Call Me! (18 page)

“His nuts?”

He pauses a minute, then says, “You ever go to the state fair?”

“Sure. Why?”

“Ever visit the livestock area?”

“I love the animals.”

“Ever see the sheep?”

“Of course. Why?”

Then it hits me.

“Eew!”

“Not the ewes,” he says. “The rams. DeWitt’s balls were purple, and looked exactly like the nuts on the rams at the fair.”

“Thanks for sharing,” I say.

“Are you going to sit there and tell me you never look at their private parts?”

“On the
sheep
?”

“The sheep, the goats, the bulls, horses, dogs, men…”

“No.”

We go silent until we enter his neighborhood. Then Dillon says, “Does your husband know?”

“Know what?”

“That you’re bisexual?”

“
WHAT?”

“It’s okay. I’m cool with it.”

I give him a look. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s obvious.”

“How?”

He starts to say something, then stops. “Let’s just change the subject,” he says.

I say, “Is it because I don’t stare at animal dicks?”

He says nothing.

“Is it because of DeWitt? Could you possibly think all hetero women would want to look at that poor man’s genitals today?”

Dillon says nothing.

“William DeWitt’s a sad case,” I say. “He’s obviously disturbed. I can’t believe
you’d
stare at his private area! What does that say about
you
?”

I turn into his driveway.

“Oh, wait!” I say. “Is it because I wouldn’t blow you for fifty bucks? Is that it? Well, here’s a question for you. Your mother’s hetero. Would
she
blow you for fifty bucks?”

“No need to get hostile,” he says.

I park the car and shake my head.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he says. “Hell, I’m still a
virgin
.”

“I’m not ashamed,” I say. “I mean, I wouldn’t be ashamed. Either way.”

He starts to say something, but I interrupt him.

“Whatever I am, it’s none of your business!” I say. “And certainly not the sort of information I’d share with
you
, in any case.”

“I just told you I’m a
virgin
!”

“So?”

“Do you have any idea how hard that is to admit?”

“I would think you’d be proud.”

“
Proud
? It’s
humiliating
!”

“Well, that’s ridiculous.”

He gives me a look. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“No. Don’t forget your cereal.”

Dillon’s lower lip trembles and I remember he’s still something of a child, emotionally. He’s about to cry. That happens sometimes, when emotionally-challenged young men find themselves in the presence of a complete and utter bitch. He opens the door to leave, but continues sitting in my car. I think he’s waiting for the apology I owe him. Then again, this is Dillon we’re talking about, and he might be lingering because he hates his home life.

I’ve had a rough day, what with Roy threatening to blow my cover and ruin my life. I’m frustrated, angry, and scared. And feel completely helpless, knowing Roy’s in control of my future happiness. I’m also sexually confused. Confused about how I felt with Sophie Monday night. Confused about how I felt with Ben last night. Confused about what Dillon just said to me. Am I bisexual? Or just hopelessly screwed up because of what Colin Tyler Hicks did to me in that basement nine years ago?

And what I did to him, in order to escape.

I shake the gruesome thoughts from my mind and start my apology.

“Dillon? You were great today, at DeWitt’s house.”

“Damn right I was,” he sniffs.

“I was lucky you were with me.”

“Whatever.”

“I acted like a bitch. I’m sorry.”

“What are you, on the rag or something?”

I frown. “That’s your first thought? Can’t I just be having a bad day?”

“You never have bad days.”

I cock my head and look at him. For the second time today he seems completely sincere.

“Dillon?”

“Yeah?”

“That may be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“You’re welcome…shit bitch.”

I laugh. Then say, “I’m sorry to hear you’re a virgin.”

“You probably already knew.”

“I had no idea!”

Of course I knew. Dillon could spend the night in a whorehouse with hundred dollar bills taped to his boxers and not get laid.

He remains in the car, but shuts the door and looks at me.

“It’s embarrassing,” he says.

“All your buds are getting laid?”

“Buds?”

“Don’t be haughty. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. They’re all getting laid. A
lot
.”

“Maybe they’re lying.”

“No, they’re definitely scoring.”

He sighs and goes quiet, and fiddles with the plastic cup holder between our seats.

I say, “Want some advice?”

He looks at me. “Real advice?”

I nod. “I see three flaws in your game.”

“That’s pretty harsh.”

“Think of it this way. You’re only three steps away from getting laid.”

“Of course, you’re a lot older,” he says, “so your advice might be stone age.”

I shrug.

He adds, “Then again, you’re a babe.”

“My advice is universal among babes of all ages. You want to hear it?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“Hygiene, wardrobe, communication.”

He frowns. “I bathe.”

“Twice a day?”

“Twice a
day
?”

“Yes, and clear up the face. Get your mom to take you to a dermatologist. There are tons of products. Creams, lotions, pills…and dermabrasion to get rid of the acne scars.”

“That’ll take years!”

“Months.”

“Still, that’s a long time.”

“The time’s going to pass either way. May as well have clean, healthy skin and a girlfriend.”

“
Girlfriend
?”

“You don’t want a girlfriend?”

“Nah, I’ll probably play the field,” he says.

I work to hold back a smile.

“What’s wrong with my wardrobe? And remember, you’re old.”

“Older, not old. And your clothes are babe proof.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Like someone dressed you with babe repellent.”

“That’s bogus!”

“Dillon, a change is in order. It starts with your hygiene, but the whole package needs an upgrade. And by the way, I’m not finished with the hygiene.”

“Jesus, you sound like my mom.”

“Thank you so much for that. Communication’s number three on the list, and that’s no small issue with you. But hygiene is more than showers and clean skin. It’s hair. Nails. Breath. Diet.”

“
Diet
?”

“If you and I were going on a three day road trip and you could bring four things, what would you bring?”

“Four boxes of condoms.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment, though it sounds rather ambitious.”

“Says you.”

“Four things to eat, Dillon. What would you bring on the hypothetical trip? Four types of sugary cereal?”

“I’d take cereal, sure. For
one
of my food groups. I mean, who wouldn’t? After all, breakfast is the most import meal of the day! But I’m eclectic. I’d take other things.”

“Such as?”

“Chicken fingers, French fries, cookie cake…”

“Sounds like a six-year-old kid’s birthday menu.”

He frowns. “If I make all these changes, I wouldn’t be me.”

We look at each other without speaking.

Then he says, “Getting laid might not be worth the hassle.”

“That’s been my experience so far,” I say.

“Maybe you haven’t met the right woman yet,” he says.

DINNER WITH BEN.

We’re home, and he ordered Chinese without checking with me. All these years and he still doesn’t know what I like, so he over-ordered. There must be ten containers on the kitchen table, and twenty packets of soy sauce, which I don’t use.

The food odor is strong, but I’m picking up a different scent.

“Did someone stop by today?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“A woman.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I’m smelling perfume.”

“It’s probably the sweet and sour sauce.”

I give him a look.

“What?”

“You think I can’t tell the difference between perfume and sweet and sour sauce?”

He shakes his head like I’m crazy. Maybe I am, but this is a scent I recognize. Someone I know wore it recently. But who? Vicky Stringfellow? Carter Teague? Wouldn’t it be funny if Vicky left our lunch date all indignant, but then contacted Ben? I wonder if she sat on this very couch and flirted with him. Did she kiss him?

I poke around till I find some won ton soup, lift the lid, and stir it with one of the plastic spoons they provided with the order. As a cloud of steam rises above the soup, I wonder if the spoon will melt if I keep stirring. Then I wonder if the Styrofoam container might leach chemicals into the broth. I look up to see Ben grinning at me.