During this bizarre act of PDA, I can’t help noticing thelarge (but not ostentatious) tennis bracelet on Shay’s wrist, as it sparkles inthe candlelight of Leslie’s dining room.
Kat eventually releases Shay’s hand, gulps down thetequila, and grabs the lime wedge between her teeth.
“Now this is starting to feel like a girls’ night in,”Shay says, embracing me with one arm and Kat with the other.
I’m wondering if that’s innuendo or if I’m just beingsensitive and stupid. “You mean, like, hanging out with women friends in anonthreatening, college-like atmosphere?”
“I guess, if you’re into that sort of sorority play,” Shaysays, in no way helping me make sense of what’s really going on here.
Shay turns to Kat and presses her forehead and noseagainst Kat’s forehead and nose. “Your eyes are pretty,” she whispers beforesauntering off, leaving the scent of tuberose in her wake.
“Huh,” Kat says.
“That’s it?” I burp theatrically. “Huh?” I take a shot oftequila sans salt, not wanting to put my tongue where Shay’s tongue has justbeen. The alcohol warms my throat but also kind of makes me want to puke.
“I’m off to the bathroom,” I tell Kat. “Be back in a mo.”
Kat waves me off, distracted.
The hall bathroom is occupado, so I head upstairs. Eitherthe entire second floor of the home was built on an angle or I’m drunker than Ithought. Steadying myself by running my hand against the wall, I make my waydown the carpeted hallway and into Leslie’s master bedroom.
The room is dark except for the blue glow of theobnoxiously huge flat-screen on the far wall. Lots of women are piled togetheron the four-poster bed, watching an old-school porno on the television,laughing and talking animatedly.
I wave in the general direction of the crowd and find myway into the walk-in closet—oops, not it!—and eventually the bathroom.
Leslie has one of those huge, spa-like bathrooms copiedalmost tile by tile from the Ritz-Carlton, Naples. It’s all crème- andbrown-toned limestone and marble, with an oversized Jacuzzi tub and a walk-inshower big enough for a family of four grizzly bears. At one of the two sinks,I pump some soap into my palm and wash very, very well. Behind me there is aspaceship-like toilet and a porcelain bidet.
Being in the bathroom makes me realize that I do, in fact,need to pee. I sit on the modern contraption that must be a toilet, and aminstantly pleased by the warming sensation of the heated seat. Leslie’s rearend must be pretty high-end, blubber be damned. I sit a little longer thannecessary, and then, just as I am ready to stand, I decide to push a button tothe right of me on the wall, just to see what it will do.
A shock of cold water hits me in the privates.
“Ah!” I call out, surprised. Frantically, I try to turnoff the device while instinctively looking toward the door, afraid that someonehas heard my outburst. But instead of stopping the assault, somehow I hit abutton that turns on a vent. Now cool air replaces the jet spray. Which isn’tbad, actually. It’s rather soothing.
I settle in for a good long moment, enjoying the YorkPeppermint Patty sensation of it all.
My initial distress now replaced with curiosity, I decideto touch another dial on the wall and mistakenly force the air up to Mach 5.
I don’t think you’re supposed to touch that particulardial while sitting, because my butt feels like it’s in the eye of a smallhurricane. It’s suctioned to the seat and takes all the strength I have in myupper torso to oust myself to safety.
And, now that I’m sprawled on the floor, I can tell youthat Leslie has radiant heat under her marble floor tiles.
Why does she also have a bidet when that Get Smarttoilet does it all? I wonder.
The next thing I know, someone’s pounding on the door.
“Just a minute!” I call, snapping to and quickly dressing.“Shit!” I slip on the tile while trying to stand and bang my knee. That’s gonnaleave a mark, I think.
I wash my hands so quickly that I spray soap and watereverywhere. Grabbing a decorative hand towel, I begin cleaning up the mess asbest I can. Then, with bionic speed, I manage to make myself somewhatpresentable and swing open the door.
Leslie’s kohl-rimmed eyes meet mine. “Who’s in there withyou?” she demands.
“Who?” I ask, trying to remember how to form words.
“Yes,” she snaps impatiently. “Who. I was in the livingroom and I heard banging and shouting coming from above.” She glances past me,her eyes sweeping the empty bathroom for clues.
I try to relax, but I can feel my cheeks get hot under herscrutiny. “Was it Tasty? Salty? Or Try Me?” she asks, referring not to SnowWhite’s dwarves, but to the waiter/models serving downstairs.
I say nothing, merely trying to blink myself out of thissituation.
“Well,” Leslie concludes, seemingly satisfied with my lackof an answer. “As long as you didn’t touch Eat Me, because I’m saving him fordessert, if you know what I mean.” She raises one eyebrow to prove her point.
I cough out a laugh of sorts in response, move past her,and drunkenly saunter away, leaving her leaning against the doorjamb.
If you’ve never tried an elaborate, specially outfittedtoilet, I suggest it highly. Aside from being a rather astounding force ofnature, it leaves you feeling fresh and clean. Like a car wash for your hoo-ha.
I head back downstairs to find Kat, a spring in my step.
Chapter 14
Music is playing pretty loudly now in the kitchen andfamily rooms, and a lot of partygoers are dancing with the hired help.
“Have you seen Kat?” I ask a few women huddled around oneof the possibly gay waiter/models. I don’t know half of these women and theydon’t know Kat, so the whole effort is somewhat futile. “Petite, with blackcurls? Green eyes? No?” I have to shout to be heard, but the answer is stillno.
Although I know I shouldn’t, I grab a cosmopolitan from apassing waiter with his tray aloft, and enjoy it in a few gulps. I didn’trealize how thirsty
