Girlfriends (Patrick Sanchez) (38 page)

“What?”

“That fucking bastard!”

“What are you talking about?” Dennis asked.

Cheryl looked at Dennis. “I’m the pathetic wench.”

“The pathetic wench?” Dennis questioned before realizing what Cheryl was referring to. “Not Cooper’s pathetic wench?”

“That’s me. I’m the wenchiest wench of all.”

“Oh, my God! He’s been taking you around with his clients?”

“God, I should have known. We had only been out a few times, and he was referring to me as his
girl
in front of his business associates.”

“Well, he is nice-looking. I can see why you fell for him,” Dennis said, trying to offer some condolence.

“He isn’t going to be so nice-looking by the time I’m through with him. As soon as I get home, I’m going to call him . . . no! I’m going to go see him and tell him off in person. Do you know where he lives?”

“You don’t?”

“No. He always came to my place.”

“Cheryl, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go over there now. Let yourself cool down a little.”

“Dennis, tell me where he lives.”

“Cheryl, what are you going to accomplish—”

“Dennis,” Cheryl said, interrupting him. “Tell me where he lives. I’ll just find out some other way if you don’t.”

“I’m not really sure I could tell you where he lives. I’d probably have to show you. I’ve only been there once.”

“Oh, God! You’ve slept with him? I don’t even know where he lives, and you’ve slept with him! Take me to see him, Dennis. Now!”

“What do you expect me to tell everyone at the table?” Dennis questioned.

“Tell them I don’t feel well and you’re going to take me home.”

“Cheryl, let’s just stay here for—”

“Tell them NOW!” Cheryl said, raising her voice.

“Okay, okay,” Dennis said, and went off to deliver the news.

Hot Stuff

“T
his is so ridiculous. I should have known it would never work out. He’s cute and interesting and employed. Of course it couldn’t work out. What was I thinking?” Cheryl said to Dennis as they drove toward Cooper’s apartment.

“My God! He told me all about how he was a Christian. He even pretended to be uncomfortable around gay people,” Cheryl added before thinking for a moment. “Maybe he isn’t gay, Dennis. Maybe
you
were the one he was lying to,” Cheryl said, not believing her words herself. But maybe there was some sort of explanation.

“Lying to me about what?”

“About being gay and using me to go along to work functions with him.”

“I don’t know, Cheryl. He seemed pretty gay the night he had his mouth wrapped around my—”

“Dennis!”

“Well, he did.”

“Then maybe he’s bisexual,” Cheryl pondered, grasping at straws at this point, trying to come up with anything that might explain what Cooper said to Dennis. “I can’t believe this,” Cheryl said as they hopped out of Dennis’ car and headed up the steps to Cooper’s apartment.

“I don’t know. When you think about it, it’s actually kind of funny,” Dennis replied before getting a look at Cheryl’s glare. “Okay, not so funny.”

As they climbed the steps, they heard music coming from Cooper’s apartment. He had Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff” blaring from the stereo.

“He plays Donna Summer? And you didn’t know he’s gay?” Dennis said to Cheryl as he knocked on the door.

“I never heard him play Donna Summer. And he’s bi! Not gay!”

Dennis knocked again. “The boy’s gay as a twenty-four-hour gym.”

“He is not,” Cheryl said again, trying to convince herself as much as Dennis. Logically, she knew Dennis was right, but she had to hold on to something.

“Have you seen his CD collection?” Dennis asked.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’ve seen it—Cher, Madonna, Barbra, Bette, Patti . . . shall I go on?”

“Well, unless you saw some Ricky Martin in there, I’m not convinced.”

“Cooper,” Cheryl called as she knocked again. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, he can’t hear us with the music up so loud.”

“Yep, gay boys can’t listen to Donna Summer at half mast. We’ve got to crank her up.”

“I’m telling you, Dennis, he’s bi.”

“Gay!”

“Bi.”

“Gay.”

“Bi!” Cheryl repeated, finally having enough of the waiting and turning the knob to open the door.

“Oh, my God!” Cheryl and Dennis said in unison as the door flung open to Cooper decked out in a blond wig, Cheryl’s favorite navy-blue dress, black pumps, and her gold hoop earrings. He was gyrating around the living room, lip-syncing to Donna Summer.

“Oh, my God!” Cheryl said again. “My clothes! You’re wearing my clothes! You stole my clothes!”

“Cheryl? Dennis? What are you doing here? Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” a clearly flustered Cooper asked.

“We did knock,
Donna.
We knocked numerous times. Maybe you should lock your door before you parade around in women’s clothes . . . my clothes.” Cheryl put her hand to her head and sighed.

Cooper tried to think of something to say . . . anything to say, but there wasn’t any excuse in the book that he could make up to explain his attire, so he just stood quietly, looking at Dennis and Cheryl.

The three of them languished in the awkward moment—each of them totally silent while Donna Summer blared in the background, until Dennis just couldn’t hold it back any longer. He held his stomach with one arm, pointed at Cooper with the other, and burst out laughing.

“This is funny to you?” Cheryl said crossly to Dennis.

“I’m sorry,” Dennis said, trying to keep his composure. “But look at him.”

Cheryl looked at Cooper, a stocky black man in a blond wig, full makeup, and
her
clothes.

“I don’t find it funny at all,” she said, starting to laugh just a little. “But he does look ridiculous,” she added, letting the giggles come out a bit more and eventually starting to really crack up.

“What were you thinking?” Dennis said to Cooper. “That dress is all wrong for you. And who styled that wig? Atrocious!”

“You know, you’re right,” Cheryl said, trying to control her laughter and giving Cooper a good once-over herself. “He isn’t exactly petite,” she continued, eyeing Cooper, who was about to burst out of Cheryl’s dress. Somehow he’d managed to get it over his hips, but the dress was way too small for it to actually go over his shoulders for the zipper to meet properly in the back. “He should really be in black. Black is slimming, you know,” Cheryl added as she and Dennis looked Cooper up and down, talking about him as if he weren’t in the room.

“Black is not slimming. That is such a myth,” Dennis said.

“Oh, it is too,” Cheryl insisted.

“Oh, please. All these people, big as hippos, thinking they look like Jennifer Aniston because they’re in black. There’s only one thing that’s slimming, Cheryl. It’s called losing some damn weight.”

“Whatever, Dennis. But he should at least be in something with more of a waistline, don’t you think? And what made him think he could carry off that blond wig?” Cheryl said as she and Dennis starting circling Cooper to get a view of him from all sides.

“Look how he’s stretching out those shoes. How did he get those canoes of his into your little black pumps?” Dennis asked.

“Could you two just get out?” Cooper scowled to the laughing duo.

“He’ll have to get some bigger shoes. And what about that snazzy black dress I’ve seen you in—you know, the stretchy fabric one. That might suit him,” Dennis said, ignoring Cooper’s request.

“You know. You’re right . . . probably look better on him than me.”

“Cooper, you should really let us fix you up,” Dennis said to a clearly frustrated Cooper. “We could take you from trailer park tacky to Park Avenue style in no time.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Cooper said. He was trying to look stern, but in a blond wig, high heels, and an unflattering dress, he couldn’t quite pull it off. He awkwardly wobbled toward the door in Cheryl’s heels, held it open, and gestured for them to leave.

“Guess, he doesn’t want our help, Dennis,” Cheryl said.

“Oh, well,” Dennis replied as they walked out the door, giggling, with Cooper shutting it behind them.

Dennis and Cheryl laughed some more before they started into their own version of “Hot Stuff.” They sang Donna Summer and did a little dance as they walked back to the car.

After they had gotten in the car and settled down, Dennis looked over at Cheryl, sitting next to him.

“I’m sorry things didn’t work out,” he said softly.

“Oh, I’ve been dicked over by better guys than him. I’ll be okay. Besides, I can’t date someone who looks better in my clothes than I do.” And Cheryl meant what she said. She
had
been dicked over by better guys than Cooper, and she
would
be okay. Dealing with the whole Internet mess with Griffin and going through the HIV testing process had been a nightmare, but it did teach Cheryl how strong she could be when she needed to. It also helped her see her life more clearly. There would be other Coopers to date (hopefully, Coopers who didn’t steal her clothes), and, until then, she had her friends. Gina was back in her life, which meant Linda was back in her life as well. So what if Cooper was a lying thief. She had her friends, and they would help her get through anything.

Talk Show

G
ina heard a slight ruckus from the crowd as she stood backstage, waiting for Star Jones to announce her. She was surprised by the way the set looked close up. Somehow it seemed bigger than on television. She clenched her fists as Star began the introduction.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a super special guest with us today on
The View.
You’ve all seen the story in the news lately—how a pudgy, balding man managed to seduce a slew of young, attractive women and get it all on film—film many of you naughty boys may have seen on the Internet already. Well, one of those young ladies is speaking out. Come on out, Gina. Gina Perry, ladies and gentlemen.”

As the crowd offered polite applause, Gina tried to confidently saunter onto the stage. Star gave her a big hug, like they were best friends, when, in fact, they were meeting for the first time. Gina then shook hands with Lisa, Joy, and Meredith (Barbara was off that day) and took a seat between the four co-hosts.

“Hello, Gina. How are you today?”

“A little nervous. It’s so exciting to be here,” Gina offered, hoping a little humility might win over the crowd.

“So you’ve had quite a summer. Haven’t you?”

“Oh, Star, you can only imagine.”

“Well, let’s start from the beginning. How did you meet this Big G character?”

“I was at a bar with a friend, and when I ordered a drink, he stepped in and paid for it.”

“Is that when you think he drugged you?” Joy asked, joining the conversation

“I’m certain of it. I don’t go home with guys from bars,” Gina lied. “I never would have done it if I weren’t under the influence of some mind-altering drug.”

“And we know of at least one other victim who suspects she was drugged. But, Gina, what do you say to those other women he filmed who said that they weren’t drugged, and you’re probably lying about it?” Joy continued

“I say they’re sluts,” Gina replied. Her remark was followed by a mixture of laughter, clapping, and a hiss or two from the audience. “Honestly, Joy, do I look like a girl who would go home with a guy like that?”

Joy lifted her eyebrows instead of answering Gina’s question, before asking, “So how did you find out that Griffin . . . Griffin was his name, right? The Big G?”

“Yes, Griffin Cirelli.”

“How did you find out about his Web site? And worse yet, that you were a part of it?”

“A friend of mine happened to mention the Web site in general terms, so I checked it out.”

“What did you do when you found out?” asked Meredith, who was seated a couple of chairs down from Gina.

“What did I do? I freaked. I cried. I was so upset. I felt so helpless.” Again Gina tried to win the crowd over with emotion.

“So if you could say anything to Griffin now, what would it be?” Lisa, who had been quiet until then, asked.

Burn in hell, you fucking tiny-dicked bastard! “I would say that I feel sorry for him, and I wish that he hadn’t been so evil as to take advantage of fellow human beings. . . .”

Before Gina could finish pontificating, a large woman rose from the audience.

“Slut! Slut! Slut!” she shouted from the crowd.

Shocked, Gina peered out into the audience. She recognized the woman. It was the fat lady on Rollerblades Gomez had bitten a couple of months back.

“You lying whore,” she shouted. “You slept with him willingly, and you wanted to get it all on film so you could play Little Ms. Victim and get all this press and attention,” the woman said to Gina before addressing the general audience. “I know for a fact, she and The Big G are in cahoots together. They want to make Gina Perry the biggest star in the adult film world. What better way to do it than make a media circus out of some whore who pretends to have been drugged and seduced? She’s evil, I tell you. Gina Perry is pure evil. Look what her dog did to my leg,” the woman yelled before standing up with the help of a cane and showing the crowd a huge gaping wound in her leg. “She’s a conniving bitch, I tell you. Die, you conniving bitch! Die! Slut! Bitch! Whore! Die, you slut! Bitch! Whore!” the woman said, trying to get the crowd riled up. “Die, you slut! Bitch! Whore!” the woman said again.

A few audience members joined in. “Die, you slut! Bitch! Whore!” A few more. “Die, you slut! Bitch! Whore!” The entire audience began shouting at Gina and stamping their feet. “Die, you slut! Bitch! Whore! Die, you slut! Bitch! Whore!”

Completely taken aback, Gina yelled back at them, “I’m not a slut. I’m not! I’m not a bitch. I’m not a whore.” She was terrified. “Star, help me,” Gina said. “Please! Call security or something.”

Star looked at her in silence as she and her three co-hosts moved in a little closer to Gina’s face. “Die, you slut! Bitch! Whore!” they said in sync with the audience....

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep—
Gina reached over and slammed the alarm clock with her hand. She was still hearing “Die, you slut! Bitch! Whore!” as she woke up in a cold sweat. What was she going to do? The nasty little man was even invading her sleep. She had to rid herself of him once and for all. She had to.