In Stereo Where Available Page 6

  The scene switched to Rhett standing in the dim paisley-wallpapered hallway with an adorable blonde in a tight crimson evening gown, their bodies casting shadowy silhouettes on the red carpet as they whispered privately to each other.

  “How did she get over there?” asked Jerry. “I thought she was still getting ready to go out with him.”

  “That’s a different girl,” I told him. “That’s one of the Rebels. Her name is Debbie Jo.”

  He looked confused. “But she looks just like her.”

  “There’s about five of them who look almost exactly the same. They probably use the same color hair dye and have the same plastic surgeon.”

  “Including your sister?”

  “Yeah. She had her nose done in Hollywood. It’s probably a pretty popular nose.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Madison’s date with Rhett was at some Moroccan restaurant that looked like a cross between a nineteenth-century brothel and an opium den. The two of them sat on red velvet pillows spread out on the floor, watching a belly dancer and scooping up their food with big pieces of bread. That was probably good for her. Madison was terrified of carbohydrates. She ate hamburgers wrapped in lettuce and considered celery sticks with peanut butter to be a dessert. The camera caught lots of footage of them making meaningful eye contact over the bread basket and, a little later, snuggling on the floor pillows as they watched the belly dancers. After a limo ride back to the plantation, Madison changed into a microscopic bikini and settled down with Rhett into the very un-Civil-War-era hot tub that was bubbling on the deck.

  “They look like they’re having a good time,” said Jerry politely.

  A white-jacketed waiter came by with a bottle of Moet & Chandon and poured each of them a glass. Madison was practically sitting on Rhett’s lap. By the time they cut to the next scene, she was sitting on his lap. Backwards.

  “Uuuuuugh,” I groaned.

  Jerry picked up the remote. “Want me to change channels?”

  “No, no, I have to watch.” I curled up on my side, putting my face against his upper arm. “Tell me what happens.”

  “I thought you said you were going to watch.”

  “I can’t.”

  “A bunch of other girls just showed up.”

  I peeked out at the TV and saw the Rebel girls wandering onto the deck, just happening to be passing by in their bikinis at that particular moment.

  “Oh, hello,” said a girl named Marci in her syrupy Mississippi voice, sticking her foot in the hot tub up to the level of her ankle bracelet. “Mind if we join you?”

  Rhett smiled. “Not at all.”

  It was after the commercial that Madison delivered her teaser line. She and a few of the other girls gathered in a beautifully decorated period room with textured mauve wallpaper and gold cherub statuettes on the dark, carved wood furniture. Madison and the other girls had changed back into their calico dresses and hoopskirts, their shoulders bared like the women in cameo jewelry.

  “You little butt-kissing lesbian bitch!” Madison screamed, again.

  Marci raised an eyebrow, her arms folded in front of her. Her petal-pink manicure fanned out across her gently toned bicep. “Honey, your being a slut doesn’t make me a lesbian,” she tossed back.

  “Egad,” said Jerry.

  “She’s really not like that,” I offered. “She’s just trying to get camera time.”

  Madison pressed her lips together and smacked Marci openhanded across the face. There was a little gasp, and two of the other Rebel girls gathered at Marci’s shoulders, pressing in close so they’d be in the shot. Spiraling curls fell gently around their faces, their seed-pearl combs glittering in their high-piled hair.

  “You sure about that?” Jerry asked.

  That night the Yankees won the immunity competition. The Rebels voted off the black girl. Jerry and I saw it coming. He nodded slowly and tipped the bowl toward me, offering me the last handful of popcorn.

  Lauren was beside herself with delight that my date with Carter had worked out well. That Saturday evening, as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror with the curling iron in hand, she barged in and cheerfully began her “I-told-you-so” lecture.

  “Didn’t I tell you?” she enthused. “I said I had a good feeling and I was right. I knew it.”

  “You were right,” I agreed.

  “I looked him up myself. He’s as good as it gets, Fee. I’m telling you, everybody should go on Kismet. It’s like the eBay of dating. If you’ve got old crap you don’t want, put it up for bid! There’s somebody out there who’ll be crazy about it!”

  I looked at her in the mirror, standing behind my shoulder. Her chunky black glasses and goofy grin made her look like Velma in Scooby-Doo. “You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you?” I asked.

  “Oh, come off it. You just don’t want to admit I was right.”

  “I already admitted you were right. I’m trying not to set my hair on fire, and you’re distracting me.”

  “Fine. I’ll leave you alone. I’m just relieved you’ve given up on your little Lord Byron e-mail buddy. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  I fluffed out my bangs. “I haven’t totally given up on him. I’ve just sort of got him on the back burner in case Carter doesn’t work out.”

  She shook her head. “Listen to you. Two weeks on Kismet, and you’re juggling men. I’ve created a monster.”

  “You’re the one who wanted me to keep my options open. Aren’t you going out tonight?”

  “No, I’m taking the week off. Both of the good candidates turned out to be married. But I want to hear all about how it goes with Carter. Every last gory detail.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’ll be the first to know.”

  When Carter came to pick me up, he was in a bouncy, energetic mood. He wore a subtle variation on his outfit from the last time—brown corduroy pants that looked like they matched the previously worn blazer, an off-white shirt, and a tan Wind-breaker. But the smile on his face was ear-to-ear, and as soon as I saw him, I felt fluttery with anticipation.

  “Let’s go out to Royal Jade,” he suggested.

  “Royal Jade?” I repeated doubtfully. After dinner we’d planned to go out to a movie theater in downtown DC that was showing one of the Cannes Film Festival winners. “Kind of a long drive from Dupont Circle, isn’t it?”

  “We’ll make it. Don’t worry.” He opened the passenger door for me. “Hop in.”

  But we didn’t. As we got back in the car after dinner, Carter checked the dashboard clock, looked at me apologetically, and asked, “So what’s Plan B?”

  “Local theater or Blockbuster, I guess.”

  “You wanted to see something with subtitles, right?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, kind of.”

  “Then let’s do Blockbuster. I’ll give Trudy a call and tell her to get lost.”

  “Who’s Trudy?”

  “The dog’s nanny. She shares the apartment with me, but she doesn’t mind giving me space when I ask her to. I do the same thing for her all the time.”

  “Your dog has a nanny?”

  “Well, she’s not my dog. She’s the Danforths’ dog. They live in Connecticut. I’m just the handler. I take her to the shows and all that. The kind of breed she is—she’s a Chinese crested—they really like having company around. So she’s got a full-time nanny.” He turned the car down the street toward Blockbuster.

  “I guess if you’ve got the money.”

  “Oh, believe me, they’ve got the money. This is just a hobby for them. They like to fill up the trophy room, and I’m happy to help them.” He pulled into a parking space. “Let’s see if we can dig up the most obscure movie in the store.”

  We came up with The Sea, which was not only subtitled, but originally in Icelandic. Carter called Trudy while we were at the store, and by the time he unlocked the door to his apartment, she was nowhere to be seen.

  “Excellent,” he said, stepping into the living room.

&nbs
p; I looked the place over in stunned silence. The living room was empty of all furniture except for a loveseat pushed awkwardly against the far wall and a chintzy TV stand. Taking up most of the floor space was a collapsible crawl tunnel, a teeter-totter, a couple of jumps, and what looked like some kind of cone obstacle course. The carpet was littered with latex chew toys and mauled stuffed animals.

  Carter whistled, and from a distant bedroom came the low thump I recognized as a dog jumping off a bed. A moment later, into the room trotted what may have been the ugliest dog I had ever seen. It was gray-skinned and hairless, except for tufts of billowy white fur that grew around its paws and fell in a floppy mane over its eyes. It was also small enough that my cats would have considered it a rodent.

  “This is Empress Ming,” said Carter.

  I leaned over and stroked her gingerly. “I’ve never petted a hairless dog before.”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of a change of pace. Trudy and I put lotion on her a couple of times a day. And sunscreen—that’s kind of a pain. Can’t take her out for a walk without sunscreen.”

  “Sunscreen on a dog?”

  “Yep. SPF 35. We have to watch the ingredients on everything because she’s allergic to lanolin. At least she doesn’t shed much.” He popped the DVD in the player. “Want to help me move the sofa? I have to keep it out of the way so she doesn’t get mixed up about what the course looks like.”

  “Oh, okay. Yeah, sure.”

  We dragged the loveseat in front of the TV and then Carter went off to the kitchen to get drinks.

  “You need me to do anything else?” I called.

  “No, just settle in and get—ow!”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” He sat down in one of the dining chairs and examined his ankle. “She bit me again.”

  I looked at Empress Ming, who was sniffing at Carter’s leg with interest. I’d been nipped at by dogs a few times in my life, but never by one of my own. “Seriously? Does she do that a lot?”

  “Kind of. She doesn’t mean to. She’s got these extra teeth that point forward—they’re like tusks. They’re part of the breed. She sort of nibbles to get my attention and ends up gouging me. Usually it’s just when she’s hungry.” He picked her up and scratched her neck. In a sugary voice he asked, “Did Miss Trudy forget to feed you?”

  I sat down in the loveseat while Carter opened up a can of food for the Empress. As he settled down beside me with a fresh Band-Aid on his ankle, I was starting to wonder if he was going to become one more bead on my string of weirdos.

  He threw his arm companionably over my shoulder. “Ready for the movie?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  He pressed the “play” button. “You don’t speak Icelandic, do you?”

  I laughed. “Uh, no.”

  “Too bad. I’ll have to try not to distract you.”

  “That’s okay. I’m more interested in the company than in the movie.”

  “Yeah, me, too.”

  I smiled and rested my head against his shoulder. Neither of us had ever turned the lights on, and as the sun set, the room grew gradually darker, until finally the flickering glow of the TV was the only light in the room. Carter’s chest rose and fell softly beside me as he breathed; his fingertips stroked my shoulder gently. When the romantic music swelled and the movie’s two lovers swam toward each other, I wasn’t surprised to feel Carter turn to me, bringing his face close to mine. I closed my eyes and let him kiss me, stirring at the way his mouth felt against mine, feverish and urgent and startlingly unrestrained.

  “You’re so beautiful, Phoebe,” he murmured, when he came up for air.

  Carter was a fast mover. Down on the clean-swept carpet in front of the TV, he planted his body on all fours above mine and hungrily worked his way down. I luxuriated in it, drinking it down like too much wine. His tossed-off T-shirt lay over the arm of the loveseat; sweat beaded his forehead and made his messy hair spike every which way. When he rose up on his knees, the TV threw a banner of light over his wiry chest. His smooth stomach was touched by a thin trail of hair that ran down from his navel and disappeared into his pants. I put my hands behind my head and looked over him appreciatively as he fumbled with the button on his corduroys.

  “No,” I said.

  The look on his face was something between alarm and horror. “No? Why not?”

  “Just no. Save it for another day.”

  He groaned and ran his hands through his scruffy hair. “I’m going to explode.”

  I sat up and straightened myself out. I didn’t feel as bad as he probably wanted me to. He was definitely jumping the gun.

  “Don’t you want to get together next weekend?” I asked.

  “Hell, yeah. I want to get together right now.”

  “That’s not what I meant. No exploding, okay? We’ll go out next Saturday. If you’re available.”

  “I’m available any time you want.”

  I stood up and smoothed the back of my hair down. He sighed and rose to his feet, pulling his shirt on grumpily.

  “I had a great time,” I told him.

  He combed his hair with his fingers and then, setting his hands on his hips, let out a sigh as deep as a yoga breath. He smiled at me.

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “Me, too.”

  “So what’s the verdict?” asked Lauren on Sunday morning.

  “I think he’s a keeper. His job’s a little weird, but there’s definitely potential there. And he seems to really like me.”

  “Apparently. I see you’ve got some serious bed head going there.”

  I touched the back of my head. “Oh. No, that’s just from the carpet.”

  Lauren laughed. “Wherever love takes you. Is he a good kisser?”

  “Yeah, he’s a great kisser. He’s kind of skinny and gangly looking, but there’s like a fire to him—you know what I mean?”

  “I think so, yeah.”

  “He makes me feel like he’s totally lusting after me. It’s kind of funny. I mean, I don’t exactly see myself as an object of lust. But I’ll take it. It makes me feel good.”

  “I don’t blame you. So you’re cutting the other guy loose?”

  “Who, Jerry? I guess, yeah. I can’t really date both of them. He left a voice mail for me last night while I was out with Carter. He wants me to go out for pizza with him tomorrow. All that trouble not to hurt his feelings, and now I have to deliver the really bad news.”

  “No big loss.”

  “Well, it’s all relative, right? I mean, he’s a nice guy, but Carter’s a little more, I don’t know—”

  “Is that your cell phone?”

  We both got quiet. From my bedroom I heard the electronic chime of “Für Elise.”

  “Be right back,” I said, scrambling to my bedroom.

  It was Carter. I turned on the phone and closed my bedroom door simultaneously.

  “Hey,” I said happily.

  “Hey, Phoebe. Look, about next Saturday.” He sighed noisily into the phone. “I’m going to have to cancel. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, that’s okay,” I said, trying to conceal my disappointment. “Something come up?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. The Danforths—look, I’m not going to BS you. They’ve got this brilliant idea that they want Empress Ming to start doing shows out West. Like, California and Nevada and places like that. They’ve got her booked for the next three weeks already. They drop this crap on me today, like, an hour ago. I’m leaving Wednesday. I’m not happy about it.”

  “So…you’ll be back in three weeks, then?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how she does. If I do my job right, we’ll be out there longer. And the National Dog Show is on Thanksgiving, and now they want her to do that, so I don’t know when I’m going to be back. I just don’t have a date I can give to you.”

  I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the wall. “Well, good luck.”

  “Jeez, Phoebe, I really wanted to spend some more time with you. You know i
t, right? Last night was really—” His breath thundered in my ear. “I mean, whoa.”

  “I know. I felt the same way.” But my voice sounded light, conversational. I didn’t want to think about last night anymore. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I felt annoyed at him anyway. I was itchy to get off the phone.

  “I’ll call you when I get back in town, okay? I mean, if you’re not available, that’s fine, but I’ll still call.”

  “That’s fine. Take care, okay? I’ll talk to you whenever.”

  “Okay, yeah. Talk to you then.”

  I stood beside the door with my phone in my hand. The blue bedspread was pulled tightly over my bed, folded around the pillows like a linen store display. It looked prim and tidy, the sheets drum-tight and spotless. It looked lonely.

  I scanned through my phone’s history until I hit Jerry’s phone number. Then I stepped into the corner of the room nearest the closet so that Lauren wouldn’t hear me, and I waited as it rang.

  “Hey, Phoebe,” he said cheerfully, his accent twanging just enough to make his voice sound like home. “How’s it going?”

  “Great,” I said quietly. I slid my back down the wall and pulled my knees against my chest. “Hey, you still up for pizza?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jerry lived about fifteen minutes down the road from me, in an old tree-lined neighborhood of brick colonials and shady yards dense with flowerbeds and ivy. His house was medium-sized and neatly kept, with evergreen-painted shutters and giant azalea bushes under the front windows, carefully trimmed down to the windowsills. We were supposed to be going out to Egyptian Pizza, a place that Jerry said had terrific food and, given how well he’d done in choosing the fondue place, I wasn’t about to argue. Timidly, I rapped with the brass door knocker, waiting on the cement landing. The door opened, and Jerry stood there in jeans and a maroon collared T-shirt, with a diapered baby on his hip.