The Boots My Mother Gave Me (31 page)

I took it in stride. Kat didn’t mind shocking people. And shock she did in this town, as folks here considered risqué anything outside of blue jeans. She participated in the college fashion show for charity, and her look was the Eighties. She looked like the Eighties all right, her hair teased out to the nines. She wore a black jumpsuit, with a lace bustier on top and leotards lined with lace on the bottom, a
boy toy belt
around the waist of a short, fluffy skirt, fully accessorized with an arm full of bangle bracelets, large hoop earrings, and black pumps.

People looked at her like she just landed from outer space as she walked in the door. I looked at her like she was the coolest, funniest kid sister in the world. She cracked me up. I beamed with pride at the little outcast she had become, unique of her own choosing.

I walked up to her after my set, and she gave me a big old hug and kiss as she bellied up to the bar. I was concerned because she was drinking; neither one of us usually drank much at all. I already knew why. With Mom leaving and Dad having his meltdown, she wanted to forget about it, for a little while anyway.

“You’re not going to lecture me, are you?” she asked, smiling. “‘Why are you drinking, Kat? You know you can’t fix anything with alcohol,’” she mocked me, totally something I might say to her, but I wasn’t feeling particularly responsible, either. Nothing sounded better than getting drunk and rowdy, especially in her company.

Quoting a Willie Nelson tune, I replied, “If you’re feeling salty, then I’m your tequila, baby. Two tequilas,” I requested to the bartender. Kat giggled with sheer joy, tipping her head back, she howled. I looked at the tequila, the salt, and the lime wedge sitting before me. “You’re going to have to show me how to do this!”

Kat demonstrated, licking her hand between her thumb and index finger, shaking some salt on it, as I followed her lead. “Then you lick, drink, suck!” We clinked our glasses together, both of us licking, drinking, and sucking.

“Whoa, that’s warm,” I gasped. Kat laughed.

The bartender set up another round for us. “This one’s on the gentleman at the end of the bar.”

“Big Johnson!” Kat exclaimed, waving in Jeremiah’s direction. He tipped his glass to us.

“Lick, drink, suck, Kat,” I reminded her, downing the second shot. “Let’s dance.” I pulled her onto the square wooden floor, attempting to stay away from
Big Johnson.
What was he doing in here anyway? I thought he was a cop or something. Shouldn’t he be out saving kittens? Wait, I guess that’s the fire department. Well, anyway, he should be out doing something, not in here with his fine-ass self. God, he annoyed me.

“What’s the matter, Harley? You seeing old ghosts?” Kat smiled, yelling over the music as we danced. The band covered AC/DC’s,
You Shook Me All Night Long,
blasting it out of the speakers.

“Just shut up and dance.” I smiled back, taking her hand, spinning her in circles, both of us letting out an exuberant yell.

We had the best time, moving to the rhythm without a care in the world. We gyrated,
shook our money-makers,
spun around, and danced until our feet were sore. Momentarily, Kat and I were free. Our minds far-removed from thoughts of Mom and Dad, our bellies warm with tequila, our bodies loose, souls united in a way only sisters can understand. We propelled each other, playfully challenged one another, and cheered each other on. We worked ourselves into a blissful frenzy on the dance floor, delightfully audacious, reveling in every single, unaffected minute. About three hours later, and after three more trips to the bar, we decided to take a breather. Kat and I walked off the dance floor arm-in-arm.

“What are you two, lezzies?” a male voice inquired as we walked by.

I spun around to find some douchebag standing beside another douchebag.
Oh, great, here we go.

“You talking to me? Us?” I challenged.

Douchebag One nodded his head. “And what if we are?”

“Be a good waste of two sweet little poontang pies,” Douchebag Two added.

Kat and I nearly threw up in our mouths, replying in unison, “Gross!” I continued, “Let me guess, the miniature stallion you’re smuggling in your shorts would suit it much better, huh?” Kat cracked up laughing, their expressions changing from flirtatious to offensive in a hurry.

“We don’t take to your kind too good around here,” Douchebag One said.

“What’s that? Lezzies or women who tell you where to get off?” Kat questioned.

“Both.” Douchebag Two crossed his arms over his chest. “I ain’t never had no use for a lezzy, or a mouthy woman.”

I looked at Kat, both of us giggling. “What is this,
Deliverance?”
I asked. She shrugged her shoulders, grinning.

“It ought to be illegal...bunch a homos,” Douchebag One charged.

“Well in case you and
Festus
didn’t know, inbreeding, is in fact, illegal in the state of Pennsylvania,” I said. Oh, how Kat howled with that one, even making me laugh.
What the hell is wrong with these people?
We were in our own little world, having a beautiful time, and these two hanyaks tried to dump right in the middle of our Cheerios. Why can’t people just let people be?

I could feel someone approaching behind Kat and me. I turned around, and lo and behold, there stood Jeremiah.
Oh great, King Kong to the rescue.

“Everything okay over here?” he asked casually.

“Meet homo-hater one, and homo-hater two,” Kat introduced. “They
ain’t got no
use for our kind,” she emphasized their double negative with a wicked smile.

“So you have a problem with me because I’m gay?” Jeremiah asked, puffing his chest out on his six-foot, two-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound frame. “See that guy over there at the bar?” Jeremiah pointed to a big burly man, who waved in his direction, winking. “That’s my boyfriend. You got a problem with us?”

Douchebag One, immediately back-peddled, “No. No, we ain’t got no problem with you.”

“Only gay women, huh?” Kat prodded.

“Let me get this straight. You got a problem with them.” Jeremiah pointed at Kat and me. “But you’re fine with me and my boyfriend. You sure you don’t have your Latin mixed up? Homo and hetero,” he spoke slowly, exaggerating both terms. “Now, I know they sound a lot alike. I could see how you might be confused,” he continued indulgently. “It’s the 21st Century, gentlemen. It’s okay if you like boys, just as long as they’re of age.” He grinned, winking at Douchebag One, then at Douchebag Two.

They left our vicinity immediately. We all cracked up laughing, Jeremiah, Kat, and me. It felt like old times. “Miah!” Kat exclaimed, hugging him tightly. “It’s good to see you out and about. I see you less than I ever did now that you moved back home.”

“Trying to stay out of trouble, Kit-Kat.”

“Well, you walked right into it tonight!” she said.

“Just something about you LeBeau girls. Every time I went anywhere with you two, trouble seemed to find us.”

Jeremiah looked at me. I already had him in my sights. “Where’s Cassidy?” I asked apathetically.
Boy, was I in a mood tonight.
He ignored my inquiry. He just looked at me.

“Hey, thanks for the tequila shots you sent over. What are you drinking?” Kat asked, herding us to the bar.

“It was worth it to see you two shooting tequila. I didn’t know you guys drank, ever. I feel a little soft, I’m drinking beer.” He smiled, looking at his glass.

“We’re celebrating,” Kat referred to our drinking. “Three shots of tequila, please,” she ordered from the bartender. “How long have you been here?”

“I came in midway through Harley’s set.”
How did I miss him,
I wondered? “What are we celebrating?” he asked, as Kat set the drinks in front of us.

“The pursuit of a drunken stupor. Here’s to us.” She clinked her glass to ours. We all licked, drank, and sucked.

If I was supposed to be in a haze, a state of drunken unconsciousness, I wasn’t getting there fast enough. I remained completely conscious of Jeremiah. He smelled good. He looked good. He sounded good. And when he ran his tongue across the salt on that place between his index finger and his thumb, I wanted to be that little spot.

“Excuse me,” I called to the bartender. “Could you bring us another round? Make them doubles.”

“Holy crap, Harley!” Kat exclaimed.

“If we’re going to do it, we may as well go all out. What do you say
Big Johnson?
You up for it?”

“Absolutely,” he said, his provocative smile surfacing, sexy as he could be. If alcohol makes a two look like a ten, I wondered what he would possibly look like by the end of the night.

We accomplished the total drunken stupor in all its ecstasy, only to find ourselves with heads weighing a hundred pounds each in the morning. Kat and I awoke in a strange bedroom, the scent familiar, as the side of my face smooshed into the sheet below me. I lay there on my stomach, neck bent into oblivion, wiping drool off the side of my mouth with the back of my hand. I inhaled deeply, smelling the sheets.
Jeremiah.
I heard Kat groan beside me. “Harley, where are we?”

I slowly lifted my head, my neck cracking with every movement, a permanent kink, I swore. Scanning the room in a groggy haze, I looked for the one thing that would validate my suspicions. There it hung, in all its glory, the Farrah Fawcett red swimsuit poster. “We’re at Miah’s.”

“Oh, thank God.” Kat sighed.

My eyes continued searching the room for a clock. “Does that say one-thirty?”

“In the afternoon? One-thirty in the afternoon?” Her head popped up from her pillow.

“Yes. Unless the sun shines at one-thirty in the morning,” I mumbled, the sunlight peeking in behind the window shade.

“I have to go get Megan,” she reminded herself. “Why does my mouth taste like a cat pooped in it?”

“What?” I began to laugh. “Oh, ow...ouch.” Quickly ceasing my laughter, reminded of how the otherwise pleasurable action causes the pressure to increase in one’s head, and mine already throbbed.

I pushed myself up off the bed, noticing the oversized t-shirt I had on.
How did I get out of my clothes and into his?
With the momentum of a sloth, I made my way into the bathroom, holding my hand to my head, as I searched the medicine cabinet for aspirin and ibuprofen. “Eureka,” I muttered, pulling two from each bottle, one for me, and one for Kat.

Sitting down to relieve myself of the excess toxins, I turned behind me. Grabbing for the toilet paper, in my peripheral I noticed something black, high on my right buttock.
What is that?
Twisting my neck, I read aloud the black ink as it stared back at me, upside down from my ass, “Do you feel lucky? Well do ya, punk?” I wiped at the lettering, it did not move. I licked my finger, thinking maybe moisture would help, rubbing as hard and fast as I could, doing nothing except irritating my skin.
“Dirty Harry.
Really, Harley? You had Clint Eastwood’s words tattooed on your ass?” I spoke to myself, shaking my head.

Quickly washing my hands, I returned to Kat, who slept face down in her pillow. I grabbed at her panties, pulling the top down slightly. I didn’t feel quite so bad, reading from her hip, “Toto, I’ve got a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore!” I cracked up with laughter, as I squeezed my head between my hands, attempting to ease the pounding.

“Did you just quote
Wizard of Oz?
” She lifted her head from her pillow.

“Yep. I read it right off your little tuchas.” I chuckled, slapping her on the behind.

“What?” She quickly sprang to attention. “I have Dorothy on my ass?”

“Technically, no. Dorothy’s not there, just her words.” I pointed them out as she sat up, her hair completely disheveled, twisting her body around so she could see. She started rubbing at the tattoo.

“Doesn’t work,” I said, handing her an aspirin and an ibuprofen.

“I don’t remember getting tattoos. When did we get tattoos?” She swallowed the pain relievers.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember much after that double shot of tequila.”

Kat rubbed her temples, wincing. “Oh, make it quit, Harley. Is that bacon? Do you smell that?”

“You’re probably just hungry...or Jeremiah’s fixing breakfast.” I lay her leotards on the bed so she could get dressed. I pulled my jeans on, but opted to let the oversized, clean smelling t-shirt hug my body, my top from last night rank, a mixture of sweat, and cigarette smoke.

“Ooh, we stink, Harley.” Kat groaned, discarding her lace bustier, pulling her leotards on under another of Jeremiah’s t-shirts. She hugged the shirt to her face, taking in a deep breath. “Hmm, that smells so good. I have to go get Megan. How did we get here? Do you think my car is out there? Where’s Jeremiah?”

Kat began twenty questions as a knock sounded on the bedroom door. I pulled the door open, and there he stood, two cups of coffee in hand, accompanied by the world’s biggest grin spread across his lips.

“Good morning, ladies,” Jeremiah chimed, handing me the coffee. “Thought you might need a little wake-me-up.” I handed a cup to Kat, keeping one for myself. We immediately began to sip. “Sugar and Bailey’s, right?” he joked. “I figured you might want to pick up where you left off.” Kat and I simultaneously rolled our eyes at him, the thought of alcohol nauseating at this point.

“Well, aren’t you just chipper,” Kat said. “How did we get into these?” She pulled at the t-shirt covering her body.

“How do you think?” He opened the blinds to the windows, allowing the sun to ambush the room. Kat and I turned our heads from the sunlight, guarding our eyes.

“You saw us naked!” Kat exclaimed.

“You had your underwear on. I’ve already seen Harley. And you’re like my sister,” he said so nonchalant.

“Should I be offended?” Kat looked to me, then back at Jeremiah. “Hey, is my car out there? I need to get Megan.”

“Take my Jeep. Bring her back here. We’ll have some breakfast, then we’ll go get your cars.”

“Sounds good.” Kat finished her coffee, kissed me on the cheek and departed down the hallway.

Jeremiah called after her, “Hey, Kit-Kat, don’t let the Pennsylvania license plate confuse you. We’re not in Kansas anymore.”