I’m in a meeting imagining the attendees having sex.
This is what I do when people force me to attend their useless meetings, when I’m waiting for the perfect moment to ditch them. Like today. Here I am sitting listening to Janice from Finance blabber about “L-Docs in the P-FID,” her generous hindquarters aimed at us as she jots hexagons and acronyms onto a whiteboard, her tiny shoulders hunched. This whole meeting has nothing to do with me, of course, so I just sit there and imagine her getting it on with Blake the tiny intern. Right here on the table, and it’s getting really disgusting and ass-cracky, and people are groaning in agony as they’re forced to bear witness. And let me make this clear: This pornolizing is not a turn-on; it’s just amusing as hell. I mean, there’s Janice in this superbizarre position, limbs pointed in all directions, and she’s snarling like an animal as sweet little Blake from Pepperdine pounds away with this bewildered look on his face. And there’s Louis from FP&A just totally disgusted. Yeah, he’s so grossed out, he’s totally projectile-vomiting onto the lovers, and I mean gallons and gallons. And of course, I might as well throw in that dejected-looking guy over there with the bushy mustache. Yeah, have him mount the intern. Oh, and yeah, let’s add a moaning Ted Koppel as he nears climax. I mean, hell, why not? Right? Because this meeting blows. So hell, let’s go ahead and toss Nancy Grace into the mix. Oh, and here comes Hillary Clinton with an enormous “prosthetic,” if you know what I mean, and she’s saying, Well well well . . . What do we have here?
I smile. This is getting good.
Which is when a text message snaps me back into reality.
It says . . .
OK
And it stops my heart a sec.
The tabletop orgy begins to fade. Hillary snaps, Rick, we’re just getting started.
I stare at the name on the phone, feel my jaw drop. I shake my face and blink. Look again. I actually have a text message from the woman I’ve daydreamed about, have secretly stalked on Facebook, have tried to flirt with, have imagined cuddling up to on cold Sunday nights, have envisioned sliding my face across her body and into her open mouth, have fantasized about watching her laugh uncontrollably at my jokes. I actually have a text from the beautiful creature who for years has pushed me away with a gentle smile. I actually have her name—Audrey (nanny)—illuminating my screen.
The moment is so rare, it’s like wining the Lotto.
Or seeing a whale breach in front of your kayak.
Or making a verified Chupacabra sighting.
Or running into Burt Reynolds at 7-Eleven.
It’s Audrey. Sweet and luscious Audrey with her supersmooth skin and the sweetest smile on Earth. Texting me—ME!!!! It’s so much, I almost forget I’m in this useless assembly I’m planning to ditch.
At the whiteboard, Janice from Finance says, “We must P-FID the L-Docs.”
I imagine Audrey letting loose at a lounge—giving in to my bongo playing.
“And we need a BFO for the EDOs.”
I bring my phone under the table and text back: OK what?
“And the P-FIDs. We need to R-Doc the P-FIDs.”
The incoming text makes my phone shake, sends a ripple to my crotch.
The Greek. . . . . . . Tonight.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . OK
I gaze at Janice and pretend to be engrossed.
The Greek? Tonight? OK?
I twist my lips in thought, feel my brows wrinkle.
What the hell is she talking about?
I cock my head and squint at Janice’s blue marker, my face suddenly coming to life as new icons and acronyms flood the whiteboard. Janice glances at me, grins in victory as traces of comprehension invigorate my face. I scoot to the edge of my seat and straighten, pulling on my lower lip, checking my logic one last time as Janice watches, brimming with pride.
The Greek. She’s talking about the Greek Theatre in Berkeley, hands down the best concert venue in Northern California.
My eyes widen and bulge.
Janice nods to me. “Yes, that’s right. We must scrub the P-FIDs.”
But tonight?
Again, I feel my face twist into thought, and Janice frowns.
Janice erases the whiteboard. “Let me explain it for you another way,” she says, and everyone groans. I’m thinking so hard, I don’t even pretend those are sex groans. Janice populates the whiteboard with cylinders and hexagons and arrows.
At which point, I jump out of my chair, victorious.
Janice yelps in delight.
Tonight! Tonight at the Greek. The English Beat—tonight, at the Greek. They’re playing at the Greek. Tonight.
And then . . .
Me and Audrey. Together. Just the two of us. At the Greek. With my favorite band ever, the English Beat.
Blood gushes south, and I stare into space with a giggle.
Janice watches, nearly sings, “There we go.”
The English Beat at the Greek. I had mentioned it to Audrey maybe a month ago—it probably was the eighty-seventh time I’d suggested a date over the years. I lose track and forget—I’ve always considered Audrey a long-term project, and I am nothing if not stunningly shameless and persistent. And she’s always declined with that smile—not so much a rejection as a maybe next time. But this time . . .
Janice caps her marker, grins at me, swelling with pride. “That’s the look of someone who finally gets it.”
Then I think of something.
After all these years, why now?
My phone vibrates.
But on 1 condition.
Hmm . . . Maybe she actually digs the disheveled look.
I tap back: Anything, baby.
Janice babbles, and I imagine sitting at the Greek with Audrey, the sun setting on the bay, the scent of ganja in the air, our hands slipping into each other’s as we wait for Dave and the band to take the stage. The air crisping, the energy building, as I prepare to stick my tongue into her happy, wanting mouth.
Think about today. . . . What’s happening today? . . . Think and get back to me.
* * *
For the next fifteen minutes, Janice from Finance gets pink in face as she fails to explain the P-FIDs to me. A bead of sweat rolls down her temple as she scrawls out one final P-FID on the whiteboard, glancing back at me, hoping it finally registers.
I’m perched at the end of my seat. Thinking hard.
Audrey asked, What’s happening today? . . . Hmmm.
Janice attaches an arrow to the hexagon, glances back.
Oh.
Janice stops and straightens. “You got it?”
I stare into space, nodding, a smile forming as I finally realize what Audrey is hinting at. I produce an exaggerated, surprised overbite as I run the logic one last time.
Today. . . . Oh crap, I forgot. . . . Today.
Janice addresses the rest of the room. “Let’s move on to the SERVPRO.”
Today is the last day my sister and her family will be in the United States.
Janice clears the whiteboard. “The SERVPRO is tiered.”
How could’ve I forgotten?
Tonight they leave for Argentina—overseas assignment for the husband, Samson James Barnard IV. Their eight-year-old son, Collin (my nephew), a cool little Renaissance man, isn’t too happy about it. We haven’t hung out in a while, but my sister gave me the lowdown a month ago: Collin is bummed about losing his live-in nanny—the beautiful Audrey—who’s remaining stateside. Hell, I can understand; Collin has been one lucky little bastard all these years, having Audrey cuddling him and loving him and being there for him. I will admit to being a tad jealous over the years, especially since Audrey always seems just within my reach, but not really. She always just laughs and runs a hand down my arm, calls me by my full name and looks me in the eye, an eyebrow lifting ever so slightly. “Rick Blanco,” she says in mock shock, her hand hitting my arm, then trailing down to my wrist. “What are you doing asking me out? I’m too busy taking care of your nephew. You should think of doing that once in a while.”
I gaze at her, transfixed. “What’s that?”
She lets go and pinches me lightly. “Spending time with your nephew, you goof.”
I stare at Janice’s whiteboard and imagine lazing in bed with Audrey on a Sunday morning, her silky skin sliding against my hairy legs as we giggle about something really stupid. That easy smile. Just hanging out. And she says, getting closer, Rick Blanco, you freaking dork. Why do you make me so happy?
I tap away. I got it.
Janice babbles and my cell vibrates. Good. Tell me.
My sis and fam are leaving tonight.
My phone shakes.
And what about that, Rick Blanco?
Janice glances at me. “Follow me on this.”
I give Janice my serious look and tap back. They need a ride to the airport?
LOL. . . . . . . . . . Try again.
Janice scribbles.
You need help moving out of my sister’s compound???
“If you’re not careful, you can get lost in the SERVPRO.”
Dude . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Think.
I do think, and I draw a blank.
A minute later, my cell vibrates again. Who’s going to really miss you, Rick Blanco? . . . Who’s always talking about how cool you are?
I tap: You?????
LOL. . . . . . . . Think again.
I stare into space, and Janice says, “Rick. Stay with me.”
And then it hits me like a happy slap to the face.
Oh!!! I tap. Collin????
Janice watches me, beams with pride.
Bingo. . . . . Now, what are you going to do today?
My lips twist in confusion. Come again?
Janice babbles and I pretend to listen. It’s a long time before I get another text.
Call me when you’re ready to try again. . . . Until then, I’m officially planning to do yoga tonight.
* * *
I sit in the meeting glancing up at Janice as I make careful entries into my notepad, running through the facts one last time.
Suddenly, I’m so excited I want to jump into the air. I think I have a plan that’ll make the kid happy and land me Audrey. The Bob Watson. Yes, of course. The Bob Watson is my answer. I feel my chest swell as I realize, Today is gonna be special.
There’s just no way I could’ve anticipated the riot.