"Hello?" I asked, picking up the phone.
There was a faint but sultry ‘Hi, honey.’
I realized I had the receiver upside-down and then adjusted it, but not before dropping it on the floor. As I picked it up, I noticed the clock said 8:05. I hate mornings. For me, the day starts at noon and ends at six in the morning. "Hello," I managed in my own sexy way (or the best I could manage when all I wanted to do was hibernate.)
"Wait a minute, who the hell is this?" the woman at the other end yelled at me.
"You mean you’re not someone I slept with?" I asked.
"WHAT?" she screamed. Apparently not. Why do all wrong numbers have to be straight?
"Look is Cain there?" she asked angrily. "Are you his maid or something?"
"No, I’m not into fetishes," I answered.
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, if you’re a friend of his, he probably blabbed about it to you and half the city by now, knowing him…"
"What in the hell are you talking about?"
"We were knocking boots last night, only it wasn’t boots."
"You fucking lying bitch!" she screamed.
"What’s your problem?" I yelled at her.
"I’M HIS GIRLFRIEND!" she yelled, and hung up.
Okay, let’s think… I’m pretty much a raging lesbian: I rage, and I’m a lesbian. Somehow I came home with a very male friend, and we did the horizontal panty dance. That in and of itself doesn’t add up. I didn’t even really date him. Men are cute, but then so are slobbering dogs.
Now his girlfriend calls after he somehow got me to put out.
Now, people who know me, or tried to convince me I’m straight by grabbing my boobs, know that I think random violence has its place, namely the crotch.
As Bugs Bunny would say ‘You know, this means war!’ But first, a nap.
* * * * *
"Hello, Cain?" I asked. I never have any clue how to start a phone conversation, even if I know exactly who’s going to pick it up.
"Hey, babe." He always called me that. Why, I’ll never know. Probably because he’s an idiot.
"I know this is a bit abrupt, but could you pick your stuff up off my porch and go find a hotel?"
"WHAT?" I heard car honking and tire screeching. I wasn’t really that surprised. Someone who thought he could get it on with a lesbian seemed like a person dumb enough to use a cellphone in traffic. Then again, I DID sleep with him. "You’re breaking up with me?"
"No, I’m putting all your stuff in a box and changing the locks because I love you."
"But—but—why?"
"The usual reasons; it’s not working out, I have to move to Pluto, your girlfriend called, it’s not me it’s you, I’m a lesbian…"
"Judith called?"
"Dunno, she didn’t give me her name. She got a sister?"
"Look, she just called to tell me I left my wallet at her place—we’re just friends—and that’s why she called the house."
"That why she called herself your girlfriend?"
"We never did anything!"
"Poor her," I said.
"You can’t break up with me!"
"You’re right, we’d have to be together to break up. I’m just kicking you out."
"But—but—last night!" More screeching.
"Did you do it with her too?"
He stuttered, about to say something; I think the something was a close cousin of ‘yes.’ "I thought you were joking when you said you were a lesbian."
I giggled.
"See?"
"I’m giggling because I just threw the last of your underwear out the window. Don’t try to get in the house or I call the cops."
"You said you loved me!"
"I was drunk; I also said I loved the vending machine."
"This is just so sudden," he said, worry in his voice. Good, I was getting through.
"So’s this," I said, and hung up.