Girlfriends (Patrick Sanchez) (22 page)

Griffin pressed the buzzer on his intercom. “Brenda, can you order me a pizza?”

“Sure, G-man. The usual?”

“Yeah, make it two.”

“Okay, I’ll bring them in when they get here.”

Griffin was fumbling with some videotapes when the pizzas finally arrived. It only took thirty minutes, but it seemed like an eternity to Griffin. He hadn’t had anything to eat since the two Egg McMuffins he downed about three hours earlier and was famished. When Brenda brought them in, with the smell of mozzarella and yeasty dough permeating the room, it was all Griffin could do not to pounce on them right away.

“Mmm, smells delicious!” Griffin said like a puppy waiting for his food dish to be filled.

“Sure does,” Brenda said as she laid the pizzas on his desk and opened the lids. “You need anything, G-man?” she asked, looking at his naked body. “I stocked the fridge today. I put some Mounds and Snickers in the back behind the pudding.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine as soon as I get some of these pies in me,” Griffin replied, gesturing toward the pizzas. “Help yourself if you want anything,” Griffin added only because he knew she would refuse.

“Help myself to
anything?”
she said with a mischievous grin, eyeing the soft tool hanging limp between his legs.

“You little vixen,” he said, starting to stiffen just a bit.

She walked behind his chair and put her arms around his neck. She made her way down his floppy chest, letting her hands glide over his nipples, down his hairy, bloated belly, before grasping his hardening penis. She stroked him with one hand and massaged his chest with the other as his tool continued to engorge with blood.

“Oh, yeah, that’s it, baby,” Griffin said as he took a big bite out of a slice of pizza. He chewed the cheese, and the pepperoni, and the anchovies while Brenda continued to stroke him. As he picked up a handful of Doritos from his sandwich plate and crumpled them on the pizza, Brenda moved around to the front of the chair and got down on her knees. She took him into her mouth while Griffin continued to feast. When tomato sauce dripped from the slice of pizza into Brenda’s hair, she lifted her head.

“You think that will do it, G-man?” she said, rising to her feet, grabbing a napkin, and wiping her hair.

“You’re the best. I got to take a quick look at one of these films, and I’ll be right out.”

“Okay, G-man. See you later,” Brenda said, reaching for the doorknob. “But don’t be too long. I don’t want to have to come in here again,” she joked as she walked out the door.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be out in a second,” Griffin added before the door closed behind Brenda.

Unsolicited Advice

P
eter and Gina swiped their cards under the little infrared light, and Gina signed Shirley in as a guest to the Fitness Results Health Club on Connecticut Avenue, just a few blocks from Gina’s apartment. Peter had been pestering Gina to join his gym for some time and had already succeeded in recruiting Linda. As her class reunion approached, Gina figured it couldn’t hurt to firm up a little, so she finally agreed to sign on as well. She also thought it would be good for Shirley to get some exercise. With her asthma and constant smoking, Shirley needed all the help she could get. Gina offered to take her as a guest, and if she decided to get serious about going to the gym on a regular basis, Gina agreed to pay for her membership.

Gina was already in her gym clothes, a T-shirt and shorts, so she waited outside the locker room while Shirley changed clothes. Gina was leaning against a railing when one of
them
walked by—one of those women who insisted on wearing makeup to the gym, had obviously just done her hair, and was wearing tight exercise pants and a half top. Gina hated those girls, and several of them had no business in their slinky outfits. They usually weren’t exactly fat, but their stomachs were a bit flabby and certainly would have been better off covered with a sweatshirt than a skimpy outfit.

Whore, Gina thought, eyeing the slinky woman. She stood outside the locker room a while longer before Shirley finally emerged.

“What took so long?”

“I had to touch up my makeup and fix my hair. How do I look?” Shirley asked, twirling herself around in spandex and a crop top.

Gina and Shirley scanned the club for Peter. They spotted him on one of a row of about fifteen treadmills, trotting his tight little buns off, and proceeded in his direction. Peter offered to teach Gina and Shirley how to use some of the equipment in the gym and help them get a regular routine started. The last few weeks Gina basically just piddled around from one machine to the next, not really sure if she was doing enough reps, or using the right weight, or even using the machine correctly. Peter told them to warm up on the treadmill for about ten minutes, then he would take them through some of the circuit equipment. Gina got Shirley started on one of the treadmills and showed her how to increase the speed and the incline, although Shirley had no intention of doing either. Then Gina mounted one of the StairMasters. Someone at work had told her that the StairMaster was the best cardio machine for shaping the buttocks, so Gina preferred it to the treadmill.

As Gina exercised, she looked at everyone around her and thought about how laughable it all was—a room full of people bobbing up and down with sweat pouring from their skin, everyone in a desperate struggle to stay thin and youthful. She wasn’t sure who looked more ridiculous—the women, with their boobs flinging all over the place and their ponytails shaking back and forth, or the men—strong, buff men, running and running but getting nowhere.

As the trio began to sweat on their respective machines, Shirley grew bored with the CNN coverage on the monitor displayed in the cardio room and decided to commit the most cardinal of health club sins. She wasn’t sure how to turn off the treadmill, so she left it running while she hopped off and moved toward the television. Gina and Peter wondered why she was moving closer to the monitor. They knew it couldn’t be that she was terribly interested in anything being broadcast on CNN. Shirley was hardly a connoisseur of the latest news stories.

Oblivious to the crowd, she reached up to change the channel. When she last saw the clock it was just after five
P.M.
, which meant
Judge Judy
was on channel five. On her tiptoes, she flicked the channel to
Judge Judy
and returned to her treadmill. She couldn’t imagine anyone was interested in CNN and didn’t notice when the majority of the crowd scowled at her as she returned to her machine.

Peter and Gina exchanged looks, but neither was willing to give up their momentum to change the station back. As Shirley returned to her stride on the treadmill, an angry woman lifted herself off a stationary bike and stomped over to the television to return it to CNN. She then walked back to her bike, glaring at Shirley as if she had just killed her mother. Baffled by the woman’s apparent interest in the news, Shirley took the hint and let it go.

Well, if she couldn’t watch
Judge Judy
while she walked aimlessly on the treadmill, she figured she’d strike up a conversation with the woman next to her.

“So people really watch CNN?” she said to the stocky, middle-aged woman to her left.

“I guess,” the lady replied, looking straight ahead.

“I prefer
Judge Judy
myself. Do you like her? Isn’t she a riot?”

“Never seen her,” the woman replied, being rather short with Shirley.

Sensing that the woman wasn’t interested in conversation, Shirley shouted down a few treadmills to Peter. “Peter, I’m bored. Can’t we do something else?”

Embarrassed, Peter pointed to his watch and mouthed the words “six more minutes.”

When they finished on the cardiovascular equipment, Peter took the girls through ten different machines and helped them select the correct weights. He also started a workout card for each of them that listed the name of the machines and the appropriate weight, etc. He advised them to use the card each time they came to the gym to keep track of their progress. Gina was interested in what Peter had to say and tried to pay attention. Shirley was more concerned with checking out the other club members and making snide remarks about some of the women.

With their first real workout behind them, both women were exhausted but somehow felt energized at the same time. As Gina and Shirley retreated to the women’s locker room, a stout young woman in tight exercise pants and a half top was putting her hair in a ponytail next to Shirley’s locker. As the young woman zipped up her gym bag, Shirley leaned in close to her and whispered, “Can I give you a word of advice?”

“Excuse me?”

“Honey, your pubic mound is far too big for those spandex. I’d stick to shorts and a T-shirt until the pounds start to come off.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” the girl said, leaving the area with a perplexed look on her face, unsure if Shirley was genuinely trying to be helpful or just mean. Gina could never tell either, so she just pretended not to be with Shirley whenever her mother started spouting off unsolicited advice. A year or two earlier, when Gina introduced her to Tammy, one of the tellers at work, Shirley felt it necessary to provide her opinion on Tammy’s slight facial hair problem, which she bleached. The overall effect was a rather thick white mustache above her lip. Shortly after their introduction, Shirley grabbed Tammy’s shoulder and, with a look of concern, said, “I have three words for you, Tammy, sweetheart . . . laser hair removal.”

Gina and Shirley decided to relax in the sauna before taking a shower and getting ready to go. Gina wrapped a towel around herself while Shirley proceeded to the sauna completely naked. She never was one to be uncomfortable with public nudity, as the poor souls stuck in traffic earlier that summer found out. Once they left the sauna and finished with their showers, Shirley went over to the mirror to comb her hair while Gina continued getting dressed. As Shirley approached the counter, she saw the woman who virtually ignored her on the treadmill. The mildly overweight woman was naked in front of the mirror, drying her hair with the communal hair dryer. Shirley stood nearby and toyed with her hair, waiting patiently for the woman to finish using the dryer. As Shirley parted her hair with the brush, she was disturbed to see the frumpy woman next to her move on from blow-drying her hair, now taking the hair dryer and waving it against her entire body with prolonged emphasis on her underarms. When the lady began whipping the dryer around her pubic region and on to her backside, Shirley had had enough.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Shirley huffed at the culprit. “Can you read? What does that sign say? It says
hair
dryer. Not
genitalia
dryer. How am I supposed to use it now that you’ve practically had it up your twat?”

The woman was aghast and speechless. She looked at Shirley and trembled a bit in fear of the angry naked woman standing in front of her. She managed a slight “I’m sorry” and scurried into one of the stalls before starting to cry. As she quietly wailed in the stall, Shirley finished combing her hair and walked back to the lockers, annoyed that she wasn’t able to use the hair dryer, and not the least bit upset that she’d made a grown woman cry.

Collecting the last of their items, Gina and Shirley went back out to the gym to meet Peter, who was already waiting for them in the lobby. As they walked out, Gina noticed the flier taped to the glass door and mentioned it to Shirley.

“That’s the self-defense seminar they’re offering tomorrow night. Linda’s been pestering me to go. Interested?”

“Will a big, hunky man be teaching it?”

“With any luck.”

“Sure. What the hell. I’ll go,” Shirley replied as they began their brief walk back to the apartment building.

When they got back to Gina and Peter’s building, the three of them walked toward the elevators, and Gina pressed the up button. When the door opened, there was a middle-aged black man in a suit and tie standing to one side. As they stepped behind him, Peter crinkled his nose and waved his hand in front of his face. The man had severely overdone it on the cologne, and the elevator reeked of Royal Copenhagen. Even Gina, who usually enjoyed the smell of most cologne, seemed bothered by the overwhelming smell. Shirley looked at Peter, who was trying to nonchalantly hold his breath, and then tapped the man on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, sir. I’m afraid you’re wearing too much cologne. Peter, here,” she said, gesturing toward Peter, “is allergic to cologne, and it really bothers him. I think he has a touch of asthma too. Don’t you, Peter?”

Peter, feeling about five inches tall and not sure how to respond, shook his shoulders and offered an embarrassed smile. He felt humiliated and wished Shirley had just kept quiet.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid you’re being quite rude.”

“Me? You’re the one stinkin’ up the place. Why, you could cause Peter to have an allergy attack or something.”

As the elevator doors opened, the man looked down at Shirley. “Look, you wretched little woman, I’m sorry your friend here is
afflicted,”
he said, giving Peter a quick glare. “But I’ll have you know I get compliments on my cologne all the time.”

“Of course you do. If you came into a room wearing purple striped pants, you’d get compliments on them too—not because anyone likes them—just because they’re so loud and obnoxious, people feel obligated to say something about them,” Shirley said to the man as he stepped out of the elevator and the doors shut behind him.

“What an ass,” Shirley said.

“He sure was, Shirley,” Peter said, sounding a bit flustered by the man’s remark as the three of them got off the elevator and headed down the hall.

Hijahh!

“Y
um. I could put a little butter on him and eat him right up,” Shirley said to the women checking out the handsome instructor of their self-defense class at Fitness Results. They sat on the floor of the aerobics room with about a dozen other women. The class was open to men as well, but apparently none felt the need to attend.