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“I can’t imagine being so devoted to your art that you leave probably like a big city and move out here. That’s extreme.”
Phew. Not the best segue, but good enough. “Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s a lot of, well, not big personalities per se, but very set ones. Distinctive, rather.”
“Not me,” Miss Keller shouted from across the bar, which she was busy wiping with a dirty white rag. “I’m just minding my own business, tryna eke out this mortal coil.”
I leaned into our group and whispered, “I think that proves my point.”
Phoebe smiled. “She’s a character.”
“So,” Jo-Beth said, cutting off the conspiratorial grin passing between Phoebe and me. “What are we eating?”
“Yeah, gimme your orders,” Miss Keller said, still moving her hand around the same spot on the bar, like a broken automaton. “I wanna get ‘em in early so Charlie can go home and do his movement work.”
Charlie’s hand waved from beyond the divider, just visible in the mess of the order window. Charlie, as it happened, was a big performance artist who’d abandoned Brooklyn in favor of Rough and Ready, saying he needed more “space” for his “movements.” Mostly, I think, he just cooked hearty food and danced around his living room. But who was I to judge?
In town, what businesses there were shut down when they pleased. No one had a set schedule, things just happened at whim. You can see why I had to make Henry such a rigid schedule — otherwise, Rough and Ready’s unrealistic lifestyle would get to him, and I wanted my boy prepared for the real world.
Jo-Beth said lazily, “I think I feel like meat. Big, thick meat. Phoebe? Do you feel like meat? Or have you already had enough today?”
Phoebe choked on air, and I colored a deep red. Was I going to have to sit through innuendos all night? I wasn’t worried about Henry catching on — he was way too young and sheltered — but I doubted my own pride could take it. On the other hand, I should’ve prepped for this going in. Can’t have your cake and eat it too. Not in peace, at least.
Meanwhile, if I thought I was blushing, Phoebe was turning a color so intense even Henry said, “Phoebe looks like Violet in Willy Wonka!”
Jo-Beth laughed and I sighed deeply, shooting Phoebe what I hoped was an apologetic glance. Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory was Henry’s favorite movie, probably because he liked color as much as I did, and as I sat there, kicking myself, I wondered if perhaps there wasn’t a kids’ movie that taught shit like, I dunno, good manners. Because this shit was hard to navigate.
“Henry,” I said carefully, “you don’t—”
Phoebe cut me off, waving a hand. “You’re so right, Henry, I do. My skin sometimes gets all pink and purple, and I look just like a berry.”
He giggled, and the social faux pas passed in a moment. Phoebe was so good at that, at making every situation more comfortable. When she feels like it, I corrected myself. She could get me plenty hot under the collar if she wanted.
Speaking of which, I felt something brushing against my foot. I had a suspicion, and when I looked up at Phoebe’s quiet smile, it was confirmed — she was playing footsies with me. Trying to keep a straight face, I returned the affection. As we exchanged touches, Jo-Beth talked on.
“I don’t think I could let go of DoorDash,” Jo-Beth said as Phoebe’s sneaker-clad shoe slipped up the leg of my jeans. “I’m too dependent. I mean, really, they’re like my nanny. Even in Bridgeport, which isn’t like New York or anything. Ugh, and I love the school cafeteria. I shouldn’t I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Mozzarella sticks? Yuuuum.”
Beneath the table, I was beginning to stiffen, and just as I was thinking I was screwed, Phoebe pulled her foot out from my jeans, shooting me a devious smile. Thank God, I thought. One more minute of that and—
Then suddenly, Phoebe’s foot had migrated onto my lap, which was covered by the overhanging table, and she was stroking my erection with the rubber edge of her sneaker. Okay, I was too weak for games like this.
“Meanwhile,” Jo-Beth was saying as I tried to keep my composure, “does Henry have a tricycle?”
That came out of nowhere. “Uh, no,” I said, hoping my breath came out in some sort of stable fashion. “Just haven’t had the time.”
“He should get one. I know I love a bike with three wheels. Sort of, third wheeling, if you will.”
Could she get any more pointed?! I was caught somewhere between extreme annoyance and extreme arousal, a middle ground between — well, not even polar opposites. Sort of just non sequiturs.
Phoebe didn’t let up, rubbing her foot against my cock as though trying to make up for Jo-Beth’s words. Hey, it was working.
