Guilty Pleasures Ch. 09

"How the hell is she any different?"

"She is Becca's friend, but she's not us. Your daughter is 100% on board the Stephanie Train.

"Why are you three so intent on this?" I almost whined. I didn't want to deal with the Becca issue.

"Because we like you, Mister Howard. We like you a lot, and want you to have fun," she said seriously. Then she grinned with a lot more knowing stare than a girl her age should be able to muster. "And because we like Stephanie too..."

With that, Mary ran off to corral Becca. Monica left them to whatever plotting against my last shreds of virtue they were up to, and came over to talk to me.

Well, to be honest, rather than talk, we both took a chance to check our phones. I was feeling sluggish after that dinner, and in equal parts dreading and anticipating dessert. We companionably scrolled Facebook. I also checked in on Twitter, while I think Monica preferred Instagram.

We showed each other the occasional meme. It was comfortable just hanging out, especially since at least she was choosing not to bust my chops.

I saw a post about a new installment of an action movie franchise I sort of liked. It had promise. "Have you seen this series?" I asked Monica, showing her the phone.

"Oh, I never a miss his movies," she snorted. "Is that out already?"

"Looks like it. Want to go Monday night?" I asked, already scrolling on.

"Sure, shoot me the showtime you choose. Nothing before seven, please. I want to be able to change from work," Monica replied.

"Mmmm," I said. Setting a reminder to myself to get tickets. I was fine going to movies by myself, and had been since before my ex left me. Becca had used to go sometimes with me, but she had gotten 'too old' to go to the movies with her dad since college. It would be nice to have someone to diss on the coming attractions with for once.

*

It rained all the next weekend, and I was denied my weekly dose of Stephanie. I definitely missed it.

On Tuesday, I got a text from Monica.

MONICA: Taking an early day today. Okay if the girls and I use your pool to get a little sun? We will try to stick around until you get home.

ME: Fine by me. You know where the key is, so you can use the bathroom.

ME: And since when does Becca need my permission?

MONICA: Becca has work until nine tonight.

ME: Duh. That's right. I'll try to get off early so I can say hi b4 you all leave.

No matter what I'd politely texted, I wasn't really intending to try to leave work much before my regular time. Instead, I focused on just not getting caught up in something late in the day. But by around three o'clock, I realized that things were as done in the office as I could make them for the day. If I stayed, I'd just be inviting getting called into a meeting, and all I had left was my own design work that I just as easily do in my backyard.

Before I could reconsider the wisdom of going to go hang out by my pool with the three hellions, and without Becca as bodyguard, I popped out of my office, glowered at those of my team who were in sight, and headed out.

I texted both Monica and Anne that I was coming home, and told them not to drink all my beer.

I pulled in to my driveway, went through the house, and stuck my head out back. "I'm home! Want anything from inside?"

The four of them were still sunbathing, though there wasn't much good sun left. They had conned Monica into the bikini again. I wasn't complaining.

"Come on out," Carol called.

"Neckties are dangerous if I go swimming," I laughed, and ducked inside to ditch my suit and don some trunks.

When I got back out, I headed toward my customary spot where I could watch over the whole backyard.

"What's with the laptop this afternoon, Mister H?" Carol needled again. "I thought you were going swimming."

I smirked at her, then shrugged. I knew the water was perfect, and it was still plenty hot out. I set down my computer and veered toward the pool. I dove in cleanly, swam to the other end and back, and hauled myself out. I brushed water off myself, and shook out most of what was in my hair.

I was wolf-whistled. By at least two of them.

"Don't you have homework, girls?" I growled at them. I seriously don't see myself as worth being ogled, but at my age, you take what you can get.

"I have no homework," Monica said with grave superiority, waving around a beer can in her hand haughtily. "Boss sent me home because he thought I was moping."

"You were? I asked, suddenly alert. "Did something happen?"

"No," Monica laughed. "I was just bored. The week's big data dump doesn't start until tomorrow, and the prior reports have all been run. It is always boring on Tuesday, but today was the worst. When Fred went all White Knight on his girl who's going through a divorce, I let him send me home. Sweetness should be rewarded," she smirked, and finished her beer. "Another please?" she said waving the Mich Ultra can at me.

The girls looked at her and giggled.

"Sure," I said. I opened the fridge and grabbed another beer. There were several White Claw's missing too. Monica had let her little buddies have a drink... Fine. She had driven over here, since only Monica's car was in the drive. I just needed to make sure they stuck around a little longer to sober up before they left, while pretending I hadn't noticed anything.

I handed Monica her refill, and took the empty. When I tossed it in the recycling, I saw six empty White Claw cans! These girls must have quickly finished off their second ones when I said I was coming home.

Stinkers.

I considered taking Official Notice, but decided that it would just make it harder for me to say no the next time. I knew these girls all drank. They were about to start their third year of college.

"Not going to lay out with us?" Mary asked, indicating the last free chaise, pulled over by them.

"Nah, this chair has become custom-imprinted with the curvature of my butt," I said, relaxing in my chair. I was looking right at them, and not that far away.

"Suit yourself," Anne said.

I booted up my email and checked to see that my team had mercifully not burnt the place down in the half hour I'd been gone.

"Mary!" I heard Carol gasp. I looked up.

Mary had removed her goddamned top!

"Mary!" I echoed in a strangled voice.

Mary ignored me. To Carol, she shrugged. "What? I want to get a little more sun before it gets too low. It's not like this is anything he hasn't seen before," she added slyly.

Monica shook her head.

Anne looked at Carol, shrugged, said, "There is still a good half-hour of tanning sunlight left," and slid her top off too.

"Well, okay then," said Carol, shrugging hers off as well, and shaking her torso a little. "There, it does feel better to take it back off."

They all looked at Monica. She looked at them like a basket full of snakes.

"Guys..." I said quellingly.

Wait.

Carol had said, 'Take it back off'?

"That was before, when we were all alone," Monica replied to their voiceless taunt.

All four of them had been tanning topless in my fucking backyard? Monica. Had been topless. In my backyard?

"Oh come on," Anne grumbled to Monica. "It's just Clark. He's seen everybody's tits."

"He hasn't seen Stephanie's," Mary sniggered.

"Who says I haven't?" I blurted out merrily, before I could strangle myself.

They all stopped negotiating over Monica's top and stared at me.

Fine. I could put on a shit-eating grin when I wanted to.

"Bull. Shit," Carol said definitively. "Convince us, or your ass is going back in the pool."

Hmmm. Being tossed into the pool by three topless college girls sounded... not terrible. But this was better.

"She flashed me right here, the last time, when you lot were goading her so hard."

"I continue to call bullshit," Carol said. I sensed I was being treated to a team ritual from softball. "I propose summary judgement."

"No really," I said, seeming to relax in my chair, while actually putting myself into a position to make it impossible for them to drag me from it. "When she was putting on her sunscreen, she quite deliberately pulled her bikini top away, giving me a clear nipple viewing. It wasn't long, I'll admit, but that's why I said 'flashed'."

I looked in amusement at Monica. "If you were still wondering whether you had what it takes to make a cheerleader jealous, I think she was complimenting you heavily." Monica said nothing, but just looked at me, scandalized by my effrontery.

"Holy shit, Clark," Anne said in genuine amazement. "You really might actually sleep with Stephanie..." The other girls looked at her and nodded solemnly.

I snorted in contempt at the idea. But I could not help but ask. "I thought that was your Evil Plan..."

"Our plan, yes. Not our expectation," Anne said, still shaking her head. "I mean, Stephanie hardly has sex with anybody. She hardly dates anybody."

"Yeah, but now... who knows," Mary said slowly, exchanging calculated glances with the other two hellions. "Mister Howard, you have to understand: Stephanie flaunts, but she doesn't flash. She flashed you. That's major."

"Oh, and I suppose you three go around flashing all the time?" I snorted archly.

They looked shifty.

Wait. What?

"We might flash a little, here and there," Carol said defensively.

"Not often," Mary said firmly and virtuously.

My mind shied away from the very real knowledge that 99% of the sorts of things these hellions got up to, my daughter got up to, too.

But for once it was not me who was leaping to change the subject.

"Come on, Mon. Top back off," Anne ordered. "There is still some sun left, and if you don't, you will waste the time you've put in already."

"Yeah?" Monica said with good-natured mulishness. She idly pointed my way. "Mr. I've Seen Everybody's Boobs over there has not seen mine."

You go girl. Put them in their place.

I was relieved to see her not letting herself be bullied. How had Stain ever pushed this woman around?

"You!" Monica went on sternly, looking at me. "Get out of your custom-molded butt throne, and sit on the other side of the table... facing away, so I can take this off and get a little more sun!"

"Hey! I have to sit here with my back to everyone and stare at the overgrown viburnum I should have pruned this spring?"

"I'm trying to have a good time here, Clark," she said seriously.

Bitch. She knew I was not going to be able to trump that card. Improve Monica's Miserable Life Whenever Possible was the current prime directive in our circle.

I got up and sat down with my back to them. I harrumphed and looked back at my laptop.

Can I help it that this model of MacBook has a screen that is way too glare-prone and thus highly reflective?

I really did have a spreadsheet up, but I was mostly just paying attention to the fuzzy reflection of Monica taking off her top behind me. I wished I knew a way to record from the built-in webcam without it being obvious.

You are a perv, Clark!

But I kept watching... at least until I realized that I could see Monica staring at me in the reflection! I coughed and bumped the screen. Now I could see Anne and Carol, laying back in the sun. It was a nice view too, of course, if fuzzy. But it did not include Monica. While I respected my neighbor, and hated to embarrass her, new pretty titties are new pretty titties. And Monica's pretty titties were very pretty.

I heard her laugh when I moved the screen.

*

"So my daughter was over at my place last night, after yours," Yancey said, sipping his first beer at the bar.

"Oh? Tell you what she was up to?" I asked. He clearly knew something and was going to torture me with it, so I might as well 'enjoy' the ride...

"Besides sunbathing topless? Not much," Yancey said, a little acerbically.

Really, Mary? You threw in that detail? And that isn't Yancey's headline? And he's not giving me shit about it?

This was... confusing.

"She does say that you are going to fuck the cheerleader I told you to fuck," Yancey said, grinning into his beer.

Ah. He's got an I Told You So moment.

"I have no idea if that is the truth or not," I grumped.

"Were I in your position..."

"Which you are not," I interrupted.

"Which I am certainly not. I lead an orgasmically orgasmic life already. But if I were in your position, I'd be a little more enthusiastic."

"If you were in my position."

"Which I am not."

"Well, I don't know it to be fact that she and I are going to happen. I got treated to a nipple flash, and The Three say this is a Nostradamus-level prediction that she wants me. I am not at all so sure."

"I'd still be enthusiastic at the prospect."

"I... I'm not scared, that's for sure," I snorted reluctantly. "All I know is the entire planet wants me to try. You want me to fuck her. Your wife wants me to fuck her. The hellions want me to fuck her..."

"The hellions?"

"Your daughter, Anne, and Carol."

"Oh. Your current set of mistakes."

"Yancey... Wait... My current set...?" When had he learned about Anne and Carol?

"Wanda and I have gotten very bad with secrets lately."

"Does everyone know everything about my life right now?"

"Probably," Yancey shrugged.

I sighed. "Look. Even my goddamned daughter wants me to fuck that girl. What the hell is going on?"

"But the point is, you are going to nail the cheerleader. Unlike certain other recent escapades, I'm going to need extensive details about that," Yancey said. "I'm a married man, I have to live vicariously through you."

"Fuck you, Yancey," I said with good humor. "I just know that I am going to regret whatever happens."

"Sure about that?"

"Dude, I feel guilty about everything! I feel like a monster for just about every fucking thing that has happened to me since the start of the summer. Look," I said, turning toward him to emphasize my words. "Here's how weird my life is. The only thing I've done in this whole goddamned freakout that I don't feel guilty about is fucking your wife."

The bartender dropped a whole tray of beer glasses. Half of them broke.

Yancey and I realized that he'd been listening in on our conversation. We sniggered.

"You're Catholic, right?" Yancey shrugged. "Go to confession, or whatever."

"Dude, I haven't been in a church in ten years. And I haven't gone to reconciliation for way longer than that!"

"So? You go in. You fess up. You say a few Hail Marys or some shit, and your conscience is clear."

"You are such a protestant," I grumbled.

Father Black is like eighty years old. If I went in there and confessed the prior three months, I'd kill the poor man dead.

The bartender, the one who had dropped the rack of glasses, came over to us with three double shot glasses, filled with what I already knew had to be tequila.

"On me," Butterfingers said, slapping the glasses down. "I have to be able to say I drank with you guys."

I grinned. I raised the glass to Yancey. "To Wanda. That's his wife," I added parenthetically, and slammed back my shot.

"To Rebecca," Yancey replied, grinning. "That's his ex-wife. I fucked her first," he added to the man behind the bar.

Yancey and I were somehow, against the odds, completely at ease with each other. We shouldn't have been, but there we were.

"I don't know about you two guys," the bartender said, slugging his glass back, "but I'm going to need another shot..."

This time, we slammed them back together, after which I heard a cleared throat behind me. I turned to find Monica standing there with a raised eyebrow and a curled lip. Yancey turned around as well. She slapped his shoulder. "Go home," she said, with the voice of Wanda clearly on her lips.

Yancey heard it too, and rose, unsteadily. "And take an Uber," Monica added. "But don't linger."

Yancey looked at her, grinned, and headed out, fingers already on his phone as he went.

Monica slid into Yancey's vacated stool. The bartender looked wide-eyed at Monica.

"Oh, chill out," I admonished. "This isn't his wife or mine. This is Monica. She's going through... a Stain-removal process," I added a little tipsily myself.

Monica eyed me. "What was in those glasses?" she asked the bartender, who was still standing there.

"Jose?" he said, holding the tequila bottle.

"Ugh," Monica said, wrinkling her nose. "Pour me two shots of Patron, would you?"

"I better not," I said quickly.

"They are for me. I need to catch up. I only just left work," Monica snorted. "Bring the lush here a ginger beer," she added.

The bartender pissed off swiftly, but I sensed that the guy would never be out of earshot of me ever again when I was in this place.

"Why didn't you just take his ass home?" I asked.

"Wanda told me to send him home, then keep you company here, thus making myself scarce for an hour at the very least."

"Oh," I said. "Oh!"

"Yeah," Monica snorted. "Exactly. I think Wanda is in the mood to make some noise in the bedroom. Also, last Wednesday, while you guys were here drinking beer, she and I got bombed back at the house. I got all weepy, she got all crazy. It was a thing. You, um, should have been there."

"Whoa! You two okay?"

"Wanda and me? Thick as thieves..." Monica said with a happy smile. "But she and Yancey need some time without a pseudo-daughter in the house."

"Well, I will stay here and nurse my ginger beer and keep you company until they have exhausted themselves," I said. "But anytime you want to clear the decks and keep your ears virginal, you can always walk over and hang at my place."

The bartender heard that, of course, and raised a worshipful eyebrow in my direction.

I rolled my eyes and shook my head. As if.

"What's that look?" Monica asked.

"Nothing," I laughed.

*

The very next night, my doorbell rang about eight o'clock. The primary elections had just finished, and I figured I was safe from get-out-the-vote efforts, so I went to answer the door.

It was Monica.

"Are they going at it again tonight?" I asked with exaggerated casualness as I ushered her in through the door.

"Most nights," Monica snorted. She paused a moment, then shook her head. "But that's not why I'm here. Can we talk?"

"Sure," I said, walking her back to my living room and telling the TV to turn off. "Drink?"

"Please," Monica said nervously.

Okay then. Sounded like a brown liquor kind of evening. I poured us each a finger of aged rum, and sat down facing her.

"What's up, Monica?"

"For the record," Monica said after a first sip, "I'm betting that since I told them I was going to be out for a while, they probably are doing it... maybe on the kitchen table." She smirked affectionately. Whatever was up wasn't that bad, I figured.

I sat back and sipped my own glass patiently.

"Clark... You like this, don't you?" she blurted suddenly. "I mean, I like that we are friends. We can just hang out. We can go to the movies, have dinner or drinks, or hang out in your backyard while the girls all try to mash you and Stephanie together, right?"

I laughed in spite of myself. I was just glad I hadn't been sipping right then.

"It's good to be friends, right?" she asked again, as if needing my agreement. I gave it to her.

"I mean... maybe there might be... something else out there, you know?" Monica went on swiftly. "Something for another day, maybe... in the future, though probably not, right? Something for a better time, when I'm not such a slowly recovering mess?"

I stared at her. I nodded quietly, because she needed me to. And also because, yes, it had occurred to me that I might like, someday, to go to the movies with a Monica, a divorced Monica, who was a lot less fragile than this Monica... in a context other than just two friends who enjoyed the acting stylings of Liam Neeson.