Chapter Thirteen: Jerk

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Frank, just listen. Stay away. Please. I love you too much…” Calla’s voice went soft, fading out. She hung up. I stared at the phone, trying to figure her out.

What the hell was the matter with her? Dead in a year? Was she on drugs?

I took my file and left the office, heading down the elevator and out through the lobby. I didn’t have time for this kind of bullshit. I had work to do.

I rode in the back of a cab, reading over the files my father had left. They outlined a big real estate deal in Colorado, he was expanding the company again. I suppose he wanted me to go over the legalities. Contracts, property law, terms…

The cabbie let me out and I went up the stairs instead of taking the elevator. I had to get some energy out of my system. Calla had me all worked up. I ran, squeezing the folder in my hand.

My footsteps clattered in the stairwell, echoing. I pushed myself hard, working up a sweat. My thighs burned as I reached my high floor, gasping for air. I lumbered towards my apartment, unlocking the door and closing it behind me. I lurched to the fridge and grabbed some water.

“Crazy girl,” I muttered between gulps. “Crazy.”

I went into my personal gym and worked out until I was exhausted, and could fall into bed. I fell asleep immediately, happily falling into a dreamless oblivion.


****************************************************************


“Rise and shine!” A voice said, opening my curtains and letting in blaring sunlight.

“What the?” I groaned, throwing a pillow in the general direction of the voice.

“I’m so glad you gave me a key,” Matt the Pimp said, tossing the pillow back and hitting me square in the head. “Get up. We’re going to the club today, remember?”

“For lunch,” I mumbled, rolling over. “Our parents. Screw off till later.”

“Dude, it’s past ten. I called this morning, since I know you’re usually up early, and decided to come over when there was no answer.”

“So glad for your concern,” I might have said. Instead, I threw the pillow at him again, hitting him in the leg. “Bite me.”

“Wow, such language! And you’re not hung-over or anything. What is with you?”

“I’m just tired. Go away.”

“Digger, I’m your ride to the country club. Let’s go. Before our parents kill us for being late.”

“Since when are we twelve years old? I thought we were grown-ups now.”

“Says the man throwing pillows like a child.”

“Shut up.”


********************************************************************


I pulled myself together and showered quickly. I came out of my room, dressed in a “Good Son” sweater, tie and dress pants, I found that Matt had thoughtfully made breakfast.

“Pop Tarts,” he handed me the warm pastry and ushered me out the door. We rode down in the elevator, and I chewed.

“I like Toaster Strudels myself,” Matt said.

“Me too,” I agreed, “I usually put the Pop Tarts in the fridge.”

“What?”

“Trust me. It makes the fruit filling and the icing taste better. Hot, they’re just dry and gross.”

“I never would have thought of that.”

“You don’t think of a lot of things. We need to pick up flowers for our mothers.”

“Why?”

“Why, he asks. Because she’s your mom. And, my father told me I have to. I don’t want to make you look bad.”

Matt looked me up and down. “Digger, nobody makes me look bad. I always look good in comparison.”

I shoved him with a laugh.

We got into Matt the Pimp’s shiny Porsche and he whirled us around the corner and down the street. We stopped at a flower shop quickly.

Matt went straight for the roses. We usually did that, because they were really the only flowers we knew the names for. I stopped, however, looking at a display of elegant white flowers.

“What are you doing?” He said, holding up yellow roses. “Let’s go.”

“They’re called Calla Lilies.”

“Shut up!” Matt pushed me, sending me towards the roses. “Grab a bouquet and move it. She’s just some girl.”

I bought some white roses and we headed out the door. I looked back though, from the window. I wondered if Miss Wiley liked the flowers she was named after? I thought about buying her some, the look on her face, taking her to dinner…

“Dude, seriously, if you turn into a chick, I’m going to punch you,” Matt growled as he steered.

“I can’t help how I feel.”

“Yes, you can. She’s a psycho crazy chick who you met on, what, Thursday? She’s nobody. You know how you get over shit like that?”

“How?”

“After lunch, we go out, get drunk, and find some hot chicks.” Matt smiled, “That works every time.”

“I think that was your answer to failing tests in college, smashing up your dad’s car, and the time you lost that money at the track.”

“I said it works every time. It does. I always feel better after I get laid.”

I shook my head. “You’re getting predictable in your old age.”

“One thing I pride myself on is consistency. I’ve been getting laid consistently since I was fourteen. You wish you had my numbers.”

I stared out the window.

“Yeah, I used to.”

Next Chapter>>