Spying in High Heels

more green.

“Take it all off!” Dana commanded, waving her cowgirl hat in the air.

Damien complied, doing away with the Harley thong and going full monty on us.

Mrs. Rosenblatt nudged me in the ribs. “I told you he was hung.”

I admit, I stared. It was hard not to. Especially when I now realized how poorly Richard measured up against the Damiens of the world. Yikes. What had I been missing?

And then out of nowhere, I thought of Ramirez. I wondered if he was a Damien or Richard. I took another sip of my drink and tried really hard not to picture Ramirez in a leather thong.

“Over here, bad boy,” my mother yelled, waving her five dollar bill in the air. Damien strutted closer and collected the cash with his teeth. Mom giggled like a sixth grader. I tried not to look.

Dana grabbed my arm, her nails digging into me. “Oh my God, Maddie, did you see who that is?”

I looked up at Damien, squinting through the smoke and strobing lights to get a good look at his face. (Which, I had to admit, I’d not yet really seen, being a little distracted by certain other parts of his anatomy.) He did look a little familiar. But as Damien turned our direction, it was the neck that gave it away. Or lack thereof. “Is that your roommate?”

Dana nodded and I swore I saw drool form at the corner of her mouth. “I had no freaking idea he was this built.”

No Neck Guy winked at Dana, then gyrated his way to the other side of the stage.

“You know that guy?” Mrs. Rosenblatt asked. “He’s got a tuchis like granite.”

“Give it up for Biker Damien,” the MC said as Damien gathered his chaps and headed off stage.

Mom grabbed another cocktail napkin and began fanning herself.

“Um, will you excuse me for a minute?” Dana didn’t wait for an answer before disappearing toward the stage.

I drained my second glass and signaled for another. I could easily get addicted to these things. The waiter returned with my drink just as the music started up and “Officer Dan” took the stage, wearing a cop uniform amidst flashing red lights. Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt were instantly on their feet again, waving dollar bills. Maybe it was the spicy Virgin Mary, but I was starting to get into the swing of things. I even shouted a cowgirl holler of my own when Dan tossed his blue shirt into the crowd – badge and all.

I wondered how Ramirez would look in a cop uniform.

Duh, he’d look sexy! The man looked sexy in just about anything. I wondered how he’d look in nothing…

Ugh! What was I thinking? I instantly felt guilty. I was possibly carrying Richard’s child and here I was not only ogling half naked men, but fantasizing about Ramirez’s package.

But I realized as I took another long sip of my Virgin Mary that it was Richard’s fault really. If he hadn’t up and left, I never would have gone looking for him, then I never would have met Ramirez and I wouldn’t be here comparing the size of his ding-dong with Officer Dan’s. See, it was all Richard’s fault.

In fact, I realized, all the problems in my life lately were because of him. He’d gotten me into this whole mess, and what’s more, he didn’t even have the decency to tell me where he was. Even Greenway told his mistress where he was.

And what kind of scum marries Cinderella anyway? What, does he think he’s some kind of Prince Charming? Ha! I mentally snorted. More like Prince Anal. He folded his socks for crying out loud. What kind of a man does that?

I bet Ramirez didn’t fold his socks. I bet he just threw his socks in with his underwear in one big mess. Socks mixed with with… briefs? Boxers? I wondered what kind of underwear Ramirez wore. I pictured him as a briefs guy. Not those Hanes things from Kmart, but the really sexy Calvin ones. Maybe in gray or slate blue. Slate blue would be a good color on him.

Officer Dan ripped off his break-away pants, revealing a black G-string that read L.A.P.D.

“Woo hoo,” I yelled, waving my drink in the air. A little splashed on my wrist, but I didn’t care. In fact, I realized, I was feeling pretty good. Better than I had in days. “Show me your gun, officer hottie!”

“You tell ‘em, Maddie,” Mrs. Rosenblatt commanded, slightly slurring her words. Then leaned in and added, “I think I’m getting just a teeny bit tipsy.”

I froze. Glass halfway to my lips. Tipsy? What did she mean, tipsy? My gaze whipped from her empty Virgin Mary glass to my own. Sure, I was feeling a little happy, but that was because of the naked men, right?

I grabbed Mrs. Rosenblatt by the arm. “What’s in a Virgin Mary?”

“Tomato juice, lime, cayenne.”

I heaved a sigh of relief.

“And vodka. Lots of vodka.”

I froze. “Vodka? But you said it was virgin!”

Mrs. Rosenblatt laughed. “Bubbee, they call it a Virgin Mary, cause you drink too many, and you won’t even remember the sex that night. It’ll be like immaculate conception.”

Oh my God. I was the world’s worst mother. And I wasn’t even a mother yet! I was awful, terrible, selfish, stupid. I was going straight to hell.

I was going to throw up.

“Don’t worry. Nothing a little aspirin in the morning won’t cure.”

Right. Aspirin. I bit my lip to keep from blurting out what a horrible thing I just did. Potentially did, that is. I guess if I wasn’t sure I was pregnant, I couldn’t be sure I’d done something really, really awful. Damn Richard. This was all his fault.

Dana walked up, a clothed Damien a.k.a. No Neck Guy in tow. The grin on her face said she’d have no trouble remembering the sex tonight. “Hey, we’re gonna head back home. Thanks for inviting me Mrs. Springer. We’ll see you tomorrow for the big day.”

Mom and Mrs. Rosenblatt gave Dana hugs, Mrs. Rosenblatt all the while eyeing No Neck Guy’s crotch like a dog might a big beefy Milk Bone.

The icky warred with morning sickness, which warred with guilt, which warred with the mass amount of vodka I’d apparently consumed that night. I willed my stomach to stay put as the room swayed.

“Can you drop me off at home first?” I begged.

“Sure, Maddie.”

Dana, No Neck and I all piled in to her Saturn. I sat in the back, trying to avert my eyes as Dana and No Neck held hands and made kissy faces. Instead I slouched down in my seat and closed my eyes so I didn’t have to watch the scenery wizz past the window in a noxious blur.

Luckily, the drive was short and a few minutes later Dana was walking me to the door of my studio. Any other time I could have walked myself in, but have you ever tried to walk in three-inch heels under the influence of vodka?

“Are you drunk?” Dana asked.

Duh. “I think so.”

“I thought you weren’t drinking because of…” She trailed off, looking at my belly.

“I’m not. I mean, I wasn’t. It was an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I thought the virgins were virgin.”

Dana gave me a funny look. But considering she had a hot stripper in the car, she didn’t interrogate further. “Get some sleep,” she commanded. “You want me to come drive you to the wedding in the morning?”

“No. It’s fine. I’ll get a cab.”

“Okay, well, call me. But, uh,” she glanced back at No Neck. “Just not too early, k?”

I nodded. Not a good idea. I put a hand to my head to make the scenery stop spinning. I watched Dana pull away, then walked inside. That is, after fumbling with the key for a good five minutes first. I hated being drunk.

But most of all, I realized as I collapsed onto my futon and stared at the ceiling, I hated Richard. Maybe it was the vodka, or maybe the full monty, or maybe the fact I’d been inside a porn studio today, but no matter what