PUCKED Up (37 page)

“
Speaking of, what happened with Lily?”

She came through the kitchen to get coffee while I was cutting peaches for Sunny and me. She was wearing Randy’s T-shirt. She was also friendly. It was very un-Lily.

“
We had fun. Several times.” He doesn’t pause his texting. “I’m hoping to have even more fun tonight.”

“
Oh, yeah?” I try to see what’s on his screen, but it’s impossible to read and drive at the same time. “Who’re you texting?”

“
No one.”

“
Please tell me you don’t have plans to meet up with a bunny this afternoon?” I don’t need more drama. I’ve already had enough over the past week.

“
No, man. I’m not a total asshole.” He sends one more message and pockets his phone. About two miles down the road from Waters’ cottage, I spot a camping trailer parked halfway in the bushes. I slow down.

“
Is that Bushman and Benji?”

Randy frowns as we pass. “Maybe? It’s hard to tell.”

There’s a car behind us, so I speed up again. “If it’s still there on the way back, I’m definitely stopping. Those guys are as persistent as the stalker bunnies.”

“
No kidding. That dickhead kept texting Lily all night. Eventually I made her shut off her phone, otherwise I would’ve thrown it out the damn window. Or gone to find the fucker and broken all his cocksucking fingers.”

He flips through radio stations and taps his fingers on his knee.

“
So?”

He stops fidgeting to look at me. “So what?”

“
That’s all I’m gonna get? You had fun.”

“
Don’t forget the several times part.”

“
I’m guessing I was wrong about the vagina teeth if you managed to get in there more than once.”

“
Vagina teeth?”

“
Yeah. I figured she’s kinda snarly, so maybe her vagina is, too.”

Randy shakes his head. “Butterson, sometimes your brain is a fucked up place to be.”

He flips down the visor and checks his reflection in the mirror, smoothing out the short ponytail he’s sporting. He’s joined the man-bun fad. I think he looks like a douche, but the ladies seem to like it.

“
She wasn’t snarly with me at all.”

“
That’s because you were boning her.”

“
Lily’s actually a lotta fun.” His mouth quirks up in a private grin. He flips the visor back up. “She has a cousin who was at Camp Beaver Woods this past week.”

“
With us?”

“
Yup.”

“
No shit.”

“
She said he’s been playing hockey since he could hold a stick, but her aunt and uncle have, like, six kids, and they can’t afford all the lessons, or whatever. Don’t tell her I told you, though. I think he might’ve been one of the kids you helped subsidize.”

“
Huh.”

“
I don’t think she hates you as much as you think.” His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he checks the message, ending the conversation.

I try to decide if Lily has been different with me since we arrived yesterday, but I’m not sure. It’s hard to tell with all the Benji BS and Sunny’s poison ivy.

The fundraiser takes place at a cottage on top of a hill. The driveway curves around a rocky bend, making the actual structure impossible to see. Cars snake upward in a slow line—luxury rides interspersed with moderately expensive vehicles. Based on the sheer number of cars, we’ll be sitting here for a while. It’s like a small version of a car show. The rental would’ve sucked compared to Waters’ car.

Randy pulls his phone out and sends a few more messages while we wait, so I do the same, including a warning to Sunny that we saw a camping trailer parked a couple miles down the road from the cottage.

Sunny messages back. They’re hard to decipher without listening to them, but the last one has a heart and a kissy lips emoticon, which is cool.

Randy passes over his phone with our invitation to the suits manning the gates. The dude passes me a clipboard with a bunch of forms to sign. I pass it to Randy to scan, otherwise we’ll hold up the line.

“
It’s a bunch of waivers for photos. The usual.” He passes it back to me, I sign, and we move forward.

As soon as we round the bend, the cottage comes into view. It makes Alex’s pad look like a dump, and that’s saying something. Three stories of glass, wood, and stone are built into the side of a steep, rocky incline. The view is spectacular. The top floor is the only one accessible from the driveway. I’d love to appreciate the architecture more, but I suddenly realize I’m in trouble. Cars worth a quarter million dollars and up line the edges of the driveway. Two Ferraris—one red, one yellow, a black Mercedes, and an orange Lambo are among the nicest.

I’m a guy. I have a hard-on for cars. I don’t own anything quite so insanely expensive, only because Violet won’t let me. The money’s there, but she wants me to wait a few years before I do something stupid with it—like throw it away on a car I’ll never fit in comfortably.

But the cars aren’t where the trouble is. It’s what’s happening with the cars: bikini models drape themselves over the hoods, or the owners who stand with them, holding fake checks that represent donations. I can’t read the amounts from where I am, but based on the cars, they’ve gotta be significant.

One of the models saunters up to the hood of our car, a wet, soapy sponge in one hand, a half-full bucket of water in the other.

Randy and I look at each other. “Dude.”

I look anywhere but the hood of the car. “Is she topless?”

He glances back at the model. “It sure looks that way.” She dips her sponge into the bucket, then rubs it over her already soapy chest.

“
We’re so fucked.”

Randy holds a fake smile as he gives the girl a thumbs up. “Maybe we should write a check and leave.”

I know things are bad if Randy’s making that suggestion. A photographer chases around after the model, snapping pictures. She rounds the passenger side, then stretches out over the hood. Holding the sponge above her chest, she squeezes, releasing a white, foamy spray that bounces off her boobs and lands on the hood and windshield. Then she rubs her chest all over the eagle. It’s a scene right out of a B-rated movie.

“
I’m not so sure your bunny repellent is going to work,” Randy says as she comes around to my side of the car. She drops the sponge in the bucket and takes a towel from one of the men lining the driveway. Then she picks up a clipboard and a pen and struts over to my window.

I try not to look below her neck. It’s impossible. I’m relieved to find her bikini top is flesh-colored and blends in with her skin. Even after our talk yesterday and all the making up we’ve done, I don’t think Sunny would be cool with pictures of me and a topless model, despite it being a charity event.

The model leans on the side of the car. “Fun ride, boys! You can pull into that spot right there. Fill out this form with your donation amount, and we’ll get you set up so the girls can start washing. You’ve already signed the photo release form?”

“
Yup. We’re all set.” I make sure I hold eye contact and don’t look down again.

She guides my car into a spot like she’s getting ready for a drag race. Her hair’s in a swishy ponytail.

“
Did you know it was gonna be models?”

“
Well, yeah, but I didn’t think it was gonna be like this.” Randy runs an anxious hand through his hair, messing with his dumb ponytail stub.

“
What are you all worried about?”

“
I don’t know. There’s a lot of girls.”

“
This is usually your thing! No one said you had to fuck any of them.”

“
Screw you, Miller. That’s not what I mean. It’s not gonna look good.”

“
No shit.”

Now that we’re in, there doesn’t seem to be any way to get out, based on the insane line up of cars filtering in behind us. I assumed because it was a cause I could get behind, the event would be all civilized. I should’ve known better.

It’s like the set of a fucked up porno. The topless-looking models rub down the cars with soapy sponges, then rub their girls on the car so their boobs are covered in foam while professional photographers take their pictures. Apparently, a magazine is shooting their annual bikini model edition as part of the event. That would’ve been good to know. I scribble my way through another release and the donation form, while Randy does the same. I’m distracted by the way girls are hanging off the other donors while photographers snap pictures.

Randy leans over and checks out my papers while I flip to make sure I’ve signed in all the right places. “Miller, that’s—”

Another model sticks her head in the window. “All set?”

“
Good to go.” I hand over my forms and pass her his as well.

“
It’s good; don’t worry about it,” I tell Randy, who looks seriously stressed.

The model checks our information and gives us a megawatt smile. “I’ll be right back.”

“
Sure.” I want to text Sunny and let her know I’m stuck and it’s not what it looks like, but I don’t have a chance. Models swarm the car. They hold open the doors; Randy and I have no choice but to get out. One of the girls passes us fake checks with our donation amounts on them. They prod Randy into a picture with me.

“
Dude,” he hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “I would’ve bumped my donation amount if I’d known you were throwing in five grand.”

I meant to donate two. “Sorry, man. I flipped the numbers,” I whisper back.

Two other models—these ones are actually wearing normal bikini tops and daisy dukes—flank us, and two more drop into odd, contortion-y poses in front of us. The girls on either side put their hands on our shoulders and lean in, making kissy lips. I turn toward the model with the intention of protesting. Her lips are hot pink and half an inch away from mine—thanks to her monster heels—which is the exact moment the flash goes off. I’ve been here for less than five minutes, and already I’m screwed.

As soon as they’re done, I try to get my phone out of my pocket so I can warn Sunny, but the girls take our arms and usher us toward the house. I want to shake the bikini-model entourage, but I don’t want to be rude or attract any more attention. I let them guide me around the back of the mansion and up stone steps to a massive deck. It drops in tiers to a stone surround and an Olympic-sized pool. I’m not sure what the deal with the pool is since there’s a lake below us. It’s seems wasteful and excessive. Sunny wouldn’t approve.

Music blasts from the speakers, and more bikini-clad models with trays of drinks and appetizers strut around, posing every time they stop to offer a snack. I decline the booze. The whole scenario is exactly what I promised Sunny I would avoid. Unintentionally, Randy has screwed me again.

But I’m here, so I don’t mess around. I seek out the host, Gene. My intention is to chat with him about the business side of setting up a fundraiser—with less partial nudity—and make a plan to talk more at a later date, when he’s not hosting a party with hundreds of people. Then I need to find Randy, who’s nowhere to be seen, so we can get back to the cottage, and I can get back to Sunny.

I manage to find Gene and secure an introduction. He’s a big hockey fan, so we end up talking about the coming season and training for a bit. Then I get sucked into an hour-long conversation about endorsements, career longevity, and philanthropic pursuits. He’s business savvy. Apparently he knows all about my involvement with the summer camps, including the one I left yesterday. The interview I gave has already been printed in the local paper. It’s sitting on the coffee table in his living room, open to a picture of me with Michael and his family.

My phone buzzes in my pocket more than once while we’re talking. I can’t excuse myself, knowing this is an opportunity I’m not going to get again. After a while, Gene and I exchange contact information, which is exactly what I’d hoped would happen.

I’m searching for a way to end the conversation—dude is seriously chatty—when Randy finally shows up. He’s wearing a strange, fake-looking smile. Gene gives him one of those back-pat hugs and invites us to stay for dinner.

“
We’d love to, but we’ve got to get back. Butterson’s girlfriend’s sick.” Randy’s still wearing that messed-up smile.

“
I’m sorry to hear that.”

I take the cue and stand. “She’ll be okay. I just don’t want to be gone too long.”

Gene nods and Randy ushers me out of the house, but it’s another half hour before we get back to the car with all the handshakes and conversations we’re forced into on the way.

“
We gotta get back to the cottage
now
,” Randy says as he slides into the passenger seat.

I check my messages. I have tons of texts from Sunny and several from Violet. Reading them all is going to take forever. Based on Randy’s panicked expression, I shouldn’t be wasting time. I toss him my phone. “What’s going on? I need you to read those to me.”