Confessions of an Alli Cat (6 page)

We are laughing by now and have completely forgotten about Rick the Dick’s bad behavior.

“I’m just glad that Vanessa’s fake boobs didn’t pop,” Sophie giggles as she takes a bite of chocolate sauce.  “They would have felt that explosion all the way in Japan.  It might have caused another Tsunami.”

I can’t help but laugh before I tell her not to joke about Tsunamis.  She rolls her eyes.

“I’m not.  I’m being serious.  An explosion of that magnitude would probably trigger some sort of natural disaster somewhere.  Maybe an avalanche in the Rockies or something.  No lie.”

I chuckle because she’s right as I pay the bill. Vanessa’s fake boobs are enormous. 

“How big do you think they are?” I muse as I pull out my credit card.  “D?”

Sophie’s eyes light up wickedly.  “They are DD’s,” she confirms.  “I saw her tacky bra in the laundry at Dad’s.  I’m always waiting for her to fall over from the sheer weight of those things.”

I know that I shouldn’t joke around like this with Sophie, but after the morning we’ve had, I can’t help but laugh with her.  I know.  Mom of the year, right here.

“Wanna go to a movie?” Sophie suggests as we leave.  I stare at her in shock.  She hasn’t wanted to go to a movie with me in forever.  I turned un-cool right about the time she turned thirteen.  A total coincidence, I’m sure. 

Sophie giggles as my mouth practically drops open.

“What?” she looks at me innocently.  “It’s a girl’s day, isn’t it?”

I melt again. 

So, we go to a movie, share a giant tub of buttered popcorn and a vat of coke.  Then we return home, pull on sweat pants and watch chick flicks all night.

As I lay curled up with my angelic-at-the-moment daughter, I ponder my state of current good luck.

All in all, I fucked an amazing younger sex god, ran down my cheating ex-husband’s new fiancée (On accident!!) and had a spectacular girl’s day with my sometimes-surly-but-not-today teen daughter.  It was a fabulous fucking weekend.

Oh, and I forgot the fact that I have mastered the art of saying fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck. 

See?  I’m getting good at it.

Chapter Six

(Or: When life throws you curve balls, fuck the pitcher)

“I didn’t return your calls yesterday because I was busy all day. You know, plowing down Rick’s fiancée in a parking lot,” I tell Sara as I chew on a pickle.  She is picking apart her sandwich in agitation.  “Don’t do that.  You’re going to get ham under your fingernails.”

Sara glares at me.  “I heard you the first time you explained it.  And we’ll get back to that because it’s effing hilarious.  But first, I’m mad at you.  Seriously.  How hard would it have been to simply call me back for just one minute so that you could tell me how it went with Shade?  The whole thing was my idea.  I deserve to hear all of the juicy details.”

I laugh.  “Don’t you mean you deserve to get off on all the juicy details?”

She glares at me and I laugh again. She does have a point.

“Okay, okay.  Yes, I know. I owe you for this one.  Shade was fabulous.”

Her eyes light up. “So, you
did
love riding the teenage pony?”

I shudder. 

“Shade is not a teenager.”

She grins.  “I know.  But he’s the closest legal thing.”

“You’re a sick, sick person, you know that?” I tell her.  She nods without shame. 

“I know.  And for the record, I don’t really want a teenager.  I just like to be shocking.”

“Don’t I know it,” I mutter. 

“But that’s neither here nor there,” she announces with her fire-engine-red lips.  “I only have thirty minutes left til I have to be back at the office.  I have an open house this afternoon.  I need to know.  Was it amazing?  Do you owe me a Lexus or a Ferrari?”

I grin.  “Neither.  But I do owe you a huge fucking thank you.”

She squeals.  “I knew it!!  Tell me All. Of. It.”

So I do.  I tell her of the handcuffs, the rough sex, the licking, the biting, the….everything.  She is staring dreamily into space as I finish up. 

“I knew he’d be good,” she tells me, drumming her red fingertips on the bistro table.  “If I weren’t so loyal to Chaz and so dedicated to ensuring that he gets a good college education, I might try Shade out.”

“Ha! You don’t care about his college tuition,” I say, but I am shocked by how territorial I feel toward Shade and by how much I don’t want him to have sex with Sara.  I gulp.  He’s a gigolo.  He has sex with a
lot
of people.  That’s what he does. It’s his job. I gulp again.

“I do, too,” Sara insists.  “I am a true patron of the arts.  Particularly interactive arts.”

I giggle.  “Sara, having sex is not an art.”

She glares at me.  “If you believe that, then you aren’t doing it right.  Speaking of doing it right, I made an appointment for you to go with me to get a Brazilian done day after tomorrow. You can thank me later.  Or rather, Shade can.”  She laughs evilly.  I stare at her, my mouth hanging open 

“A Brazilian?  As in, a Brazilian
wax
?  Down
there
?”

My crotch is instantly terrified and tries to crawl inside of my body at my words. 

I silently croon to it. 
It’s okay, my pet.  I won’t ever let anyone hurt you.

Aloud, I say, “You must be insane, Sara.  I will never, ever, ever get a Brazilian wax.  Not ever.  Not in a million years.  Uh-uh. Not happening.”

She stares at me, unconcerned. 

“I already made the appointment.  It’s at 6:45.  You’re going to go.  You’ll love it. Shade will love it.  It will release your inner lioness.  Trust me.”

“I’m not a lioness and I’m not going,” I insist. 

And in this moment, I mean it.

“Oh, you’re going,” she says as she takes her last bite of sandwich. 

“Whatever you want to think,” I shake my head as I gather my trash.  “I’ve got to get back to work.  Apparently, we’re meeting our new Vice President today.  I can’t be late getting back.”

Sara looks at me.  “How’s Brainy Brian doing?  You know what they say about smart guys.  They have big penises.”

“No one says that,” I sigh as I grab my purse.  Brainy Brian is a recently divorced guy at work.  He’s decent looking, nice and makes good money.  Sara has been convinced for several months now that I should date him, if only to practice.  He’s not my type—he’s too wishy-washy.  I need someone more assertive.  And for some reason, I highly doubt that he has a big penis.  Not that it matters. 

Unless it is way too small. 

But that doesn’t matter to me anyway, because I’m not interested. 

“And he’s the same as always, Sara.  Want me to get his number for you?”

“Maybe,” she calls after me. “Call me tonight.”

“Maybe,” I call back. 

I drive the short distance back to work from the little park that Sara and I always meet in to have lunch.  I like the fountains there and she likes the shirtless male roller-bladers.  It’s also a perfect middle distance between her real estate office and my office building.  We’re all about compromise.

“Hello, Mrs. Lancaster,” Larry, the front desk guy in the lobby greets me as I walk past. 

“It’s Ms. Lancaster now, Larry, “I remind him.  He nods.

“I forgot.  I’m sorry, Ms. Lancaster.”

I smile and continue walking past. As I punch the elevator button, Taylor, my admin, rushes up to me as though she’d been waiting for me.  She hands me messages, chattering a mile a minute as we wait for the elevator. 

“Were you watching for me from the window?” I ask suspiciously. 

“Of course not,” she answers innocently.  “I happened to be downstairs in the lounge at the vending machines.”

“With my messages in your pocket?” I ask doubtfully.  She shrugs.

“Coincidence?”

I have to smile.  My assistant is a damn good one. She runs my calendar, she thinks for herself and she puts out fires for me all of the time. And even though she has a nose-ring, I’m happy to have her.  One of my biggest dreads in life is the day she turns in her notice.  She has assured me that this will never happen, that she will stay with me until we both die and then we’ll be cremated and share the same mausoleum space.  I suspect that she’s being facetious. 

“Oh,” she says as she turns to me.  “Rick the Dick’s lawyer called.  Said something about you running down his fiancée?”

(Side-note:  Yes, I refer to my ex-husband as Rick the Dick to anyone who will listen, except for my daughter. It tends to stick with people.  They re-use the term, which causes me great joy.  Okay. Carry on.)

The elevator doors open and we step in. I sigh. 

“Seriously?  I can’t believe he actually called his lawyer.”

Taylor stares at me, waiting for an explanation.

“I might have slightly run over Vanessa at the mall yesterday morning.  It wasn’t a big thing and it was her fault.  Please call back Rick’s attorney and tell him to contact my lawyer, not me.  I’m done talking to them.”

“Done,” she says, writing on her little notepad. “And you really ran her down?  You’re badass, boss.”

I don’t bother reminding her that it was an accident.  I sort of like being called badass.

“Also, don’t forget that we’re meeting
your
new boss this afternoon,” she reminds me as we wind our way through the marketing department that I oversee to get to my corner office.  “You might not want to mention to him that you ran over someone yesterday.”

I roll my eyes.

“I know,” I tell her.  “I haven’t forgotten. Have you seen him yet?” I only ask this because Taylor keeps an eagle eye out for everything.  Nothing escapes her attention. Plus, she networks with the other admins in the building.  Nothing happens without them knowing about it.

“I have,” she tells me proudly as I walk into my office and drop my briefcase into a chair at my conference table.   “He’s drop-dead gorgeous, for an older guy.”

I eye her.

“What do you consider older?”  Since Taylor is twenty-five, it’s hard to say.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she muses she hands me an afternoon agenda.  “Maybe thirty-five or forty.”

“Hmm,” I answer absently as I look at the agenda.  It looks like my afternoon is shot because of the new guy.  I have a meet-and-greet with him in his office at 3:00 after he addresses my department at 2:00.  “Sounds promising.”

“Definitely promising,” Taylor confirms.  “He’s delicious.”

I stop what I’m doing and look at her.  “Don’t even talk like that,” I tell her.  “It’s against the rules to date co-workers.”

“No, it’s not,” she answers.  “It’s just frowned upon.  He could be the one for me.  Do you really want to stand in the way of true love?”

I roll my eyes.  Am I really surrounded by lunatics in every aspect of my life?  Before I am able to answer, there is a soft rap at the door.  Taylor and I both turn to find a middle-aged man striding confidently into my large office. 

I inhale sharply, then hope that no one noticed.

He’s a very, very attractive middle-aged man.  Wow.

He’s tall, maybe 6’1” or so.  Dark hair that is cut close and clean.   He’s distinguished and sexy. And I’m once again reminded of how unfair Mother Nature actually is.  And there’s no way that she’s a woman.  A woman wouldn’t give men such unfair advantages in life.  She would make men the ones to give birth and get stretch-marks, then breastfeed until their male boobies drooped like two socks filled with wet sand. She would not allow them to age like this.  No way.

Focus, Allison
, I tell myself. 
Focus on the beautiful man in front of you.
 

Beautiful Man is wearing a dark, very expensive suit and he holds out his hand to shake mine.

“You must be Allison,” he says.  I find that I am staring so intensely into his dark blue eyes that I almost forget to answer. It takes Taylor nudging me to jolt me into action.

“Um, sorry.  Yes, I’m Allison Lancaster.  You can call me Alli.”

“Good, “he says briskly, shaking my hand firmly.  “I’m Alexander Harris.  You can call me Alex.  I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.  I’m going to say a few words to your department here in a bit and then I look forward to speaking with you one-on-one.  I’d like to hear how you do things, how things run, etc. Does that sound like a plan?”

He seems so familiar, like I’ve met him before.  But I know that I haven’t.  I would definitely remember Beautiful Man.  I mean, Alex.  He’s got a commanding presence about him.  And he’s gorgeous. 

“Of course, “I tell him warmly.  “I look forward to it.”

“Alright, then,” he says.  His eyes crinkle a little at the corner when he smiles. I’m guessing he’s either in his late thirties or early forties. And did I mention gorgeous?  “I’ll see you soon.”

And he’s gone. 

Taylor turns to me.

“Did I tell you?” she sounds so knowing.  So knowing that it is annoying. 

“Well, I hope he has good things intended for this department,” I say matter-of-factly.  I drop into my chair and pick up my mouse, scrolling through my email. Taylor doesn’t take the hint. She lingers, musing about Alex. 

“Do you think he’s married?  I didn’t see a ring on his finger.”

“A lot of men don’t wear rings,” I tell her, not looking up.  “Particularly the lying, cheating ones who don’t want other women to know they’re married.  And you don’t need to worry about his marital status, anyway.  Just go and return my calls, please.”

I smile to let her know that I’m not mad, but she knows that I mean it.  I’m done pondering about the new guy.

Until twenty minutes later when I am standing in the back of the main conference room watching him speak to my employees. 

He’s at ease with them, laughing with them, talking frankly and openly about the changes he intends to make and the things he will keep the same.  He easily commands the room, yet he doesn’t act as though he is the new senior Vice President of Business Development. He acts like a friendly, knowledgeable neighbor who happens to be in the business.

As he speaks, his eyes find their way to mine.  I can see warmth there, and a worldly wisdom and sparkling flecks of dark gray buried within the blue.