did adore being the center of attention, and I had a feeling they would love to pay every little inch of me some attention.

It was hard to break away. I imagined immersing myself into this hedonistic vat of love, and nobody had to know. I thought of my dad and how he was always saying, "You only live once." I thought of Candy, and how she was constantly telling me to be adventurous and break out of my comfort zone. Then, I thought of Shelby and saw her face shaking with disdain, a look of disgust written on her lips, and I could hear her saying, "Don't do it, Stephanie—you'll never be able to wash that southern grime from your memory."

My vision of Grandma Rose did it. I saw her on bended knee with her rosary beads in hand, praying for the salvation of my soul, and I knew I couldn't go through with it, tempting as the prospect might be. With all my might, I fanned my arms out, freeing myself from their lustful embrace. Now it was the two of them who had looks of shock upon their faces.

"You don't want to play with us?" a furrowed-browed Dirk whined aloud. "What'd we do wrong? Don't ya like us none, Stephanie?"

"Yeah, Stephanie. I thought we was having ourselves such a good time tonight. Things can only git better if ya stay." Mary Lou was grabbing my hand and trying to lead me to the bedroom. "We got a swing in there I think you'll like. Come on now, don't ya leave just yet," she begged earnestly.

"Sorry, guys. This just isn't my thing. I do like you both, but my Grandma Rose would never forgive me if I did this," I proclaimed loudly, grabbing my purse and running for the door. Dirk chased after me and caught up with me at the bottom of the stairs.

"It don't have to be this way, Stephanie. Mary Lou and I could make a decent woman out of you. We saws us a Jerry Springer show the other day where this guy had taken a second wife, and we kinda liked the idea. I could marry ya," he stammered, dropping to his knees. "Will ya be my wife? It'd be my honor to take ya on, and you wouldn't have to worry about doing no cookin' and cleanin'—Mary Lou would take care of all that. I'd treat you like a queen—I swear I would. Please say yes."

"That's quite an offer, Dirk, but that's not how I dreamed about all of this happening when I was a little girl. Somehow I always thought I'd be the only one. I'm not much at sharing. Thanks, but no thanks," I firmly stated as I turned away from him, a pathetic look on his face—him still on his knees. "It's been nice knowin' ya, but I think I better mosey along now. Thanks for the memories, cowboy," I spat out in the best southern drawl I could muster.

I was two blocks down from Dirk's place before I took out my cell phone and called Grandma Rose. "Hi, Grandma. Can you come pick me up? I'm down on Hollywood Boulevard and I need a lift. I just escaped a very bad date, and I need you like I've never needed you before."

"You're where? Stephanie, what kind of date are we talking about here? Your mother told me you got suspended from work for a week. I hope you're not doing anything stupid for money."

"Grandma, I can't believe you would even think such a thing. Of course not! I just need my grandma. Can you come or not?"

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes. What's your nearest cross street?"

"Vine. I'll be waiting on the corner of Hollywood and Vine."

"Okay, I'll be right there."

I took a seat at a bus stop bench and waited. Before Grandma Rose arrived, I was propositioned three times by men who pulled up to the curb wanting to know, "How much for a _date?_ " I was relieved when I saw Gran's cherry red Cadillac pull up.

I started to open the front door, when I noticed someone was sitting in it. He appeared to be a tall, young and upright looking fellow with short, dark hair. He rolled down his window, and Grandma Rose yelled out, "Hop in the back."

Needless to say, I was very _surprised_ when Grandma Rose said, "This is Matthew. I've been meaning to introduce you to him for some time now. He's my neighbor, and he goes to my church. Matt, this is my granddaughter, Stephanie."
Chapter 20: Therapy – Retail Style

_T_ is for therapy ~ retail style. When I told Candy and Shelby all that had happened, they both determined I needed to go shopping. Candy insisted a new pair of shoes would cheer me up, and Shelby said a new bag to go with them would snap me out of my doldrums in no time, and they were treating—no if's and's or but's about it—period. I told them about Gerard's shop down on Rodeo Drive, and they couldn't wait to meet him and his cute derriere.

I was still recovering from my night with Grandma Rose and Matt. I had called her to rescue me from Dirk and Mary Lou, but instead of being rescued, I was plummeted into a hell of another kind. I learned over coffee and pie that Matt had been studying for the priesthood, but chickened out at the last minute because he couldn't fathom a life of celibacy. I could have guessed it by looking at him. He was wearing all black—black jeans with a long sleeved shirt and shoes to match. The only thing missing was the white collar.

As it turned out, now he was looking for a good, Catholic wife. He had been saving himself for marriage. He wanted to present himself as pure before the Lord when he said his wedding vows—they just wouldn't be vows committing himself to the priesthood, but to his wife.

Grandma over enthusiastically presented me as a good, Catholic girl—and made sure to mention several times that I was going to a Catholic university. Three cups of coffee later, sandwiched between them, I was ready to crawl under the table and run back to Dirk and Mary Lou. Thankfully, Grandma announced she was getting tired around 11:00 o'clock, and thanks be to the Lord, we made our exit.

On the way to the car, Matt asked me to go to church with him on Sunday, but I politely declined, much to Gran's disappointment. However, I knew I hadn't heard the last about Matt from her.

I decided I needed a break from men. I was still reeling from Dirk's blatant betrayal. He had never indicated he was married. How many married men did I have to kiss in this town before I found a single one I could depend on, one I could believe in? Men, you couldn't trust them as far as you could throw them. I'd had it with all of them, which was too bad, since we were going to visit Gerard—Gerard Dieux of Dieux's Fine Fashions. Right now I felt like his shoes and bags could do a lot more for me than he could. Candy and Shelby could fight over him.

As it turned out there wasn't any fighting at all. As soon as the bells jangled on the shop door, Gerard only had eyes for Shelby. He recognized me immediately and accosted me warmly.

"Stephanie, you brought your friends. What a pleasant surprise. Please introduce me to these lovely ladies," he requested, planting an air-kiss on my cheek.

In an instant, he turned from me and took Shelby's hand in his own. His eyes locked with her, and he declared passionately, "This one has beautiful eyes." Once again I felt betrayed.

"Well, the one whose hand you're holding is Shelby, and this here is Candy. Girlfriends, this is Gerard."

"I am delighted to meet you, Stephanie's friends. You did not tell me they were so beautiful, and they have such exquisite taste. They are truly ladies of elegance. I think I have many things in my store they will like."

I had to admit, they did look exceptionally elegant today. Shelby had on a beautiful white linen suit that she had accessorized with gold jewelry and shoes, and Candy was wearing a short black skirt with a delicate floral-patterned blouse that accentuated her best assets. I couldn't compete with them in my designer jeans and t-shirt; it was no wonder he was paying them all of his attention—and not me.

"I'm sure you do," Candy interjected. "But we're shopping for Stephanie today. She needs a little retail therapy."

"Well, of course, we have many things she will love as well. Come, come ladies, let me show you the finest selection of bags and shoes you will find anywhere in Beverly Hills. Would you like some champagne while you shop?"

"That sounds divine," Shelby said, following closely behind Gerard. "What are you pouring?"

"French champagne, only the finest for my customers. Come, come—this way, beautiful ladies."

He led us to an intricately carved gilt, glass-topped table with matching red velvet upholstered chairs. He instructed us to sit, and returned with four frosted champagne glasses and a bottle of Dom Perion. He proceeded to fill our glasses, excused himself for a moment, and then returned with a tray of chocolate dipped strawberries and beautifully iced petit fours. It was all so decadent—I quickly forgot my man troubles as I languished in the opulence of Gerard's store.

He made a toast to new shoes and handbags and ordered his sales person, Nadine, to attend to me while he and Shelby chatted away. Candy, feeling like a third wheel, followed me to the sales floor where we tried on almost every shoe in the store. I finally decided on a pair of four-inch, cotton candy pink, spiked heels. I picked a matching bag and presented them to my benefactresses.

"Are they too expensive?" I asked as I held my pink wonders before their eyes.

"Of course not, darling," Shelby insisted. "Nothing but the best for my girlfriend; you deserve this after what you've just been through."

"Yeah, Steph. You know we're happy to spoil you. We want to do this for you, so let us. My commission check for the Lacy Lady Lingerie campaign just came in, and I've got some money to burn," Candy declared, taking out her platinum credit card. "I'll get the shoes—Shelby, you get the bag."

And that was that. I walked out of Gerard's into the sunshine, one arm locked in each girlfriend's, swinging my fancy gold shopping bag and feeling very, very loved. Shelby and Candy were right. There's nothing like a little _therapy ~ retail style_ to cheer a girl up—that, and two best friends.
Chapter 21: Understood

_U_ is for understood. I just couldn't get my Grandma Rose to understand I was not interested in Matt. Our most recent phone conversation went something like this...

"Grandma, there is not a chance in hell I will go on a date with Matt. I grew up with enough Catholic guilt to last a lifetime—I am _not_ going to date it, let alone marry it. Is that _understood?_ How many times do I have to say _no?_ "

"But honey, he's such good Catholic boy—just the kind you need in your life. He could be your ticket into heaven. He was almost a priest, for God's sake."

"That's what scares me, Grandma. Have you happened to read anything in the paper lately about Catholic priests? The archdiocese is going broke paying off all the victims of pedophilia. These men you uphold as so righteous are not so pure as you might like to think. Face the fact, Gran, anyone who takes a vow never to have sex has something wrong with him."

"Oh, Stephanie, I can't believe you just said that. I'm going to have to say three extra Hail Mary's for you tonight. You're wearing out my rosary beads. However, that's an excellent observation you just made. Matt backed out of the priesthood for that very reason, which just goes to show he's as normal as any red-blooded, American male. Give him a chance, chica."

"He's not my type, Grandma. Just drop it already."

"What exactly is your type? Does a guy have to treat you like crap and cheat on you for you to take an interest? Stephanie—you don't have a good track record with picking men. Let someone else pick your man for you. Trust me, just this once."

"I said _no_. I have to go now, Grandma. You can't blame me for my bad taste in men. It's not like I've had the best role models. Look who you and mom picked for husbands. I love Grandpa, but you and I both know he hasn't been the most loyal spouse. Grandma, I've got classes tomorrow, and I go back to work. I'm really tired and I need my rest. Can we talk about this later?"

"Okay chica, but do me a favor—just think about it some more. Matt really is a good guy. By the way, you missed a good church service today. It was on the intrinsic value of being a good wife. Father Michael preached on Genesis 29:15-30. Did you know that Rachael married Jacob even after he was tricked into marrying her older sister Leah first? Because of her willingness to take second place, she was always the most beloved of his wives. She made a great sacrifice, but she was rewarded for it with his undying love."

"Oh, that's great, Gran, now you're touting the merits of polygamy? You wouldn't understand, but this is not what I need to hear right now. Call me later when I'm in a better mood. Tell Grandpa I say _hi_."

"All right, all right—I'm sorry I bought it up. Love you, honey."

"You too, Grandma." _Click_.

Just thinking about the prospect of dating Matt left the taste of communion wafers in my mouth—that, and the taste of grape juice, neither of which I fostered a liking for. The only way I liked my grapes was in wine. Grandma Rose had gone plain cuckoo on me since she introduced me to Matt. I was getting tired of being harangued by her. She did bring up a good point, though—what exactly was my type? I had to agree with her. I certainly wasn't doing a good job picking men.

Right then and there, I decided to make a list of what my ideal man would be like. That way in the event I came across him, I would know it. Somebody once told me you can't get to where you're going if you don't have directions. This list would give me direction. I took out a note pad and pen and started thinking about it. Hmmm...where to start?

Funny, he had to be _funny_. And quick-witted—yeah, _smart_. That was a must. No dumb guys for me. Okay, so far, so good. _Good_ , for sure I had to add that word to the list. He has to be good, as in a _good person_. _Trustworthy—_ also a must. I was tired of opportunistic liars who told me whatever they thought I wanted to hear just to get in my pants. After deliberating on this for about an hour, this is the catalog of traits I ultimately came up with.

Mr. Right (My King):

Funny

Smart

Good Person

Trustworthy

Muscular

Hardworking

Generous

Passionate

Romantic

Nice looking

I decided to keep the list to ten. It would be unrealistic to make it any longer than that. I'd be lucky to find a guy with half those qualities. I wondered what his name would be? What color hair would he have? What color eyes? Would he be tall? I should have added that to the list. I hate short guys. Oh, well, that was a given. He had to be tall. After all, this was a _tall order_ , and even though I had my doubts as to whether it could be filled, one thing was for certain—now that I had my list, I wasn't settling for anything less. I posted it on my bathroom mirror where I would see it all the time, and then fell into a peaceful slumber dreaming of the perfect man that might be.

* * * * *

I found myself looking for the perfect man in every guy I encountered. The closest I could find, so far, was Lance, but unfortunately, he didn't count. While I knew my perfect man was out there somewhere, I just couldn't understand why the cosmic forces in the universe seemed aligned to keep me from meeting him. Sometimes I just felt doomed. I didn't think my _happily ever after_ would ever become a reality. One romantic travesty just foreshadowed the next—and I was beginning to feel I was destined to remain single and lovelorn for all eternity.

Maybe God was punishing me for not being a good Catholic girl. Could it be I set my doom in motion the day I had sex with Johnny Middleton behind St. Augustine's under the stairwell. I was only sixteen at the time—certainly God wouldn't condemn me for a sin I committed almost twenty years ago— _would he_? Or maybe, I was being chastised for the time I let pimply-faced Frankie Fuentes put his hand on my lap and then up my skirt during a Sunday service. We were sitting in the back pew, and he convinced me if no one saw it, it wasn't a sin. I never confessed these things to a priest. The confessional just creeped me out too much. I couldn't help but envision what the priest might be doing behind the curtain as I revealed to him my teenage, sexual indiscretions. I wasn't willing to take the risk. Some time in purgatory seemed preferable to a holy man getting his jollies under his _cloak of religiosity_.

I didn't trust priests. The fact that Matt even considered entering the priesthood put a very bad taste in my mouth. Recently, a priest at Loyola Marymount was arrested for having child porn on his computer. Granted, not all priests were pedophiles and perverts—some were genuinely vested in the business of serving God. Still, I wasn't willing to take a chance on someone who was _almost a priest_. I hadn't been in a Catholic church since I turned eighteen, with the exception of attending a few weddings here and there. I had no intention of ever stepping in one again if I didn't have to—and there were reasons for that. One of them was a priest.

I will never forget what I saw Father Andrews doing one day. The Sunday service had ended, and most everyone was having refreshments in the hall. I didn't see my friend Jenny around, so I went looking for her. I wandered down a corridor, and when I came to Father Andrew's office, I noticed the light was on. He had one of those doors with frosted glass. You could see what was going on inside—but not really. I saw Father Andrews sitting at his desk, and he wasn't alone. It looked like someone was sitting on his lap. I couldn't tell if it was Jenny or not, so I cracked the door an inch and looked in.

It was Jenny, and Father Andrews was bouncing her up and down on his lap. They didn't notice me, and I stood there staring at them, wondering what was going on. She looked like she was having fun. She was gazing through a kaleidoscope and giggling uncontrollably. He looked like he was having fun too. He had a big smile on his face, and he was laughing as well. I was about to open the door and walk in when Father Andrews started rubbing Jenny's chest. She froze up immediately at his touch, and all the mirth that had been in the room died in that instant. I wanted to turn and run, but I was afraid they would hear me—so, I stood there dumbfounded and silent, wanting to turn away, yet glued to the spot.

I heard him tell her not to worry—it was okay _._ God told him to check on her and make sure everything was normal. He instructed her just to relax and let him do God's bidding. As I watched, he continued rubbing her chest, and then he began to move her back and forth rhythmically across his groin. Father Andrews started to make a moaning noise after that. It was over in a matter of seconds.

When he was done, he hoisted her up in the air and said, "What fun! We will have to do this again, huh, Jenny? Did you like that? I want you to keep that kaleidoscope, but you have to promise you won't tell anyone how much fun we just had. Can you promise you won't tell?"

She nodded her head in consent, and to reward her for her compliance, he reached in a drawer and pulled out a large lollypop. He handed it to her with a smile on his face and uttered the words, "Good girl."

I was very young at the time, and I didn't know what was happening, but it made me feel uncomfortable. I felt weird about the whole thing, and I didn't want to tell anyone what I had seen, but I went ahead and told my mom anyway. Despite my questioning, my mom wouldn't explain what I witnessed Father Andrews doing—she just told me it was a very _bad_ thing and commanded me to stay away from priests. She called Jenny's mom immediately, and when I went to church the following Sunday, Father Andrews was gone. It wasn't until I was an adult that I fully understood the implications of Father Andrews' actions that day and what happened afterwards.

Several years ago, I started hearing a lot about the Catholic Church child molestation scandal in the news. I instantly recalled the incident involving Jenny. It leaked out that priests were being transferred to different parishes once a complaint was filed against them, rather than being turned in to the police. This was the church's attempt to sweep the problem under the rug and save face. I am certain that was what happened in the case of Father Andrews.

I never did see Father Andrews' name mentioned in connection with any of the scandals, but that didn't erase what he did that day from my memory. How many Jenny's could've been spared had the church fulfilled its moral, ethical—not to mention _religious_ obligation to society. This was when I lost my respect for the faith of my childhood. That was when I threw my rosary beads away, and I haven't said a Hail Mary since.

I witnessed Father Andrews stealing Jenny's innocence, and in a way, he stole mine too. I have never trusted men completely since that moment in time. If Father Andrews could do that, and he was a man of God and someone I trusted with all my heart, then I couldn't trust any man to be who he appeared to be.

This something I _understood_ with absolute clarity.

The irony in all of this, of course, is that now I am a student at a Catholic university—

But hey, Grandma's paying, and this I _understood_ even better.
Chapter 22: Venture

_V_ is for venture. Finding love is a risky venture; one that so many seem so willing to take, despite the heavy toll one's heart sometimes has to pay in the undertaking. I couldn't help but question why people exposed themselves to such peril. It was so much safer to shelter oneself from the hazards one encounters on the rocky road of romance. This, dear reader, is the fodder of poets and ever will be.

Robert Burns once said in a famous poem, "Love is like a red, red rose," and in many ways he was right. A red rose is a thing of great beauty—a symbol of passion, soft and delicate, awakening your senses with its fragrant perfume and enrapturing you with its essence, but one cannot deny that there is always the danger of being pricked by its thorns if you do not handle it with proper care.

Lord Byron proclaimed his love, "Walks in beauty like the night—And all that's best of dark and bright meets in her aspect and her eyes." Anyone who has ever looked deep into his or her lover's eyes can relate to Byron's sentiments. Behind every lover's gaze there lies a brightness that warms your heart and illuminates your universe. But likewise there is a mysterious quality that dwells in the eyes of a beloved, and it's this darkness which draws you in with its mystifying charm, rendering you defenseless to whatever spell your lover might cast upon you.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning loved her husband with the depth and breadth and height her soul could reach, and Edgar Allan Poe pined for his Lenore—longing for death in the form of a raven to release him from earthly bondage so he could join his lost love in heaven. Loves of this magnitude seemed to make the risk worth taking.

And yet, there are those like Emily Dickinson who preferred to select their own society and shut the door, admitting no more. But even she had bouts of weakness when it came to love—as in another poem she craves for wild nights, uncharted and afloat with her lover on the turbulent sea of passion. All poets know love is dangerous.

Shakespeare's Romeo knew the pain of love. In answer to the question, "Is love a tender thing?" he tells us that yes, indeed, "It is too rough—too rude too boist'rous, and it pricks like a thorn." Certainly, he would understand Robert Burn's poem. Mercutio, Romeo's cohort, takes an opposing view of love. He advises Romeo, "If love be rough with you, be rough with love; Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down." And so there you have it. These two extreme and opposing viewpoints explain a lot. There are two types of people in the world. Those who know the anguish of love like Romeo, and feel it with every ounce of their being—and those who would prefer to just beat it into obscurity rather than deal with the pain which comes with it.

All of this deliberating led me to question where I stood on this issue. I was definitely a hopeless romantic like Romeo. No heartbreak had been so devastating that I wouldn't risk it all again. Despite the pain and humiliation I had known, I knew I would make my heart susceptible to being crushed time and again, because like Alfred Lord Tennyson, I believed, "Tis better to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all."

Several weeks had gone by since the Dirk escapade, and thankfully, I hadn't heard from him. I didn't foresee any more marriage proposals coming in my near future, and for the first time since my divorce, I was feeling like my clock was ticking. Not because I wanted to have kids, but because I going to be thirty-three soon, and I was starting to notice men my age seeking out younger women. I now had the confidence of a woman, and I was secure enough to pose a threat to men who were still boys.

I was fully immersed in the spring semester of school, and I didn't have much time to worry about finding Mr. Right at the moment. I was too concerned with passing my statistics class and making the perfect ceramic piece. I took ceramics because I thought it would be an easy _A_ , but boy was I wrong. I simply didn't have the dexterity to work the wheel. That, and I wasn't getting all the air bubbles out of my clay. As a result, my pieces kept exploding in the kiln. I'd be lucky if I got a _C_ in that class.

Everything at work was back to normal. Randall acted like nothing had ever happened, and I regained my favor in his eyes—not that I had ever lost it. Lance was still bouncing around the dining room in his bunny costume and Tim was still flying through the restaurant.

During one of our recent breaks, Lance asked me out to dinner. He knew my birthday was coming up this Thursday, and he said nothing would make him happier than to celebrate the occasion with me. He suggested we make it a girls' night out, and he invited Candy and Shelby to join us. He'd pick me up at 7:00; we'd head on over to Candy's first, and then to Shelby's place to pick her up. He wouldn't tell me where we were going—it was a surprise.

Growing up, my parents never did much for my birthday. Being born in April, right before income tax day, was not a favorable time to enter the world. My parents were always broke, presents were scarce, and I only ever had one birthday party—when I turned five. I'll never forget that day. My mom made me a pink cake with sprinkles and invited all my friends. It was a day of romping, good fun and plenty of presents. That was the last "real" birthday party I had.

This semester I had set up my classes on a Monday, Wednesday, Friday cycle, so I wouldn't have work or go to school on Thursdays, my day off. It was really nice to wake up on my birthday, Thursday, April tenth, and not have to rush off to school, or worry about having to work later in the day. I had scheduled a spa appointment earlier in the week, and I was going in at noon for a facial, shiatsu massage, and a mani/pedicure. My mom and Harley bought me a gift certificate for _Complete Woman Day Spa_ as a birthday gift, and I had really been looking forward to this. I had never been there, but Shelby and Candy had, and they assured me it would be a day of absolute leisure. By all accounts, this place really knew how to pamper you.

I sat around drinking coffee and watching _I Love Lucy_ reruns all morning. Around eleven, I jumped in the shower, threw on some sweats, towel dried my hair and headed out the door. I was told not to wear any make-up or put on any lotions or creams. I looked like hell, but I didn't care. I wasn't out to impress the masseuse or manicurist.

I arrived at the spa precisely at noon. I felt awed by the environment as soon as I stepped through the door. The reception desk was bathed in low lights, and it seemed hundreds of candles glowed from tiered holders adhered to the walls. New age music was being pumped softly through the speakers that hung between the candles. A beautiful, bleached-blonde woman greeted me promptly as I stepped up to the counter.

"Welcome to _Complete Woman._ My name's Danielle, and you must be Stephanie. We're expecting you."

I wondered how she knew who I was, but she answered my thought before I could ask. "Your mother told us you were adorable. She described you as having long, dark hair and green eyes. You look a lot like her."

"Really? I don't think so. Not many people tell me that."

"Well, I think you do. Are you ready to be indulged, birthday girl? Your mom ordered you the total package."

"I've been ready for this my whole life," I told her without hesitation—too embarrassed to tell her I'd never been to a spa. I'd gotten plenty of ten-minute massages at the mall, and I made a regular habit of getting a pedicure once a month, but I couldn't afford a day of indulgence at a ritzy place like this.

"Well then, follow me, birthday princess. You are in for a pampering session you will never forget."

She led me to a room down the hall and the first thing I saw when I walked in was a framed print of a tropical beach scene. It depicted an old rowboat positioned under a palm tree along a wavy coastline that appeared very clear and blue. You just wanted to walk right into that picture and forget your troubles. In front of it was positioned a massage table, and to the left of that was a woman dressed in what looked like black scrubs. She bore a striking resemblance to Mary Lou. When she opened her mouth I knew immediately it wasn't her. Her voice was feminine and soothing, and she had an air of class and sophistication that Mary Lou lacked. She told me her name was Cher. She gave me a white, terry-cloth robe and instructed me to change into it. She left the room and returned a few minutes later. I spent the rest of the afternoon getting lost in the aroma of coconut oil, the luscious texture of butter balms and the sounds of what I thought were mating whales. Whatever they were, they were very relaxing to listen to.

I left _Complete Woman_ feeling fresh and invigorated, and I all but forgot it was my birthday. I was floating on a cloud, and to be honest, if someone had asked me my name as I walked to my car, I'd be hard pressed to tell them. Talk about getting lost in luxury. I sure could get used to this treatment.

As soon as I walked in the door of my apartment, the phone started ringing. I let the answering machine pick it up. It was Lance reminding me to be ready at 7:00. It was already 4:30. I wanted to look extra special for my birthday celebration. I wasn't sure what to wear.

After scouring my closet for about a half hour, I stood looking at several possibilities lying on my bed. My eyes gravitated towards a red dress I had worn only once. It had an a-line bodice with a red satin sash that tied at the back and it fell just above the knee, so it showed off my legs. If I remembered correctly, it was very figure flattering. I wore it to a wedding last year and hadn't found occasion to put it on again, but it was definitely a dress worthy of ushering in my thirty-third year on the planet.

I tried it on and stood in front of the mirror. This was the one. It looked every bit as good on me as the last time I put it on. Too bad there was no one to impress. Of course Candy, Shelby and Lance would think I look beautiful in it, but I had already won all their hearts.

I took my time getting ready. Lance wasn't due for a couple of hours. I put extra care into applying my make-up. I went with a smoky look on my eyes, applying silver and black eye shadow to my lids and a heavy black liner above the lashes. It was a look I had recently seen on one of the models in a fashion magazine. I doubled up on the mascara, and my eyelashes looked a mile long. I blushed my cheeks lightly and decided on red lipstick to match my dress. I piled my hair in a sexy, sloppy bun—like all the movie stars were doing these days—and spritzed it with hair spray to hold it in place.

I kept the jewelry to a minimum. I opted for the diamond stud earrings my dad had given me several Christmases ago, and a cute little rhinestone, heart-shaped pinky ring I picked up at Macy's a few weeks ago.

I slipped into the red satin, ankle strap heels I had bought to go with the dress and then stood in front of my full-length mirror to give myself a final look over. I looked pretty damned gorgeous for someone who was _middle-aged_. I couldn't help thinking, "Harry, eat your heart out. I'm sure Suzie the Floozy can't hold a candle to all this."

* * * * *

Lance and Candy, as predicted, gushed over my ensemble. We drove to Shelby's, me sandwiched between them in the front seat of Lance's _Lincoln Town Car_ , both of them showering me with a little more adoration than I could handle. They still wouldn't tell me where we were going, which just frustrated me to no end.

When we arrived at Shelby's, we decided to go in and have a look at her newly remodeled kitchen. She had been talking about it for months, and it was finally done. As we walked up the drive, arm-in-arm—Candy on one side and Lance on the other—I was glowing like a Roman candle, and I had never felt more loved. Lance rung the doorbell, and we waited for several seconds for it to open. When it did, boy, was I amazed.

There stood Shelby, looking beautiful as always, wearing a beneficent smile—and behind her stood about thirty people, all yelling " _Surprise!_ " And that was the start of my thirty-third birthday party. As I looked around the room, still recovering from my astonishment, I took in the faces of the people I loved. Grandma Rose and Grandpa Henry were standing beside my dad's parents, Grandma Maria and Grandpa Jose. Next to them were my mom and Harley. My dad was there too with his sleazy Filipina girlfriend—cleavage up the wahzoo as usual, but my mom didn't seem phased by their presence, not with Harley standing next to her, his arm encircling her waist. My sister, Marilyn, was there with her new boyfriend, Greg, and so was my brother, Brian, and his wife, Elaine. I noticed several of my aunts and uncles around the room and some of my friends. I don't know how they got in touch with her, but Veronica was present, her arm flung around some dykie-looking chick, and Tim had gotten the night off work. He had come solo, probably hoping to hook up with Candy later. Charles was in attendance as well; Harley must have invited him. It appeared he had moved on from Kai to some other young thing that was clinging onto his arm. I saw Ginger and her stockbroker husband, and they seemed to still be getting along well. It was all so overwhelming, and I felt so flushed as I stepped into the sea of faces. I swore I would have collapsed had it not been for the fact that Lance and Candy were on each side of me, holding me steady.

I must have hugged and kissed at least twenty birthday well-wishers before I noticed someone standing in a corner that I did not recognize. There he was, looking kind of like James Dean—this really cute guy leaning against Shelby's curio, holding a martini in his hand. He had spiky brownish-blonde hair and he was tall with broad shoulders. There was one thing I could check off the list— _tall—_ actually two things, because he was super good-looking too. He looked ultra cool in his sport jacket with a white t-shirt underneath, and tight black jeans. I couldn't take my eyes off him, and it appeared he was checking me out too.

"Lance, who's that?" I whispered in his ear, elbowing him in the side—by this time Candy had broke away from us and was doing her social butterfly thing.

"Oh, that's Josh. I got his phone number off that pad you had next to your phone. His name and number were right above that guy Dirk's. You said he sounded like a nice guy, but you never called him—so I did."

" _You what?_ "

"I called him for you. He was really a doll on the phone. _I explained the situation to him_ —that you were really busy with school and work and all, and that you wanted to call him but hadn't got around to it. He seemed more than willing and happy to come to your birthday party, especially after I described you in detail from head to toe and told him what a sweetie pie you are."

"Oh my _God_ , Lance—you didn't! I have never been so embarrassed in all my life. You are so dead after this party."

"Well, let's live while we can then. I want to meet Josh in person. Are you coming, Steph?"

It wasn't like I had a choice as Lance started dragging me in that direction.

"Lance, I need a drink first," I pleaded desperately as I pulled him the other way towards a beautifully sculpted block of ice with a pink fluid running through it. "What's that?" I asked him naively.

"It's a martini luge, darling. Haven't you ever seen one? They're the hottest thing right now—pretty trendy, huh? Only the best for our sweet Steph."

I picked up a glass from a tray that had a card on it that read _Stephanie's Pink Fantasy Martini_. I looked around the room and noticed everyone was holding one in their hand. I couldn't believe the trouble my friends had gone to for me—this was too much. I placed the glass under the pink waterfall and handed it to Lance, then filled another one. "Cheers," I beamed as we brought our glasses together. I chugged mine down in less than thirty seconds.

"Whoa—slow down there, sister," Lance cautioned. "I don't want you to be falling over drunk when I introduce you to Josh."

"I just need some liquid courage, Lance. I'm okay," I said while reaching to fill my glass again. Before the pink elixir had reached the top of the rim, I was being tugged in the direction of Josh again—and off I went, floating to the sound of James Brown's singing, _I Feel Good_ , and I did. I felt like I was floating on a pink cloud of ecstasy towards my destiny.

Ten steps later and I was standing in front of this Josh guy, not feeling nearly as elegant as I looked, but kind of clumsy and awkward in my nervousness. He looked like a movie star standing there as Lance did the introductions. Looking into his dark brown eyes made me feel like I was going to melt; I clung to Lance for support.

"Hi, I'm Lance," he said, extending his right hand. Josh shook it vigorously. "It's a pleasure to meet you. We talked on the phone last week. This here is Stephanie. Stephanie, meet Josh. She's the hot, young thing I told you all about. I'll leave you two to yourselves. I'll catch up with you later, girlfriend," he said as he removed himself from my clutches and sauntered off, leaving me on very shaky ground.

And there we were, left to ourselves, holding our pink martinis. Josh proposed a toast to break the silence. "To making new friends," he said.

We held up our glasses, looking into each other's eyes and it was magic. I don't know if it was the pink drink, but I could have sworn I saw a force of pink kinetic energy drawing us towards one another, and we were inseparable from that moment on. I felt like I had known him since the beginning of time, like we were _Adam and Eve_ incarnate, before their fall from grace. The night couldn't have been more perfect.

We spent the evening feeding one another finger foods, little lobster canapés and shrimps dipped in cocktail sauce, drifting from guest to guest, acting like we had been a couple for years, and not just a few hours. I felt like Cinderella at the ball, not wanting the night to end.

By midnight, the house was cleared out. It was a week night, after all. The only ones that remained were Candy, Shelby, Lance, Josh and I. We sat at Shelby's dining room table, recounting the evening.

"So, Josh, what do you think here of our Stephanie?" asked Lance, sounding like an overanxious grandmother. He was tapping his fingers on the table and leaning in towards him while waiting for a reply.

"I think she was the most beautiful girl at the party."

He was tilting my chin towards his face, a huge smile emanating from his beautiful lips as he said it. I visibly gulped as he continued—

"I'm ready to gallop off with her on my white horse this instant. She's everything you said and more. Thanks for hookin' me up, brother."

"Just doing my part to spread the love. Don't mention it," Lance said. "I'm cupid's little helper. I mean big helper."

"Hey, Lance. Don't pretend this was all your idea," Candy butt in. "I made the suggestion. You just followed through and made the call."

"Yeah, Lance—and if I didn't put this lavish little soiree together, Cinderella here may have never met her prince charming over there." Her right index finger was pointing towards Josh and she was winking at him.

"You are all the best friends a girl could ever have, and I love you bunches and bunches—more than you'll all ever know," I choked out, the emotion clearly audible in my voice. "Thanks for everything tonight, guys. This meant the world to me," I stammered, barely able to get the words out because I was so overwrought with feelings.

I left the party with my _Mr. Right Now_ , hoping he would fulfill my lofty list. One thing was for sure, I could check passionate off. We spent the rest of the night making out at his place, taking the relationship to the next level, but not all the way.

I knew I was laying my heart on the chopping block one more time—and I was praying this time it would stay in one piece. I had no reservations about embarking on this exciting, new _venture_ with my maybe Mr. Right.

Josh made me feel like he was worth taking the risk.
Chapter 23: Wide-Open

_W_ is for wide-open. With Josh, life felt wide-open—wide-open to possibility. Since I met him, I found myself singing along to love songs, saying hi to strangers. I noticed I had a skip in my step that wasn't there before. It now seemed that every bird I saw had a song to sing; every flower swayed in the gentle breeze and danced merrily to the birds' harmonious tune. Life was in balance—and life was full of surprises.

A couple of weeks after my birthday, Josh astounded me beyond belief. I came home from work about 10:30 and I was beat. I had been up late the night before, and I was ready to collapse the second I walked in the door. I stumbled up the stairs and when I got to the top of the landing, I noticed a single red rose with a note attached. It simply read: _Meet me at the side of the building. —Josh_

I had to admit, I was intrigued, and for the moment, I forgot how fatigued I was. I looked like crap, and I was afraid to let Josh see me looking so worn down, but under the cover of darkness, I hoped he wouldn't notice. I put on my best face and stumbled back down the stairs and around the corner, and there he stood, holding more red roses.

"These are for you. Here are eleven more to go with that one," he said, handing them to me.

"Oh, Josh—that is so sweet of you. How did you know I love red roses?"

"Doesn't every girl?"

"Well, yeah. I guess so. That was a pretty dumb question to ask."

"I think I have something else you'll love, and it's not quite so cliché. Follow me," he said while taking my hand and leading me a little further on. We stopped at a ladder that led to the top of the building.

"Ladies first, Stephanie," Josh urged as he lifted me up at the waist and put me on the first rung. "Don't worry, I'm right behind you and I won't let anything happen. Hand me the roses and I'll carry them up."

Twenty or so rungs later, I was at the top, and much to my amazement, there was a table set up with two chairs. As I walked closer, I was in absolute awe. What appeared to be a card table was covered with a white cloth, and in the center of it was a single candle burning brightly in a hurricane glass holder. And there was music. The soft sound of Foreigner's _"I've Been Waiting for a Girl Like You"_ filled the air and drifted over the rooftop. As I took it all in—flabbergasted and speechless, Josh came up from behind me and pulled one of the fold-up chairs out.

"Sit, milady," he instructed.

He proceeded to put my flowers in a vase at the end of the table and began to pull things from a picnic basket. First he took out two champagne glasses. He set one before me and one in front of the other chair. He then took out a bottle of champagne, popped the cork, and filled our glasses. After that, he procured a tray of delicacies, took a seat, and set them between us. I still didn't know what to say; I felt like I was living out a scene from _Gone with the Wind_. I was Scarlet Ohara and he was Rhett Butler. I could definitely check romantic off my list.

"Surprise."

"I—I don't know what to say, Josh. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. This is amazing."

"You're amazing, Stephanie. You have no idea what you do to me."

"Who—me?" I said innocently, batting my eyelashes at him.

"Grrrrrrrrrrr," he growled. "Yes—you."

"I can't believe you went through all this trouble, Josh."

"It was no trouble. I had a friend help me hoist everything up. He told me I was crazy for doing this, and I told him I was—crazy for you. I figured you'd be home around 10:00. I wasn't waiting long."

"That's good. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting. What do you have on that tray? I'm hungry."

"Chocolate-dipped pieces of heaven. You do like chocolate, don't you, Stephanie?"

"Are you kidding? I love chocolate. I live for it. It's like the air I breathe."

"Really? What's your favorite kind?"

"Dark."

"I can fill that order," he said as he lifted an orange slice, covered in the aphrodisiac, to my lips. I took a bite and tasted the sweet, tangy juices flow into my mouth as the chocolate melted on my tongue. The next thing I knew, he was on the other side of the orange slice, and our lips met in the middle, the citrus explosion blending with the sweetness as he explored my mouth."

"Are you ready for more, Stephanie?"

"Kisses or chocolate?"

"Both." He proceeded to place a strawberry covered in white chocolate in my hand. He picked one up for himself and touched it to mine. "Cheers."

We ate several more of the chocolate delights in between kisses and champagne—and all the while the music continued to play in the background. Presently, Lionel Richie and Diana Ross were belting out _"Endless Love,"_ and I commented on what a romantic collection he had put together.

"I wanted you to have something to listen to when I'm not around, so you'll always be thinking of me."

"Well, I did have a dream about you last night."

"You did? Well, isn't that funny—I dreamt about you as well."

"You did? What happened in your dream?" I asked.

"We were dancing."

"We were? Well, I think I can make that dream come true right now," I said, reaching for his hand. A moment later we were tripping the light fantastic around the rooftop under the stars, and I felt like I was dancing on a cloud as we listened to Edwin McCain's " _Could Not Ask for More_." I was finding the night air truly intoxicating, as was his embrace. I no longer felt tired.

"So, Stephanie, what happened in your dream?"

"Well, you know how dreams go. It was very surreal, and I can't make much sense of it. We were sitting on a small couch, and there was something white between us. We were looking at it with huge smiles on our faces and we were laughing."

"Maybe we were sharing a smore?" he offered.

"I don't think so. Like I said, I don't have any idea what it meant, but it was a positive dream and we looked very happy."

"I know I've never felt happier than I do right now. Stephanie, will you spend forever with me?"

I couldn't believe he just asked me that. I knew at that moment that heaven must exist. I knew he was all I had waited for. I wanted this moment to last forever. I wanted to tell him I could not ask for more, but instead I pathetically uttered, "Josh, let's give it some time. We've only known each other a couple of weeks."

"That's long enough for me to know I have met the most perfect girl on earth. You're smart, you're funny, you're beautiful—you're everything I have been looking for, Stephanie."

"You're pretty darn great yourself. How 'bout if I give you tomorrow, and the tomorrow after that, and we'll see how many tomorrows we can add up."

"All right. I'll settle for that for now, but I can assure you those tomorrows will turn into years, and those years will turn to decades, because now that I've found you, I'm never going to let you go."

* * * * *

And he didn't—not yet anyway. After our night on the rooftop, I saw Josh nearly every day. In the afternoons, when I didn't have class, he'd swing by my apartment in his _Air Express_ truck and whisk me off to lunch, or he'd hang out with me for an hour and I'd fix him something to eat at my place. He'd been working for _Air Express_ delivering packages for the last five years, which explained why he had such great biceps; they sure looked good sticking out of his uniform. According to him, lifting those heavy boxes day in and day out was quite a workout.

Phantom took to Josh just like I did. When Josh walked in the door, he couldn't be restrained. He'd run up to him just like he was a dog and start rubbing against him and purring up a storm. They had a routine now—in walks Josh, Phantom runs over and starts rubbing his leg, Josh walks to the kitchen, Phantom follows behind and jumps on the counter, Josh takes Phantom in his arms and starts nuzzling him. To be honest, I was a little jealous. Phantom had been _my boy_ for so long, I never thought I'd have to share him—or that he'd ever need for, or want anyone else in his life but _his mom_.

I guess all this time Phantom had been craving a male figure in his life. Watching them bond like that just made my heart soar and Phantom's too. It was evident we were both falling madly in love with Josh.

The spring semester of school just flew by with Josh in my life. One day melted into the next and the next, and before I knew it, the end of the semester was here. I ended up with a _B_ in ceramics, and that was largely in part because of the heart-shaped box I made Josh. I received an _A_ on it, and my teacher said it was the best piece I had produced all semester. That just goes to show what a little love can accomplish.

In my stats class I got a _C_ , and to be honest, I felt lucky to get that grade. That class was exceedingly grueling. I can't tell you how many times my brain felt like it would burst from the strain of trying to work out all those hellacious problems. Professor Hilderbrand talked endlessly of statistical probability all semester, and it crossed my mind on more than one occasion that someone with my limited capacity for mathematics would in all probability fail the class. But once again Jenny Cheng, my math tutor, came to my rescue.

I didn't register for summer classes. I wanted to take some time to get to know Josh better. He was thrilled we'd have more time to spend together and had already lined up several outings for us. I was utterly astounded when he sprung the news that he was taking me to meet his parents for the Fourth of July weekend. I didn't do parents. I hadn't met the parents of anyone I dated since I met Harry's parents, and that didn't go very well.

His mother spent the evening grilling me about everything under the sun, and his father kept staring at my cleavage. The next day I got a report from Harry informing me his mother thought I was not the right girl for her son, and his father thought I had a nice rack. Of course, it turns out his mother was right, but who would have known at the time. As for his father, he was a pervert from day one and remained one throughout my marriage to Harry. One time, I recall, he even slapped me on my rear as I entered their house. My dad and his dad had a lot in common, but in the end, Harry and I didn't.

Josh guaranteed me that his parents were going to love me every bit as much as he did and not to worry, but worried I was. Meeting Josh's parents could ruin everything. If they didn't like me, Josh would probably drop me like a hot potato, and not only would I be meeting his mom and dad, but his two sisters, Janette and Jillian as well. The Fourth of July wasn't for another month, but I was already panicking, especially when Josh told me they had a pool. We'd be spending a couple of nights at their place up in Santa Barbara, and according to him, we'd be living the life—sunning ourselves poolside while his dad manned the barbecue, and his mom played bartender. It was resort living, as Josh put it, but a pool meant a bathing suit, and that was the last thing I wanted to be wearing when I met his family. I'd put on a couple of pounds since we started dating, and I noticed some cellulite on the back of my legs the other day. At least I had a month to hit the gym and find a suitable bathing suit for the occasion.

When I told Candy about my situation, she insisted we take a trip to _Bikini Beach Swimwear_. She promised she'd help me find the hottest suit around. Turns out, she found three suits for herself, and left me standing in the sand. _Bikini Beach Swimwear_ was one of those bathing suit stores that have sand on the floors and beach murals on the walls. I guess they had to do something to put you in the mood to spend $100.00, or more, on a swimsuit made out of the amount of fabric used to make a hand towel.

While Candy marveled at how fantastic she looked in suit after suit, I struggled to find one I even liked. Finally, in my frustration, as she exited with another suit she was gushing over, a gaudy lime green and zebra striped thing that she was popping out of, I reminded her sternly, "Candy, I thought we were here to buy me a suit."

"You're right—I just got carried away. Everything just looks so good on me."

I rolled my eyes at her and held up a black one-piece. "What do you think of this?"

"Ugggh...it's boring and ugly and would do nothing to show off what your mama gave you. I hate it. I didn't even know they had one-piece suits here. Why don't you try on this one," she said, holding up a hot pink g-string bikini she was getting ready to try on next.

"Candy, I'm meeting his parents, for God's sake!"

"I know that, you silly girl. I'm sure his dad would absolutely love it. I know your dad would."

"Candy, my dad loves anything with two legs, long hair and boobs. I want to make a good impression. I don't want them to think Josh is dating some sleaze bucket. I want to create an air of class and sophistication. I want to look like the kind of girl you could take home to mom, and mom would actually like her."

"Well, I don't know if they sell anything like that here, but let's take a look," she huffed as she exited the dressing room with a handful of teeny bikinis. She handed three to the salesgirl and asked her to hold them for her. "Come on, Steph, we're going find you a suit that will make everyone happy, including you, but especially me."

"I like this one, Candy." I held up a red, white and blue one-piece that resembled the American flag. "I am meeting them the weekend of the Fourth of July."

"That suit is fine, Steph, if you're on the Olympic swim team. No way. I wouldn't let you be seen dead in that thing. Leave the picking to me—okay?"

Several minutes later, Candy had swept the sales floor and had an armload of suits ready for me to try on, and not a one of them appeared to be a one-piece, but it didn't appear there were any g-strings in the bunch either. I took a sigh of relief as she marched me over to the dressing room.

"I want to see you in every one of these, and I'll be the judge of whether or not it looks any good. Is that understood? Now get in there and strip down," she commanded, pointing me in the direction of a dressing room. She handed me the multi-colored pile she had accumulated, and off I went to face a girls' worst nightmare—a three-way mirror and a bikini.

After trying on what felt like a hundred suits, we both finally found one we could agree on.

"That's it!" Candy exclaimed the moment she laid eyes on me in it. "Oh, Steph, turn around, let me see it from the back. Oh yeah, that's definitely the one. You look like a goddess. Your ass is absolute perfection in that suit."

"Really, you think so, Candy?"

"I know so."

It did look good—I had to admit, and I was my own worst critic when it came to how I looked in a bathing suit—but wasn't every woman? It covered enough skin to make me happy, but showed enough off to make Candy happy. It was a white two-piece. The top was strapless and had a wide band that tied at the back; the front was cinched in the middle with a gold hoop. The bottom rode high on my hips and had a gold hoop on each side, which pleased Candy to no end—she adored it, and so did I. We determined that after I had a suitable tan, I would look fantastic in it. The only problem was the price tag—$149.00!

I told Candy there was no way I could afford it, but that wasn't a problem because she insisted on paying for it. In exchange for her generosity, I took her to lunch at Barney's Bistro, which was known for its great salads. I figured I better start eating a lot of those if I was going to look good on the fourth. I wanted to lose the five pounds I had put on, which was doable, but would take a little vigilance on my part. I'd have to watch what I put in my mouth and hit the gym.

Barney's was one of those trendy places, where every now and then you would see a starlet with a lettuce leaf in her mouth. Fortunately, when we arrived, the lunch crowd had pretty much cleared out and there was ample seating. It was almost 2:00, and we were famished. I didn't realize we had been bathing suit shopping for so long.

The hostess, a long-legged blonde with a seemingly perpetual tilt to her nose, led us to a booth in the back next to the water wall. _She has to be an actress or a model_ , I thought as she seated us.

"Your waiter, Javier, will be right with you, ladies," she announced as she put our menus on the table.

"Is it too early for a martini, Stephanie? We need to celebrate how fabulous your ass looks in that new suit."

"Yeah, I do look hot in it! And no, I don't think it's too early for a martini. It's 5:00 o'clock somewhere. They have a specialty drink menu sitting right here. That must be a sign were supposed to order one, right? What are you going to have?"

"I think I'll just have a Beefeater martini, straight up. How about you, Steph?"

"I want something sweet. I think I'll get an apple martini. Where's this Javier she was telling us about? That must be him heading our way."

Javier sidled up to our table with his right hand out, flopping like a gay flag in the wind. I sized him up, wondering if Lance would like him. Maybe, I thought—then again maybe not, he was too gay.

"Hello ladies, my name is Javier, and I'm going to be your waiter. What can I get you two gorgeous gals to drink?"

"Beefeater martini straight up with two olives for me, and she'll have an apple martini—right, Steph, or did you change your mind?"

"No, that's what I'm having."

"Do you have some bread you can bring us, Javier? We're starving."

"We have some garlic breadsticks. I'll bring them right over with your beverages. Are you ready to order your lunch, ladies?"

"I'll have the poached pear salad with toasted goat cheese and candied pecans. Can you put the balsamic vinegar dressing on the side for me?"

"Yes, ma'am. And for your friend?"

"Candy, what are you having?"

"I'll have the grilled salmon—hold the lemon caper sauce. I want my veggies dry and hold the rice. If I can have extra vegetables, that would be preferable. Thank you, Javier."

"Not a problem. I will put your order in right away."

"Since when are you watching your weight, Candy? You never put anything on the side."

"It's bathing suit season, Steph. I'm always careful this time of year. I have to be looking my best when I'm lounging poolside. Shel and I have been talking about spending a weekend at the Chateau Marmont. We're hoping to hook a big fish, and a wide waistline doesn't attract money, honey."

"Candy, you've been the same size since we got out of high school. Your metabolism is the envy of every woman, and so is your body. You have nothing to worry about."

"We're getting older, Stephanie. We have to be careful or we'll end up looking like our mothers. Not that your mother looks so bad, Steph, but mine has really let herself go."

"Candy, are you sure that suit is okay? I'm not showing too much off, am I?"

"No, absolutely not! Are you kidding—you're not showing enough if you ask me. There's just enough cleavage to make Josh happy, and it's certainly conservative enough for his parents. I think it's perfect for the occasion."

Just then Javier walked up with our drinks and breadsticks. As he put my apple martini down with his right hand, he swung it a little too flamboyantly and swished a good amount onto the table. I was none too happy about that, but I held my tongue. I really shouldn't be drinking in the afternoon anyway.

"To us, to you and Josh, and to you in that new suit," Candy proposed as she held her glass to mine. "So, Steph, how are things going with you and Josh? How is he in bed? Is he any good?"

"Well, don't beat around the bush now, Candy. That's kind of private, don't you think?"

"No—not at all. We're humans, and God gave us the natural desire to copulate to perpetuate the species. Everybody does _it_ , so why not talk about _it._ How is he? Do tell. You have done the nasty with him, haven't you?"

"Well, yes—but I made him wait till our fourth date."

"You did. Since when do you wait to test drive the merchandise? Why on earth would you torture yourself for that long?"

"Candy, hopping into bed right away with the guys I've been meeting has been getting me nowhere. I really like Josh a lot. I haven't felt this way about anyone since Harry, and I want him to take me seriously. If I jumped into bed with him straight off the bat, he'd think I did that with every guy I meet, and even if I have a tendency to do that, I don't want him to think of me that way. I'm turning over a new leaf. Men consider easy women like that cheap and slutty."

"Oh please, you're joking, right, Steph?"

"No, I'm dead serious. Men think those types of women are good for a romp in the hay, but they're not the kind of women a man would want to have a relationship with. Men fall in love with women they can respect, and I want Josh to fall in love with me. Didn't your mom teach you anything about the male species?"

"She tried, but you know me, I never listened. I'm too much into immediate gratification to hold out like that. I'm not Greek, but I should be. The word hedonist ought to be my middle name. If a guy has got a hot bod and fashion model good looks, then I'm inviting him into my boudoir, and the sooner the better. Most of them don't turn down the offer either, except the gay ones, of course. Plus, I get tired of most men so fast; I really don't want them to hang around for too long. They can become such bores when they start trying to monopolize all your time and act like your boyfriend. And then comes the jealously, and that just kills it. I usually give them the _ol' heave ho_ around then. So...how is he? You still haven't answered my question, Steph."

"Well, hmmm... he's really big, and he knows how to use his tongue," I whispered across the table. "Need I say more?"

"Oh, please do. I want to know every detail, Stephanie."

"Use your imagination, Cand, 'cause that's all I'm telling you."

"You brat. I'll tell you all the lurid details about my dalliance with Tim. He's hung like a horse."

"Spare me, Candy. I don't need to know all that. Here comes Javier with our lunch."

At the end of our meal, I picked up the tab—as promised, and it was almost as much as my bathing suit. Our drinks were $12.00, and we had two each. It slipped my mind how pricey Barney's was when I suggested it. What the heck, it was just another hundred dollars on my charge card. Candy was worth it, and so was I. I'd just have to cut back a little this month. Now that I was with Josh, he covered most of my social expenditures, so that helped out a lot.

When I walked into my apartment, Josh was waiting for me on the futon with his arms _wide-open_. I had given him a key a couple of weeks ago, and he had taken to using it right away. I went immediately into his masculine embrace, and almost squished Phantom—who I didn't notice was sitting on his lap. He jumped up and out of the way just in time.

"Hey, baby, where ya been? I missed you. Phantom and I have been watching the game for a while now."

"I was just out with Candy, shopping. I bought a new bathing suit."

"You did? Are you going to model it for me? I bet you look sexy as all hell in it."

"I think you'll like how it hugs my curves."

"I'm sure I will, but I think I'll like you even better without it. How 'bout I see you in your birthday suit first. I wouldn't want to, ummm... soil your new bikini," he intimated. I could feel him growing beneath me as I sat on his lap.

Yes indeed, everything did seem _wide-open_ to possibility with Josh, and I certainly felt the urgency of that as he reached up my skirt, pulled my undies aside and opened me up to a world that was all our own. This was definitely a world I could get used to, and I didn't think I would ever tire of it—not today, not tomorrow, or the tomorrow after that.
Chapter 24: Xcited

_X_ is for xcited. Now that July forth was nearing, I was actually starting to feel rather xcited about meeting Josh's parents. Josh had lowered my anxiety level by calling them up and introducing us on the phone.

His mom, Jane, was so engaging and warm, and she seemed to take an immediate liking to me. Josh told her I was an English major. When she was in college she majored in English too, although she never graduated. She met Josh's dad, Josh Senior, in college—and as she put it, he knocked her up, and they had a shotgun wedding. She was forced to give up her dream of becoming an English teacher and take on the role of a stay-at-home mom, but she did emphasize that she had never regretted the decision for one instant. However, she cautioned me not to follow in her footsteps. She insisted my number one priority should be that of fulfilling my dream of becoming an English teacher. Like myself, she had always had a love for the English language, and she admired anyone who could lift the words of great writers like Hemmingway, Dickens and Fitzgerald off the page and bring them to life. That, in her opinion, was a true gift and one that should not be wasted.

Mr. Young was a bit more reserved than his wife, not nearly so chatty and much more to the point. He wanted to know what time we'd be arriving and whether or not I ate red meat. He was planning on grilling up some mean steaks, and he was hoping I wasn't one of those girls who barely ate, let alone didn't eat beef. They didn't do things like that in his family. I assured him he had nothing to worry about and that seemed to satisfy him.

All and all, it was a great first conversation, and I felt like they liked me so far. I had a much better feeling about them than I did about Harry's parents. Josh's parents seemed rather cordial and somewhat normal—not neurotic and perverted like Harry's mom and dad. Now, if I could do just as well with his sisters as I did his parents, I'd have it made. Josh had already warned me that his sisters, Jillian and Janice, were a little over protective of him, seeing as he was their younger and only brother, but he was confident they would adore me. I hoped he was right.

Josh still hadn't seen my bathing suit, and I decided to make him wait. I knew he was going to love it. I just hoped he'd be able to keep his hands off me in front of his parents. He had acquired a habit of spanking me as I walked around the apartment in my underwear, and I was afraid he wouldn't be able to keep his hands to himself when he saw me in those bikini bottoms.

On the Thursday before the fourth, I called Shelby up and asked her to go shopping. I had traded shifts with Lance; he was picking up my Saturday night and doing a double shift on Sunday. In exchange, I was working for him tonight, but I had the afternoon free. Shelby was free too, and fortunately she was up for a shopping excursion. I really was not in the mood to shop, but I needed to pick up a couple of things for this weekend. Josh told me to dress down, seeing as we'd be spending most of our time at his parents' house, or at the beach. I needed a couple of tanks and a new pair of shorts.

Shelby and I were meeting in the shoe department at Macy's in the Glendale Galleria at 10:30. I got there at 10:15, and I was browsing the racks when I spotted the cutest pair of sandals. I picked them up and looked at the price tag, which read $125.00. Why did everything I like have to be so expensive? These designers definitely didn't cater to the starving student crowd. I was just about to walk over to the cosmetics counter when I spotted Shelby looking around for me. "Hey, Shel, I'm over here," I yelled, waving my hand at her.

"Hi, Steph. How are you doing? It's seems like forever since I last saw you."

"It's only been a couple of weeks, Shelby. We had a drink at Jack's—remember?"

"Yeah, I know, Steph, but that was so rushed. We didn't have time for a good gab session. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too, Shel. Let's get this shopping out the way, and then we can grab a bite to eat and get caught up on things. I have so much to tell you. Let's head over to the _Fab 10_ —they always have cute stuff and everything in there is $10.00. I don't want to spend a lot. I just need a couple of things to bum around in this weekend."

"Are you nervous about meeting the parents, Steph?"

"A little, but I talked to them on the phone. They seemed really nice, so I'm not too frazzled over the whole thing."

"Do they know you were married before?"

"I don't know if Josh told them. What does that matter anyway?"

"I guess it doesn't. I was just wondering. By the way, has Josh ever been married?"

"No. I'm kind of curious as to why. How does a guy make it to thirty-five without having been hitched? I guess that's a good thing. He doesn't have as much baggage as most guys his age, but I think it's a little odd. I'm hoping his family can shed some light on why he's still single. He says he's had several girlfriends, and he was engaged once, but they didn't make it all the way to the altar. She cheated on him with his best friend."

"The poor guy. Maybe he's just been unlucky in love like you. That could be why you two connected so immediately."

"Could be. He doesn't like to talk much about his past relationships, and neither do I. I don't want to drag all that mud out onto the carpet for God's sake, but I think we both know we've been hurt. I told him about Harry, but not everything. Why dredge all that up? I just want to move forward and put the past behind me."

"Amen to that, sister. Let's shop. We're at _Fab 10_."

"Wow—that was quick." _Fab 10_ was all the way on the other side of the mall. "Oh, Shel, look at this," I said, picking up a dark blue tank with a sequined American flag on it. "What do you think? Cute, huh?"

"I think it's adorable. How on earth do they manufacture something like that and sell it for $10.00? The sequins must cost more than that."

I looked at the tag, which read: Made in Indonesia, and I showed it to Shelby. "That's how. Everything is made in a third world country these days," I said with a pang of guilt. I had just read an article about ethical clothing. Ethical clothing is clothing that ensures that the people who manufactured it were fairly paid and fairly treated. I doubted the hands that put this together were fairly paid, not at these prices, but the article did counter that many of these people relied on foreign consumerism, and they were grateful to have jobs. Without it, they would be unable to provide for their families, and they would likely starve. Even so, it made me feel bad about buying it, but I didn't have a lot of money right now, so I didn't have a lot of choices. I took the dark blue tank and several others to the dressing room to try on. I made quick work of making my choices, and in about twenty minutes I was at the cash register paying for my unethical goods.

"It's almost 11:30, Stephanie. Where do you want to get a bite to eat?"

"I was thinking we could try that new vegetarian restaurant on Brand Avenue. I heard they have a great veggie burger. Are you up for that?"

"Yum. I haven't had one of those in ages."

My veggie burger was super delicious. I ordered mine with Muenster cheese, avocado and extra mayo. It always amazed me how you could take some beans and nuts and make something that tasted really good out of it. Granted, veggie burgers don't taste like real meat, but they're not bad. Shelby ordered hers with Cheddar and tofu bacon. I'd never heard of tofu bacon, and it sounded gross to me, but she raved about it. We washed our veggie burgers down with some passion fruit tea, and called it an early afternoon. She had a house to show around 4:00, and I had to work tonight. I was feeling kind of tired and wanted to rest before my shift.

I got home around 2:00, turned off the ringer on the phone, and went down for an hour nap. When I woke up, my answering machine light was blinking. It was Josh.

"Hey, Steph, I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. I know you have to work tonight, but don't be surprised if you find me waiting for you when you get home. I haven't seen you in a couple of days, and I need a Stephanie fix. I can't go too long without you. Oh, good news—I forgot to tell you that you're going to be meeting my niece and nephew. Justine and Tyler will be at my parents' this weekend. They were the kids you heard screaming in the background the day I left that message for your personal ad. They're great—you're gonna love 'em. I'll see you later, babe."

Uggghhh... when was he going to say _I love you_? I was always expecting that at the end of one of his phone messages. I suppose I'd prefer that he tell me something like that in person, but I'd settle for the phone. I knew he was crazy about me—why couldn't or wouldn't he say those three little words? Humph! I was definitely not going to be the first one to say them.

As I got ready for work, I pondered meeting his niece and nephew. Screaming kids didn't sound like my idea of great, but maybe they'd matured in the last few months. I wondered how old they were. I always felt awkward around kids, but for some reason they always seemed to like me. I guess a peaceful day poolside was out of the question now. As I recall, kids love to scream and splash around. That's what I did as a kid, and I'm sure things hadn't changed much in this regard. Well, as least I could mentally prepare myself for it, now that I knew they were going to be there.

The next couple of days flew by. Before I knew it, Saturday morning arrived and Josh was picking me up. I was wearing my new sequined, flag tank top with some jean shorts and a pair of blue flip-flops I had found with red stripes and little white stars on them. I was definitely themed for the occasion. What can I say? I'm a future English teacher. We're into themes. I sat drinking my coffee, my bag packed and ready to go while I waited for Josh. It was almost 11:00 and he had called to tell me he was running a little late. I was nervous as I sat there thinking about meeting his family. It wasn't fair; he had met my family on day one, and they all loved him. He never had to deal with all this stress.

Josh honked his horn at around 11:30. I looked out the window to make sure it was him, and sure enough, there he was in his blue Jeep waiting for me. I gave Phantom a quick pet and a kiss and told him not to worry; I loaded him up on extra cat food and water. I closed the door, made certain I had locked it, and bounded down the stairs. The second I jumped in Josh's car, I was bombarded with kisses, a hug and a "Hi, baby, I missed you."

"I missed you too, Josh. It's been all of one day since I've seen you, but it seems like an eternity."

"I know. It does feel like a lifetime. I'm not letting you out of my sight the entire weekend. Well—almost the entire weekend. I talked to my parents this morning, and they're making you sleep in the guest bedroom. Don't worry, once everyone has crashed, you can sneak over to my room."

"Josh, that's probably not such a good idea. What if they catch us?"

"So? It's not like they think I'm a virgin or anything. You wouldn't be the first girl they caught me in bed with."

"Oh really? Do you make a habit of sleeping with girls under your parents' roof?"

"No, no, nothing like that, Steph. When I was a teenager, there was a time when—"

"I think I can picture what you're going to say. You can stop there. I want your parents to like me. If that's their rule, then I don't want to break it."

"I can't go the whole weekend without you, Steph. Maybe we can bring a blanket down to the beach later tonight. We've never done it under the stars."

"It's the Fourth of July. There will be a million people on the beach. We'll see. Let's just get there first and see how things go. Maybe your parents have something planned and we won't be able to get away. One weekend without sex won't kill you."

"Oh yes—it might kill me. Haven't you ever heard of Sexual Withdrawal Syndrome? Some guys have been said to go into cardiac arrest after having a steady diet of sex with a hot girl and then being deprived. Cutting me off cold turkey could be a very dangerous thing, Steph. We don't want to risk it."

"Ha ha—yeah, right! You're quite the comedian. Don't worry. I won't let you die, even if I have to sneak into the bathroom with you for a quickie."

"Thank God for that. By the way, we're stopping at one of my favorite restaurants on the way. Do you like Italian food? Are you hungry?"

"Love it, and I didn't eat a thing all morning. I'm running on 100 percent caffeine right now. I was too nervous to eat. We've never been out for Italian food. Is this place any good?"

"The best around. I'm very picky about my Italian food. That's why I haven't taken you to an Italian restaurant yet. My parents used to bring us there all the time when we were kids. Bobby Di Maro's has the best pasta around. They have a spinach and sausage stuffed ravioli that's topped with a sun dried tomato alfredo sauce that is to die for. You're going to love it. They make everything fresh."

"How far is this place? I'm feeling rather faint."

"It's about an hour away. We'll be exiting on California Street off the 101 Freeway. Can you make it that long, Steph? I can stop at a mini mart and grab a bag of chips or something to tide you over."

"No, no—don't do that. I'll be fine. I don't want to ruin my appetite. What time did you tell your parents we'd be there?"

"Around 3:00-ish. I figured that would give us plenty of time to stop for lunch. My dad is cooking up those steaks he was talking about on the phone. He marinates them in a tequila lime sauce that you're going to go crazy for. I was thinking we could split those raviolis I was telling you about with some wine so we can save room for dinner. Does that sound okay?"

"Sure. I better watch it, or I'm going to go home ten pounds heavier at the end of the weekend."

"Ten pounds would look good on you, Stephanie. You're a little skinny. I don't really like skinny girls."

_Oh my God! This guy really is perfect_ , I thought to myself. _Did he just really say that?_ Every guy in Los Angeles is looking for an anorexic stick figure for a girlfriend, and I find the one guy that likes a little cushiness. This was just one more reason to love him, which reminded me—I was still waiting to hear those three little words.

We finished our lunch at Bobby Di Maro's at around 2:30, and it was every bit as tasty as Josh had promised. As we left, I felt like a drunken Italian that hadn't brushed her teeth for a month. With every word I uttered, I was spewing out the pungent odor of garlic and Chianti, and I didn't have any mints or gum. I was not going to meet Josh's family smelling like this. I insisted we get some breath mints before we arrived. Josh stopped at a grocery store near his parent's, and we ran in and got some _Tic Tacs_. I really wanted gum, but I didn't want to look like a cow chewing the cud—that wouldn't make for a very good first impression. Josh also grabbed a couple of bottles of wine, a tray of assorted cheeses, some crackers and an apple pie to bring along. He explained how his mom taught him that a guest should always bring something for his hosts, even if the hosts were your family members. I had to say that his mom sure brought him up right. My Grandma Rose always told me the same thing.

As we pulled in his parent's driveway, I could feel my stomach doing belly flops. I didn't know why I was so nervous. They seemed so nice and easy going on the phone. Josh and I each grabbed a grocery bag, exited the car and made our way up the path to the front door. As Josh rang the bell, I noticed my free hand was visibly shaking, so I grabbed my bag with both hands to still it. The door opened and there stood a stout woman with short, blonde hair that she wore parted on the side. She had rubicund cheeks and her lips were layered with a vibrant pink lipstick that was a few shades too bright for her complexion. She wore an outfit similar to mine, a white t-shirt with old glory on it and some jean cutoffs—and I'll be damned, she had stars and striped shoes on too! Standing beside her was a tall man wearing a red and white checked shirt with blue buttons down the front, and a pair of worn jeans. He had on a cowboy hat and boots to complete the outfit, and I couldn't help but think of Dirk. Neither his mom nor dad was what I expected.

As they looked me up and down, Josh put his bag aside and went to hug his mom. Simultaneously, his dad walked up and hugged me and declared, "This must be Stephanie. Welcome to our home. This is my wife, Jane, and I'm Josh Senior. Call me Dad."

"And call me Mom," Mrs. Young ordered, a wide smile beaming across her too pink lips. Come on in. We've been waiting for you two. Everybody else is already here."

Josh and I followed behind and put our grocery bags on the kitchen counter. I was escorted to the living room, and as I looked around at the surroundings, I drew the conclusion that I had been transported back to the '70s. Two of the walls were accented in dark paneling, and the walls that weren't paneled were painted a pale yellow. Thick, gold colored drapes hung from gaudy curtain rods, and a worn olive-colored, velvet sectional was the centerpiece of the room. A couple of plush floral chairs upholstered in the same hues were positioned across from it, and a large oak, glass-topped coffee table stood in the middle of the seating arrangement. Along one wall was a large bookcase piled with books, magazines and knick-knacks. I noticed several framed photos of Josh pictured at various ages, and there were also several pictures of two blonde girls that looked very much like the two women plopped on the floral chairs before me. I presumed they must be his sisters. Seated on the couch were two children, a boy and a girl; they must be Tyler and Justine. Next to them was a man with a look of boredom on his face, who I figured must be their father, Jillian's husband.

"Join the party," the bored-looking man invited. "I'm Ted, Jillian's main squeeze. You must be Stephanie. Have a seat," he said as he patted the spot next to him.

I thought of Harry's dad, the pervert, but took the seat out of politeness, not wanting to offend him.

"These are my kids, Tyler and Justine. Say hello, kids."

"Hello kids," they recited in unison.

"Don't be such smart-asses, kids. You know what I meant."

"Yeah, Dad, we know what you meant. We're just razzing you. Your girlfriend is hot, Josh. Does she have a sister?" Tyler asked with a smirk on his face. I felt like he was ogling me, and that just felt so wrong.

"Yes, Stephanie does have a sister, but she's about twenty years too old for you. Stick to chicks your own age, kid," Josh advised as he patted him on the back.

"Yeah, you pervert!" Justine hollered. "All the girls I know say the sight of you makes them want to puke. Maybe you should stick to boys."

"I'm not gay!" Tyler screamed at her.

"Yes you are—gay, gay, gay!" Justine yelled back at the top of her lungs.

"Would you two stop it already? I get so sick of you two bickering. Go outside and play," Jillian commanded.

"I don't want to go out and play."

"I don't care what you want. You're both driving me crazy. Go play ping-pong, or hide and go seek, or something. Don't go in the pool yet. We'll be out in a little while. Now, scuttle on out of here," she sternly advised. "Both of you—or else you'll spend the afternoon on lockdown."

"All right, all right already. It's nice to meet you, Stephanie. Catch you later," Tyler said, using the deepest voice he could muster. It was obvious he was trying to impress me with his manliness as he strutted towards the patio door. I had to restrain myself from laughing out loud. Justine followed behind him.

"You gotta love 'em, but a ten and an eleven-year-old can drive you a little nuts sometimes," Josh's mother apologized.

I figured Tyler was the older of the two, by the size of them.

"Who wants a drink? I'm pouring a specialty cocktail I invented for the occasion—the Fourth of July Mojito. Instead of crushed mint, I'm crushing blueberries and lacing the rum with Blue Caraco and topping things off with a little grenadine. You get a maraschino cherry to boot. Who's in?"

I raised my hand, and I was embarrassed to see I was the only one who had. It did sound rather disgusting, but I didn't want to be rude. "Come on, you guys. Give it a try. I don't want to drink alone," I begged.

"Who said anything about drinking alone," offered a bleached blonde wearing a tank top that was stretched to the limit across her ample bust. "Mom, make me one of those with extra blueberries, but can you substitute tequila for rum and blend it?"

"Sure, Janice. Any other orders?"

"I'll take a Coors Light," Mr. Young added.

"Me too," said Ted.

"Get those yourself, boys. They're in the kitchen fridge. Can't you see I'm busy playing bartended over here? Josh, what are you having?"

"I'll have what Stephanie's drinking. I feel like living life dangerously today, Mom."

"You won't be sorry, son. This is an award-winning mojito. Jillian, what are you having, honey?"

"Two Tylenol and a glass of white wine."

"Medication and alcohol don't mix. When did you get a headache?"

"When I gave birth to a girl, Mom. Stephanie, I don't advise having a boy and a girl a year and a half apart in age. All they do is squabble. They were cute enough when they were babies, but now I wish I had a time machine. I'd age them at least ten years."

"Stop your complaining already, Jillian. All you could talk about after we got married was how your biological clock was ticking. You wanted kids so bad, and you insisted on having them right away. Now you got 'em, so deal with it." Ted shot her a dirty look and washed his words down with a big swig of beer.

I felt a little awkward in the middle of all this, and I was relieved when Mrs. Young brought me my drink. I was startled at how good it tasted. Mrs. Young did have talent for creating original concoctions. I actually thought she was right. This drink could win an award. I was looking over the minutia of things on the bookshelf, as Jillian and Ted continued their bickering, when Mr. Young noticed me looking at some magazines on the bottom shelf.

"Do you read Playboy, Stephanie?"

"Ummm... no, I don't. I didn't know people read that magazine."

"Oh, sure they do. They have all kinds of political articles in there and stuff. I've been a subscriber for years. I've built up quite a collection."

"Honey, I told you to put those dirty things away before company came over." There was a tone of loathing in Mrs. Young's voice. "The children are here for God's sake!"

"There isn't nothing in those magazines they haven't seen already, Jane. They watch MTV. Some of those music stars they show on there are running around half-naked, or they got someone's booty shaking in their face. Kids grow up fast these days."

"Yeah, but we don't have to help that along. I want them to maintain their childlike innocence for as long as possible."

She said it like a true grandmother.

"Yeah, right, Mom," Josh spat out sardonically. "Just like I maintained mine? Dad used to hide his Playboys back then, and I still managed to find them. Do you remember the time I got called up to the principal's office because I got caught selling _Playboy_ centerfolds to my friends?"

"Oh, don't mention that, Josh. That is a mark of shame on this family I would prefer to forget."

"Not me. I was the most popular sixth grader at school after that."

"You may have been popular, but you ruined my collection," interjected Mr. Young. The centerfolds for Miss October, November, and December of 1978 are all missing because of you."

"Lookie here, Stephanie," Mr. Young requested as he grabbed the magazine on top of the stack and turned to a page that had a picture of Marilyn Monroe on it. "This here is the fiftieth Anniversary Collector's Edition. They don't make 'em like her anymore. She had real boobs, and back then girls didn't shave everything off like they do nowadays. Now, that's a woman."

By this time I was visibly blushing. Thankfully, Justine and Tyler, who had just come barging in the back door with a dog in tow behind them, saved me. Mrs. Young quickly grabbed the Playboy out of Mr. Young's hand and then took up the stack on the shelf. She hauled the magazines away before the kids had a chance to get a glimpse of them. She made sure to smack her husband on the back of his head with one of them as she stormed off to another room to hide the illicit goods. This garnered a laugh from Josh and Ted.

"Get away from her, Muff Diver!" Mr. Young commanded of the speckled mutt that trailed in behind the kids.

The dog had settled himself between my legs and was wagging his tail excitedly as he licked my thigh.

"You see, we used to have breakfast by the pool when Muff was a pup, and we'd throw him bits of muffin into the pool. He'd jump right in after 'em. As you can see, he's grown right into the name. Get on over here boy. Leave Stephanie alone."

By the grace of God, Muff took Mr. Young's command, and I took a sigh of relief as the dog retreated from me. He then went over to Janice and started doing the same thing. "Get that filthy-minded dog out of here," Mrs. Young demanded as she entered the room. "Who let him in?"

"We did," the kids said with mischievous grins on their faces. Something told me they knew exactly what would happen when they let the dog trail in behind them.

"Well, get him on out of here. We have company. We can't have that perverted dog up to his shenanigans."

"Ah, Grandma, you ruin all the fun," Tyler said as he grabbed Muff by the collar and dragged him out.

"What do you all say—are you ready to go in the pool?" asked Mrs. Young. "Let's suit up and do some splashing around."

"I'm going to be marinating the steaks for dinner. You all go on in and have fun," said Mr. Young. "I'm going to grill you up a steak dinner you're never going to forget, Stephanie. I better get started."

"Come on, Steph. Let's get our luggage. We'll be right back, Mom."

Josh took me by the hand and led me to the car. When we were out of earshot, he asked me, "So, what do you think of my mom and dad?"

"Well, they're friendly enough," I offered. "They certainly are uninhibited. I'm not used to that. My family is a bit more reserved in matters of discretion."

"Oh, they've always been that way. Mom used to walk around in her bra and underwear all the time when we were growing up. She always told us, there is nothing wrong with the human body that God gave you, and you shouldn't be ashamed of it. I got the birds and bees talk from my dad when I was six. He didn't want me believing any nonsense I might hear about a stork from my friends. Their intentions are good and all. I hope they didn't offend you."

"No, no—not at all. I find them quite amusing and likable. I don't know why I was so nervous about meeting them."

"That's a relief. I was a little worried about what you would think about them. I was hoping they would be on their best behavior, but they are who they are. I can't change them. Anyway, I told you that you had nothing to worry about. My parents are the easy ones. It's my sisters I'm concerned about."

"They seem okay."

"Like I said before, they're a little overprotective of me. Just don't let them corner you. They've scared a couple of girls away in the past."

* * * * *

I exited on to the patio area wearing my new white suit. I had a bit of a tan from a recent sunning session, and I was confident I looked good. Josh confirmed that and so did his mother. I hadn't even walked five steps outside when she approached me with Josh's sisters at her side.

"Well, just get a look at you. Oh my, you just look fantastic in that bikini. Clothes don't do your figure justice, Stephanie. You should walk around like that all the time—right girls?" she suggested, elbowing Janice in the side. "Janice, why can't you buy a suit like that? Instead you wear those trashy looking g-string getups. That's why you're not married like your sister, Jillian. You're attracting the wrong kind of men, wearing those sleazy things."

"Wasn't it you that once told me _if you got it, flaunt it?_ " Janice retorted, rolling her eyes at her mom.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't mean you should let your ass hang out like that, and that top barely covers your nipples. It's obscene—really it is. You should take some lessons in class from Stephanie, Janice."

"I think she looks fine," I put my two cents in, trying to get on Janice's good side. In reality, I thought she was baring a little too much, but I wasn't about to agree with Mrs. Young, especially not after what Josh told me about his sisters.

"See, Mom, Stephanie likes my bathing suit. You're such a prude. What do you think, Jillian?"

"I think you look like a slut. If you were beachside in Brazil, I guess you'd fit in. They all run around looking like that over there. You're out of your element."

"Thanks a lot, Sis. At least I don't have to cover any ugly stretch marks with a hideous one-piece like the one you're wearing."

"Hey, that's not nice. I've had two children. Let's see what you look like after you pop a couple out, Janice."

"I don't plan on having children and ruining all of this," she said with her hands on her hips. To emphasize her point, she shook her boobs in front of the three of us. "I'll adopt or pay a surrogate. Let some other woman go through hell for me and destroy her figure."

"Stephanie—Janice and I want to talk to you for a bit. Can we steal you away for a few?" Jillian asked in a manner that implied I really didn't have a choice.

"Yeah, you girls go chat while I go help your father with dinner," Mrs. Young said. "I'll catch up with you later. Be nice to her," she warned them as she walked away.

"Come on, Stephanie. We just have a few things we want to talk to you about," Jillian asserted, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards an umbrella-topped table in the corner of the patio. Janice followed close behind. I felt like a lamb being led to the slaughter. I looked around for Josh, but he was nowhere to be seen. I was on my own.

"So, Stephanie, how long have you and Josh been going out?" Janice inquired first.

"Since April. I met him on my birthday, April tenth."

"He must be serious about you then. He hasn't dated much since Juliet cheated on him with his best friend Sam, and that was over two years ago—right before their wedding. Did he tell you about that?" Jillian imparted as she leaned into me, lowering her voice.

"He mentioned something about it, but he didn't elaborate."

Before she continued, she looked around to make sure the coast was clear. It was evident she didn't want Josh to hear any of this. "It was a real mess. They had already sent out the invitations, ordered the flowers and cake, booked the venue, DJ and everything—the whole shebang was set to go. Janice and I were bridesmaids, and we had already purchased our gowns."

"Yeah, I still have that ghastly satin thing hanging in my closet. Where the hell am I ever going to wear that revolting wine-colored piece of garbage? It doesn't even show off my legs. She could have at least picked out mini dresses for us to wear," Janice complained bitterly.

"Anyway, Stephanie, we had never seen Josh happier than those days before the wedding. Then, a couple of weeks before the big bash, Josh caught Juliet and Sam having sex in their bed. He was supposed to be working late that day, but he got off early. Sam was his best man. Josh took it really hard. Not only did he lose Juliet, but he also lost his oldest and dearest friend. That really messed him up for a while. He hasn't trusted a woman since," Jillian lamented. She had her fists clenched and I could see the anger in her eyes.

"The bottom line is, we don't want you messing with our little brother's feelings, Stephanie. He's a good guy, and he deserves a good woman, not some tramp that's going to run off with his best friend. Can we trust you?" Janice asked. She was looking directly at me. "If you screw with our brother's heart, were going to rip yours out."

"Oh no, I swear I'd never do anything to hurt Josh in any way," I assured them with the utmost sincerity in my voice. I wanted to tell them I loved Josh. I couldn't imagine doing anything that would bring him harm, but I hadn't even told him that I loved him yet. He should be the first one to hear those three words from my lips, so I held back.

Janice was giving me a hard look, but then she relented and broke into a smile. I felt a great sense of relief. "I think she's okay, Jillian. I hope you understand our position, Stephanie. I can tell that I'm going to like you already, but I liked Juliet too, and look what she went and did. We never really worried too much about Josh before all that muddle of crap went down."

"I totally understand where you're coming from, Janice and Jillian. In fact, I really respect how much you care about your brother. If I ever do anything to hurt him, I personally give you permission to tear me to shreds. You can just dig your talons right in and start ripping away, and that's a _pinky promise_."

"What on earth is a _pinky promise_?" Jillian asked with a perplexed look on her face. "I've never heard of that."

"It's when you pinky shake on something. I'll show you how. Give me your right pinkies." I intertwined their right pinkies in mine and shook them up and down. As I did this, I looked them both in the eyes, and vowed to uphold their brother's heart above my own and to treat him like a king. They seemed satisfied with my avowal, and when we broke pinkies, I felt like I had made two new friends.

"Come on, Stephanie, let's get wet in the pool. It's blazing out here," Janice invited as she gave her sister a knowing look. The next thing I knew I was being picked up by the arms and legs, and carried off to the pool.

"Stop it, you guys!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. "My hair! My hair! It's going to get all wet! Let me go! Let me go!" Needless to say, Jillian and Janice completely ignored my pleas as I struggled to break free, and the next thing I knew, I was immersed in a chlorine bath, and they were right behind me. Once I got over my shock and came up for air, I saw that everyone else was in the pool with me, including Muff Diver, who was dog paddling towards me. As I floated among them, I thought— _I can definitely see myself as part of this crazy soup_. I was positive of one thing; life would never be boring with the Young family. Crazy as they were, I truly really felt like I belonged, and I hadn't felt like that for a very, very long time.

* * * * *

A perfect day turned into a perfect night. As we looked up at the darkened sky, our toes in the sand, Josh's arm was encircling me. We watched colorful explosions bursting in air, and I felt my heart skip a beat when he turned my face towards his. "What do you think, Stephanie?"

"It's gorgeous. Look at that trailing one with all the silver sparkles."

"I meant, what do you think about us?"

"I think our future is as bright as the fireworks." I pointed at a huge blue and fuchsia ball of fire.

"You know what, Stephanie? Ummm... how do I say this?"

"What, Josh? You're not breaking up with me, are you? Is it your family? They didn't like me—did they?"

"Are you kidding? They're mad about you, just like me."

"That's a relief."

_Oh, what the hell. I'll just say it_. "I think _I love you_ , Stephanie."

"You do? You know what? I think _I love you,_ _too_ , Josh."

"That's music to my ears. I wasn't sure how you felt about me."

"Happy fourth, Josh."

"It certainly is."

Everything looked so bright as we kissed under the reds, and the greens, and the blues that were falling from the sky, and I was _xcited_ to see what tomorrow would bring. But for the moment, I was lost in an amazing today in an amazing man's arms, and life felt like one big, spectacular fireworks show.
Chapter 25: Yearning

_Y_ is for yearning. There is a yearning that comes after those three words are spoken. Since Josh told me that he loved me, I felt this insatiable need to have him near me all the time. I woke up yearning for him, I longed for him in the afternoons, and I had to have him in the evenings. He was like a drug, and there was no turning back now. I was 100 percent addicted to him, and there was nothing that could fill the tremendous void I felt in his absence—that is, of course, except his presence. And now, more than ever, I needed him.

When I got back from our Santa Barbara getaway, I came home to a sick Phantom. He was clearly not his usual self. I entered my apartment, anxious to see my precious darling, but he was nowhere to be found. I looked in the closet, behind the futon and then under it, and that's where I found him. He was flattened like a pancake and seemed to have difficulty breathing. I opened a can of tuna and tried to coax him out from under it, but he just sniffed at the tuna and turned away. I knew something was very wrong, and I wanted to rush him to the veterinarian this second, but it was a Sunday, and it would cost a fortune for an emergency visit.

It was already after 6:00, and Josh had gone off to meet some friends for a game of pool. God, how I wished he were here to tell me what to do. I was panicked and all my mom-cat-instincts came out in full force. Much to Phantom's displeasure, I reached under the futon and grabbed him by his front paws as he kicked and screamed bloody murder. It wasn't easy, but I managed to pull at him until he was free and clear. Before he had a chance to run, I nabbed him and took him up in my arms and started rocking him back and forth. He was clearly not happy as I whispered in his furry little ear—"It's going to be okay, Phantom; it's gonna be okay." But truth be told, I didn't know if he was going to be okay. I had never seen him act like this. He squirmed at my attentions and did his best to escape, but I held him strong. Not having the slightest idea of what to do, I went and got a blanket, wrapped him securely in it so he couldn't get away, and called my mom. Thank God she was in.

"Hello, who's this?"

"Hi, Mom, it's Stephanie."

"Well, hello, darling. How was your trip? Did things go okay with Josh's parents? I'm sure they just loved you. Tell me all about it."

"I will, Mom—but not now. I have an emergency situation."

"What's the matter? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's Phantom. He's sick. His breathing is very shallow, and I found him hiding under the futon. I couldn't even coax him out with some tuna. I had to grab him and force him out. He doesn't look so hot. What do you think is wrong with him?"

"That doesn't sound good at all, Stephanie. In my experience, when a cat acts like that, he's preparing to die. They always hide. Do you remember when Bootsie got sick? You were just a tiny thing back then. I think you were about three. Anyway, that's exactly what she did. She went under the bed and she didn't want to budge. I thought for sure she was going to expire right under there. I ended up having your dad lift the mattress while I stood ready with the cat carrier. I shoved her in and rushed her to the doctor as fast as I could, but it didn't do any good. We had to put her to sleep that same day. She was in the latter stages of kidney failure, and I had no idea. It was too late to save her."

"Oh, Mom, don't tell me that. Phantom was perfectly fine when I left on Friday. How could he go from being healthy as a horse to near death? It just doesn't make sense."

"Cats are very good at hiding their illness, Stephanie. He could have been sick for a while now. I recommend that you take him to the vet right away. Is there anything he might have gotten into while you were gone that would have made him sick?"

"No, Mom. You know how small my apartment is. If I left anything around, I would have spotted it. I can't afford to take him to the vet. You know how much an emergency visit is, and on a Sunday night? The cost would be astronomical."

"Meet me at Dr. Fender's up on Grand Avenue. I'll pay for the visit. This can't wait until tomorrow, Stephanie. Do you remember where his office is?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'll give him a call to make sure someone can see Phantom. I'll call you right back."

"Okay, darling. Don't worry. Everything is going to be okay."

"I hope so, Mom."

Twenty minutes later, I was in Dr. Fender's veterinary clinic. It was my good fortune that he happened to be there when I called. He was treating a miniature poodle that had been attacked by a Pit Bull. According to Dr. Fender, the prognosis wasn't looking good for the little guy—he had lost a lot of blood. He had just finished giving him a transfusion, and for the time being, he was somewhat stable.

I had a feeling the doctor wasn't going to have good news for me. Upon taking one look at Phantom, Doctor Fender put his stethoscope to his chest, and an expression of definite concern instantly crossed his face. "His heartbeat is very faint. How long has he been breathing like this?"

It all came crashing down on me at that moment. The tears just came flooding from my eyes like a river, and I felt like the worst mom in the world as I confessed, "I don't know. I've been away the last couple of days, and this is how I found him when I got home. I had no idea he was so sick. I never would have left him if I knew it."

"He's obviously very ill, Stephanie. There were no symptoms until now?"

"No, none that I noticed."

"I need to take some x-rays to see what's going on. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, do whatever you have to."

"Wait in the lobby while I take the pictures. I'll let you know as soon as I can what's up. By the way, how old is Phantom?"

"I'm not sure. I adopted him when he was an adult. I think he was around three or four—at least that's what the shelter told me. He's probably about seven or eight now. Right after my divorce—that's when he came into my life, and that was about three and a half years ago."

"Okay, hang tight. I'll be out in a few."

By this time, my mom had arrived, and she sat in the lobby holding my hand while we waited for Dr. Fender to return. A million thoughts were going through my mind, and I kept wondering what I had done wrong. Phantom was still young. How could this be happening? When Dr. Fender walked back into the waiting room after about twenty minutes, he did not have a happy look on his face. He sat down next to us and gave me the worst news of my life.

"Stephanie, I'm really sorry to have to tell you this. Phantom has a large tumor pressing up against his chest wall, and it's inhibiting his ability to breathe. It looks like the cancer has spread to other organs. There isn't anything I can really do for him. I recommend you put him to sleep."

"Put him to sleep...? Did you say _put him to sleep?_ You can't be serious?" the words tumbled from my mouth in utter astonishment. "He was okay three days ago. He can't be dying."

"Stephanie, tumors like this can be very aggressive and grow quickly. He's probably had this tumor for a while, and it just became more virulent in recent days. There's no way you could have known what was happening. Cats have a way of hiding their illness."

"That's exactly what my mom said. I need to talk to her about this. Can you leave us alone? Are you sure there's nothing that can be done for him, doctor?" I begged in a final and desperate plea.

"If there was any chance of hope, I would tell you. I can't cure him—there's nothing I can do at this stage. I am really sorry."

"Thank you, doctor. I'll let you know when I've decided what to do."

He walked away, leaving us to ourselves, and I took a deep breath. I held my hands to my face, and started shaking my head, not wanting to believe what I had just heard. This was a living nightmare.

"What do you think I should do, Mom?"

"Honey, he's very sick. You don't really have a choice. You can't let him suffer this way."

"But I want to take him home to die. I can't let him die in this cold and sterile environment. I forgot to ask Dr. Fender how long he thinks Phantom has. Maybe I could spend one more week with him."

"Stephanie, you saw how he's breathing. What kind of life is that? If you love him, set him free. Let him be carried off by the angels and become one of them. He will always look over you. It's time to release him from his pain. I only pray my family would have the mercy in their hearts to do the same for me if I was that bad off. If they ever hook me up to a machine, turn it off and let me go."

"Oh, Mom, don't say such things. You're not dying anytime soon."

"We never know when it's our time, darling. Anything can happen."

I certainly couldn't argue with that. Only a few days ago my beautiful Phantom was purring in my lap, and now he was at death's door.

My mind was made up. I stood with resolution, my hand still in my mother's as we walked towards Dr. Fender's office. He was looking down at some papers that were lying on his desk when I knocked.

"Come in." We walked in and took a seat. "What have you decided?" he asked, but I could tell he already knew.

"I'm going to let you put him to sleep, doctor," I choked out, the hot tears streaming down my face in agony.

"Would you like some time alone with him first?"

"Yes, yes, doctor. I would. Where is he?"

"He's still in the exam room where you left him—down the hall and on the right. Come and get me when you're ready. And Stephanie, you're making the best decision," he said as he gently patted me on the back. "I'll be in here, waiting."

My mom held me up as we made our way down the hall. If it weren't for her, I certainly would have collapsed from the weight of my grief. How could all of this be happening so fast? I just couldn't understand it. We turned into the room and there he was; my dear Phantom was lying on the exam table. His front legs were stretched out before him, and his head sat upon his little paws. He looked tired, and he looked like he knew his fate. He lifted his sad eyes to meet mine as I walked towards him, and he eked out a little "meow."

"I know, Phantom, I know. This sucks. Life just isn't fair," I complained to him. "Don't worry, baby. It's going to be okay." He started purring as I rubbed his head with one hand and ran my other across his back. "I love you, Phantom. You've been the best cat a girl could have, better than any boyfriend—and certainly more loyal. I don't know what I'm going to do without you."

"Meooowwww," he answered back, and continued his purring.

"I'm going to miss you so much. I want you to know that you will always be in my heart." I had almost forgotten that my mom was in the room until she touched my shoulder.

"Are you ready, Stephanie?"

"Almost, Mom. I need a few more minutes. I just want to hug him one more time." I picked him up off the table and held him to me for what felt like an eternity. As I danced around the room with my Phantom, I rubbed him behind the ears. He had always loved that, from the very first day we met. "You're always going to be my boy," I told him as he looked up at me, the pain visible in his eyes. At that moment, I knew it was time. "Can you go get Dr. Fender, Mom?"

"Sure, honey. I'll be right back."

And there we were, just the two of us, and the shadow of death hanging above us, and I didn't want to let him go, but I knew I had to. Phantom didn't want to let go either. When my mom and Dr. Fender walked in, he was clinging to my blouse with his nails, which I apparently hadn't trimmed in a while by the feel of them. "It's okay, Phantom. Let go," I encouraged, as I removed his claws from the fabric.

"I'll take him from you now," Dr. Fender said as he reached for him. "Do you want to stay in the room? It's not an easy thing to watch. Some people can't handle it."

"I'm not leaving him."

"Are you sure, Stephanie?" Dr. Fender asked. "Is this the way you want to remember him?"

" _I'm not leaving_. I want to be here to hold his paw."

"How about you, Mom?" Dr. Fender further questioned.

"I'm not leaving either. I want to be here to hold her hand."

I held Phantom's left paw in mine as Dr. Fender took up his right paw and shaved a small strip of fur off the top. He then picked up a needle filled with a clear fluid. I could feel my mother's pulse beating steadily as I clutched her hand. We waited for the Grim Reaper to make his appearance. We looked on as the doctor found a vein, and injected the life out of my precious baby. I saw the light fade from his eyes, and I could swear I felt a jolt in my body as he took his last breath. I know it sounds positively insane, but it felt like his spirit left his body and entered mine. And that is that last time I saw my Phantom.

The doctor gave us some time with his body, but my Phantom was gone. He was just a shell of the cat I had once loved. Before we left him, we made arrangements to cremate him. He would be ready in a few days for pick up. The doctor had to send him out, but the cremation service he used was pretty quick.

When I got home, I saw that Josh's truck was parked outside my apartment. I straggled up the stairs, feeling haggard and emotionally wrenched. I wasn't much in the mood for company, even Josh's company. He was probably wondering where Phantom was. I had to tell him. Before I could put the key in the door, he opened it. He must have heard me coming up. He took one look at me and knew things weren't right.

"Is everything okay, baby? You look awful. Where have you been?"

I walked to the futon and collapsed like a worn out rag doll. I felt like I hadn't slept in a week. "It's Phantom."

"What about Phantom, Stephanie? I was wondering where he was. Is he okay?"

"He's dead, Josh. I had to put him to sleep."

"You what? What did you say? You didn't say you put him to sleep? No. No—that can't be. He was fine just a few days ago."

"I know. That's what I thought. He had a large tumor pressing up against his chest wall. The doctor said he probably had it for a while, but the growth must have accelerated recently. He's gone, Josh."

"I can't believe it. Are you okay? Come here, baby. Let me hug you. It's going to be okay."

He came and sat next to me and wrapped my body in his gentle embrace. It felt like we were the only two people in the world as he cradled me like a whisper, breathing in the sorrows from my breath. I knew I would never stop yearning for the touch of this man, nor would I stop yearning for my beloved Phantom. As Josh held me, I noticed a tuft of Phantom's fur lying on top of the futon. I picked it up, held it to my nose, and closed my eyes. In that instant, I felt like he was here in the room with us...and I was okay.
Chapter 26: Z-Right Guy

_Z_ is for z-right guy. A person can search the world over and never find the right guy. I have never been too lucky in love, until now, that is. In Josh, I felt like I had finally found him—z-right guy. He was really there for me after I lost Phantom. He did my laundry, washed my car, brought me my favorite fast food meals, and even cooked a few. I was despondent for about a week, and I had a hard time dragging myself to work. Every time I discovered a piece of Phantom's hair, or walked by his favorite spot, I burst into tears. The only thing that kept me going was planning his memorial service.

Josh didn't think there was anything strange about that at all, which just further confirmed that he was the one for me. In fact, not only did he think it was perfectly sane, he encouraged me to do it—he said it would help me grieve. I spent a considerable amount of time putting together a photomontage. The pictures I selected really captured Phantom's personality. Looking at them was about the only thing that brought any feeling of joy to me all week. I had one of him all soaped up in the sink—he looked like a wet rat and he was clearly disgruntled. The scowl across his face just cracked me up. In another photo, he was wearing a tiny velvet sombrero I had picked up in Tijuana, Mexico. I was holding him, and I had on a matching hat. I had bought the hats with every intention of posing for a picture with him. He didn't appear to be a happy cat in that picture either. He did look at ease in the picture that depicted him curled up on the futon sitting next to Josh. That was a given, anyone would be pleased sitting next to Josh. I poured through at least a hundred pictures, picking the best ones out and carefully arranging them on a poster board. I wrote captions under each one, and drew picture frames around them. I was quite pleased with the result when it was finished.

I also wrote a poem to read about him. I struggled for the right words, but this is what I ultimately came up with:

Thank you for Phantom,

My beautiful black cat,

Who brought me joy, who brought me love,

Who must have been sent from up above.

He was my silent confidante,

Listening to all my complaints—

My secrets and my joys,

He was always my most loyal boy.

And now that he's gone,

I long to feel his soft fur,

But that will have to wait—

Until I walk through the pearly gates.

I will always love you and I will always miss you.

It wasn't a Shakespearean sonnet, but it came from my heart, and I think Phantom would appreciate it.

I picked up his cremated remains on Wednesday before work. I just couldn't get over the fact of how he looked. I had never seen a cremated body. First of all, I was shocked by how small the package they handed me was—he was crammed into a plastic bag that looked to be about 3 x 3 inches. What remained of him looked like coarse and chalky sand, and I could see little bits of fragmented bone mixed throughout. How could this be my Phantom? But it was, I think. I couldn't help but wonder if they gave me the right body. What if they mixed him up with another cat by mistake? What if they cremated him with other animals, and I had a mix of all of them? There was really no way to tell, I just had to accept that it was him. The receptionist asked me if I wanted to purchase an ornamental box to place the remains, or an urn. I declined and decided to make my own. I thought that would be more sentimental than something that was probably made in China.

Thursday, I spent the day creating the coffin. I bought a wooden box at the local craft store that looked like a small chest. I painted it black, and then rubbed it with a rough bristled brush. I did this while the paint was still wet, and the effect was something that looked like fur. I sponged little white paw prints all over the box and glued a very flattering image of him on the top. I surrounded the picture with little red heart stickers and stenciled his name under it to finish the box off. I varnished it to protect the surface and waited for it to dry. Before I put him in it, I lined the inside with red velvet, and his final resting place was ready. I placed him in lightly along with a picture of myself, his favorite cat toy, and some rose petals. I closed the lid, locked the clasp, and said goodbye.

I had already called everyone earlier in the week to attend what I termed as a Celebration of Phantom's Life. I reserved the patio area down by the pool for Sunday afternoon. Surprisingly, I got nothing but sympathetic responses and everyone agreed to attend. Nobody called me the crazy cat lady or advised me to check into the loony bin. The guest list included my mom and Harley, Shelby, Candy, Lance, my sister and her boyfriend Greg—who had never met Phantom—and my brother and his wife, their kids, and of course, Grandma Rose. And—believe it or not, Lance got Minister Paul to officiate!

Just like you would get at any service, I made up programs with color copies of Phantom's picture on them to hand out. The program included a short bio on Phantom, and the breakdown of the ceremony—

Opening Song: "Wind Beneath my Wings" by Bette Midler

Opening Prayer: Our Father

Psalm 23:4—Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...

Recitation of Poem

Personal Reflection

Closing Song: "Bless the Broken Road" by Rascal Flatts

I opted to keep the actual memorial service brief and to spend more time on the celebratory aspects of the occasion. I invited the guests to bring their bathing suits. We could spend some time cooling off in the pool while Josh cooked up some ribs—like his father, he claimed he was pretty handy at the grill.

Sunday came in a flash, and for the first time since Phantom left my world, I felt a sense of relief. Somehow, sending him off this way gave me a sense of peace and closure. Minister Paul arrived at my place around eleven in the morning, and he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt with shorts. He didn't look very official, but what the heck—he was doing this for free, and only a gay minister could really understand the need for such a service. I was fairly certain no other holy man would have been willing to preside over the event. I was planning on officiating myself; until Lance called and told me he got Minister Paul to do it. He thought it would be better for me from an emotional standpoint if someone else headed up the memorial. I had to agree and was grateful.

By noon, everyone had arrived. We stood around a table that had a white carnation wreath on it, and in the center of the wreath was Phantom's box. Bette had already sung her song, and Minister Paul opened the memorial with the prayer and the reading of Psalm 23:4. I then read my poem and reflected on how Phantom had touched my life. By the end of the service, there wasn't a dry eye before me as Rascal Flatts sang, "Bless the Broken Road." When the song concluded, hugs were given, condolences were expressed, and that's when the party began.

I must have heard a thousand toasts in Phantom's name, each of them a little different, and some of them hysterically funny. My favorite was Lance's toast, which went something like this: "Let us lift our glasses to Phantom, a critter with furry toes, a black nose, and incredible taste in women. That pussy got closer to Stephanie's pussy than I ever will, not that I want to get close to it—really. But still, he was a hell of a lucky cat."

Shelby and Candy had given me a statue that bore an incredible likeness to Phantom, and they had a plaque attached to it that was inscribed with this message: _Phantom ~ A noble creature whose meow will live on in our hearts and minds forever_. I really appreciated the sentiment, and it was something I would cherish forever. I really did have the best friends a girl could ask for.

Things started to wrap up around 6:30. My guests made their exit with their bellies full of barbecue pork ribs and all the fixings that go with them—corn on the cob, potato salad, cornbread, and more. I had little cat shaped cupcakes made up at a place called the Creative Cakery, which were the talk of the party. Nobody left hungry, that was for sure. Josh helped me clean up, and when we were done, we decided to crash at his place.

I rarely spent the night at his apartment, and that was mainly because I got home from work late, and he was always waiting for me at my place. He suggested we hang out there tonight, seeing as he had a bigger and more comfortable bed than I did. I had been complaining about my back hurting earlier in the day. I think it was a result of all the stress I had been dealing with the last week. Josh really had nice taste. His place was warm and homey, but yet masculine. It was decorated in shades of blue and gray, and textures of grainy wood and leather. He gave his mom most of the credit for the tastefulness of the décor, but proudly took credit for his collection of beer steins that were arranged on a wall shelf. The thing I cherished most in his apartment was the knitted afghan that was draped over his couch. His grandmother had made it for him, and sadly I would never get the chance to meet her. She had passed on several years ago. Every time I wrapped myself in that blanket, I felt like I was encased in love. It was the first thing I went for when we walked through the door.

Josh's apartment was a lot bigger than mine. He actually had a bedroom, and a spare room that he had converted to an office. The kitchen was three times the size of mine, and his bathroom even had a double sink. Josh had bought me my own toothbrush for when I stayed the night, which was positioned between the sinks, next to his.

After a couple of hours of snuggling on the couch, I got up to go brush my teeth and wash my face. He followed behind me and stared over my shoulder as I performed the task. He was making funny faces at me in the mirror and I started to laugh—a sputter of white stuff flew from my mouth and hit the glass. At this point, he turned me towards him and stuck his tongue in my mouth, which was still full of toothpaste.

"You taste yummy, Stephanie."

"You're a nut, Josh."

"Just nuts about you."

"You're so corny sometimes, Josh."

"I was thinking something more along the lines of horny."

"Ha ha. You think you're so funny, don't you?"

"Sometimes. What I really think is that I'm so in love with you, Stephanie Marie Melendez. I was thinking—would you be my roommate?"

"What? What did you just say?"

"I want to live together and take our relationship to the next level. Let's see how we get along. I want to play house."

"That's no game, Josh. What if we end up hating each other? Moving in together could ruin everything."

"We practically live together anyway. I'm always at your place. Let's make it official. My place is bigger, and you'd even have your own sink. You can have the closet in the bedroom, and I'll take the one in the office. What do say, Steph? Come on."

He was looking down at me with a smile on his face that could light up the universe. How could I say no? I thought of my Grandma Rose, and how she always warned not give away my milk for free, and something about buying a cow—but I threw caution to the wind and embraced the moment.

"Okay, yes, yes, yes. I'd love to be your roommate, Josh. When do I move in?"

"How about tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Are you crazy?"

"Crazy for—"

"I know, crazy for you," I finished his sentence.

"You know me so well, Miss Melendez. Do you want to play teacher/student before we go to bed?"

"You've been a very bad student today, Josh. I think I'm going to have to keep you after school for detention. Follow me to my classroom," I said with authority in my voice as I dragged him by his waistband toward the bed.

"Your wish is my command, Miss Melendez. I'm hot for teacher—I got it bad, bad, bad."

* * * * *

I woke up nestled in Josh's arms. As I tried to writhe from his embrace to get up and go to the bathroom, he woke up. "Hey, baby, where are you going? Stay here with me, my new roomie. Stay around a while—we can heat things up here, and then I'll heat you up some breakfast."

"I have to go to the bathroom, Josh. I'll be right back." It was hard to leave. He was butt naked and sprawled out on the bed, with the sheet barely covering his maleness. I noticed there was a visible bulge starting to form under it. When I got back, he was stretching and I could see his muscles bursting all over as he spread out. He looked like a magnificent being from another planet, and he was mine, all mine, mine, mine! I still couldn't get over the fact we were moving in together. I was going to be Mr. Young's roommate. I couldn't help but contemplate if I would ever be, Mrs. Young.

I started moving in on Thursday, my day off. Josh had called in sick to work so he could help me. I had spent all week packing things in boxes, and I was ready to go and start my new life. We made quick work of it. After only a couple of hours and three trips in his jeep, my apartment was cleared out. We were done by noon. Everything still had to be put away, of course. However, the boxes were stacked in the entryway, and for all intents and purposes, I was officially his roommate.

"What a job—huh, Stephanie? Whew! I'm beat and hungry. After lunch, I've got a surprise for you. I have someone I want you to meet."

"You do? And who might that be?"

"You'll see. It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?"

"You have a point there, and I do love surprises. Where do you want to eat?"

"How 'bout that sub sandwich place up the street?"

"Okay. Let's get going so we can get on with my surprise."

"All right, all right, _Little Miss Pushy_. The surprise isn't going anywhere. Don't worry."

We rushed through lunch, and that made me happy because I was that much closer to my surprise. Josh insisted that I put on a blindfold before _I met my surprise_. I was meeting someone, but he wouldn't give me a clue as to who it was. I wasn't happy about the blindfold, but he was firm in his insistence. He wasn't leaving the parking lot until it was securely in place. We drove for about ten minutes. I heard him pull into a gravelly parking lot and turn off the ignition.

"Wait here. I'll get the door for you. I don't want you tripping on anything before you _meet your surprise_." There it was again. Who on earth could I be meeting? This was driving me crazy.

"Hold on to my hand, Stephanie. This gravel is slippery."

We walked about twenty paces and hit a smooth concrete pathway that led to a door. He opened it and I heard the ring of a bell. Where on earth were we? We walked about ten more steps and stopped. I heard a woman's voice say, "Hi, Josh. Is this her, the one you were telling us about?"

"It sure is. Stephanie, this is Glenda. She's going to take you to your _surprise_."

"Follow me, kids." She led us to a room and told us to take a seat. Josh guided me to a small couch and sat me down. He took a seat next to me and held my hand.

"Are you ready to be surprised, Stephanie?"

"Yes! The suspense is killing me already! Where is it?"

"Right here," said Glenda, who happened to hear me as she walked through the door.

"I'll take her, Glenda. I'll give her to Stephanie."

"Have fun, guys. I'll be outside if you need me."

_What the hell?_ Was I in a brothel or something? Was Glenda a madam and the _her_ Josh spoke of one of Glenda's girls? What kind of fun was I going to be having here?

"Here she is, Stephanie," Josh murmured as he took my blindfold off. "Surprise."

I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Before my very eyes, Josh was holding a miniature, white ball of fluff with big blue eyes and a pink nose. She was looking up at me with those saucer-like eyes of hers, and I knew I was a goner. She had me with her first meow.

"What do you think of her, babe?"

"Oh my God— I love her already. She's beautiful."

"I thought since we're moving in together we should start a family, Steph. I came in a couple of days ago and adopted her on the spot. I fell in love the instant I laid eyes on her. They've been holding her for me. What should we name this little vixen?"

"Well, she has really dark blue eyes, Josh. They kind of look like sapphires, the way they sparkle."

"They do, don't they? We could call her Sapphire."

"I love that name, Josh, but I want her to have a middle name too."

"Look at that pink nose, Stephanie. It's the color of a rose. She could be our little Sapphire Rose."

"Josh, you're brilliant. It's a perfect name."

"What do you think about that, Sapphire Rose? Do you like your new name, kitten?"

I looked down and noticed Josh had positioned her precisely in the middle of us, with the back half of her body on his left leg, and the front half on my right leg. We started laughing when she meowed at us, and that's when my dream came back to me.

"Hey, Josh, remember that dream I told you about when we first started dating. We were sitting on a couch laughing and there was something white between us? Well, I guess dreams really do come true. Did you know you have fulfilled every item I had on my _Mr. Right_ list? You're _z-right guy_ for me. Will you be my king?"

"I sure will. Hey, I didn't know you had a list—a list, really? And yes, Stephanie, dreams certainly do come true. You're my queen, and you're my dream come true."

Z-End

* * * * *

Questions for Discussion

1. Who do you perceive as the strongest female character in the novel: Stephanie, Shelby, or Candy? Explain why.

2. Of the three, who do you relate to the most and why?

3. Do you like the character Lance? Seeing as this is largely a woman's tale, do you think he adds or distracts from the story?

4. Why do you think Stephanie keeps attracting the wrong men in her life? Do you think it has anything to do with her relationship with her parents, particularly her father?

5. Stephanie meets with a string of dating disasters in her quest to find _"Z-Right Guy."_ Can you relate to any of her experiences, specifically?

6. Do you have your own dating debacle you can share?

7. Stephanie is of the mind that love is worth taking a risk, time and again, even if one meets with heartbreak. Do you agree or disagree? Are there heartbreaks too great to overcome?

8. The voice of Stephanie's Grandma Rose acts as her conscience throughout the book. Whose voice acts as a guiding force in your life?

9. Losing Phantom, her cat, comes as a shocking and devastating blow to Stephanie. Do you think the memorial service she holds to honor his memory is going too far? Can you relate to her feelings of loss?

10. Is Josh _"Z-Right Guy"_ for Stephanie? Will their relationship be a lasting one? Why or why not?

About the Author:

Lisa Pacheco is a third generation native of Southern California. She was born in Los Angeles and presently lives in Orange County with her husband, Jeff, and their three cats. _A Discourse on Dating From A to Z_ is her first novel. She is currently working on her second novel, _Discordant Melody_.

http://www.wix.com/dbhspacheco/lisa-pacheco-author
