“Come on, girl, we gotta go!” I holler, leaning on the horn. I’m encased in Cammie, with her air conditioning blowing so fiercely that my hair looks like I’m in the middle of filming a White Snake video, so Tiffany can’t hear me. But I yell again, all the same. “Come on, come on, come on!”
My fingers are tapping out a rhythm on the steering wheel as I wait impatiently. It’s not White Snake on the radio. I only know who they are because Dad went through a hair band phase when he was young and liked to torture me with 80s rock ballads, but rather Lizzo, because I know it’ll irk Tiffany.
“Feeling good as hell,” I sing, agreeing with the lyrics because right now, they’re true. If only Tiffany would move her ass.
When she doesn’t appear, I get out and stomp my way to the front door, my flip-flops slapping with every step. Not everyone can make flip-flops sound angry, but I’m one of the rare breeds who can. It probably helps that I’m looking fit for People of Walmart in sweatpants, a tank top, a bare face, and wild hair, but picking up Tiffany is only stop one in our day. We’ve got mani-pedis this morning, blowouts this afternoon, and then we’re hitting my place for makeup and to get dressed for Mr. Fox’s dinner tonight.
I knock on the door, praying that it’s not Ace causing Tiffany any more headaches, but when she opens it, I’m startled by what I see. “What the . . . you look like She-Hulk! No, scratch that . . . because this is not a good look at all.”
I point at her face and grimace. “You look like . . . Shrek! What the hell, Tiffany?”
It’s pretty appropriate. Tiffany’s hair is pulled into a loose ponytail and the front part is held back by a large headband to keep it out of the green goop she’s got smeared all over her face.
As if that’s not bad enough, she’s not even dressed! She’s still in her black silk bathrobe, which normally makes her look ready to unleash sexy ass kickings, but right now, it just looks all kinds of wrong with her face covered in moldy swamp mud.
“Oh, shut up and come in!” Tiffany’s tone is sharp, her bite letting me know that her goopy face is the least of our problems for today. “I woke up this morning with a breakout. Hence the avocado mask.”
She pulls a Vanna White, making a circle around her face with one hand. “We’ve got a half-hour before our mani-pedis, and I trust that you and Cammie will get us there on time.”
Sensing the danger in the air, I baby-step through the minefield. “Anything else you need to do to get ready? How can I help?”
I step inside, carefully avoiding the mess of pizza boxes, beer cans, and trash that have seemingly grown in a semicircle around the couch. The cause is clear as Ace sits slumped on the cushions, a game controller in his hands while the sound of video-game battle fills the room from the too-loud television. It’s a small favor that it’s not rap music this time.
“Watch out for Kevin. He’s a crotch sniffer and will get right up in your business, so keep your legs closed.”
“Uhm, excuse me . . . what?” I look around for one of Ace’s friends, ready to enact the concept of ‘touch me and die.’
“Him. Can you do something with that?” Her finger points toward Ace, and I cringe, knowing there’s not a whole lot anyone can do with that. But then I see what she’s actually pointing at when Ace leans forward.
“Is that . . .”
My question is cut off by a series of deep, mournful howls. “Is that . . . Kevin?”
Kevin is apparently Ace’s . . . basset hound? He’s simultaneously the cutest thing in existence and the ugliest dog ever. His mournful eyes droop nearly as low as his jowly cheeks, and his ears hang even lower than that, which makes it seem like he’s melting before your very eyes. Even from here, I can see that his belly is far too big and round for his short little legs. He’s like a goblin dog.
It’s a gift, I guess, making you want to snuggle him while feeling so bad for his sad appearance.
Any sweet sentiments disappear when he hops off the couch to glare at me from under those heavy lids and howls again. Loudly, like he just cornered a squirrel named Elle for dinner. And definitely loud enough to be heard over Ace’s video game.
“Kevin! No!” Tiffany snaps at the dog, “Hush before the neighbors call the landlord . . . again.” The last part seems to be directed at Ace more than the dog, but Ace barely looks up from mashing on the buttons. “Ace, make him be quiet and leave Elle alone!”
I smartly don’t point out that Tiffany is being louder than either the dog or the video game at this point. I might as well be whistling Dixie over here like Billy does, trying to stay out of the line of Tiffany’s fire and Kevin’s teeth.
“Can’t you get him? I’m trying to get the insurgents!”
“Insurgents . . . I’ll give you some damn insurgents,” Tiffany growls. “If your sorry ass doesn’t get up . . .”
“Get over here, Kev!” Ace growls in frustration before whistling. Kevin turns and bounds over to the couch, surprisingly nimble in jumping up onto the cushion. He gives me one last huff of annoyance before flopping over on his back, his head hanging off the side and his ears and jowls flapping upside down. He whines softly, demanding a scratch to his exposed belly, and Ace reaches over and pats him. “Good boy.”
I think Tiffany’s head is going to explode when Ace praises the dog, and I can’t help but giggle. Which is a grave mistake because Tiffany whirls, glaring at me now. I was so close to not being hit with any of the flinging anger or glops of avocado, and I had to go and ruin it because a boy and his dog were being cute for a second.
“Oh, come on,” I try to reassure her. “I’m fine. Kevin’s fine. Let’s just get ready. Clock’s ticking.”
The reminder is just what she needs to light a fire under her ass. She huffs but hustles down the hall, green goo and all.
Tiffany’s bedroom is all organization. We just went shopping, but I would bet that those clothes have already been washed, dried, folded, and hung up. Every stitch of her new capsule wardrobe is probably ready to roll when needed. Without opening a drawer, I know that the right-hand ones contain bras, undies, and socks—in that order so that she can go drawer to drawer, tits to toes, to get dressed. Her closet is small but sorted by article of clothing and then by color, so if you need a white button-up, you can go to the long-sleeve area and then the white section, and poof . . . there you go.
It drives me nuts. There’s no spontaneity, no craziness, no chaos. Blah, blah, and blah. But it’s probably what makes us such good friends. She’s the Yin to my Yang.
I flop on her bed, knowing she’ll fix any wrinkles I leave before we go. “Ace is a pain in the ass, but Kevin’s kinda cute. When did Ace get him?”
“He got him back a few days ago. Our cousin Shana took him before Ace left, but Ace felt like he needed his buddy again. Went and got him without even asking me.” She’s ramping up, so I settle in for the long haul and give up on being on time for our appointment.
“Then when I came home last night, Ace had invited his friends over to have a LAN party in my living room! Again, without even asking me! I left for a bit to grab dinner, and when I got back, they were all drunk and being so loud I could hear them in the hallway. I thought someone had actually broken in because they were yelling ‘get him, take him down!’ They were being so rowdy, I had to threaten to call the cops before my neighbors did. They hauled ass, leaving that mess you see in there behind. Ace hasn’t apologized and damn sure hasn’t cleaned up after his frat-boy bro-out.”
Her voice has lost the angry edge, and instead, she sounds sad and scared. “He’s still playing, barely stopped to wave bye to his friends. I’m not even sure if he’s even gone to sleep since yesterday. I really want to help Ace get out of this rut he’s in, but he’s testing me, Elle. This isn’t healthy, for either of us.”
She flops down next to me, burying her face in her hands and then flinching back when she remembers that her face is covered in now-semi-dry glop. “Come on, go get that washed off and we’ll get you some pampering so you feel better,” I promise her. “And some food. Tacos? Sushi? Anything you want.”
Tiffany heads to her attached bath, and a moment later, the water turns on. I always tease her that she needs a little crazy in her life, and that’s where I come in, but the amount of crazy Ace is bringing to the table is just too much. Even for a wild child like me, and definitely for a controlled non-chaos girl like Tiffany.
“Hey, why’d Ace name his dog Kevin, anyway? It seems weird. Like a people name, not a dog one.” From the living room, I hear Kevin bay again when I say his name.
Tiffany laughs just a little, and though I’m not sure why, I take the win. “His name wasn’t always Kevin. I think he got that from Home Alone, but Ace would never admit that. Kevin’s name was Rick when he first got him. Right up until Rick got out one day, and Ace had to walk up and down the street, calling out, ‘Rick, Rick, Rick!’ and some neighborhood kids heard him and started teasing him about calling out for dick. Told him if he was that hard up, he should fist his own dick.”
She laughs and then choking sounds come from the bathroom.
“You okay, girl?”
A loud snort and then giggles. “Yeah, just waterboarded myself a little bit when I laughed.” It’s quiet for a second, and though I can’t see her, it seems like she’s lost a bit to the past, maybe to a time when she wasn’t on the verge of killing Ace.
“So Ace changed Rick’s name to Kevin. Why he didn’t go with Rover or Buster, I don’t know. A dog needs a dog name.”
I flop back on the bed again. “Nah, that’s a Kevin if ever I saw one. He’s too pitiful looking to be a Buster. But now that you mention it, I’m gonna save the Rick-Dick thing for Ricky. It’ll be a good one to put him in his place at just the right time.”
Tiffany reappears, looking better without the green goop and a bit of pink to her cheeks. She heads to her dresser, and yep, bras in the top drawer. “Red or pink?” She doesn’t wait for me to decide, dropping her robe and slipping the pink one on. She pulls her boobs into the cups so she looks even perkier than usual. “Okay. Let’s change the subject. So . . . you talk with Daddy?”
I swallow thickly. “Damn, straight to the jugular. Warn a girl first, maybe even a little warmup. Foreplay is good, you know?”
I let the ‘Daddy’ thing slide. It’s getting to be a bad habit, but I’ve just got other things on my mind right now.
Tiffany snaps her fingers at me, telling me to quit stalling and get to chatting.
“Yes and no. We had the whole chat session in his office when he found out, but he blew off our lunch at Frankie’s. I mean, he said he was busy, and I know he is, but that’s not why he cancelled. He’s too mad to sit across the table and share fries with me.” I fidget with a string on the comforter and Tiffany slaps my hand.
“Stop that. It was expensive. And stop that.” She points at my face. “Quit being all morose and pouty and tell your dad that you’re a grown ass woman who can do what she wants and who she wants, when and where she wants.”
She pulls on the matching pink panties and heads toward her closet, showing me that I was right about it too. Perfectly organized with all the new swag she bought.
“Easier said than done,” I say, still pouting. “And I’m not doing Colton Wolfe.”
It’s not really a lie. I haven’t fucked him . . . yet. But I want to, and he wants me. I know he made good on our dare too. It was obvious in the hungry way his eyes followed me around the office yesterday. I had been good, too, holding off until late at night, well after the twenty-four hours were up, in case he called me. I would’ve been down for a bootie call. Hell, I’d half been expecting one. But my phone hadn’t rung, and before bed, I pulled out Maximus, my favorite vibrator, and came saying Colton’s name.
That seems like a separate issue from the one with my dad, though. Or at least I want it to be. Personal and professional are getting so tangled up.
Tiffany’s freshly waxed brows arch. “I’m not stupid, Elle. But if you’re not ready to talk about that, it’s fine. Here’s what I want to know . . . Do you like working for Colton? With him on this HQ2 thing?”
I sigh and meet her eyes, hoping she can see the truth, even the bit I’m not ready to divulge just yet. “I do. All joking aside, I like it. He pushes me hard, but he respects my work. I feel like I’m finally doing something bigger, like this is worthwhile and my input is valuable. I feel like I can fly when we’re kicking ass together.”
“Then tell Daddy that,” Tiffany says as if it’s that easy. “You’re like, the world’s greatest daughter and one kickass bitch. I’m proud to call you my best friend, and I’ll be even prouder to call you my stepdaughter one day.”
I throw a pillow at her, and then another when she ducks too fast. The second hits her squarely in her face. “Stop! No, just no.”
She winks, and I realize that she was just pushing my buttons. Mostly. But I really should’ve called her out on the Daddy thing about three times ago.
She sets the pillows back on her bed, knife-hand chopping them so they’re perfectly puffed. “Let your dad respect that. Give him a chance to respect that.”
“Okay . . . okay,” I reply, sighing. “Come on, we’re probably going to miss our appointments. And if they take us late, we’ll have to tip double.”
Tiffany holds up her purse. “My treat since it was Ace’s fault we’re late. Again.”
We make it safely down the hallway, but as we pass the kitchen, we’re ambushed by Kevin, who jumps onto Tiffany’s leg, sniffing at her crotch. “Kevin! No!”
She gets the hound off before he becomes a ‘leg hound’, but Kevin isn’t done playing, latching onto the garment bag over Tiffany’s arm and shaking his head. “Rowf!”
“Oh, my God, are you kidding?” Tiffany’s voice has an edge of hysteria to it now. “Kevin! Let go!”
The dog is strong though, yanking backward like this is a game of tug of war and he’s already planned the steak dinner he’s going to feast on as the winner. Tiffany nearly gets jerked off her feet, but she’s fighting for the garment bag with all she’s got because it’s protecting her dress for Mr. Fox’s dinner.
I catch her by the waist, pulling as hard as I can as she gets her balance, the two of us against Kevin. Two against one should put the odds in our favor, but there’s no telling when you’re battle-locked in a tug of war over a dress . . . against a dog.
“Ace, get this dog off my dress!” Tiffany shrieks. “He won’t listen to me and he’s gonna wreck it! Kevin, no! Kevin!”
Her repetition of the dog’s human-like name would make me laugh, but not now when there’s so much at stake. Though I do have a sudden and serious lack of sympathy at Ace’s being made fun of for calling out ‘Dick’ or ‘Rick’ or whatever asinine name he came up with for this monster of a melting-faced dog when he answers his sister.
“Hold on, I’m in a serious match!” Ace snaps, spamming the buttons by the sound of it. “Boom, bitches!”
Kevin shakes his head again, his hunting dog instincts I guess making him clamp down even harder as he twists and snaps his head back and forth.
Suddenly, with an ugly, zipper-like sound, the garment bag tears . . . and I can see that it’s not just the bag that’s torn. The skirt on Tiffany’s dress is nearly ripped in half, the dress ruined.
“Holy fuck!” I gasp as Tiffany screams bloody murder. If her neighbors don’t call the cops now, they need a better Community Watchdog organization.
Kevin, sensing his impending doom, runs off into the kitchen.
“Tiffany—” Ace’s voice is shocked, his eyes horror-filled. But it’s way too little, way too late.
“I’m going to kill you!” Tiffany screams, bursting into tears.
I pull Tiffany out of the house before she can make good on her promise, glaring at Ace with one eye, watching Tiffany’s breakdown with the other, and somehow staying alert for any nosy neighbors or police showing up to find out what the hell’s going on. It’s like the eyes in the back of your head that magically appear when you’re a mom. I’m nowhere near motherhood, but I’m going to take care of my bestie, no matter what.
The whole time, Tiff’s crying, holding the ruined remnants of her dress like it’s the body of a loved one. I get it, she really wanted to look good at the party, and this dress was a chunk of her wardrobe budget. The budget she didn’t have but had to find because of Ace’s last careless mistake. He’s just racking them up, and they’re all at Tiffany’s expense.
“Ace . . .” I call to him from the doorway, pausing while pushing Tiffany out. He looks up, and I can see there’s something going on in his head, something Tiffany isn’t seeing or hasn’t told me, but that doesn’t matter right now. “What you’re doing to Tiff . . . it’s real shitty. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but the pity party’s over. You need to sort your life out, now. I thought you were a better brother than this.”
I let my eyes trace over him, the paused video game, the trash he’s strewn all over his sister’s apartment, and then down the hall where Tiffany is standing, still in shock.
I walk out before Ace can reply, guiding Tiffany toward my car. She’s on the verge of a breakdown, and I’m going to have to get drastic here.
“What am I gonna do?” she weeps, looking down at the shredded dress. “I’m gonna have to miss, and—”
“And you’re close enough to my size that you can wear one of mine,” I remind her. “I mean, you’ve got bigger boobs, but we can still share clothes. It’ll be fine, honey. You know I’ve got you covered for anything from a hoe-down to a red-carpet gala, with a stopover at a kink club or a masquerade ball in between. Benefits of never tossing clothes away.”
I’m in full-on neener-neener mode, but she doesn’t care. Yet. “In fact, I dare you . . . to let me pick your dress from my closet.”
She laughs and snot bubbles out one of her nostrils. “Ew . . .” she moans, grabbing at the glovebox for a napkin.
“Do not get your snot on Cammie. Though, maybe we could make Ace give her a full wash and detail. Wax, even. Hell, maybe we can just wax Ace as punishment. Press those hot wax strips on his chest and let her rip! We could even film it for Instagram. Serves him right.”
Tiffany smiles the smallest, saddest smile ever. “Okay, I’ll borrow a dress.” She avoids the topic of Ace altogether, and I let her for now, but she’s going to have to do something about him.
“All right, then. Let’s haul ass and see if we can still wedge in our mani-pedis without their gossiping about us the whole time.”
Tiffany acts like she’s filing her nails and chewing gum. “Rude.”
She does a pretty spot-on imitation, not that it’s ever been about us. We’re always on time and ready for Wine and Whine. Until today. Today, we’re those customers.
May the nail techs forgive us.
