Year of the Chick (16 page)

“Until what?” What could go wrong with a webcam talk? It was better than voice alone, though in my case I was glad James hadn’t brought it up. Because A: I liked wearing PJ’s, and B: I didn’t like that I was still ten pounds from my weight-loss goal of fifteen. Not to mention that the camera would obviously add ten pounds, which would put me in the hole by twenty.
I don’t think so.

I suddenly realized that Laura hadn’t answered my question. It was hard to keep track with my thoughts running wild.
I guess I AM an asshole-friend after all.
 

“Until WHAT?” I repeated.

She stared at her lap as she spoke. “Until he stood up, unzipped his pants, and showed me his raging boner.”

Excuse me?

Before I could react our waiter arrived, to deliver the frozen mango cocktails I’d ordered earlier.

I smiled and ushered him away. Then I started laughing. And laughing.

I couldn’t believe I’d almost fallen for that.

“Was that your punch line?” I asked. “You’re hilarious!”

I swallowed up my giggles when Laura’s stony face didn’t move (only now she looked ready to strangle me).

A boner on a webcam? Seriously?

“Wow, sorry,” I said. “I think I was in shock. But why were you guys even using a webcam? You only live forty minutes apart!”

“I know, but since we’re keeping our encounters secret from my brother, we’re sort of easing into meeting up. Or were.” She sighed. “I didn’t even want to use a webcam. We were talking on the phone just fine, but he kept on begging me to come online. He wanted to show me something special. Well now I know what THAT was.”

I couldn’t help but shudder, and it wasn’t from the chill of the cocktail. “God, that’s disgusting. But do you think you maybe somehow transitioned to the topic of his wiener? Maybe he thought you had given him a signal?”

I winced as I waited for Laura’s bitch slap, though like any good friend I was simply playing devil’s advocate.

“Uhh...NO. There wasn’t any signal, because I’m pretty sure I’m not a slut! I mean yeah we flirted at the party, but to go from flirting to that? That’s his boner on the Internet!”

Wow, and I thought I had problems.

I took a long sip of the slushy cocktail. “That’s awful. So what exactly did you say?”

“I basically called him a sick twisted fucker. Then he was all like ‘So, I guess I screwed up my chances with you.’ Uhh…YEAH, I think you did!”

“I still can’t believe he’s your brother’s best friend. Like why is your brother best friends with a pervert?” I rubbed my bare arms which now had goose bumps from the icy drink, trying all the while to keep my mind off of Internet boners.

“Oh please, do you really think guys sit around and share that stuff? Like: ‘Hey, what weird pervert shit did you do last night?’ No, they only tell each other when they’ve scored.” She took the straw out of her drink and started chugging it from the glass.

Damn.

“Or maybe he DOES know Mark’s a pervert,” I suggested. “Which is why he’ll kill him if he dates you!”

Laura frowned as she gazed at a couple passing by. “No, he’ll kill anyone who dates me. Which is crazy since my parents are just waiting for me to find a boyfriend! God, they’re all working against each other. But who is even working for LAURA?”

I smiled. “Well I’M working for Laura. I’m just sorry I have nothing to show for it yet.” I finally saw a smile creep across her face. “Seriously though, today’s like the day of the dicks or something.”

“What?” Her face appeared suddenly confused.

“Oh...never mind.” I decided to save the Mr. Package story for a rainy day. “But really, are you okay? I mean besides all of that?”

“I guess. But I think I’ll stay off guys for a while. So what about you...how’s James?” She clasped her hands together and tried to smile. “Every time you text me you mention another phone call. It sounds like things are progressing.”
 
Laura’s weak smile became a little bigger.

Okay, here we go.

“Actually it’s great. I mean after the initial flirting, he’s revealed himself as this rich writing soul who makes me feel like I can do things I was too afraid to even dream about.” I sighed.

“Wow…that sounds pretty great.” Laura was still smiling but it looked a little forced.

“But…” I began, “there’s a problem. My parents just bought a house in town. So me and my sister are moving back in with them…in eight weeks.” I watched her eyes widen and continued. “And James has no clue I’m an overgrown infant who’s completely controlled by her parents. And even if he keeps in touch and makes a visit someday, I’ll be on some ridiculous curfew.”

I was all out of breath so I took another sip of my drink, feeling grateful for frozen vodka and exotic fruit.

“Wow. Shit. Well let’s be positive and assume he’ll understand. And let’s assume he visits you too.”

It sounded like a full-of-crap theory but I nodded.

“You could just lie to your parents, right?” She slowly nodded. “Like tell them there’s an office function, and you have to stay out late?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it. They see no reason why I’d be anywhere past ten o’ clock. But why even worry about that now? I doubt he’ll stay in touch once the phone calls are off the table.” I frowned.

“Oh Romes.”

“Maybe I should end it? Before I start to care too much?”

Oh please, as if I’m not already too obsessed.

“Well the way I see it now, with or without your parents he lives in Barcelona. What I mean is…either way you’re kind of screwed.”

I frowned. “What kind of stupid advice is that?”

Laura’s blue eyes were ready to shoot some daggers.

“Sorry,” I quickly said. “I know you’ve had a bad day. But seriously, what the hell do you mean?”

“What I mean is you have nothing to lose! You never knew if it would work out anyway! So tell him the truth about your family. Just wait and see what he says.”

“Can you tell him for me?”

She laughed. “Shut up. Just remember to live in the moment. Whatever happens you have benefited from this contact. Seize the day!”

Laura used a few more familiar quotes to get me back to good, and from there we transitioned into cherry martinis for the rest of the night.

And from that drunken night came a sober one. On this one I was poised to share some very crucial news:
Hey James, I wear a diaper and my mom chews my food before I eat it. Do you still want to stay in touch?

Chapter Thirteen

I counted the strokes as I brushed my hair. It was a method of distraction like counting sheep, though I wasn’t allowed to pass out. Instead I was killing time until my phone call with James in six minutes.

No, make that five minutes.

After twenty-six strokes I flung the hairbrush across the room. What next? I stared into the oval mirror again, and straightened out my bright pink top. It was work appropriate but almost not, as there was definitely some cleavage action. It was also a little fitted which was fine, because I’d lost a big five pounds after all.

Since I liked the shirt (and the accompanying tight black office pants which encased my ass like honeydew melons), I decided not to change into my PJ’s. I actually needed to look good, for the exact same reason I’d been brushing my hair:

Nerves.

Telling James the truth was a frightening pursuit. Which meant I needed to feel as confident as possible.

For me, confidence didn’t come from the inside out. It came from the outside, and stayed there. It occurred to me in that moment, that I should never give advice to teenage girls...”That’s right girls, skip some meals and show your cleavage!”

I dialed his number slowly, trying very hard to remember Laura’s words:
“You guys were probably screwed anyway, just live in the moment!”

Right.

“James Caldwell.”

Hi James Caldwell, please don’t chuck me!

“Hi it’s me,” I said. “I love how you answer the phone by the way, it’s so proper.”

I wanted to puke all over his Internet-face. But I prayed he wouldn’t hear it in my voice.

“Well how do YOU answer the phone?” he asked, sounding slightly amused. “Do you shout out ‘Yo’! or something else distinctly urban? Do people even say ‘Yo’ in Canada?”

Some of the ones I hang out with do, others say “wassup” or at times a combination. As for me I mostly stick with “screw off!”

“They do say that in Canada. But I just say ‘Hi this is Romi.’“
Oh yeah, I’m just a big ol’ ball of captivating tonight!

“Of course you do,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

I didn’t answer. My thoughts were far away from his words. I needed to get to the point before this conversation did its usual loops over the Mediterranean. Somewhere along the way though, Laura’s “attitude adjustment” had fallen from a gaping hole in my brain. All I could think was this guy had a million options, and the option of “me” couldn’t possibly be a good one. A fact that I needed him to know.

“James, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.
 
I’ll start by saying I’m not married, I don’t have a boyfriend, and I wasn’t born a man.” It was good to get the basics cleared up. “The truth is though,” I continued, “you somehow found me in this vast expanse of cyberspace, but what you found is a lot more complicated than you think.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t really know what you’re talking about,” he said. “I enjoy our conversations, so what’s the problem?”

“But that’s the thing!” I exclaimed. “The problem is it won’t continue.”

Silence.

I stopped coming up with ways to drag it out. “My family is psychotic.”

“Hmm…yes I do remember that description from your blog,” he said.

I couldn’t help but smile, and it helped calm the crazies in my brain. “Yes, that’s them! They’re not that bad when they live an hour away. In eight weeks though, I’ll be moving back in with them. And unfortunately, they are not the type who would approve of me having endless chats with unauthorized fellows on the other side of the world.”

I banged my head against the headboard repeatedly.
Loser! Loser! Loser!

 
“Ah, I see,” he said. “I guess we will just have to stay in touch via e-mail…if you still want to. Or I could just call you during your lunch break, when needed, on your cell phone. You do have a cell phone don’t you?”

He’d done it again! How did something so simple slip right past me?

“Of course I have a cell phone, duh!” I shook my head. “That was going to be my second suggestion.”
Of course it was.

“Right, well there you go then. Problem solved.”

I suddenly felt the world lifted off my shoulders. I’d convinced myself this talk would end horribly, yet he easily smoothed it out with his rational sensibilities. I wondered what it was like to have your default button set to “logic” versus “psycho.”

Men are so weird.

The conversation was over before it had even begun, but this time I didn’t care.

Things are looking up…

***

I was squished on the train and the air conditioner was broken, on this sweltering mid-July day. To top it all off we were stuck between the first and second stations. On any other day my brain would’ve been screaming profanities. And how could I forget the aroma of people’s body odour? On a day like this I’d normally be wishing to have a Michael-Jackson “disappearing nose.” On this day, however, I felt an overwhelming sense of calm…contentment even. I pictured myself arriving home, writing another blog post, stopping for a healthy dinner, and working on some brainstorm activity for the novel loosely based on my blog (which I’d bounce off of James of course).

Life simply seemed a little more worthwhile, yet I was not even one inch closer in my quest to find a man.

Or at least not in three-dimensional terms.

***

I popped a grape into my mouth (yes, I now ate fruit on a regular basis) and started to type my next blog post.

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Let me start by saying I am all in favour of girlfriends wearing flannel pajamas. Here’s why:

-Flannel pajamas are loose and roomy, which is perfect for romantic engagement. Translation: the naughty bits are easily accessible

-Flannel pajamas are soft, and I’m pretty sure that softness is synonymous with sensuality (or at least they both start with “s”…)

-Even if sex is not on the agenda, flannel pajamas are a welcome addition to the girlfriend/boyfriend bed. Why, you ask? Because they’re “cuddle-licious”! Like even if a dude is NOT a big cuddler by nature, the fuzziness of flannel is irresistible to him. It’s akin to being back in his mother’s womb, and since ninety-percent of guys have that latent “I wanna date my mom” tendency anyway, you really can’t go wrong…