Best Laid Plans Ch. 06-07

Chapter: 6 Goldilocks and Callie

Remember when the teacher called on you in class. You sit there staring at her for another five seconds trying to figure what the hell she wants. You might stutter, stumble on a few words and finally the answer comes to you. You don't give a shit.

I was having one of those moments with Mike Nash. I was staring at his mouth, waiting for a little mouth to pop out and try and eat me like in Alien. He had turned an interesting shade of blue. Not quite lavender. Iridescent almost. Mike Nash had choked on his protein bar. I gazed at the trainers. Their background checks required them to have taken CPR. They had at least three hours practicing on a dummy to prepare them for this situation. I recalled that the choking signal needed to be demonstrated first before any action was to be taken.

"Should I . . .," I asked trailing off looking to Abe, the trainer who ate on a timer.

"He looks fine to me." These guys lived on a strict diet of brown rice and chicken. The only other real protein I'd seen them eat was raw almonds. I think Abe needed more carbs. He needed to rub his two little brain cells together and make a fire.

"I think he's choking. I'm going to whack him on the back. Any objections?" I asked to make sure that in the case that Mike was normally a Smurf blue, I had the staff's full support. The other two trainers, I named them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, scratched their heads and nodded. I whacked, Mike coughed. Tweedle Dee stepped out of the way of any possible projectile objects.

It took him a few seconds but finally he breathed enough air to say, "You're quitting?" I nodded. It seemed like an awful shame to be leaving a horrible job with a great pay check in a bad economy. Mike thought I was an idiot. I had the same idea about him.

"You want to explain to me why you're quitting?" Mike asked then gulped some water from a plastic bottle. He swished the water around in his mouth to clear out any debris. I hated those swishing noises. Nothing, and I mean nothing should have to be inside of his mouth for that long.

"I've been offered a better position." At a bar where I'd get my ass grabbed and the income came in the form of sticky liquor covered dollar bills.

"You haven't even been here a week." Correction. I haven't even been there for a whole day.

"I don't think this is the type of place for me." The guys' boobies were bigger than mine. I was getting boob envy.

"You'll be sorry," Mike sneered through his teeth. Don't even try that guilt trip. I have an Irish Catholic mother, dude. I'm immune to that shit.

I could try to be the better person. I could go up to him, kiss him on the cheek and wish him a beautiful life with many children who ran around doing jumping jacks sporadically and chasing cars. But no. I'm a bitch by nature.

"I'll make more money in a week than you do in a year and I'll do it without the ego trip!" There goes his professional reference. I strolled out of a job before my payroll was even processed. Damn that felt good. I'd called Nolan earlier to make sure I got his job. It required a quick bartender quiz over the phone. Let's see Mike Nash try and name all five clear liquors while maneuvering through the turnpike. I really hoped he wouldn't do anything to piss me off. That would be two jobs in one week and I think that's a Callie Cronin record.

I drove over to the Big Bang looking on the bright side and waved at all the passers-by and bums on the sidewalk. Nolan Kelly owned and operated the Big Bang and its neighboring bakery called Sprite's Delights. The bakery baked at three a.m. and was known to dole out biscuits to the less than sober closing time crowd. This earned it a second name, Drunkin Donuts. I pulled into the back lot of the two establishments promising my inner sugar tooth demons that I would buy them something tasty and my inner hormones that if they played their cards right, they'd get a treat too.

The Big Bang had a seedy frat house appeal on the inside and an outdoor space for bands and keg stands. By day it served as the tailgating headquarters for all sports, mostly football, UCI. By night, the Big Bang turned into a giant mosh-pit visible from space. At seven years old I knew what a football was and exactly how to aim one at the kickball/volleyball/Frisbee eating tree outside of our house. Charlie Brown was lucky his tree only ate kites. Football was the time when my brothers would leave me alone or put me on permanent monkey-in-the-middle status. I didn't tailgate, I didn't watch sports, I didn't care. Needless to say, I'd never been in the Big Bang.

Nolan greeted me with a big pearly white smile and I was not in Kansas anymore. I don't know what I had going on with Jeff, probably a figment of my imagination by now, and it was a very bad idea to screw my new boss.

"You'll be working the bar with Penny," he gestured to a small black girl with dreads. She looked like she could break a man's arm with the flutter of her eyelashes. My fluttering eyelashes only got me free drinks. I was going to need to step up my game. Maybe I'd buy some spiky heels with the next paycheck.

"The Bang closes at two, we clean up, and then I work the bakery from three to eight." This guy was a machine. Nolan continued the new employee orientation. We went over dress code, or lack thereof, and bouncer names. Turns out Abe moonlighted as a bouncer at the Bang. I was expected to learn their famous drinks by tomorrow. Penny didn't look too bad after a few blunders with the vodka bottle. I wouldn't want to grab her ass in a dark room though.

The office crowd was from six till ten, followed by the douchbag crowd from ten till close. I knew how to make three of the ten drink specials that no one ever asked for. The girls wanted something with an umbrella or sugar with an ounce of alcohol. The guys wanted beer. The cheaper the better. Nolan didn't carry Natty Light. So I spent most of my night breaking off all ten pink fingernails on PBR cans. By eleven o'clock I'd forgotten why on earth I'd talked myself into this and wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in the fetal position with my thumb in my mouth.

"Two red headed sluts!" D-bag number eighty-nine asked. Two bubbly Tri-Delts behind him were gazing around trying to find themselves another warm body to get free drinks from. Eighty-nine had on some glitzy Ed Hardy shirt with a tiger trying to claw its way out. If I were on his chest, I'd try to get out too. His hair had been gelled to statuesque perfection. Numbering them off was necessary to keep tabs. There are only so many variations of button-downs, relaxed fit jeans and Sketchers a man can come up with.

I had no idea how to do specialty shots. I barely knew how to make jungle juice. Kool-aid and every liquor known to mankind, right? I'd lost Penny over an hour ago when she'd been surrounded by a kick-ball team celebrating their first win. Kick-ball, seriously, that's all I played in fourth grade. Nolan even blended in with the crowd and there was a lot of murky dishwater heads bobbing up and down. Red. Red. What can I make that would look red? I ducked behind the counter and scavenged through the liquor cabinet praying that something would inspire me. Hmm. Grenadine is red. The toe of a brown shit-kicker came into view.

"What are you doing?" Nolan asked above me. Wasn't it obvious? I'm trying to get two girls drunk so that this douchebag can get laid.

No turning back now, "What's in a red headed slut?"

"We don't serve mixed shots. We only have one shaker and Penny uses it as a weapon whenever her ex-husband comes in." Good to know I wasn't the only one using household objects as baseballs. Nolan held out his hand to help me up. Gooey warm feelings traveled down my spine and into my panties.

"They don't have to know that," I paused finding the Jager. I poured two shots, Eighty-nine payed, and the Delts stuck out their tongues after throwing them back. Jager tastes like tar. The rest of the night went like that. Someone would ask me for an, insert random shot that doesn't taste good and can make the lining of your stomach disintegrate, and I would pour them whatever I thought was appropriate. Five years of creating ads for fake clients and where do I end up, behind a bar putting my college education to use by making up shots. It wasn't all bad. If the crowd got dull, I would start daydreaming about Nolan's butt turning into a Big Mac. I knew I was hungry when guys turn into burgers. I was horny when they turned into naked Greek gods.

By the end of the night, I had an apron full of bills, some more wet then others, and had even broken up a love triangle realized in the girls' bathroom. It involved me pulling them out by their bra straps since they'd ripped apart their tank-tops. My mother is never to find out about this. Shooing away dozens of leftover last call patrons is like herding cats.

The outside world looked hazy and tired as I stepped back into it. I'd been inside since five p.m. and the potential of a warm soft bed sounded delicious. I was ready to fly home on autopilot and melt into the covers when I noticed Nolan jogging over to the bakery to start his second job. The Catholic guilt built up from a lifetime of brainwashing bubbled up. I still mentally grimace when I say God's name in vain and I cross myself whenever riding shotgun with my brother Joe because he doesn't believe in the brake pedal. As of now I was a recovering Catholic, but it still had a grip on my head. Nolan was going to work for another five more hours and I was going to go home. I was not going to look like some love-sick puppy dog. The memo didn't reach my feet. They were still headed in the direction of Nolan's butt.

"Would you like some help?" I asked making sure that I really, really, meant it before those words came out of my mouth. See, I can be sincere.

Nolan was fiddling with the door lock and jimmying the handle. The door popped open with a grunt, and he fell in. I burst out laughing. I had been on my feet for a million hours, my stomach had eaten itself three days ago and an old man getting kicked in the balls would have sent me giggling like a hyena.

I held out my hand and Nolan said, "I knew you were good for something. Penny doesn't laugh at me when I'm down. She'd probably kick me."

"You only had three people working tonight for a crowd of two thousand. I would have kicked you, but I'm too tired." Not counting my multiple personalities which bickered back and forth that this was the lowest I've ever gone for a job.

"You did awesome by the way." Nolan said. Wait. Tell me more about how awesome I am. He switched on the lights and past the kitchen into the lobby I could see the crowd of inebriated zombies milling around waiting for the doors to open. Oh boy.

Along the top of the front counter lined up some two dozen brown bags contents unknown. I assumed those were the infamous grab bags. Patrons bet money, anything from a penny to a dollar, for day old donuts. Like a box of chocolates, you never knew what you were gonna get. The only grab bag I was familiar with were the kind at parish picnics run by grandmas and spinsters who filled them with cheap drugstore toys and crocheted pot holders.

"Why is it Sprite's Delights?" I asked pulling on another apron and opening up the cash register.

"My sister thought Rainbow Brite's minion looked like a cream puff. They were called Sprites. This was her place before she sold it to me. She popped out a few kids and needed to call it quits. I like to take on failing establishments. It keeps my life on the edge," he grinned. Be still my beating heart.

We opened and fought off another sixty people before peace and quiet. In my head I ran through clever and interesting things to say that at the very second after their delivery would have him scooping me up in his arms and declaring his love. Get it together, Cal, you are not a Disney princess.

In the end, he thanked me for being his bitch and I went home feeling sullied and disappointed that I didn't get a marriage proposal. I didn't go to college to get my MRS degree. I got it to make enough money to buy a new car, still working on that, and stay out of my parent's house. But sometimes, when I'm feeling like a big sack of estrogen and my three best friends from high school just got engaged, I go a little crazy and start seeing pretty pink hearts and cherubs around every nice guy who acknowledges me.

Driving up to the duplex, I knew something was off. There was a strange presence in the air. The door was locked, the lights were off, and there weren't any spiders on the walls. Everything seemed to be in place the way I left it. I dumped my purse and jacket on the couch and drug myself into the bed and plopped onto a plump snoring Goldilocks.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" I screamed jumping off of my bed and scrambling to hit the light switch. It was five in the freakin' morning, and I swear to God, I will go to church every Sunday and call my mother more often if I live through this.

"Sup, Callie." It was Jeff. Again. The only thing to survive a nuclear attack; Twinkies, cock roaches, and Jeff. It was the Jeep. His Jeep parked outside on the street had tipped me off to the impending doom. I had been too sleepy to notice.

"Why are you in my bed?" I groaned. Seriously, I just washed out your splooge. It doesn't need your scent.

"My roommate had a sock on the door." What roommate? Jeff's last roommate was stuck in the Portuguese judicial system. Knowing my confusion, he grumbled, "I have a new one."

I was slowly loosing Jeff. He'd started trailing his words and there was already a good pile of drool on my pillow. I sat down on the bed and envied the warm luring pool of comforter and satin. An arm reached out and wrapped around my waist, pulling me to him and for lack of self control, I slept with him. Not in the biblical sense.

Chap 7: Machu Picchu

This was day two of waking up next to Jeff. When we'd been legitimately together, he never slept over. I think I saw the inside of his place twice. It looked like most guys' places, trash, dishes piled up because they don't know how to use a sponge, and clothes everywhere. Okay, I'm no June Cleaver either, but seriously! Put on your big boy pants and do laundry. Jeff and I dated for approximately two and a half months before I started ducking behind trashcans to avoid him. I hadn't fully succumbed to the sunlight streaming in yet. My hands reached for more cover and I bumped into Jeff Jr.

"Morning, Callie," he purred against my neck. Cold shivers shot down my spine. My eyes popped open and I went frigid. Oh yeah, I forgot, you broke in and slept in my bed while I was hard at work making money to pay for rent. Now that I was awake, the idea of him being there was getting old fast. I looked over at the clock. Christ it was 2 p.m. already. Shit, where had the day gone!

"You're still here?" I rumbled snaking away from a hand that was creeping up my naked thigh. The hand slipped under the seam of my panties and I got gooey thinking about the other things it could do.

"I wanted to talk to you more about your idea." My idea?

"You mean the part where you and Kevin videotape me having an orgasm so you can put it out there for millions of horny teenagers to watch? Yes that was totally my idea; not influenced by you and your boy wonder," Oops I think that one slipped through my mouth filter.

"That, or this," he cupped my mound and bent over to kiss me deep. My heart raced and I felt blood rushing to parts unknown. The last time I hadn't had sex for ages was when I worked at a summer camp for three months straight. Putting a tampon in was an electrifying experience. It had only been a week and I was already losing my particulars about who and when.

"Oh."

Jeff tugged my legs apart and shifted himself between me. There were a lot of blankets being tossed aside and pillows thrown on the floor. He made himself at home nuzzling my neck and sliding one hand inside, the other one flicking a nipple gently. I had shut off my inner mother hen by promising her I would eat more vegetables and lay off the Jeff cream pies. I was going to enjoy some semblance of a good time if it was with him or if it was by myself.

"I have an idea," Jeff moaned as I slipped his cock inside, trying to get this done and over with so I could enjoy the rest of the day. If Jeff's idea involved twenty more minutes of foreplay, I was going to call it quits. It's two o'clock and I hadn't eaten since three the day before. He pulled out and reached over to pull the bedside table open. Curiouser, and curiouser.

The happy little buzzing sound I've come to know and love erupted through the room. I couldn't tell, but there was definitely a sparkle to my eyes. His breath tickled the nape of my neck as he struggled to find the right spot and apply the right amount of pressure. Needle in a haystack, Jeff! I took control, and moved Barney back over an inch. My knees bent to help accommodate the extra gear and Jeff moved back into my body and into my life. His sharp little gasp of pleasure caused shivers to shoot down my spine. I could feel him grow larger inside with each thrust. One of my hands was downstairs operating the machinery, the other upstairs trying to help my body rock with Jeff. I was getting the picture; this wasn't working. I had to hold still beneath him and get to where I was going first.

Jeff grunted back in response after I found a spot for my free hand. He has pink nipples that turn a rose color when they're hard. I didn't know it till college but some guys like they're nipples played with just as much as I like mine pinched, squeezed, tugged on, or licked. Disclaimer, I am not a cow and my nipples should never be treated as teats. Turns out, Jeff was one of them. Each sweet plunge was deliriously amazing coupled with the vibrator and I was onto my first "Hallelujah" moment. Jeff, like a gentleman, made it to the finish line before I did. He groaned and Oh-fuck'd his way down from the high as I followed. I wanted to clear out my schedule and stay in the moment forever. Is this what guys feel like when they cum? Christ, this is awesome! My body was squeezing every bit of his shaft inside as Jeff continued to pump encouraging each contraction.

Oh fuck. Is this why people smoke after sex? Seven years of being in the dark waiting for something magic to happen and finally. . . Okay, I was ready to start the day now. I kissed Jeff smack on the lips, reminiscent of Bugs Bunny kissing Elmer Fudd. I hopped out of bed opened my bedroom door to raid the fridge and ran into another Goldilocks trying out my couch.

********

Wait. Explain this again.

"Kevin's going to direct, I'm going to set up the website, and Machu Picchu here is going to video tape it."

For those of you at home wondering who in the hell was Machu Picchu, welcome to my boat. A small Asian kid was sitting in my living room holding a video camera and smiling wide, his thumbs went up every time Machu Picchu was said.

Is that really his name? Why is he named after a mountain? Does he speak English? Where in the world did you find this guy? He looks like Long Duck Dong. I had so many questions but the only thing that bubbled out was a small insignificant squeak. No one noticed. Jeff had let in Kevin and MP, I refuse to call him Machu Picchu, while I slept. Rat bastard.

"He's a foreign exchange student. He pays for my rent while I teach him English," Kevin explained with a beam. He slapped MP and continued, "His name is something like Matzu Pilu, I don't know, he seems to like Machu Picchu and I like calling him that." God help us all.

My face was stuck in a contorted mass of confusion and befuddlement. My jaw had hit the carpet, my eyebrow touched the ceiling, and MP just smiled and repeated his name. Jeff grabbed my arm and pulled me up from the futon. I was being guided into the bathroom and make-up was shoved into my hands.