Fully Restored (18 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Teagan

H
oly Hell. One night at The Cowboy with my gay boy-friend did not in any way prepare me for what would be Meghan’s Bachelorette party to end all Bachelorette parties. These poor men! I mean, they get up there and shake their stuff for the crazy women but damn, I’m pretty sure women putting their hands down the jock or even jacking them on stage wasn’t part of the job. They try to respectfully and gracefully pull away from the women but some women are like…bad Velcro. I can hear Matthew McConaughey explaining the no touching rules running through my head. Damn, I kinda liked that show. These women were ruining it for me. Fuckers.

It was horrendous and comical at the same time. For someone on the outside, not drinking much, it was absolutely crazy to watch. These women should be ashamed! I mean, they have men at home – well, all but one who will in a couple of days.

Was there some sort of male strip club song requirement routine thing? Like, every club had to be able to perform “It’s Raining Men”, someone to swing a hammer, someone to hump the floor, in order to get your strip club operating license? Because, damn…I swear my mom had probably seen these same routines. I giggled at the thought of my mom at a strip club. I don’t have a ton of memories of her, but that made up one made me smile.

I sat back, sipping my vodka soda and watching the screaming drama go on around me, trying to enjoy the show, laughing when appropriate.  It was pretty damn funny when Meghan ended up on stage with the men dancing in her lap and all around her. I didn’t think she could be embarrassed. I stand (or sit, rather) corrected. Cheers to that! An embarrassed Meghan could turn any night around for me. Until I noticed I had a visitor in the booth with me. Sitting
way
too close for my comfort. When I looked up to see a shirtless man in body glitter giving me the eye, acting like he was the shit, I nearly spat my drink across the table. Was this guy for real? Maybe if I had drunk like, half the bottle of vodka, I’d consider him. But really, a stripper? What’s that saying about a whores drawers? Oh yeah- they spend all their time going up and down. This man needed to keep his up.

I lifted my drink to dump it in the nearest plant, can’t be too cautious this day in age, and he scowled. Well…that answered that question. Now, for the tough ones.

“So, do you work here?”

Flexing his abs, “Nah, I freelance. They couldn’t afford me. So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting in a booth all by herself?” All I could hear was “Pony” playing in the background. Blah blah blah…

Damn, stupid and not even remotely unique. I rolled my eyes. “I’m with that group,” as I point to the gaggle currently hogging the stage, “Only, I find my men more attractive with clothes… and brains,” (I added that for him. Who knows how smart the strippers are. Hell, they could be enrolled in Mensa for all I knew. I just knew he wasn’t and I DID like men without their clothes on. Well, just one man. NOT GOING THERE) I turned and motioned for new vodka. The guy apparently got the picture and finally left me to my drink in peace.

For a relatively short time. Then I heard a crash and realized Meghan had taken a special liking to a man and had just taken out the “competition” with a chair. I ran over and herded her into the booth, paid the bar tab for the whole group that was with the lady and promised the bouncer Meghan would not leave her seat. And try as she might, with all the nails and names she had, she didn’t. She was stuck and I had my entertainment.

The rest of the night passed relatively easily. No one got kicked out, only two girls puked and the bill got paid and not all by me. Meghan said it was the night of her life, and so I took that as a success. Even if tomorrow she may shoot me. I did my job.

We all piled in the pink Hummer limo Meghan had requested and made our way home, slowly, each girl at a time, with them giving the poor driver terrible directions. By the time I finally made it home it was nearly 10 a.m. Friday morning.  I was totally and completely exhausted but I had managed to hardly think of Brock at all that night and that, in my book, is another success.

As I crawled into bed, I fell asleep with a smile for the first time in ages. It may not have been a soul deep, happy smile, but it was a smile and it was there. I’d totally take that. I slept well that night. As well as I could without the arms I still felt around me and the scent that still surrounded me.

*****

When the doorbell rang at 11 o’clock I wanted to cry. I wasn’t even hung over, but damn, a girl needed more than one hour of sleep. Geesh.

I answered the door to an equally tired but more hung over Meghan who handed me a list and walked off. Okay. I shut the door and crawled back into bed without even a glimpse at the note. I’d get to it.

By the time I woke up, hours later, after dad had checked to make sure I was still alive, had some real food and sat down to veg out in front of the TV, I looked over her list. Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Why me?

Why, the fuck, is it always me? The list, it was of the florist and contacts and times and flowers, the caterer and all that entailed, anyone that had anything to do with the wedding, was now in my hands. Glancing at the clock I saw it was 4:30, so I had a little time to get these confirmations done. Why she or her family couldn’t do this was beyond me, but I did it. I called each place and double checked date, time, place, and equipment and food. By 8 p.m., they hated me, I hated me, I hated her and I definitely hated this wedding even more.

Grabbing a bottle of wine and noticing I hadn’t seen my dad all day, I called the office and his cell only to discover he had more of a life than I did and was on a date. Well didn’t that suck. I took my bottle of wine to bed and vowed to marry my vibrator. It was a lot less work and I always came. I need more wine.

Brock

The Crystal Lounge was definitely an anything goes establishment. No wonder they had no problems with freelance strippers coming and going (quite literally). I could hear the fake sounds of the women coming from the VIP room behind me. I just wasn’t interested in it. Apathy. I don’t know if that is a stage of depression, but that’s where I was. Nothing was good, nothing intrigued me. I had hope that maybe I could get her to listen to me, but it seemed Teagan had her own plans because she hadn’t even been out of the house.

I think even her father was in on it as he hadn’t been seen at the shop for a few days, nor was he at home. Yes, I know this because I am a crazy ass stalker and his car hasn’t been at the house. I saw a drunk ass Meghan drop something off and that’s it. That’s what I’ve been reduced to, a fucking loser stalker.

So here I sit, listening to my buddies friends,  an one overly drunk groom who is supposed to be getting married tomorrow, getting off in the room behind me, not caring where that whore had been or what the consequences were and I couldn’t even get one girl to look at me. Depression sucks. It traps you in a cycle, up and down, good and bad. It eats away at you, at everything that once was you that brought you happiness, until there’s nothing left. Depression fucking sucks the marrow out of you.

Everyone around me is having fun. Fucking, drinking, dancing, some drunk enough to be on a makeshift stage singing some version of whatever 90’s rock song was playing at the moment. In my head, I had Pearl Jam’s “Black” on repeat. Maybe if I got drunk enough, I’d sing that. Fitting, singing about an absent lover. Eddie Vedder got that one right. I guess I should be glad I wasn’t at the Lithium version of Nirvana yet.

By the end of the night, I was beginning to think if I ever got married I was never having a Bachelor party, and on that note, neither was my wife-to-be. I’d broken up no less than 3 fights over loose pussy among men who considered themselves friends and had sweet pussy at home, I was out the bill because drunks never pay and now I was going to be cleaning vomit from the car forever. The smell would never leave. Thank God we took Justin’s car. Ass. He deserved to deal with it. Who sleeps with a whore the night before he gets married? I mean, if I was lucky enough to be marrying Teagan I could guarandamntee that I wouldn’t be sleeping around with anyone- ever. Specifically not before we even got married. I mean, I don’t have the highest hopes for this marriage. If not for Justin, Meghan is reason all on her own. The only dude of the night that I even liked and could stand was Teagan’s gay friend Seth, who also sat with me and watched with horror in his eyes the antics of the straight kind. I think at one point he turned to me and whispered, “It’s so much easier on this side, you can still bail,” I had to admit, with the fucking, drinking, tears, and general unfaithfulness, it was a good thought. Not for me, but well put. I shook my head and smiled, “I have my one. I just need to convince her.” He nodded. “That’s a lot of convincing man. Good luck. Call me when you need me, because you will.” And he slid me his card. Seth Daly- Computer extraordinaire,
Fully Restored
restoration shop. Huh? What was this? Was this what she was up to? Now I had at least one good thing come out of this shitty night. I thanked him for his card and he left before the vomit experience. Lucky.

I dropped the men off, left the stinking vomit car in Justin’s drive for him to deal with after the wedding (should be fun- baked in vomit), and headed home. One more night. I had one night left until I could talk to Teagan. Until she would be forced to talk to me since she was partnered with me during the event. One. Night.

It was a long damn night.

Chapter Eighteen

Teagan

T
he morning of the wedding was crazy. I mean, it was Meghan, how could it be anything but crazy. Screaming and yelling that the colors of the flowers weren’t perfect or the food was too hot or too cold or ready too early…this was why I had pledged myself to my vibrator. Maybe I would do a ceremony tonight. Honor its faithfulness and all that. Shit, anything to get me away from here.

I spent the entire morning getting poked, prodded, buffed, waxed and generally feeling like a turkey at thanksgiving, when I was finally shoved into an aquamarine “Little Mermaid” meets “Lady Marmalade” dress that I had never seen before because I know I would have said hell no to that fitting. How the hell they made it fit was beyond me. But there I was, a walking mermaid from a prostitutes den, getting ready to see my love and hate and walk down the aisle. This should be entertaining to say the least. My hair itself needed its own area code for how much room it took up. I was starting to feel bad for Marie Antoinette. I mean, if my head hurt like this all the time from the massive size and sheer weight of the thing, I’d want cake too!

Meghan was all dressed in what seemed like 50 lbs. of tulle and beads. All I could picture in my head was that she had seen Princess Diana’s wedding and thought “I want that too!” and no one stopped her. I was still pondering the physics behind how she was remaining standing and even moving forward at times. It was a wonder I had yet to figure out. It seriously denied the realm of physics. I was still pondering how she was planning to move down the aisle, with the gazillion flower petals the kids had laid down in a perfect pattern for her majesty, when the music for the procession started. Shit. As maid of honor I had a little time to kill while the entire tribe of women Meghan had as bridesmaids worked their way down the aisle in their mer-whore dresses too. I was trying so hard to not giggle at the disaster that was the women dragging the men down the aisle in millions of pounds of hair and dress that I didn’t realize it was my turn and that Brock had shown up at my side. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Seth sitting in his seat with a red face and tears from laughing at the dresses and the women. Then he pointed at the men and made the blow-job face and I nearly lost it again. If he thought any of these men were gay or even bi, he had something else coming.

Brock took my arm and looked slightly sick, yet slightly amused. “How is this even possible?” he questioned. Well, I guess we had that in common; I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried for a straight face as he took my arm and we tried, valiantly, to make it down the aisle. By the time we made it to the front we were both sweating, laughing and had tears running down our cheeks. All that was missing was the Moulin Rouge song playing about strutting her stuff on the street. I wanted to lean over and say
“Hey Jo, wanna give it a go?”
but the music for the bride had already started so I had to get it together. Too late, Seth was mouthing “guichie guichie ya ya dada” from his seat. That did it. I snorted in front of everyone. Thankfully Meghan’s dress took over the moment and no one noticed.

Meghan looked…well….Like a fluffy walrus. It was hard to tell there was even a person under all that white tulle. And the beads. Oh God the beads and crystals. This dress was the dress to end all wedding dresses. From now on people would be ordering their dresses online from places like Eddie Bower or J. Crew just to stay away from white fluffy crystal beads. Her father looked as if his pacemaker was working overtime getting her down the aisle but she was as cheery as could be. Nothing wrong here. I guess that’s the way it goes. It was her wedding and going the way she wanted it, even if the rest of us had to suffer.

Thankfully the pastor noticed that if he didn’t move along quickly, he would have a gaggle of passed out women from heat exhaustion soon, so the ceremony was short. We worked our way back and all the women immediately found seats to stay in while the men went for alcohol for themselves and water for their unfortunate partner.

I was sitting there, next to Seth, humming “under the sea” enjoying the air vent placed conveniently under my chair and my cool glass of water when people started to expect me to do things. I was done doing things. I didn’t do things any more. I decided I was out. I stood, shook hands, gave hugs, danced a dance (I’m sure it’s on YouTube as mer-woman has seizure on dance floor), ate the cake and said my good byes. I was fast and orderly and out of there before Brock knew what hit him. It also didn’t miss my attention that Seth was suspiciously missing already.

On my way out, I gave Meghan another hug, tears included on her side, and told her to have a fun honeymoon. Then I was gone.

As I stumbled to my car wondering how I was going to fit this dress in the little car I had borrowed, I failed to notice the shadow standing at the driver’s side door. Shit. I wasn’t as fast or as sneaky as I thought. Brock was waiting. Alone. I was out of options. I sighed and looked at him, his face showing more age and emotions than I’d ever seen it.

“Teagan, I need to tell you I’m sorry. I am so very sorry about everything and all the words that can’t be undone but I hope can be remade. Everything I’ve done is for you. I’ve worked every day since I saw you last, for you. To be the man you deserve. The man I want to be for you.” His heart was evident in his eyes. This was a broken man too. We are two broken people. The only difference is, only one of us did the breaking.

“Listen, I know you want to talk. But here’s the thing Brock. I loved you. I really truly madly loved you. I gave you me, all of me, and you shattered me. What was left of me anyway. How can someone want a broken person, because that’s all I am now. Broken. It’s all I have now. Pieces. Pieces of a girl who once believed.”

I hear a quiet sob from Brock and look to see he has tears running down his face.

“I’m not out baby, and you’re not broken. I’m going to show you every day if I have to how perfect you are, scars and all. I never meant to hurt you. I was a stupid boy who wanted the attention of a beautiful girl and chose an awful way to get that attention. I’ve found that if you love life, life will love you in return, always. Even now, when you feel you have no one to share life or love with, you are loved. I love you just the way you are, so, baby, don’t think you’ve seen the last of me or that you’ve managed to run me off, because you haven’t. I’m not going anywhere. Nowhere without you.”

With that he took my keys from my loose hand and opened the door for me. He managed to usher me, dress and all, into the little car. I felt raw. Like I had been ripped open again only not by the razor but by words. Only these words didn’t hurt, they held me and warmed me. It was such an odd feeling for me.

Reaching up over my dashboard I handed him a loose-leaf piece of paper I had written on the other day, never planning to give it or show it to anyone but now it felt only fair that he see what he was dealing with in me. He took the letter and closed the door, reaching in to brush a piece of stray hair out of my face before leaning in to tell me one final thing.

“You are mine. You’ve been mine since I was that stupid boy trying to get the attention of that beautiful girl. You are still mine and will always be mine.  Drive safe, yeah?” and he closed the door and walked away, carefully folding the paper up and placing it neatly in his back pocket.

And I did. I listened. For maybe the first time in a long time, I listened and not to just the driving safe.

*****

After driving home and saying hi and bye at the same time to my dad, whose dating life now seemed to have taken on epic proportions, I gathered up a drunk and sexed up Seth from the guestroom and headed back up to Evergreen to get back to work on the shop. God only knows who he had found to have sex with. It was something he seemed to excel at; finding the men no one would ever guess. The shop was all ready, the licenses pulled and done, building done, classes finished, everything. I just needed staff. I was going to run an Ad in a couple of the local car club magazines. I was going to do this and succeed. I could feel it. After I dropped Seth off. He smelled.

Brock

That. Was. Hell. 

I mean, the wedding itself was a comedy- who does that? Those dresses? Even Teagan had a hard time pulling off the hooker mermaid look and she’s practically perfection to me. It’s like Meghan wanted to punish the girls, except, her own dress was even worse! Like, that really was her taste of wedding. Makes me never want to visit their new house. Without sunglasses or blinders on.

The hell was having her in my arms, giggling if only for a moment. Even the bonding with her best friend; it was so amazing only to have it ripped away. I laid myself open for her, I can only hope she sees the truth in my actions and hears the honesty in my words.

When I got to my car, and turned on the heat, I pulled out the card that Seth had given me and googled “
Fully Restored
” on my smart phone. God damn, she had done it. She had finished her degree in half the time and built a shop from scratch. The woman was amazing. So was Seth. This site truly was awesome.
Sub Zero Steele
could use something like this, if we actually had a computer person.

I folded the card and put it into my wallet and, still sitting in the parking lot of the event center, got out the letter Teagan had just given me. I didn’t know if I really wanted to read this but I needed to, to understand what she was thinking. It was a poem.

Flesh and Bone

Not just flesh and bone

Not just one person, alone

I carry battle scars and bruises

I carry nightmares and abuses

I cover all that with clothes

To block out your words as they blow

The battle inside isn’t fair

Can you see what I see?

With my green eyed stare?

You tore me apart with your silver tongue

You might as well have handed me a loaded gun

I’m climbing my way back

From the abyss where you sent me

One day I will be a force to be reckoned with

For today I’m just being mindful of all of my

Blessings

Things that make my life full

Not just flesh and bone anymore

I’m finally coming into my own.

Through bleary eyes, I finished her words, reading what my poor decisions did to her and how she is now becoming someone she can be proud of. Hell, I’m proud of her. Opening her own shop and finishing school- that’s a damn big task.

I refolded the poem neatly, intending to keep it, and turned to head home for the night. The wedding was over and she was gone. Now, it was up to me to get into her life and I had a feeling Seth had given me an in, purposefully or not, and I was going to take it.

*****

By Monday morning I had a plan, with the help of Seth. He seemed to not only be a pretty smart dude but he also genuinely wanted Teagan to be happy and he knew an act when he saw one. She was happy with her accomplishments and her shop, but she was lonely. I intended to fix that.

Pulling up the
Fully Restored
website I saw what Seth had been hinting about; they had put out an Ad for mechanics and restorers throughout the Denver/Colorado area, even reaching into Nebraska and surrounding states. I guess she really didn’t want to take any of her father’s men. Well, I can name one that will absolutely be defecting. If she’ll take me.  The “interviews” weren’t for a week or so, so I had until then to finish the Bee I was still working on. She was nearly finished if she didn’t keep breaking her parts. Damn new parts.

When I got to the shop there was a flurry of activity in front as the men and a tow truck loaded up
Phoebe
and secured her for, I’m assuming, the trip up the mountain. Shit. This wasn’t good. She was either moving on or really didn’t care anymore. This made me happy that the interview process was soon. I needed to get in there as soon as I could. Meanwhile, I had to deal with these men, If anyone was bringing her
Phoebe
, it was going to me be.

Inside the building was even more active, with people emptying out the room of the entire extra ‘Cuda parts. The ‘everything’ room. So weird, having that room that had always been unusable due to being filled with excess parts was now empty. I had to wonder what the plan was for the room. Then I remembered that I wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough to find out.

I headed to the beautiful Bee, now painted a perfect Sassygrass Green, keeping with the original color theme. Damn she was beautiful. Too bad I had to say goodbye to her soon to a Sunday driver who wouldn’t know anything about his car when asked. I shook my head; I don’t get men that replace male parts with cars when they can’t even get the cars up and running on their own. Same problem man. One is just much more costly and visible. 

I sit at the work table and go over the plans again, look at what needs to be finalized before handing the keys off to the owner. Not much left but running final checks. I popped the engine open and checked the hoses and connections, the battery and all were fully charged and getting enough clean power to turn the engine. When I sat in her to start her up, the sound reverberated throughout the entire garage and everyone stopped to stare. That’s what a good car does. The engine sound stops everyone in their tracks and makes them wish they were the one with that power behind the wheel.

I took her for a quick spin around the block, even did a short peel out just to test the tires. She was prime. Could be a twelve second car if they could passably drive it. I didn’t think so though. This was a ten miles a month on a Sunday car. Sad thing that. It needed sun and admiration.

I put her away and covered her with a cloth as she was done and I didn’t need dust gathering on her before heading to the assignment board to get a new job. It needed to be a short one as I was planning on being gone in a week. Speaking of which, I should probably let both my PO and my boss know of my move. My PO had been great, becoming more like my friend, always encouraging me when I saw him, which had been less and less frequently. Apparently I was a good boy.

I stopped by Jonathan’s office on the way to the assignment wall and knocked. 

“Yeah Brock, I know, finish out the week and if she takes you, good luck. But, if you ever come close to making her mad at all again, I promise no one will ever find your body.”

Damn, didn’t even open the door, he just knew and told me as it was. I stuck my head in, “Uh… thanks boss, I think.”

He looked up from the piles of papers on his desk and winked, “Good luck. You’re gonna need every bit of it you can get.” He snickered. I think he liked the fact I was going to be crawling to get his daughter back. 

His phone rang while I was still standing half in the room. “Fuck,” He looked at me. “Are women all like this now? Calling and wanting to know what you are doing at all times? I want out of the dating scene. I’m thinking prostitutes have their good points now. The phone ring is starting to scare me.” The look on his face as the phone kept ringing…it was like the look on that famous painting, all screwed up and frightened. I had to laugh. “Looks like you need the luck too,” he nodded and picked up the phone as I headed out.

Once at the assignment wall I picked some meaningless task, again, and just prayed for the weekend to come fast, because I had an appointment Monday and nothing was going to change that.