Fire in the Hole

  And then Dove pouted a bit and slowed her gait. Whatever Duke did, Beth would reap the benefits from his creative evil. She walked slower into the fancy ballroom thinking of how nice it would be, and it was like entering a different world. There were ice sculptures and the obvious feel of expense touching every inch of the far superior ballroom. Maybe she would just wait and see instead.

  Johnson hadn’t let go of her hand, and she noticed two of the Beths from the Olive Garden here at this very wedding. And the girl who had attacked her hair with scissors was the actual bride.

  “What could he possibly do? I mean, they’re in the other room entirely.” Johnson motioned to the divider wall.

  Beth called to Johnson in her most feminine voice and waved him over. “Looks like they’re taking another picture. Let me jump in being that I’m still here.”

  Dove nodded and squeezed his hand before letting it go. They were indeed setting up what looked like a family shot, which included the wedding party. The dividing wall between the fancy pants and the cheaper wedding was intricately scrolled and engraved with swans. Dove walked to the corner, out of the range of the family picture shot, to get a closer look. The wall on the other side had just been white. Upon placing her hand against it, Dove figured out it wasn’t engraved, but painted with realistic 3-D imaging. After running her hand across it, she knocked lightly. It wasn’t even solid wood. It almost felt like rice paper. At the juncture between the floor and the faux-painted wall, there were tracks. Dove bet the wedding factory could open the divider between the two rooms when they held huge events like conventions.

  Ingenious. But, as she could clearly hear the bass from the duck wedding thumping, it was an infective sound barrier.

  She stepped away from the wall to see the picture the photographer was trying to capture. He was obviously frustrated because as he had the group pose, guests were snapping pictures with their iPhones, and the flashes were disrupting the lighting of the scene he was trying to memorialize.

  Johnson caught her gaze and smiled. She returned his smile just as the bass cut out on the other side of the divider, and for a hot minute she thought maybe Duke was being helpful instead of vindictive.

  And then she heard his mumbled baritone; he clearly had gotten hold of a microphone and was piping his rhetoric over the sound system.

  Finally, the photographer on the fancy-pants side got the subjects of the picture to look at him while all the guests heeded his plea to turn off their flashes. The picture of a lifetime was obviously in the frame. Dove pulled out her phone, too, turned off her flash, and prepared to take one as well—just for the hell of it—to send to Johnson if he wanted one.

  Just as the photographer took the picture, in the very same instant, the rice paper divider was violated from the opposing side. And Dove snapped her shutter.

  Holes framed the wedding party and family, and they were soon filled with butts. Butts, butts, butts everywhere you looked. People on the fancy-pants side commenced screaming and pointing as the subjects of the picture ran from their positions like zombies were attacking them from the rear.

  How the people at the duck wedding managed to get their butts at so many varying heights was a mystery akin to the pyramids in Egypt or Stonehenge.

  The music playing loud and proud from the duck side was “Highway to Hell” by AC/DC. She recognized the waistband of Pissboy’s infamous wedding-saving adult diapers, the little wagging tail of the dog rump and saw a few more cheeks with tattoos on them mixed in with the plain ones.

  Dove covered her mouth with both hands in an effort to stem her hysterical laughter among the ritzy-titzy people who were offended, shocked, and appalled at the nudity. There were even little sets of balls hanging under some of the butts as they were wiggling in the holes. Soon enough, and after Dove snapped a picture with her own phone she’d kept tucked into her cleavage, heckling faces and middle fingers replaced the asses.

  While she waited for Johnson, he paused to spend some time with an elderly couple afterward, checking on their wellbeing after the fright, and then he made his way over to her.

  “Is this what you were afraid of?” He motioned to the desecrated divider.

  “Not this exactly, but I thought his tone was a little pissed.” Dove grimaced.

  “These people paid good money for this wedding. This was expensive.” Johnson pointed at the floor and frowned.

  Dove was having trouble not giggling at the thought of the formal picture framed in angry butts. “Well, in their defense, they paid for their wedding, as well. They should be allowed to have music and stuff.”

  Am I fighting with Johnson?

  “I think this might be the first time they’ve been in a building as fancy as this. I was seriously concerned for that grandmother back there. She was having heart palpitations after all the screaming.” Johnson pointed at a sweet lady dressed in pastel and sitting in a wheelchair next to her elderly husband.

  She did look frail and now pale and confused.

  “I do feel bad for her. Is she okay?” Dove certainly didn’t want the older woman to die of fright at a wedding. Even if her descendent was the horrible girl who had attacked Dove.

  “Her heart rate went down and they are getting her water to sip on. I mean, I’m not a doctor, I’m sure there’s one here.” He scanned the room.

  “Well, if there’s a doctor in here, none of them stepped up. That took a pharmacist’s touch.” She smiled at him.

  He nodded. “I’m going to sit with her and her husband until she looks less pale. Is there any way you could ask Duke to not scare them anymore? Let these people at least get their considerable money’s worth.”

  Dove nodded and walked out, but his words stuck with her. She felt like even if Duke’s family hadn’t spent as much, they’d worked hard for what they had laid out. And she doubted many families would be as welcoming to a three-person marriage as they had been. Sure, they fought fire with their asses, but they seemed kind. And certainly devoted to each other.

  She walked into the ballroom, and Duke spotted her like she had a neon sign with his name on it above her head. “’Sup? Are you here to tell me and my family to keep it in our pants?”

  She pulled out her phone and showed him the pictures she’d snapped. The one just as the butts appeared was so amazing Duke just sat on the ground laughing. He sent it to his phone before handing hers back. Then she watched as a group message rippled through the room, the picture of the other wedding’s portrait that had been ruined being shown to everyone present.

  Dove turned to see that the duck wedding attendees had obviously used combinations of chairs and tables to pull their prank. With the lights so low on this side, there were crisp outlines of people on the other side—like shadow puppets. They must have been able to pick out the spots that made for the perfect ass edging to the portrait before ripping into the paper divider.

  Suddenly, Johnson was behind her, peering over her shoulder at the picture. “Were you in on this?”

  She whirled to face him. “No. No. Not at all. I was taking the picture to send to you. It was just a coincidence.”

  He looked handsome angry. She bet angry sex with him would be amazing.

  Focus, Dove.

  “Are you telling me the truth?”

  Dove felt a stress fart bubble up in her tummy as a tear stood on the edge of her eyeball’s waterline and threatened to jump. She’d lied to him before. And it still wasn’t water under the bridge. Obviously.

  She nodded once and wiped the tear that had went ahead and fallen.

  Duke was next to her before the moisture from her tear had dried on her fingertip. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Johnson thought I was in on the prank. I told him I wasn’t.” Dove couldn’t look at Johnson again. This stupid weekend was ruining everything.

  “She wasn’t in on it. Jesus.” Duke made a fist.

  “Glad to hear it. Because—did you tell him yet?” Johnson touched her forearm, not
looking quite as angry anymore. Dove felt hopeful.

  “Not yet. I was just going to.” Dove turned to Duke. “Um, there’s an old lady over there, and she damn near died from fright. With the screaming. So butt. Less. Of the situation. They’d like. Maybe. If you can. Not too hard.” Her tongue was doing summersaults in her mouth. She couldn’t live up to Johnson’s expectations as a mouthpiece for the fancy people.

  She waited for Duke to read her and Johnson the riot act.

  “Got it. I’ll make sure they turn down the music. Don’t want to kill any old rich ladies. And I’m sure the bride is a great person deserving of all the best things.” When Dove finally looked at Duke, he was looking right back at her. She was betting he’d seen that the bride was one of her attackers from the Olive Garden. “You put up with whatever you have to, to make sure he’s happy, Dove. Think of him first. He’s so much better than you are.”

  Another tear jumped on the ledge. Duke was talking straight to her insecurity about being such an asshole. And the fact that Johnson was the dreamiest of heroes that she didn’t deserve.

  Johnson was clearly confused. “I’m not better than anyone. But I do appreciate everything Dove does for me.”

  “As long as we don’t forget that she lies. Never let her live that down, Johnson. She’ll start to get comfortable.” Duke shoved his hands in his pockets but kept his gaze locked on hers.

  She looked at Johnson.

  Johnson sighed. “Listen, Dove. I like you. I want to invest time in figuring us out, but I don’t think I can keep it up if I have to fight this guy every step of the way. I’m exhausted. Seriously. Getting out of the relationship with Beth was a good thing. I know that now for sure. But I think you need to figure out how much of a place Duke has in your life. I’m not interested in drama and tension.”

  She wanted to say she understood, that she would kill Duke with her bare hands just to have the chance to touch Johnson’s penis again, but she couldn’t say anything. She just stammered.

  “I… you… we…”

  “How about we get together for breakfast, and you can tell me what you think after you’ve had some time.” Johnson patted her forearm, leaned in for a cheek kiss, and hightailed it out of the room as the family members started to clink their glasses, trying to get the three to swap spit again.

  Dove watched Johnson leave and tried to remember that Duke was a friend. Because her heart was breaking, and she had an inkling that she might have ruined her chances with Johnson just by being herself.

  Flower was at least two hours from the wedding factory. Her GPS was scared. Interspersed between, “Turn left on Mattahorn Road,” and “keep right at the traffic circle,” the cheery, robotic, female, British voice was cursing up a storm.

  “And in two miles, if you maintain the current speed, we will fucking die! Whore, please reduce your speed.”

  Flower gave the GPS the finger. She needed to save her ten words for Duke. She needed ten perfect words that would let him know how important he was to her.

  Ten words.

  Duke watched Johnson devastate her. Again. He stepped close to Dove, thinking if he hadn’t dry humped her earlier, a hug would be appropriate right now. But, now, maybe she would think he was trying to cop a feel. As she put her face in her hands and sobbed, he forgot to care and wrapped her up in his arms. He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry Pants-crapper. He’s a dungus.”

  “He’s not! He’s not a dungus; I just can’t stop screwing things up. Is anyone surprised? I could win Lotto and accidently light all the money on fire. It’s just the way things work out for me. I keep being me.”

  He sighed. He wanted her to find some self-confidence. That a dickhead walking out could be devastating to her when it was obvious she should have kicked Johnson in the ass was something Duke wasn’t sure he could fix.

  And dating her loser of a downstairs neighbor had to seem like settling after a fancy pharmacist with all kinds of morals and a strong sense of decorum had wined and dined her.

  “I think I want to go upstairs and be done for the evening. Is that okay?” She gave him teary, pleading eyes.

  He nodded. “I’ll stay down here and make sure my family doesn’t kill any rich assholes with their genitals.”

  “You know what? They paid for their wedding, they should have a ball. Or two. Their way.” Dove kissed his cheek and walked out the door Johnson had used.

  He wanted to follow her, convince her stay in his room, and just make sure that if she was crying she wasn’t alone, but he had a suspicion she would try to find Johnson. He wanted her to make a clear decision about the drug pusher before he invested any more of his broken heart in her.

  Dove stopped in the hallway and texted Johnson.

  Listen, I’m totally confused about what’s happening here. Can we meet?

  The three dots showing that Johnson was typing in reply appeared almost immediately. Dove leaned against the wall as she waited.

  Agreed. Please meet me on the roof in ten.

  She knew she would be early, but she headed straight for the elevator.

  Teetering on her heels, she found her way to the top of the building. She pushed open the exit door to the roof. The night sky was lit by a huge, bulbous moon. Johnson was facing her instead of the spectacular view she assumed would be on the horizon.

  His tentative smile was almost as bright as the fucking moon. Dove stumbled before she remembered she was wearing heels but quickly righted herself.

  Johnson rushed toward her as he saw her wrestle with gravity. They were just a few steps away when they stopped.

  “You are absolutely stunning; did I forget to tell you that tonight?” He held out his hand.

  Dove wanted to say, “You, too,” or “It’s all for you,” but her tongue was too busy doing the holy-shit conga in her mouth to let her talk. His smiling at her did something stupid to her head.

  When she didn’t take his offered hand, defeat slid over his beautiful features. “Oh, you’re here to tell me it’s him. You chose him. I wish you hadn’t worn that dress, though, because all I want to do is touch your skin.”

  Dove shook her head. She cleared her throat, and the noise she made sounded like a bullfrog cumming.

  “Ah, shit. I hate when I make that noise.”

  Oh my God. Somebody shoot me. Can I possibly stop making an ass out of myself for two fucking seconds?

  Johnson put his hands in his pockets. He turned to offer Dove his back as a conversational partner.

  “Dove, if you could just tell my posterior side the information you require me to hear, I would appreciate it. I would hate for you to see me form a complex secretomotor phenomenon characterized by the shedding of saline from the lacrimal apparatus absent of any irritation of my ocular spheres.”

  Dove stepped toward him, reaching out, but her heel caught the cement and made a very prominent flatulence noise. As she tried to stop her foot’s forward motion, she inadvertently pointed her finger and jabbed Johnson in his lower back.

  She was trying to figure out how to apologize for her fart noise when Johnson scoffed, “Is that a gun, Dove? Are you robbing me of my wallet and my heart?”

  Johnson stuck his hand into his pocket and held his wallet over his shoulder.

  “No! No, Johnson I’m not robbing you. I don’t have gun.” Dove dropped her head into her hands. He’d said so many beautiful things to her, and now he thought she was turning to a life of crime and giving it up to Duke all the time.

  How do things go so wrong so quickly?

  “Well, please don’t feel shame about the gas you pass. I have a theory that God has a sense of humor because of all the places he could have put our methane gas hole, he situated it between two closely packed muscles. He wanted it to make a silly noise.” Johnson hung his head and put his wallet away. He stepped away from her and braced his hands on the little half wall that kept people from stumbling to their death—if they were sleepwalking on the roof of the hotel.

/>   Dove carefully walked the rest of the way to get closer to him and stood next to Johnson. She wrung her hands as she tried to come up with words.

  “Yes, I think God’s a great comedian.”

  This is not what I’m trying to say!

  “But it was my foot, not my butt, that farted. Like my shoe. Not my ass. Farted. With the farting.”

  All you’re saying is words, words, fart. Shut up, shut up!

  Johnson shifted his green eyes to her face. She could see loss and pain in them.

  “You’re so real. Please be kind and let me leave now because your lovely face is making this much harder.” Johnson patted her hand and went to walk away. “And finally not having Duke here is making me want things from you…”

  Dove squeezed his hand. “Oh my God. Just listen. I want to stop talking about God’s farts and start talking about us. Before I was robbing you… let’s start there again. Duke’s my friend. I never lied to you about that. But I want to kiss every inch of your body with an open mouth.”

  The words are coming! The words are coming!

  “I want to knit each of your sperm a little jacket so they never get cold. I need a repeat of our night together. I want you to check out my prescriptions to make sure there are no conflicts. You. I want you.” Dove lifted her hand very slowly to Johnson’s face. It seemed sexy and sweet, but really she just wanted to make sure she didn’t poke him in the goddamned eye.

  Johnson looked as if she’d spoken a hundred languages at once. But then his expression transformed. She could tell he understood that she wanted to be with him all the time.

  “Dove, me? Really? Duke’s got the hugest arms.” Johnson held open his arms for her.

  Dove jumped into them and snuggled the love of her life—and vagina—so hard he gasped. “Yes, but you have the longest fingers.”

  Johnson pressed her back against the half-wall and braced his arms on either side of her waist. Dove gasped as the thrill of being so close to the edge of the roof ran through her. He ignored the drop and watched her eyes.