Always the Last to Know (Always the Bridesmaid) (11 page)

       “I’ve had the back story and the bulk of the plot already written. I just had to plug in a few details.”  She nods at the packet that I’m trying to put in my purse to read later.  “Now, don’t judge me too harshly, all right?  That’s just a rough draft, and an unfinished one at that.  Once I get it all finished up, I’ll revise like the dickens.”

      I finally fit the pages in my purse, “I’m sure it’s great, Annie.”

      She smiles, looking only somewhat satisfied with my optimism.  I’ve honestly never seen her so unsure of herself and, really, I don’t know what to think about it.  Annie doesn’t do self-consciousness.  If this is what writing does to people then it’s no wonder that so many authors drink themselves to death.

      I am ready to offer more praise when the phone starts ringing.

       “Country Town Bank, this is Jess.  How may I help you?”

       “Oh, good, you answered.”

       “Carla?”  I smile, “You’re talking to me again?  I am so glad.  Look, about your mom and that guy. . .”

       “I’m still mad at you.”  She cuts me off.  I should have known better than to think this whole thing would just blow over.  “I just wanted to tell you that the woman who interviewed you for the hospital job called the apartment looking for you.”

       “Really?”  Because rejecting me for the job once wasn’t enough?

       “Yeah.  I just wanted to give you the number.”

      I scribble the number down quickly.  I’ll call when I get back to the apartment.  No reason to cry in front of everyone I work with when I’m told once again that I’m not qualified for the job.

      And, okay, the woman who interviewed me was really nice and said that I was very experienced.  Just not as experienced as some people.  Like the little rich boy that got the job.

       “Thanks for letting me know about this, Carla.  And, really, about your mom. . .”

       “I don’t want to talk about it.”

      And with that, she hangs up on me.

***

      Okay, so I couldn’t wait until I got home to call the hospital lady.  Which is why I almost had a wreck heading home from work when the hospital lady told me that I got the job!  Turns out that the rich boy who originally got the job was just offered an even better job somewhere on the west coast.  Oh my God, I have a job.  With health insurance.  And my own office.

      And maybe even my own little nameplate for my desk!

      I can’t stop smiling as I head up the stairs to my apartment.  Save for Carla not speaking to me, my life is going perfectly.

      I unlock the apartment door and head into the kitchen.

      Why is the television in the living room on?  And why do I hear movement coming from there?

      Well, so much for my perfect life.  I’m going to die.

       “Who’s there?”

      Okay, whoever said that was definitely not me.

      I wrap my fingers around my keys and form the famous key-fist to prepare for the eye gouging that is going to have to take place with whoever is in my living room.

       “Who’s there?”  The voice asks again.

      Yeah, that isn’t my voice saying those words.

      I slowly peer around the doorframe of the living room just as I see a head of dark curls do the same from the other room and I, of course, scream and shove my hand toward the stranger’s face.

      Of course it’s the hand that isn’t full of keys ready to stab the thief/rapist/murder in the face.  Besides, he catches my hand at the wrist before I get anywhere close to his face.

      And, thank God I am stupid and didn’t try to hit him with the key-fist since I would be destroying such a gorgeous face.

       “Easy there, slugger.”  Matt smiles as he continues to hold onto my wrist.

       “Whatthehellareyoudoinghere?”  I shout in one breath since the adrenaline rush is still going strong.

      He doesn’t smile and lets go of my wrist quickly, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to intrude.”

      I shake my head as my breathing tries to slow down, “No, you’re… not … intruding.  You’re just… scaring the… hell… outta me.”

      Matt laughs, “I’m sorry for
that
then.  I came over here with Evan then he and Carla had some wedding stuff to work on.  It was either go with them or go back to Evan’s apartment and hang out with his roommates, who, by the way, are barbaric idiots.”  I love him.  He shrugs, “I opted to just stay here and watch
The Fairly Oddparents
.  But if you want me to leave, I can.”

      I shake my head, “No, you’re fine.  Really.”  So, so fine.

       “Are you sure?  I can leave you alone if you want.”

       “No, honestly, you can stay here is as long as you’d like.”  I grin, “Besides, I’m in a great mood.  Even if you were a rapist or murderer, I’d be happy to see you.”

       “Suicidal much?”  He raises an eyebrow as he sits down on the couch.

       “I got a job!”  I squeal.  I can’t help it, I’m excited dammit.  If I could climb on the apartment roof and yell the news out through a megaphone, I totally would.  I would also probably fall to my death but, hey, if I did fall off the roof but clung to life on a life support system, I would have insurance to pay for my medical bills!

       “That’s fantastic, Jess!”  Matt jumps off the couch and gives me a hug.

      So, this is what Heaven feels like.  It’s strong and Italian and smells like Armani Mania.  I love it.

       “We have to go celebrate.”  He says matter-of-factly, grabs my hand, and begins to lead me through the kitchen.  He stops with his hand on the door, “You don’t mind driving, right?  My car is in Oklahoma.”

       “I’m glad to.”  If he keeps holding my hand like this, I’ll drive the car over a cliff with him if he asks me too, a la
Thelma and Louise
.

***

      The weirdest thing has happened:  I realize that I don’t like Matt.

      Why don’t I like Matt?  I mean, he’s nice and smart and funny and stupidly attractive and fun to talk to but, after an afternoon of getting ice cream and walking around the downtown area, I have no physical attraction to him whatsoever.

      Oh my God.  Am I a lesbian?

      No.  That’s not it.  I mean, that can’t be it.  Not that there’s anything wrong with being a lesbian
(I mean, yeah, my mom would totally beg to differ, but that’s another story)
, but I’m not gay.  But, there are a lot of hot guys out there that I’m not attracted to.  Brad Pitt, for instance.  I know that I’m supposed to find him attractive but he just doesn’t do anything for me.  Ditto Justin Timberlake.

      So, Matt is Brad Pitt and I want absolutely nothing to do with him.  I mean, he’s gorgeous and he bought me ice cream and a cute scarf at some little boutique on the square that I had never noticed before and I don’t want to jump his bones.  My God, maybe I
am
a lesbian.

      But I have every desire to jump Owen Wilson’s bones.  Of course, Owen would never dream of changing the radio station in my car when “Only the Good Die Young” by Billy Joel starts playing.

      Billy Joel!  Matt changed the station during a Billy Joel song.  I haven’t checked on this in the Bible just yet, but that might just be a Hell-worthy trespass.

      Why isn’t Carla speaking to me?  I
so
need to talk to her about all of this.  She’ll tell me that I’m just being stupid, and then will remind me of every boy that I have ever loved who did not return the same sentiment.  Then we’ll go out for drinks and I’ll forget the whole thing.

      But, as it is, Carla isn’t speaking to me.  When she and Evan returned from whatever wedding thing they were working on, she breezed right past the livingroom where Matt and I were playing a game of Scrabble.  By the by, Matt is no fun to play board games with.  He doesn’t argue over the legitimacy of words or have a competitive bone in his body; it’s infuriating, really.  I was actually glad when Evan came in the livingroom and turned on ESPN.

      Oh my God.  I’m excited for ESPN.

      Maybe I really am a lesbian.

      I have to talk to Carla immediately.

      I mumble a quick apology to Matt before rushing off to Carla’s bedroom.  The door’s open and she’s sitting on her bed flipping through the wedding binder.  I hate that thing so much.

       “We need to talk.”

       “I’m. . .”

       “Still mad at me, I know.  But Carla, I wasn’t planning on telling you or Riley about that guy.  The only reason I told Riley was because he saw his car in your mom’s driveway and I thought it would be best if he went all loopy in front of me rather than your mom.  I mean, I’m used to his insanity.  That guy your mom’s seeing?  Yeah, Riley would have scared him off in a heartbeat.”  We both laugh, “And, maybe I should have told you about the guy but I didn’t think it was my place.  Plus, I didn’t think that you needed that extra stress right before your wedding.  But I am sorry about everything.  And I promise that the next time I see your mom kissing some guy, I will call you immediately.”

      Carla nods, “I’m sorry.  You’re right.  I just. . . Riley was right about our friendship and you know how I hate it when my brother’s right about something.”

      I smile, “About as much as I hate it when your brother’s right about something.”  I sit next to her on the bed.  “By the way, I think I might be a lesbian.”

      She shakes her head, “We don’t talk to each other for two days and you start questioning your sexuality?  Good God, Jess, what would you do without me?”

       “Probably find a lesbian lover and move to California to get married.”

       “You’re not gay, Jess.  Remember that ridiculous crush you had on that dude who lived next door to us sophomore year?  The one with the big nose?  You were head over heels for that guy.  You’re not gay.”

      See?  This is why I love her.  In a totally hetero way, of course.

       “So, what did the woman from the hospital want?”

      I grin, “I got the job!  The one I interviewed for a month ago?  Yeah, I totally got it!  I mean, yeah, I was the second choice but, Carla, I’m going to have insurance.  Insurance!”

       “Congratulations!”  She leans over and hugs me.  “When do you start?”

       “As soon as I can leave the bank.  I’ll have to put in my two weeks’ notice and all that, but surely to God they’ll let me go before the two weeks is up.  I mean, it’s not like I really do that much.”  Except listen to Annie talk about the latest sex moves she’s tried out with her husband, and possibly with another person or two at the same time.  She wasn’t too clear when it came to describing that one particular episode, which is odd considering that I hear every last detail: ‘nice size, good time, and worth my dime’, as Annie likes to put it.

      Why am I only making minimum wage at the bank?  I mean, really?  My itty-bitty bank paycheck is not going to cover all the psychiatric bills I will undoubtedly rack up in order to heal all the emotional scars that Annie has left upon me.

      Ooh, I wonder if my new insurance will cover psychiatric bills?

       “So, what were you and Evan off doing?  Matt said it was wedding related?”

       “Oh.”  She closes the wedding binder and smiles, “We went and met Mom’s boyfriend and invited him to the wedding.”

       “You what?  Are you serious?”

      She nods, “Yeah.  He’s really nice.  He even got Evan talking about something other than sports, and you know how hard that is to do.”

      Do I ever.

       “But he had an emergency at the hospital and had to leave.”  At my confused look, she continues, “He’s a veterinarian and there was a sick cow or something.  And it’s a good thing he did leave because, not ten minutes later, Riley showed up wanting to ask Mom about something of Dad’s that’s in the garage.”

      I just nod, and try not to let my panic show that I have completely forgot about Carla and Evan’s wedding gift until this very moment.

        Carla doesn’t seem to notice my worry and continues to talk about her mom’s boyfriend.

       “Don’t get me wrong, it’s weird to see Mom with someone that’s not Dad.  But Bill seems like a good enough guy.  Not as great as Dad, but he makes her happy.  I can at least respect the guy for that.”

       “That’s really great.”

      Carla shrugs, “Well, Mom needs at least one supportive child on her side.  God knows Riley doesn’t want anything to do with Bill.”

       “He’s just looking out for your mom.”

       “She’s forty-eight.”

       “And Riley is an overprotective crazy man.  You know that.  Remember the screening process he gave Evan the first night he met him?  We all went out to the bar and I had to get Riley doubly drunk and sit him in front of the jukebox just to get him to leave Evan alone.”  I laugh at the memory, not that I remember too much of that evening.  In the process of getting Callahan drunk, I also got a wee bit smashed myself.  And, by a “wee bit smashed”, I mean that I was singing “Dirty Diana” by Michael Jackson way too loud and out-of-key with Riley, and Carla ended up calling us a cab and ushering us out the door as soon as she could.  My next memory was waking up the following morning next to Riley on the floor of my dorm room with my head pounding like the crappy bass system in the cab that was pumping out offensive novelty rap.  Which happens to be one of my favorite things.

      Offensive novelty rap, that is.  Not headaches.  Hangover headaches can go rot in the fiery pits of Hell for all I care.

       “If Mom does get Riley and Bill in one room together, and she will, sooner or later, would you go with Riley?”  Carla asks meekly.

      It’s good to know that my friends have no problem feeding me to the lions.

       “It’s not really any of my business, Carla.”

       “The hell it isn’t; you’re the one who made the discovery.”  She snaps, then a little more calmly adds, “Besides, you’re really good at keeping Riley in line.”