I let out a weary breath. “No. We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because millions, if not billions, of people saw us on that show. You’re fine if you bow out. You’ll continue to do your thing. But me? If I back out, I’m screwed six ways to Sunday.”
She rubs the teensy crease between her brows. “Aw, c’mon, Rons. Your book’s success isn’t completely dependent on Jackson Tremaine’s show. You just don’t want to rock the boat.”
“Rock what boat?”
“The boat where everyone does what’s expected and no one does what they shouldn’t. The viewers expect you to be part of this bet. You’ll do it, if for no other reason than that you’re afraid to break the rules.”
I huff. “What rules? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Girl, you’ll fall in line behind whatever perceived rule there is in any given situation. I hate to break it to you, but you, my friend, are a goody two-shoes. In your mind, there’s some invisible rule that states the gauntlet has been thrown. Therefore, you must meet the challenge.”
Goody two-shoes? Gauntlet?
“I break plenty of rules, thank you. It’s only that I happen to know this particular thing can sink my career faster than the Titanic went down. I’ve worked too hard for that to happen.”
Shay cast a skeptical glance at me. “What rules have you broken lately?”
The answer eludes me. I search through my recent memory. Nada.
I scratch my head. “I—I don’t know. Who keeps a journal of broken rules? Just… ugh, stop already. We have to do this bet.”
“Oh whatever. I’ll do it, because you’re my friend, and I’d cut off my right arm for you—that’s my masturbation hand, just so we’re clear about what I’d be giving up.”
Only Shay would point that out.
I can’t help but smile. “At least this way only one of us will be screwed.”
“Well, if I’m the one who loses, please make sure you throw me a pittance when you see me lying outside your gate with my tin cup.” She unpins her wig.
When she shakes her red hair down her back, it cascades like a waterfall. The slight wave in it is probably there from being rolled up under her Marilyn get-up. It’s moments like this that I hate her.
“I’d almost kill to have your hair,” I lament for the umpteenth time.
She shrugs. “Well, I would kill to have your curls. So you’d best sleep with one eye open, bitch.”
Shay’s African Gray whistles and squawks in the living room. “Bitch. Who you callin’ bitch?”
TWO
The morning sun pours through the windows as I rinse the last cup and set it on the rack. “Yes, Gee-Gee, it was very interesting to be on television.”
My grandmother laughs on the other end of the line. “And that handsome devil, Jackson. Is he really as much of a hunk in person as he seems on TV?”
Hunk? I smile. He’s more of a hunk. “Well, he’s not ugly.”
“And the way you fell into him—brilliant! Did you get to brush against his naughty parts?”
I swear she delights in shocking people with the things she says. “You’re naughty, Gee-Gee. And I tripped. I don’t go around feeling men up at every opportunity.”
“You should. Life’s too short. If I had it to do over again, I’d spend way less time worrying about what other people think and have a good time. You need to enjoy life, Ronnie.”
I let out a little sigh. “I wasn’t there for a good time. I was there to try to sell books.”
“If a good time doesn’t present itself, make your own. No matter the situation.”
“Okay, Gee-Gee, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So, when you go on the show again, trip more carefully. I want to know if that Jackson is—what did he say to that lady in the audience? Oh! I want to know if he’s hung like a mule. You’ll find out for me.”
I close my eyes. This is my family.
Surely, I was secretly switched at birth and somewhere, my real family is normal. A nice, normal family. A family who talks about the weather and the latest sports win, not how well endowed a man is.
“Gee-Gee, why can’t you be like other grandmas and tell me all about your ailments when I call?”
“Oh pish-posh. You don’t want to talk about the fact that I haven’t had a bowel movement in three days.” She chuckles. “Wait—you don’t, do you?”
The doorbell chimes, sending Dickey Bird into a wild tizzy as he whistles, beeps, and sings every ringtone and alarm he’s ever learned.
Thank God. Saved by—the bell rings again.