Sera laughs. “Obviously not. Those two like me the best in here. Can’t say the same for the paperbacks, no matter how many times I whisper ‘I love you’ to them.”
“You are a sick, sick woman, Delos. You’ve got MacLaine over there, probably not two feet from you, and you’re talking to me about bookstores. Now, lemme ask ya,” oh, yeah my Marisa-Tomei/Mona-Lisa-Vito just came out to play, “what’s the problem with this situation?”
“Ha. You’re so funny, K. So funny. Ha. Ha. Ha. Hilarious. I’m dying over here.”
I smile, and lightly punch myself in the shoulder, all good-game-bro. “You should be having sex non-stop, buddy. You shouldn’t be leaving the bedroom at all – unless it’s to eat, and use the washroom.”
Sera snorts. “Yeah, ok. Like I was saying, we’re going to the bookstore, in like, forty-five minutes – ish? You in or out?”
“Project Runway reference, right?” I say, waving an arm in the air mid-way between a fist pump and waving my hands in the air like I just don’t care.
“Uh, what now?”
I practically make that farting sound balloons do when they deflate.
I drop my arm, and look around my apartment as if someone saw me. Ugh. Getting one of Delos’ references is like winning the lottery for a normal person. I mean, you don’t get any money in the end, and hence, realizing all your dreams and finally having financial security, but it’s almost the same thing.
“Never mind. I tried, I really did.”
“I don’t know what just happened,” Sera says.
“It’s okay. I’m gonna go get dressed now, and I’ll see you after I go see Dean. I’ll call you. Say hi to Matty, but give Hunter a wet one for me!”
Sera laughs and says goodbye.
I grab my True Religions and a pastel pink Ralph Lauren blouse and get them on with efficiency. I run a brush through my long hair and decide to keep it down today. I rush out of my apartment after locking up and get to the garage and into my car.
I show my need for speed as I drive to the hospital, grabbing my ticket and finding the best parking space in the lot because you know, good things happen to good people.
Of course, tempting fate and Lady Luck by saying shit like that is just an awful and petty thing to do, and that bitch smacks me down as I twist my ankle on my favourite pair of pumps as I step out of my car. I collapse onto my open car door, and pray to God that no one saw me.
When I stand upright, I’ve got the slightest twinge of pain shooting up from my ankle, and forego supermodel walking my way into the emergency department minus the air blowing through my hair.
That’ll teach me to tempt my curse, and the bad luck that goes with it. It’s what happens when I let myself forget about it – nona Imelda’s curse comes up like a beast from hell to hunt me down until it does what needs to be done – namely to make me clumsy, or just in general to take me down two or three or a hundred pegs in the ego department.
Thanks, nona. I love you, too.
I get to the registration desk and make sure precious Dean is still in his bed in Monitored Care getting checked on by hottie nurses that probably give him embarrassing hard-ons. The pain in my ankle feels better already!
I walk through the big blue door of Monitored Care and strut my stuff counting time in my head to distract from the smell of stanky human beings and the remnants of alcohol-laced vomit. Ah, barely-legal teenagers first trip to the hospital! I hope the parents get a picture for the family photo album.
I spot Dean at the far end of the room, his long legs on top of the skinny sheets, bare feet crossed over one another at the ankle.
Hello, headlights are on, locked and loaded, because a nurse has moved out of the way and I can now see he is wearing nothing but skin above his hips.
He’s looking down at his phone, making the iPhone look tiny and delicate in his Viking hands. Man, I think this guy was born in a different time or something. He’d be at home wearing armour, sword and shield, jousting a la Knight’s Tale with the late, great Heath Ledger. And making this princess drool, and generally beg for him to give it to her.
Female and male nurses alike (there’s like two of them) are looking at him up and down. I mean come on! I’m sure those dudes are totally okay with being gay a few seconds as they look at the expanse of chest and broad-ass shoulders that look like, if he were standing in front of me on a sunny day, they would block out the very sun.
A young chick nurse is at his side now, as I click-click-click my way over to him, getting all the attention of the boys in the yard (no milkshake needed) and watch her make as much physical contact while trying to get his I.V. line out. Hell, if I was in her place and was in front of such a hottie mctottie, I’d probably do the same thing.