Page 63 of Lovebug
The rest of my afternoon was a combination of highs and lows. High? Getting Harvey the Hoppinator – apparently that was the balloon bunny’s name – back into Holden’s arms. Low? Walking back to the main office soaking wet and having to borrow unwashed clothes from the camp’s lost and found. Lowest low? Firing April. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I didn’t exactly fire April. I suspended her for the week. I had to. I mean, let’s put aside for a moment the fact that she’s been completely disrespectful and inappropriate with me. I simply can’t have her responsible—even marginally—for little kids when her judgment is so spotty. I’m bracing myself for the inevitable parent phone calls tomorrow morning telling me their children couldn’t sleep due to nightmares of the human centipede variety.
And April did not go easy, I’ll tell you that. There was much talk of “Wait till my mother hears about this!” and “You’ll regret this decision!” and “You have made a big mistake. Big!” That last one made me think she was quoting Julia Roberts inPretty Woman. I watched that movie for the first time the night my parents left, I guess as a way to dip my toes into Calliope’s “Bad Mabel” challenge. Did you know Julia Roberts plays a sex worker? Everyone knows that, right? No wonder my parents never let me watch that one. Despite a few obviously delightful moments, though, I have to say that I found it to be pretty problematic overall. I mean, is a guy like Edward slash Richard Gere really the goal? Vivian slash Julia Roberts seemed pretty darn savvy throughout the whole movie, but she still wanted him to rescue her at the end with a Rapunzel fantasy? Also, why was every woman in the movie who had blond hair super-duper mean? And here was my biggest issue—after George Costanza from Seinfeld tries to sexually assault Vivian slash Julia Roberts, why doesn’t Edward slash Richard Gere call the cops?”
“Boo?” a male voice floats in the periphery of my awareness.
Seriously. He punches him, sure—which I suppose was a step in the right direction—but I think calling the cops on the bastard was definitely in order… Oh snap, I called him a bastard.
“Boo-oo?” that same voice sing-songs in my direction, louder now.
“Bert Alert!” I startle out of my daze. “Hey boo, hey! I was just… thinking.”
“Mom’s ready for the bug juice,” he says.
“Oh good, I’ll go get it set up.”
We’re at Doreen’s place in Rittenhouse Square, one of the more affluent areas of Philadelphia. Bert grew up in the suburbs like I did, but a few years back, when “The Business” started taking off for Doreen, she decided to get a place “in the city proper,” saying that it was a more impressive place to hold events with prospective partners and generally “less depressing than the suburbs.”
Bert of course moved with her. I don’t think there was even a question that Bert would move with her.
Tonight is our big monthly event where we share product demonstrations with our new and prospective partners. I offered to make some vitamin “bug juice” infused with the very best supplements available on the market today.
I’m pouring the juice into tiny crystal cups when the doorbell rings. I look toward the spacious living room with floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing a glorious view of the Philadelphia skyline and see that Bert and Doreen are both in full-schmooze mode.
The doorbell rings again. I look around, and no one is making a move toward the door. Looks like tonight I am the greeter.
I open the door and look up almost a full foot into ice blue eyes.
“Hi, ‘Mabel Again.’”
I slam the door in his face.
Then immediately open it again.
“Oh my goodness,” I say. “I am so sorry! I have no idea why I did that. What are you… Um, why are you…? How did you…? Are you stalking me?”
“Do youwantme to stalk you?” he asks.
I consider this for a moment… then slam the door in his face for a second time.
And... immediately open it.
“I’m sorry. I did it again, didn’t I?”
“You did.”
“Rude. So rude. I was not raised to be rude. Come in. No, stay out. Make yourself at home. I mean, leave please.”
“Are you okay?” he says with a little laugh.
“Why are you here?” I whisper harshly as I look around for signs of Bert. “And how did you know where I would be tonight?”
“I was invited, remember?” He pulls out the flyer I gave him the other day.
“Oh. Right. Yes. I guess I just thought…”
“You thought…” He leans toward me slightly from where he’s standing in the doorframe, and it’s the first time I’m taking in the sight and smell of him. I’m learning that this guy is a walking, talking sensory experience. His hair is damp as though he just got out of the shower. His outdoor shower. I wonder what it would be like to shower under the stars like that? Gosh and he smells like… what is that… lemongrass soap? Man, that’s delicious.
“Did you just smell me?”
