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Chapter 13
Mysti May
11:27 AM SATURDAY
“I don’t think Norbert’s going to forgive me for this,” I moan into a pillow.
“For marrying another man?” Percy asks, stroking my hair. “Probably not.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time, babe.”
“It’s not just that I married someone else—”
“I don’t know,” Percy interjects, “that’s pretty bad.”
“It’swhoI married.”
“That’s the best part!” Becky says.
It’s just the three of us sitting in the trashed living room. Sammi is in the adjoining kitchen trying to recover anything out of my soaked purse. I’m not holding out a lot of hope—it looks like it was dredged up from the seafloor.
“How is that the best part?” Percy asks.
Honestly, neither of them is cheering me up at this point. Not that anything could really.
Becky comes over to sit beside me so close she’s practically straddling me. She throws an arm around my neck and says, “Because that makes Mysti May my sister now! How great is that?”
“Ugh, so not the point, Becks,” I groan. “Besides, it’s not like we’re going to stay married. I’ve got to figure out how to spin this so Norbert forgives me and my life can get back on track.”
“Fine, if you want to go back to boring old Norbert, I guess I can’t stop you,” Becky says. “I do, however, want to just go on record by saying that I think your subconscious or drunken self, or whatever you want to call it, knew what it was doing last night.”
“Why don’t you just explain what happened to Norbert?” Percy says, rubbing my arm. “Just tell him that you were so drunk you don’t remember. He’s a reasonable guy, right?”
“Sure. Just tell him I drank so much that I blacked out to the point that I married someone else,” I say, on the verge of tears. “I wasn’t even supposed to have any alcohol.”
“And why was that again?” Becky asks. “It seems a little strange for him to have given you so many rules…speaking from experience, babe.”
“Because he thinks bad things happen when you mix alcohol with us,” I say, looking straight at Becky, waiting for her response.
“Oh, right,” she says, “We kinda proved his point last night, huh?”
“Or did you overindulge last night because your man told you not to?” said a voice from the settee by the window.
We all look over—even Sammi stops digging through my purse—to see one of the dancers sit up, one of her tassels dangling off her nipple.
“Shit, I forgot about the dancers!” Becky practically shouts.
“I did, too, but I’m curious,” I say walking over to where she and her identically dressed pal have apparently been sleeping this entire time. “What did you mean?”
“Maybe if he trusted you and treated you like an equal, you wouldn’t have gotten so drunk,” she says, standing up to display the longest legs I’ve ever seen. “Sounds more like he presented you with a self-fulfilling prophecy. “She reaches back and ruffles her tail feather, then shrugs. “Or you purposely sabotaged the relationship because you’re really in love with that guy with the huge dick that was here this morning.”
“Hmm,” is really all I can muster at this point.
“Whoa,” Becky says, coming up to stand beside me. “Who knew Vegas dancers were so insightful.”
Ms. Long Legs reaches down to wake up her friend, who groggily sits up, rubbing her eyes.
