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.
“Sorry, Gee-Gee. Someone’s at the door; I need to go. I’ll talk to you later. Love you. Bye.”
I swipe my finger across the screen. “Shush, Dickey. You’re going to wake the beast.”
As I pass his large perch, he bobs his head and flaps his wings. “Beware the beast.”
Sometimes I’d swear that bird does more than mimic what he hears. “Shh. I see you. I see you. Attention hound.”
I turn the handle on the door, still laughing at the bird.
“Well, look at that smile. I’m glad you’re happy to see me.”
Shit.
Jackson Tremaine. And look, he’s brought along his smug grin.
“What are you doing here?” I pull the edge of my cami top up a notch and cross my arms over my breasts.
He shrugs and hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his tattered jeans. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Yeah, right. “You come to West Hollywood often? Don’t they have everything you need where you live?”
“I live not too far from here.” He glances over his shoulder toward his car.
A sedan. Upper end… but still, I’m surprised it isn’t some testosterone fueled sports car.