Just Joe ~ Jen Luerssen Page 7

  We practice for a few hours, trying a few new songs that are possibilities for recording. After, Andrew and I head back to the Bitter Bean for some dinner. They have sandwiches and salads and sell beer and wine after five. We both order and take our beers and food to a table.

  “I’m happy for Li and Javi. They’ll have pretty babies,” I say then take a sip of beer.

  Andrew sighs. “Pretty babies are a pain in my ass lately.”

  “Is my Mae-day giving you a hard time?” He and his wife, Jen, have the sweetest three-year-old, Mae. She and I are pretty tight. I’m the only one who gets on the ground with her and I throw her around a lot. Kids love to be thrown around.

  “Not during the day,” he says wiping his hands over his face. He finally took his sunglasses off and he has major sleepy bags under his eyes. “She’s been waking up with pain in her legs. It’s just growing pains, but she wakes up with a blood-curdling scream. Jen and I take turns, but it takes a long time to get your heartbeat back to normal after that kind of wake up. It’s normal kid stuff, but I’m wiped.”

  “Jack had those until he was 12. Hate to break it to you. He also had the occasional nightmare, I don’t miss those days.”

  “I don’t know if I can handle nine more years of waking in the night. Any recommendations?” he asks and I feel a warmth that he’s asking me for parenting advice. It’s a new feeling.

  “I gave Jack a heating pad and ibuprofen and that seemed to do the trick. If he had the pains one night, I’d give him the meds again the next night. I learned he’d get them a few nights in a row so I’d dose him preemptively.”

  “We haven’t tried a heating pad—I’ll get one on the way home, thanks, Joe.” I nod and dig into my food.

  We sit and eat in silence like we often do. Andrew is a quiet and serious type, although his sense of humor is better than all of ours. I always feel a little calmer around him, like I need to be on my best behavior. He doesn’t talk a lot so my endless rambling seems obscene when it’s just the two of us so I am pretty low key too. He’d probably disagree. I still talk a shit ton, but I hold a lot in. Like now, I want to tell him all about Betsy and last night and ask him to help me. I’m holding it in to a point where it’s almost painful.

  Since he knows me and knows I’m dying to share, he quietly eats his salad, not talking. Fucker. He’s going to force me to just be out with it.

  “I think I’m in trouble,” I say and he gives me a serious look. “Not actual trouble, but lady trouble.”

  “Okay, lay it on me.”

  “It’s my newest client, which I know is not smart, I see that judge-y look.” He is staring at me like I’m nuts, which, duh, obviously I’m nuts.

  “You’d think someone giving you thousands of dollars to take care of their home would be off the dating list, but you’re Joe, so . . .” He’s not wrong. I’ve slept with a lot of people I shouldn’t have.

  Oh, you want details? Here are a few: I fucked Jack’s fifth grade teacher after the promotion ceremony (so technically not his teacher anymore) in the supply closet in her classroom—I know I’m a disgusting person. We used to have back-up singers. Let’s just say I slept with enough of them that Lia gave up finding new ones when they left after being pissed at me for something. I mean, I’m a single parent and I took nookie where I could. I’m sorry a few hearts were broken but I never make any promises.

  “She’s great, Andrew, like life changing great,” I say, not giving him any details, just the most important information.

  “If she’s that great then just ask her out. Don’t dick around.”

  Just Ask Her Out

  WHEN I GET HOME, BETSY is on the couch watching some weird baking show. When I say weird, there’s like puppets in the kitchen with the pretty lady host. My pretty lady is in the same outfit that she was wearing when I left earlier.

  “Hey Bestie, you having a lazy day?” I ask with zero judgment as I plop myself down next to her and steal half her blanket.

  She tugs the blanket back. “Get used to this look on a Sunday. It’s my only complete day off so I am a total potato. I hope that’s okay that I’m here all day on Sundays.” She dips her hand in a large bowl of popcorn then shoves a large handful into her mouth. Ugh, why is that sexy to me?

  “Please, I’ve told you more than once to make yourself at home. I have practice most Sundays but otherwise, it’s pretty free for me too. Is Jack home?”

  She shakes her head while she finishes chewing. “He was but he went out again. Said he had a project to do with a friend and was crashing with him.”

  I lay back on the couch pulling on the blanket again. It’s a fluffy fake fur thing and fun to pet. “I like this blankie. Why won’t you share with me?”

  She relents and allows me a small corner to cover my legs. “How was practice?”

  “Good, we got a contract and a mini west coast tour, and Lia, the lead singer is pregnant,” I say matter of factly.

  “Oh, so no big news at all?”

  “Pretty normal stuff,” I say and grab a handful of popcorn.

  “Wow, I’d like to see when you have exciting news.”

  “It’s pretty awesome. I’m so happy for my friend, she’s going be a great mom,” I say sincerely, bouncing on the couch a little.

  “You would know, being a great dad.” She’s staring at the television as she says this and I can’t take my eyes off her.

  “Thanks, that means a lot,” I say. “What is this fucking weird show?” I ask as I notice the woman making some funky ass spider out of cake, I think. She’s now talking to not one but two puppets, a creepy cat and a raccoon.

  “It’s called The Curious Creations of Christine McConnell, she’s like a goth Martha Stewart. I’m completely in love with her. Plus, Dita is in it.”

  “Dita?” I ask clueless.

  “Only the most famous burlesque dancer of our time, Dita Von Teese. She did a few shows at Lady Marmalade last year and I learned so much. She’s fucking rad.” She points her out when she comes on screen and she’s pretty but doesn’t hold a candle to the woman sitting next to me.

  We watch in silence as Christine makes a pretzel covered in peanut butter look like a human bone. I’m not sure what the fuck this is but it’s fascinating. Did I mention she has an octopus in her fridge? After watching about three episodes, I decide it’s my new favorite show. The banter between her and the puppets is hilarious and the food she makes looks delicious yet impossible to make.

  “I’m in love with her too,” I say after the fifth episode.

  “I hate to tell you there’s only one more episode,” she says putting the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “The raccoon kills me.”

  “I love her but I’m a real fan of the mummy cat,” I say stretching and yawning.

  “You tired from your self-love shenanigans? Or was practice exhausting?”

  “Probably a combination of the two. I think we were all over excited about all the news. I was a little disappointed to have to turn down the full U.S. tour but someday we will do it.”

  “Is that something you dream about?” she asks.

  “Yes and no. It’s funny, my whole life I’ve wanted to play music, I thought it was my life’s calling, but I love my day job too. While I dream of touring and playing music, I also dream of giving you the bathroom you’ve always wanted.” It’s true, even though I’d rather have my parents back, what happened to them made me a better person.

  “Something tells me that was not the dream you’re having this morning when I was trying to read in your room,” she says and she’s most definitely right.

  “You say that like I was in your way, in my own room.”

  She shrugs. “You told me to make myself at home. I couldn’t resist that chair a minute longer.”

  “Did it live up to your expectations?”

  “It did, in comfort and view,” she winks at me and I have a feeling she may have seen my sheet tent.

  “Hope my bed behaved itself
. Was it less aggressive with me in it?” God, I hope it still was seducing her. I’ll take any help I can get.

  “Less aggressive, yes. Less inviting? No.” The final episode starts to play and we focus our attention on the screen. Was that flirting? I can’t tell. Am I losing my touch? Of course not. Should I stop asking so many questions and just go with the fucking flow? Hells yes.

  Betsy falls asleep after we’ve switched to baseball and I watch her. She stretches out so her feet are in my lap and I rub them lightly. Her unbelievably long lashes dust her cheeks; her rosy lips are parted and her soft snores are adorable. I want to know more about her. It’s only been a few weeks but I feel a pull to her that I haven’t felt in a long time. Andrew thinks I should ask her out but I think it’s not my best move. Especially since she’s living in my house for the foreseeable future.

  I finish watching the game then try to rouse Betsy to get her to go to her room. I do this by massaging her feet with an increasing amount of pressure. A smile widens across her face and she groans softly. “Oh man, don’t stop that.”

  “I’m sure it feels good after dancing in those shoes,” I say and her pretty eyes open and then narrow at me.

  “What shoes are those?” she asks, one eyebrow arched.

  “The shoes you dance in, I’m assuming are pretty and uncomfortable. You told me you do three dances and three nights in a row, I’m sure your dogs are barkin’.” Yeah, I’m a good deflector.

  I dig into her arch and her back arches, pushing her perfect tits up. A vision of them spilling from her corset has me massaging her feet more vigorously and her squirming in delight. “You are killing me in the best way. If you keep it up, you’ll spoil me.” I finish one foot and dig into the other as she sighs.

  “I am at your service, dear lady. Foot rubs, reading spots, and aggressive beds are at your disposal for the duration of your stay,” I say and bend down to kiss her cheek. She’s so lovely in her tired state, I can’t resist. “Let’s get you to your room.”

  Standing, I offer my hand and she takes it and then stretches. Her shirt rides up and I see some roots. Even those are artfully done. She grabs her blanket and heads upstairs and I follow her. We stop at her door and she turns to me.

  “Good night, Joe,” she says and puts her arms around my neck and pulls me into the warmest and most delicious embrace. “Thanks for letting me stay, I appreciate it so much.”

  “Of course,” I say my arms relaxing around her waist. “You’re my best friend, remember? Plus, I think Jack likes you better than me already.”

  We part and I take a step back and already miss her soft body against mine. “I’m sure he just likes having a woman around the house. It’s been a while.”

  “I’m sure it’s just you, but you can think that if you want,” I say with a shrug. “We are both lucky you’re here. Our lives are better for it.”

  “Are you always this sweet or was it my snoring on the couch that won you over?”

  I laugh. “The snoring was a bonus, but I’m always this charming. Goodnight, Bets.”

  Her smile lights up the hallway and she gives me a little wave turning into her room. In a daze, I walk to mine and close and lock the door. I have some more quality time to myself and then walk to my door and leave it unlocked, just in case.

  Just Cohabitating

  LIVING WITH BETSY IS PERFECT. So perfect I barely know there’s a third person here. It’s Tuesday night and I’ve only seen her once since Sunday. This morning I left early to get to her house and I caught her walking from the bathroom to her room in only a towel. We didn’t get farther than good morning when Jack walked out of his room. A miracle for him, since it was like seven am. Betsy hopped into her room quickly since she was nearly naked and surrounded by too much of the Davis manliness. I’ve been working to make up for the time lost on the mold remediation at her home and so I’ve been getting there early and staying late.

  When I get home Tuesday night, the house smells heavenly and I find Betsy and Jack hanging out in the kitchen. In the middle of the island where they are both sitting is something that looks like a giant chicken.

  Betsy’s eyes light up when she sees me. “Joe! You are home, finally. Look, I made the chicken pot pie,” she says pointing to the large chicken that looks somewhat like the one we saw on the cooking show.

  “Oh shit, you made it? You are my hero. How did you make the head look so good? Can I cut into it? Can I be Norman? Please?” I’m losing my mind, I’m so happy.

  She and my brother laugh at my ridiculousness. “Bro, take it down a notch,” Jack says.

  “Wait, let me go get my axe,” I say and sprint outside to get the small hatchet from the shed. When I return, they are both looking at me like I’m nuts. Which, I am. I’m standing in my kitchen, holding a hatchet, ready to cut into a giant pot pie shaped like a chicken. Weirdo numero uno, and proud of it.

  “Is it strange that I’m like the tiniest bit turned on right now?” Betsy asks, taking her phone out and snapping a picture of me and the chicken.

  “Of course not, I’m holding an ax, wearing plaid and am as unbearably handsome as I am charming. Let’s do this.” She hands me a knife and I hack into the pie. It’s immensely satisfying and I feel my stress melt away just being with some of my favorite people.

  “Rough day, there, Joe?” my brother asks.

  “It was a challenge. The wood delivered for the floor wasn’t exactly right, we had to replace some beams in the mold room, and Donovan was a surly beast all day because his cat scratched the hell out of his arm and his avocado toast was soggy. Coming home to you awesome duo with this ridiculous chicken made every second worth it.” All of this spills out of me as I plate out a serving for everyone and then wash my hands.

  We all sit and dig in. “Oh boy,” Betsy says.

  “Mmhm,” Jack agrees.

  “Someone went a little wild with the salt?” I ask.

  Betsy looks devastated and I hate that. “Maybe I didn’t mix everything together well enough.” She is biting her fingernail looking so sad.

  “Hey, it’s the most awesome thing ever. I like salty stuff and so does Jack. When I was first starting to cook, I always added too much salt so we got used to it, right Jackie?” I ask him making sure my look conveys he better say something nice.

  “Oh yeah, I barely even noticed,” he says shoveling food in his mouth and then drinking giant gulps of water.

  We all start to eat again. “Other than the floors, how’s the house coming?” Betsy asks.

  “Good, we are trying to get back on schedule after the mold fiasco and we are getting there. It’s a real diamond in the rough you picked there, Bets.”

  “I know, but I love the location and I could see all the possibilities, even beyond the flamingo,” she says smiling.

  “What made you want to buy something?” I ask.

  “Well, I had some money saved and then I got this giant bonus at work and I didn’t know what to do with all the money I had. I asked my dad for advice and he said real estate was always a good investment. Honestly, I think he was hoping I’d buy something in Ohio. I could have bought like three houses there for what I paid for this one. When I told him I bought the house here, he seemed surprised. I guess I rarely take his advice.” She looks from me to Jack and smiles. “I felt bad. We are distant and not just physically. My parents and I have agreed to not talk about certain things in my life, especially my job. So now I make sure to share as much as I can about the reno since it’s neutral. My dad likes hearing about the house so that’s what we talk about.”

  “Then I will try to give you as many of the juicy details as I can.”

  “Thanks, Joe. Not sure mold damage and wood deliveries are the juiciest details, but I’ll take them.”

  “If you need me to manufacture a dead body found in your cellar then I will.”

  “Wait, there’s a cellar?” she asks.

  “Nope, but your dad doesn’t know that,” I say and she smiles.
Mission accomplished.

  * * *

  After dinner, Jack and Betsy go to his room to work on video game stuff and I’m a little envious. They have a lot in common and she doesn’t treat him like he’s ridiculous. I know I can be a lot to take, but she seems to be warming up to me. I sit in my music room and play some songs I’ve been working on. My headphones are on and I’m jamming along to some drum tracks Andrew has recorded for me over the years. When I play, I get lost in the music and am mostly out of my own headspace. I’ve been playing for about an hour and when I finish playing a riff and open my eyes to write it down, I’m surprised to find Betsy lounging in the bean bag chair in the corner. I pull my headphones down so they are sitting on my shoulders.

  “Hey, Bestie. You guys done with your nerd stuff?” I ask teasing.

  “Yeah, your genius brother rewrote half the code and his animation is killer. I have a feeling he doesn’t need me.” I nod because she’s probably right. “He said to let you know he was going to Kel’s. What were you playing? It’s lovely.”

  I shrug. “Just fiddling. Andrew and I have been working on some originals. I’m no songwriter but I can come up with some good melodies.”

  “You are a conundrum, Joe,” she says and I give her a questioning look. “You are so confident in some of the weirdest ways, and then self-conscious about other things like parenting and playing music—things you’re actually good at.”

  “Parenting maybe, but music, never. I guess I wish I had been able to follow through with my training. I feel like I could be so much better if my life had gone in a different direction.” I strum a few chords and put the guitar down. “Don’t get me wrong, as a musician, I’m amazing. Can you imagine if I was fully realized as one? It would be hardly fair with this hot ass package too.”