an attempt to find an outfit in her case.
My phone beeps loudly…piercing my brain. Damn it, Aunt Patty, it’s the crack of dawn and you just left! What do you need now?
Crossing the floor to grab my phone, I focus on the display.
Wow, it’s been a while since I blushed….you sure can, darlin’.
Can I come over now?
I stare at my phone through a foggy brain. Whose number is this? There’s no name on the display so it’s not in my contacts. My eyes shift down to look at the text sent from my phone:
If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?
Oh dear God. Fuck! Running to the mass of papers I left on the table, I toss tiny pieces of paper aside until I find the one with Tommy’s number scratched on it. My head bounces back and forth like a fucking bobble head between the slip of paper and my phone. What did I do? Hoping against hope that the number typed in is off, even by a digit. Sinking into the chair, my hand falls down to the table as my hope dissolves.
Looking up from her suitcase, she says, “Did he text you back?”
“Yeah,” I lift the phone to show her the display.
“Worked like a charm.” She smiles and flits over to the bathroom. Turning at the door, she says coyly, “You can thank me later.” She goes in, closing the door behind her.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! The phone beeps in my hand.
Headin’ your way in 20.
I panic. Something in my head tells me to calm down, but I morph into a fifteen-year-old girl anyway, and I have a full-on hissy fit. Running to the bathroom door, I pound. “Get out here, Sally Westin, and fix this! Come out NOW.” I pound relentlessly as the door swings open.
“Keep your shirt on!” She giggles. “On second thought, maybe you should take it off and come in here,” she says, reaching for the hem of my blue tank top.
Slapping her hand away, I yell, “Focus.” Turning my hand, I point the display to her face so she can read it.
“Oh, good. That’s great.” Her eyes light up. “You better get dressed. That’s not much time.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” My eyes pop out of my head. “Make it stop, Sally Westin. I’m not going anywhere.” My jaw clenches, and I emphasize each word. “Just. Make. Him. Stop.” Shoving the phone at her, I run my hands through my hair. I can’t get enough air as I pant wildly. My God, am I having a panic attack? My hands shake.
“Ok, ok…I’ll help you. Give me the phone.” She walks out of the bathroom with a hint of a smile and types furiously, handing back the phone.
Give me an hour. Breakfast at McCain’s? I’ll meet you there.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You were supposed to blow him off.”
“I said I’d help you. Fact is…you need this. I could see it the minute I got some liquor in you. Honey, you need to get laid, and it sounded like you think he’s the guy for the job,” she says matter-of-factly. “Shoot I thought you were going to jump my bones last night.” Closing in to grasp my chin, her eyes earnest, “not that I wouldn’t have loved that,” she reassures me. “But, you passed out after Lily showed, and I knew you were into him. Shit, you mumbled and moaned his name in your sleep all night. So, I texted him about four a.m.”
“You did this. You fix it. Shit, I hate dates. Too fucking formal. I get to know someone hanging out, things happen naturally,” I say as I pace. Narrowing my eyes, “No one shows up at a door. No one is picked up.”
My phone pings signaling ominously a response to her text.
“Perfect, he’s meeting you there. Go hang out. You’re the one making it sound like the prom.” She crosses her arms. “Tracy and I will walk you over. Hell, we’ll stay for a glass of juice or something and head out when you give us the ok. It’ll be fine.” She leans in and whispers, “Besides, Tracy and I could use some ‘alone’ time. I couldn’t get my freak on with you in the next bed.” She runs her fingers through her hair, tousling it. “Lord knows, I hate being quiet.” She chuckles. “Better get in there and make yourself pretty.”
“Very funny.” As I turn, Tracy walks out of the bathroom, dressed and ready.