The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (18 page)

“We can still say ‘that’s our song’ in the fu
ture and use it for our wedding,
” Russ says as he spells out A-C-Q-U-I-R-E. Who knew that the accountant could throw out such big words? Now, I’m officially fucked in this game.

I look down at the pathetic rack of letters in front of me: I-I-O-U-A-C-T. What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Of all things, I get vowels, more vowels than I will ever need. I sigh. “C-A-T,” I say as I put the letters on the board and smile trying to hide my embarrassment. It doesn’t work. They all give me a look of shame as if to say, “are you really that dumb?”

“Anyway, that ‘Hey Ya’
song will not be our wedding song,” Karen says sternly. “It’s not romantic and loving. Our wedding is to be a very elegant affair, not some toga party at the local frat house.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eric says as he exchanges his letters. I wonder if his letters are just as horrible as mine. “There’s nothing wrong with the frat house—”

“Says the alumni frat boy,” Karen mutters under her breath. I smirk. Eric is, and will always be, the stereotypical frat boy. The beer-drinking, womanizing, party-addicted guy who’s more concerned with himself than anyone else. I’m not saying that
all
frat
boys were like that, but it is the
stereotype, and Eric fits it well.

“I think that Russ should have a say in the wedding, even if it is just the wedding song,” Eric says as Russ nods his head. “No one wants to listen to that Celine Dion shit all night.”

“Karen,” I start, “I hate to say it, but Eric’s right. Russ should have some kind of say in the wedding. I’m sure you both can come
up with a good song for you
to che
rish for the rest of your lives.
” I dramatically clutch my heart. Karen looks unamused.

“It’s my turn, right?” she asks as she places her letters on the board: F-U-C-K-E-R-S. “There!” she says, smiling. “Fuckers. You are all fuckers.”

“Come on, Karen!” Eric exclaims. “We’re just trying to be honest with you.”

“No,” Karen says as she crosses her arms. “You are trying to ruin my wedding.”

“Fine, Karen,” I tell her. “You choose whatever cheesy, lovey pop ballad that you want for your wedding.” Still, not
a positive reaction from Karen, and Russ is doing what he does best by
keeping his freakin’ mouth shut.

“Well, I appreciate your honesty, but in the end, it will still be up to me,” she says smirking. “So, in changing the subject, how was your date last night, Les? You know
,
the guy you met after the speed dating thing.”
Oh, shit!
I think to myself. Why didn’t I see this coming?

“It was fine,” I say quickly. “Russ, isn’t it your turn?”

“You came home really early last night,” Karen says. “What happened?”

“Oh, nothing,” I tell her as I put my head down in hopes of sparing myself of any more humiliation. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Why?” she asks. The official dating interrogation. I can feel all of their eyes on me just wanting me to spill my guts about the catastrophe of a date
I had last night.
Sigh
.

“Well,” I start with dryness in my throat, “he has a little bit of a fetish; a fetish that I don’t share with him.”

“Oh, I like fetishes,” Eric says jokingly. “Which one?”

“He has a bit of a public foot fetish,” I say quietly, hoping that they realize just how utterly embarrassing this is for me. Karen’s face turns up in disgust.

“Eww,” she says. “That’s nasty.”

“Yeah, so it didn’t work out,” I say quickly. “Russ, did you go yet?”

“So, how did you find out about the fetish?” Karen asks.

“He, um …” I can’t muster up the courage to say it, even though I’m no
t the one who should be ashamed. “H
e started to touch my feet with his feet under the table
, and then ... he got a hard-on.
” I sigh. I actually feel a little bit better being able to say it out loud amongst friends, but the silence is what is killing my comfort. They all look at me with blank stares.

“That’s disturbing,” Russ says.

“That’s interesting,” Eric tells me.

“Oh, that’s just nasty!” Karen says.

“Yup, and I’m pretty sure that everyone in the restaurant noticed,” I tell them. “So during his little episode of podiatric fantasy, I hauled ass outta there.”

“And that is the definition of the date from Hell,” Karen says and I nod. This year has been so incredibly shitty already, so why should I be surprised at what happened? Fate has dealt me the sword of shit and therefore I am destined for an incredibly sucky life, in love that is.

“Didn’t you meet another guy after the speed dating thing, too?” she asks. I had almost forgotten that my odds in dating were doubled that night, then again I wasn’t sure if I would call him. Considering how my date went last night, my best bet may be to leave the speed dating crowd alone.

“Yeah, I did meet someone else, too,” I say with uncertainty in my voice. “I think I’ll just leave him alone though. No need for me to call him.”

“Now, that is just crazy
,
” Karen says. “
You shouldn’t let his number go to waste.
Isn’t that a part of your whole dating experiment? To date different guys and record your observations?”

“Dating experiment?” Eric questions and I just shake my head.

“It’s nothing, really,” I say nervously. “Just a little project I came up with.”

“Don’t be shy, Les,
” Karen tells me. “Dis
covering all the secrets of men and
un
covering the dating experience is good. Y
ou could write a book in the future with all of your findings.”

Eric smirks. “If you wanted to know about men, then why didn’t you just ask me?”

“Well, for starters, you’re not the type of man that I would ever have a relationship with,” I tell him. “In fact, you’re the type of man that doesn’t have relationships. You just sleep with girls then dump them afterward. Why would I want to research that?”

Eric playfully gasps
at my comment. “Whoa, I’m
offended,” he says. “I have feelings.”

“Eric, you think with your penis,” Karen says blatantly.

“That might be true, but about eighty percent of men in the world think with their penises,” Eric tells her. “Maybe that should be part of your research.”

“No,” I say. “I’m convinced that there is more to men than just sex, food, sports, and video games.”

“Are you sure about that?” Eric asks me. Well, come to think of it, I don’t really know. Am I sure?

“Well, we’re calling the second guy right now,” Karen says as she rises from the table and sprints into the living room. I jump up from my seat to follow her.

“This is a bad idea,” I say as she rummages around the living room for my purse. “I will call him later,” I tell her, “on my own time.”

“Where’s your purse?” Karen says as she searches about the room. I spot it on the fireplace and say nothing. I need to convince her that this is a bad idea. How in the world can I convince her?

She freezes as she spots my purse. She looks at me then smiles. “There it is,” she says as we both run toward the fireplace, me jumping over the couch in the process. We grab the purse at the same time and stare at each other.

“Let go,” I say sternly.

“No,” she replies with a mischievous, demonic look on her face. “Leslee, this is a good idea.”

“No, it’s not,” I argue. “I’m not gonna call a man and ask for a date in front of you!” I snap.

“We can guide you through the conversation,” she tells me as she snatches the purse out of my grasp. “Look, you have two very intelligent men in the dining room who can tell you what to say. You’re confused about men, and you have men to help you … and me, of course.” I sigh. I guess in a sense she is right. If I blurt out the wrong thing, then they could help me get the conversation back on track. I finally decide to give in.

“OK. I’ll do it,” I say. It’s not as if I had a choice in the matter. Peer pressure is such a bitch.

“Great!” Karen exclaims as she skips back into the dining room and I follow her. She opens up my purse and dumps the contents on the table. She rummages through my things and picks up my cell phone and a small piece of paper.

“Brian,” she says aloud. “Nice name.”

“For a douchebag,” Eric mutters under his breath and I ignore him. Karen dials Brian’s number on my phone then places it on the table.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Speakerphone,” she says, smiling. I panic.

“No, no speakerphone,” I tell her. “Can’t I just—”

“Shh!” she says. “It’s ringing.”
Oh, shit!
I think to myself. If the Scrabble game wasn’t humiliating enough, my night is only getting worse.
Please don’t pick up the phone, please don’t pick up the phone …

“Hello?” a woman answers angrily. I can feel the sweat forming underneath my arms and on my forehead.

“Hi,” I say cheerfully hoping she doesn’t detect any nervousness. “Is Brian available?”

“Who the hell is this?” she asks in a tone where I know that this woman could potentially kick my ass. I gulp.

“Um, this is Leslee,” I say. “I met him after the speed dating event a few days ago.”

“Speed dating?” she asks. “What the fuck?!” she yells into the phone. I look at Eric and he motions for me to keep talking.

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry,
but
are you his secretary?”

“Secretary?!” she exclaims. “Bitch, I’m his
wife
!”

“Uh oh,” Karen says as she turns away from the phone.

“
Hang up the phone, Leslee!” Russ
whispers. “Hang up the phone!”

“I, um …” I begin to stutter. I don’t know what to do. She sounds like a woman scorned. I genuinely feel bad for her. Eric’s right. Brian is a douchebag name and Brian is an actual douchebag.

“Look, bitch,” the woman yells from the phone, “I’m sick of you disgusting little tramps trying to hit on my husband!”

“Well, actually he hit on me,” I say whic
h ultimately adds
fuel to the fire. “I meant flirting, not actual hitting. I’m sure your husband isn’t a violent person per say.”

“Fuck you, you dirty whore!” she snaps. “When I find you, and I
will
find you, I’m gonna beat the living shit out of—” I end the call. I look at my friends’ blank faces and they have nothing to say.

“So I guess I can officially say that Brian is unavailable,” I announce. “Therefore, I won’t be pursuing him.”

Karen nods blankly. “Yeah,” she says. “So, I’ll be getting
that tiramisu out of the fridge,
” she tells everyone as she walks quickly toward the kitchen.

“I’ll help you with that,” Eric says as he and Russ follow her.

So, I’ve learned a few important things from this experiment. For one, I’ll never let my friends invade my own personal experiments (and my personal business for that matter), and two: tiramisu might be the choice dessert for mistresses who don’t even ask to be mistresses like me. My hypothesis for tonight: Never date a man named Brian, even if he claims that he is single.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can’t sleep. It is physically and mentally impossible for me to sleep right now. Despite Karen and Russ’ hardcore “love making” (the moaning, the groaning, the occasional slap of the whip, etc.), I still can’t get that phone call out of my mind. I’ve been tossing and turning in my bed for three hours and I can’t get any sleep. It’s like I’ve been living this dating nightmare of weird and unavailable men. Yeah, I know I’m being a little overdramatic considering I’ve only been on one official date since I’ve been
back, but still. My little proje
ct is becoming a bust, slowly but surely.

I look at my alarm clock on my night stand. 3:13 a.m. At this rate, I’ll never get any sleep. I feel the wall adjacent to Karen and Russ’ room shaking. What the hell are they doing in there and do I really even want to know?

“OH!” I hear Karen moan loudly followed by one of Russ’ infamous grunts. The last thing that I want to hear are people having sex, especially if I’m not getting any. It’s been four long months since I’ve had sex and I’m beginning to think that my metaphoric libido well is drying up. I don’t even have a toy to play with!

“Do me harder!” I hear Karen scream through the wall followed by an obvious slapping sound. I just … can’t. I can’t listen to this anymore. I’m becoming jealous, envious, and quite frankly, annoyed. There has to be something on television that I can watch, some sort of late night, pointless shenanigan like Jimmy Fallon or Conan O’Brien or something. Anything is more entertaining at this point than hearing sex through walls.

I quietly pull myself out of my bed and tiptoe myself out of my room and downstairs into the kitchen. You can’t watch crappy TV without having crappy food, can you? No, of course not! And since the leftover tiramisu is call
ing my name, I can’t help
but to pull it out of the refrigerator, get myself a plate, cut a big ol’ piece, and pig out. Since I’m not having sex, I will eat to get pleasure, even though in the long run, it may not be the best strategy. If I eat food every time I’m horny, I’ll gain about 50 pounds by the end of the year which brings me to an enlightening conclusion. I don’t need food or crappy television. I NEED SEX! But of course, sex seems so far away from me. How can I have sex if I can’t even find a decent man?