Page 2 of Unexpected Pickle
Max thought forcing us together on a commercial might give her a better impression of me, if that was possible.
“Do you have an uglier apple for me to squash?” I ask her.
Her face contorts, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. Big time.
Her voice rises as she speaks. “Mr. Hex, no middle name, no last name, MMA fighter, pain in my side. What makes you think I’d allow a blemished apple in my kitchen?”
I shrug. “Maybe give ugly fruit a chance?”
The laughter on the set erupts, louder than before.
I’ve screwed up.
“Oh! You are the worst!” She spins on her heel and pushes through the kitchen door.
Arson, Ajax, whoever he is, turns to me. “Crush the apple.”
“No.” I’m spitting mad now. I’m here to woo Jeannie, and I’m blowing it.
“Crush it,” he says, a warning in his voice.
I will not obey this asswipe. Every muscle tenses as I prepare to take him down like he’s my opponent in a match.
Then something juicy drips down my arm.
I look down.
Great. I’ve crushed the apple.
Acornclaps his hands. “Terrific.” He turns to the camera operator. “Please tell me you got that.”
“Got it,” he says.
“Sweet. He’s such a brute.”Armpitlooks delighted.
I’m beginning to think this humiliation isn’t worth it. I let the crushed apple roll down my thick forearm to my hand. “I’m going to wash this off.” I leave before anyone can stop me.
I cut a path through the crew, sighing with relief at the coolness away from the lights, and push through the kitchen door.
Jeannie is alone at the chopping table, slamming a butcher knife through a pickle like she’s imagining it’sAioli’s dick.
Or mine.
She doesn’t look up as I drop the crushed apple into the compost bin, then head to the commercial sink. I use the sprayer to hose down my arm. I’m sweatier than I’d like to be after sitting under the lights, so I spray my other arm, too.
This outfit is all wrong, the thin shirt and skin-tight biker shorts. Showing off assets won’t work with a woman like Jeannie.
She wants someone like her. Professional.
Not man meat.
But I won’t give up.
Her heavy knife continues itsthwack, thwack, thwack.
I grab a handful of brown paper towels from the metal wall dispenser and carefully dry my arms and the back of my neck. I’m sweating beneath my beard, but I can’t do anything about that without messing up the work of the makeup artists.
I try to watch Jeannie in the reflection of the gleaming stainless steel, but it’s too distorted for me to get a good view.
