Bananas for Betty's Morning After
This story was inspired by one of my favorite stories: "The Morning After" by Katrina
Significant events of episode 2.10 (Bananas for Betty) are altered for this fluffy romp.
Summary: After their double date at the reggaeton club goes awry, Betty and Gio wake up to an awkward situation, throwing them into a frantic struggle to deal with the consequences.
Gio woke with his head nestled between two soft pillows, pillows of the kind he loved most, pillows upholstered with warm tawny skin that smelled of Betty's perfume. He loved this familiar dream and he clung to it as he unwillingly roused from his slumber. He felt his body aglow, intimately satisfied by this perfect fantasy. Never before had any of them been this vivid, felt this real, nor been this good.
Suddenly the shattering clatter of his alarm clock assaulted his ears and he groaned, pushing his head down and tugging at the pillows to cover his ears. His body fought the unwelcome sound, resisted waking, wretched from too much indulgence the night before. He was hung-over, badly hung-over, so badly hung-over he couldn't remember anything. Not the how, not the why, nor the who with. Luckily, he thought, it didn't matter because somehow he had made his way back to his own bed.
"Stop!" screamed a woman's voice in his ear, piercing and loud. "Make it stop!"
Gio jerked his head up. Peering through a thick haze of grogginess, he was astonished to find that the pillows he was clinging to were breasts and that they were connected to a neck and the neck was connected to Betty's head. Betty Suarez! Around her head lay a tangled mass of thick chestnut brown hair spilling over the pillow, his pillow. Betty was in his bed! The very Betty that he had secretly loved for so long. The unobtainable women that had haunted his thoughts and dreams. How?
Betty had her eyes scrunched shut and her hands clapped over her ears.
"Turn it off!" ordered Betty, a pained look on her face from her throbbing headache and the disgusting sour taste of her thick furry tongue.
Scrambling off of her, Gio shook his head, sat upright, and lunged for the clock. He regretted the sharp movement as soon as his brain pounded against his skull. With enormous effort he turned it off, marveling that he could summon up the tricky manual dexterity required, overlooking the fact that he'd done it hundreds of times before.
As soon as the buzzing ceased, Betty dropped her hands from her ears. Popping her eyes open, she exclaimed, "Gio! What are you doing here?"
Gio gently placed the clock back down beside the open box of condoms with infinite care so it wouldn't accidentally bang on the table drawing Betty's attention to the box, and turned to look at her, moving his throbbing head slowly and carefully this time. "I was going to ask you the same thing."
At that moment a beam of sunlight spilled through the curtains and fell across Betty. To Betty, it felt like a flood lamp was searing her retinas. She pressed her palms firmly over her eye sockets. "Go away, Gio!"
Gio's gaze lingered over his stunning head-to-toe view of Betty, stretched out on his bed, sunlit and stark naked. She was every bit as beautiful, voluptuous and curvy, as he had dared imagine, something he had enjoyed imagining, so many times. "Why should I? I live here."
"You live here?" shouted Betty incredulously, trying to gather enough non-hung-over brain cells together to form a thought. "In my bed?"
"Do you have to talk so loud?" Gio whispered, his ears ringing painfully. "This is my bed."
"Huh?" Betty opened her severely near-sighted eyes and squinted around her. "Oh! I need my glasses."
Seeing her naked self, Betty shrieked and yanked at the bed sheet until she was covered all the way up to her neck. Then she noticed that she had uncovered Gio, who'd discreetly slipped a pillow over his lap to hide from her how the sight of her nakedness had affected him.
"You're naked!" cried Betty. "And … I'm naked!" She paused awhile to hunt her sluggish brain for an innocent explanation for these two facts and to her horror failed to find one. "And … and … we're in bed together!"
"Yeah, thanks," said Gio dryly. "I'd pieced together that much myself actually. Furthermore-"
Gio cut himself off. He wasn't sure he should mention the three - count 'em three, he thought proudly - used condoms he'd seen on the floor beside the bed. Not too shabby for someone in such an advanced state of inebriation he couldn't even remember doing it. Betty, unfortunately, did not look like she would be favorably impressed to hear of his feat. Damn, why wouldn't his memory function, he lamented, it must have been some wild night.
The evening had started at the reggaeton club, where he took Hilda, Betty's sister, on a first date. He'd invited Betty and her boyfriend, Henry, to join them, casually suggesting they make it a double date. But the double date idea was just an excuse to be around Betty, and resorting to such a lame-ass scheme to be with her made him feel like a pathetic loser. The last thing he could remember clearly was enthusiastically ordering another round of drinks in celebration after Betty and Henry had had a fight and he'd left the bar in a huff.
"Cover yourself up!" demanded Betty. Every time she shouted the echo of it reverberated in her skull, intensifying her headache, decreasing her ability to think, and increasing her level of frustration. She clamped her eyes shut and turned her head away as if the very sight of him unclothed was unpleasant. In truth, it was not unpleasant, it was actually very pleasant indeed, and she hated to admit how much she liked it, even to herself. Certainly she wouldn't admit it to him.
Gio picked up a pair of crumpled worn jeans from his scattered laundry on the floor. Commando ought to be good enough, he thought, tucking himself in and buttoning up the fly. "Okay, Betty, I'm decent."
"So," Betty opened her eyes and glared hard at Gio, "Did you mean what you said last night?"
"I don't know," replied Gio, puzzled. All the events of last night were an unknown.
Frowning ominously, Betty crossed her arms and waited.
"I said I don't know." His confidence wilting under her harsh gaze, Gio dug into his memory but found nothing. "I'm not sure."
Betty glowered and spit out, "You. Don't. Know." She grimaced as she emphasized each word as distinctly as she could with her furry, disgusting-tasting tongue. "You. Aren't. Sure."
"I mean, I don't know what I said," said Gio quickly, alarmed by her sudden wrath. "Maybe I did. I don't know. What did you want me to say?"
"Last night," said Betty gripping the sheet tightly, her voice quavering, "you said, and I quote," she paused and lowered her voice for even greater emphasis, "you said you loved me."
"Oh." Gio paused. "I did?" A guy should remember something like that, thought Gio, and not only remember it, but a guy should have said it in a romantic way. At least the first time it ought to be romantic. Definitely, you should not be drunk when you first say it, and certainly not as drunk as he was last night. And, at the very least, both parties should remember it afterward.
He knew what he should have done. He could visualize gazing into her eyes and saying those three amazing words while holding her hand under a starry sky, or lingering over a candle-lit dinner, or hugging her while slow dancing. That was the way to do it. In every scenario that he imagined, he was looking into her warm brown eyes, so deep and intelligent, yet at the same time, wide and innocent. The eyes he couldn't ever stop thinking about, not since the day he first saw them. Betty's eyes.
But they couldn't be Betty's eyes! That would be wrong. Last night was wrong. Betty had a boyfriend. Much as he despised the white-bread nerd boy, teasing Betty at every opportunity by pointing out how boring Henry was, he had violated his own personal code of honor. You shouldn't love, you shouldn't make love to, and you shouldn't say 'I love you' to someone else's girlfriend. Ever.
Gio swallowed. Not only did he not remember what he'd said, he couldn't remember anything she might have said either. "What about egg salad?"
"Henry. My boyfriend's name is Henry," sniffed Betty automatically, not even pausing to switch gears.
Unnerved by the familiar icy tone, Gio studied her inscrutable expression. If Henry was her boyfriend, then how did she come to be in his bed this morning? "So, he's your boyfriend," echoed Gio, clutching the pillow, his knuckles white. Of course, what he'd witnessed was simply a lover's quarrel. Last night meant nothing to her. It was just a one-night fling to get back at Henry. He was a fling. His stomach sank. "Henry is."
"Yes, because I love Henry," said Betty defensively. Actually she had not thought about Henry since he'd dumped all over her last night and took off. The basic facts were - according to Henry - just about everything that was wrong in his life was all her fault. Last night's fight with him was an eye opening moment. Why did he think she existed - to appease his every whim? And why had she always seen his side and gone along with him before?
Gio scanned Betty's face. If she loved Henry then why was she asking him whether he loved her? Was it some kind of ploy to humiliate him? Get him to admit that he loved her and then laugh at him and walk out? He had too much pride to fall for a cruel trick like that. He wanted to, but he wouldn't beg her to stay.
"Loved Henry, I guess." Betty cleared her throat, gagging from her dry mouth. "Past tense. Just give me a minute, I have a terrible headache. I can't think."
"Okay, then," said Gio, relaxing a bit. Henry was history. In the past. He allowed himself a glimmer of hope. "Do you want me to get you a drink of water? It helps with the headache."
"Water sounds delicious." Betty looked around the bed. Gio's scattered laundry littered the whole floor. "My clothes, I want my clothes."
"I don't see them." Gio got up and kicked a few things into the corner. Every quick movement was torture. "Just a minute." He stepped out of the bedroom. It looked like a tornado had blasted through his apartment. Actually it didn't look that different from normal, but this time there was a dress, a bra, panties, high-heeled shoes, and a pair of glasses lying in the wreckage. His floor had not been graced with a bra and panties for many months, not since the day he'd served a turkey and sundried tomato on baguette to a certain curvaceous brown-eyed beauty with a wicked sense of humor. Yep. It was different.
Bending down to pick up Betty's clothes caused Gio's blood to rush into his head making it feel like a spike was being driven through his brain. He tossed her clothes onto the bed beside her and staggered back out to the kitchen. He gingerly pulled a jug of chilled filtered water out of refrigerator and set it in the middle of the counter. He opened the cupboard, and then, his head pounding and hand unsteady, he picked up a glass with delicate care and eased it down gently beside the jug. Praying that he could pour it without spilling, he picked up the jug and slowly filled up the glass. Once it was full he realized how thirsty he was and he grabbed the glass, downing it in one continuous gulp. It wasn't enough, so he slowly poured again, amazed and proud to observe that the counter was still bone dry when it was filled.
Hearing Betty's approaching footsteps, Gio threw open the cupboard to get another glass. He grabbed one too quickly and dropped it, the glass shattering all over the floor.
"Oh, gimme!" said Betty, suddenly appearing in the kitchen. She was wearing shoes and had no reservation about walking over the broken shards to get to the glass of water on the counter.
Gio leapt between her and the counter, cutting a bare foot on broken glass. He yelped and lifted his foot. His job at the deli had made him hyper sensitive about controlling and preventing cross-contamination and he instinctively barked, "That's mine!"
As single minded as a vampire seeking fresh blood, Betty headed for the water. But when she heard Gio's protest she halted with her arms outstretched. Her eyes begged him for it, but, just to be on the safe side, she also said, "Please?"
"I drank out of it," explained Gio, lifting his cut foot, blood dripping onto the floor. "It's got my germs."
"Oh, puh-lease," said Betty grabbing the glass, "I think we've officially entered the germ-sharing stage." Betty drank deeply, moaning from the exquisite pleasure of cool liquid sliding down her parched throat.
"You want some breakfast?" asked Gio, cheered to find out they were in the germ-sharing stage, whatever she meant by it. And asking her to eat wasn't begging her to stay. No one would say it was.
"No," Betty frowned. "I don't think so." Her stomach felt dreadful and she decided throwing up breakfast would not be a good start to the day.
I tried, thought Gio, I didn't beg, but I tried. He wished he knew what had happened last night. One foot dripping blood, he hopped towards the bathroom on the other, leaning on the wall to steady himself. "Don't mind me, I'm going to get a bandage."
"Okay," said Betty, holding the water jug and hastily refilling the glass. The growing puddle of spilled water on the counter around the glass didn't bother her because she didn't notice it.
Gio opened the bathroom cupboard and spied a pill bottle. Headache pills, he thought, that is the ticket. He puzzled over why it was so hard to think of things like taking headache pills when you had an excruciating headache. He shook the bottle. There was only one left. He read the label and thanked god it was extra strength. Then, balancing on one foot, he attempted to remove the child-proof lid. Stymied, he huffed and puffed and pushed and pulled and turned and twisted until the lid suddenly popped off and the pill fell onto the floor. It rolled lazily away from him into the corner and finally tipped onto its side and came to rest behind the tub. Gio dropped onto his knees and reached for it. It was just a little beyond his reach so he had to lie down and push himself against the cool porcelain of the tub. Finally he had it in his outstretched hand but by then he had had time to speculate on exactly how long it had been since the floor in this particular corner had been washed. It did not look very clean. It did not look even remotely clean. He stomach, already in pretty poor shape, revolted at the thought of him putting the icky without-a-doubt-dirty pill into his mouth.
Holding the glass of water, Betty appeared in the doorway and saw the pill bottle in the sink, bloody footprints smeared onto the tiles, and Gio sprawled face down on the floor. "Are you okay?"
Nauseated, head aching, his face pressing on cold tile, and clinging for dear life to the pill clenched in his fist, Gio said "Never better."
"Is that a headache pill bottle?" asked Betty, looking in the sink. She adjusted her glasses. "I need extra-strength. Are they extra-strength?"
"No, regular, none left," said Gio, shoving the pill in his mouth. The last thing he wanted to do was to explain to her the condition of the floor in the corner behind the tub. Gio tried to swallow it quickly, but, stomach churning, gagged on it instead. Great plan, he told himself ruefully. Didn't have time to think, he thought back.
"I'm pretty sure it says extra-strength," said Betty sarcastically, observing him gag on the pill. She knelt down and held the glass out. "Need a drink?"
Gio nodded and Betty put the glass to his lips. He closed his eyes to block out her accusing stare, and drank.
"Here." Betty pulled several tissues from the box on the counter and laid them on his foot. "I've got some pills in my purse." She left.
Gio sat up and dabbed the tissues on his foot. Every nerve in his foot screamed because there were still pieces of glass embedded in the cut. He had never realized how many nerves a foot had. Before long Betty stomped back into the room like a raging rhinoceros. Each tread of her foot thundered and resonated, banging on his eardrums like a gong.
"Where's my purse?" said Betty angrily, hands on her hips.
"How the hell should I know?" retorted Gio, pausing from picking glass out of his foot to glance up at her warily.
"I'm not going anywhere without my purse!" said Betty impatiently.
"Why not?" cried Gio indignantly. "You don't think it's safe with me?"
"No, you lunkhead!" said Betty, taken aback by his angry tone. "I just need my stuff, is all."
"Oh, right," said Gio contritely. "Look, I gotta make a call." He dropped the bloody tissues and crawled on his hands and knees into the kitchen searching for the phone's cordless handset.
"What? You're going to make a call now?" said Betty, gaping after him incredulously. "Come back! I need you to help me find my purse!"
"Yes, I have to make a call now," called Gio from the kitchen. "You're going to make me late for work." He was forever worrying over his struggling little deli, working long hours day in and day out to make a go of it, and this day was no less important . Others may have considered the deli a small deal, but to him it was the vital, significant first step of his ambitious five year plan to own his own restaurant. He was determined to make a success of it even if he had to kill himself trying. He turned his muddled brain to the problem of about how he could open it on time, who could he call for help.
"I'm making you late?" screamed Betty, clumping after Gio into the kitchen.
"I take it back. No one is making me late. But for some reason I'm going to be late for work."
"Work? But it's Saturday."
"Betty, do you ever think of me," asked Gio from the end of a bloody trail, looking up at her from his hands and knees, "I mean, aside from when you're hungry?" Kneeling, Gio peered up at the counter trying to recall where he'd last seen the phone's handset. "Or need a helping hand?"
"Yeah," said Betty. Actually, she didn't, she realized. At least, not until his speech yesterday morning about how he would create romantic memories. Beautiful, elaborate, well-thought-out romantic memories. Oh, yeah, since that speech she'd thought a lot about Gio.
"Well, I work in a deli and delis are open on Saturdays," Gio explained to Betty like he was talking to a small child. "In point of fact, Saturdays are a very big day for delis. Am I going too fast?"
"Huh!" said Betty, rolling her eyes at Gio's annoying tone. Gio had demonstrated he knew how to talk about creating romantic memories, telling her that beautiful spiel about going on long walks on the beach at sunset, climbing onto the roof of a jazz club, and dancing so close you can feel a girl's breath on your neck, well, that speech had sure made her think. It had made her think a lot. But, when it came right down to it, how romantic was last night? Passionate, yes, no question. Romantic, not so much. Sheesh. Men!
Grunting loudly, Gio gripped the counter and pulled himself up, finding the phone's handset immersed in a small lake. Not surprisingly, it didn't work. Dropping to his knees, he crawled into the living room to find his pants from last night. Eventually he found his cell phone and started clicking on the directory list wondering who he should call. There were only a handful of people who could open his deli on such short notice. His mother, of course, she could handle it, but if he called her then a barrage of probing and uncomfortable questions would be sure to follow, most likely including questions that he didn't yet know the answer to. Questions he himself desperately wanted to know the answers to. No, he wasn't ready to talk to his mother. He decided he must avoid calling her if at all possible.
He could call his older brother Marco. Marco would keep this whole embarrassing situation under his hat. Yes, he'd better do it, because Gio had a few things on him. And Marco worked nights so he would be available, if only he could get a hold of him. But he couldn't. Gio left messages on Marco's landline, cell phone, and girlfriend's cell phone. He'd struck out.
Gio checked the time. He better go. Seeing Betty's sour face when he suggested breakfast only confirmed his worst fear. There wasn't any hope she would be sticking around. Once she found her purse she'd vamoose. All he'd be left with were the memories, oh! if only he had any. Well, he could still make it to the deli to open it on time if he hustled. "Is there any chance you could be out of here in 15 minutes?"
"What! You wanna throw me out?" cried Betty, wide-eyed. Apparently any semblance of romance just wasn't in the cards. "I didn't even find my purse yet!"
"Well hurry it up then," said Gio absentmindedly, picking another piece of glass out of his foot. "There's no way I'm going to call my mother."
"Jeepers!" said Betty as she surveyed the room with a disapproving stare. It was a disaster area. Jumbled stacks of books sat beside a half-assembled bookcase, newspapers, laundry, and dirty dishes were scattered around the sofa.
"Yeah, well, I wasn't expecting company," said Gio sheepishly.
Betty started by picking up cushions from the floor and chucking them onto the sofa. What the heck had happened last night? She saw Gio's shirt on the floor just inside the apartment door, the one he'd worn last night, the sexy black dress shirt with the tapered fit that hugged his muscular body so scandalously well she could hardly take her eyes off him. The shirt was ripped and buttons were missing. Evidently someone had been mighty eager to get that shirt off of him. An indistinct flashback of her trampy behavior made her flush hotly. Oh, god. What could have prompted her to such a vulgar act? She gazed at Gio, his muscular back rippling and his arms bulging as he leant over his foot, his torn jeans revealing a tight derriere and a very sweet set of holes she'd like to examine a lot more closely. Now she remembered what. Oh god, oh god, had she lost all his respect? Gio glanced up and caught her staring at him hungrily, Betty blushed scarlet and ducked behind the sofa.
Gio noticed her stare and her blush and it made him wonder. Was it possible that she wanted him, he thought, even after his shameful behavior of the night before? What kind of disgraceful trick was that, ditching his date - her sister, no less - at the bar, and bringing her home to his bed? Did he actually have a chance with her after a sleazy stunt like that?
Rummaging behind the sofa, Betty's memories of the previous night started to flood back. After she'd got that shirt off him she'd had a good time, definitely, and, if the amazing endorphin high she was experiencing was any indication, she'd had a good time more than once. She really was not ready to leave. She really didn't want to leave until she found out where she stood with him. She badly wanted a hug. She needed a hug because she felt so awful. She really needed to scrape the hundreds of dead caterpillars off her tongue. She urgently needed a pill to stop her head from imploding.
Gio's phone rang and within moments he had arranged for Marco to cover the deli's morning shift. Thank god, now he might have a chance to repair the damage from last night before she took off.
"That's a relief," he announced joyfully, "now we can relax."
"Found it!" exclaimed Betty jumping up, beaming and holding her purse aloft triumphantly to Gio's muted cheers. She dug into it, found her super-extra-strength headache pills, and quickly as she could she swallowed two of them, or maybe three, she couldn't be quite sure, they went down so fast. She collapsed onto the sofa praying the label's claim of having the world's fastest acting formula would be true. She snuggled into the cushions and covered her eyes with her arms, blocking out the painfully bright morning light. "I just need five minutes."
About five minutes later, after he had finished wrapping up his foot, Gio hopped over to the sofa and knelt at Betty's feet. He was kneeling, but that didn't make it begging, did it? Oh, hell, so what if it did, he thought, she'd found her purse and might leave at any moment. He was stricken by nervous panic. He had to try and stop her.
Gio folded his hands together and said, "Please forgive me."
"For what?" said Betty groggily. She was a little miffed that he'd nearly pushed her out of his place without her purse, yelled at her when she wanted to drink his water, accused her of making him late, and lied about the pill in the bathroom.
"For bringing you here last night … and … for what happened. I took advantage. It was all my fault. I'm sorry I was so drunk I can't remember anything."
Betty murmured thoughtfully. So he thought it was his fault! How typical that he would assume that, yet her own recollection was that she was the instigator. She could hear the echo of his garbled drunken voice saying, 'We shouldn't. We're drunk.' But then she had launched herself onto him, tearing off his shirt, caressing and kissing his bare chest until he no longer resisted her advances. Oh, what could she say to him about such a night as last night? Her cheeks grew pink, her whole body glowed warmly. Finally she knew what true passion felt like and now she craved his touch. She struggled to sort out her thoughts. She should confess he had nothing to apologize for, but she didn't want to admit to him, especially not to him, her role in causing their predicament.
Betty's disconcerted expression sent daggers of doubt into Gio's trembling heart. He was convinced that what he'd done was unforgivable.
"I forgive you," she said finally, promising herself she would come clean later when she could think better. She leaned forward and clasped his hand, entwining her fingers in his.
"Come here and give me a hug." She tugged on his hand until he sat beside her, laid her head on his shoulder, and closed her eyes.
Gio gently pulled her to him, cradling her in his arms, and whispered, "Oh, Betty. B, thank you so much." He gazed down at her relaxed, serene face, and stroked his thumb over the soft skin of her cheek. He spoke to her in his best voice, a deep husky voice with a silky tone, one that would melt her heart, and if at all possible, her panties too. "Betty, I want both of us to remember this special moment forever."
"Mmmm." Betty responded with a tiny pleased smile. His voice wrapped around her like warm caramel. The image and aroma of a caramel hot fudge sundae topped with whipped cream and a maraschino cherry floated into her mind. She wanted to listen to his voice forever.
Gio wanted so much to gaze into her eyes at this moment that he jiggled her a little and said, "Betty?"
Betty murmured again, her breath warm and soft in his ear, but still she didn't open her eyes.
Gio just couldn't wait any longer, he couldn't wait until everything was exactly perfect, and he didn't have the patience to wait until his brain could think and plan properly, and so, despite his desire to look deep into her eyes for this very special moment, he took a steadying breath and plunged ahead anyway. "Betty, I love you."
And then he held his breath and waited anxiously for Betty, the woman he admired and cherished and treasured with a love greater than any other in the entire history of the world, to say to him the same three words, the same three little amazing words that upon hearing would cause his heart to burst with joy.
Then Betty let out a small sigh, and answered him with a barely audible snore.
"That's all right," whispered Gio, admiring her angelic face and kissing the top of her sleeping head tenderly. "We can try again later. Hopefully, third times a charm."