I glare at myself and then spit.
And then as I straighten back up, Sophie’s alarmed face is behind me in the mirror.
“Mom! Geez! Put some clothes on. God!”
She turns away as she slaps a hand over her eyes and I feel blood rushing to my cheeks while I reach for a robe.
“I’m sorry, Soph. I didn’t know you were back so soon. Wait. Why am I apologizing? It’s my bathroom. If you knocked first, you wouldn’t be surprised.”
I paste a nonchalant look on my face and turn around.
Sophie is staring at me.
“Where did you go last night wearing those shoes?”
She points to my pile of discarded clothing.
“Oh. Sara and I just went out dancing last night. We needed to blow off some steam. Did you have fun at your dad’s? Why are you home so early? I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow.”
Rick doesn’t take her for his weekends as often as he can. In fact, he rarely does. And Sophie does a good job of acting like she doesn’t care. But I know she does. And it makes me want to put those stilettos back on and march over to his freaking condo and impale him squarely in the ass.
Sophie sighs, bringing me back to the present and away from my murderous thoughts.
“Daddy had to work today, apparently. I didn’t want to sit in his condo all day because there’s nothing to do there. So I asked him to bring me here on his way to work. Was that okay? He’s going to pick me back up on his way home.”
She’s looking at me worriedly and I rush to reassure her, even though I don’t relish the thought of seeing Rick today. In fact, a little bile rises up in my throat, sour and acidic. But I swallow it and nod.
“Of course, sweetie. That’s fine. I’m always glad to have you home.”
Her face is instantly relieved and then slips once more into the self-assured teen that she is.
“I thought maybe we could go shopping today, if you don’t have anything to do. We can have a mother/daughter day. I need some black jeans. What do you think?”
I scrunch up my nose as I dig through my dresser drawer for my own jeans.
“Hmm. It depends. If they aren’t $400 jeans, then maybe. If they are, then you need to ask your dad.”
Sophie laughs, as though she’d never ask me to buy something so ridiculous. We both know that isn’t the case.
“Please, mom. We can have lunch too. And maybe get our nails done.”
I sigh. I can literally feel the money flying out of my wallet as we speak. But I love my daughter. And as usual, when she wants something, I have a really hard time saying no.
“Fine,” I sigh, as I reach for my favorite stretched out, faded sweatshirt. It’s the one that I’ve had since college and long ago cut the collar out so that it hangs off my shoulders. It’s as old as the hills and does nothing for my figure, but I love it in spite of that fact.
“Fine,” I repeat. “I needed some moisturizer anyway.”
“Are you wearing that?” Sophie eyes me doubtfully.
“Don’t push it,” I raise an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes before ducking out and I finish getting ready by pulling my hair into a low ponytail and sliding on some lip-gloss. I don’t have anyone to impress today, right? I can wear what I want to, even if it is a public mall.
If I’m going to be spending god only knows how much money on my daughter’s endless wardrobe needs, I deserve to wear my favorite sweatshirt.
********
I regret the sweatshirt within two hours of putting it on.
Being wrapped up in the afterglow of great sex with someone twenty years younger than me, I had neglected to remember that it is Las Vegas in springtime. I don’t need a sweatshirt. In fact, if I could walk around naked without going to jail for public indecency, I very well might.
But as it is, I am sweaty and grumpy as Sophie and I pile our purchases (all $793 dollars worth) in the trunk of my black Audi. To be fair, $234 dollars was used on me. The rest though, was Sophie.
“Thanks for the stuff, Mom,” she says to me brightly before she sticks her ear-buds into her ears and forgets that I exist.
Seriously. The little snot actually turns toward the window and stares out, oblivious to my presence now that I have financed her little clothing habit. I shake my head. There are times, like right now, when I can totally understand why hamsters eat their young.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter as I push my stupid long sleeves up for the millioneth time and shove my over-heated face in front of the air-conditioning for a minute, in hopes of bringing my tomato-red cheeks down to a nice neutral shade of tan. Or at the very most, a becoming blush.
I glance down at the clock as I turn up the radio. It’s only 1:30. We still have time for lunch before we need to be home for Rick to pick Sophie up.
I click the car into Reverse and am backing out just as a voice registers in my head.
“Yoo-hoo! Allison! Is that you?”
And then there’s a sickening thud.
Hand to God- I didn’t have time to react between hearing the voice and the sickening thud.
Sophie’s eyes fly to meet mine and I slam on the brakes, throw the car into park and we jump out of the car to find a nauseatingly thin crumpled heap directly behind my left back tire.
And I say nauseatingly thin because I know exactly who it is. I can tell from her cheap sense of style and the giant rock on her left spidery ring finger.
It’s Rick’s new fiancée, Vanessa.
And she’s nauseatingly thin.
Except for her fake boobs, which Rick bought and paid for and can be used as flotation devices in the unlikely event of a plane crash. Apparently though, they don’t work very well in the more likely event of an automobile vs. pedestrian crash.
I gasp as I drop to my knees beside her.
“Vanessa! Oh my god! Are you alright! Can you hear me?!”
She moans and turns to look at me, whimpering pitifully.
“Do you hate me this much, Allison? Really?”
I stare at her, at her perfect baby blue eyes, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, her Barbie-like twenty-three year old perfect body and her full, pouty candy-apple-pink lips. Yes, yes, I hate her. But she’s not worth going to jail for. Even though I might have fantasized about it a few times. I’m not gonna lie.
“I didn’t see you, Vanessa,” I sigh. “Why were you behind my car?”
“Why didn’t you watch where you were going?” she snaps as she studies a candy-apple-pink fingernail. Her polish perfectly matches her lips. “I just had my nails done and this one is broken. Thanks a lot.”
I sigh again, offering her my hand.
“Are you hurt?” I ask. Sophie is hovering over my shoulder. She has yanked her ear-buds out for this bit of excitement. Vanessa shakes her head.
“I don’t think so. Except for my nail. You’re paying to get it fixed, Allison!” she snaps again. “I was only coming over to say hello and you ran me down like a lunatic.”
“I didn’t run you down,” I say tiredly as I haul her to her feet. “I just didn’t see—“
I am interrupted by Miss Perfect’s cry of pain. And then distracted by her rabid hopping on one thin leg. I briefly wonder if the spindly little thing has just collapsed under her weight, before I realize that is ridiculous. Her body weight couldn’t collapse a piece of wet toilet paper.
“Ow, ow, ow!!! I think my foot is broken. You broke my foot, you vicious bitch!” Vanessa has abandoned her pretense of being the coy wounded child.
I am startled and look down at her stiletto clad foot. Who wears stilettos to the mall on a Saturday morning, anyway?
Her ankle is turning purple- I can see it from here.
“I bet you twisted it when you fell,” I tell her, putting my arm under her shoulder to help support her. “Why are you wearing heels?”
Vanessa glares at me. “This has nothing to do with my shoes, so don’t even try to blame me. You ran me down.”
I sigh
again. If there was something sharp near me, I would grab it and poke my eyes out.
“I didn’t run you down,” I tell her again. “I merely backed into you. But we should probably get you to the doctor to look at your foot. Are you with anyone?”
I glance behind her but don’t see anyone. And she shakes her head.
“No. You’re going to have to take me. It’s the least you can do, anyway.”
“Yes, it’s the least I can do.” I level a gaze at her as I practically shove her into my backseat. “Watch your head.”
I look at Sophie. “Soph, call your father and tell him to meet us at the Desert Springs Medical Center. They have an urgent care center.”
She nods and pulls her phone out and I concentrate on tuning out Vanessa’s whining, moaning and outright bitchy accusations.
“You’re not taking me there. It’s a deathtrap for bums and people on welfare.”
“You just wanted to disfigure me so that Rick won’t want me anymore.”
“You’re just jealous because I’m younger and hotter than you.”
I don’t bother to reply to any of it and it’s a very long twenty minute drive, but luckily Sophie has turned her music back on and doesn’t hear anything.
When we finally reach the medical center, I have Sophie run up and get a wheelchair and then I wheel Vanessa in myself. I am feeling rather cocky that I am able to resist the urge to steer her directly into the path of a utility van that careens through the parking lot.
Must not kill Vanessa.
Must not kill Vanessa.
Must not kill Vanessa.
I chant this silently in my head as we enter the sliding doors and get her checked in. I am just trying to decide whether to leave her alone or not when Rick struts through the waiting room doors.
Rick struts everywhere because he feels that nothing starts until he arrives.
My ex-husband is not bad looking. As far as thirty-nine year old men go, he’s pretty hot. He’s around six feet tall and has dark hair with just the beginning of silver at his temples. He’s clean shaven and he works out. He owns his own ad company, which is where he met Vanessa. She was his administrative assistant. Apparently she was very good at ‘assisting’ him.
But I digress.
On the surface, Rick’s a catch. He’s good-looking and successful. But what you can’t tell from looking at him is that he is a cheating, lying worm. And I instantly remember that I should feel sorry for Vanessa rather than hate her. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. Although the gold-digging whore probably deserves it.
Holy crap! Did I say that out loud?? I look around quickly and breathe a sigh of relief. Thank god. I didn’t.
“What the hell have you done?” Rick snaps at me as he approaches us. He doesn’t care that we are in the middle of a crowded waiting room or that his daughter is standing with me.
“Nothing. Your girlfriend stepped behind my car while I was backing out,” I answer firmly.
“Bull shit,” Rick barks. He reaches us and bends down to kiss Vanessa on the lips and strokes her platinum blonde hair.
“Are you alright, pumpkin?” he croons to her and I seriously fight the urge to vomit. Pumpkin? What is she? Twelve? Oh, wait. She is. Or she might as well be.
She shows him her broken fingernail and her swollen foot and whimpers pathetically.
Rick straightens up and turns back to me.
“Are you satisfied?” he demands. “You wanted to get back at me and now you have. But you didn’t have to assault Vanessa to do it.”
“Rick, that’s ridiculous—“ I begin.
“Dad,” Sophie interrupts. “I was there. Mom didn’t do it on purpose. Vanessa stepped behind our car. It was an accident.”
Rick whirls around, glaring at her. “Sophie, stay out of this. Your mother has done a terrible thing. I can’t believe that you would defend her.”
I stare at him incredulously.
“A terrible thing? If, by terrible, you mean that I picked your teeny-bopper girlfriend off of the pavement after she stepped in front of my already-moving vehicle and twisted her ankle because she was wearing stilts to go shopping in, before I practically carried her to my backseat and drove her across town to the hospital where I got her checked in and settled into the waiting room to wait for you… then yes, you’re right. I did a terrible thing. If you meant anything else, then you’re insane. Have a good day, Rick.”
I brush past him and start to walk away and he calls from behind me.
“Look forward to hearing from our lawyer. You’re going to have a lawsuit on your hands for this.”
I am startled and freeze. I count to five and take deep breaths so that I don’t turn around and kill them both. I turn slowly while silently applauding my Herculean restraint.
“Rick, you’re an idiot. There are video cameras in the mall parking lot. I am certain that any jury or judge in America would decide that I didn’t do anything wrong. They will see your girlfriend step behind me and will see that it was an accident. They will also see that your girlfriend is practically a child, so every female on the jury will agree with me anyway, just on principle. But if you want to pursue it, then by all means do so. Whatever floats your boat, because we both know that you’re having some problems in that area.”
Oh, burn! The look on Rick’s face is priceless. And I should feel guilty for saying those things in front of Sophie, but I’m too mad to think clearly. I turn to leave and Sophie joins me.
I look at her in surprise as Rick demands that she stay. She turns to him.
“I changed my mind, dad. I don’t want to spend the weekend with you. Not until you learn to treat mom better.”
She turns on her heel and walks for the car. I am stunned. Stupefied. Speechless.
“Oh, perfect. Now look what you’ve done,” Rick sneers. “You’ve turned my daughter against me.”
I’m stunned again and speechless. This is a record for me. Twice in one minute.
“Rick, you did that all on your own.”
I turn on my own heel. I’m only regretful of one thing and that is wearing this stupid sweatshirt. It would be nice if I looked hot as hell in this moment, instead of frumpy and overheated. But oh well. There’s nothing to be done for it.
I meet Sophie at my car.
She’s got her ear-buds back in. I get in and turn to her, reaching over and pulling one ear-bud out.
“Sophie, you don’t have to take sides. Your dad is your dad and I’m your mom. Our issues aren’t your issues.”
She looks at me like I’ve suddenly grown two heads and have begun wearing her cast-off clothing from last year.
“Are you insane?” she asks, her voice high-pitched. “Dad was being a dick. And I don’t like being around dicks.”
I automatically start to tell her not to call her father a dick. But he is being a dick. And we might as well call a dick a dick. So I shut my mouth and simply turn the car for home.
“Aren’t we going to lunch?” Sophie pipes up, lifting her head from the passenger window.
“Seriously? After all of that, you’re still thinking of food?”
She stares at me blankly. I sigh.
“You’re such a teenager.”
She smiles. “But I’m your teenager.”
She knows exactly how to make me melt. She’s a wily one, my daughter.
I take her to our favorite Chinese place where we gorge ourselves on Kung Pao chicken and then share a molten double chocolate volcano for dessert.
We are laughing by now and have completely forgotten about Rick the Dick’s bad behavior.
“I’m just glad that Vanessa’s fake boobs didn’t pop,” Sophie giggles as she takes a bite of chocolate sauce. “They would have felt that explosion all the way in Japan. It might have caused another Tsunami.”
I can’t help but laugh before I tell her not to joke about Tsunamis. She rolls her eyes.
“I’m not. I’m being serious. An explosion of that ma
gnitude would probably trigger some sort of natural disaster somewhere. Maybe an avalanche in the Rockies or something. No lie.”
I chuckle because she’s right as I pay the bill. Vanessa’s fake boobs are enormous.
“How big do you think they are?” I muse as I pull out my credit card. “D?”
Sophie’s eyes light up wickedly. “They are DD’s,” she confirms. “I saw her tacky bra in the laundry at Dad’s. I’m always waiting for her to fall over from the sheer weight of those things.”
I know that I shouldn’t joke around like this with Sophie, but after the morning we’ve had, I can’t help but laugh with her. I know. Mom of the year, right here.
“Wanna go to a movie?” Sophie suggests as we leave. I stare at her in shock. She hasn’t wanted to go to a movie with me in forever. I turned un-cool right about the time she turned thirteen. A total coincidence, I’m sure.
Sophie giggles as my mouth practically drops open.
“What?” she looks at me innocently. “It’s a girl’s day, isn’t it?”
I melt again.
So, we go to a movie, share a giant tub of buttered popcorn and a vat of coke. Then we return home, pull on sweat pants and watch chick flicks all night.
As I lay curled up with my angelic-at-the-moment daughter, I ponder my state of current good luck.
All in all, I fucked an amazing younger sex god, ran down my cheating ex-husband’s new fiancée (On accident!!) and had a spectacular girl’s day with my sometimes-surly-but-not-today teen daughter. It was a fabulous fucking weekend.
Oh, and I forgot the fact that I have mastered the art of saying fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck.
See? I’m getting good at it.
Chapter Six
(Or: When life throws you curve balls, fuck the pitcher)
“I didn’t return your calls yesterday because I was busy all day. You know, plowing down Rick’s fiancée in a parking lot,” I tell Sara as I chew on a pickle. She is picking apart her sandwich in agitation. “Don’t do that. You’re going to get ham under your fingernails.”
Sara glares at me. “I heard you the first time you explained it. And we’ll get back to that because it’s effing hilarious. But first, I’m mad at you. Seriously. How hard would it have been to simply call me back for just one minute so that you could tell me how it went with Shade? The whole thing was my idea. I deserve to hear all of the juicy details.”