Stuck in Estrogen’s Funhouse
Stuck in Estrogen's Funhouse
© 2011 by Shayna Gier
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Cover design by: Erin Latimer
Cover image: Betsy Uhler
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Stuck in Estrogen’s Funhouse
By Shayna Gier
For any girl who has ever lost control of her life thanks to our friend Estrogen.
Chapter One
Coming out of the bathroom, I sighed in dismay. "Failed. Who fails a freakin’ pregnancy test?” I mean, I knew the result could be either positive or negative, sure, but failing a pregnancy test?
I had recently chosen to stop taking the birth control shot due to the rising cost of contraception. Bartending, while being a very entertaining job, didn’t offer much help for the cost of birth control. So, now my husband I were taking our chances and hoping that we didn’t end up with children too soon.
This was only my second month off of the shot. There was no way that I could be pregnant. Not yet.
Still, I hadn’t been feeling like myself lately. Usually I was spunky and upbeat, the life of the party. Take, for example, my work. Flash Point was a popular hangout before I started working there, but now it was routinely featured in magazines with articles titles such as The Best Kept Secret of the East Coast. And -while I can’t take full credibility for this honor-the articles always had a picture or sound bite from me. The bar patrons refer to me as “the best bartender this side of Manhattan,” which is hilarious because New York is nowhere near here. I guess they mean I’m just that good? That I am the best bartender in over five-hundred miles?
But that doesn’t really matter because I haven’t felt like the spunky so-called “best bartender this side of Manhattan” girl for about three weeks. Instead, I’ve felt tired and moody–as my husband, Spencer, would gladly tell you. It started out with a few cramps, and by the end of the week I felt like I hadn’t slept at all- despite sleeping solidly through the day. Now whatever it was seemed to be taking over every aspect of my life. “How’s that even possible, Hun?” Spencer asked coming over and wrapping his arms around me.
“I didn’t even manage to pee on the freakin’ stick.” I held up the dry pregnancy test to show him, before shoving it back in the box with the cap reattached. Then I walked over to the bed, and fell backwards, onto my back. “Seriously, who fails a pregnancy test? It’s idiotic.”
“That’s my baby.” Spencer said. I could swear I heard pride in his voice, which amused me. He threw himself on top of me, pinning me to the bed. He was a good fifty pounds heavier than me, so I flinched slightly before the warm tingle of desire shot throughout my body.
“I am glad you take pride in the fact that I failed an un-failable test,” I remarked, once I caught my breath. He had me pinned down so the only thing I could do was stretch out my neck and kiss him on his nose.
He kissed me on the forehead. “Take the test again later today.”
“I can’t. You’re supposed to take it with first morning urine; or, in my case, when you get out of bed. We’ll have to wait till tomorrow night.” I sighed.
“Well, not much we can do about that.” He started kissing me hard, bringing back the arousal I felt a few minutes ago. I kissed him back, also full of longing. Every inch of my body wanted more from him. He complied.
After a few minutes of intense kissing, his lips moved from my lips down to the left side of my neck, causing my head fell back in pleasure. When I opened my eyes to look down at my husband, as he kissed my neck and slid his hands under my nightgown, my eyes caught sight of annoying, electronic black box with red numbers sitting on my dresser. I stared at the clock, which stared back at me and continued to inform me that the time was already 9:30. “Crap!” I screamed as the time registered in my mind. The rush of ecstasy that came from making out with my husband was gone, leaving me breathless.
Normally, in my spunky state, I woke up earlier, around five, so that I had time to eat and play before work. However, thanks to the exhaustion I’ve felt lately, I’ve been sleeping closer and closer to the start of my shift.
“What?” Spencer asked, pulling away from me.
“It’s 9:30. I have to be at work at ten. I’ve got ten minutes to get ready and get out the door.” Lucky for me, my work was within ten minutes of the apartment–not including stop lights–which don’t count because they are only slow when you need to be somewhere on time. Unfortunately for me, I usually had to be somewhere on time.
“You aren’t saying we should stop, are you?” Spencer complained to me in his lower-pitched voice that just barely hinted at the huskiness that comes with arousal. It sent warm tingles down my spine. Despite his complaining though, he still rolled over, freeing me from his grasp.
“We have to for now. We’ll continue when I get home.”
“I told your dad I would help him install Linux tomorrow morning.”
“Right. OK, well we’ll have to continue later then.” I said, jumping off the bed and running to our closet and picking out a purple tank top and a black sequined tank top that I put on over the purple top. I also picked out a pair of my boyfriend-cut jeans and put on my black closed-toe high heels. I threw my hair into a ponytail, which luckily looked more like I meant to have it look tousled than it looked like I didn’t have time to comb my hair because I had been making out with my husband. I grabbed my car keys before turning back to Spencer to say good-bye. “I should be home by four or so.”
“Good luck, Love.” He said, kissing me as I ran out of the door and down the apartment’s stairs to my car.
~~~~~
“So, do you know yet?” Crystal demanded as I clocked in and took my spot behind the bar.
“Know?” I feigned ignorance; though I had a feeling I knew what she was talking about. Crystal and I have been friends for years, and the fact that we’d worked together for the last seven years, meant there wasn’t much in my life that escaped her notice.
“Are you pregnant?” she squeal-whispered in my ear.
“I don’t know. I am a week late now, but I failed the dumb pregnancy test.”
“So you aren’t pregnant then?”
“I told you I don’t know. I failed it.”
“Yeah, you said that, but if it is negative then you didn’t fail it, you just didn’t get a positive.”
“No, I failed it Crys. I mean, I didn’t even manage to pee on the stupid tiny stick.”
At this, Crystal fell into complete hysteria. “Wow. I guess you really did fail the test. That’s sad, Marti.” She said when she regained control.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I said, washing my hands and checking to see how many bottles of beer we had in the refrigerator. “Will you go to the back and grab some more Bud Lites? We’ll be out by ten-thirty with this stock.”
“I mean, seriously, who fails a pregnancy test?” Crystal asked me, echoing my own thoughts. She never answered me, but she did leave the bar and go towards the back, so I assumed she heard me. That was just the way Crystal was.
“I already know I’m pathetic. This is just proof.” I commented when she returned with a new case of Bud Lite. “You look tired.”
“I worked this morning too. Open to close.”
“Brave woman.”
“Poor girl. My cell phone company will cut me off if I don’t pay them this month. It’ll cost a heckofalotta cash to get my phone reactivated,” she said, replying to a text message and sticking said phone into her pocket.
“You’d do better if you worked both shifts on Friday. Ladies’ Night is always good for tips.”
“Yeah, I got that scheduled too.”
“You are insane.”
“I told you, I am broke. I need the money. Besides, we have a good gig, you and I. Get to dress up all snazzy without needing uniforms. You remember working at Applebee’s, don’t you?”
“Yeah…” I said, thinking about the days when I used to work at Applebee’s for the first time in months. I had been working at Flash Point since I turned 23, and I didn’t miss Applebee’s at all. I was paid crap compared to what I make now. Though, there were a few shining moments I’ll never forget–the popcorn bowl incident among them.
*****
It had been kid’s night, and Crystal and I were working, as usual. I had just been seated–that’s waiter-speak for “assigned”–a table of eight teenagers, which was about the worst table a waitress who wants to make money can be sat. Crystal, however, had a table of four kids and three parents. One of the kids, apparently, was allergic to potatoes and so his mother had provided him with a bowl of popcorn instead of fries.
“Popcorn? For real?” I asked Crystal, after she had told me about the odd substitution. I glanced over at table 98 in the corner. “That is definitely different.” I noted, not sure what exactly to say. “Why popcorn?”
“Apparently it’s what the kid will eat. The problem is the other kids just sit there and watch him eating popcorn instead of eating their own food. They are jealous of the boy and keep asking for ‘just one more piece’ of the boy’s popcorn. The popcorn bowl keeps getting passed around so that the other kids will eat their own food too.”
“Huh,” was all I said. I mean, really, what do you say to something like that? Instead of commenting further, I told Crystal that I had to go check on my ‘table from Hell’ and went to do just that. After I had taken the eight-top’s orders and got them into the Point of Sale (or POS) machine, I went back to folding silverware.
“What do you mean it’s empty?” I heard a voice scream above all the other voices in the restaurant. I looked up from my silverware folding and saw that Crystal’s table in the back, table 98, had been the one that caused the uproar. The mother was standing up and leaning over the little boy, trying to soothe him. I put down my silverware and walked over to the right side of the restaurant so I could see what was happening. I couldn’t hear the mother, who was trying her best to keep her child quiet, but I could hear the child just fine.
“It was my popcorn!” he yelled, not giving over to his mother’s soothing voice. “They can have French fries. I can’t. They shouldn’t have ate it!” He continued to yell, pounding his fists on the table.
Crystal bypassed me and went up to the table. “Can I help you?”
The mother sighed and looked like she was saying that the kid ran out of his popcorn. As if the whole restaurant did not already know that.
The boy was in near hysterics. “I want my p-p-p-popcorn!” he screamed, beginning to cry. He was still pounding his fists on the table. About a minute later he decided that since his popcorn was gone, and nobody was refilling it, he would punish the kid that had finished his popcorn. He picked up the now-empty ceramic bowl and threw it toward the popcorn thief. Said ‘thief’ ducked from the flying bowl, and the bowl went right over his head, hitting the elderly woman sitting behind them right in the temple.
The old woman slumped over the table, and Crystal immediately left the distraught mother and went to check on the old woman. Sage–our manager–also came onto the scene, and about ten minutes later, the old woman was conscious once more. I imagine she had one hell of a headache, but she was again awake. She got her meal on the house, as well as a free gift-card for next time, but she still didn’t look too happy after being knocked out with the popcorn bowl.
*****
“Marti, are you going to see what that guy wants or what?” Crystal asked me. It was then that I noticed the club had opened and I’d been lost in my memories. “I’m supposed to go out and do rounds.” Doing rounds meant taking a tray of shots out and selling them to people who were sitting at the tables instead of dancing.
“Yeah, I got it. You go and do rounds.” I slid over to the far side of the counter where a young gentleman had just taken his seat as Crystal took the tray of shots and hip-bumped me on her way to the floor.
“What can I get for you?” I asked the young man when I reached the far end.
“A Tom Collins, please.”
I automatically reached for a highball glass and filled it with ice before pouring the gin, lemon juice and sugar into my shaker. As I shook it, I made conversation with the young man. He had to have just turned twenty-one. He had the cutest baby face in the world, with not even a hint of facial hair. His hair was straight, blonde and kind of reminded me of a Californian surfer. His baby blue eyes just completed the look, making him look harmless and adorable. Not cute-adorable ...actually, I had to admit he was kind of sexy-adorable. “I haven’t seen you here before. You here with anyone?”
“My friend, Dan, is supposed to be here. We just finished our finals. He should be here anytime.”
“So you’re a college student?”
“Upper-Grad. I’m studying photography: he’s in the medical field.” When he spoke there was a twinkle in his eye. It was, of course, adorable.
“Wow. Photography, eh? Own your own studio?”
“That’s the plan. For now I work for my sister. Glamorous, I know.”
“Older or younger?”
“Older. I don’t think I could stand working for my younger sister.” He shuddered at the very thought.
I poured the mixture I had been shaking into the highball glass, and then I poured some club soda on top of it before topping the drink with an orange slice and a cherry. “Your Tom Collins.” I said, sliding the glass to him.
He took a gulp. “That’s gotta be the best Tom Collins I’ve ever tasted. Thanks,” He said, grinning.
“Well, it’s not free.” I laughed.
“Oh, I know. I just didn’t expect this to be so delicious.’
“You doubt my ability to make drinks. You don’t even know me. If you think you can do better, then you should apply and become a bartender.” I was miffed that a complete stranger had doubted my ability to make drinks. Logically, I know that he couldn’t have known how long I’d been bartending, but it still made me mad.
“That’s not what I mean! I trust that if you have the job you’ve been properly trained and know how to mix a drink. I guess I was just thinking about what would happen if I was chatting while pouring drinks. Your Tom Collins is by far the best I’ve ever had. Do all of your drinks taste this good?”
“I’d like to think so.” I said. “And, I’m a woman, multitasking comes second nature. Would you like to start up a tab?”
“Sure.”
I headed over to the POS machine and turned to face him. “Your name?”
“Huh?” He stirred his Tom Collins and stared at me blankly.
“Your name, so I can tell which one is your tab.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s, um, Erik. With a K.”
I raised my eyebrows as I typed “Erik” into the computer. “Um, Erik with a K huh?” I asked.
“Erik!” a guy with a five o’ clock shadow yelled over the noise as he came up to the bar. “I see you’ve met Marti! Ain’t she the greatest? Makes the best drinks this side of Manhattan! Gimme a Naked Nipple, Marti.”
Chapter Two
“Hello Tanner, or should I say Dan?” I picked up a shot glass and filled it with ice.
“You never miss a beat Marti. Tanner is my last name. I figured it was a little less common than Dan.”
I added the peach schnapps and vodka into the shot glass and stirred it with a coffee stirrer before sliding it to Dan. “You want to start a tab too, Dan?” I asked, putting an emphasis on his actual name.
Dan chuckled good-naturedly. “As always, Marti.” He said.
“You’ve always called me Marti.”
“Touché.”
As I went over to put Dan’s tab into the system, I heard him turn to his friend Erik. “Sorry I was late. That test was a killer; I think I did OK though. Have you been waiting long?”
“Nah, man. It’s cool. Marti is quite the conversationalist. Wish you had brought me out here sooner.”
“Sorry, you never wanted to come. Always taking pictures and never socializing. Anyway, if you think the bar is great, you haven’t seen anything yet. Just wait until later, near midnight. They having the dancers out tonight, Marti?”
“The professional dancers come on Saturday night. Will there be crazy women jumping up on the poles? I’d say the chances are high.”
“That’s right.” Dan said. “We’ll have to get you out here on a Saturday night. Best dancers around. I’m telling you Erik, Flash Point is the place to be.”
“I think I’m starting to agree.” I heard Erik say as I went to the other side of the bar to help a young woman.
“Sex on the Beach, please. That guy over there new?” A woman with a silver sequined top that fell off her shoulders said as I came toward her.
“Yeah, freshly escaped jailbait.” I said, pouring the ingredients into the shaker.
“Cute.”
“He’s a little young for you, Joyce.” Joyce was a regular here. She ordered only drinks that had a sexual twist to their name and flirted more than even Crystal did. About ninety percent of guys who step foot inside of Flash Point without a date will, at one time or another, end up going home with Joyce.
“I wasn’t talking about for me. I have my eye on Dr. Perfect over there.” She winked at Dan and waved four freshly manicured fingers at him in a way that was supposed to be coy, if Joyce was capable of being coy; which she was not.
I laughed. “He’s not much older. Here you go,” I said, handing her the drink. She passed me a ten and said to keep the change. That was normal; most nights I’d make fifty dollars off of Joyce alone. She always paid in cash, so I had no idea what her last name was, and she never started a tab. She would just order another drink and slide over a ten or five to pay for it.
When I turned back from making Joyce’s Sex on the Beach, I saw that Erik and Dan had finished their drinks and headed out to the dance floor. I picked up the empty cups and put them into the bar’s dishwasher after dumping out the ice. Crystal returned from doing rounds with about a hundred dollars in her hands. Since we often worked together, and were best friends, we shared tips. All the money that we received went into the cash register and was divided out at the end of the night. Crystal keyed in the fifteen shot glasses she had sold while doing rounds, and deposited the money into the cash register. Once she had the drawer opened, I put in the money that Joyce had given me.
“Did you know Tanner’s name is Dan?” I asked Crystal as she started up the dishwasher and leaned against it.
“Yeah,” she said. “Why?”
“’Cause he always answers to Tanner. His friend, Erik, was the one who gave away his real identity.”
“What? You think he works for the CIA or something?” Crystal scoffed at the idea.
“No.” I laughed. “I just can’t believe I didn’t know his real name. You know, the one thing I love about bartending–”
“Is the tips!” Crystal jokingly cut me off.
“Well, those are pretty awesome. But I really like the way–”
Crystal interrupted me again. “That we don’t have a uniform. Other than we have to wear closed-toe shoes, that is.”
“There’s that too. The thing I really like, though, is mingling with the customers and building relationships with the regulars.” I finally finished without her interrupting me. “Dr. Dan Tanner has been coming here for months, and I didn’t even know his first name.” I emphasized the title, as I had just found out he was studying the medical field.
“It’s not like he gave you a false name. Besides, you run his credit card, haven’t you ever bothered to look at his name?”
That made me pause. I hadn’t. I could tell you what card he had. It was a Platinum American Express. I always paid attention to what type of card was handed to me–Visa, MasterCard, American Express, Discover, if it was personalized or had sports teams on it–, but I never paid much attention to what the owner’s name on the card was. “No, but he pays with a Platinum American Express card.”
Crystal rolled her eyes at me. Then, “Oh! I love this song!”
“Crystal, it’s the Backstreet Boys. That’s so...high school–Junior high school even. I can’t believe the DJ is playing it.”
Crystal wasn’t paying attention to me. “Everybody, yea-a, rock your body, yea-a, everybody, rock your body yea!” She scream-sang into a highball glass that she was using as a microphone. I slapped her on the back and demanded that she go show off on the dance floor. I took the glass before shoving her out from behind the bar.
She didn’t resist me; she just continued shaking her tiny butt as she rocked out to the Backstreet Boys as though there was no one else there. I grabbed one of the cups from the last load of dishes and dried it with my towel before putting the glass onto the rack and laughing at my best friend. She really was something else.
A few minutes later Crystal still hadn’t returned and I was no longer laughing. Crap, not now. Just wait for three minutes, I commanded my body, as I felt a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. Our boss didn’t mind us playing around out on the dance floor; in fact, it was encouraged because it built relationships with our customers. We also got to leave the bar to do rounds at least five times a night. The only rule was that no matter what the other was doing, somebody had to stay behind the counter at all times to take orders if someone was doing things on the other side of the bar.
I began wishing that I hadn’t shoved Crystal to the dance floor. Then I decided that as long as I had to wait for her to get back, getting as far away from the sounds of the dishwasher as possible was probably a decent idea. As I walked away from the dishwasher, I saw Erik come back up to the bar. I walked over to him. “Yes, Erik, what can I get you?”
“Dan says I have to try some of your other specialties.” Erik said.
“Does he?” I laughed. Dan had tried nearly everything I knew how to make.
“Yea. What are they?”
“I can get you a Screaming Orgasm. I recall that’s one of Dan’s favorites.”
“You can, can you?”
I rolled my eyes. He really was just barely released jailbait. “Yeah, and I’ll give you the best Screaming Orgasm that you will ever have.” I lowered my voice and raised my eyebrows suggestively as I leaned over the table, speaking just above a whisper.
I smirked at him before I grabbed the freshly cleaned shaker and began pouring ingredients into it. When I finished shaking the shaker, I poured the drink over the ice-filled cocktail glass and held my masterpiece ransom. “You do realize,” I said in all seriousness, “that after you’ve had my Screaming Orgasm you will forever be mine and ruined against all other bartenders?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Erik said. His voice almost sounded like it was in a trance, and the right corner of his mouth was smirking as he said it.
“Good, enjoy it then. Let me know if you need anything else.” I grinned, sliding the cocktail glass over to him.
“A Screaming Orgasm, huh? Your idea or his?” Crystal said from behind me.
“Jesus, Crystal! Thank God you are here!” I was so relieved to find her back behind the counter that I didn't mind her sneaking up behind me. “Gotta go to the bathroom! Be back soon!” I yelled over my shoulder as I scampered off to the bathroom.
“So, your idea or his?” Crystal asked me when I returned to the bar.
“Mine.” I laughed. “You think someone just barely twenty-one would ask for a Screaming Orgasm just for the thrill of it? You should have seen the look on his face when I told him what I was making.”
“Oh, I saw it all right. You’ve got him.”
“Yup. I’m the best bartender around,” I said, wiping down the bar.
“Well, yeah, but he’s got a crush on you.”
“He does not. He’s enamored by my kick-ass bartending skills–and just a little bemused about how casually I handed out a Screaming Orgasm.” I smirked.
The night started to pick up speed then. Crystal and I started taking orders and filling them like the experts we were; we filled each one with the grace and efficiency of girls who have been bartending for years. Which we have…Crystal and I had been bartending for about five years.
Around midnight Dan got his wish and there were women, many of whom appeared to be high as well as drunk, climbing onto our little dance stages and giving their best drunken shots at pole dancing. It was almost humorous. Almost. Then, one of the girls started stripping and I knew that I would have to talk her down off of the pole.
I wiped my hands on a towel and went over to the woman, who was holding onto the pole as she tried to take her shirt off. The result wasn’t sexy at all, it had the kind of grace that you’d expect of a fishing worm trying to escape a hook. “Ma’am?” I yelled to her above the music and crowd, which had gotten pretty loud for a week night. “Ma’am?”
The drunken woman, who had her shirt caught halfway over her head, struggled to get it down so that she could see me. “I’m dancin’!” she cried out, wobbling in a way that made me worry about having to answer a lawsuit.
“I see that, Ma’am. Please come back down here.” I extended a hand out to her. “We don’t mind you dancing on the poles but you must remain clothed unless you are a licensed professional. Also, we’d prefer it if you were at least a tiny bit sober when you get up there. It’s dangerous otherwise.” I took her hand and gently tugged her down, helping her straighten her shirt once she was back on the ground.
The guys who had been watching her groaned in disappointment when I got her off of the stage. “Sorry guys, go watch the other girls.” I told them. The other girls, although appearing to be trying to make love with the poles, still had on all of their clothes and I wasn’t yet worried about them causing a lawsuit.
“How many drinks have you had?” I asked the woman I had helped off the stage as we headed over to the snack shop.
“Afuh.” The woman slurred in answer.
A few too many it looked like. “Come on, let’s go get you some water and a basket of fries from the snack shop.” The woman was completely wasted. The entire way, she was walking in circles- to the left, right, and back to the left again- while I dragged her in the general direction of the snack shop. I finally guided her over to a seat, got a glass of water for her and ordered her a basket of fries.
~~~~~
Chapter Three
“There you are!” Crystal exclaimed, grabbing my arm and dragging me behind the counter. “You’ve got a convert,” she said, trying to sound upset; I knew her well enough to know that she was suppressing a giggle. “Your boy over there," she nodded her head towards Erik, "wants another Tom Collins.”
I sighed, smirking at my own fortune, and set about making another Tom Collins. I had it done in less than a minute and slid it over to him, before ringing up another Tom Collins under his name. “I appreciate the devotion, but I don’t work every shift. Unless you want to end up coming here and not having a drink, you should probably settle for other bartenders fixing your drink as well. Dan doesn’t mind if Crystal makes his drinks.”
“I’ll probably have to try others eventually, but tonight I want the best. And, this, this is the best.” Erik said, winking at me as he toasted his glass in the air.
“Well, lucky for you, I’m still here and will be all night.” I then turned to Crystal, “That girl in the 80’s sweater that was on that pole over there?” I pointed in the general direction of where the poles were. A couple had already claimed it as their own. It appeared that maybe the new girl had taken a few pole dancing lessons.
“Yea?”
“I’m cutting her off. I have the snack shop watching to make sure she doesn’t drink off of someone in her party, but just so that you know...”
“Got it,” Crystal said.
The rest of the night was pretty average. Some girl, who probably just turned 21, threw up in the women’s restroom and I had to wipe up that mess. The club was professionally cleaned of trash and such every night after closing, but any messes that occurred while the doors were open were our responsibility.
Crystal and I each made $350 at the end of the night. We ended up leaving Flash Point at 3:30am. I made a pit-stop by the bank to deposit my tips before going home to Spencer.
~~~~~
“How was work?” Spencer asked me sleepily, as I crawled into bed. I hadn’t bothered with putting on any clothes before snuggling up next to him, and his skin felt warm on mine.
“Great! I made $350,” I said, nuzzling closer to his chest.
“Gosh, you are freezing.” He paused for a few seconds, and then wrapped his arms around me. “You feeling OK?”
“Just tired.”
“Tired or exhausted?” Spencer was more awake now.
“Exhausted,” I admitted, closing my eyes. “I don’t work tomorrow.”
Well, that’s good. Rest, my love. Just rest and get some sleep.” He rolled me over so that we were spooning. He took hold of my shoulders and began kneading them in small, smoothing and relaxing circles.
He massaged every kink out of my shoulders before focusing on my neck. The second his hands touched my neck I moaned as the pressure that had been there was released. I let him continue his magic as he eventually got my neck muscles loosened up and resumed holding me.
“Can you fix me something meaty when I wake up?”
“What do you want?”
“Something with beef,” I said, my voice sounding dreamy and reminding me of a child’s voice.
“Macaroni and Cheese with hamburger sound good?”
“No...can you make lasagna? With lots of meat and cottage cheese...and cheese?”
“OK, Love. Rest for now.” He said, kissing my forehead and pushing my hair out of my face and behind my head. I nuzzled up closer to his chest and fell asleep immediately.
When I woke up the next afternoon, Spencer was no longer in bed with me. Instead of rolling over and snuggling up next to him, I rolled over and sighed. The air was infused with the smell of freshly baked lasagna. I yawned and blearily looked at the clock to see what time it was, allowing my contacts to adjust to being used after sleeping. Slowly, the digits on the clock made sense; it was 2:30.
I yawned again. I was still rather tired, but it was time to get up and start another day. So, guided by the smell of lasagna, I rolled out of bed and went searching for my bathrobe. I pulled it on and padded down the hall to the kitchen, each second becoming increasingly aware of how hungry I was.
“Morning, Dear. Rest well?” Spencer said as I pulled a barstool out and sat down on it.
“I suppose. I’m still tired.”
“Why don’t you go lay down on the bed? I will bring the food in for you.”
“No, don’t worry about it. It’s time for me to get up anyway.”
OK. Need a drink?” he asked, already at the refrigerator.”
“Do we have tea?”
“Yes.”
“Pour me some of that please.” He did, and I drank half the cup in a single gulp. “Weren’t you supposed to go over to my parents’ house?”
“I called them. I told your dad you weren’t feeling well. He just wanted to make sure that you were OK. I said you were very tired after a long night at work and I wanted to make sure you did not overexert yourself. He said that was fine and told me to give him a call when I can make it over there. I’ll probably go over there tomorrow before you get up.”
“I work tomorrow evening.” I said, taking a small sip from the tea. We only had one car, so if he was gone too long I would have to call Crystal for a ride, or else walk to work.
“I should be back by then. It should only take a few hours.” The oven buzzer beeped. “You’ll still have to wait five minutes for this.” He said as he pulled the lasagna out of the oven.
I inhaled the lasagna-infused air into my lungs. Spencer put the lasagna on top of the oven, and came over to sit next to me. He reached his hand up to my face and pushed back the hair that had fallen stubbornly into my face.
“You are beautiful,” Spencer said, staring mesmerized into my eyes.
I still have not learned what to do when he says that. I’ve read books and everything saying that when a guy compliments you then you should accept it graciously and not contradict it. That has always been hard for me, and although Spencer tells me I am beautiful every chance he gets– when I am done taking a bath or shower, when I am waiting for lasagna to settle, when I am about to head out the door, or when I finish reading a book–I still cannot react how I should. Instead I stutter and blush, and usually say that he’s just saying that. I decided to just look away coyly and smile in reply.
He reached his hand out and lifted my chin so that I looked into his chocolate brown eyes again. “You are.”
I grinned at him and smiled. “Thanks.”
Spencer got up and put a big slice of lasagna on a plate and slid it over to me. I took a huge bite out of the very-cheesy lasagna. The cheese literally oozed throughout my mouth as I ate, and I sighed with pleasure. “Thanks Spence, it’s incredible,” I said as I ate the first bite. The lasagna was still hot, so I swallowed it after only chewing on it two or three times. “Totally satisfies my meat craving.”
“Well, eat up. I don’t want that going to waste.”
“It won’t. I’ll keep what I don’t eat for leftovers. That way, you might get away with not having to cook this every day.” I paused and saw the look of doubt that crossed his face. “Trust me, I could eat this every day.”
“You’d get sick of it eventually.”
I shook my head in defiance. “Not unless you started making it with less meat and cheese. Otherwise, I could eat it for breakfast, lunch and dinner.”
Spencer laughed at that. “Well, I’m not cooking it that often. You’ll just have to eat something else.”
“Nothing else sounds good,” I complained, scooping another helping onto my plate.
“I am sure you’ll think of something. Maybe corn dogs?” he asked.
My face scrunched up at the suggestion, which surprised even me. I usually loved corn dogs. I like to take the crust off of the hot dog on-a-stick and smother it in ranch dressing, or ketchup depending on my mood. Then, after I ate all the bread off of the hot dog and made sure to bite off the crispy batter stuck to the stick at the bottom of the hot dog, I would dip the hot dog in the same condiment. Normally, I’d eat them at least three times in a week. Just then, however, I felt nauseous just from the thought of eating one corn dog. Much less several.
Spencer read my expression. “Or not. I am sure we’ll think of something. You’ve got lasagna for now. Maybe you’ll feel like eating something else later.”
“Maybe,” I said. I mentally scrolled through the various foods I usually liked: corn dogs, chicken, ham and bacon sandwiches, pumpkin pie, cookies… even my grandma’s Snicker Doodles sounded nauseating to me. Lasagna...now that is a food I could live with, I thought as I shoved another forkful into my mouth.
“Well, if you can’t come up with anything and this is all gone tomorrow, I’ll make another batch for you. I’m not making more than one batch a day. You’ll just have to make it last,” Spencer conceded.
“Really?” I asked, thinking that surely- however hungry I was- one lasagna a day would be sufficient. I wasn’t kidding when I said I could eat it every day.
“Really. If nothing else sounds good to you, then I’ll force myself to make it once a day. There’s no way that I can make it more than that. Sorry, Marti.”
I laughed. I always laughed when he said “Sorry, Marti” in that apologetic tone that he always used when saying it. It put a slight emphasis on the fact that the words "sorry" and "Marti" kind of rhymed. At least, they did when he said it. Anytime I hear Spencer say “Sorry, Marti,” I am reminded me of the first time I heard him say those two words together.