The BACHELORETTE Project (The Project: LESLEE Series) (19 page)

SMASH!
I hear the sound of broken glass coming from outside.
CLUNK, CLUNK, SMASH!
I place my fork on the counter in mid-bite, tiramisu sitting on my tongue.
What in this crazy world could that be?
I mean, I know it’s Philadelphia, but really? Why are things so incredibly
strange
in this city? Of course, I’ve heard worse things in New York, but maybe I’d just accepted it as the norm? Who knows?

I swallow my dessert nervously, barely tasting any of it. The clunking noise continues from the street as I walk slowly through the darkness of the living room and carefully to the front door. I can hear the lightness of steps behind me, and I freeze. I take a deep breath and reach for the lamp next to me. I pick it up and turn around swiftly ready to attack.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Karen snaps at me as I hold the lamp in front of her. “It’s just me!”

“I didn’t know who it was!” I exclaim while I try to catch my breath. “I thought someone broke into the house.”

“No, dumbass!” she says. “I heard noises from the outside.”

“Me too! I don’t know what it is.” I can’t turn on the light because, well, I’m still holding it in my hands. The only thing that I can see is the glare of Karen’s shiny latex cat suit. I just shake my head.
So, THAT’S what she was doing in there!

CLUNK! CLUNK! CLUNK!
We both freeze, scared of what we might find. Karen pushes me against the door. “You go first,” she whispers and I shake my head.

“Are you crazy?!” I snap. “I’m not going out there by myself.”

“You have the lamp to protect you!”

“It doesn’t mean that I want to die today,” I reply, then sigh. “Fine. We’ll both go out together.” I slowly open the door to peek my head out and Karen does the same. My mouth drops. Not to my surprise (considering how my life has been going lately), I observe a short, overweight, middle-aged woman in a hairnet with a bat going completely Babe Ruth on
my vehicle. “Is that my car the
woman is hitting?”

“Oh, shit. Yeah, it is,” Karen smirks as she opens the door. She pushes me on the front step and I begin to shake. The woman pauses from hitting my car, glares at my existence, and begins to charge toward me like a bull in heat.

“You whore!” she screams with a baseball bat in her hand. “I’m gonna kill you!”
Oh my God, oh my God, OH MY GOD! 
I think to myself.
I’m going to die, all by the hands of this psychotic, obese woman that I don’t even know.
I pull Karen out in front of me and she begins to scream.

“She’s going to kill me!” I yell frantic and scared. “She’s going to kill me!” Karen puts out her hands trying to stop the woman from attacking me.

“Whoa, little slugger!” Karen says as the woman stops mere feet away from us.

“It’s you, you whore!” the woman yells. “You’re the one sleeping with my husband!” At this moment, it hits me. It’s the woman from the phone! I can remember that annoying, raspy voice from anywhere.

“I’m not sleeping with your husband, I swear!” I tell her as I clutch onto Karen’s arms for dear life.

“You lying little bitch!” she yells. “I told you I’d track you down. My brother works for the FBI and he told me exactly where you were!” She lifts up her arm with the bat as Karen and I stumble backwards.

“No, no, no!” Karen says, trying to calm the woman down. “My friend did not sleep with your husband.”

“Why should I believe you?” she asks. “Look at the way you’re dressed. You’re probably both whores.” I gasp at the woman’s insult, and Karen tries to elbow me.

“I didn’t sleep with him!” I ramble. “I met him at a speed dating event. He said he was single. If I knew he was married, I wouldn’t even have talked to him.” The woman pauses for a second and thinks.

“Speed dating, huh?” she asks.

“Yes, yes!” I exclaim. “Now if you could please put the bat down!”

“Please, lady. My friend is telling the truth,” Karen says as she pulls me next to her. “She did not sleep with him.”

“Really?” she asks her and Karen nods her head.

“Yes, really,” Karen says and I nod my head frantically. “Look, my friend couldn’t have had sex with your husband. She hasn’t had sex in four months.” I put my hands on my hips and glare at Karen. She did
not
have to air out my business like that.

“Thank you, Karen, for just putting my lack of sexual intercourse out there in the open.”

Karen smiles. “You’re welcome,” she says and turns back to the woman. “My friend had no relations with your husband. Besides, you should be angry with your husband if he’s cheating on you, not the other woman.”

“Yeah,” I say nodding. “I agree.”
Please get this crazy woman away from me! I deserve to live!

Karen puts her arm around the woman’s shoulders and begins to walk her to the curb. “This is what you should do. You should go home right now, get in bed with your husband as if nothing’s wrong, then in the morning while he’s at work, you go out and you find yourself the best damn divorce lawyer that you can find, and then you take him for all he’s worth. Alimony, child support, everything you can, OK?”

The woman begins to sob as Karen talks to her. “I can’t believe I let this go on for so long,” she says through her hurtful tears. “How could I be so stupid?”

“No, you’re not … stupid,” Karen tells her and I tend to disagree. “You are a very smart and beautiful woman who was just put in a bad situation, that’s all. So, you go home right now with your baseball bat, have a nice cup of tea, and you divorce his ass, OK A-Rod?”

“OK,” she sobs.

“Great,” Karen responds as the woman hugs her tightly. Karen turns beet red from the lack of oxygen. She finally releases Karen.

“You’re so nice,” the woman says to Karen.

“Yes, I know,” Karen responds. “Well, you have a good night, and we’ll take care of the car situation, okay?”

“OK,
” the woman says as she starts to walk away. “I’m sorry about your car,” she says to me.

I shrug. “It’s fine,” I say, waving. I’m just happy to have my life and not be hit over the head with a baseball bat. “It was nice meeting you!” I yell after her as she walks off into the night. Karen turns to me and smiles.

“See, no harm done,” she says. “All is well in the world.”

“No harm done?!” I snap. “Look at what
that crazy bitch did to my car
!”

“She was a woman scorned,
” Karen says as I throw up my hands in frustration. “Her husband’s a douche … obviously. At least she didn’t attack you. That’d be another unnecessary hospital visit on your part.” I can’t fathom why my luck is so bad. Did I do something horrible in a past life and karma is getting back at me now? How do these shitty things happen to me and only me?

I look Karen up and down, from the cat suit to the pointy stilettos and her long, jet black wig. “And what the hell are you wearing?” I ask her.

“It’s Dominatrix Thursday,” she replies, smiling.

“Oh, nice,” I say sarcastically.

“Hey, just because you’re not having sex doesn’t mean you get to judge,” Karen says and I roll my eyes. “I have a very fulfilling, and healthy sex life …” Karen’s words drift off as her eyes move toward the neighbor’s house. I see an awkward looking figure jogging down the steps in an undershirt and boxers. “Is that … Mike?” Karen asks and I nod. “Did he just come from Shrek’s house?” she asks and I nod again. She shakes her head in disgrace. “This night is just getting weirder and weirder.” We turn around toward the front door and see Russ standing there in his tighty whities with tape over his mouth and his hands handcuffed in the back.

“Weird, indeed,” I say hoping that this visual of Russ isn’t real but I know I can’t escape it. “Weird, indeed.”

Two shots of Patron should do the trick … no, maybe three. Anything to get my mind off of it. Anything to get my mind off of the simple fact that last week that I was almost killed by a deranged, psychotic housewife, and also how my poor, innocent feet were completely violated by this podiatry-obsessed freak who wanted to do nothing more than stare, lick, and suck on my toes. There’s nothing wrong with fetishes, you know, as long as the other party is into whatever fetish you may have whether it be a foot fetish or an elbow fetish, whatever. I’m just not the type of girl who gets aroused by shoving my size nines into someone’s face for sexual pleasure. Nope, not me, and probably will
never
be me. So, tonight I’m going to a bar, wearing heels …
toes completely covered
. No more foot fiascos for me, and no attacks from crazy, delusional wives (hopefully).

Once again I’ve recruited Annie to be my single woman partner in crime. She’s my wing-woman. At first she said no and used her daughter as an excuse: “I have to spend quality time with Brianna.” Blah, blah, blah. But, once I told her that I’d pay for her drinks, no limit, she couldn’t get rid of her daughter any sooner: “I’ll drop her off at her grandparents’ house.” And that was that. I got my wing-woman back … her and an unexpected non-single recruit.

“Karen, why are you coming with us?” I ask my already engaged friend. She knows there’s a task at hand here by going to the bar. Annie and I, well mostly me, are on a mission to find Mr. Right whereas Karen has already found him in Russ. “And why in the world are you wearing that ridiculous wig?” She decided to go blonde tonight, a very fake looking blonde. She looks exactly like an overgrown Lil’ Kim wax figure of some sort: tall, long stringy hair, way too much eye shadow, and a lacy, low-cut shirt showing just about ALL of her assets. She’s no competition for me though, the normal looking fol
k. I decided on a navy blue sleeveless
shirt, a pair of skinny jeans, and a pair of fierce black stilettos. I’m keeping it casual, yet sexy at the same time.

“This will be my time to shine!” says Karen smiling as she drives.

“Shine
like what, a
n amateur
runway drag queen
?!” I ask. “Please, Karen, take off that awful wig. You don’t need it.”

“I don’t think you understand the premise of all this,” she begins to explain. “This is my one night to
act
like I’m single again.”

“Oh, God!” I groan. “Why do I even bother saying anything?”

“And my name is not Karen tonight,” she tells me, smiling. “I am the sexy and sultry Anastasia.” Karen whips her blonde hair back in an attempt to look sexy … FAIL! “So, what’s the name of the bar we’re going to?” she asks. All I did was ask to borrow her car for the night, and she just decided she’d tag along. On the upside, it saves me the embarrassment of driving that hunk-of-junk vehicle around. What were my parents thinking? Then again, maybe this has worked out for the better. Now I have a designated driver just in case the Patron puts me on the floor, but I have this funny feeling that it’l
l be the reverse way around. We wi
ll see …

“We’re going to B.J’s in New Jersey,” I tell her.

“Oh, B.J’s!” Karen says with uneasiness in her tone. “In New Jersey,” she smirks.

“Yeah, Annie suggested it,” I say. “It’s supposed to be a cute, little bar with a dance floor. Very casual and cheap.”

“Is Annie coming?” she asks.

“Yes, she’ll meet us there after she drops off her daughter
,
” I tell Karen and she rolls her eyes at the thought of being anywhere near Annie.

She sighs. “I don’t know about this Annie chick. She seems a little shady to me.”

“She’s from Temple, remember? Annie’s a good person if you get to know her, Karen.”

Karen shrugs her shoulders. “I don’t know, Les,” she says worriedly. “She gives me a bad vibe. Something in the Kool-Aid ain’t sweet if you know what I’m saying.”

“Relax. It’s no big deal,” I reassure her as we pull up to the bar. “Once you get to know her, you’ll like her. You’ll be best friends by the end of the night.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t bet on that if I were you,” she says snidely as she exits the car. This is one thing that I never understood about women. Why are we so catty? Why are we so cliquey? I don’t get it. Like the famous philosopher (OK, maybe not
philosopher
) Rodney King said, “Can’t we all just get along?”

I sigh as I get out of the car.
This will be a VERY long night,
I think to myself. As we walk int
o
B.J’s, I spot Annie sitting at the bar with a Corona in her hand. I wave to her, smiling. “Hey Annie!” I shout as I walk toward her. “I see that you made it,” I say enthusiastically. “You remember Karen, right?” Both women muster up false smiles and shake each other’s hands. Karen then wipes her hand onto her jeans as if to imply that Annie has some sort of infectious disease that can only be passed on by
unwanted
hand
shakes
.

“Oh, yeah, I remember her,” Annie says. “Nice hair.”

“Thanks,” Karen replies and looks the other way.

“It’s very … how should I say this?” Annie searches for a word that’s neither complimenting nor completely insulting. “It’s
i
nteresting
.
” I notice Karen tightly clenching her teeth. We’re only two minutes into the night and I can tell that they’re irritated by each other.