takes. Something happened in St Lucia, and it wasn’t good.
“I didn’t have a reservation and the manager was trying to help me. Sara, I thought it was over! I thought he left me! I saw Louis’ old asshole friend and then he walked out with that beautiful woman. He hadn’t touched me in months…and you see, the place was totally sold out. He felt bad for me and gave me his room.”
What?! She must be on crack! I don’t understand half of what she’s mumbling about. “Who felt bad for you? What are you babbling about? Who gave you his room? Louis’ friend, or are you talking about the manager?” She didn’t make any sense.
“God, Sara, just shut up and listen. Will, the manager—I mean, the owner of the hotel in St. Lucia—gave up his room for me. I was a mess; I got so drunk on the flight over that I didn’t know what planet I was on. When I got to the hotel in the morning, he just took pity on me. We started talking and I told him everything about what happened with Louis. My phone died, he gave me his cell to call home. Pam picked up and told me Louis didn’t come home. I didn’t know my husband didn’t come home because he had a goddamn heart attack! I thought he left me. This guy offered to help me forget about Louis and we got drunk.” She puts her head down on the table and I know she’s on the verge of crying. This story sounds nothing like the Emily I’ve known all my life. This story sounds like one of my lies. Em takes a few deep breaths and continues. “I don’t remember anything that happened after that point until I woke up half naked in bed with him.” My mouth opens and I’m truly shocked that Miss Prude USA ran away and ended up in someone else’s bed while her husband back home ran around the city trying to find her, eventually suffering a heart attack.
I gather my emotions and ask, “With Will the manager, right?”
“Right!” She nods. “I woke up in bed with Will Knight.”
Holy fucking shit is all I can think. Holy fucking shit! “He has a hot name…is he hot?” I ask instinctively.
“Sara, get your head out of your ass. Who cares if he’s hot? I fucked up!” Who cares if he’s hot translates into he’s not very hot. Emily getting all worked up is abso-fucken-lutely priceless. My day is actually getting much better.
“Did you sleep with him?” God, of course she slept with him. She looks positively, one hundred percent guilty.
“I slept in the same bed with him, but I had my panties on and he said we didn’t do it.” Well, if he said it then it must be true. I want to laugh at how absurd this whole story sounds, but she really does look worried and scared.
“You believed him? Did he have his underwear on?” Hesitation followed by loss of eye contact translates into no underwear. “Okay, he was naked. Did he have a nice package?” This should completely throw her off-kilter.
“Sara, are you for real right now?”
“Yes, I’m for real. Don’t pretend like you didn’t check out the goods. I said every last detail and I meant it!” I will not relinquish that blackmail footage without mega details. I give her that I’m not fucking around look and she knows she’d better start singing.
“Fine, what do you want to know?”
Ha, I knew she’d cave. I want it all. “I want: length, width, color, proportion to scrotum, hair no hair, and circumcision status.” I also want to know how it felt and tasted, but we’ll get to that later…baby steps.
“Sara, remind me again why we’re still friends?”
“Because whatever I just asked was exactly what you were thinking the first time you saw Will’s willy. The only difference between you and me, besides your big tits, husband, and millions of dollars in the bank, is that I say out loud what you whisper inside. You need me to help you verbalize your thoughts.” Our relationship in a nutshell.
“You forgot to mention that we’re the last two remaining ‘80s song whisperers on the planet.”
“Yeah, who but you would know that me naming the actual artist as opposed to the band they were in at the time they sang the fucking song, is equivalent to SOS-‘my life is falling apart.’” Only Em would know that I know who sings