“If anyone deserves to let her hair down and get piss-drunk, it’s you.”
“Why are you being nice to me?” I ask her softly, the quiet hum of conversation and laughter floating around us.
“I told you, I’ve been where you are. Jesus, I’m still where you are, I just hide it better. At least you didn’t marry a man who, no matter how hard you tried, would never find you attractive or want you. Try living with that for the rest of your life,” Ariel says, the confidence always shining on her face slowly disappearing and a look of sadness taking its place. “Did you know I used to own an antique store? I’m kind of a hoarder when it comes to cool old shit, and when it started taking up too much of our house, my ex convinced me to open my own business and sell the stuff. I loved it. Every minute of it. From going on road trips to find more cool stuff, to working day and night in my store, I loved it. It was mine, and I was proud of it. But my piece-of-shit ex decided one day to take a cruise out of the country and never come back. And since he didn’t make jack shit for money, and my business was doing really well, I have to pay that asshole alimony. And I lost my business because of it. And now I have a month left before I’m going to lose my house as well, and I really, really don’t want to sell any more of my antiques than I already have. They’re all I’ve got. I know they’re just things, but they’re mine.”
Ariel pushes away from the table and cocks her head at me.
“Life sucks. Men really suck. We women need to stick together. You need to learn how to not let what people think bother you and decide what you want to do with your life, and I want to help you with that. I mean, I do kind of owe you, since I slept with your husband and told you he gave me herpes,” she says with a shrug.
“If you’re going to help me, then it’s only fair I help you as well,” I tell her.
“Are you gonna help me learn how to walk around with a stick up my ass all the time? Because I gotta tell you, Cindy, that doesn’t sound like much fun.”
With a shake of my head, wondering how after such a short time I’m no longer appalled by the things that come out of her mouth, I grab Ariel’s arm and pull her toward the opposite end of the food tables.
“First, we’re going to eat. Then, we’re going to come up with a plan to fix our money problems,” I say, grabbing a plate and handing it to her.
“Fine. But don’t you dare put one of those horseshit-tasting cupcakes you made on my plate, or I’m gonna start throwing punches.”
Chapter 4: Your Stick Is Showing Again, Asshole
“Who the hell made these things? They taste like shit.”
I glance across the table where I’m busying myself straightening things up, waiting for Ariel to return with more alcohol, and watch one of my cupcakes get tossed back onto the pile. With a bite taken out of it.
“That’s disgusting. Who puts a half-eaten cupcake back on the plate with the rest of them? Do you have any idea how unsanitary that . . . is . . . ?”
My words trail off with a stutter when I look up to see who would do something so offensive and find the man I saw in the middle of the street the other day. The one who came to my rescue without hesitation and helped Ariel and Isabelle carry me into the house. He’s standing on the other side of the table looking me up and down, causing goosebumps to break out on my arms again, just like that day.
He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen, and I find myself at a loss for words, unable to even finish scolding him about his manners. His good looks gave me pause when he was a hundred yards away standing in the street, but it’s nothing compared to being separated by only a few feet now. His jet black hair is cut close on the sides and lays in longer, messy strands on top of his head, like he just spent the last hour running his hands through it, and his blue eyes are even more striking next to all that dark hair. I always thought of myself as a woman who preferred a clean-shaven man, since I feel like it makes them look more distinguished, like they care about their appearance. But the light dusting of a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks, chin and around his mouth makes me wonder what it would feel like to rub my cheek against his.
Get yourself together, Cynthia! This is not appropriate! Just thank him for helping you out the other day, like a polite woman should.
“Nice costume,” he sneers, once he finishes looking me over.
His deep, gravelly voice sends tingles down my spine along with indignation, and I completely forget my gratitude. The outrage over the way he’s clearly mocking what I’m wearing wins out over whatever the heck is happening to me as I look at him.
“This is an authentic Cinderella costume, thank you very much. What exactly are you supposed to be?” I question, crossing my arms over my chest and taking my turn looking him up and down.
The way his gray T-shirts molds to his perfectly sculpted chest, the way the muscles in his forearms tighten when he presses his hands to the table and rests his weight on them as he leans over the food toward me, the way a lock of his hair falls down over his forehead—I have an unnatural urge to reach over and push it back into place, slide my fingers through his hair and see if it feels as silky as it looks.
“I’m supposed to be a bored-as-fuck friend, suckered into coming to this party because I was told there would be hot women in naughty costumes, good food, and plenty of booze,” he deadpans, glancing down at my dress again before meeting my eyes. “The cupcakes taste like sawdust, the coolers at the drink table are all filled with bottled water, and I have yet to see anything even resembling a naughty costume. Just a bunch of bored housewives wearing virginal princess costumes.”
I’m so appalled by his words that I forget all about my own manners and curse myself for spending so much time ogling the man instead of telling him where he can stick his attitude. I’m also so out of practice with telling someone off that it’s quite clear I shouldn’t attempt it as soon as I open my mouth.
“Those are vegan cupcakes and they’re delicious!” I shout, snatching the tray of cupcakes off the table and moving them out of his reach.
Not that he would reach for one again, but still.
“No more cupcakes for you, mister. Do you have any idea how many germs are in your mouth? You just took a bite, tossed the cupcake back, and got your bacteria all over everything! And of course I’m wearing a modest princess costume. How dare you insinuate Cinderella should be naughty?! How. Dare. You.”
I finish my tirade with a smile on my face, still holding the tray of cupcakes close to my chest in case he gets any funny ideas.
“There is not enough booze in the entire world for me to survive this party,” he mutters with a shake of his head, pushing off the table, turning, and walking away, shouting back to me over his shoulder as he goes. “Oh, and you’re welcome, by the way, for saving your ass when you passed out on your front lawn. Congratulations on your bundle of joy.”
I’m so busy staring at his rear end as he walks away, and I’m so annoyed by what just happened, that when Isabelle and Ariel walk up next to me, I open my mouth and speak without thinking.
“I’m sorry, but this is for residents of Fairytale Lane only,” I inform Isabelle, followed by a loud shout of pain when Ariel punches me in the arm. “What was that for?!”
Setting the tray of cupcakes back down on the table, I rub the sting away with my hand, glaring at Ariel as she tosses her empty paper plate into one of the garbage cans we have set up along the sidewalks every couple of houses.
“From now on, every time that stick up your ass starts showing, I’m going to punch you in the arm,” she responds, moving closer to Isabelle, who’s dressed in a beautiful yellow ball gown much like my own pale blue one. I can’t help but smile that the three of us are dressed as the princesses that match our names.
Isabelle’s black-rimmed glasses have fallen down the bridge of her nose, and her hair is pulled up into an off-kilter ponytail with pieces falling out haphazardly, but she still looks quite pretty.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Isabe
lle with a sheepish smile. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to join the party. It was very nice of Ariel to invite you. And I love your princess dress.”
Even though Ariel’s punch to my arm hurt like the dickens, it did knock some sense into me. I don’t want to be like Alexis, judging everyone I think is different from me. I’m going to blame my momentary loss of sanity on that annoying, rude man, who was so handsome he looked like he walked right off the cover of a romance novel.
Ariel looks back and forth between us, beaming with a smile.
“There, that’s wasn’t too hard, was it? You’re already starting to resemble a decent human being.”
Isabelle lets out a soft giggle before giving me a serious look.
“Ariel told me if I didn’t come she’d break into my house and drag me out of my bed. She kind of scares me,” she whispers, giving Ariel a nervous glance as Ariel wraps her arm around her and gives her a squeeze.
“Cindy, this woman is in dire need of our help. We can’t let a fellow woman in need down. She’s twenty-five years old and lives with her dad in his basement.”
“It’s a finished basement, and it’s very comfortable. Can you guys make sure and let me know when it’s almost ten o’clock? I have a curfew and can’t be late,” Isabelle tells us, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
“Jesus H. Christ, if that isn’t a cry for help, I don’t know what is,” Ariel mutters, shaking her head at Isabelle.
“Don’t worry, Isabelle, we’ll make sure you get home on time,” I reassure her with a kind smile.
“Listen, Belle, can I call you Belle? I feel like this is fate, the three of us coming together like this. Cindy here is dealing with the fallout from a lying, cheating, money-stealing ex-husband. I’m trying to get over the fact that I wasn’t good enough to stop my ex from banging dudes while he took my money and ran. And you need to get out of Daddy’s basement. We’re smart women. If we put our heads together, I’m sure we can figure a way out of this shit,” Ariel explains.
“Did you know almost forty percent of young adults live with their parents and it’s the highest percentage in seventy-five years? The only time in U.S. history when that number has been higher was in 1940, when the U.S. economy was still regaining its footing from the Great Depression and the country’s entry into World War II,” Isabelle says rapidly, spouting off the facts right from the top of her head like she’s reading from the page of a reference book.
“Could she get any more adorable?” Ariel asks, reaching up and pinching one of Isabelle’s cheeks.
“I don’t think I’m quite ready to move out on my own just yet, but I could use some help trying to save the library where I work. It’s on the verge of being shut down because we just don’t have enough funds to keep it going. My father is on disability, so I’m the only help he has. I can’t lose that job, and I really don’t want the town to lose such a wonderful resource like the library,” Isabelle explains.
“Excellent. It’s settled, then. We’ll all become hookers, and I’d guestimate that in a few weeks, we’ll be doing just fine in the money department. We can do it on our own and not have a pimp sticking his nose in where it doesn’t belong, taking a cut of our hard-earned blow job fees,” Ariel announces.
Isabelle’s face blanches and her eyes grow so wide, I’m amazed they don’t pop out of her head.
“I don’t . . . I can’t . . . I’ve never . . .”
“She’s just kidding, sweetie,” I tell her softly, shooting an irritated look at Ariel. “Tell her you’re just kidding.”
Ariel rolls her eyes. “Fine. I’m just kidding. But I’m telling you, if we can’t come up with something quick, I am not opposed to selling my body on a street corner. I haven’t gotten laid in forever, and I wouldn’t mind a little action that doesn’t include a few grunts, a few pumps, and the guy rolling over and snoring.”
“My word, what kind of men have you been with?” I ask.
“Your ex,” she says with a blank expression.
I can’t even argue with her or tell her Brian was nothing like that in bed. And it’s not just because a small part of me feels the need to defend him because he’s still the father of my child, even if he isn’t acting like it. It’s because it’s true. Our love life was less than satisfying.
I bet that annoying, rude man wouldn’t leave anyone unsatisfied in the bedroom. All those muscles, and that dimple in his cheek, and his quiet confidence just screamed that he’d know what he was doing and would take charge with those big hands of his, bringing all a woman’s fantasies to life. I don’t even realize I’m searching through the crowd, trying to get another glimpse of him, until these thought pops into my head, making me cringe. It’s been so long since I found another man attractive, that it’s truly pathetic that someone who insulted my cupcakes and my costume, no matter how pretty he was to look at, would have me thinking such inappropriate thoughts.
“We could do bake sales. My sales for the PTA have been the top earners in the entire history of the PTA every year since I’ve been in charge,” I announce proudly, pushing the size of that man’s hands and what he could do with them out of my head.
“Cindy, we’ve witnessed what kind of things you bake. We don’t want to kill people. It’s bad for business. Next idea,” Ariel says, shooting my suggestion down with a roll of her eyes.
“I have a very nice collection of first-edition classics on a bookshelf in my room that I think I could part with. We could have a little stand out front of one of our homes and sell them. Oooooh, we could sell lemonade too!” Isabelle informs us excitedly, clapping her hands together and bouncing up and down.
“You’re so cute and sheltered. I don’t know whether to hug you or smack you upside the head,” Ariel tells her.
“Do you have a better idea?” I question.
Ariel opens her mouth, and I immediately hold up my hand to cut her off.
“One that does not including selling any parts of our bodies.”
She quickly closes her mouth with a huff.
“Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”
The three of us stand deep in thought while the rest of the neighborhood goes about their business, talking, and laughing, and having a wonderful time. Right when I begin to throw my hands up in the air and actually start to consider Ariel’s preposterous idea, one of the neighbors from the very end of the cul-de-sac walks up to us.
“Ladies, you’re looking lovely this evening.”
I smile at John Abraham, a man in his early forties whom Brian used to play poker with once a month and golf with every Sunday, suddenly feeling self-conscious, wondering if he only came over here to see if he too could get some gossip out of me. Surely he must wonder why Brian has been a no-show to their weekly and monthly get-togethers, but this is the first time he’s spoken to me since Brian left, aside from a few neighborly waves when we would see each other outside from time to time.
“Listen, I’ve heard a few rumblings of some things lately, and—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there, John,” Ariel interrupts, taking a step toward him. “If you came over here to stick your nose into Cindy’s business, I’m going to tell you the same thing I told that twit Alexis, except it will be much more colorful and involve you sticking a certain part of your anatomy in your own ass.”
Ariel gives him a sweet smile as he swallows nervously, his eyes darting away from her and back to me.
“I swear, I mean no disrespect, Cynthia. I just . . . well, I have a job offer for you ladies if you’re up for it.”
Isabelle gasps in shock, and my mouth drops open, wondering how in the world this man happened to come over to us at just the right moment.
“Well, why the fuck didn’t you lead with that, Johnny-Boy? What exactly did you have in mind?” Ariel asks, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the table.
The placement of her arms pushes her ample cleavage almost up to her chin, and it takes John a few seconds o
f staring before he blinks his eyes into focus and finally looks up at Ariel’s eyes. Which is fortunate for him, since two seconds longer and Ariel would have probably made good on her threat of sticking his man parts into his own behind.
“You see, there’s this party we’re having next weekend. A birthday party. We’re having it at my friend’s house, since our kitchen is being remodeled. Anyway, he’s the guy over there.”
We all look to where John is pointing, and I let out an audible gasp when I see he’s pointing to the man I just had the run-in with.
“Sweet mother of God he’s got a great ass,” Ariel mutters under her breath when the man in question bends over to pick up a napkin someone dropped on the ground. He tosses it into a garbage can before moving on down the street.
He might be rude and have horrible manners, but at least he’s conscientious about trash disposal.
John turns back to face us and continues with his explanation as I try my hardest not to continue staring over at the man, who looks bored and like he’d rather be anywhere else than at this party.
“Those princess costumes are exactly what I’m looking for. I was wondering if maybe the three of you would be able to come to the party and put on a little show. I was in charge of entertainment, but we had a cancellation at the last minute and I’m stuck. You guys would really be helping me out,” John says nervously.
It only takes me a few seconds for what he’s saying to click, and a huge smile lights up my face.
“John, could you give me and my friends just a few minutes to talk this over?”
He gives me a quick nod, and grabbing Ariel and Isabelle’s arms, I pull them a few feet away, where we huddle together with our heads down.
“What the fuck is he talking about?” Ariel whispers.
“Don’t you get it? We’re dressed as princesses. It’s a birthday party. John and his wife have four little girls, and I know one of them has a birthday coming up. He wants us to do a princess party for his daughter, and like he said, his kitchen is being remodeled, so they’re having the party at his friend’s house instead! This is so exciting. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this myself when I realized we all dressed as princesses tonight!” I exclaim. Isabelle’s face lights up in a smile as big as my own as Ariel’s mouth turns to a frown.