Magic and Mayhem: When You Witch Upon A Star (Kindle Worlds Novella) (9 page)

Chapter Seventeen

I’
d been spending what seemed like all of my free time with Rollan, and the days slipped by quicker than I could have imagined. Still, I made sure to spend Saturday with Gina helping her get ready for her first date with Greg.

“If you try on another outfit I’m just going to staple it on you. Honestly, Gina, Greg doesn’t seem all that complicated of a guy. He drives an old pickup, wears jeans and t-shirts and an ugly ass NASCAR hat. He’s not going to be concerned with fashion.”

“I’ll be concerned, though.” Gina huffed and puffed, twisting sideways to get a better view of herself in the full-length mirror. “Okay, then, I’ll just go with this.” She held up a cute summer dress with thin spaghetti straps. The dress matched her personality perfectly—it was pink and flowery, just like Gina. All I could do was sigh and agree. It had been her first choice to begin with. But isn’t that the way it usually goes?

That evening I treated Rollan to a home-cooked Italian meal and followed it up with a make-out session on the couch. Surprisingly, Gina came home by 10 p.m.

“Didn’t work out, did it?”

“Everything was fine. I had a real nice time, actually. Greg took me to a restaurant over in Lewisburg. You know, for a Mexican restaurant, the menu was mostly steaks. Weird. I asked for some of that yummy queso blanco dip with nachos, and the waiter looked at me like I’d just asked for a plate of fried worms. Honestly, if they’re going to give their restaurant a Mexican name like El Ome, they ought to serve the appropriate appetizers.”

“What did you say the name was?”

“El Ome. Maybe I’m not pronouncing it correctly but that’s what I read on the giant rug by the front door. El Ome.”

This was going to be fun. “Gina, where were you standing when you read that?”

“On the rug. Why?”

“Where was Greg standing?”

“On the rug, to my left.”

“Okay. Here’s what happened. What you were looking at was a welcome mat. Greg was standing on the W and you were standing on the C. You read the letters that remained: e, l, space, o, m, e. Get it? I’m sure it was, in fact, a steak place and not a Mexican restaurant at all.”

“Ohhhh. Well, that makes more sense. Anyway, Greg was a super attentive date. I really liked how he asked all about me, like he really wanted to know me better. He kissed me goodnight too. And let me tell you, that boy must have been doing his homework. G’night!”

“Oh, boy. She has no idea. Greg had one hell of a stack of homework to study,” I whispered to Rollan.

“Don’t you feel the slightest bit of guilt?”

“Why would I? Did you see how happy she was? Listen, I’ll only feel guilty about it if Greg falls flat on his face then blabbers to Gina about my threat.”

“What if he does?”

“He better not, otherwise it might be time to light his ass up with my wand. If I can figure out how to use it.”

Six more weeks, and about ten dates for Gina, went by. Something happened that I hadn’t expected. Her attitude about Greg soured more with each date. The thing that had me worried was the way she’d been uncharacteristically tight-lipped about her outings. The whole situation was odd. Gina and I shared everything, always. No topic had ever been taboo.

On the Saturday morning after her tenth date with Greg, Gina stepped determinedly into the house carrying a duffle bag. A metallic jingling ground on my nerves with each step she took.

“What in the world do you have in that bag?”

Gina stopped in her tracks and did an about-face. “You mean this?” She lifted the bag up. “In this bag is my last resort.”

“I don’t follow. Last resort?”

“I’m sorry I haven’t been my cheery self lately. I suppose you’d expect it seeing as I’ve been dating Greg. Hell, I expected it. But here’s the deal. He’s a great guy, super sweet and considerate. And as much as I’ve wanted to move things along in the passion department, I decided to go with his pace. Making out by the second date was fast enough, I thought, but he kept it at that level until the seventh date.”

“Then he went all animal on you?”

“Not exactly. We’d been swimming down by the lake that evening, so we were in our swimsuits and ended up making out on the dock. Since I was in a pretty skimpy bikini, I really expected him to show some interest in perhaps touching my boob, anything. So while we made out, I put my hand on the inside of his thigh and told him if he wanted to try more than kissing me, I would like that.”

“I take it he refused?”

“No, no—he was into it. And I like how he touched me, like he appreciates me. But eventually my hand went down to slip under his swimsuit, you know. Soon as I brushed my hand on it, ka-pow! It was messy, and our fun was over with. I didn’t say anything. What do I know? I’m wondering why he didn’t control himself, but whatever. And no matter what, I got similar results on the eighth, twice on the ninth. Jessica, I’ve gotten spooged more often than that boy’s old sock.”

“Okay, so maybe he’s just overly excited by you. Is that so bad?”

“Yes, it is. Anyway by the tenth date I think it’s my touch that’s doing it, like maybe I was doing something wrong. I held back and didn’t mess with him at all when we made out. I told him I wanted him to go all the way with me, figuring maybe it would be more normal to him. And guess what?”

“You did it!”

“Yes, and all it took was one single stroke. Sure, I’d lost my virginity. But it was all over. Poke. Pain. Pull out. I just rolled over, ready to cry. But it’s not my style. I need to know what’s going on with Greg. I know I should expect more out of sex than that. You’ve told me how it is with you and lover boy, and God knows I’ve read enough about how it should be, and I’ve even watched porn.”

“Did you ever consider perhaps Greg has some condition? Or maybe he’s insecure about sex?”

“Yes! That’s what brings me here with my bag of hardware. I did some research on Greg’s problem. According to what I’ve read, Greg needs me to show him how to control himself. I’ve read some techniques that should train Old Faceful to delay those gushing eruptions. Everything I need is in this bag.”

“Oh. Good. Lord. I don’t know, Gina,” I moaned as she turned around. Nothing I could have said would’ve mattered; she’d already made up her mind. Her defiant little goosestep march to her room told me that much. 

I’d learned that most of the magazine articles we’d been reading are more fiction than fact. Gina would have to learn it on her own.

Chapter Eighteen

G
reg picked Gina up later in the afternoon and Rollan had to work that night. It was my first night alone since I’d moved in with Gina and to be honest, I didn’t really mind. In fact, I looked forward to hanging out in my room, catching up on my reading and listening to Tiago sing the weekly Top 40 countdown.

Most importantly, I hoped to come up with a strategy to discuss Rollan’s mating prophecy in a tactful way. I liked Rollan, more than I was willing to admit to myself. I could see us being together well beyond the summer, but signing up as the sole breeding female in his French Fairy Repopulation Program? No way in hell.

“Hey Tiago, some old famous dude once said, ‘Anything that is too stupid to be spoken is sung.’ So wet your beak and hit me with those stupid songs.” Believe it or not, my bird always responds better to sassy orders than polite requests.

“Voltaire,” he squawked.

“I don’t know that one. Taylor Swift?”

Tiago stared at me. His little parrot eyes were saying, “Really?”

“Voltaire! Fucking Voltaire!”

“Get a grip, Tiago. I was just having a little fun. I know who Voltaire was.”

Tiago held his beak open, a parrot’s smile, if such a thing existed. After a few ruffles of his feathers he kicked off his singing with a cover of a Justin Timberlake song.

“You’ve got Voltaire down pat,”  I teased.

“Squawk!” Tiago spouted a scathing tirade. Whenever he has one of those verbal outbursts, I’m never able to understand any of it. I’ve been told it’s Spanish, but if it is indeed Spanish, Tiago is speaking at chipmunk speed.

After airing his frustrations over my repeated interruptions, he turned his beak up and refused to look at me. Scrambling for his treat bag, I took out a handful of dried banana chips. “Oh come here, Tiago. You know I was just playing around. Peace offering?”

His stubbornness was no match for his love of those delicious parrot goodies. Hopping onto my leg, he snatched a chip and munched contentedly.

“See? I still love my handsome Tiago. I just missed having fun with you.” Petting his head, I wondered what he thought of Rollan. “Tiago, I need your opinion. Should I tell Rollan that I’m not ready to be anyone’s mate, even if it means he might break up with me? Or do I just pretend he never told me about the mating prophecy and enjoy my time with him until the end of summer? I could just go home like I planned and not look back. It’s not like I didn’t tell him my plans.”

Tiago finished his chip. “Love is a flower. Sometimes you stop to sniff it and move on. True love is a Venus flytrap. You sniff it and it won’t give you the choice to move on. So stop and sniff the flower. Then you’ll know.”

“Wow, Tiago! Great quote. Who said that?”

“Tiago said it.”

“So, I think you’re saying my answer will come to me if I allow myself to admit I love Rollan, and I tell him that I love him?” I waited for Tiago to finish his banana chip and whispered, “Between you and me, I do love him.”

Then it hit me hard. What in the world was wrong with me? Talking to your parrot is one thing, but patiently waiting for his sage advice on love? Surely I was going crazy. Hell, I already had one foot in the looney bin.

“More banana for Tiago.”

“Please, Tiago. What should I do? I’ve never felt like this.”

“Tiago, Tiago. I’m a parrot!” He snatched the banana chips out of my hand in an aerobatic flurry, and was out of the room in seconds.

“Well, what did I expect? Okay. Who’s always given me good advice?” I scrolled through my contact list, weighing my choices against past experience. “Nonna? She’d ask for too many personal details. Uncle Carmine? Um, maybe. Kelly and Randy are relationship challenged. Maria is too young. Mom’s in jail.”

I remembered Uncle Carmine saying something to Nonna about Hamster Dick. A lot of guys went to Hamster with their marriage problems and somehow, they always made things work out. Uncle Carmine said, “The guy is amazing. He’s the wise-guy’s Doctor Phil. It’s like he’s a savant or something.”

Hamster Dick. Of course!

I went straight downstairs to the pantry and found the bottle of homemade Limoncello Hamster Dick had given me as “a little taste of home in case I ever missed the joint.” After pouring a hefty shot, I realized I’d chosen a collectable “Disney Fairies” glass. The irony was not lost on me.

If you’ve ever tasted real Italian Limoncello you’ll never forget the taste. It tastes like the concentrated flavor of a hundred lemons mixed with moonshine. When the alcohol soaks in, it’s similar to what I’d imagine getting smacked on the head with a sack full of lemons would feel like. That one drink was all it took to loosen my tongue enough to call Hamster.

I pictured the big man and his gold-toothed smile. He was wearing his red running suit with the jacket unzipped enough to show off the white hairs of his chest and an Italian cornetto pendant suspended from a gold chain around his thick neck. His sneakers were as white as his carefully groomed pompadour, which he’d maintained since Nixon was president. To the people on the street, Hamster Dick was more than a man with a tough reputation: He was the respected right-hand man of Carmine Franchetti. To me, he was family.

“
La mia principessa!
How’s West Virginia treating you?”

“It’s been good, Hamster. You?”

“You know how it is at the senior center. I’m doing all right, feeding the ladies cannoli, making odds on who’s gonna check out next and—”

A woman’s shrill complaint interrupted him. “Hamster! We’re not getting any younger.”

“Yeah, you’re not getting any better-looking either! Keep your teeth in, I’m on the phone here.”

“Better hurry up. Dorothy’s nodding off and I’m going to be late for bingo.”

“Geesh. These women. To think they were so virtuous when they were younger. Now they’re as loose as shoes on a snake!  Sorry, Jessica. What can I do for you?”

“Sounds like you’ve got a line forming, so I’ll get right to the point. I’ve got a problem and it’s about a boy.”

“Forget about it. Just give me a name. I got a guy in Pittsburgh, he can take care of it tonight. You’ll never see that dog again.”

“No! It’s not like that at all. Thanks for offering though. See, this guy is great. He’s a perfect gentleman, he treats me like a queen. You’d like him—he’s from Europe and from an old honorable family. Here’s my problem. Even though he is perfect and I love him, I didn’t plan for this. I’m not ready to settle down. I want to see the world. I only wanted a summer romance, but I’m certain he sees us together for the rest of our lives. I don’t know what to do. I would hate to pass up on true love and lose him, but I don’t want to be tied down.”

“Ah, I see. Listen, true love is hard to find. Some people say if you love someone, let them go, and if it’s meant to be, you’ll end up together eventually. That is pure bullshit. If you leave him at the end of summer, you just have to forget about him. You can’t go back later and expect him not to be resentful. I don’t think you want that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Nobody buys a car they haven’t taken for a test drive. So my advice is to take your man for a test drive. I’m not just talking about how good you two get along in the sack. I’m talking about how you get along being together all day, all night. Your test drive will start after summer is over and you come back to Chicago. In order to get your test drive, you first have to tell him everything you told me. Once you’ve done that, ask him if he’s willing to go see the world with you. If he won’t, he’s not your guy. I only say that because I know how much you want to travel and explore.”

“So even if he comes with me, I’m not committing to a lifetime with him, right?”

“Of course not. You’re an adventurer and you shouldn’t change that for anyone. If he goes with you, give it a shot. If it all works out as time goes by, then you can say you had a test drive and you’re satisfied with sealing the deal.”

“That’s actually a great idea! Thanks, Hamster.”

“Let me know how it goes. I’ve got a couple ladies waitin’ to make a Hamster sandwich, so I better go. Keep in mind Plan B, my guy from Pittsburgh.”