Hopeful Leigh (Literal Leigh Romance Diaries Book 3) Page 3

  Kelly put her hands on her hips and looked at me in disbelief. “Listen, they didn’t need to do a damn study on that. Most guys turn into jackasses around any of three things—big boobs, round asses, and long legs. So of course they talk like idiots. Why don’t we just listen to Brad talk to her for a couple of minutes? Trust me, I’ll be able to tell.”

  We all know what Kelly was talking about. Now, not every guy acts like that, thankfully, but there are more than enough of them. For example, you’re out to dinner with a guy and it just so happens the waitress is, admittedly, kind of cute. Suddenly, your date seems to be talking like a fool. He’s not asking about the wine list, he’s trying to be smooth—asking about her day, or her interesting name. No, he’s not outright hitting on her, but that subtle flirting. And that tone of voice, my God, it’s like he’s talking to a puppy. For me, that is the end of the date. That kind of cuteness, I can do without. I’ve seen married men out with their wives act like that and I always feel bad for the women involved. The wife is dying of embarrassment while she fantasizes about picking up a fork and jabbing him in the neck. The cute waitress, this new shiny object that has garnered the man’s lustful attention, is holding herself back from slapping the daylights out of him. Unfortunately, the law frowns on those sorts of things, despite the deep satisfaction that one would gain.

  Lindsey and I encouraged Kelly to covertly saunter close to Brad and his date. After a few minutes of listening to their conversation, she returned with her opinion of what was happening. "Well, I know for sure that Brad is all over that girl. You should have heard the way he is talking to her. It’s so sappy. Really, just over the top. And she just eats it up with a big stupid smile on her face. I bet that’s the same act he pulled on Gertie. The fact that he brought a cat in a carrier, as a prop, is downright creepy. I bet the next time he sees Gertie, he’ll be dragging along that same poor cat.”

  Our opinions about Brad were affirmed and, for the moment, we made no more mention of him. He really wasn’t worth wasting our afternoon on.

  Chapter Four

  Tongue Tied Firefighter

  We left the café and went about our afternoon stroll through the campus-like atmosphere of Lincoln Park. We made sure to have our fill of living up to a typical urban girl’s daytime outing. I can only speak for myself, but when I am window shopping for clothes, I’m looking to my friends for support. I am not afraid to admit, if left to my own devices, I would end up adding more purses and shoes to my collection. And nothing to go with them. We finished with a late afternoon meal at a new restaurant that, while very highly rated by the Tribune, turned out to be more expensive than good. Our budgets limited us to ordering from what they called the small plates menu. In other words, we split an appetizer that was overpriced and undersized. Since we shared one appetizer, we were forced to carefully pick at it like well-dressed lab partners dissecting a giant insect. Leaving the place hungrier than when we walked in, we went back to my place to order Chicago’s number one food, pizza.

  There is just something magical about the sight of open pizza boxes, plastic cups and paper plates scattering my normally quiet and tidy apartment. I loved having my friends over for the night and it was those remnants of the pizza delivery that reminded me of so many good times. It was our natural environment—lounging in clothes completely comfortable to wear, talking and laughing with mouthfuls of pizza, a romantic comedy on TV—our relaxed habitat, in which we were truly ourselves.

  Lindsey was laying on the couch and rolled half way on her side. She brought up something that we had all been thinking of. “So, are we going to call Gertie and tell her to steer clear of Brad?”

  “No. No way. The last time I witnessed it, cell phones scare the hell out of her. She just can’t wrap her head around the idea of wireless communication. And the unexpected, obnoxious ringtones make her jump out of her skin. Another reason not to tell her, who wants to find out that the guy they’ve been dreaming about is just another bullshit artist over the phone?” I meant it. Once the lousy phone call ends, it’s worse. I’ve experienced it before. Being left alone with negative thoughts and unanswered questions churning through your head can make for a miserable night.

  “That devil, Brad. I think he needs his silver tongue tarnished a bit.” Kelly said with a voice full of mischief.

  “OK, what evil plot are you hatching in that twisted mind of yours?” I was intrigued by Kelly’s idea.

  “I’m not exactly sure how it can be done, but I think if there was a way to give him a one-night dose of being completely tongue-tied, it might be enough to make him rethink the way he approaches women.”

  “Great idea! Cheesy pickup lines, babbling incoherently to women, generally making an ass of himself every time he opens his mouth. That could make him think twice the next time.” Lindsey was really getting into the plan as well.

  Not to be left out, Luna took a break from chewing on a tidbit of gooey cheese that someone had given her. “Meow, meow. Meow.”

  “Well, I guess Luna approves! I think I know just what to write about with my character, Brad, the smoking hot fireman.”

  Lindsey looked shocked that I seemed quick to use my magic desk. “You aren’t thinking of physically harming him. Are you?”

  “No, but I can’t promise that he won’t get the shit slapped out of him by the time the night is through. I’ll just take his slick moves and double them up into a string of the most awkward come-ons this neighborhood has seen in years. Now, why don’t you two get ready to go out? It’s not that late. I’ll do a little writing and then we’ll observe him in action. And I can make this a temporary condition. One night only.”

  I sat down at my desk and turned on my computer. Luna jumped up onto the desk and sat attentively next to my keyboard. She was fast becoming my muse. I had to remember to be very specific on the timing of the event. Assuming that Brad was still in Lincoln Park, I wrote the piece so that he would be easy to find, and his condition would be something that would resolve itself by the end of the night. Just long enough to teach him a lesson, and to entertain us.

  Hosed Again-The Firefighter’s Hot Mess

  It was nine o’clock at night and Brad the firefighter felt compelled to return to the same café where he had been to earlier in the day. That area was a rich environment for him. There were plenty of attractive women that he could hit on as he made attempts to line up his potential sexual conquests. This was more than some whim that he set out on. Like a man possessed by a demon, he was driven to relentlessly approach nearly every woman he saw.

  He was completely unaware that he was also afflicted by a very rare neurological condition that twisted his words. Despite his best efforts, he addressed the women in the most tired and cheesy pick-up lines and by singing out advertising jingles in an inappropriate way. He couldn’t even correctly say his own name, and he only introduced himself as Oscar Mayer. The condition was short lived and Brad returned to his old self within a couple of hours. Just long enough for him to think twice about treating women like they were his personal playmates.

  Luna was staring into my screen, completely mesmerized. I looked over the two little paragraphs and knew that it would be just enough to get Brad into a little trouble.

  “Meow.”

  “You worry too much, cat.”

  I got dressed and before long, the three of us headed back out to witness his self-destruction.

  By the time we reached the sidewalk café, we spotted Brad. I had expected him to be dressed for the part, or at least close to the womanizer we all imagined him to be. In fact, he looked quite sad and was obviously confused by his compulsion to return to the café. He was barefoot, so he must have jumped right out of bed to begin his nighttime foray. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans, a baggy black t-shirt and his hair looked like it needed a comb taken to it. To top it off, the cat carrier still dangled from one hand and it was still occupied. I wasn’t the only one surprised.

  “That’s how he dresses
to go out on the prowl? I think we’ve overestimated Don Juan.” Lindsey remarked, just as Brad seemed to be physically trying to force himself from approaching a table of young women. He took a step forward and then tried to hold the other leg from taking another step. Sadly, he couldn’t stop himself and went to where the women gathered. We walked closer so we could hear what he had to say.

  “I—I have a question for you ladies.” He said and then he slapped his free hand over his mouth to hold back the words that were certainly burning to be let out. “How-ugh.”

  The women began asking him questions. “What? What are you trying to say?” Another of them asked “Is there something wrong?”

  “Uh—you want to play, um, Pearl Harbor?” He slapped his hand over his mouth once again.

  “What?”

  “Attack on Pearl Harbor. I’ll lay back, and then you all dive down and blow the hell out of me.” He was grabbing the bulge in the front of his jeans in a vulgar display of childish behavior. The poor cat in the carrier was knocked around by his jerky movements and cried out.

  His lewd behavior was not well received. We could hear the girls shouting at him, “Get the fuck out of here! Creep!” and “Asshole!”

  Kelly was bouncing with excitement. “Ha-ha! Here it comes! Three, two, one—pepper spray!”

  Lindsey and I both cringed as we saw Brad take a direct hit in the face from a little spray can that one of the women had taken from her purse. Brad put a hand over his face while making a strange cry, a howling cry. He was visibly sweating and a little disoriented as he meandered down the sidewalk. We continued to follow him until he stopped near the entrance to a trendy bar. A small group of women were gathered out front. Brad tried to hold back the inevitable. I was dying to hear what he would say next. Kelly and Lindsey were already laughing in anticipation.

  Kelly was laughing so hard that she could barely speak. “Wait until they get a look at his pepper sprayed eyes! Oh my God. They look like blobs of runny strawberry jam. Oh this is great! Ha ha!”

  Lindsey caught her breath and controlled her laughter for just a minute. “Look! They’re military.” Then she enunciated each word slowly, for effect. “They are going to kick his ass!”

  The women were wearing Navy uniforms, and obviously enjoying some time away from the Naval Training Center in North Chicago. Poor Brad tried unsuccessfully to fight the urge to open his mouth again. “Hey, girl. I think you sat in some sugar.”

  “Excuse me?” One of the women asked.

  “Yeah, some sugar. ‘Cause that ass is sure lookin’ swee—eee—eeet.” Brad, with his runny strawberry jam eyes, wobbled the cat carrier with one hand and tried to clear his vision with the other.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get lost! Damn crackhead.”

  “Uh—” Brad’s voice was faltering as he made several frantic wiping motions over his mouth. Ultimately, he could no longer restrain himself. “I see you’re in the military. How about you demonstrate some hand to gland combat?” Once again, Brad was indecently grabbing a fistful of his bulging genitalia while thrusting his pelvis out towards the women.

  Kelly looked at me and said, “Now that was really bad. Where the hell is this guy getting this stuff from?” Our attention was pulled back to the scene in front of the club when we heard the sickening sound of a punch landing right on Brad’s face. He swayed back and forth like he might fall down. Then he staggered backward, away from the Sailors. He turned around and the cat carrier swung right into the side of a Chicago police officer who had just arrived at scene of the disturbance. It just happened to be Brad’s luck that it was a female police officer. We gasped in both horror and laughter.

  The glow of the streetlight made Brad’s freshly bloodied nose, and runny red eyes visible as he addressed the officer. “Oh thank God, officer. Please, I need help. Something’s wrong—with me. I—I can’t stop—myself. Oh no, here it comes again. Grrr, hey, baby, you might as well write that speeding ticket now because we’re going to be doin’ sixty nine later.” The police officer had her hand on her baton, ready to thump Brad’s noggin if he made any quick movements. “Watch your mouth! Now, tell me what’s going on here.”

  “I’m trying to tell you—I can’t stop—were you raised on a chicken farm?”

  “All right, put that cage down and keep your hands up where I can see them. Turn around. Slowly.” We watched the scene unfold as she spoke into her radio while she took out handcuffs. Surely, it was just a matter of minutes before the men in white suits showed up with a giant butterfly net.

  Brad quickly finished rattling off the line he had started. “You must have been raised on a chicken farm, because you sure know how to raise a cock!”

  Forget the men in white suits, we were now expecting to witness a good old fashioned police beat-down. Just then, a woman came running down the sidewalk and met Brad. Lindsey recognized her immediately. “Jesus Christ! It’s the girl from earlier, his lunch date!”

  “Brad? What are you doing out here? What’s going on?” She looked completely confused.

  “Beth! Beth! Thank God! Help me. I can’t stop saying these awful things to women.” He then looked to the officer. “Ma’am, this is my sister.”

  I actually growled, “Kelly, that’s his sister. His goddamn sister!”

  “Well, I didn’t see that plot twist coming.” Lindsey said and started to make her little snorting laugh.

  I continued to admonish Kelly. “Let me guess. That sweet babyish talk you listened in on? That was probably meant for the little cat in that carrier, not the girl.”

  Kelly shrugged me off with indifference. “Well, I’m sure he deserved this for something he did. He is a man, after all. That makes them guilty of some boneheaded thing. There’s always something they’ve done, or will eventually do. Chalk one up for karma.”

  The police officer was completely out of patience at this point. “Hold on! Start by telling me your name.” She looked down at his bare feet. “And the name of the mental hospital you escaped from.”

  Brad began to sing. Of all things, he sang. And, he sang a familiar and completely innocent advertising jingle—in a very suggestive tone, complete with stripper dance moves. He unbuttoned his jeans and grabbed the tab of his zipper. “My bologna has a first name, it’s O S C A R, My bologna has a second name, it’s M A Y E R—”

  “No! Brad! Stop it!” Beth slapped her hands on Brad’s chest before Brad could whip out his bologna for inspection. “Officer, he’s my brother. He’s not a crazed lunatic, he’s a fireman.”

  Kelly chuckled and whispered to me. “Yeah, a fireman. He just wants to take out his hose.”

  Brad’s sister continued. “There’s obviously something seriously wrong with him.” Beth looked in Brad’s eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  The officer looked at Brad in disgust. “I’ll say there’s something wrong with him. He’s an asshole. A cute one, but an asshole nonetheless. Now, get him out of here, before these women around here decide to kick the living shit out of him, and if they don’t, I will.”

  We watched Brad quietly pick up the little cat carrier. He looked around, still in a state of bewilderment and then he disappeared into the shadows with his sister. I realized that this was a horrible thing to have done to an innocent person. “I don’t even know what to say about this. I feel awful.”

  “It’s my fault, really.” It must have sunk in for Kelly, because now she sounded apologetic.

  “We are all guilty. We only saw what we had expected to see and then we rushed into doing this. Let’s head back and hope he forgets the whole thing. According to what I wrote, he should recover pretty quickly.” With that being said, we slinked back to my place, humbled by what we had done.

  “No, I mean it’s my fault that I didn’t think to tell you to write it so he’d give us a strip show. Damn.” Kelly mumbled.

  Chapter Five

  Zompires and a Billion-were

  It was not quite eleven o’clock at
night, and we were back to lounging at my apartment. Unfortunately, there were more missteps about to be made that night. It was of those times that you can look back at and say “Right then. We should have known better. Look what it got us into.” At the time none of us realized it.

  I didn’t want to talk about what we had done to Brad, not one bit. Still, we had to talk about what, if anything, we should mention to Gertie. “So, we have to assume that Brad will mention something to Gertie. Like, he might just come out and tell her that something so bizarre happened to him that she will just know that it had to be a curse. A magical curse.”

  Lindsey hung her head. “Ugh. I hadn’t thought about that. We’ll be the first ones she will be talking to. I don’t want to lie and keep it a secret. I say we just explain everything to her before he even has a chance to tell her. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  Kelly was less inclined to keep this a secret. “What? Are you out of your mind? You have no idea how she would take that kind of news. That we spied on her prospective boyfriend? Or we turned him into some perverted loon? Think about it. Gertie may be as sweet and as gentle as a lamb, but we all know the fastest way to see any woman flip on the bitch-switch. You just wait and see what happens when she finds out someone has been messing around with her man. Sorry, I have no desire to be turned into a fucking pink platypus by a pissed off witch. Uh-uh. No thank you, sister.”