I'm Your Girl Page 8

  Back to reality. “Hmm?”

  “I said, you remind me of my mother.”

  I hope my one class in psychology will come in handy here. “I remind you of your mother?”

  Beth nods, sighing in Darcy’s direction.

  “Um, is that a compliment?”

  Beth glances my way. “No, Dan. I hate my mother.” Her eyes grab on to Darcy again, her tongue flicking over her lower lip. Damn, she’s sexy when she does that. “I’ve hated my mother since the day I was born.”

  Where’s this coming from? “So what exactly did you mean by that?”

  She guzzles more beer. “You’re pretty smart. You figure it out.”

  Beth is gay, Dan. She and Darcy are going to hook up and leave you hanging at Hooters. So predictable.

  “Figure out what?”

  Beth rolls her eyes and takes another sip, tossing her napkin on the table. “I’ll be back.”

  I watch Beth head for the bathroom and glance over at the semicircular booth across from us. Two black women sit on either side of a black man who either had to have played some football or had to have done a tour or two in the service. Lucky guy. He’s got two women, one on either side of him, yet he’s able to be hard staring at every implant in the restaurant. One of the black women, who has light brown eyes almost like a cat’s eyes, catches me staring, so I quickly return to picking at the label of my Sam Adams.

  Yep, this is an interracial book. I’m somewhat intrigued. “Cat’s eyes,” huh? They’re probably contacts.

  I have no idea why I’m here. I’m sitting alone at a table on my fifth date with Beth, and I’m still not sure why I’m with her at all. Nancy, a woman I teach with at Monterey Elementary, said we’d be “perfect” together. “She’s so outdoorsy and spunky,” Nancy had said. “And she is so into hiking like you are, Dan.”

  Hiking. Right. On two of our previous dinner dates, all she did was hike to the bathroom or talk our servers to death. On our other two dates, we sat in front of her TV watching college football on ESPN, the dramatic fall colors of the Blue Ridge Parkway screaming to be hiked through. And at the end of each evening, she rushed from my car or rushed me out the door of her condo without even saying good-bye. I have yet to find out if her tongue flicking feels as good as it looks.

  “Because she’s gay, Dan,” I say. “Now hook up with the sister, and let’s get on with this thing.”

  Beth returns. “You figure it out yet?”

  I sigh. “Well, I know you don’t like your mother.”

  “I hate my mother. There’s a difference.”

  “Okay. Um, so if you hate your mother, and I remind you of her, you must hate me.” I smile and wait for Beth to contradict me.

  She doesn’t.

  “I, uh, I hope I’m wrong.”

  “You’re not.” She gulps the rest of her sixth Sam Adams.

  Huh? “Let me get this straight. You’re saying that you hate me?”

  She nods. “With a passion.”

  I sit back. “Then why have you been going out with me?”

  “Just to see.”

  “To see what?”

  “To see if you interested me.” She shrugs. “And you don’t. Sorry.”

  This is messed up! “Then why’d you agree to go out with me tonight?”

  “For the hot wings,” she says, with a soft laugh. “And the view.” She raises her eyebrows. “Isn’t that why you come here, too?”

  Wait a minute. Something weird is happening here. “This is the first time I’ve ever been here, Beth.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, it’s true.” I’d be too embarrassed to eat here by myself, and Hooters is not the place to take a lady if you want to keep her respect.

  Three cheers for Dan! Not. Wait a minute. This means, then, that Dan doesn’t think Beth is a lady…or something like that. I’m getting to be as confused as Dan is.

  Unless she likes good hot wings, I guess, or…she really likes the view.

  Beth waves at yet another server. “I come here all the time.”

  “You come here…all the time.” Oh…shit. I can handle this. “You’re, um, you’re bisexual?” Please say yes! This is every man’s fantasy, and I am definitely a man in need of a fantasy to come true at this time in my—

  “Hell no, Dan. I’m not even bi-curious.” Oh. I guess that’s good. It would be so hard for me to take if she were dumping me for a—

  “I’m a lesbian, Dan. I thought Nancy told you.” Spunky. Outdoorsy. Into hiking. Beth, who looks like an L.L.Bean model with her short, dark hair; high New Hampshire cheekbones; jeans; Timberlands; and blue and black flannel shirt, is a lesbian?

  Gee. What a nice stereotype to see again in a novel. This had better grab me in the next few pages, or I’m going to slam this one.

  I run a checklist through my mind. Beth likes sports. Check that—Beth loves sports. She can quote stats, scores, and sports scandals better than any guy I know. She plays on a softball team and everything, and she even played field hockey in college. Lesbians wielding sticks? Wait, they’re curved sticks. Nothing phallic there. And so what if she wears flannel shirts; I mean, I know it’s a stereotype and all, but I wear flannel shirts. And no one can drink more beer, belch louder, or—

  Geez, she’s more of a guy than I am. About the only thing she hasn’t done is light some farts, though I did see a lighter in her bathroom.

  Dan sounds like a fraternity boy. I hated the frat boys at Purdue. All their secret this and that was just cover for their insecurities.

  And not a single one of them ever asked me out.

  And she did ask if I had a cute sister. How’d that conversation go? “You have a sister?” Beth had said. I had said, “Yes.” Beth had smiled and said, “Is she cute?” Hmm. I should have connected the dots with those two questions.

  “Uh-duh,” I say.

  “No, uh, Beth, Nancy didn’t tell me that you were a, an, um—”

  “A dyke.”

  So glad she said it instead of me. Oh, sure, I was thinking the word, but I would never say it. To a woman, anyway. There were a few in the service with me, but every one of them could have kicked my ass. Come to think of it, even the nonlesbian women in the Marines could have kicked my ass.

  Dan’s wimpy. Or at least he says he is. I bet he can handle himself. Or, rather, I hope he can handle himself. The sister on the cover looks rugged.

  And as for Nancy, the bitch, we’re going to have a long talk. Nancy is still trying to get me back for that one-night stand two years ago. I mean, other than teaching fourth-graders in the same building together, we have absolutely nothing in common. Except for that bottle of vodka. And the whipped cream. Oh, and the peanut butter. And the ice cream. Good thing I was out of Hershey’s syrup or the stains never would have come out of the comforter while we made our “ba-Nancy split.” I still have a little peanut butter stain on the wall. Something about peanut oil on latex paint not coming out. Why did we—oh, yeah. Jewel had just broken up with me, and I had no self-control that night, and I was hungry, and I do have a sweet tooth, but—

  So far, Dan is clueless, unscrupulous, and loveless. And he’s an elementary school teacher? Would any sister—or any woman for that matter—be interested in that combination? I don’t think so. This writer flunked characterization—and logic—in a big way.

  Beth pats my hand. “Don’t worry, Dan. But, hey, you never know. Things might work out for you in the end.”

  “They, uh, might work out how?”

  “One can always hope.”

  “Hope for what?”

  Darcy chooses this moment to return with our check, and Darcy is doing that tongue-flicking thing. In Beth’s direction. And it’s sexy as hell. Either chapped lips must be catching or…

  No…way. Was I just bait for a lesbian hookup? No wonder Beth said that she wanted to meet me here.

  Darcy hands the check to me and slides a slip of paper to Beth. Beth peeks at the slip of paper and nods at
Darcy.

  “Have a nice evening, y’all,” Darcy says.

  “You know we will,” Beth says, and Darcy walks away, occasionally looking back at Beth.

  Beth gathers her coat. “Sorry, Dan.”

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “Where are you going? What just happened?”

  She stands. “I have a date.”

  “With whom?”

  “With Darcy. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

  My dinner date has just picked up our server for a night of tongue flicking. “You and Darcy are going to…”

  Beth nods.

  “Just like that?” And I’m not invited?

  She slips into her coat. “Hey, Dan, I tried to include you, but Darcy isn’t into that.”

  “Into what?”

  Beth squints. “I thought you were from California.”

  “Yeah, but that was a long time ago, and just what does being from California have to do with this?”

  Beth shakes her head. “I gotta go get ready.”

  “And you’re leaving me with the check?”

  She laughs. “Yes, but don’t worry about the tip. I’ll tip Darcy later for us, okay?”

  And this is the end of his version of the events, thankfully. I don’t like him or find him believable for a second. I turn the page and hope the sister is more likable.

  2: Tynisha “Ty” Clarke

  Tynisha? Hmm. Is Ty going to be ghetto? Is this another one of those “opposites attract” interracial romances? You’d think that just having two characters with different skin color would be enough. Well, let’s see if Tynisha is a believable sister:

  I know I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on someone else’s conversation in a restaurant, but when you’ve been waiting as long as we have, you have to do something. That’s so…twisted! Poor Dan!

  “Did you just hear what she said to him?”

  Mike sighs and pours out more salt onto the table, flicking several grains toward Pat. “He should have seen it coming, Ty. Look at her. She’s wearing what he’s wearing and looks more comfortable in it than he does.”

  Pat arranges the stack of Sweet’n Low for the fifth time. “She is wearing a flannel shirt and work boots, Tynisha.”

  “I wear work boots, Patricia. What are you trying to say?”

  “If the boot fits,” Pat says.

  I am so glad to get out of those heavy, steel-toed Red Wings that I wear while I’m roaming Roanoke, Virginia, in my Verizon van—

  Hold up. She said, “Roanoke, Virginia”? She works in my adopted hometown? So, the Hooters in the story must be the one out on Williamson Road, not that I’ve ever been there. I might just like this book a little. My new hometown is in a book. Imagine that.

  —looking for some address in the middle of nowhere, hopefully not having to gaff a pole or squeeze into a crawl space. Climbing poles for the phone company is not glamorous at all, but the pay is better than good. I am one of the few sisters climbing poles for any company in the state of Virginia, but that doesn’t mean I’m a dyke.

  “That’s right,” I say. “It means you’re a pioneer, girl.”

  “Forget you, Pat,” I say. “That’s just wishful thinking on your part. That’s probably why you’ve been my friend since the seventh grade. Hoping you can get a piece of this action.”

  “Come on now. You know I only pole climb, no pun intended. And unless you grow a dick, Ty, I don’t want your…”

  Oooh, Pat is nasty. I’m glad she and Dan aren’t going to hook up. I shudder. But they might hook up anyway. Dan seems hard up enough. And did Pat really have to say, “Grow a dick”?

  Mike elbows Pat and cuts his eyes to the left. “Finally.”

  And, naturally, it’s the wench who has a date later with Beth. And Dan is still sitting there at his table peeling his beer bottle. Man has to be hard up, but why is he so calm? If I were Dan, I’d be breaking shit about now, and I wouldn’t have been stuck with the check. And how clueless is he? I mean, he didn’t know his girlfriend was a lesbian! The man should be wearing a stupid sign.

  “Amen to that,” I whisper. I like Ty.

  “Hi, my name is Darcy.”

  She looks like that Darcy chick on Married with Children. Wasn’t she gay on that show, too? I know all Darcys aren’t gay, but this is creepy.

  “I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get y’all to drink?”

  Y’all? Maybe she’s from Hee Haw. Do they do gay salutes on Hee Haw? Getting “down on the farm” has just taken on a totally new meaning.

  I giggle. If this book were written solely from Ty’s point of view, I might be enjoying myself more. This should have been the first chapter anyway. A lady should always get to speak first…and last.

  “I’ll have a grande frozen strawberry margarita,” says Pat, the alcoholic, while I stare her down. “What?”

  “Who’s driving?” I ask.

  Pat latches onto one of Mike’s muscular arms. “Mike is.”

  I roll my eyes. “So you two aren’t trying to get any tonight? Just trying to get your drink on?”

  “It’s a Monday night, girl,” Pat says. “Who goes macking on a Monday night?” She rests her head on Mike’s shoulder.

  Mike moves his shoulder away from Pat’s head. “Go ahead, girl. You’re blocking all the testosterone up in here.”

  Pat waves at the crowd of people at the bar, their eyes glued to Monday Night Football. “How do you know if any of them are gay?”

  Mike only raises his eyebrows, and I shake my head at the two of them. Pat, who is the most heterosexual being I have ever met, goes on dates with Mike, the strong, silent gay guy. Yet if you ever saw either one of them on the street, you’d think Pat was a librarian with her granny glasses and old-fashioned clothes and Mike was a preacher all dressed up sharp in electric blue.

  Oooh, that E. Lynn Harris! Every time you turn around there’s another gay black man in a book. And what is Ty, who seems to be levelheaded, doing with a freak and a homosexual? I know they’re friends, but come on! Is everything going to be “opposites attract” in this book or what? And that crack on librarians, oooh! I have never worn granny glasses in my life!

  Though my mama has. Hmm. Two stereotypes so far. Maybe D. J. Browning is going for a record.

  “Ahem,” Darcy says.

  Don’t be a-hemming me, wench! You made us wait, so I’m going to make you wait. “Let’s see now…I’ll have…a strawberry daiquiri and…a glass of water, please.”

  “And I’ll have a Sex on the Beach,” Mike says. “And Darcy, I hope it won’t take you fifteen minutes to get our drinks to us since we’ve already been sitting here for fifteen minutes waiting to place our order.”

  Darcy fiddles with the gold cross on her necklace. Oh, right, Darcy’s a Christian. Not. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Monday is one of our busiest nights.”

  And later, it’s going to get busier, huh, Darcy? I look over at Dan. Still sitting there, still ripping labels off bottles. Pitiful.

  Well, hook up already. Do something. I know they have to develop their relationship over—I flip to the back of the book—285 pages? This book is kind of light. I could read a book like this in a couple hours. Hmm.

  “Would y’all like to order appetizers with your drinks?”

  “We’ll have an order of hot wings and an order of spinach dip, please,” Mike says, and I blink at him. “What?”

  “What if I wanted something different?” I say.

  “Go ahead,” Mike says.

  I’m not really that hungry for anything but good conversation, but I can’t stand anyone ordering for me. “Make it two orders of hot wings.”

  “Okay,” Darcy says. “I’ll be right back with your drinks and food.”

  Yeah, right. We’ll be lucky to see Darcy before the second half of the game.

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” Pat says, “before I was rudely nudged with somebody’s hard and crusty elbow—”

  “My elbows aren’t crusty,” Mike int
errupts.

  “Dag, Mike, lube them things,” Pat says. “So, Mike, we haven’t seen your friend Paul around in a while. Are you two still kickin’ it?”

  Mike shrugs. “Yeah, we’re still cool, but I think our relationship changed when I asked him to give me a little space. I’m just tired of partying all the time. I’m getting too old for that shit.”

  And this ends Ty’s opening section. Not terrible, not wonderful. Adequate. I’m getting hints for what’s to come, and it isn’t as if it will take long for these two to get together. It’s Dan’s turn again:

  3: Dan

  I’m getting too old for this shit.

  I’ve been peeling beer bottle labels ever since I had my first Michelob—or was it a Miller?—back in high school. I peeled quite a few bottles of Bud in the service, too. I know it means I’m horny. And I am. It’s hard for me to admit that at thirty-two, yet it’s true. I know I’ve just been dumped for another woman, and I know that this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

  But at least the first time involved a woman dumping me for her mother.

  Oooh, nasty! Why can’t Dan just be a plain, ordinary man? Why does he have to have so much baggage?

  Which isn’t as twisted as it sounds. Okay, it does sound twisted, but there’s a logical explanation. Given the choice between marrying me, the surfer boy Marine from California turned elementary school teacher from Virginia, and the traditions of her Thai, man-hating mother in Cleveland, Jewel chose…the Honda Prelude that her mother promised her if she broke off her engagement with me.

  This is different. A white man with a Thai ex will be bumping uglies with a rugged sister—an interesting development. At least it means he’s open to interracial relationships.

  Either that or he’ll mess with any woman, anytime, anywhere.

  The freak.

  Yeah, it’s a little bit twisted. And it also involved her mother agreeing to pay for all of Jewel’s med school bills, but I feel that I’ve been replaced by a two-door coupe that I hope rusts to dust up in Ohio, and I don’t want to think about Jewel anymore. She’s past history, end of story, archives, end of the road…yet she visits me whenever I have situations like this, as if she’s sitting across from me right now in Beth’s empty chair. The ex that keeps on giving me pain.