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“Dad? It’s so good to hear your voice!” I chirp happily into the phone, crossing my fingers.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” he shouts at the top of his lungs.
“In the Chinese feng shui system, the kitchen is considered one of the key rooms in a home, and being the place where food is prepared to fuel and sustain us, the kitchen represents nourishment and prosperity. The design, placement, and setup of the kitchen is said to influence prosperity and health, so the Crock-Pot is under the kitchen sink now, so you can have plenty of prosperity and health!” I blather.
“YOU KNOW DAMN WELL I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT FUNGUS SUSHI OR WHATEVER THE HELL YOU’RE RAMBLING ABOUT!” he screams. “I SPENT THE LAST THIRTY MINUTES TRYING TO GET HER TO LEAVE, AND SHE SPENT THE LAST THIRTY MINUTES PLAYING DIFFERENT SONGS ON HER FANCY PHONE AND ASKING ME WHICH ONE GOT MY JUICES FLOWING! I DON’T KNOW WHO THIS KID STONE IS, BUT HIS MUSIC DOESN’T MAKE ANYTHING FLOW AND YOU NEED TO GET HER OUT OF MY HOUSE!”
By the time I’m finished with this call, I’m probably going to have a busted eardrum.
“Um, I think you mean Kid Rock, Dad. And I’m so sorry. I had no idea my friends would—”
“Hey!” my dad suddenly shouts, his voice fading a little and I realize he’s not talking to me. “Stop that! You stop that right—ooooh, ha ha! That tickles!
My eyes widen in shock and my mouth drops open when I hear my dad giggle. I also hear the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice in the background, along with the sexy beat of Kid Rock’s “Cowboy,” and then my dad clears his throat.
“What is the meaning of this, Isabelle? You sent a stranger over to my home and . . . oh. Oh, my goodness . . .” he trails off.
“Dad?! Dad, what’s wrong? What happened?” I ask in a panic, hoping he isn’t having a heart attack or something.
“She just took her shirt off. Huh. Maybe this Kid Stone music isn’t so bad,” he says in a loud stage whisper.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll be there in ten minutes and—”
“Don’t come over!” he interrupts. “Gotta go. I’ll talk to you soon.”
The line immediately goes dead, and I pull the phone away from my ear to stare at it.
“What happened? How mad is he?” Cindy asks.
It takes me a few minutes of staring at the phone in my hand before I can answer her.
“Um, I think my dad just hung up on me for a lap dance,” I mutter.
Cindy throws her hands up in the air and shouts with excitement.
“See?! What did I tell you? No man can resist the power of a lap dance! This calls for a celebration!”
An hour later, I realize I misunderstood what Cindy meant when she said the word celebration. I assumed we would both be reveling in this momentous occasion, but as I enthusiastically dry hump the chair in the middle of the living room with a glass of bourbon in my hand and the half-empty bottle sitting on the coffee table, I realize I’m the only one enjoying the moment.
And honestly, I don’t even care. I’m happy my dad finally called me, even if it makes me want to throw up a little in my mouth knowing what might be happening over at his house right now. But that could be all the alcohol sloshing around in my stomach.
Or how hard I’m swinging my hair all around.
Or how really, really good I’m getting at straddling this chair and riding it like a horse in the Kentucky Derby.
“What the fuck?”
The sexy music Cindy was playing comes to a screeching stop at the sound of Vincent’s deep voice. Or maybe the screeching is just in my head, considering the music was coming from her phone and not a jukebox playing a record.
Bourbon is yummy!
Still straddling the chair, holding on to the back of it with one hand and holding my glass of bourbon in the other, I lean back as far as I can go, until I’m bent backwards and looking upside down at Vincent standing by the door.
“Honey! You’re home!” I shout with a giggle as some of the bourbon sloshes out of my glass.
“You. Out. Now,” he mutters, pointing at Cindy.
I continue watching everything from this upside-down position as Cindy races around the room, quickly scooping up her purse and her jacket and rushing over to the door.
“I’ll just come back another time and grab the chair. Keep up the good work!” she shouts to me as I watch her walk on the ceiling.
Or is she still on the floor? Oooooh, I wonder if I could strip on the ceiling!
“Good day to you, sir,” Cindy mutters to Vincent awkwardly, giving him a wide birth as he holds the door open for her and she leaves.
