Duke heard her slamming around and called out to her, “Hey! Whoever it is out there, get your ass in here to help me!”
Dove hollered back, “No way! I have to get to my apartment!”
He sounded a bit desperate. “No, please! Hey, Dove. I’m kind of having an emergency. Get in here!”
“Duke, bringing you a fresh roll of toilet paper is not an emergency.” Dove decided to leave the cooler in the foyer until she had pants on.
Cooler wrangling needed pants, for sure.
“No, seriously. I’m having problems with my TV!” He sounded like he was talking from beneath something.
Dove took a few steps and shouted at him, “Take your hand off your nuts and get your own damn remote control! I’m not coming in there because you can’t reach it!”
He was wheezing when he finally got to the point. “My TV’s killing me! It’s on top of me! Help!”
Dove knew he was messing with her, but she had to take a look and make sure. She could just pop her head in and see that he was just being an asshole as usual. She didn’t expect the visual of Duke getting squished into his carpet like a bug. He was supporting the full weight of a huge, flat screen television on his back.
“Oh crap!” She held tight to her towel and grabbed the TV with one hand.
It was enough support for Duke to roll out from under it. In the following seconds, he engaged in more activity than Dove had ever witnessed him doing.
He was actually pretty fucking strong. He claimed to go to the gym daily, but Dove and her friends decided he was just at the dirty bookstore. When the screen was lying flat on the floor, Duke gave a huge sigh and looked her up and down.
“Crapped your pants, huh?” He winked at her.
Dove was mortified. “What? No. No!”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby. I recognize the towel of shame. I’ve bet and lost a bunch of damn times.” He stood and stretched his arms.
Dove tried to distract him. “You bought a new TV? Where’d you come up with the money for that, Grizzly Adams?”
Duke had been growing a crotch-hair-inspired beard for months. When Dove had asked him about it, he confessed that he kept forgetting to buy shaving cream.
Duke got all excited. “I got it for free! Craigslist!”
Duke pulled a printout from his back pocket and held it for Dove to read:
It told the tale of an angry ex-girlfriend ruining the screen with the paused silhouette of gay porn.
“Jesus, Duke. Oh my God! What the hell are you going to do with it?” Dove handed back the paper like it was made of dog crap.
“I’m going to watch the fuck out of it. I’m not afraid of a little man porn. Just remind me to turn it off when my mom stops by.” Duke disappeared behind the TV to adjust the cords.
“Can you either drop your towel or put something on to help me wrestle this TV into its rightful place?” Duke wiggled his eyebrows at Dove.
“Let me go throw some sweats on.” Dove looked between Duke and her towel. She didn’t completely trust him to not try to yank on it. He didn’t move but proceeded to make loud fart noises to tease her with every step she took.
When Dove returned to his apartment, she plopped her dinner on his table. He was ready for her to help him lift. They managed to get the TV onto the brackets he had prepared. Finally, Duke turned on his masterpiece. It came to life and was horrifically true to the ad. The word silhouette had been kind; it was more a stamp of graphic pornfection.
Duke grimaced. “Dude. That’s pretty harsh.”
Dove shrugged and sat down to eat. Duke stole some of her fries while he programmed his new, garish, one-of-a-kind set.
“So, how was your day?” He answered for her, “Let me guess. Shitty?”
“Will I ever live this down?” Dove took another bite of her hamburger.
“Will I ever live this down?” He pointed at the hard-core screen.
“No. Never. Not at all.” Dove smiled at his stupid new acquisition.
“As I thought.” Duke assumed his usual position on his couch, and Dove occasionally tossed a french fry in his direction.
ESPN had never been so racy before, but Duke seemed pleased that he could still see his game. The Jets’ winning score was prominently displayed on the one of the gentlemen’s butt cheeks. Dove finished her dinner and dragged her new lunchbox into Duke’s living room.
“Can I keep this here? It doesn’t fit up the stairs.” Dove rolled the cooler to its temporary spot as a coffee table.
Duke barely spared her a glance but nodded in her direction. She knew better than to close his door. Now he and his horrible television would be the apartment building’s welcoming committee.
After climbing the stairs, Steve the Cat met Dove at her front door. She had rescued the black and white cat from her parent’s neighborhood. It soon became obvious that the cat wasn’t right in the head. From his lopsided gait, she knew he had most likely been run over by a car. Steve the Cat had the most unnerving habit of staring people directly in the eyes. At first it was adorable, but then it became alarming. Many a night Dove had awoken to find Steve the Cat sitting on her chest, watching her face like it was a shaking mouse. He also liked to pee in shoes. He was an awful pet, but Dove felt responsible. He eyed her sneakers and then stared her in the face in lieu of welcome.
Dove sat down at her computer and logged into her Twitter account. She needed the release and the attention.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
Walked home today wearing only a towel ;)
She checked her replies and they were all positive.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
Tonight I’m drawing a deep bubble bath and only the very tips of my nipples will peek out. *licking my lips. *
The dirtier she got, the more followers she had pile into her inbox. She was busy thinking about what she could say about her perfectly shaped ass when one of her replies made her choke.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Lotsa! I’m new to the twitter! Your bath sounds wonderful. You may want to moisturize afterward!
The name and bizarre string of numbers tickled something evil in her mind.
Nah, it can’t be.
He continued in the next tweet.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex I’m a Save-Mart pharmacist, so you can trust me. You don’t want to get scaly patches on your skin!
What the hell?
It was him. It was super-sexy cooler giver. He was tweeting with the sexy her.
OH MY GOD!
Dove’s mouth was open for so long she drooled on her keyboard.
Fuckdickles! How did he find me? It’s the sexy me; the men love it.
She wasn’t confident in her skin and bones, but the letters-and-screen her had balls the size of conga drums.
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 I always put lotion on… soft and … gentle.
She hit update and held her breath. If it was him, the reply would have to include something else about her health.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Please be careful, if you’re sensitive to fragrances, like a customer I had today, you might get a touch of Vaginitis!
That’s him, all right.
Dove was relieved. He didn’t seem to make any connection between Twitter Dove and the real Dove, and she couldn’t imagine him being devious. She blushed deeply with the thought of her next tweet.
Do I dare?
Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):
@06201984M358 I touch my vaginitis all the time. * heavy pant *
Dove started giggling to herself and bouncing up and down in her seat. His reply was quick.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
@Lotsa_Vampersex Vaginitis is inflammation or infection of the vulva and vagina. If you experience any discharge, give me the tweet!
Dove curled her lip
in disdain. She couldn’t even twist a reply to that into anything sexy. She clicked on his profile. His next tweet to the world gave out way too much personal information. He had no sense of the anonymity twitter should require.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
I am going to dinner at the Olive Garden. With their endless pasta I have no idea how they make money. Have a great night the Twitter!
Dove touched the screen. His picture was a white pill that looked as if it was glued to the wood paneling of her dead grandparents’ rumpus room. She bit her fingernail. He would be at Olive Garden. If she rushed through her shower routine, she could be there conveniently, maybe, at the same time.
If my stomach’s done having its way with me.
Dove gave herself a test and leaned over to pop off a fart. Though it screamed, honked, and chirped like a tiny clown getting choked to death by her ass cheeks, her panties stayed dry.
She had inhaled the McDonald’s meal a good half hour ago, which had to be the best crap-your-pants litmus test that God had ever created.
She farted again. This one sounded like she was slapping an angry duck.
Still dry!
While she flew through her shower and dressing, she was happy her bowels had stopped running her show. She tried to psyche herself up.
I’m a sexy bitch. I can have any man on the Internet. I do have nipples. I will use them.
Her outfit was harder. She wanted to go for sexy but with a hint of casual. Dove said good-bye to Steve the Cat, who stared into her soul as she looked at him.
That cat gives me the creeps.
She locked her door and clumped down the stairs. Duke was leaning against his doorframe, wearing nothing but a pair of tighty-whities. He was eating a piece of sausage like a candy bar, and Dove stopped to watch as he cracked down with another chomp.
“Christ almighty. What the hell are you doing?” Dove wrinkled her nose at the smell of his spicy meat.
Duke patted his chest like he was in a yacht club. “Me? I just got finished whacking off. To porn.”
Dove shook her head. “Seriously? The two dudes did it for you?”
“The dudes? No. Hell no. I mean, I like my ass touched as much as the next guy, but they looked like they needed company. So I ordered an orgy on Pay-Per-View.” Duke lifted one leg until he passed gas loudly.
Dove was disgusted. He was pleased.
“Whatever, Shart Shooter. Don’t look all holier than me. I bet and won that time. Where you headed?” He took another snapping bite of his snack.
She hated to tell him. He was notorious for inviting himself along. Many a girls’ night had become unisex evenings when Duke had crawled into Dove’s car with Shannon and Flower, her girlfriends that lived in her apartment building.
She sighed. “Olive Garden.”
Duke reached down and slid his hand in his underwear. “I’m always up for some breadsticking. You gonna be dressed like that?” He motioned to her with his hairy head.
Dove looked down at her outfit. She was going for sexy and breezy.
Duke snickered. “You look like a yoga-inspired hooker-housewife. And a little pregnant.” Duke finished his meat and licked his fingers.
She reconsidered her yoga pants with heels and an empire-waist blouse.
If I take too long, Johnson might be gone.
“Fine, you can come with. Go put clothes on, Stinky McSausageSlobber.” Dove tapped her foot until he appeared alarmingly soon in a pair of jeans, T-shirt, and a leather jacket.
He headed toward the lobby, leaving his apartment door open. Dove heard the distinct moaning of the porn he had obviously left on.
“There are rules for tonight, Duke.” Dove tried to catch up with him on her heels.
“I can’t imagine what rules you’re going to lay down. ’Cause I can poop my pants, that’s a given.” He acted as if he might open her door for her but then slid across the hood of her car instead.
“You’re an asshole.” She wrenched her door open.
Duke immediately adjusted her radio to his favorite station and put his feet on her dashboard.
She turned down the volume. “Listen, I’m trying to meet a guy tonight. So don’t get, like, arrested for humping soup or something.”
Duke smiled and turned the radio back up. “I love that fucking soup.”
The ride to Olive Garden was a short one. There was a small wait in the lobby, where Dove sat on one side and Duke sat on the other. He slid his hands down his pants like he was lounging on his sofa at home.
Dove looked at her phone and checked her Twitter. No more messages from @06201984M358 to her, but he had tweeted again a few minutes earlier.
Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):
At restaurant. The servers here are so efficient. I really know the specials now. That’s my kind of service. The window seat is lovely.
He’s here!
When the pager from the host went off, she tried not to catch Duke’s eye, but he was soon loping next to her.
She tripped twice as she tried to look for Mr. Pill McCoolerson.
If I see him, I’ll drop Duke in a hot second.
Duke ordered before the server could get out her name. Olive Garden always brought out a Kennedy-family style entitlement in Duke.
“Bring me three iced teas. Line those bitches up.” He motioned to where, exactly, on the table he’d like them situated. Dove couldn’t see one of his hands and figured he was keeping his balls warm again.
“I’ll take an ice water, please.” Dove accepted her menu.
Duke didn’t bother looking at his. He tapped his skull. “It’s all up here anyway.”
She spied over the top of her menu to look for Johnson but didn’t see him.
Duke made a horrible face. “Hey, Shitty, I gotta go drop a deuce. This one feels a little too promising to bet on.” He left the table, grabbing his menu on the way. “Need something to read or my ass clams up.”
Dove scratched her forehead with her middle finger. Finally, she spotted Johnson. He was sitting by himself at a table for two. He was eating soup and smiling after each sip from his spoon. He looked alarmingly handsome dressed down. He even had a studded leather band on one wrist. Dove wanted to take it off him with her teeth.
Oops. Lotsa Vampersex popping in here.
She set her menu down and fluffed her hair, checked to make sure her boobs looked nice, and got up from her table.
He was messing with his iPhone and didn’t see her when she was almost to his table. Dove was proud of herself. This crappy day was about to get a fuckton better. She licked her lips and was just about to touch his arm when a bouncy blonde cut in front of her and sat down.
“I’m back, Johnson. The little girl’s room was chilly.” The blonde looked up at Dove, finally noticing her. “Don’t just stand here. My glass of soda is empty. You do like tips, don’t you?”
Dove swallowed. He’s on a date. With this rude girl. Dear world, eat me. Now.
Johnson frowned at his date and looked at Dove. “Gynazu—I mean Dove! You work here, as well?”
He set down his spoon and got to his feet. It was gentlemanly. He looked delicious in the ambient lighting of the chain restaurant.
“You know this… person?” The girl looked like she was trying to swallow her own teeth.
Johnson nodded to Dove and extended his hand to his date. “Beth, this is Dove. Dove, this is Beth.”
Dove closed her eyes and tried not to let the disappointment stab her to death in the middle of the restaurant.
Beth tossed her hair and smirked. “I’m Johnson’s soon-to-be fiancée. As soon as he’s saved up the money to buy me my ring, of course. What do I always say, Johnson?”
Johnson shuffled his feet. “You won’t put less than two carats on your finger.” He shrugged at Dove. “Maybe the new job will help.”
He was embarrassed, and Dove hated Beth. The blonde examined her nails. Dove touched the small diamond she wore on the ring finger of her
right hand. Johnson’s gaze dropped to her hand to follow the movement. The tiny engagement ring was Dove’s most prized possession. Her grandmother had been adamant about leaving the symbol of her sixty-two-year marriage with her granddaughter. It was little, but the ring unfailingly sparkled whenever it caught the light.
Johnson’s eyes found Dove’s, and he nodded at her ring respectfully. Dove smiled at him while his girlfriend wasn’t looking.
“Well, where do you know her from?” Beth only addressed Johnson.
Dove didn’t even warrant a glance from the bitch. She watched as Johnson was put in an awkward position. She knew he wouldn’t want to tell Beth she was a customer; he would never purposely compromise her patient confidentially.
She put him out of his misery before he could be imposed upon. “Johnson’s the pharmacist who supplied me with my prescription cream.”
Beth snickered. “ ‘Prescription cream’? That can never be a good thing, right honey?”
Beth looked Dove up and down, wrinkling her nose. Dove hated her choice of stupid outfit even more.
I could look better. I could be fancier.
“So, Johnson, as soon as she’s back to her table, tell me which part of her body’s all fungused up.” Beth gave Dove a sneer.
Johnson sat at the table. “I’d never tell you what her treatment was.”
Beth picked the straw up out of her drink while Duke sidled up next to Dove. Dove didn’t spare him a glance.
“You see? This is why I want you to be a doctor. Pharmacists have to touch things and creams and who knows what her problem is? What if I catch something that you drag home?” Beth looked over at Duke, who stood with his arms crossed while he petted his devil crotch beard.
Duke smiled.
He still had his menu tucked under his arm. “You look familiar. Don’t tell me—it’ll come to me.”
Beth rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Johnson. “See, her boyfriend’s a mountain man. Being a pharmacist is just not going to work out in the long term.”
Johnson looked mortified. He sighed and tried to make light of the situation. “Hey, I love helping people, and I love my job.”