Page 2 of The Keeper
“You can’t pull out one example of exercising my right to get in some physical exercise,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows, “from nearly a year ago and make it sound like that’s how I live my entire life, Rach. What if I really like Charlie? I can do the whole… dating thing,” he said with a vague wave of his hand, as if the simple idea of dating was a foreign concept that eluded him.
I sighed, closed my eyes and brought my fingers to the bridge of my nose.
“Jer, you know I have a hard time making friends. Charlie and I get along really well, and I don’t want anything to ruin that.” Then I looked him dead in the eyes. “Please. I ambeggingyou. Turn your penis off for one minute and do your lonely, friendless sister a solid. Pretend. Charlie. Doesn’t. Exist.”
Jeremy’s face become nearly expressionless as he looked out over my shoulder. After a second, he finally nodded his head, looking back at me.
“You have my word. From here on out, Charlie doesn’t exist.”
I breathed a sigh of relief and let my head fall back.
“Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” The last thing I needed was for my brother’s roaming penis to ruin a burgeoning friendship. Again. I crammed a potato in my mouth and smiled. “So, heard anything from the Galaxy?”
Apparently Charlie never got over her obsession with him, even though she stopped gushing about him to me. But even now, several years later, I see the way she looks at him when we head to his house in LA or when he comes over to our apartment. There’s some deep longing there that I don’t entirely understand, and their interactions are particularly stilted. But I decided long ago to limit my prodding on this particular topic.
Besides, now Charlie is the 21-year-old senior with a mile-long list of bed partners. If she wants to get it on with everyone and their brother and pretend she doesn’t have the hots for mine, that’s her own choice.
“So I’m good with being the designated driver if you want to enjoy yourself,” Charlie says, bringing me back to the present and making a pathetic attempt to change the subject.
I smile at Charlie’s topic choice - essentially her one opportunity to prod into my own issues.
“Nice try.”
She sighs and then slaps her thighs with enthusiasm.
“Come on, RJ! You’re such a party pooper. You should be able to let loose every so often. It’s not like I’m saying you should get shit-faced and fuck some random guy.”
“No, that’s normally your job,” I say with a giggle.
Charlie snorts out an awkward laugh.
“Seriously. But still, haveonedrink. You have been my loyal, devoted chauffeur for months and months. Let me pay you back by letting you get a little giggly tonight.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down.
I sigh loudly. Our constant battle. You’d think Charlie would be thankful that she has a best friend willing to play DD on a regular basis. But she never lets up, even though she knows my many reasons for staying away from alcohol. The primary reason is called Frank Jameson, and he makes the decision easy. Well, heshouldmake it easy. My brother and I have different philosophies.
After graduating from college, Jeremy took his soccer skills to the LA Galaxy, the Major League Soccer team in the City of Angels. He was a bed-hopper in high school and college, and it only got worse once he got a taste of the tiny bit of fame and money that professional soccer players get. The guys he spends time with are really intense about staying fit and healthy during the season, but during the off-season, they all live a party lifestyle. Women and booze are abundant. I’m just lucky he can afford to pay for drivers when he and the team go out. The amount of times I’ve had to drive his drunken ass home or pick him up from some girl’s house in the morning was so not cool.
After living a childhood that was essentially swallowed whole by alcoholism, I decided that I would never take the risk that comes along with having a single drink. The smell, the destructive behavior, the poor choices - it just isn’t for me. And while it’s highly unlikely that Jeremy is an alcoholic since he doesn’t really drink very often, he still took the chance when he had that first drink. Like I said, we just have different philosophies.
“I’ll be sober. So drink your little heart out, my dear,” I respond as I exit the freeway and begin the drive through downtown to get to Jeremy’s loft. “Besides, you’d get us lost trying to find your way home,” I add with a smirk.
Charlie giggles and lets out an exasperated breath.
“God, I will never get used to LA traffic and freeway mazes. This place is ridiculous,” she says, looking out the window in awe, as if she just arrived yesterday. Charlie is originally from a little town just outside of Omaha, Nebraska, but the way she talks about the freeways in Los Angeles makes it sound like she moved here from the Amazon.
“You’ve lived here for three years, Char. It should be making sense to you by now.”
“It would if I had a car. But you crazy-ass California drivers make me squirm.” She pauses, seemingly struck by an important thought. “You know what? It’s probably best if you stay the DD,” she concludes as I pull into the parking lot beneath Jeremy’s building.
I laugh.
“Glad to hear we’re finally on the same page.”
* * * * *
The minute we walk into Jeremy’s loft, it’s clear I missed the memo that watching a basketball game on Octoberthirdis actually code forsports-themed costume party: get out your hoochie mama swag.
I send Charlie off into the crowd and step into the bathroom. I’m not a big fan of crowds, and I really thought this was going to be a low-key night of watching basketball with Jeremy and a few of his friends from the team. But there were at least fifty people within my immediate line of sight when we entered his apartment.
