Milkrun (26 page)

“You can't kiss both?” he asks.

She thinks about this for a second. “Maybe I could.”

“Please don't,” I say. “Where are we going, anyway?”

“Orgasm.” She flashes me a huge smile. “Huge party. The place to be. But we have to buy tickets.”

“How much?” I ask.

“A hundred.”

“A hundred?” A hundred dollars? I guess I'll have to dig into my therapy money. “And I bet that doesn't even include drinks. Maybe we should pre-drink here before going out. A party before the party.”

“Who should we invite?” She looks at me inquiringly.

“Let's just go the four of us.” Is this too presumptuous? Will Andrew think I'm assuming I'm his date? I figure I have nothing to lose by my suggestion. If he thinks it's just platonic between us, I've nothing to be embarrassed about. If he's hoping it's not…then for sure I made the right move.

“Did you open your package?” Sam asks.

“What package?”

“The huge present FedEx brought earlier today while you were still sleeping. You didn't see it?”

“No! Where is it?” What package?

“In my room.”

“How was I supposed to know I had a package in your room? Why is it in your room?”

“Because I didn't want to wake you.”

“And the living room was a problem because…”

“Whatever. Can you open it? I'm dying to know what it is.”

Sam and I go into her room. A Christmas-paper-wrapped huge object is leaning against her bed. The note scribbled in marker across the paper says, “It's nonrefundable. Merry Christmas. Tim.”

I tear open the wrapping paper. The
Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?
print stares up at me.

Omigod.

I can't believe he bought it for me.

I can't believe I was such a bitch.

Tomorrow, I have to call and thank him.

We return to the living room.

“So what was in the package?” Andrew asks.

“A gift from an admirer,” I reply. He thinks I'm joking.

“What are we watching?” Sam cuts in, plopping down on the couch between me and my potential New Year's Eve date.

I shoot her one of my best get-lost looks, but she's already absorbed in the movie.

Can I get away with sending Tim an e-mail?

M
Y FAVORITE ROMANCE COVERS ARE
the glamourous ones. The hero is dressed in a tuxedo, and the heroine, draped in some sort of velvety, silky, sparkling, emerald strapless gown, looks a little like Cinderella or at least the prettier of the two evil step-sisters. He gazes into her eyes. She gazes into his. There's lots of gazing going on. Tonight I get to be Cinderella—minus the glass slippers and the silver carriage drawn by horses that is actually a pumpkin pulled by singing mice. And I get to put my hair up, wear a three-quarter-length satiny black dress with spaghetti straps, and lots of eye makeup. Sam is wearing a floor-length maroon skirt and a matching tank top. We look fabulous, if I do say so myself.

Andrew is nothing to balk at, either. He and Ben are wearing dark suits. Yup, Sam chose Ben over Philip to be her date for New Year's.

I ask Sam to ask Andrew if he'd mind posing for a picture with me so that he doesn't suspect that I want a picture of us together.

“Smile! Say cheese!” She snaps us in front of the blind-covered window. “Okay, now you can resume your natural dispositions.”

He keeps his arm around my shoulder. I stay smiling.

Janie calls to wish me a happy New Year.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Phoenix. We love it out here. It's sunny. Why do people choose to live in cold climates when they can live out here?”

“I don't know. Why don't you move?”

“We're thinking about it.”

Uh-oh. Poor Iris. She'll lose it if they even suggest it. “I thought you liked Virginia.”

“I'm not crazy about it. I prefer a dry heat.”

I hear the tinkle of glasses. I hear my friends laughing in the kitchen.

“I gotta go.”

“Why? What are you doing tonight?”

“Just going for drinks with some friends.”

“So who do I hear in the background?”

“Some friends. We're having some drinks.”

“I thought you were going out for some drinks. Are you having a party?”

“No, we're going to a party.”

“So who's there now?”

“Just friends.”

“Why are you having drinks if you're going out for drinks?”

“Why not?”

Pause. “Jackie, do you have a drinking problem?”

Oh, God. “No, I do not have a drinking problem. What are you talking about? I have to go.”

“Okay. Ration yourself. Happy New Year.”

“You, too.”

I enter the kitchen just as Ben is topping off our drinks. He lifts up his glass. “To a wonderful new year. May it be filled with lots of sex.”

“Here, here,” Sam says. Then they kiss. Right in front of us. Especially weird because Andrew and I just stand there, watching. There's been no kissing action between us since the train.

“We should go soon,” Andrew says. What's his problem? Is he uncomfortable with all the coupling in here? He'd better get used to it…fast. Because tonight's New Year's Eve. Is there a better time to launch a relationship than at midnight, New Year's Eve, the magic moment when all potential couples kiss?

 

Orgasm looks the way it always does, just slightly more dressed up. Black and silver streamers cover the walls, and waitresses are wandering around carrying platters of hors d'oeuvres. Mmm. Are there any mini egg rolls? I love mini egg rolls.

“Oh, God,” Sam whispers when we walk in. “Philip is here.”

“You're so getting nailed.”

“What do I do?”

“You didn't promise either of them anything.”

“You're right! I haven't even slept with either of them!”

What? “You haven't?” Oh. There goes my even-Sam's-doing it theory. “Then what do you do when you sleep over at Ben's all the time?”

“We cuddle a lot.”

Cuddle a lot? “Are you telling me you spend the entire night in the same bed and don't have—”

A very bad sight interrupts my train of thought. “Sam, Marc is here.” I nod to where he's standing with his work buddies at the other side of the bar. Sam's eyes are popping and it's not because of her white eye shadow. I thinks she's hyperventilating.

“Calm down, calm down,” I tell her. “It'll be okay.”

“Is this normal? Is this normal?”

I think she's about to faint. I really hope she doesn't. Then I'll have to go home with her to make sure she's all right. I can't go home with her. I have to go home with Andrew.

“I need a drink,” she says instead of fainting. This is good.

I motion to Andrew that we're going to the bar.

“I'll get us a table,” he mouths back.

“Two Lemon Drops, please,” I tell the bartender, who isn't my friend Ms. Cleavage but appears to have the same DNA.

We do our shots and stand by the bar. Sam sighs. “What am I going to do? I haven't spoken to him in over a month.”

“What do you want to do?”

“I want him to leave. I despise him. I'm happy without him. Why does he have to ruin my New Year's? He's already ruined my life. Has he seen me? Look if he's looking.”

I look. “He's not looking. I don't think he's seen you yet.”

“I can't stand up anymore. I'm going to sit down.”

Don't faint, Sam. Please don't faint. “Okay, let's go find Andrew. He said he was getting us a table.”

“Wait,” she says. “Fix your hair.”

“What's wrong with my hair?”

“It's frizzy.”

“So don't just stand there, fix it!” I hiss at her.

“I can't,” she says, trying to run her hands over it. “You need to run water through it.”

I can't run water through it. People with naturally straight hair do not understand the delicate procedure involved in blow-drying curly hair straight. You can't add water. That's like eating a chocolate bar while you're working out. What's the point? Luckily I have a bottle of silicone-coated hair gel in my purse. I always wonder if putting silicone in my hair is a good idea. I mean, if it's used in breast implants, won't it make my hair puffy?

“Okay. Sit down. I'll be back in a second.” I elbow-squeeze my way through the holiday-crowded bar. In the bathroom, I bump smack into Amber in front of the mirror. Remember Amber? Too-skinny-no-my-father's-not-a-fireman-I'm-a-sadistic-dentist Amber.

“Hello.” She gives me the once-over.

“Hello.” Someone needs to force-feed this girl. “How are you?”

“Fine, thanks, how are you?” She reapplies her lipstick. I notice she has a dark lip-liner/lighter lipstick thing going on.

I open my bag and retrieve the gel, preparing to perform major surgery on my hair. There's no place to put my purse, since the counters are littered with various colognes and perfume sprays—and an honor basket in which to leave money should you choose to spritz. So in the sink goes my bag, after I verify that the ceramic is dry. Down comes my hair, in goes the silicone. (Look Amber, we're twins! The silicone in my hair matches the silicone in your breasts!) And
whoosh
goes the water into my purse. Why don't these places warn you that these things run on automatic sensors?

I stick my purse under the hand dryer for a full ten minutes, and then leave the bathroom. Amber's still fixing herself. She obviously needs a lot of maintenance.

As I make my way toward the table, Marc spots me. He's sitting at the bar with a group of cute boys. How come Marc never offered to fix me up with any of his friends?

“Hey, Jackie!”

I pretend I don't see him. He starts to wave frantically, then approaches me before I can escape to my table.

Me: “Oh, hi, Marc.”

Marc: “Hi, Jack. Where's Sam?”

Me: “Good to see you, too. How are you?” At least pretend to want to talk to me.

Marc: “I'm okay. And you?”

Me: “Fine.”

Marc: “How's work?”

Me: “Fine. Your work?”

Marc: “Fine. What's up?”

Me: “Not much.” Marc and I never did have much to talk about.

Marc: “Is she here?”

Me: “Is who here?”

Marc: “Sam. Is Sam here?”

Me: “Yes, she's here.” That's all you're getting, Marc dear.

Marc: “Where?” He looks around the bar.

I point to the table that now has Sam, Ben, Andrew and…Jess? Is that Jess? Why is Jess at the table? Why is Jess at Orgasm? I thought it was over. What do I do? Do I go over? Do I let them talk? What if she seduces him?

“Who is that?” Marc asks, trying to sound casual.

“It's Jess!”

“I mean the guy. Who's the guy with Sam? Does Sam have a new boyfriend? Why is some guy's arm around Sam?”

“A guy she's dating. What did you expect?” Uh-oh. Jess is smiling up at Andrew. Why is Jess smiling up at Andrew? “You dumped her. She's trying to meet other guys.”

“But she wanted to move in with me! How could she be over me so quickly?”

“She's not the type of girl to sit at home and pine.” And now he's smiling down at her! What should I do?

Marc stares openmouthed at the table. “I—”

“Gotta run,” I tell him. Not that there's anywhere to run to. Not that I could run anywhere in these heels if there
was
somewhere to run to. Yes, it's time for me to leave Marc so that he can be alone to ponder the error of his ways. Should I go back to the table? No. I think I'll just wander around the bar. Maybe some cute guy will offer me a drink and Andrew will see how popular I am. Who am I kidding? It's New Year's Eve and most people are part of a couple. Or at least part of a group. I can't even sit down with the group I came with. I don't want to go interrupt Andrew and his girlfriend.

I might as well drink.

I order myself a glass of champagne.

That's a nice solution. Maybe Janie's right about me.

Raisin-Eyes has spotted me. Remember Raisin-Eyes, the rating guy? My first Orgasm. And now he's ogling my spaghetti straps. Ew…Is this what my life has come to? Will my year-end destiny lie with Raisin-Eyes?

Fine. Andrew can talk to Jess. For now. It's only eleven. He has one hour before he has to reappear by my side and kiss me magically.

“Who's that with Sam?” Marc comes up behind me and points. Philip has Sam boxed between him and the bar. He kisses her lightly on the lips.

Ha! That was fantastic! “Another one of her suitors.”

“I made a mistake, didn't I?” Marc asks, his voice rising a full octave. He sounds pubescent. Then again, his behavior was always pubescent.

Now that was perceptive of him. I mock sigh. “Yes, you did.”

Are those tears glistening in the grown man's eyes? Where's my camera? Why don't I carry a camera?

“Do you think she'd get back together if I asked?”

“Actually, Sam's quite together as it is.” With Ben, with Philip, with just about anyone…“She's witty and beautiful and caring, and you threw all that away. You screwed up because you were afraid of commitment. Now she's happy and single and you're alone. Deal with it.” I don't care if I sound harsh. Who does he think he is? Why should he be allowed to break someone's heart and then expect it to be able to magically glue itself together again?

Sam, unknowingly (and brilliantly) chooses this exact moment to stretch her pale arms above the table, thereby exposing her newly decorated stomach to the world.

Marc turns white. “What is that? Is that a navel ring? Since when does Sam have a navel ring?”

I shrug. “She's a new person.”

He continues staring at Sam while swigging the rest of his drink. “I'm leaving.”

Good riddance. Go home. Thanks for stopping by.

Moments later, Sam pops up behind me. “What happened? I saw you talking to him. What did he say?”

I reiterate the conversation.

She looks at me incredulously. “You said
what?
”

“I told him you were happier without him.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you are.” Aren't you? I think you are. You said you were. Uh-oh. Did I miss something here? “What about Ben? What about Philip?”

“Who cares about them?”

This is not good. “You do. Don't you?”

“Where is he?”

“Philip or Ben?”

“Marc! Where is Marc?”

“He…” It's unfortunate this will not meet with a positive response “…left.”