Page 68 of Lovebug
“Don’t be. You’re not wrong. Iama dick. Though, you bring up an interesting point. One I’ve been pondering more and more lately.”
“What’s that?” Somehow even as I ask the question, I know it’s a mistake.
“Why do we use our private parts to insult one another?”
“What? Who does that? I don’t.”
“You called me a dick.”
“Oh. Right. Sorry, again.”
“Again, don’t be,” he says kindly. “But what’s so wrong with dicks, I ask you, that they should be used to insult and wound?“
“Nothing, I suppose.” I feel my face flush. “I’m not someone who uses language like that. “
“Apparently, you are. You know, while we’re at it… pussy.”
“Excuse me?” I squeak.
“Tell me. What’s so wrong with pussy?”
“I, uh… I didn’t… say pussy,” I stammer. “Nor did I say there’s anything wrong with it.”
“No, I know you didn’t,” he continues. “You’re ‘not someone who uses language like that.’” He smiles when he parrots my own words back at me. “But have you noticed how uninformed guys everywhere use that beautiful word to tear their fellow men down? Now does that make one bit of sense to you? Because it doesn’t make an ounce of sense to me.”
“Um.” I look at the front and see Doreen taking her place at the podium. “Are we really talking about this right now?”
“Not if you don’t want to.” He shrugs.
“Idon’twant to,” I say emphatically, shifting my gaze to the front of the room.
“Alright then. Pussy case closed.”
Pussy case closed?This guy might actually be a lunatic.
“Thank you,” I say curtly.
“You’re welcome.” I sneak a peek out of my right eye, and he’s smirking. He always looks pleased with himself as though he’s in a constant state of winning conversations.
“Welcome, everyone!” Doreen’s voice rings out clear as a bell from the front of the room. “We’re so thrilled to see all of your beautiful faces in the room tonight. A sea of gorgeous, hopeful faces who’ve come out this evening because they know there’s something bigger out there for them. Something better. Something meaningful and thrilling. You are a group of entrepreneurs who are craving an experience made of—”
“Madoff?” Wally interrupts on a shout.
Doreen looks confused for a half-second, then responds with confidence, “What did you say, sir?”
Wally smiles and volleys back over the crowd, “Did you say we’d be having an experience like Madoff?”
“No.” Herface slips and turns sour for just a millisecond before it’s back in its usually smiling glory. “No, I did not. I was starting to say that we are embarking on an experiencemade of…”
“Ah! Made of, made of,” Wally repeats. “My mistake. I thought for sure you said Madoff.
“Well. I did not, sir.” Doreen’s lips thin.
“Understood, ma’am. Carry on!”
What the heck was that?
Wally leans back in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest as though he’s settling in for a show. He catches me staring at him, and he gives me what I’m now discovering is his trademark wink. I haven’t a clue what he’s up to, but I’m getting a sinking feeling in my stomach that it’s not good.
