Page 25 of The Most Dearest
“No,” she said simply, not shifting her eyes from the game.
“Six thousand,” he countered.
“No.”
“Ten thousand is my final offer,” he spat out.
“No.”
He roared in frustration and left the room. “Your place tonight?” Cordy asked, kissing my neck.
“Yep, the sad sack is kind of spoiling the vibe here. Plus, Nettie misses you.”
“Let's go,” she said, rubbing her nose into my neck.
After nearly an hour of mind-blowing sex, we were resting in our favorite position: me on my back with my arm around a curled-up Cordelia, who was nestled against my side with her head on my chest.
“Still wanna throw in the towel?” I asked.
“Not now. Apparently, negotiations have begun,” she said victoriously.
Chapter 25: Harrison - Subcommittees
When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.
Hamlet, William Shakespeare
I was a mess. A sad, depressed mess. Emma was well and truly gone. She'd blocked me on social media and her phone. I went to her house, but her dad called me a predator and told me to fuck off. Apparently, the amazing Stefan had got her a higher-paying job at his uncle's furniture store, so she'd quit the pharmacy. I was fighting on too many fronts. Fighting with Cordelia, fighting with Brian, fighting with Miranda ... even my parents weren't impressed with me right now. Work was horrible. Most of my team were teens, and any attempt I made to socialize with them ended up with them telling me the plans had been cancelled. Yeah, sure they were cancelled Dylan. That's why I saw you all drinking in the car park after telling me you were going home.
Mom had messaged me at work asking about Dad's foot rash, and I'd responded with “Can't talk. Working. Will call soon,” which appeared on her phone as “Can't talk. Masturbating. Will call soon.” Mom was disgusted and told me that she didn't find that funny at all. She asked me what was going on and wasn't impressed with me when I told her. She didn't know about Cordy or Emma. Or my new “career.” So yeah, hostility was everywhere.
A week after Emma left, I spent $120 having the inside of my car detailed. Miranda had put Liquid Ass spray in the air vents, so when I gagged on the stink, opened the windows, and jacked up the fan, the smell blasted further into the car, permeating theinterior. She didn't claim responsibility, but I knew it was her. I could still smell it. I had a coffee in my car earlier and I swear I could still taste it. I had to throw out the outfit I was wearing the day I sat in that rank car.
Having the car detailed was a unique adventure in humiliation. The man was trying to be professional, but he seemed like was going to vomit and added $40 to the usual cost because of the “extreme” deodorizing that would need to be done. The other guys at the shop were laughing. When I picked it up, they were all waiting, sharing smug smiles like they were in on some joke. I only realized when I got home that the “Is my car ready?” text to them went through as “Is my puckered anus ready?” I really needed to fix my phone. I thought I had but every now and then, my words would correct to something juvenile.
The cats kept visiting my room, but it was too risky to go out and clear them away in case there was a bunch of elderly cat wranglers ready to call me a pervert, so sleep was nonexistent. Every night after Miranda left, I went to my window to see if she left meat to attract the cats, but there was nothing. Maybe she was sneaking back at night to leave food for them? I should keep vigil at my window tonight.
I sighed and entered the house, picking up a pamphlet that had been slid under the door. Cordelia was barely home anymore. She spent most of her time athishouse or with Miranda and Jules, coming home only every few days to assert her ownership rights. I stared at the pamphlet. Peggy had gone too far. That's it. I was not going to fight yet another war with someone. I was exhausted.
Pervert Subcommittee
Mrs. Margaret Thompson moved to found a subcommittee dedicated to the eradication of publicnudity and near penile nudity. Due to an unfortunate flashing incident involving the male occupant of No. 42 and several of our most vulnerable elderly community members, this matter has become a pressing issue. The motion was seconded by Mr. Reg Walker. Therefore, a meeting will be held on Wednesday at 7 pm to determine subcommittee members and vote on the executive of said subcommittee. Those who violate public decency or were involved in the original penis incident will not be permitted to join the subcommittee. Please contact Mrs. Peggy Walker to express interest in a position on the Reclaim Morality Subcommittee.
They didn't name me, but they might as well have. There was only one male at this house number. There was zero context in this ridiculous notice. I went out in my underwear to scare cats. I wasn't flashing old ladies. This was libelous material. And those stupid fucking subcommittees. She was putting together a new lawncare subcommittee. What that had to do with Neighborhood Watch, I had no idea, but apparently there was a need for an executive to monitor how long people let their lawn grow.
I stomped next door and banged on the door angrily. Peggy answered, and Reg stood behind her.
“I am not happy with the subcommittee. You know damn well I didn't flash anyone. There was no penile incident. I have never shown my penis to any of you. You can't go around telling people that I'm indecent. You're indecent! You walk around here like the morality police, but I know about Reg's secret trips, zipping off every few days with that woman for hours. Look in your own sandpit before you throw stones.” It all came out in a rush, andI was embarrassed about the last mangled metaphor, but the main message stood.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Peggy demanded. “I don't care if you're happy about the lawncare subcommittee. We certainly don't need your approval. No one said you flashed, though we were very unimpressed with your little peepshow and we have no desire to see your ... private parts. If you want to earn another of your little pervert trophies, I suggest you move to a different neighborhood. And Reg goes to hospital every second day for dialysis with Thelma, the patient transport officer, so keep your filthy mind out of the gutter.”
I didn't know that. Who knew the old guy had kidney issues. Reg stood behind her stroking his chin and nodding emphatically at her words.
“Well, I apologize for that insinuation. I'm just very angry about the pamphlet you dropped at my house, and I think that—"
“What pamphlet?” Peggy asked, looking at me with disgust, like I was a piece of shit she needed to hose off her step. “I didn't authorize a new pamphlet.”
“The Reclaim Morality Subcommittee, the pervert police,” I replied, confused.
