Lingerie For Felons (10 page)

I'd just made my way back over to a wildly applauding Heidi and Steve when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

‘Please, please, no autographs…' I started. Then I realized who it was.

‘Oh, er…hi.' I said, before reminding myself that I was a disco goddess. ‘What's Superman doing in a seedy joint like this?'

‘Superman?' He furrowed his brow.

‘You know, saving hapless souls from the evil NYPD.'

Clark Cooper gave me the nicest smile. Sort of boyish sexy — part early Bo Duke, part Huckleberry Finn. He looked even cuter than before, maybe because I was so hammered. Or maybe because I've always had a thing for messed up boys, and he'd gotten pretty messy himself in the last few hours. Obviously the birthday party was a live one. He had two big lipstick marks on his left cheek, streamers in his hair, and a chunk of refried beans on his tie.

Heidi was clearing her throat like she had suddenly developed acute laryngitis.

‘Oh, look, sorry.' Clark looked like he was about to scuttle off. ‘I didn't mean to interrupt. It's just, you know, the party I mentioned before? Well, it's here. And so are you. I just wanted to come over and tell you that our whole group was impressed with your performance just now. But…er… I'll be off.'

Heidi almost sprained something clambering over the table to ensure he didn't escape so easily. ‘Oh nooo,' she cried, clutching wildly at his arm. ‘Stay, please stay. You haven't met us yet. And we're lovely and really quite civilized, aren't we Steve?'

‘Huh?' Steve had become preoccupied with a piece of ear wax he'd retrieved and was examining under his fingernail.

‘Steve, you filthy animal,' Heidi prompted. Then, in a stage whisper, ‘Help me, you idiot, Lolly's transition man's about to bolt.'

‘Well, thank you guys for being so supportive,' I drawled with what I hoped was sarcasm but given my intoxicated state probably came off, annoyingly, as genuine gratitude. ‘This is Clark Cooper, Public Defender. I met him over at the precinct.'

‘Wow…' Steve breathed. ‘What a great name. Like a cowboy.'

Heidi was trying to surreptitiously look Clark up and down, but ended up coming off like a leery old man. ‘Hi ho Silver,' she contributed lamely.

We really have known each other too long.

Even loaded, Clark had a great manner with scary strangers. Must be all that experience with felons. He talked to Heidi and Steve about his job, the precinct, the party he was with. And he had a really nice way of talking with his hands.

He had just slid into the booth next to us when a strident voice screeched out, ‘Clark, you selfish fucckerrr! Come back to my partyyy!'.

And I swear to God, we were suddenly looking at Fran Fine from
The Nanny
. A really, really pissed off Fran Fine. Clark's aspect changed from that of a slightly drunk, charming Superman to a hunted animal.

He managed to squeak out, ‘Oh, Stella, there you are. I've been looking everywhere for you.'

Next to this woman, even my own drunken radar seemed insightful.

‘Oh, you were?' she honked. ‘Come here, beautiful, gimme another birthday kiss.'

Suddenly, another voice, even more pissed off than the first, yelled, ‘Hey Angela!' — it sounded like Oi-ngela — ‘What the fuck're ya doin'?'

And I was suddenly looking at Tony Danza's character from
Who's the Boss?

‘Oh man, we're in bad sitcom hell,' Heidi sighed in my ear.

‘I know,' I agreed. ‘When's that horrible kid from
The Wonder Years
popping up?'

Clark used the distraction caused by the arrival of Tony Danza to shoot us a pleading look. Heidi, in her role as best friend and self-elected procurer of my transition man, seized the moment. She grabbed both my hand and Clark's, and ran. Once she was a safe distance from Fran and Tony, she wrenched open the door marked exit and pushed us through.

And, suddenly, there we were, out in a cold alley behind the bar.

It had all happened so fast that we were both reeling.

I suddenly felt kind of awkward. And sober.

‘Um, so… You're involved in some kind of…love triangle?' I ventured.

Clark started laughing, and it was really the nicest sound. Clear and genuine and with a definite note of relief.

‘Oh, God,' he groaned. ‘It's just too awful. Angela's another Public Defender. We work together. I tried every way I knew to get out of tonight, but she threatened to call my mother if I didn't come.'

I gave a confused stare. ‘Call your…Mommy?'

‘Long story,' he said. ‘And hey, I don't think you're in any position to make fun of people with scary relatives.'

I nodded quickly, several times, and hiccupped. Suddenly, we were both laughing. And it was only a small step from there to the bar next door. We both agreed we needed another drink to get over the drama of the last few minutes.

And then another.

And then one for the road.

Three hours later

We were having the kind of serious conversation only truly possible between two very drunk people.

‘So,' he slurred. ‘We've covered families. Yours and mine.'

I nodded. ‘Yours sound way worse,' I hiccupped. ‘And I never thought I would hear myself say that. For example, personally, I don't think that you are any kind of a limp-dick for choosing public law. Or that you always make bad choices with women. Actually, I have no idea about that last one. Maybe you do.' I hiccupped again. ‘But, regardless... Now, hang on, where was I? Oh yeah, regardless, your family sounds horrible.'

It felt good to be the one offering family-related sympathy. For once.

‘Yeah, thanks,' he said weakly. ‘So…we've also covered jobs. Yours and mine.'

‘Mm,' I agreed. ‘Not sure finishing my thesis counts as a job. But yeah.'

‘And so I guess it's that time of the night,' he pressed on, ‘when we either talk about the court or Wayne.'

I nodded in mute, earnest, drunken agreement. Seemed all very logical.

He smelled nice. Like beer and aftershave.

‘What's it gonna be?' he prompted.

‘Court,' I decided.

I had that low buzz in the back of my neck that told me I was going to be in a world of pain tomorrow, but I didn't want to ruin the easy pleasure of tonight.

And Wayne was a sure-fire way to do that.

So I told him all about the Supreme Court stunt. The plan. The brownies.

‘Wow,' he said. ‘Impressive.'

I snorted and sent a spray of spittle across the bench between us. ‘Hardly. Look at you. Look what you do every day. It's...amazing.'

‘Really?' His eyes narrowed. ‘Don't tell me you only want me for my morality.'

Something in the air changed and I suddenly felt a little more sober. I leaned very close, so my hair brushed his cheek. ‘Who says I want you at all?'

He started to splutter something, and I put him out of his misery. ‘Okay, a bit.'

‘It's okay,' he assured me. ‘I get it. I'm just the transition man.'

Bill Clinton and regret — My apartment; eight hours later

When I woke up, I tasted tequila and kebab, and knew something serious had gone down. Like fractured pieces of a puzzle — a puzzle I had done, drunk, the night before — my brain started whirring and slotting shards of memory into place.

Oh. My. God. He's here.

Suddenly, it all came back to me. Well, some of it. I can't really remember the crucial bits, but I knew at some chemical level that he was definitely there, in my bed. I turned over and, sure enough, there he was, all twisted up in the sheets and holding my favorite teddy bear, Bill Clinton.

My stomach lurched and the room spun lazy circles.

I did not do this.

Surely. Surely I did not do this. This was not me. I didn't do
this
. Not with anyone but Wayne, anyway.

At the thought of him, the place where my heart used to be contracted. What had I done?

I sneaked another look at Clark. He was looking good for someone who had drank as much as we had last night. I decided he must be a hallucination.

But I knew a sure way to check.

I edged closer, as quietly and gently as I could, lowering my nose right into the hair of his armpit and inhaled. Nothing. Well, not nothing exactly. A hint of aftershave — something that smelled like the ocean. And a warm, spicy smell. That was it.

Okay, definitely a hallucination. No-one smells that good in the morning.

‘Morning, Lola. You feeling okay?'

Would my hallucination sound so normal?

Probably. I remembered that crazy guy on campus telling me he had conversations with God about cleaning his toilet. Obviously delusions can be quite pedestrian. But how to test? What was something a delusion would not do?

I guessed I needed to ask him some things that my mind could not know, because a delusion by its very nature had to spring from my mind.

‘Morning…Clark. So, wow, I was kind of wasted last night, huh?'

‘Yep,' he agreed.

‘Ah, what time did we get back here?'

‘Hmm… About two in the morning, I think.'

He absentmindedly started stroking my shoulder. It felt warm and comforting. My eyes flicked to my pin board, and the photo of Wayne and me at the zoo. Wayne was going cross-eyed and licking the side of my face. I was grinning like a festival clown.

I shrugged Clark's hand off as casually as I could. ‘So, er, what happened?'

‘You mean, when we got back here?' He sat up, displacing a sheet and showing off the pecs I had suspected would be impressive. Yep. I was never wrong about these things.

‘Yeah.'

‘Well, you insisted on cooking us some food.'

‘Really?' I could hear the suspicion in my voice. ‘Cooking what?'

‘Ah…' He scratched his head. ‘Well, I'm not sure. It was brown.'

‘Well, what did it taste like?'

‘Um…' He held up his hands. ‘It tasted like…sardines.'

‘Sardines? That's all? What's wrong with that? You don't like sardines?'

‘Yeah, sure. But I think these were…in some kind of…gravy. With cheese.'

Okay, this all sounded fairly authentic.

‘So what else happened?'

‘Twenty questions for the amnesic mind?' His lazy smile drooped a little.

Good, didn't want him getting too comfortable.

I snatched Bill off him as well so he'd realize that I wasn't really his friend. Or lover. Or whatever.

He sat up and scratched his head. ‘Okay… Well, let's see. We ate.'

‘Oh my God. You didn't, did you?' My heart rate notched up. ‘That poisons information magnet's not on the fridge for nothing, you know.'

‘Well, actually, no,' he corrected. ‘I didn't really eat it. But you didn't notice.'

‘Phew, that's alright then,' I said. ‘What next?'

‘Well…you called me Wayne. Twice. Actually, no, three times. Yep, three times. And I know I should have had enough dignity to leave at that point.'

‘But you didn't?' I deduced.

‘No, I was kind of wasted. But we didn't do anything, you know, carnal.'

‘Carnal?' Was he serious? Carnal? We weren't in court.

‘How come?'

‘Because…umm…I couldn't…'

‘Oh my God, you couldn't get it up?'

‘Gee, thanks,' he laughed. ‘No, not that. You...disappeared.'

‘What do you mean?' My brain felt slow and mushy.

‘I found you in the bathroom. On the floor. Crying.'

‘Oh. Then how did I…?' I gestured at the bed.

‘I carried you.' He suddenly looked down at the bed, letting his hair flop forward over his face. I could have sworn his ears turned a little pink. ‘You know, you're pretty light. You mustn't eat enough.'

And, suddenly, I thought:
What a nice man you are. Like Mother Teresa.

So it seemed only right to agree when he said:

‘Hey, why don't we start over? How about breakfast? I know this place just down the street, does great eggs benedict.'

Spiderman and other superheroes — Back seat, NYPD squad car, New York University; December, 2001

It's not that I didn't expect to never get arrested again. I just really didn't expect it to be this day. I didn't plan it. I'd simply been caught up in something bigger than my capacity to stay away.

So, here we go again.

No red thong this time. Something worse. Spiderman briefs.

Men's Spiderman briefs.

I know, I know, I thought they only made those things in kids' sizes too. But you'd be amazed what you can get when you look hard enough. And Clark has a real thing for comic book heroes. On his underwear I knew I was onto something with that whole Superman thing. My antenna is never wrong.

You know what's really weird? That I even fit in Clark's underwear. I'm sure Wayne's boxers could have satisfactorily housed me, my sister and my Mom. Not that he was fat — just really big, all over. But even though Clark's tall, he's got this petite little butt.

A mild irritation at him whizzed through me as I sat there in the back of the cop car.

Spiderman, for God's sake.

I wondered if you could tell just from looking that these were men's briefs.

The cops chose that moment to come back, and shoved another arrestee into the back with me. They were having a pretty serious scuffle to get him in there, too. I watched their angry, red faces through the window as they bent his head down to push him through the door. I couldn't be sure, but I was pretty certain this whole two-in-the-backseat was a breach of some kind of protocol. What if the guy was dangerous? They had obviously decided they need to handcuff him, for instance.

What if he hurts me?

It was one thing to be a felon, entirely another to share the backseat with one. But then he looked up as he settled back in his seat and I breathed a sigh of relief.