Just Joe ~ Jen Luerssen Read online

  As I put my phone down, the lights go down and I let myself enjoy the experience.

  Just Get Your Hands Off Her

  THE EXPERIENCE IS SIMILAR TO all the others but also not. I watch the same opening sparkle tits sequence, the tango couple, Betsy’s solo and a few other routines. There’s an intermission a little bit after her solo so I go to the bathroom and order another drink. I text Jack and he tells me he’s staying at Kel’s again. I’m happy because it’s time, I need to face Betsy and put it all out there. I’m not 100% sure what all out there means but I have to let ‘er rip.

  I take a big gulp of my drink when the music starts and almost choke on it when the curtain goes up and Betsy is about 10 feet off the ground, wound up in two long swaths of silky green fabric hanging from the ceiling. Her back is arched, one leg bent and her neck is long with her head all the way back. Her braid falls behind her, making her seem even longer. She unrolls herself to the floor and dances with the hanging fabric, hiding her body for the most part. I catch glimpses of her bare skin, colorful flashes in between the green. I’m loving everything about this until someone else slides down the hanging fabric from the ceiling. It’s the tango dude and he is wearing a sparkly, dark green, fucking tight speedo. I can tell it’s tight because I can also tell his religion from the outline of his monster dick.

  Once he lands, his dance with Betsy begins. It’s a teasing dance between them, he’s trying to get to her and she’s giving him chase until he catches her. My fist tightens around my drink and I take a giant swig. I lean forward and watch as he finally catches her and picks her up by her upper thighs. It’s then that we all get a view of what Betsy is wearing. Her minuscule g-string matches his green speedo, her entire body is covered in a shimmery makeup and then that’s it. No shoes, no stockings, no top, just the tiny scrap of a g-string.

  He changes the position as he raises her over his head, her shins on his shoulders, her arms wrap around the fabric so she is barely resting on him. Her legs go straight on either side of his head and he pulls her back so her crotch is so close to his face he could stick his tongue out and lick her. Oh fuck, he just stuck his tongue out and licked her! I mean, I’m sure he didn’t really, but now they are doing this elaborately beautiful simulated oral sex dance and my dick is rock hard but I’m also fuming. How could she do this with some dickwad she hardly knows? Maybe she does know him? That makes me even more livid.

  I’m being a possessive and jealous asshole, I can see it but I can’t control the way I feel. During a quiet break in the music, Betsy swings forward and flips to her back. When she swings back, she wraps her legs round the dude’s neck and lets go, draping herself down the front of his body. He bites the inside of her tender thigh and I growl and stand. People are staring at me as I walk to the stairs and exit the theater. Thankfully I’ve paid for everything in cash as I ordered and I’m not stiffing my waiter. I barely think of this as I start walking.

  I walk past Union Square and down to Jackson Square Park, where I sit on a long ledge. There aren’t many people out and about. It’s not that busy at night, a vast difference from the daily crowd. I get up and continue my walk to the Embarcadero. I’m finally somewhat cooled off by the time I get to the Ferry Building. I sit on a bench and think about what the fuck I’m doing. Why I had such a visceral reaction to Betsy dancing with a man. I can imagine I’d have a different reaction if they were merely dancing instead of the almost fucking they were doing.

  Did she do this for me? If she did, was it to piss me off or turn me on? Maybe she just wanted a reaction. Of course, I gave her one and like a complete jackwagon I lost it and left. I feel so tired suddenly. I find the Lyft app on my phone and order a car that comes in like 30 seconds, thank god.

  When I get home, I go through the motions of getting ready for bed. I sit on my chair in my boxers and attempt to wait up for her. Around midnight I wake up suddenly and check the house to see if she’s here. She’s not. I go back to my room and lay spread eagle on my bed and berate myself until I fall asleep. Before I drift off, I make a promise to myself to stop fucking around and talk honestly with Betsy.

  * * *

  She didn’t come home last night. Or if she did, she didn’t come to my room. Her door is slightly ajar and I try to peek in as I walk by but I don’t see anything. Jack is in the kitchen sitting at the island drinking coffee. I check the time and it’s only ten. Early for him, especially on a Sunday.

  “Hey, I thought you were at Kel’s,” I say, pouring myself a cup of coffee.

  “I was, but then I wasn’t feeling well so I came home. Couldn’t sleep.” He rubs his eyes and I look at him, he does look a little pale.

  “You sure it’s not all the knockin’ boots you’re doing?” I ask while gyrating my hips suggestively.

  “Ugh, no, please stop doing that, it’s making it worse,” he says but has a small smile on his lips.

  I stop and start taking things out to make french toast, his favorite. “I’ll make you some breakfast and that should help.”

  He moans and takes a sip of coffee. When I’m almost finished making the french toast, Betsy comes in the front door. I inspect her outfit and she is in head to toe black. Back yoga pants and a tight black tank top. “Morning, Jack,” she says very obviously ignoring my fabulous presence.

  “Morning, Bets, yoga?” he asks.

  “Yep, had to stretch after a very rigorous performance last night,” she says and winks at him.

  They high five and I want to throw something. “Nice. Joe just finished making french toast. It’s so good, like the legit only thing he makes well.”

  I fake hurt, “How dare you?”

  “Oh please, bro, I dare because I’ve had your lasagna, baked chicken and enchiladas,” he says and he’s right.

  “Fair point,” I concede, then look to Betsy. “How many slices, Bets?”

  “Two,” she says and that’s it. One syllable, no eye contact. We are back to this.

  I serve up the food and we all eat. Betsy and Jack talk about her yoga class and how much she was stretching her chi or whatever. She asks him about Kel and they talk about her for a while. Jack mentions watching her sleep this morning before he left.

  “Jack, that’s sweet. Just make sure you don’t become one of those creepy voyeurs,” she says and that’s it.

  I stand up and my barstool falls behind me in a loud clatter. “I did not mean to do that,” I say and then take Betsy’s hand. “Come with me outside please.”

  I drag her behind me, she’s making it hard on purpose but is keeping up. The sliding door opens easily and I close it behind us once outside. “I went to your show last night,” I say.

  She stands in front of me arms folded. “I know. What I don’t know is why you were there and didn’t tell me.”

  My hand rubs the back of my neck as I avoid looking her in the eye. “I’m not sure why, but I need to go on record that I’ve been to several of your shows.”

  I see her flinch out of the corner of my vision and I look at her. She is staring at me eyes blinking. “Joe, I’ve invited you to come see me. It is or was an open invite. Why would you try to sneak around like a fucking weirdo?”

  I shrug and she sighs.

  “At first I thought you were going to surprise me and I was excited. Once I knew you were coming and not telling me, going out of your way to hide it, it hurt my feelings.”

  I grab her upper arms and she looks at me. “I never want to hurt you, Betsy. My only explanation is at first, I thought I would go and surprise you. Then I went and I was forever changed, you changed me. It scares me a lot, and yet I couldn’t stay away. I look forward to every performance. Last night’s with that guy being the exception.”

  She huffs out a laugh, shaking her head. “You’re an idiot. You told me I was your friend, made a big deal out it actually. Friends don’t sneak around and hide shit from each other.”

  “Please don’t be angry with me, Betsy. I promise I just wanted to have some
thing for myself for a bit. I meant no harm.” I drop my hands and she rubs her arms.

  “I am angry with you, but I’ll forgive you soon, I need to be away from you for a little, okay?”

  As I nod my okay, Fucking Frank slides the door open and comes outside.

  I introduce him to Betsy and he gives me a look that telegraphs him being a dick to me about this situation in a few minutes.

  Betsy makes her escape and I take Frank’s teasing. He’s always been the king of the one-sided love affair. Now finds it endlessly amusing that I’m in a similar situation. Unfortunately, he is distracted by his own troubles with Mikey. I invite him to stay and we order a pizza and drink beer. Betsy joins us eventually and she and Frank get along. It’s annoying. After we finish pizza, we hang in the living room watching baseball and sipping our beers.

  “I’m going to bed,” Jack says with a yawn around ten o’clock, early for him.

  “You okay, Bearcub? You look a little pale,” Frank says. His mom called Jack, Bearcub when he was little because he was gangly and had long hair. The long hair was probably my fault because I didn’t know how to do stuff like take my kid brother to the barber.

  “I’m good, just too much partying and sexy times and not enough sleep,” Jack answers and heads up to his room.

  About fifteen minutes later, Frank passes out on the couch and Bets and I are sitting on the floor leaning against the love seat. She managed to wrestle Frank’s phone from him so he wouldn’t be pathetic and drunk text Mikey, who broke up with him today. I’m surprised but I’m sure they’ll work it out. I can’t imagine another person on the planet who could be more perfect for Frank than Mikey. I’m starting to feel the same about the woman sitting next to me.

  Just All of It

  BETSY’S HEAD IS RESTING ON the cushion and as I take her hand, she turns her head to me. I speak first, knowing I’m the one who needs to grovel a bit. “I’m sorry I went to your shows and was a creeper.”

  “I’m sorry you went behind my back and lied,” she says but smiles at me. “I guess I forgive you.”

  “I wish I could properly convey to you how much you move me when you dance.”

  She leans forward. “Not just moving your pants?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t do that,” I say and she closes her eyes. “I’m trying to tell you how your dancing has changed my life and you’re making a joke. I get it. I’d do the same. I’m serious, Bets, you are luminous and soul moving.”

  She sits up and takes my hand. “I’m sorry, I believe you, it’s hard for me, because most of the time I just hear about the masterful boner I made the person have. It means a lot to me that you get me and my passion.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I do, I get you. Not for nothing, my boner was majestic every time.” I laugh and she pulls her hand from me and pushes me over.

  “Dick.”

  “That’s me,” I say as I right myself. “Tell me about Ohio.”

  Her laughter stops abruptly. “Ohio? You want to hear about how I was an awkward kid, braces, pimples, and bad haircuts? Or do you want to hear about how my dad hit me with a belt when he caught me touching myself in the bathtub when I was six?”

  I take her hand back. “All of it. I want to know all about you—the pain, the joy, the awkward. Hold on,” I say and run to the kitchen to get us each a fresh beer. “Here, this will grease your squeaky story wheels. Leave nothing out.”

  She shakes her head. “You are something else, Joe. I agree to tell you about me, but I want awkward pre-teen stories about you too.”

  I reach out and pull her slouchy shirt up over her shoulder. “Tits for tats?”

  “That makes no sense, especially because you don’t have either of those. There’s no exchange.”

  I just smile like the idiot I am and stare at the poppy on the side of her throat. Someday I’ll get to lick all of her flowers, as well as her lady garden. “I’m an open book, Bestie, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

  “Even about the time you shit your pants at Alicia’s?” she asks, her hands steepled under her chin.

  “Sure, everyone thinks I’m embarrassed by that story and I’m not,” I say because it’s true. I pretend I’m scared but I just do that so my friends think they have some power over me. I couldn’t care less about it. “I’ll save it for later, I have a feeling we will need some comic relief. I wish Jack was up, he tells it the best.”

  “Deal, so is there anything specific you want to know?”

  “Nah, just a general idea of your childhood and then how you ended up in our fair city. Then your life of misery until I showed up on your doorstep.”

  “I’ve never met someone who loves themselves as much as you do,” she says. “How did you get such a strong self-esteem?”

  “I can see you projecting, but I’ll allow it,” I answer, shaking my finger at her. “My mom and dad were great and they gave me a lot of freedom to develop my music and whatever else interested me. They supported me no matter what but didn’t put up with any bullshit either. I completely realize how lucky and privileged I am, but I also fully realize how fucking awesome I am. Not just as a guitarist or running my business. There’s this amazing package, too.” I lift up my shirt to show my abs.

  “Ugh, you are the worst while also being the best,” she teases me. “You are fucking awesome to me because you are thoughtful, smart, and a great dad.”

  My heart stops for a beat and then a wash of feeling pours through me. “Thanks, Bestie. I mean it,” I say when she looks skeptical. “I don’t get many compliments about my intelligence or parenting skills. Enough about me though, spill it.”

  “Fine,” she says and lets out a huff of air. “My childhood was rather privileged as well. My dad is a pastor of a super church and my mom was a teacher—she’s retired now. We lived in a big house and I had everything I could ever wish for, except parents who treated me like a child instead of a way to improve their image. I was supposed to be the perfect pastor’s kid. If I stepped out of line, I got the belt or locked in my closet. I quickly learned how to either drop things that upset my parents or hide it well. Then, in middle school and high school, I didn’t have many friends. People didn’t want to be associated with the goodie-goodie church girl. Well, some did, the boys who wanted to see if I had a naughty side.”

  “Which you did,” I say because she is smiling.

  “Hell yes, I did. I was really good at sneaking around but was smart about it. I didn’t fuck around with guys I didn’t trust, and I brought my own protection or we didn’t get down.”

  “How old were you when you lost your v-card?”

  “I was 17, not too early. I had one boyfriend for a while in my senior year, but he dumped me by email and never spoke to me again. Later, I found out my dad paid him to break up with me. He didn’t approve. I guess he was right if the guy took the money over staying with me.”

  “Your dad sounds like a real peach,” I say.

  “Yeah, we’ve had our issues. Once I went away to school, he was forced to accept me or lose me. We didn’t talk for a year. He was livid because I applied to schools on the west coast without his permission. I got into Stanford with a full ride and there wasn’t jack shit he could do about it. I drove the car he gave me for my 17th birthday out here and sold it to pay for things until I could get a job. I haven’t been back since.” She stretches, arching her back, and her shirt falls down to reveal her colorful shoulder.

  “You haven’t seen your parents in ten years?” I ask.

  “My mom came to see me a few years ago and she cried over my tattoos and my hair, which was bright pink at the time. She left after two days because she said she couldn’t stay in my apartment where the devil had surely taken up residence along with me.” She shrugs and sighs. “It’s fine, I’m resigned to having them only half in my life. Like I said, we find safe things to talk about and they don’t ask me about anything in my life.” She laughs suddenly. “Oh my god, they’d love you.”
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br />   “Really? I mean, most people do, but how would I pass muster?”

  “You’re clean-cut, you have no tattoos or piercings, you own a business, your own home and raised your brother.” She puts her head in her hands. “Do you believe in God?”

  “Not so much one God, but more of a general possibility of some higher power. My parents were not religious and were adamant about us making our own choices about our faith when we were adults.” She looks at me and smiles. “Jack is a full-on atheist.”

  “Okay, so you’re not 100% perfect but they’d still approve. When I was in college, I went through a six-month phase where I read the Bible, joined a campus bible study and really tried to take it seriously. I just couldn’t. In a huge fight with my dad once, I told him it was his fault I left the church. He made it so I resented anything to do with it because it hurt me both mentally and physically. The only reason we still talk is because of that argument. He hung up, prayed, and then called me back and apologized for the physical abuse. He was so sincere I forgave him and now we have a very limited interaction but I can’t shut him out completely.”

  My heart is breaking for her. She is clearly affected by her parent’s scorn and lack of support. “You are so strong, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

  “I never knew anything else. It has kept me from making friends easily.” She looks at her hands. “Did I tell you how I met Jeannette?”

  I shake my head. “I thought you met when you came to see the house?”

  “Nope, she was the one who told me about it. I got in early because she knew about the sale before it was officially listed. She and I met at a women’s shelter years ago.”

  “So, you are a tech genius, a superstar dancer and a saint?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “Definitely not a saint. When I first moved to the city after graduating, I felt lost. I had a great job since I was recruited in my senior year, and my apartment was fine. I hadn’t started at Lady Marmalade yet and had no creative outlet. I was 22, living by myself, working ten-hour days. My social life was non-existent and I had zero friends.”