Page 97 of Mr. Picture Perfect
It’s while we’ve all got our hands messy with stuffing burgers into our faces that our unnoticed onlookers become brave. “Hey, you’re two of the bachelors, aren’t you?” asks a young woman who approaches our table with her friend, both of them brunettes with big boobs and long straight hair. Just the airy sound of her voice suggests instantly what she and her friend want.
Anthony, surprisingly, makes a face at them. “Yeah, and can’t you see we’re eating?”
The woman seems undeterred by his rudeness—or else didn’t catch his tone in all the noise of the place. “I’m Jessie. This is my friend Veronica. We’re staying at the—what’s it called?—the Spurs Inn down the road. We’re here all week.”
“SpurInn,” Noah quietly corrects her, “singular.”
“You got any plans tonight, stud?” asks Jessie, ignoring Noah. “We were hopin’ someone might show us around town. There isn’t much to do around here.”
If Anthony’s face could wrinkle up any more, he’d turn inside-out. “D’you not hear me? I’m eating. And I’m not atour guide.” He scoffs, finding that funny, crumbs fluttering from his full mouth.
It’s only now that our new friends Jessie and Veronica appear to consider whether Anthony is worth the pursuit at all. When the two ladies glance at me, I give them an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, it’s been a long day for him. If you’re looking for something to do, I might recommend Tumbleweeds, which is a great restaurant and bar within walking distance to where you’re staying, or there’s the Spruce Cinema 5, if you like movies, and my personal favorite, the Strong Fitness Zone, though I might be a little biased, since I work there, but you can get a great workout, or just—”
“Movies and dumbbells ain’t the kind of entertainment these ladies are lookin’ for,” says Anthony with his mouth full. “Take a hint, Cole.”
Jessie turns her back on Anthony. “Thank you,Cole, for your polite recommendations. I think we might catch a movie tonight. We’re … sorry for bothering you guys. Veronica?” She nudges her friend, who looks slightly less forgiving, judging from the look she is giving Anthony right now, and the two of them leave.
Anthony snorts. “These fuckin’ women, am I right?”
I frown. “Anthony, we have to be more respectful, even if they intrude a little into our lives. This is a fundraiser, remember? We want these women to actuallybidon you. Not to mention that we are all representing Spruce, and we don’t want to be … um …”
“Dicks,” finishes Noah for me, not caring to be tactful.
Instead of being insulted, Anthony finds that funny. “So? I’ve been called worse than a dick. I don’t care. I’m just tryin’ to enjoy my burger here, and that’s that. Why should I change who I am for these weirdos in town? Why should …” He changes his tone as he looks at us. “Why shouldyouguys change how you act?”
Noah and I exchange a look. “How …weact?” I mumble.
“C’mon, guys, who do you think you’re foolin’?” He snorts. “I can see it written all-the-fuck-over y’all’s faces. The way you guys look at each other. All your secretthings. Whatever it was you two were doin’ during the photo shoot. I saw it.”
I continue to stare at him, the last bite of my burger hanging in my grip. Noah is similarly without words.
Anthony shakes his head, appearing not to push the issue any further. “Whatever, you guys can do whatever the heck you want, don’t matter to me. I’m just gonna finish this tasty burger and … and keep bein’ me.” He looks away.
Honestly, I’m surprised.
Is the thick-as-cement Anthony Myers actually telling us that he knows we’re a thing? And if someone like Anthony is able to see it so clearly and thinks it’s so obvious, then who else does? The whole production team behind this pageant? Anyone else in town who has seen us out and about over the past several weeks?
Are we really fooling ourselves?
Apparently Anthony can’t get enough of us. He grows clingy after we wrap up our meal at Biggie’s, complaining again about his “old bitch of a truck”, then asks us what we’re doing tonight. I tell Anthony I’ll be happy to drop him home, but then he complains about how his “jerk-off dad” won’t “get off his ass about this and that”, and it becomes increasingly clear that he doesn’t want to go home. Noah suggests he just hangs out with us a little longer. “It’s a mathematical certainty he’ll get bored and beg to go home,” Noah whispers to me while we stand on the curb outside Biggie’s Bites, Anthony fiddling on his phone and muttering to himself nearby.
And that’s how the three of us end up in my backyard.
On a blanket I had set out intended for just me, Noah, and my cuddly dog Porridge, with the romantic idea that Noah and I might enjoy stargazing with my dog.
Oh, how so quickly plans like to fly out of windows lately.
“Fuck,” moans Anthony, sleepy-eyed, as he pets Porridge. She seems to enjoy him, her head resting on his chest. “I miss my dog so damned much, man, you have no idea what this is doin’ to me.” Anthony squeezes Porridge and closes his eyes. “My dog was the sweetest dog in the world. Didn’t judge anyone. Loved me whether I was a screw-up or not. Cuddled with me just like this.” Anthony’s eyes fill with tears. “Fuckin’ Lyme fuckin’ disease bullshit … I’d do anything to … t-to have my dog back … give anything …”
A minute later, Anthony is snoring.
Noah and I, from opposite sides of the blanket, stare at each other over the calmly slumbering bodies of Anthony and Porridge. I watch as a smile of appreciation spills over Noah’s face.
“This isn’t exactly how I expected tonight to go,” I confess.
“I figured,” says Noah.
“I also didn’t know it’d be so overcast.” I frown at the empty night sky. “Was thinking we might stargaze tonight.”
