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All the Bad Sex I’ve Had, a very, very, very long book (pt 3) |
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Written by Suzy Soro
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Tuesday, 28 October 2008 |
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Page 2 of 2 "I noticed a pair of women's breasts yesterday," he said about four weeks after the memorial.
"Oh yeah?"
"Hey, that's normal, right?"
"Ask one of your guy friends."
"I did, but you don't wanna hear their answers," he said laughing a little.
"I'm guessing men are pigs no matter what the circumstances?"
"Pretty much," he replied.
"Have you even thought about sex?"
"Well, it has been about a year, you know."
"Oh please," I mocked, "I'll see your year and raise you a year and three months."
"Well maybe we should meet somewhere," he said.
"Maybe we should." Was he daring me or propositioning me? I couldn't tell.
"Where?" he asked.
"I could drive to you."
"You'd do that?"
"Yeah, I'd do that."
I asked him if he liked lingerie and he said he did but not to buy any on his account. I immediately went to Victoria's Secret and bought three hundred dollars worth of thongs and matching bras but didn't tell George. I didn't want him to think I was trying too hard. What kind of spell had he dropped into my vodka and why was I trying so hard? And why was I always drinking vodka while I talked on the phone with him? I was scared, I knew that, but I wasn't sure why. I liked this guy, what on earth was there to be scared of? Obviously plenty or I wouldn't have been drinking so much vodka.
A few nights before I went to visit him for the first time, we were into one of our marathon phone calls, and I asked him if he wanted to have phone sex. He said he'd never had it before and that he didn't think it would be his thing. After I had actual sex with George, I realized why it wasn't his thing. Once I did it with him, I forgot all the other sex I'd ever had. I couldn't believe that other men had even referred to it as sex; they should have called what they were doing Laying There Waiting to be Embalmed.
But I had a glass of vodka to give me courage and I urged him to get one as well. He disappeared and I could hear him walking down steps and then the faint noise of a refrigerator opening and closing. He got back on the phone and was so nervous. I pushed him into it because this was a friend of mine, a friend who normally had clothes on and talked to me about our careers and agents and oh yes, his dead wife. We were going to hook up soon and I wanted the phone sex to make it all less awkward. His first sexual encounter after fifteen years of marriage and I make him do it over the phone, with alcohol. I was a mess. But we did it, had the first game out of town before having the first home game.
The morning after George and I had phone sex, he called to ask me if I thought he should buy his children a kitten.
"George, you should definitely buy them a kitten; their mother just died. They need something to love. I mean, besides you of course."
And sweet George had hung up and done just that, bought them a kitten which instantly got lost in the sofa. I could hear his daughter crying in the background when he called after they got back from the pet shop.
"Z, we can hear the kitten, but it's a big sofa. Ava, stop crying, we'll get her out."
Ava wailed louder. I would come to miss those calls of his where he spent inordinate amounts of time talking to his kids while I hung on the line, long distance. At the time I found it comforting, like I was actually there in the house. George and Patty had both loved Ava Gardner. When they had twins, a boy and a girl, they named them Ava and of course, Gardner.
The twins named the kitten Bozo and two months after George and I broke up, they found Bozo dead on their front lawn. Again Figgy, the bearer of bad news for George's family, called to tell me. Her last name was Figgley but she was obese, and in school everyone called her Piggy behind her back. One day in Geography 3rd period, she found a note stuck to her desk with chewing gum. It said, "Dear Piggy, stop eating." She peeled off the gum and it took the loop of the P with it, leaving the word "Figgy". As Mrs. Riordan pointed to a map of the Yukon, Figgy screamed out, "Who wrote this note?" No one said a word and Mrs. Riordan came marching back to Figgy's desk. Arnold, the second clarinet from band and president of the Portuguese club, felt sorry for Figgy. He had gotten a fair share of mean notes himself and knew how lonely it felt.
"I wrote it," he lied, just to get Figgy to talk to him.
"Arnold, I'll see you after class," Mrs. Riordan said and went back to the front of the room.
As the bell rang and everyone filed out, Figgy passed Arnold's desk and hissed under her breath, "It's Figgley, dumb ass, not Figgy". Needless to say, the name stuck.
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Suzy Soro
