How The Cookie Crumbles (16 page)

“How did you put him in the basement?”

“I threw a piece of chicken down the stairs and then shut the door behind him. Don’t worry, I opened it later… obviously,” she said, motioning to the mouse.

“I told you he was a good hunter! Rexy, here Rexy!” I called him and he appeared in the doorway, looking extremely pleased with himself.

“Oh very well done, Rex. I knew there were mice,” Chloë cooed, but she knew better than to pet him.

“However, I am going to have to disinfect my foot now. Can you get Hantavirus through your feet?”

“Do I look like a doctor? How are we going to get rid of this thing anyway?” Chloë made a face, and so did I. We were both on the squeamish side.

I sighed, this was the exactly kind of thing that boyfriends were really good for. You act all girly and they laugh at you and then save the day. “Hey, Andrew is your boyfriend now, why don’t you call him and ask him to do it?”

“Did Jake not tell you? Andrew’s gone to Vegas as well. Jake took Tolly and Andrew, along with his whole family. Besides, you can’t ask a guy to get rid of a mouse if you’re not really boyfriend/girlfriend. I’m not even sleeping with him yet! We’re just at that delicate stage and I don’t want to rush things.” Chloë said primly.

“Oh sorry, is there a rule book somewhere? Mouse disposal equals a blow job?”

“If only life were that simple. Well, it’s too bad neither Andrew nor Jake are here.” She gave me a sideways look. “So how about that Jake, he’s a nice guy, eh? I could totally see him rushing to help us out here.”

“Possibly, but then according to the rules, I’d have to give him a b.j. afterwards and that’s not happening. We’re going to have to do this ourselves.” I looked down at the tiny, icky corpse and sighed.

“Why not?” Chloë asked, “Not the b.j. of course, but why aren’t you going out with Jake, he’s so nice and funny? And he likes you.”

“I don’t know, he’s not really doing it for me.” That was the truth, I didn’t find him hot, so it wasn’t ever going to work.

“You know what your problem is, Frank?”

“Oh Chloë, it’s too early for this, please.” She was going into lecture mode.

“Everything always has to be perfect for you. The guy has to be good-looking, with a perfect physique, and a career plan. Heaven forbid that the guy is normal.” She crossed her arms and glared at me. Rex, sitting beside her, was glaring too, but that was his natural look.

“Jake’s not normal, he’s a high-flying NHL player.”

“Please, he’s the most normal NHL player I’ve ever met. Just a regular guy. He still hangs out with his old buddies and lives at home.”

“In the summer, but the rest of the time he lives in L.A., which is like Sin City. I suspect he’s sleeping with different women every night. And wait, have you even met any other NHL players?”

“Um, yeah, at this charity event in Vancouver,” Chloë hedged.

“I remember that, you were like nine years old!”

“Don’t change the subject. You choose guys based on their looks, and your track record is dismal. Adam was sweet but clueless. Matt was a conceited douche. Liam was a preppy pig. Maybe you need to rethink your standards. You should go out with a nice guy like Jake and have some fun… for once in your perfectly planned life!” And then she frowned at me some more.

“I don’t know, I think it’s better not to date right now, I keep on making bad choices.”

Chloë made a disgusted noise. “You don’t have to marry him Frankie, just give him a chance. A summer fling.” Honestly, he had to be paying her.

“I’m just not, I don’t know, attracted to him. You can’t get with someone you’re not attracted to….” I found this hard to put into words. It wasn’t exactly physical attraction, although that was part of it and Jake was kind of a slob, but more like Jake was too laid-back. I found energy and ambition attractive, and Jake seemed like a slacker to me.

There was a brief silence, and we all contemplated the mouse again. Rex cocked his head for a moment, and I hoped that he might pick up the mouse and eat it or something, but he just left the room. Okay, if I got a wooden spoon and a plastic bag, maybe I could handle this. But I’d have to throw the spoon out afterwards. Blech.

That evening, Chloë and I were laying out our next craft project, since we had OD’d on pillows. Having “the boys” out of town was giving us a lot more girl time, but I was the only one of us who thought that was a good thing.

“I’ve always wanted to try deconstructing garments,” I remarked. I had found three green t-shirts featuring various names and patterns, and I was cutting them up with the intention of making one patchwork t-shirt dress.

Chloë was cutting slits in a black t-shirt from a long-ago Tragically Hip tour. She was making a very sexy, seventies-style punk dress. Rex was doing a little deconstructing himself, chewing on a ratty angora hat that he had unearthed from our rag pile.

The t-shirt dress was progressing nicely, but it was only a practice run. “My next project is that bridesmaid’s dress I got: the chartreuse chiffon one. I think I can remake it into a very fifties cocktail dress, once I rip out the shoulder pads and those poufy sleeves.”

Chloë held up her t-shirt, now with so many openings it looked like hyperactive moths had attacked it. “Do you think I’ll actually wear this in public?”

“I would pair it with a neon cami, black leggings, and ankle boots. Add some eyeliner and you’re very Joan Jett.” With her dark hair, Chloë could totally carry off that look.

“Hmm, eighties fashion… I’m not really into it. But one of my roommates loves it, so I’ll pass this on. After all, it only cost two dollars. Hey, don’t forget, we have to watch the NHL Awards.”

So we started watching television as we sewed. Ron MacLean was as ridiculously pompous and goofy as ever, and some completely lame comedian was hosting. Then we saw Jake on the red carpet, but unfortunately for Chloë, there was no glimpse of Andrew. It was weird to see him being a big celebrity and low-fiving all the fans. I still had trouble visualizing him playing hockey.

“Some of these hockey players are pretty good-looking when they’re all dressed up,” I commented. When I used to take my brothers to hockey, I’d see the rep teams at the rink, all dressed up in suits. They looked great and I always thought it was a good idea, not only for the eye candy, but it seemed to civilize them in some way.

“Ohhh, they’re interviewing Jake!”

Some skinny blonde in a cocktail dress stuck a mike in his face and started asking him questions about his year and the Norris. Jake was wearing a really nice dark suit with a white shirt and grey tie. The slim-suit look really flattered him. And he looked better groomed than usual, he was clean-shaven and his hair actually seemed to be combed.

“Wow, Jake looks great! And he’s so relaxed and natural in front of the camera.” Chloë declared.

“He does look the best I’ve ever seen him,” I admitted. “I guess they’re filming in the five minutes between when he shaves and when his beard grows back.”

“Stop it,” Chloë smiled at me, “I can tell, you’re finding him more attractive when he’s all cleaned up. I told you he was cute.”

“You’re delusional, sweetie.” I assured her. Jake and I were friends and nothing more.

22. Everyone Into The Pool

One evening, Chloë and I agreed it was too hot to stay in our house; especially since I had stupidly used the oven to bake biscuits, so we decided to go out for a walk and perhaps to an air-conditioned movie. On our way, we noticed a place that was a combination bar/billiards place. It was half-f, and it didn’t look like some sleazy hangout for biker gangs.

“I love pool!” I declared. At home we had a combination pool/ping pong table and my whole family liked to compete against each other. “Let’s go inside and play.”

Chloë looked a little uncertain since she wasn’t too coordinated, but I reassured her. “It’s not like a sport or anything. You just hit balls with a stick.” We walked inside and it was nice and a little retro, and Chloë started getting excited, either about the billiard tables or the air conditioning.

We ordered soft drinks and pool cues, and went to an open table in the back corner. I didn’t really want to attract a lot of attention, but two lone females in a bar setting would not be allowed to go unnoticed. Before we had even racked the balls, a couple of guys sauntered over to talk. They were both wearing t-shirts with the sleeves ripped off, apparently so we could better appreciate the gun show.

“So, you ladies interested in lessons?” one guy drawled at us.

“No, it’s okay… thank you though,” Chloë replied, nervous but polite.

“Yeah, we really don’t have time to teach you right now,” I told him, rolling my eyes. He was assuming we couldn’t play pool because we were women!

“Oh, a smart ass,” the taller one said, grinning and checking out my ass at the same time. “Wouldja like to put some money where that pretty little mouth is?”

“No,” I replied. “We’d like to play pool, all by ourselves, while you find some other people to bother.”

“Well, come on, sweet-cheeks. You think you’re good enough to teach us something, why doncha teach us something?” He came right up to me and I could smell second-hand beer and cigarettes. Ugh.

I blew out a puff of air. “Okay, here’s the deal. One game, and if you win, I’ll buy you both a beer and you’ll leave us alone. If I win, you’ll leave us alone.” To me, that was a win-win but it was taking Dumb and Dumber a little while to figure this out.

“Sounds like a free beer to me, Ian,” the shorter one finally decided.

“Okay,” Ian agreed, nodding.

“And you’ll leave us alone?” I asked.

“Yup,” he said, nodding and chalking his cue. “I’ll even let you go first.” His buddy racked the pool balls and Chloë watched me, wide-eyed and worried. A few other people sidled over to watch.

I broke hard and the balls went spinning everywhere, including the purple four into the side pocket. “I guess I’m solids then,” I said, and then I sunk the five and the two.

“Shee-it,” the shorter one said. “She is pretty good.”

“Not bad,” said Ian. “But I’m still better than any chick.” He sank the ten, the nine and then the thirteen. “What’s your name, sweet-cheeks?”

“I don’t think we’re going to be knowing each other that long,” I said. I sank two more, then he sank two. Back and forth, until we were down to two balls: one striped and the eight ball.

“You gotta call your last shot, sweet-cheeks,” Ian said. But he had lost his tone of arrogance.

“Eight ball, far corner,” I said. I chalked the cue, blew it off, and then bent over the table. Stroke, stroke… then a firm strike and the cue ball struck the eight, sending it spinning towards the corner. There was a satisfying clunk as it hit the other balls in the pocket.

“Buh-bye boys,” I said.

Ian smirked at me, “Congratulations, sweet-cheeks! You sure I can’t buy you a beer?”

“Positive. Bye now.”

“Well,” he hedged. “How about a rematch?” Was this guy never leaving?

“How about you leave her alone? Like you said you would,” a deep voice suggested, and we all turned to see who it was. A big, strong guy, who looked vaguely familiar, loomed over us with his arms crossed.

“Oh hey, Vern, is she with you?” Ian asked, and suddenly all the guys around the table disappeared.

“You know, every time I see you, you’re kicking ass and taking names.” The big guy came over and smiled at us. It was a nice smile, but his teeth were really white and looked kind of fake. He didn’t use teeth whitener, did he? Because that would be weird. Other than that, he was kind of cute.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I asked. I felt like I had seen him, but I couldn’t remember when or where.

“Sure, we met at the gym. When you took Cookie at pull-ups.”

“Oh yeah, now I remember. So are you a hockey player too?”

“Yup, I play for the University of Minnesota,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve actually been introduced, I’m Vern Millington.” He had cropped dirty-blonde hair, grey eyes, and a square jaw.

“I’m Frankie Taylor, and this is Chloë Tymchuk.”

Vern smiled at us, “I’m almost afraid to ask, but would you ladies like to team up with Sean and me for a game?” He motioned with his head to another big guy across the bar, drinking a beer and watching us.

It had occurred to me in the last 20 minutes that walking into a bar full of guys in a fitted blouse, short-shorts, and high wedge sandals probably wasn’t my smartest move ever. Vern seemed like the pick of the litter here, so I nodded. Better to be hassled by the devil you know.

But Vern and his friend, Sean, turned out to be really nice. Since Chloë was the worst player and Sean was the best, they teamed up and Vern and I were on the other team. We had a lot of laughs, although I could tell that Chlo wasn’t quite comfortable. She was pretty quiet, and when Sean leaned over her to help her set up a shot, I noticed she was melting into the table to avoid any body contact. I guess she liked Andrew enough that she didn’t want to mess things up.

It was all a lot of fun, but since Chloë and I both had to work the next day, after a few games I told the guys we’d be calling it a night.

“Okay, well… I’ll walk you home,” Vern volunteered with a smile.

“Are you sure? We don’t live very far,” I said, grabbing my purse.

“I insist, Frankie. I used to be a Boy Scout,” he said, laughing.

“So is this part of your badge for helping old ladies cross the street?”

“If you substitute ‘hot’ for ‘old,’ then sure.”

As we were leaving, someone called out to him. “Hey Vern, where you going?”

“Oh hey Ratty, I didn’t see you there.

“I saw you though,” this guy replied. He looked familiar too. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I knew people from the bakery, or that this town was so small, I kept running into the same people over and over. But he knew me too, “Hey Frankie, how you doing?”

“Do we know each other?” I asked, for the second time tonight.

“Sure, I’m Arnie. I work out at Brad’s gym and I got to see your mad chin-up skills.”

I nodded and smiled at him, now I remembered.

“I play NHL hockey too,” he said, and then looked at Vern and added with special emphasis, “You know, like Jake Cookson. Your… good friend.” He turned back to me, “Where is Jake these days?”