Page 81 of The End of Summer

“I think I pulled something,” she says. “It hurts.”

She lowers her hot shorts and yup, of course. Her incision is bleeding.

“Fuck,” I say. “We need to end this. Where’s the bride?”

“Over there.” Cherry points to the spin pole. Sure enough, the bride is laughing and spinning like a child on a merry go round.

“Go sit down in the back. I’ll figure this out.”

I tell the bride we need to call the limos back, that her friends are sick outside and we’re so sorry, we have to shut down the party a little bit early. I take her to the locker where we put all the cell phones so she can locate hers, and I promise her we’ll give her a 50% discount on the party because of this mishap. I don’t need word getting out that a party at Cosmo was such a disaster on my account.

Fucking Jell-O shots.

She calls one of the limo drivers for me and hands me the phone. I explain what’s happened and he says the fleet will be back in ten minutes.

I cut the music to a chorus of very loud groans and announce that the party has to end early. “Your cars are on their way. Please come get your personal belongings and you can wait outside.”

By the grace of God, somehow the women listen, even though they’re pissed. Indigo and Saffron help me get them outside. I settle up the money with the maid of honor, and, true to my word, give her 50% off, which – since the strippers already took their share, leaves me and the girls with $400 for the night. $100 each.

I’d make more on a Wednesday at the Diamond Excelsior pub.

Finally, they leave. Cherry covers her incision with Band-Aids, since that’s all we have, and she leaves too, at my insistence. She can’t be mopping or picking up heavy trash bags, anyway, and she’ll need to see a doctor ASAP. Saffron, Indigo and I are left to clean up the extremely foul mess.

“I’m sorry, you guys,” I say. “It was my fault. If we had stuck to the plan and had Jell-O shots ready, this never would have happened.”

“Well, now we know,” Saffron says.

“Yeah. I’ll never break the protocol again, that’s for sure.”

“You think Cherry will tell Arrow?” Indigo asks.

“Shit. I hope not,” I reply.

My stomach turns.

And this time, it’s not because of the persistent aroma of vomit in the air.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

BRADY

When I get the call from the Skeeve, I’m actually kind of glad, because I’m starting to run low on cash.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve taken Gretchen on quite a few nice dates, I got her tire fixed, and kept a good amount of fresh food in the house at all times. I also bought a new pair of shoes for my interview along with a new suit, got the suit tailored, and filled up my gas tank twice. The call comes when my bank account is just under $500.

“Brady,” Steve says when I pick up the phone. Nothi, orwhat’s up, or even a simplehey.Nope. Just my name.

“Yeah, hi, man. What’s going on?”

“Listen, I got a request for you this weekend.”

“A request? What do you mean?”

“Apparently, some chick saw you dance and specifically requested that you perform at her party. It’s on Saturday night. You free?”

“Sure. What’s the costume?” I ask. The thing is, his words don’t really register; the idea that someonespecificallyrequested me. I’m still new; there’s no reason for this to happen. But I’m so head over heels for Gretchen that my brain’s been acting funny lately. Like, normal things I might question just totally go unnoticed on my radar.

They say being in love will fuck up your head. I don’t know if I’m willing to admit it to myself yet, much less out loud, but if this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.

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