I Just Want My Pants Back Part 12

Suddenly I was starving. I shook Quaid out of my head and made my way over to a table that had some plastic bowls on it. Chex Mix. I dug in, hoping the med students had washed their hands. Crunching away, I wandered around and scanned for Jennifer.

I finally spied her way off in the corner talking to a tall, skinny guy with a Long Island look. Baseball hat, goatee, very light blue jeans, Timberlands. It seemed like they were having a bit of an argument; Jennifer was doing a lot of gesticulating. If I didn't know better I would have thought she was signing. Or throwing gang signs.

I was feeling pretty stoned, my eyes were having trouble focusing. It was crowded in there, I didn't know anyone, and I was on the verge of going to the ugly anxious place, so I heel-toed it back over to the booze table and quickly fixed myself a vodka soda. I took a sip, hoping it would take the edge off, then looked back to see that Jennifer was still flapping her arms at the guy. I kept looking at them jabbering away. I wasn't sure how to handle it. I finally decided to casually swing past them on my way to the little doctor's room and see what happened.

I slowly walked over by them and hovered for a second. Jennifer didn't even look at me, she just kept talking. I moved past them and went straight into the bathroom, feeling a little like a jacka.s.s, like an unwanted pursuer. My face was flushed. I was suddenly the teenage dork at the high school dance. The bathroom smelled like bad urinal mint. I sucked down a big mouthful of vodka and put the drink on the counter. I didn't really have to pee even, but I went over to the urinal and squeezed out a few drops, lest I be a guy in a bathroom with a drink, not peeing.

Washing my hands, I finally started to feel the vodka, and it felt good, calming. It took me down a notch. It was the voice of reason. Suddenly my posture was improving. I wasn't a jacka.s.s, no, not yet anyway. Yes, I definitely preferred vodka to regular potatoes, that was for certain. I smiled at myself in the mirror. I was okay by me. Then I winked. It was a pretty queer move.

Feeling stronger, I walked tall back out toward Jennifer and Long Island, determined only to use my peripheral vision as I pa.s.sed. I figured if she didn't stop me, I was just going to keep walking straight to the train and head back downtown. f.u.c.k it, the whole thing. I had my sea legs now. As I stepped past, though, Jennifer reached out and grabbed my hand.

"Hey, there you are. Let's go dance," she said, looking at Long Island, then tugging me toward the area where people were dancing. She kept pulling me right through it and back over to the alcohol. She filled up a red plastic cup with keg beer.

"So, um," I said, "what's the drama?"

"What are you talking about?" She took a long sip of beer.

"Oh, c'mon." I gestured back there, and grinned. "You've been gone for like a half hour. You can tell me."

She took the cup from her mouth. "Okay, okay, I went on like one date with that guy, and he was ha.s.sling me because I showed up to this party with you." She took another sip. "It's no big deal, really."

"Only one date, huh? He seems a little bent out of shape for that." I stretched out my arms. "Hey, I'm just a friend of yours from cla.s.s, right?"

She blushed. "Right. I mean that's what I told him. Whatever." She took another big swallow from her cup. Lipstick showed from the rim, a slightly darker shade of red than the cup.

"Cheers," I said. "To Rabbi Stan."

"Cheers," she said. She took a sip and smiled at me, her blue eyes shining. She was really quite pretty.

It was then that I made my decision. I was going to get completely s.h.i.tfaced. And I was going to get Jennifer completely s.h.i.tfaced. "Can you handle two of us, Quaid?" I shouted, internally. No answer. "Quaaaaaid!" I yelled.

A pregnant moment of silence.

"Is a bullfrog waterproof?" Quaid boomed, somewhere off-screen.

I wasn't sure. But I turned to Jennifer and pointed to the vodka bottle on the table. "How about a shot of this?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said, waving her hand.

"All the cool kids are doing it," I said.

"I was never really a cool kid."

"Here's your chance at the big time, then."

"I can't pa.s.s that up, I guess."

"L'chaim," I said.

We both grimaced as the room-temperature vodka went from the bottoms of two plastic cups to the backs of our throats. The second shot wasn't any easier.

And then we were both dancing. I was not a good dancer, it wasn't one of my strengths, but I could do it in a pinch. Luckily the dancing took place during a block of the Jackson 5, and even a man as white as I, whose lineage seemed to go back to a land called Caucasia, could find the beat in that. Jennifer told me between songs that she hadn't gotten drunk in months; med school was just too overwhelming. The girl needed to blow off some steam. I did what I could to help. I got us both another beer. Every sip made the world a better place. For her. For me. For America.

I noticed that Long Island guy sort of lurking about. I was getting drunker and he must've been as well. Alcohol plus cuckolding begets violence. So I put my arm around Jennifer and suggested we go someplace else. And bang, we were on the street, in a cab, flying downtown with everything blurry and wonderful.

I don't know how I did it exactly. But soon we were on my front stoop sharing an oilcan of Fosters. We had gone into the deli, and while Jennifer was in the back looking at the beer choices, Bobby threw me a high-five. "All right, Boss, all right for you!" he whispered. Normally I don't allow the high-five, but this seemed like the reason it was invented. Jennifer emerged from the back with two oilcans, and I bought them without discussion. We sat down on the stoop, and she leaned in close to me, smelling like beer and something sweet. She kissed me softly on the lips.

"Hi, you," she whispered. Thus began what one could call "a make-out session." She was a really good kisser. And I liked to think I was holding my own.

Every so often I tried to softly convince Jennifer to come upstairs, but she was holding out pretty good. I started thinking maybe I should play it cool, maybe I should save that for our next date. Wasn't that how relationships normally began, slowly building up to s.e.x over a few dates, instead of starting with a one-night stand? I mean Tina had probably been sandwiched between Brett and a hairless Tahitian boy on their first date, but they were the exception that proved the rule. It was kind of too late for such wise thoughts, though; Jennifer was going to come upstairs. I already had an ace up my sleeve, an ace I knew would be played shortly. And then it happened.

"I need to use a bathroom," she said, pulling back from a kiss.

"No problem," I said, standing up awkwardly due to Petey's half-salute. I pulled my ace out, the keys that led to the bathroom in my apartment, jingled them at her, and opened the door. Always f.u.c.king bet on the bladder. It cannot be denied.

We climbed the stairs. I glanced at Patty's door as I hunched to put the key in mine. I straightened up for a minute. How the f.u.c.k didn't I know what was going on with her? I felt a wave of nerves.

I turned the key and we entered my place. As Jennifer excused herself to the bathroom, I hustled. I went to throw on the first CD my fingers touched, but it ended up being The Velvet Underground and Nico The Velvet Underground and Nico and that was just not going to work unless we planned to tie off and shoot up first. So I shoved it aside and put in the second alb.u.m my fingers touched, The Flaming Lips' and that was just not going to work unless we planned to tie off and shoot up first. So I shoved it aside and put in the second alb.u.m my fingers touched, The Flaming Lips' Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, and then I uncapped two Stellas that had been resting in the crisper in my fridge. I saw some dirty clothes on the couch and tossed them into the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink. I looked the room over. It was acceptable, I supposed. I sat down on the couch and glanced at the clock. Three.

Jennifer reemerged. She walked over to the couch, sat on my lap, and started kissing me. The taste of mouthwash was strong. d.a.m.n it, I had to get name-brand mouthwash, this was getting ridiculous. We began making out again, like teenagers.

Once we started there was no stopping. I slowly made my way up her back, and went to unhook her bra. I tried with one hand but was unsuccessful. d.a.m.n my pathetic fingers, d.a.m.n them! I brought in the left and with two hands the job was soon accomplished. She backed away from me for a moment, then pulled the bra out of the bottom of her shirt. We started kissing again and then, yes, I touched them! One I named Mt. Sinai. The other I promised to name later, after I had researched the name of another famous Jewish mountain or large hill. They were all I had hoped for. I would gladly fight to defend them for my people. I kissed them as if they were the Holy Land.

We went into the bedroom, our shirts off now. Jennifer whispered in my ear, "You are really cute." She slipped her hands into my pants. "You know, I wanted to kiss you from the first minute I saw you in the shul." As she spoke the word "shul" her fingers lightly ran down my c.o.c.k. We could recruit thousands to our religion with this technique, I thought.

I tugged off her pants. Her underwear was a black, lacy little number, hardly IDF standard issue. I awkwardly pulled my own jeans and boxers off, then quickly began kissing her again. Things were going quite well, I did not want any break in momentum. She was moaning. It was a good sign.

I slowly slipped her underwear over her hips and down her legs. Aah, Tina was wrong, the field was quite well manicured, my fears of kibbutz-level grooming unwarranted. This girl was f.u.c.king s.e.xy, I could prove it in a court of law. I wanted to play Moses to her Red Sea. I wanted to be the afikoman to her hiding place. I wanted her to speak Farsi and I would be in the Mossad...

Suddenly she stopped and looked up. "Wait. I don't believe in s.e.x before marriage," she breathed.

"Really?"

"Really," she said, sitting up. "But don't worry."

She put me on my back and began doing things with her mouth that you wouldn't think an Orthodox girl would have been so expert at. But it kind of made sense, given that she wasn't having s.e.x and all. The girl was f.u.c.king thorough-I mean, she was like a cat cleaning its young.

"Will you do me a favor?" she said, pausing for a moment. She slid her body around so her backside was near my head. "Put your finger in my a.s.s."

"Sure," I coughed, "my pleasure." I gently slipped the tip of my index finger into the naughty place.

She began once more with the tongue work, then abruptly stopped and looked back at me. "Try your thumb."

I put my thumb in, and as she pressed back hard, it was soon deep inside the quivering cave. You just never really know how the day is going to end, do you? I looked away, suppressing a giggle. There stood Quaid, biting his fist. "You have your thumb in another human being's a.s.shole." He tipped his hat. "Fine work."

Jennifer began to grind against my thumb, hard. It was really squeezed in there, and for a second, with her weight on it, I was scared it could break. She was moaning and yelping loudly, like...like a girl who enjoyed a thumb up the a.s.s, profoundly. And then she suddenly pulled free of it and in one quick move was on top of me. I was inside her, it was happening.

"Hey," I breathed, surprised, "I thought..."

"No thinking," she whispered, eyes screwed shut, tentatively moving up and back. She slowly began to grind harder, then harder, then full-on, leaning forward and putting her fingers around my throat. She gripped it tightly, almost choking me. I felt my eyes bulging Marty Feldmanstyle. Then-flip-flop-she clumsily rolled over and pulled me on top of her. She wrapped her legs around me and began thrusting so spastically I understood what it must be like to f.u.c.k an epilectic. I remembered health cla.s.s and considered looking for a stick to put in her mouth. I watched her writhe below me, all earnest and animal and just plain pretty, and I was back in the moment. I closed my eyes as we fell into a nice rhythm, and after several guttural noises we each reached fruition. I peeled off her and fell at her side, winded.

After a few seconds, Jennifer got up and went to the bathroom. I lay there for a moment, still feeling a twinge of pain in my thumb. I had the strange urge to smell it, which I repressed, but it was harder to repress than it should have been. She came out and tumbled back into bed. "I am so drunk," she said, curling into the pillow. "Oh my G.o.d, I can't believe we just did that."

"It was fun," I said, kissing her head. I took my turn in the bathroom, feeling f.u.c.king drunk as s.h.i.t myself. I washed my thumb with soap and water. It looked a little pruney, like I had stayed in the pool too long. I stumbled into the main room, turned off the stereo, and stumbled back into bed.

We lay quietly for a few moments. Then I said, "Hey, you okay over there?"

"Yeah. I just...I just really shouldn't have done that."

"I'm sorry, I..."

"It's okay, Jason, it's fine. It's my issue. We really don't need to talk about it." She kissed my neck softly and closed the subject. As we both pa.s.sed out, I gave in and smelled the thumb. Ivory soap.

And then, something felt wrong. Something woke me. Jennifer was sitting up in the bed. I pretended to sleep but I watched her out of a half-open eye. "f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k, f.u.c.k," she mouthed. Her head dipped with each "f.u.c.k."

Then like that she was up and getting dressed. She followed the trail of clothes into the other room. My brain was fuzzy and so was my vision without gla.s.ses. The clock looked like it read 5:21. The sound went from the patter of bare feet on the wood floor to the clomp of heels. She walked past me in the bed, straight to the door, and fumbled with the bolt. She was just going to slip out. Not even say good-bye. I couldn't just let her leave. I had to say something.

"Hey," I whispered, pretending to wake up. "Are you going?"

Startled, she held the door open a crack, the light streaming in from the stairwell. She whispered without turning. "I have to go to an early study group." She was halfway out the door. "Bye," she whispered.

"Wait, um..." I whispered back. But it was too late. She was gone down the stairs. It sounded like she was running.

I lay there, puzzled, too much unwanted adrenaline now dripping into my too-tired bloodstream. My body chemistry was at the exact point where the balance was tipping from "still drunk" to "h.e.l.lo, hangover." Go to sleep, I told myself. Think about this later. Repress and deny, repress and deny. Eventually my thoughts slowed and my heart slowed and the vein throbbing in my forehead slackened. I was determined to get as much sleep as I could before I had to leave for work. I found a comfortable position and consciousness began to fade. I realized I didn't know Jennifer's number, her e-mail, anything. And she didn't know mine. The best I could do was call Rabbi Stan's cell phone. His polyphonic Hava Nagilah ringtone began to play in my skull. Christ, I was still a little high, wasn't I?

"Yessiree," said Quaid, tucking me in. He waved bye-bye and off I drifted.

I woke up and the clock read 10:45. s.h.i.t s.h.i.t s.h.i.t I was f.u.c.king late. I pulled on the boxers and dirty jeans that were strewn on the floor by the coffee table. I grabbed a shirt off the floor of the closet. I felt wobbly. I burped and tasted the bad taste. Oh my G.o.d. Oh my vengeful G.o.d. woke up and the clock read 10:45. s.h.i.t s.h.i.t s.h.i.t I was f.u.c.king late. I pulled on the boxers and dirty jeans that were strewn on the floor by the coffee table. I grabbed a shirt off the floor of the closet. I felt wobbly. I burped and tasted the bad taste. Oh my G.o.d. Oh my vengeful G.o.d.

I shook myself out of it, grabbed my wallet, flung the door open, and took the stairs two at a time, the subway my destination. I pictured Jennifer going down these same steps hours ago, and The Fear ratcheted up a notch. I sprinted out of the building and almost smacked into Patty on the sidewalk.

"What's the rush, stranger?" she said, a twinkle in her eye.

I was out of breath. "Hey. Wow, how are you? Good to see you." I was babbling. My head itched and I scratched it. She looked good, I thought, the same as ever, thank G.o.d. "So, oh yeah, I'm just running to work. I'm really late," I gestured to my watchless wrist.

"And I'm just on my way back from chemo. Fun stuff." She brushed a blowing hair from her eyes, smiled, and waved me on. "Go, go. Come by later tonight and we'll catch up."

"I will. Tonight. Definitely. So good to see you!" I yelled over my shoulder and double-timed it to the subway.

14.

I got to JB's by 11:25, which frankly was a f.u.c.king miracle given the circ.u.mstances. I sat down at the front desk and tore into a chocolate doughnut with colored sprinkles that I had bought from a street vendor. To say I felt like dogs.h.i.t would be an insult to dogs.h.i.t.

I opened my IM and got Tina.

doodyball5: the fear is here tinadoll: what?

doodyball5: worst hangover ever tinadoll: how was yentl?

doodyball5: that's why i'm writing tinadoll: please don't bore me doodyball5: she came back to my place tinadoll: she was drunk too, eh?

doodyball5: yes, wasted. wisea.s.s tinadoll: go on doodyball5: while we were fooling around...

tinadoll: she puked all over you doodyball5: no.

tinadoll: stop the suspense stephen f.u.c.king king doodyball5: she said she didn't believe in premarital s.e.x tinadoll: that's a "con"

doodyball5: but 2 mins later...she slipped it in tinadoll: !.

tinadoll: wait-she did or you did?

doodyball5: she! i am a gentleman tinadoll: naturally doodyball5: but then at 5am, she snuck out-she left!

tinadoll: yikes. really?

doodyball5: yeah, it was weird. she totally bolted tinadoll: um...

tinadoll: u didn't deflower her by any chance, did u spaz?

doodyball5: no!

tinadoll: u positive?

doodyball5: she didn't say she was a virgin or anything tinadoll: no one ever does, dude doodyball5: stop trying to freak me out. she wasn't a virgin tinadoll: sure, maybe she just needed to run off to prepare shabbat dinner doodyball5: you're making me feel worse. this isn't why i wrote u tinadoll: you did nothing wrong. virgins are just super emotional doodyball5: stop it, f.u.c.ker! i feel bad enough. i sort of liked her tinadoll: and now she is going to burn in h.e.l.l for all eternity

JB walked over and I quickly quit out of IM. He was wearing a gray-striped shirt and, shocker-black pants instead of jeans. He paused at the front of the desk and looked sort of past me. "Hey, Jason, are you busy right now?" he asked, in a nasal monotone.

"No, not too bad," I said. "Just tidying up some files. Need a hand with something?"

"Yes, um, come on into my office for a second." He turned and started toward it, so I got up and followed him. I had never noticed how high an a.s.s JB had. He could probably reach over his shoulder and take his wallet out of his back pocket. He waited for me to enter and then gestured to a chair, which I took. Then he closed the door.