The Big "O": A Romantic Comedy (12 page)

On the pretext of getting in line to order another coffee, Xavier Roberts stood up and walked past the two women and committed the web URL to memory.

Inside of Victor and Juliette's house, in the basement, late at night, Edwin and Max waited for Victor. They both looked super serious. Edwin nodded to Max. Max coughed nervously.

“There's no point in beating around the bush… so to speak,” Edwin said and tried not to smile.

“Let's be cool about this,” Max said with irritation.

Victor entered and overheard the last bit. He looked back and forth between Edwin and Max. Edwin avoided his gaze. Max's cheeks looked uncharacteristically pink. Was his best friend embarrassed about something? Did they have nothing but bad news?

“What?” Victor asked.

“You probably figured out already that each of them said, no,” Edwin blurted out.

Max was horrified. He'd been letting Edwin take the lead because he was normally such a well-heeled and diplomatic guy.

“You make it sound like I was re-propositioning them, for God's sake… I'm married. But, yeah, I heard those bee-yatches. But then I had to leave... for, uh, a meeting,” Victor said angrily.

Edwin and Max were hesitant.

“What? What the fuck?!” Victor asked. They were silent. He glared at them.

“What else did they fuckin' say already? I couldn't hear it all and then, uh, you know, I had to go already.”

“They said they faked it,” Max said.

Victor's face turned red. He looked apoplectic. His eyes narrowed and he scrunched his mouth up.

“What?! Which one of those whiny bitches said that?” he asked.

“All of them,” Edwin said.

“Oh,” Victor said. He paced and ran his fingers through his hair, which was already standing on end, and then thought long and hard for a moment.

Having had an idea, he brightened. His teeth glinted in the light as he smiled.

“Well, suppose you'd had the best sex of your life with someone and they moved on, and got married and shit, and you were still single? Right? Were they all still single?” Victor asked and grinned.

Max and Edwin reflected a long moment then slowly nodded. Yes, Max remembered, each of them had been single. Plus, they'd been such angry women. The interview process had actually been a little scary.

Victor smiled and then laughed happily.

“Of course, that's it, they're fucking up de Nile. You gotta find someone not lonely and fuckin' subconsciously enraged that I moved the fuck on,” Victor said, “Maybe I broke some hearts, you know?”

“Okay, they
were
actually all single,” Edwin replied, his head tilted sideways, as he tried to remember if the women had been bitter and negative about men in general or only about Victor in the specific, “but maybe it was like attracting like. A commitment phobe falls for a commitment phobe.”

Whatever Edwin was trying to sell, Victor wasn't buying.

“Can the bullshit, Mr. Ed the talking horse's ass,” Victor said, and laughed, “oops... I mean, Edwin. I'm the one who's married here, asshole. Isis is the one who may have just wasted the best years of her bootylicious life with a,” and he pursed his lips and mimicked Edwin, “'commitment phobe.'”

Edwin, never easy to rile, stood. Before Victor could react, and kick Edwin's ass, Max got up and got between his two best friends.

He put one hand on each of their chests and gently pushed them apart.

“Come on, you two. Knock it off. Let's focus on the solution here. Those girls were off the charts, who knows why. And, yes, they were unmarried except one is now a lesbian…” Max said.

“A lesbo?” Victor asked.

Max pointed to Victor's "bell curve" relationship diagram. A bit worse for the wear, it was now taped to the basement wall. He walked over to it and pointed to a stick figure below the curve.

“…so let's stay away from girls on the extreme… the sour grapes and those you took to new heights. Who'd you have okay sex with?” Max asked.

“Ooh, that's a fucking hard one,” Victor said.

Edwin rolled his eyes.

Victor looked up at the basement ceiling and tried to remember some ancient history chick with whom the sex had merely been okay.

“Uh, maybe…” Victor said, then, after more thought, added, “No, no. She was awesome, I was awesome…”

Max felt exhausted. He looked at his watch.

Max flopped back onto the dusty basement sofa and closed his eyes.

Things were weird with him and Emily but he hoped that with therapy, better book sales, and maybe even solving Victor's problem, things would get back on track soon. She was looking unwell almost all of the time he thought, thinking about how her face had looked that morning at breakfast. He hoped that she wasn't sick or something.

She wasn't talking to him as much either. I guess she's got a lot on her mind, he thought.

He hoped that they would be done here soon because he had stuff to do. He wanted to see little Max and Emily. As much as he loved hanging out with his buds, they could be, well really Vic could be, exhausting.

Victor thought a bit more but didn't seem to be getting anywhere.

Edwin gave a snort of exasperation. Max opened his eyes to see Edwin march over to the wall chart. Obviously this situation was trying Edwin's exemplary patience. Edwin faced the chart, closed his eyes, then zoomed with his finger and zeroed in right into the middle of the chart. He opened his eyes to see where his finger had landed.

“Okay, then,” Edwin said, “we'll ranMaxly interview someone right in the middle of the bell curve. We already know these girls probably had an average experience. How about…” and he lifted his finger and read out and pointed to a name, “Charlene Jones?”

Victor thought a long moment then nodded. Max quietly sighed with relief.

“Okajay. She was average in looks and everything fucking else, and I know, I know, I rocked her fuckin' ordinary world,” Victor said confidently.

“She's perfect, then,” Max said.

“You guys should do her next week,” Victor said smartly. Then, at Edwin's look, he added, “I mean you should interview her.”

I
NSIDE OF Max and Emily's kitchen, Isis sat at the table and fed baby Max a snack as Emily poured two glasses of wine.

“I get it, I do... but I don't understand why you aren't telling Edwin. Secrets aren't good,” Emily said.

Emily, two wine glasses gleaming with dark red Cabernet in hand, joined Isis at the table.

“I'll tell him, eventually, after I get some real success,” Isis said and grinned happily. She looked gorgeous in a purple silk sheath dress with a turquoise beaded neckline. Emily looked down at her own comfy pink harem pants, which had gone out of style decades ago, and sighed.

“What's your plan?” Emily asked.

“I'm using retirement and savings. I'll run some designs, put together a book, and get back in the game,” Isis said.

“That could work,” Emily said, “but you'll need a hard core business plan with marketing and financial goals and milestones, real targets that you can hit, including production of your samples. You'll also need to be ready to manufacture, even if only small lots, to be able to capitalize on the marketing.”

“Even if I'm not ready?” Isis asked and frowned.

“You would not believe how quickly your savings can dwindle and it's all about the marketing... and it's not always easy to come up with a fresh idea that gets the results you want,” Emily said firmly, “so, yes, you'll have to run up small lots ASAP.”

Isis nodded. She and Emily sipped their wine. Baby Max wrestled the spoon away from Isis and refused to let her feed him.

“What's your marketing thing?” Isis said.

“Obviously some social networking, approaching book groups, offering some lunch-and-learn type free workshops, and such, but I really need something big...” Emily trailed off.

“And you haven't thought of the something big, yet?” Isis asked.

Emily nodded unhappily.

“What about no pants?” Isis asked.

“Huh?” Emily replied.

“The no pants subway ride thing,” Isis said.

“What does "no pants" have to do with finance?” Emily asked.

“If you don't handle your money you could 'lose your shirt.' You know a flash mob thingie where people rip off their shirts and then you have a bunch of hot women in bras, shirtless sexy guys… money floating in the air... maybe a jump thing. You know, a party bounce house. It could be hilarious,” Isis said.

“Imagine Max's reaction if I do some kind of 'In your bra,' viral video? I don't think so. But the 'No Shirts,' Abercrombie & Fitch thing was funny,” Emily said and laughed.

“How about a book store flash mob?” Isis asked.

“That could work, freezing in place is boring though. Did you see that grocery store flash mob fail? And the slo mo thing? So not funny,” Emily said.

“Oui and pillow fights are dumb but I love the dancing flash mobs. 'Food Court Musical' rocked it…” Isis said. Then she sang:

“Can I get a napkin, please?”

Emily's cell phone rang. She answered.

“Hello? Oh,” Emily said, into her cell phone. She paused to listen for a moment, “Oh, yes. Thank you.” In shock she hung up. She sat staring at her phone.

Baby Max, for once, was acting like a regular toddler, banging his spoon repeatedly against the tray of his highchair. Emily absentmindedly took his spoon away. He gurgled with laughter, ceasing to act like a normal toddler, not at all upset by his mother's reaction.

“You won't believe it, Isis,” Emily finally said.

“What?” Isis asked, really excited to know what was going on.

“A network wants us to send in a little pre-recorded segment. They like my tweets. Here I thought…” she said, getting emotional, “I had to create a spectacular… turns out being myself is enough.” She laughed until it looked like she might cry. Isis hugged her.

Inside of a therapist's office, Max lay on a couch. For several long moments he said nothing. He merely stared at the ceiling.

“I'm worried about stuff,” Max finally admitted. He felt a surge of relief to say it out loud. It was the kind of things that guys didn't talk about to each other and that he felt too embarrassed to say to Emily.

“What kinds of things concern you?” Dr. Charles asked, her tone of voice neutral.

He glanced over at her. She looked so damned competent; it was reassuring, her suit, her professional attitude, her degree and license on the wall. She genuinely cared, too. He knew that she really and truly wanted to help him figure his life out. She wasn't just in it for the money.

“Well, retirement, for one. I don't have it handled. Emily, for another, I think I'm just not making her happy. And baby Max, what if…” Max blurted out.

Dr. Charles waited patiently for him to continue. He tilted his head and noticed, for the first time, the New Age relaxing music playing in the background. It was actually quite soothing, he realized. He realized that he had started to really enjoy coming here.

“What if…” Dr. Charles repeated gently.

What if...” Max struggled to find his emotions and fears and express them in words again.

Emily and Max, dressed and made-up by Isis, faced a small digital camera set up on a tripod. Victor held a second camera and shot some B-roll. Isis stood at the ready, with face powder and brush in hand, to touch them up as needed. Baby Max was at school and Juliette and Edwin were working.

Victor had insisted upon using semi-professional lighting and creating a tiny set. He appeared to believe himself the director of the shoot. Isis, Emily and Max had gone along with all of his creative demands.

The pair of them, Emily and Max, mostly fooled around. They read out some of Emily's most frequently re-tweeted tweets, acting out scenarios from their upcoming book, and generally had a good time.

“And that's a wrap,” Victor said with authority, “I'll need a couple of days to edit this, maybe I'll make a few rough cuts, vary it up a bit, and then see what you think.”

“That would be great,” Max said.

“You're so talented,” Emily said to Victor, “I'm surprised you didn't go into film.”

“It's just a hobby,” Victor admitted.

“You're a great friend,” Max said and slapped his buddy on the shoulder.

Neither Emily nor Max realized how great a friend Victor had been to them.

Just the previous week, he'd bought a thousand copies of their other book and had them drop-shipped as freebies to be given to new members of the various personal investment clubs where he was a member. He belonged to investment clubs and online investment groups in Tokyo, LA and New York, partly because he liked to know what and how others were doing and partly because he never knew where he might find a hot investment tip.

He'd also created multiple online social media accounts specifically for the purpose of liking and re-tweeting his friends posts. Some of the accounts were for individuals and others were for financial bloggers. He paid a virtual assistant to manage all of it and was thrilled to see that his efforts seemed to be powerfully forwarding the momentum being created by Emily and Max's efforts.

It takes a village, he thought to himself.

He knew that Max had a shit-ton of his own stuff to worry about, and Edwin too, for that matter, yet his best friend and Edwin still had his back. Edwin and he and Max were making strides with his issue in giving Juliette the “Big O.”

He would do his part to support them in their own endeavors.

The film thing was fun for him. He spent all of his free time consuming pop-culture, mostly American. If he ever made it big in the stock market, and became a multimillionaire who did not have to work again, he was going to make movies.

Later, Victor stood alone in his and Juliette's master bedroom. Dressed in long shorts and flip flops, he flopped back onto the bed and tried to read the illustrated “Kama Sutra.”

It only took a few minutes for him to feel aroused, judging by his rising erection and increased body temperature. After a few minutes, he tossed the book aside. The book was making him horny and Juliette wasn't home.

No point in starting a fire that he couldn't put out. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment. He lifted his reasonably buff arm and made a muscle. He was pretty fit.

He grinned and stood up. He walked over to the full-length mirror on the wall and looked at himself. The sex had always been good for him, he realized. Always.

“Maybe it isn't you. Maybe it's her,” he said to himself hopefully, even as he knew deep within his heart that it wasn't so.

Inside of her tiny apartment bedroom, now an office, Isis, Juliette and Emily sat drying their toes and nails, surrounded by bottles of pink, red, and chocolate metallic colored nail polish, clippers, and other pedicure paraphernalia. A small TV, the volume turned so low that it was almost muted, was on in the background.

“Thanks for taking the time, I know you're busy,” Emily said to Juliette.

“I'm gonna fecking explode, if I look at one more kid, one more paper, or cite one more thing…” Juliette said to Emily, “…that's why I haven't tested baby Max yet. But I'm in the home stretch. Just a few more days.” Emily nodded.

Isis got very excited, almost overcome by an epiphany.

“I know, I know! We should go shopping and get you the perfect outfit to defend your thesis. Oui?” Isis asked Juliette. Emily chuckled. Juliette crinkled up her nose at the idea.

“That would be hilarious,” Emily said when Juliette didn't immediately respond.

“Somehow, I don't think my thesis committee will be suitably impressed and I'm way too busy and way too tired,” Juliette finally said.

“But we were going to take Emily shopping… I know, I'll make you an outfit, Emily… for Ferguson,” Isis said, finding new inspiration.

“Like I'm ever going to get on Ferguson,” Emily said.

“That's a better idea,” Juliette said and then pointed, “Look, you're on TV.”

The girls watched as Emily and Max's funny video played on a local news segment.

Isis went to her closet, now filled with a few nearly complete design samples as well as hangers with long swathes of fabric clipped to them, and brought several pieces back.

She held up some fabric; her two friends looked at it doubtfully.

“Come on,” Isis wheedled. Emily sighed and carefully waddle-walked over, making sure that the twisted tissue between her toes and her movement didn't mess up her pedicure.

As Juliette blew on her own pale pink pedicure, so light that it was hard to see that she was wearing an actual color, Isis expertly draped and pinned fabric onto Emily.

Then Isis ran to get some accessories and added a psychedelic belt, a shawl with fringe on the edge, to her live doll. Isis nodded happily.

Emily strutted around and modeled the odd outfit made up of pinned fabric, the funky brightly colored belt, and woven shawl, all of which were on top of her pink hoodie and sweat pants. Juliette tried not to laugh.

“I don't know,” Juliette said and couldn't hold back her laughter any longer.

“It's not really me,” said Emily, “it's more trippy yogi mommy. My natural style is more classic and conservative... I don't want to change styles, just update my style.”

“Okay,” Isis said and rapidly unpinned the fabric and removed accessories.

“Not a problem. Give me a minute, okay?” Isis replied.

Emily sat on the bed with Juliette, and they both admired their toenails, as Isis riffled through her nearly complete pieces, several partially made designs and then held up a few sketches and pinned articles of clothing.

Lots of the fabrics were exotic, truly interesting patterns, textures, and colors, and Emily resolutely, almost always, shook her head no to whatever Isis showed her.

Juliette generally said very little, preferring to contemplate her toes and get the first real rest that she'd had in weeks. It was incredible to be in the moment and breathe. To have nothing to do and nowhere to go. To hang out.

It was quite nice being in their friend's home office, chilling for a couple of hours, doing meaningless girly things, having fruity drinks and snacks, she decided. She almost felt relaxed. She felt warm listening to the women babble.

Finally, after Emily had vetoed yet another nearly complete design, and rolled her eyes and giggled at another half-made design, Isis harrumphed and thought long and hard.

A moment later, eyes gleaming, she left the room only to return with a white-washed vintage suitcase. It had a pink silk rose and a pale green ribbon and bit of pink tulle attached to the handle. It was quite chic for an antique, Juliette thought.

“What's that?” Emily asked, her voice full of curiosity.

“For moi to know and you to find out,” Isis said throatily and giggled.

She felt a surge of energy in her body and wondered why she hadn't remembered that stuff before. It was going to be perfect.

In fact, she would build an entire wardrobe for Emily around this core outfit. Some would be more casual, other outfits similarly formal, and the woman would love it. Emily would be très chic.

Juliette sat up to get a better look at the vintage suitcase. Isis opened the suitcase with a flourish; it was lined with a beautiful pink watered silk in a moiré pattern.

Emily was thrilled to see Isis get so excited and found herself holding her breath just a little in anticipation. She hoped, looking at her watch, knowing that she had to go soon, that the design and style genius that Isis was known for was about to make her appearance.

With glee Isis lifted out faux pearl and rhinestone necklace and earrings, along with a delicate matching inlaid silver wrist watch, and a vintage gray suit.

Emily felt a surge of excitement herself. The jewelry and suit fabric were beautiful.

Then Isis ran to her design bureau and carefully unfolded a swathe of pale, silky, sheer gray and delicate shell-pink fabric.

Emily gasped. Juliette smiled. Isis practically jumped up and down.

“I really wanted to push you but I finally realized that we can go edgy with the era and accessories while sticking with your signature cut and colors...” Isis said and added, “I can re-cut the suit when you're at your fighting weight.” Juliette giggled.