Someone to Love (9 page)

“As in park bench action?” Lauren’s eyes
widen as if I’ve just introduced Small Pox to the vicinity.

“No, as in Cruise Elton action. He’s letting
me crash at his place, but I can’t mooch off him forever.”

They’re quick to exchange glances.

“So you’re on Cruise control.” Ally sinks a
knowing smile. “How’s that working for you?”

“I hear he’s hotter than a forest fire in
bed.” Lauren molests her necklace at thought of Cruise burning up
the sheets.

“I hear his dick is the size of a telephone
pole.” Ally’s eyes expand the size of dinner plates as she awaits
confirmation of the supersized theory.

Lauren points at me with her banana.
“Stephanie Banks slept with him a month ago and dubbed him ‘king of
the triple orgasm.’”

Ally sucks in a breath and her face turns
colors like maybe she’s experiencing one herself at the moment.
“That is freaking
insane
. Melissa Warbeck says he can do
things with his tongue that qualifies him as criminally
insane.”

The two of them look at me as if I were about
to verify every sexual rumor Cruise Elton ever sponsored, and add a
few unbelievable new ones to the mix.

“Uh…” Dear God. A triple? My entire body
sighs at the thought of Cruise taking me down that unknowable path,
landing me in a sexual-based euphoria with his rock-hard body
pressed against mine. “Actually, we haven’t done anything like
that, yet.”
Yet
? “Technically, we haven’t had a first time,
either,” I confess.

“Really?” Ally’s lips droop with
disappointment. “So what’s the deal?” She flicks her layered mane
until it shags out around her face.

“I asked him to instruct me in his wicked
ways.” A devious smile plays on my lips. “I told him I wanted to be
just as sleazy as he is when I grow up and asked him to teach me
the tricks of the trade.”

“Which consist of?” Lauren seems nonplused by
my ability to enlist Cruise as my personal portal to
promiscuity.

“I don’t know. It’s like my mouth started
moving without my permission, and before I knew it, I was asking
him to lead me through the deep, dark forest of debauchery. The
truth is—I sort of wanted to, you know, be with him, but I was too
embarrassed by the fact I’ve never been with anyone before.” I
shrug as though what just flew from my lips was morally sane. “I
believe I referred to it as a social experiment.”

“A what?” Ally squints into me with a level
of distress, reserved for degenerate social scientists such as
myself.

“Don’t you get it?” Lauren knocks an elbow
into her. “She’s a genius.” She diverts her attention back to me.
“You’re interested in him, aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little.” Okay, a lot.

“And you want more than a one-night stand.”
She asserts.

“That would be nice.” True story.

“And because you’re a slow learner, he’ll
have to do an awful lot of tutoring.” She nods into the brilliance
of my plan.

“I am a slow learner.” I give a wicked grin.
“And practice makes perfect, right?”

“Yeah, right.” Ally doesn’t look too
convinced of said brilliance. “But Cruise is a sexpert in the field
of moral depravity. You’re going to have to really wow him in order
for him to keep you around. Besides, do you really want him to
touch you between the resident skanks he pleasures nightly?”

“He said he’d take a break for me.” And, I’m
not above spreading rumors of a very bad rash he might have
fictitiously acquired if he doesn’t stay true to his word.

They take in a simultaneous breath as if what
I suggested held serious security infractions for our great
nation.

“He’s taking a break?” Lauren’s mouth falls
open at the prospect. “Does his dick know about this? Look, you
need to forget this whole idea and find yourself a good guy—someone
who’ll bring you flowers and candy.”

“And triple orgasms,” Ally interjects as
though this very feature should land near the top of the list.

“Not everyone has an orgasm the first time.”
Lauren peels her banana without taking her eyes off Ally. “It’s
physiologically impossible. Besides, she’s not there yet. Can’t you
see, she’s a blank slate?” She reverts to me. “God, you’re not even
going to know what to do with that telephone pole.” She sticks her
banana in her mouth and maneuvers it in and out like she’s speaking
some sexual Morse code.

“Would you stop?” Ally snatches it from her.
“I refuse to watch you perform a lewd act with fruit in public.”
She looks to me and closes her eyes briefly. “You can’t be that
blank of a slate. I mean, you’ve seen one, right?”

“Seen one, what?” I ask. “Oh! That. No,
actually I haven’t. Although, I did walk in on my brother once
while he was using the bathroom but—”

“Gross.” Ally mock vomits.

“Get this straight, Kendall,” Lauren snips.
“Brothers never count.”

Ally pulls me in by the wrist. “It looks like
a Storm Trooper,” she asserts.

“Crap.” Lauren bats her hand away. “Don’t you
listen to her. She thinks everything somehow reverts back to Star
Wars. It looks like this.” She holds out her banana, then proceeds
to take a rather deep-throat inspired bite of the phallic fruit in
question.

Ally groans at the visual. “Kendall”—she
scoots in—“I wouldn’t worry too much about your lack of carnal
knowledge. Cruise is proficient in body language. I’m sure he’ll
teach you everything he knows.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of and hoping
for all at the same time.

A pretty blonde wrapped in a bright red coat
strides in and takes a seat at the table behind us. She observes me
with a cold expression, and I look away to avoid her uncomfortable
gaze.

“In fact, don’t worry about a thing.” Ally
goes on. “Cruise Elton will be a great teacher. And, when he’s
through with you, we’ll find you the perfect boyfriend—one that
speaks at least three different computer languages because God
knows you don’t want to get saddled with a moron.”

“Three computer languages.” I nod
absentmindedly, but all I can think about is the fact not one part
of me wants to get rid of Cruise Elton so fast. In fact, every part
of me wants to keep him. “And what if it’s Cruise I want as my
boyfriend?”

Lauren sprays her coffee over her
shoulder.

“You can’t be serious.” Ally scoffs. “That’s
like trying to tame a wild mustang. You need to be careful or you
could get yourself killed.”

“I don’t know…” Lauren touches her finger to
the rim of her cup as she considers this. “It’s happened before.
Cruise Elton once had very serious boyfriend potential. Is that
what you’re shooting for?”

“Maybe I am.” I squirm in my seat at the
thought of taming an apparently well-endowed mustang.

“Alrighty then”—Lauren raises her coffee and
inspires Ally to do the same—“here’s to playing the player!”

“To playing the player.” Ally sings. “In the
name of triple orgasms, may you take down Cruise Elton’s heart and
make it your own.”

“Believe me, he’ll never see it coming.”
Lauren takes a sip of her drink.

The thought of Cruise Elton as my own
personal boyfriend stuns me.

I didn’t see it coming either.

The girl in the red coat cuts me a hard look
and dashes out the door.

After Starbucks, I decide to fill my
afternoon with exploration.

The Happy Hair and Nail salon sits nestled in
the same strip mall as Starbucks, so I head over and decide to cash
in on my hair and nail jackpot sponsored by none other than
Cruise’s own mother.

I watch as the artisan carefully paints my
nails a candy apple red while another prods, pokes, and tickles
mercilessly at my feet. Secretly, I hate getting a pedi. I hate
having my toes scrubbed and molested, and every time they pull out
the clippers, it feels as if I’m having my nails chewed off by a
rabid school of fish. There’s nothing appealing about someone
playing with your feet, unless of course, it was Cruise at the helm
of the foot fondling, then I wouldn’t mind so much. Speaking of
which, I should have asked Lauren and Ally if there was something
special I should be doing to ready myself for my impending conjugal
union—like give myself a bikini wax in delicate places, or soak in
rose petals for thirty days straight. Not that I plan on waiting
thirty days before getting down and dirty with the boy toy in
question.

Am I really trying to trick him into
boyfriend-hood? I’m not am I? Tricking someone into a relationship
is the earmark of a despicable person. I’m simply attracted to
Cruise and, it just so happens, not to anybody else. A part of me
does want to be a player—the girl with a heart of steel who could
care less about who I’m “playing” with at the moment, but it just
so happens he’s the only one I’m interested in sharing myself
sexually with. Anyway, school starts in a week, and I’ll probably
forget all about my hormones like I have in the past. I’m studious
that way, and professors and books rarely hold much sex appeal.

After an hour of listening to foreign banter
that sounded like the aggressive plucking of guitar strings, I
schlep myself over to a bona fide workstation near the front of the
establishment.

A frail woman with burnt frizzy hair plucks
at my locks while inspecting them with great interest. She wears a
purple frilly smock that bears the name “Boppy” emblazoned across
the front, complete with sparkly jewels bedazzled throughout. Her
blue fingernail polish is badly chipped, revealing a gardener’s
manicure just beneath the nail beds, and she’s sweating profusely
even though it’s a balmy two degrees in here.

“Virgin!” She whoops it out like a fire
alarm.

My God, can she really tell by looking at my
freaking hair? I sink in my seat as a half dozen women flock over
and pull my mane as if I’ve suddenly morphed into a one-woman
petting zoo.

“Give her a shag,” one cries.

“A perm, but go spiral. She’s got the
length,” another croaks.

I’m quick to scoff at the idea. I can attest
to the fact there shall be no follicular felonies of the permanent
variety committed on my person this afternoon. The women admiring
my virginal tresses have obviously developed a contact high off the
ammonia congesting the air. Unless this quasi-dental chair they’ve
hiked me up in has some magical time machine properties, and we’ve
all been transported back to 1983, there’s no way in hell I’m
letting a spiral perm fly.

Boppy leans in. “I’m doing highlights.” The
over-processed princess seizes me as if to ward off the angry
villagers. “This hair is crying for some contrast, and would you
look at those eyes? They’re bedroom eyes for God’s sake. She needs
bangs.” She shoos the other women away like unwanted pigeons.
“Don’t you worry, hon. I’ll have every man from here to Canada
trying to drag you off to bed.” She snaps her gum to annunciate the
point. “Let’s get you under the faucet.”

“Oh, um, I washed my hair this morning. I
think all I really need is a little trim off the bottom.” The
thought of her digging her less than hygienic fingernails into my
scalp sends a rise of vomit to the back of my throat. I lean in and
whisper, “It’s my first time getting my hair done.” A cloud of
shame settles around me for no good reason.

“Oh. My. God.” She backs up clutching at her
chest as if I’ve deliberately set out to break some indelible girl
code. “You, my friend, are in need of the works. You don’t worry
about a thing.” She slaps a pink plastic coat over my sweater and
speeds me off to the sink. “This is gonna feel better than s-e-x.”
She belts out a laugh as the hose spits out a firm spray of
heavenly warm water over my scalp, and I moan into the
experience.

Oh God, it does feel good. Like
triple-your-pleasure good. Not that I would know what that feels
like, but still.

Boppy masticates at rocket speed while
filling me in on the finer details of her boyfriend’s professional
cage fighting career until something wet and hard flies into my
eye.

“Oh my God!” She plucks it off and pops it
back into her mouth. “Please don’t tell! I swear you can come in
anytime you want for like a
year,
but if my boss finds out I
dropped gum on another client, my ass is grass and so is my rent.
Believe me, I’ll make sure you don’t leave here until you are
satisfied
.”

Gah! Her
gum
? As in the rubber cement
she’s been trying to wrestle into submission with her less than
hygienic sublingual juices?
That
gum? That’s the wet glob of
goo that just fell in my freaking
eyeball
? I’m sure there
are an entire litany of diseases I’m now eligible to entertain,
like mono for starters, and the mainstay of the dead and dying the
world over, hepatitis. I knew I shouldn’t have come to the “Happy
Herpes and Molest Your Nails Salon.” And now she’s going to try and
satisfy
me, whatever the hell that means. I will so throw
her and her refried tresses down if she even attempts to initiate a
“happy ending.”