“That was a success,” says Cat happily, collapsing onto the bed and stretching amongst the pillows.
“It was,” I reply, lying down next to her, throwing an arm over her stomach.
“We can clean up tomorrow,” she laughs, referring to the mountains of cups, bottles, and oddly enough, discarded clothes scattered throughout the house, courtesy of our departed guests.
Laughing, I pull her towards me, her head coming to rest on my chest. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
“So,” she begins, sitting up to kneel on the bed, with a smile on her face. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes,” I reply, reaching out to toy with a curl. “Thank you for doing that for me, baby.”
She shrugs coyly. “It’s no problem. Happy birthday,” she repeats for what must be the fifth time today, bending down to kiss me.
“Thank you.” Running my hands up her legs a few times, I grin. “So, what did my mom do?”
Cat shakes her head and laughs. “God, you don’t even wanna know.”
Groaning, I pull her on top of me, carefully placing one leg on each side of my torso, so that she straddles me. And of course I’m not trying to put sex into her mind. “Did it involve Trace?”
Unable to control her giggles, she nods. “I think he enjoyed it, actually.”
“Enjoyed what?”
“Well, I went into the living room to see your mother dancing a little…provocatively.”
“Oh no…”
“I’ve never seen anyone grind with so much passion!” she says, laughing as her eyes twinkle. “As soon as she saw Trace, she literally grabbed him and continued to do a rather magnificent display of pelvic thrusts.”
“Oh, good God,” I mumble, covering my face with her hands.
“The poor guy looked horrified.”
“I can imagine,” I groan, a rather disturbing image of my mother grinding into Trace feverishly entering my mind. “Did she do anything else?”
Cat nods. “Well, Chris came in to see what all the commotion was about, and when I told him your mom was getting freaky with Trace, he shouted, ‘Hey, I want a piece of that’, and kindly took over the position as a pole for your mother. In fact, Chris was quite a lively dance partner for her.”
“Oh Jesus.”
“I blame him for encouraging her. He started shouting something about her ass and how they could make great kids together, and then started spanking her.”
“That’s my mother,” I protest, scrunching my face in disgust. “How perverted is Chris?”
“Very, apparently,” she snorts, shaking her head at the memory. “I know Trace is thankful. He was almost shaking when Chris took over.”
“How long did this splendid peep show last for?”
“When she saw me, she stopped,” she comforts, running a hand through my hair. “I tried to slyly drag her away from the bar, but she seemed pretty attached to those vodka shots. We had an interesting conversation, actually.”
“What did she say?”
“That we should get married,” Cat giggles, lazily dragging her fingernail over the skin exposed by my shirt. “And apparently, your last girlfriend was a bulimic bitch who couldn’t keep her food down for two seconds. She said she liked me a lot better, and that she was happy you were dating a ‘real woman’ for a change. Then she started telling me I had fantastic breasts.”
“Why was I born to such a crazy drunk?”
Cat shrugs. “I found it quite amusing. Trace, however, did not.”
“Well, I’d be pretty scarred for life if his mom started rubbing her ass into my leg.”
“You know, it was more his crotch,” she says decidedly, laughing when I groan from revulsion. “But at least we know she likes me. And Trace, apparently. She likes Trace a whole lot.”
Shuddering for a final time, I pat her thigh. “So, apart from my mother’s clear ambition to be a stripper, how did you find the party?”
“It was better than I thought it would be,” she answers, the sincerity in her eyes assuring me she’s being honest. “There were a few assholes, but apart from that, it was fine.”
“Who was an asshole?”
“I can’t remember her name…” she trails off in thought, chewing her lip. “She was really pretty. She came up to me just after you left to talk to that choreographer guy.”
“What did she look like?”
Cat rolls her eyes. “A beauty queen. Perfect skin, silky black hair, she was wearing this white tank top…”
“Was she a complete bitch?”
“Yes,” she replies decisively.
“Oh, that was probably Sara. She must have gotten an invite through a friend, because there’s no way Trace would have wanted her here. What did she do?”
“Look at me like I was a piece of gum on her shoe,” Cat mutters, looking down at her twisting hands.
“Are you okay?” I ask, anger pouring through me as hurt flashes in Cat’s eyes.
“Yeah,” she mumbles. “She just made me feel really…small.”
“Hey,” I say, sitting up to hold Cat’s face in my hands. “Don’t let people like that get you down, they’re not important.”
“I know.”
“And you’re ten times better than her.”
She smiles. “Really?”
“I love you,” I whisper in answer, getting the small, shy smile I love to see from Cat.
“I love you too.”
“Don’t worry about Sara, she was probably just jealous.” Snaking my arms around her waist, I pull her body over me a bit. “We had a brief relationship, and she always wanted to take it further, but I never did.”
Cat raises an eyebrow. “How brief?”
Blushing, I look down. “A night…”
“Well, I hate that stupid whore, but I still disapprove,” she says, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“You’ve got better boobs than her, you know. Oh, wait, my mom already pointed that out.”
She beams. “She meant well. You know, I’d say I was at least a cup size bigger than her.”
Smiling, I drag my fingers over her thighs. “You looked great tonight.”
“Thank you,” she grins, shuffling slightly, knowing just how close she is to my crotch.
“And now you’re teasing me.”
“I am not!” she protests in a girly way which clearly says, ‘you know it’. I know she’s only acting like this because of the substantial amount of alcohol coursing through her veins, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to take advantage of it.
“So,” I begin, a smirk creeping its way onto my face as my hands inch up her dress. “What is underneath this?”
She giggles. “Well, part of your birthday present.”
“Just part of it?”
She nods. “The other part is tickets to this football game, but Trace will fill you in on that.”
“Thank you,” I cut in.
“Somehow though, I think you’re going to like this one better,” her mischievous grin assures me I will.
“Oh really? And why is that?”
“Because if you didn’t, I’m afraid I’d have to assume you were gay,” she states simply, leaning over and dimming the lights.
“You make far too many references to me being gay, did you know that?”
“You give me far to many reason to make those references, Justin,” she replies haughtily, unbuttoning my shirt. “I saw that lip gloss you put on. What was that all about?”
“It was not lip gloss, it was lip balm,” I stress, throwing my shirt to the side and sitting up to shower her neck with kisses. “I had chapped lips.”
“Whatever, Justin,” she murmurs distractedly, her hand pushing my lips against her more urgently. “We have a twisted sense of foreplay, do you know that?”
Laughing, I switch our positions, so I can hover over her on all fours and bend down to kiss her. “I know. Normal people whisper how much they love each other, we doubt each other’s sexuality.”
“But we’re not normal,” she adds, grinning.
“Nope,” I laugh, reaching behind her to unzip the back of her dress, the crackly noise of the zipper silencing us both.
“It’s nothing special,” she begins to ramble, as I gently ease the silky black dress off her body. “It’s just a souvenir from my one and only trip to Agent Provocateur.”
Smiling, I kiss her forehead and take in the sight of black lace and red ribbon. It’s nothing too crazy, but it’s not Cat’s usual, so I know she made a special effort for me. “You look great.”
She grin, bending her head shyly. “Thank you. Oh, and before I forget,” she reaches across to her bedside drawer and pulls out a wrapped package. “These are for you. Trace recommended them.”
Kneeling up, I rip of the paper with a raised eyebrow, before letting out a peal of laughter. “Handcuffs?”
She grins and sits up, shrugging. “I thought it was the kind of thing that would appeal to your dirty nature.”
“You were right,” I chuckle, turning over the handcuffs in my hands.
She laughs and lays back down, before frowning at my sly expression. “What’s wrong? It was just a joke.”
I grin at her.
“We’re not actually going to use those, are we?” comes her shocked voice, her eyes flying between my face and handcuffs in my hand.
Raising an eyebrow suggestively, I lean down to kiss her. “Aren’t we?”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was a joke, alright? A funny, ha ha, that was a good one, joke. If I wanted to use handcuffs when I had sex, I’d be dating a policeman. I was so shocked, I didn’t even realize Justin fiddling with the lock until it was too late and I was attached to the headrest. Alcohol clearly slows down my reactions. And my morals.
Eventually, the handcuff idea was abandoned because we were laughing too much. Such a shame, really. We just had normal, old fashioned, boring, mind-blowing, earth-quaking sex.
Tying the terrycloth robe around my waist, I gently tug on the drawstrings at the window, opening the blinds. I didn’t drink too much last night, but I think every beverage supplied was 50% pure alcohol, so the slight pounding in my head doesn’t surprise me.
“Close it,” comes a muffled cry amongst the pillows.
Smiling, I turn to see Justin entwined in the sheets, one hand shielding his face from the sunlight. “It’s time to get up, deary. It’s already twelve.”
“So?!” he protests, rolling over, putting his back to me. “Trace won’t be up ‘til three, at least.”
Laughing I crawl on the bed, ready to tickle him if needs be. “Justin, come on, get up.”
“No.”
“But I’m on my own,” I complain, frowning grumpily, slapping my fist on the sheets.
“Go check the backyard, maybe someone passed out on the golf course.”
“Justin!” I moan again, tugging at the sheets slightly. He makes no effort to budge, so I raise an eyebrow triumphantly. There’s no way he’ll turn down this.
“If you don’t get up and keep me company right now, there will be no sex in this bed for three months.”
The yanking of the reclamation of the sheets stops and silence greets me, before it is broken by a whiny, “That is so unfair!”
Grinning, I get off the bed as he begrudgingly rolls of it, throwing on a t-shirt over his boxers.
“You’d better make me coffee, woman,” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Come on, let’s go,” I say brightly, taking his hand and pulling him downstairs. I wouldn’t normally be so happy in the mornings, but knowing how annoying this must be to Justin cheers me up somewhat.
He collapses at the table, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “How come you’re in such a good mood?”
I shrug. “I might still be a bit drunk.”
“Well, I can’t wait until you deal with the hangover from your drunkity,” he mutters, rubbing his head painfully.
“Drunkity isn’t a word,” I kindly point out, receiving a thunderous glare in return.
Relenting slightly, I slide two Advil and a glass of water across the table to him. “Thanks,” he mumbles, quickly swallowing them as I stand up at the shrill piercing of the phone.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Hi, can I speak to the Trousersnake please?”
Jesus, prank calls, they just never stop, do they? Do thirteen year olds seriously find this funny? Because I don’t.
“I’m sorry, there’s no Trousersnake here,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “But there is a Ben Dover, if you’re interested.”
The person at the other end of the line laughs as Justin gives me a concerned look. “It’s some guy asking for a Trousersnake,” I tell him, pressing the phone against my shoulder.
Justin grins. “That’s probably for me, then.”
“Why did he call you Trousersnake?” I reprimand. “This really returns to that gay thing, Justin.”
“Everybody calls me Trousersnake. And I think you know why,” he winks at me.
Casting an eye downwards, I shrug. “I can’t think of any reasons.”
The easiest way to insult a man is to go for his penis size. Justin knows he’s perfectly fine in that department, but he still has an appalled, offended expression, as though I just said I thought his mother was a hooker. Honestly, men really need to calm down.
“I’m just kidding,” I whisper comfortingly, so our guest on the phone doesn’t hear us. “You’ve got an enormous penis.”
He quickly wipes off his stunned face, and replaces it with a self-satisfied smirk. “I thought so.”
Rolling my eyes at him, I hold out the telephone, surprised the person on the other end hasn’t hung up. “But I’ve seen bigger.”
Trying to stifle his laugh, he rises from the table to snatch the phone off me with a mock scowl. “Hello?”
I try not to listen to his conversation, but my attempt fails and I sit at the kitchen table, fiddling with a napkin.
Justin sighs in annoyance. “Yeah, I know. They’ve been getting on my back too.”
Who’s been getting on his back? About what?
“I guess they’re right, it has been a year after all,” he says in defeat.
A year since what?
“No man, I’m not worried. Is it just a meeting they want?”
“Cool, I can do that. But tell them I’m not making any promises.” His eyes fly to me. “There’s other people I need to discuss it with.”
Knots begin to tie themselves in my stomach as Justin turns away from me, suddenly engrossed in the cream wall.
“It’s not that, it’s whether I want to.”
“Well, I guess I do, sort of.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Okay, cool. I’ll be there at ten. Later, dawg.”
He hangs up the phone and turns to me, his hands twisting guiltily together. “Um…I need to talk to you.”
My heart fills with dread. I don’t know what he’s talking about, but I can imagine. He probably hooked up with some old flame last night when I was watching Lynn’s spectacular show, and now it’s over for us. I hate him.
“Yeah, it sounds like you do,” I whisper.
-----------------------------------------------------
I know it makes me look even guiltier when I wring my hands together like this, but for some reason, I just can’t stop doing it. I haven’t even done anything wrong, but I’m still nervous.
Maybe it’s the somber expression that suddenly replaced the happy one on Cat’s face. Maybe it’s the way she didn’t even correct me for saying, ‘dawg’, on the telephone. Maybe it’s just me getting nervous about the meeting tomorrow already.
It’s nothing, really. I just have to go into Memphis tomorrow for a meeting with these big cheese execs, who will pound me to release another album, and I’ll just shrug politely and say I’ll think about it. Come on, I’ve been doing it for the last year, I can do it again.
Only, how effective is it going to be, again? My repeat performance must be getting old, and I can’t spin them the line that I’ll do occasional appearances and shit, because I know its gotten to a point where that isn’t enough. I really should go back to the studio, hell, part of me even wants to. After everything I’ve felt with Cat, I’ve got half an album’s worth of songs already, and I know they could do really well.
But then there’s still that part that’s dragging me down and saying, “Why do you want to go back? You know how crazy things will just get again. And, more importantly, you know Cat won’t like it.”
I’m sure she’d be supportive, I don’t think she’d give me an ultimatum of her or my career, but it would mean big changes for us. We wouldn’t be able to stay in Tennessee, I would have to start saying I was single, Cat would have to give up her job…would she really do that for me?
“Listen, baby…” I begin, before the realization that she hasn’t butted in to say, ‘Baby? Do I look like the type of girl who gets called baby?’ dawns on me. Have I done this to her? Have I made her softer? That would normally make me jump up and down, because yes, I’ve cracked Cat! But now…it worries me. She’s more in touch with her emotions than she was, and I have no doubt the press would pick up on that. What if she couldn’t deal with the cameras, the reporters, her life splashed across the headlines? What if she told me to go find someone else and I was on my own?
“Cat,” I start again, shaking my head free of the rapid train of thoughts as I sit down opposite her. “That was Chad.”
“Chad who?” she interrupts, causing a slight smile to appear on my face.
“He’s Pharrell’s partner in producing,” I explain.
She nods, her eyes filled with fear. “And…” she urges me to continue.
I take a breath. “Um…yes, well, he called to say…”
“To say what, Justin?” she snaps impatiently.
“Tomorrow, I have to go to a meeting to discuss…potentially doing another album,” I spit out, wild hand gestures accompanying my words. “The record label have been hammering on about it for months now, but I really think this time they mean it. I need to go into the meeting to see whether I can hold them off for a little longer, or whether I just have to do it.”
“Are you breaking up with me?” she accuses, folding her arms over her chest.
My eyes widen with surprise. “No! Hell no! Are you breaking up with me?”
“Of course not, I was just expecting you to say you’d gotten someone pregnant or something,” she waves off as we laugh, easing some of the tension in the room.
“Do you want to do another album?” she asks seriously, tilting her head to the side thoughtfully.
I pause. “I…I think it would be best. I’ve been away for far too long.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, nodding. “If that’s what you want.”
“Well, what do you want?” I ask, reaching across the table and clasping her hands.
“I want you to be happy,” she replies honestly.
“But if you really don’t want me to do another one, then I understand and I’ll just say--”
“No,” she silences me. “Look, Justin, I’ve been thinking about this, and times like last night reminded me who you are, and what’s expected of you.”
Leaning back in her seat, she sighs. “I mean, I just watched you go from one little circle to the next, talking with everyone, making everyone laugh, looking gorgeous, and I thought yes, entertaining is what he’s meant to do.” She puts her elbow on the table, supporting her head with her hand. “I know I don’t necessarily fit into that little world, nor do I want to,” she rolls her eyes. “But I don’t want to hold you back from what you were clearly born to do.”
I think I love her more with each word out of her mouth. “I don’t want to leave this, though,” I admit quietly.
“What’s ‘this’?”
“This. You and me. And Trace,” I add, smirking. “Us just…having fun, goofing around, waiting for you to come back from work so we can get into trouble.”
She laughs, replacing her hand in mine. “I know. I’ve had a lot of fun too.”
“And it’s natural fun, not the type of fun Trace and I had when we were drunk, or stoned, or whatever…” I sigh, looking down at the table for a second, my eyes dancing over a cut in the wood. “I don’t want to leave that, you know?”
She nods. “But…you can always come back to it. We have our whole lives to be the weird threesome we are now.”
I laugh. “So you’re okay with me going to the meeting tomorrow?”
She takes a breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah, yes I am,” she says finally.
Placing a kiss on her forehead, I murmur, “Thing are going to be just fine Cat, just fine.”
She squeezes me hand and manages a weak smile. “I hope so.”
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