Color of Loneliness (14 page)

Myra gives her a small smile through her tears.

“At least Trent hasn’t been bugging me about you as much lately. I think he finally got the hint that I wasn’t going to spill the beans no matter how hard he tried.”

Myra pulls her knees up to her chin and rubs her eyes on her pajama sleeve. “I wish my life was different sometimes. I wish I could somehow change things. I don’t understand why I wasn’t enough for him.” She looks at Susie. “What did I do wrong?”

Susie reaches for her and pulls her into a hug. “Honey, you were good enough. More than good enough because you’re a million times better than that flaming turd. And you did absolutely nothing wrong. It was all him. He listened to that lying slut. I still can’t believe that lowlife piece-of-shit scum-of-the earth ball bag actually believes that he never cheated on you because his itty bitty weenie wasn’t involved. It pisses me off that the assmuncher thinks that because he was so truthful and upfront with you about his feelings for that prostitute, that he did nothing wrong. He cheated. Bottom line. Dick or no dick.”

Myra nods.

“He feels all high and mighty and justified because he’s convinced himself that he did the right and noble thing by not fucking that whore before he told you about it. He’s in total dickhead denial. He can’t even admit that what he did was cheating. He cheated on you in every sense of the word, behind your back. He just did it without using his puny little wee-wee.”

Myra nods and scrubs her eyes with her fists.

Susie rubs Myra’s back. “Honey, I honestly think you’re feeling this way because you’re going through a really tough time in your life right now. You lost Grampie. And now Jim. Because believe me Trent’s a fucktard and not even worth you thinking about. Until we locate your future love man, you’ll just have to put up with the love of your loony best friend: me,” Susie says with a grin.

Myra smiles back and hugs her friend hard.

* * *

Something wakes Myra. Stretching, she turns on her side to look at Susie, but finds the bed empty. Sitting up, she glances at the door, but only sees the dark hallway. Frowning, she slips out of bed.

Just as she gets to the doorway, a warm body plows into her.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuccckkk!” Susie screams bloody murder, her hands flying up in the air, her body trembling all over.

“Shit!” Myra shouts at the same time, letting out a blood-curdling scream.

Flipping on the light switch as fast as her shaky hands will let her, Myra stares at a wide-eyed, terrified Susie as her heart thunders in her chest.

“Sweet baby cabooses on a cracker,” Susie mumbles as she bends over and draws in huge, heaving breaths. “Holy mother of all things horny,” she says, continuing her gibberish babblings. “Dickweed balls of fire, shit-eating garden gnome… What were you doing?” she shouts at Myra. “You scared the mother-loving hell out of me.”

“I woke up,” Myra says before she has to stop and take in some deep breaths, “and you were gone.”

Susie leans one hand against the wall, holding the other one over her heart.

“What were you saying? Before?” Myra asks, frowning.

“I don’t know. Crazy things. ‘Cuz I was petrified. Something tried to get me out in your scary hallway.”

Myra starts giggling.

“It’s not funny. I had to pee. But when I got about halfway down the hall, I swear to God, I heard a floorboard creak. Something was coming towards me. I turned and busted ass to get back here.”

“Shit-eating garden gnome?” Myra repeats before she busts out laughing uncontrollably until she has to bend over and grab her stomach. Susie starts laughing with her. They both laugh until tears roll down their faces.

“Oh shit,” Susie yells as she grabs her crotch. “I just peed my pants,” she shrieks as she scurries through the doorway holding her legs together tightly. Myra falls over on the bed, gasping, unable to get any breath into her lungs and feeling like she might actually die from laughing.

* * *

Dylan pulls up to the white house with the pink trim and groans. He just needs to get in there and do the job as fast as he can and get the hell out. He grabs the new garbage disposal from his seat and his tool bucket from the back of his truck.

Setting his tool bucket down on the porch, he knocks then rubs the back of his neck gingerly as he waits.

“Hi,” Rhonda says, smiling and peeping around the door at him. “I forgot you were coming over. I just got out of the shower. Come on in,” she says as she opens the door wider, revealing her figure wrapped only in a towel, which barely covers her body.

Dylan’s eyes bulge. He just called the woman an hour ago. How the fuck could she have forgotten already?

“I’ll come back,” Dylan spits in an angry voice.

“Oh no, please don’t leave,” Rhonda begs. “I really want you to stay. You’re supposed to stay. I mean, because you’re already here and everything.”

“No fucking way,” he mumbles as he picks up his tool bucket and walks towards his truck.

“Wait,” she calls out. “Just give me a minute and I’ll get dressed.”

Dylan doesn’t answer. Instead, he drops his tailgate down and sits, lighting up a cigarette. He can’t believe this shit always happens to him. The women in this town are fucking nuts. He considers leaving and letting her find someone else to do the job, but figures he already bought the damn disposal so he might as well do it. By the time he finishes his cigarette, he hears her yelling from the door for him to come back in.

He replaces her disposal in ball-busting record time, ignoring her constant chatter and sexual innuendos and gets the hell out of there as fast as he can.

* * *

“Those pancakes were delicious,” Myra says as she starts cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

“Why, thank you very much. They were pretty awesome if I do say so myself,” Susie says, grinning.

“Don’t worry about the dishes,” Myra says. “I’ve got them.”

“Okay. I need to hit the restroom.”

Myra cleans up the rest of the dishes and goes into the basement to do a load of laundry. Back upstairs, she frowns when she notices that Susie has still not come out of the bathroom. Worried, she steps up to the door and knocks softly. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, Susie quickly steps out and closes the door, keeping her arms behind her back on the doorknob. She has an odd expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh my God,” Susie moans, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the door. “This is so horrible. I don’t know what the hell to do.”

Myra’s brows furrow. “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Well, what’s wrong?”

“Okay. There’s no easy way to say this so I’m just going to spit it out. Are you ready?”

Myra nods.

“Oh God, why me?” she moans again, her eyes looking upward. “Okay. Here it goes. I just sunk the Titanic in your toilet and now it’s clogged up, and I can’t get the fucker to flush. I’ve plungered the shit out of that damn thing, and the boat won’t budge. I felt like that guy in
Dumb and Dumber
when he shits in that broken ass toilet. Remember when he had to open the window?” Susie starts busting out laughing.

Myra giggles uncontrollably and shakes her head. “You’re completely insane. But I have been having a lot of problems with the toilets lately. Let me see if I can fix it,” she says as she tries to reach around Susie to open the door.

“You can’t go in there,” Susie shouts as she pushes Myra back and her eyes get huge.

“Why?”

“Because my turds are in there. You can’t see my turds. That’s just wrong. Oh God, this is terrible. What the hell am I going to do?” she whines. “There’s something seriously wrong with your toilets. Is the other one working?”

“I think so. It worked last night. Let me go check,” Myra says, still giggling.

They both walk upstairs and hear the faint sound of water running. Curiously, Myra tries flushing it, but nothing happens. She removes the lid to the tank and pulls on the lever, but it seems to be stuck, making the toilet run constantly and not flush.

Myra sighs. “I guess I’ll have to call Dylan,” she says as she replaces the lid.

“Are you kidding me? You can’t call him. Not while my stinky turds are in the damn toilet. I’d die of embarrassment.”

“Well, we could just use Jim’s bathroom for now. I can call Dylan after you leave.”

“No way am I running over to Jim’s every five minutes to use the toilet. What if I launch a scud missile over there and clog up their toilets too? Let me think. There has to be an answer,” she says as she stares off into space.

A slow smile breaks out on Susie’s lips. “Okay. I’ve got it. Go grab me a strainer and a trash bag.”

“What the hell?” Myra shouts. “You are not using my strainer to scoop your shit.”

“Dylan, the scruffy Greek god asshole, cannot see my shit,” Susie yells back. “Now hurry up.”

“You are going to owe me so big for this one, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I promise I’ll buy you a new gold-plated strainer, all right? How about I have your initials engraved on it too? Will that work?”

Myra shakes her head as she walks back downstairs to the kitchen to retrieve her strainer and a trash bag. As she makes her way back to the bathroom, she catches a glimpse of Susie and busts out laughing. Susie has toilet paper shoved up both of her nostrils, chunks of it hanging down past her mouth.

“Don’t say a word,” Susie says in a voice sounding like she has a clothes pin smashed on her nose. “It was a smeller.”

Myra laughs hysterically and ends up stumbling to the couch. As she sits and listens to Susie’s gagging and retching noises, she falls over on her side and laughs until she just about dies. Moments later, Susie emerges from the bathroom, toilet paper still hanging out of her nose, her cheeks and eyes watery from all of the gagging, holding the trash bag as far away from her body as possible. Myra has to lean against the wall several times on her way to the back door because of her uncontrollable laughter. Since she can’t speak, she merely points to the trash can outside and holds her aching gut.

Susie dumps the bag and runs back inside glaring at Myra. “I’m taking a shower,” she informs her as she holds her head high and walks proudly past Myra, toilet paper still dangling from her nose.

* * *

Myra fixes herself a cup of coffee and sits down at the kitchen table, sipping it slowly and finally feeling a bit calmer after the laughing spell she just had. Picking up her cell phone, she dials the contractor.

“Lawson,” he answers in a hoarse voice, sounding like he just woke up.

“Hi, this is Myra. Myra Sommers. I was calling to see if you were available to start working on my house again?” she asks.

Dylan clears his throat and coughs. “Yeah. When?”

“Is there any way you could come out today? The toilet downstairs is clogged and the one upstairs keeps running and won’t flush.”

He clears his throat again. “Yeah. What time?”

“Any time is fine. I’ll be here.”

“I can be there in an hour.”

“Okay, that would be great.”

“All right,” he says before hanging up.

“Bye,” Myra says softly to the dial tone.

* * *

After Dylan hangs up from talking to Myra, he tosses his phone back on the night stand, pissed that the one time he was able to fall asleep, his damn phone woke him up. But at least he can now get his tools back.

Climbing out of bed naked, he makes his way to the bathroom to take a leak. Stretching, he grabs a pair of black boxers off the top of his dresser and sniffs them to make sure they’re clean. They pass the sniff test so he slips them on.

Walking back into the bathroom, he looks at his beard in the mirror and groans. Grabbing his electric razor, he runs it over his face quickly trimming it up a bit but still leaving some thick stubble. He throws some water in his hands and runs his fingers through his hair to wet it down and tame his bedhead. After brushing his teeth, he grabs a red and black flannel shirt from the back of the door. It takes him a few minutes to find his jeans; they’re sticking out from underneath his bed.

He flips on the coffee maker and throws a breakfast sandwich in the microwave. After eating, he shoves his feet into his work boots, not bothering with the laces. Grabbing his jacket, he tosses it on.

Once in his truck, he lights up a cigarette and blows the smoke out slowly as he makes his way to Myra’s house.

He sees her standing at the door as he pulls into the driveway. It pisses him off.

“Hi,” she says, smiling. “Come in.”

He nods at her.

“This is my best friend, Susie O’Connor. Susie, this is my contractor, Dylan Lawson,” Myra says.

Dylan could give a rat’s ass about meeting this woman’s friends. He just wants to do the job he was hired for. Nodding, he keeps his hands shoved in his pockets.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Susie says as she steps forward and extends her hand.

Hesitating, he stares at her hand for a moment. Finally, he gives up and shakes it and mutters, “Yep.”