Dirty (13 page)

I cleared my throat.
 
“It does feel a little hot in here.”

“
Everybody take it off!
” Mary Jane sang out.
 
“
Lose your clothes
.”

“Okay Lady Gaga or whoever you are,” Shari said, “enough with the singing.
 
What’ve you done with our friend Mary Jane?”

“It’s not Lady Gaga,” Mary Jane corrected, “it’s Kesha.
 
You should listen to something every once in a while besides that cry-in-your-beer country stuff.”

Shari’s mouth sagged in surprise as did mine.
 
Had Mary Jane been abducted by aliens?
 
You could not live in Texas and
not
like country music.
 
It was the law.

“What?” Mary Jane cried at our thunderstruck expressions.
 
“I like all kinds of music
and
for your information, I think some of those rappers are cute. I’ve done my share of daydreaming about Lil Wayne.”

At least the pressure was off me with that startling revelation from the always-demure-one.
 
Except for Donna.
 
She still watched me from the corner of her eye.
 
Two years of psychology to go with her degree in social work made the already too perceptive woman practically a psychic. Her ability to ferret out the secrets of Houston’s rich and famous rivaled Hobbs’ uncanny hunting instincts.
 

Donna pushed off the sofa, strode to the television and abruptly shut it off.

Uh-oh.

“Hey!
 
It was just getting to the best part,” Shari wailed.
 
“Don’t you guys want to see the scene where Brad—?”

Donna folded her arms over her chest and glared at Shari who promptly shut-up.
 
Though she stood a mere five two, there was nothing short about this hot-tempered little brunette’s skill at cutting her adversaries off at the knees.
 
Though, granted, Shari could be just as bossy, she insisted she always deferred to the wishes of her elders—which only made Donna more furious.
 
Shari was the youngest, by a mere ten months.

Despite her inner strength, Donna had one glaring shortcoming.
 
She was the most emotional being I had ever encountered.
 
“I want to get to confessional,” she announced.
 
“We can drool over Brad later.”

Shari popped up from her chair.
 
“I’ll mix the drinks,” she suggested eagerly.
 
Cheers erupted. Brad had just been trumped by the sweet promise of Jack.

Now that was one item the hostess was responsible for.
 
The booze.
 
“I’ll help.”
 
I joined Shari at the counter that separated my living room from the kitchen.

“What’s got a bee under her bonnet?” she fussed.
 
By
her
she meant Donna.

“Mary Jane said she dumped what’s his name today,” I murmured with a covert look to ensure I wasn’t overheard as I finished pouring the Jack Daniels and Coke.
 
JD was my whiskey of choice.
 
Mary Jane always made Shirley Temples, Shari did the martinis, and Donna loved daiquiris.

 
“Hadn’t she been with this one almost six months?” Shari went on.
 
“Way longer than any of the others.”

I shrugged.
 
“Guess so.”
 
Donna preferred to love’em and leave’em.
 
She’d survived twenty years in a loveless marriage, long enough to get her kids raised and off in college.
 
Now she enjoyed herself.
 
She had a great job with the
Houston Chronicle
penning The Sweet Life, a wildly popular social column, and could still knock’em dead on a dance floor.

Mary Jane, well she was a different story.
 
Quiet, bookish, like the proverbial repressed librarian.
 
She kept her silky blond hair in a neat little coil on top of her head.
 
Had worn glasses since kindergarten, and sported frumpy clothes and a big old apron most of the time to disguise a sex goddess body.
 
She hated her big boobs and considered herself too skinny despite the fact that everyone understood that big boobs meant power and, according to those in the know, a woman could never be too skinny.

But Mary Jane worked at overcoming her hang-ups.
 
Read all kinds of books on self-esteem.
 
Her recent venture into the rap world was likely a part of that ongoing reconstruction.
 
She was the only widow in the bunch.
 
She swore hers had been the perfect husband.
 
Loving and supportive, good to the children, who were both in college now.
 
That was another thing we all had in common—kids in college.

Despite the lovely home with the white picket fence and the impeccably behaved children, I’d always had my doubts about Mary Jane’s idyllic marriage.
 
Admittedly, it could have been nothing more than plain old jealousy.
 
All of us had wanted that kind of fairy tale relationship. Funny, three out of four of us hadn’t gotten anywhere near that kind of relationship...not even after multiple attempts? When had hearts become so disposable? Disposable seemed to be an overriding theme in my life. And dirty, like the dirty rotten scoundrels who had tossed away our hearts like yesterday’s leftovers.

“I met someone today,” Shari whispered, drawing me back to the here and now.
 
“He’s my new yoga instructor.
 
He’s from Dallas. Came all the way down here to go out on his own, but I lured him to the Zone.”

“Wow.” I smiled, tamping down the urge to be judgmental. I had no right to censor anyone.
 
Unlike me, Shari didn’t have a problem with enjoying meaningless sex. She claimed it was her wild Irish genes. I didn’t know about that but she definitely had the red hair to pull it off.
 
I, no matter how contemporary I considered myself, always secretly expected sex to turn into a legitimate relationship.
 
Which made no sense since I inevitably picked guys incapable of the relationship thing.

How had Shari gotten so much smarter than me?
 
Well, she did have a law degree.
 
Like Mary Jane, Shari had married well, but she’d divorced better. After the marriage ended, she burned her shingle and opened a swanky spa called the Zone. Everyone who was anyone in Houston got waxed, dipped in mud, and otherwise pampered at the Zone. Workouts were tailored to each client’s needs. Like Mary Jane’s bakery, Shari’s entrepreneurial endeavor had proven a smashing hit.
 

“He can do this thing,” Shari said with a wicked giggle, “that I would never have believed physically possible.”

Images of Shari and some handsome muscle-bound Adonis half her age in bizarre yoga positions going at it flashed through my mind.
 
I booted that image and gave myself a mental shake.
 
There were places you didn’t want to go with a friend, no matter how much you loved her.

“What’s the hold up over there?” Donna demanded.

“Coming, Almighty Confession Master!”
 
I carried the tray of drinks.
 
Still giggling, Shari trailed behind me.
 
After depositing the tray on the coffee table I motioned for everyone to gather round.
 
“This one’s yours.”
 
I handed Mary Jane the glass with only a splash of bourbon and lots of Coke.

She smiled shyly.
 
“Thanks, Jackie.”

I flashed one right back at her.
 
Prim and proper she might be but she was the one who kept the rest of us wild girls grounded in some sort of reality.
 
We all loved her.

“Who’s going first?” Donna prompted before taking a long swallow of her drink.
 
“Mmmm.”
 
She beamed me a pleased look.

“Not me.
 
It’s somebody else’s turn.”
 
Shari settled onto the red velvet slipper chair my mom bought me as a fortieth birthday present. Shari coiled her fingers in her long locks as she looked around the room.
 
To build the drama.
 
Must be the lawyer in her.
 
Courtroom presence and all that.

“Wait!” Mary Jane looked around. “Who brought the prize?”

“Shit.
 
It’s in my tote.”
 
Shari jumped up and hurried over to the kitchen table and dug around in the huge bag.
 
“Got it.”
 
She bounded back to her chair, slightly crumpled pink and white Victoria’s Secret bag in hand.
 
She wagged it in the air.
 
“Whoever gets this is going to be glad they committed the biggest blooper of the week.”

I cringed inwardly and resisted the impulse to jump up and snatch the prize without bothering with all the gory details of my story.

Mary Jane raised her hand to get everyone’s attention.
 
“I’ll start.”
 
Complete silence fell over the room as all eyes zeroed in on her.
 
Mary Jane took a deep breath and said, “I have nothing to report.”
 
The giggling that followed was most likely motivated by the meager shot of bourbon that had gone straight to her head.

I couldn’t help myself.
 
I had to laugh.
 
Shari and Donna dissolved into snickers themselves.

“I guess I can go next.” Donna draped herself on the sofa beside me.
 
The rest of us exchanged a look, waited eagerly to hear her story.
 
“Today I told Wilson it was over.”

Feigned surprise claimed my face as well as every other one in the room.
 
A collective
why
resounded.

One corner of Donna’s mouth quirked.
 
“Because I discovered Blake.”
 
She grinned like a Cheshire cat and sat up a little straighter.
 
Donna finds it impossible to stay still when she’s talking.
 
“He’s amazing.
 
He owns a software company.
 
He’s not only incredible, but he’s rich, divorced, and only thirty-six,” she added with a sinful gleam in her eyes and a matching one in her already sultry voice.
 
“We had lunch today.”
 
She collapsed back onto the sofa with all the production of a fainting southern belle.
 
“I got my first ever orgasm from toe sex.”

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the details but Donna continued, “I had no idea playing footsy could be so rewarding.”
 
She gave us each a knowing look.
 
“I was doing a little touchy-feely thing with my foot.”
 
She sighed and demonstrated, using my leg for a prop.
 
“You know, running it up and down his leg until I decided to take the plunge and nuzzle up to his crotch.”

I shot her a warning look and scooted away.

Ignoring me, Donna moaned with remembered satisfaction.
 
“Right in the middle of the entrée he gave it to me with those magic digits. I’ll never look at toes the same way.
 
This hook-up is off to a good start.”

Amid the oh-my-gods and cheers I felt hope.
 
Maybe I wouldn’t get the award this time.
 
Not that the prize was a bad thing.
 
Usually it was a terrific gift and almost always from Victoria’s secret, but I’d won so many times in a row it was really getting embarrassing.
 

“I’m afraid my confession won’t hold a candle to that one,” Shari piped up.
 
“I gave my new yoga instructor an enormous raise and he’s scarcely started.”
 
She waggled her eyebrows and released a breathy sound reminiscent of Donna’s sated sighs.
 
“But trust me, he’s worth it.
 
I had no idea an orgasm could be so powerful when you’re standing on your head.”

Laughter tittered around the room but panic pooled in my stomach, overriding the temporary comfort the enormous meal had provided.

“Relationships based on sex don’t have the legs to last,” Mary Jane said somberly, all amusement having vanished from her expression. “We know this but no one is paying attention.”

“Who cares what kind of legs it has?
 
It’s what’s between them that counts,” Shari admonished.
 
She and Donna burst into nefarious laughter.
 
Mary Jane gazed at the ceiling as if she’d given up any hopes of training us better.

Now would come the moment I had dreaded all day.

“Your turn, Jackie,” Donna prompted.
 
Mary Jane and Shari echoed the sentiment.

Oh well.
 
What the hell.
 
Anything from Victoria’s Secret would be fun.
 
Why break my record now?

“You know Kevin,” I ventured.
 
Heads bobbed eagerly.
 
“I met him two weeks ago, but we’d only dated twice...”
 
I cleared my throat.
 
“Until last night.”

“And,” Donna prodded.

“Don’t rush her,” Mary Jane scolded.
 
“It’s Jackie’s turn.
 
She can take her time if she wants to.”

Shari glared at the two of them.
 
“Shut up and let her tell the story.
 
I want to hear the bump and grind part.”

“Anyway,” I reluctantly went on, “like I said, last night we had our third date and it turned into an overnighter.”
 
I hesitated, looked from one expectant friend to the other.
 
“And he was great,” I admitted.
 
Three grinning faces glowed with pride and anticipation of hearing more.
 
“I...well...it was actually the best sex I’ve had in ages.”