[AUTHOR'S NOTE: In this chapter, a few more OCs will be introduced, some of whom will play a huge role in this story. The writing style is derived from Carrie by Stephen King (the in-universe novellas part), and is loosely based on Dirt produced by Matthew Carnahan. I do not own GMW, Dirt, Carrie, Pete Yorn songs, nor any other references caught in this story. Please read, review, and refrain from the changeables. Okay, I love you, buh-bye! Taylor.]
Guess who? Yep, Farkle Minkus, scientist and part-time photographer for Dirty Deeds.
Dirty Deeds just published its first issue under the new editor in chief, Riley Matthews. Riley Matthews, the girl who's had my heart since we were six, worked her ass off in turning this magazine around. I showed her some of the photos from an old outing, and she showed interest because she knew the pictures would sell! Is "Fat Frieda" nearing death by overeating? What about that fake baby? Who knows about that jogger with man-boobs that you can't unsee? Not to mention, people everywhere are on edge about the relationship of Dominic J. Dean and Connie Haley.
*CLICK*
Riley's little brother, Auggie, summoned me for some advice.
"Before, it was 'where's our next payment headed?' Now, it's 'when's our next night to be intimate?' See what I mean?"
He's hit a crossroads with his girlfriend, Ava Morgenstern. Ava's the president of some undergrad sorority at NYU, and their organization has done well for themselves in charity. She can be controlling, but not as controlling as Connie Haley.
"As an alcoholic, my temper is hair-triggered, and if I don't get what I want, you pay the price."
Danger! Danger! The spoiled is strong with this one! Learn some humility, girl!
*CLICK*
Now that the first Riley issue of Dirty Deeds is out, I have been asked to announce that business for the 'zine is booming! Sales are up. Subscriptions have doubled, no, tripled. We haven't been sued. Riley is firm in her demands. I've gone through Hell and back to capture the shot that graced the cover. I honestly wish I could say the same for Riley's evil publisher, Brett Barricklow. However, if this profit increase motivates the staff to do more, we'll not only do more. We'll do better. That's the only way we can be better. If there's one thing I've learned in the last two weeks, it's this:
The truth: you cannot escape it.
I am Farkle!
*CLICK*
"Ask yourself, what do you think about us? I was in the station, cooking up something for us." (Pete Yorn - "For Us" 2006-07)
I stopped by my father's work to ask a favor on Riley's behalf. Since it was nearing the end of summer, she wanted an outdoor party, and I knew the place. I had to ask my dad.
First, security stopped me. Damn you, metal detectors. I pass through the doorway and BEEP. Wonder what's gonna happen now.
The guard whipped out a wand that made this high-pitched wee-woo noise, like scoping an extraterrestrial. She waved the wand around my head. It beeped at my lips.
"I have my tongue pierced," I said and stuck out my tongue. Don't ask.
She waved the wand down my body, searching for more metal. Why is it fucking beeping at my crotch now? The security guard gave me that look. With a huff, I pulled my keys out of my pocket and shook them right in front of her smug face. I walked right past the guard, shaking my damn head. They were just keys!
I stopped at the elevator and pushed the button. As it opened, Sarah and Darby walked out, said hello, and left. I entered the elevator and pushed the button for the 23rd floor. On the way up, the elevator stopped at floors 4, 6, 18, and my final stop, 23. Some of these people were on their way to a meeting on the same floor, but the opposite wing of my father's office, and some wanted to speak with my father directly. I exited the elevator and made a beeline for my dad's office. I'm first in line, even if I must cut in line because Farkle always goes first!
I looked through his glass door to see him turned away, facing his computer. I knocked on the door, and my father raised his hand, signaling me to enter.
My father heard me walk in and addressed me, "Farkle, I got your text. What's up?"
"I need to reserve the roof of the building for a party," I answered as I shut the door.
"What kind of party?" he asked as he turned around in his desk chair.
"It's a celebration dance party. Riley's first issue as the new editor-in-chief of Dirty Deeds sold millions of copies last week, and she wanted a rooftop party with club music and punch."
"You know there's a $1500 down payment if you want to have this party on the roof of Minkus International."
"Did you not hear that Riley is the editor-in-chief now? I'm her go-to photographer! Her first issue flew every copy off the shelves! After totaling the revenue in the books, my salary is practically doubled! I'm rolling in it because she asked me to get a shot that she'd been DYING to get. Dad, I'm finally getting somewhere with this, and if I'm lucky, Riley would want me to be hers again. You always said that Riley was the perfect girl for me, and that's not just because you were friends with her parents. You're pushing 50, and you still have a crush on her mother! If this is the next best thing–" Dad stopped me with his hand. I couldn't stop rambling.
"When do you plan on having this party?"
"Tomorrow night, sundown."
"You got it."
"Are you serious?"
"Consider this a free pass. After all, if your heart aches for Riley, go for her."
"Thank you, Dad. I'll be in touch," I said, shaking his hand.
"You're welcome, son," he returned the firm shake.
I walked out of his office, feeling happier than ever. I got the okay from my dad to hold the Dirty Deeds party atop the headquarters. I can't wait to tell Riley. I turned the corner to the main hall and noticed a quintet of cute female interns leaving the office: a humble rich girl with maroon hair, a ginger with freckles whom I recognize from somewhere, a baby blonde pigtailed Harley Quinn wanna-be, a gorgeous ethnic girl with a caramel-highlighted afro, and a girl with split-dyed hair. They were about to pass me.
Dear God, please give me the courage to talk to girls through my words, not my dick. Thank you. Amen.
"Ladies," I greeted them.
"Farkle," the womanly quintet returned in unison.
Wow, it's been awhile since I've had that reaction. I just nodded afterward and walked my way toward the elevator.
"Farkle, wait up!" one of the girls stopped me on my walk.
I turned around and noticed one of the interns shying away from her group, on a dare, I hope. If this is the same girl who grabbed my attention by telling me to wait, then I'll be damned if she wants to ask me out on a date.
It's obvious that she tans at the beach; that's my first observation about her. She had a long pixie cut that was half platinum blonde and half chocolate brown. It was slicked back so her high cheekbones showed. How does she do it, accentuating the cheekbones to complement her bright blue eyes? This girl usually wore button-down blouses (sometimes) tucked into cotton slacks, very professional. Her feet were dressed in low-cut black Chuck Taylors. The sneakers helped show off her sexy ankle tattoo of a tiny four-leaf clover, roughly less than a square inch coverage. I smiled at her because, well, I thought she was cute.
"Hi, um..." damn, I forgot her name!
"Rolanda."
"Rolanda, right."
"You can call me Ro, like the Greek letter, except..."
"It's spelled R-O," we said in unison, and it just came naturally to me as I said it. I remember her now. She had long red hair last time we talked. Damn, that half and half dye job did her wonders. I'm smiling. She looks great! And, she did say "Hey, Farkle."
"Almost didn't recognize you, Ro," I acknowledged with a chuckle.
"I don't think I recognized myself!" she said.
"Yeah," I chuckled.
"I saw your work in the Dirty Deeds magazine out at the front lobby. How did you do it?" She asked, curious to know my secret.
"Do what?" I asked in return, furrowing my eyebrows.
"Take the candids! You snapped a picture of my celebrity crush being slapped in the face by his abusive girlfriend. How did you do it?"
Oh, Dominic and Connie, huh? She stared at me with her piercing crystal blue eyes, wanting to know. That's all she has going for her. Her bright blue eyes. Shit, I can't stop staring at them now. I gestured a little "come hither" with my hand. She took the hint.
"Between you and me," I said to her in a husky voice, to which she leant closer toward me, "the really juicy stuff happens in the middle of the night."
"Farkle, you're a genius!" she laughed at me and playfully shoved me. In addition, she walked past me, rejoining her group, and said, "Hey, I heard you're throwing a party on the rooftop. Can't wait. It's gonna be fun stuff! Save me and my girls a dance!"
Not even five minutes out of my father's office, and at least one person, a beautiful and gorgeous one whom I barely know, knows about the rooftop party. GOD DAMN IT!
I hit the elevator button to enter and head for the ground floor. It's just my luck, too, as a trio of even cuter female interns waited for the elevator, too. As we entered, I asked what floors' buttons to push. They all said the ground floor. Since we were stuck in the elevator until we hit the ground, I would figure that someone would start talking. I guess it's my nervous vibe I'm giving off.
"So, what is this I hear about a party?" asked the blue-eyed, short-haired brunette with a deep voice.
"My father runs this place. I got his permission to host a party for my... friend."
I couldn't let these girls know that I had a thing for Riley (again). Then again, they were curious about how this party was going to come about.
"If Stuart is your father, then you must be Farkle," the same brunette said in awe, putting two and two together.
"Yeah, I am Farkle," I smiled, raising my arms in power, then realizing how awkward that move was. "Sorry."
Damn you – no. Fuck you, muscle memory.
"Don't be sorry," said this girl with vanilla skin and hazel eyes.
"We know who you are," said the third girl with an obvious Jamaican accent.
"Y-you do?" I asked nervously. I don't come by my father's office that often... do I?
"Ya, we're subscribers to the Dirty Deeds," said Jamaican girl.
"You photographed Connie Haley giving Dominic J. Dean the business," Vanilla Latte said matter-of-factly. I guess that's one way of putting it.
"Cut the chit-chat, girls," said the Brunette Blues. "Who came up with the thing, 'There's No Such Thing as a Double Standard?'"
"Oh, that would be my friend, Maya. She's one of the creative forces, and we are very close," I responded, to which Vanilla and Jamaica giggled.
"Anyway, about this party. Where and when is it, and can we come?" asked Brunetty.
"Rooftop, tomorrow night at sundown, and sure. It's a $5 entry fee to cover my down payment. Capacity is 500 people."
"Girls, we are so there!" said the Vanilla girl with sass.
The girls high-fived each other in excitement, but I could not wait to get out of there and head out to Zay's apartment. It's the weekly "Billiards and Darts Day at Zay's." I can only pray that Zay doesn't bet for the big loser to get a body part pierced. Again.
Once a week at Zay's apartment, the guys and I shoot pool and throw darts. Once a month, Zay throws in a silly little idea of what the big loser should do.
"Let's make this game a little more interesting. We'll do a quadrangular. The biggest loser must do something pretty humiliating," Zay said.
I groaned, "Guys, last time we did this, you made me pierce my tongue!" I raised my voice, "I haven't given girls the time of day since March because I needed time for my tongue to heal!"
We've been doing this for the last year. Some of the punishments we've endured, oh, where do I begin? I got my tongue pierced. That wasn't so bad because the exhale technique worked. The aftermath sucked because I like doing things with my tongue that aren't friendly. Lucas had to streak at a Native American rally wearing nothing but this ridiculous mask that Maya had designed. He only received a citation and a stern lecture from the security guard. Zay flaked as a flying monkey in a haphazard children's production of The Wizard of Oz. Let's just say that it'll leave those poor kids with either traumatic memories or funny ones. And Josh? Josh can't lose.
"So, what's this I hear about a party tomorrow night? A little impromptu, don't you think?" Zay snapped me out of my reverie of reminiscing.
"Riley got promoted to Editor-in-Chief, remember?" I replied.
"Is that going to be the occasion?"
"You know it. Someone's keeping track of the sales this week. We should have the final number by Monday when we head back to work."
"Farkle, you're not having this party just to get Riley back, are you?" Lucas asked.
Break my heart and punch me in the gut, why don't ya?
"Riley fell in love with the cover shot. She's also read everyone's articles. This issue is going to kick ass," I said. I never answered his question because I cannot clarify how much Riley wants me back.
"So, you're throwing a party to celebrate her first issue as the new editor-in-chief?" Josh countered.
"Thank you!" I answered with sarcasm.
"I also heard that you invited a lot of girls from your father's company. Did you not?" Zay asked.
"Girls that I know about, but I'm sure there will be plenty more," I said with a certain tone of voice.
"And Smackle?" Lucas asked curiously.
"Eh... Smackle's not coming," I said with worry.
"Why not?"
"She's tied down with work."
"On a Saturday night?"
"Yes. On Saturdays, she finishes her patient notes from her practice, and on Sundays, she conducts autopsies."
"I did not know that," Josh jumped in.
Not a lot of people do, Josh. Not a lot of people do.
Zay had set up a game of 9-ball, and since nobody wanted to do teams, we just thought a round robin would be best for us. Six 9-ball matches, best two out of three. Whoever loses the most, endures a punishment. Old show, right?
Freak-Face and I drew the lowest numbered balls from the pockets, so we were going first. On an office chalkboard, Zay wrote our names in blue chalk and drew a chart to tally our wins and losses. In another space on the board, he listed the matchups starting with Lucas and myself.
I had the lower number than Lucas, so it was decided that I would take first break. As I broke, I sunk three balls. Just my luck, too. The lowest numbered ball on the table was still the 1-Ball. I can't win. I wanted to prolong my turn and beat Lucas without giving him a chance, so I used my vision to calculate the possible angles, precisions, and accuracies of this next shot. It was almost too easy.
"One-ball, side pocket," I called as I leaned over the pool table.
...
"So what kind of party is it?" Lucas asked as he attempted his shot of the six-ball. He didn't quite make it.
"Small get-together. Dance party. With a DJ. I've already paid him, and I reserved the rooftop for free," I answered as I analyzed my next shot. "Six to the nine, going in."
That's two, Lucas. You better not lose to Josh and Zay.
"Awesome. Can we come?" Zay asked.
"Sure. It's five dollars to get in, but you guys are on the VIP list, so you get in for free. Just tell the bouncer your name," I answered with a smile on my face.
"Wow. Who's all on the VIP list?" Josh asked.
"Just my closest friends. You three," I pointed to Josh, Zay, and Lucas. "Maya, Charlie, everyone I've known since high school, myself, and the guest of honor."
"Guest of honor?" Lucas asked, confused.
"Riley," Zay said, beating me to the punch.
"A-ha..." Josh had that intriguing look on his face. It's like he knows something's up. I'll leave it to him to figure that out. As if it weren't that obvious.
"How do you know she's going to be there?" Lucas asked.
"How do you know if anybody's going to be there?" Zay followed.
"I texted everyone except for Riley. I kinda left a little special note for her in her office while she wasn't in," I said, feeling so giddy that I couldn't concentrate on what was going on until it was my turn to play again.
(excerpt from Riley's Rebellion)
"Miss Matthews, a word, please?" Oh shit, it's my publisher.
Brett Barricklow is the evilest of evil. He won't publish an issue unless he likes every article in the issue. He must have a problem with one of them if it's that bad. I thought I wanted to set the bar higher than heaven and further than Pluto, but the man won't budge. With Barricklow as publisher, I won't get very far. I mean, look. Would he really approve of "The Slap Heard 'Round the World?"
I would.
Brett had a lookover of the mock-up and loved the cover. He just didn't like the articles, so he stuck notes all over some of the pages with his ideas and edits. The staff and I fought tooth and nail to keep the stories as they are. When he tried to make a change, I went along with it, but my friends were helpful enough to sneak the real story back in before he caught it.
Now, he's disappointed. The change that he wanted didn't make the final print. Small victory for Riley, one giant victory over Missy Bradford. I just know that I want to beat that skank Missy Bradford in the journalism world.
"Brett, what is it?" I asked him as I stood in his office doorway.
"Matthews, are you crazy?"
"No, I'm happy being Riley," I answered back. He gave me a death stare and silence. I don't know what kind of game he's playing, but he's losing. Miserably. "The celebrities we photographed and documented are not dumb. We're just playing it smart."
He flipped through the pages and showed me Sarah's quiz section that involved various candid shots of celebrities doing rather gross things. One's taking a piss. Another is shooting a snot rocket out of his nose. The homely lady in the bottom right corner? Shame-eater mouth-breather. I gotta remember to add that to my list of Riley-isms.
"You think these will take you to the top? You blackmailed a top-shot celebrity for research. How did you think of that?"
"I didn't. My photographer taught me that. I was 14. He kept my secret until I tried to escape one night. Never again. I forgave him because I love him. I also learned not to hold my secrets so long that tensions become worse. I learn from the very best. I believe in the very best. If you don't like my best, my all, everything, every ounce of my being, then you can kiss my ass, Barricklow," I raised my voice as I rambled on about Sparkly Farkly.
"I don't get you sometimes, Matthews. How do you get through the night?"
"I take these things called vitamins. Sometimes pills. Oh, and I have the Rileytown committee. How do you get through the week?"
No answer. Silence again. So, I gave him what he wanted.
"Brett, I'm just trying to give the people what they want. And what they want, is the truth. We have the technology. We're practically spies. We're going to be shitting all over Slutville if we play our cards right. You never approve of my work, but someone's gotta find a way to work around it."
"Do you know what corporate's gonna say about this?" he asked as he showed me a picture of what appeared to be a man getting pegged (gross), and he didn't like it.
"That what you're showing me is more painful than Hell? I'm aware," I shot back with a disgusted look on my face because, well, it's true. Even I didn't want to see that, so I walked away to return to my office.
As I sat down, back in my office, I saw a purple note on my desk.
Riley,
Saturday's your night at the Minkus International Rooftop. 9:00 PM. Be there. Don't be square. You'll always be a-round!
Farkle.
(and now, we return to Dirty Deeds)
The rooftop of Minkus International wasn't exactly flooding with patrons because I wanted the important people to be here. Maya showed up with Sarah and Darby. The guys made it to the party. The interns I met yesterday said they'd be here, and they are! God, those girls look so gorgeous. Since it was still warm out, everyone just wore comfortable clothes. This wasn't anything fancy. I did all of this for Riley, who never did get back to me after that note I left on her desk.
I talked to the disc jockey and told him to get the playlist up and running, so the party can be in full-swing when Riley arrives. I then walked over to the guys at the punch table to talk about the interns. Who's going to dance with whom?
"Lots of girls at this party, Farkle," Lucas said.
"Thanks. I invited them, albeit not exactly how I should have," I said. "They sort of overheard my father and I, discussing the payment plans yesterday."
"I don't know how they do it. The old man's door is always locked shut, is it not?" Zay asked.
"He sent me a text last night saying that one of the girls planted a microphone in a plant he received from her as, like, a 'thanks for hiring me' gift."
"She must have good spying skills."
"I don't even know who gave my father the plant!"
The guys and I observed the interns dancing to Santigold. Josh fixed his eyes on the magenta-haired girl with the black cocktail dress that hugged her curves perfectly. Lucas snuck a second look at the Harley Quinn wannabe with her hair down, hoping her powder blue slinky dress would ride up just a little bit more. Zay took a liking to the girl with the caramelly afro adorned with a wired headband; the girl wore a black crop top with yellow zebra print skinny jeans. I wouldn't stop looking at Rolanda, the athletic one. She wore a loose racerback tank top with black capris from a souvenir shop. Her outfit was complete with running shoes. I don't blame her if she's gonna be on her feet all night.
And the fifth girl. I recognize her...
"Hey, Farkle! Wait up!" Rolanda shouted my way.
I turned around to see that Rolanda looked toward her auburn-haired friend for a reassurance that she won't make a fool out of herself in asking me out.
...she's not an auburn-haired friend. That was Erica Bionx, and she's dating Wade Capra, who had an affair with Evani Farrow, who's with Matt Truskin. Okay, enough of this love chain. Let me pose a few questions: Why would Capra's girlfriend, a famous comedian, work for Minkus International? Why would she be at the dance? Could she be the one who gave my father the ivy plant? Her avoiding my gaze answered all of that. It's a sign.
I was snapped out of my daze again by the opening bars to this song that Rolanda put in my playlist.
Rolanda found me and dragged me by the hand to her group for a dance. Since I didn't know how to properly handle myself with hot girl strangers, I just let Ro take lead. She pushed my hand upward to make me lead her into a spin, so we can dance closer together. This felt... intimate? I barely know this girl. I could only go through the motions. My hands held her hips as hers took hold of my forearms. She looked me in my good eye and let me lead her.
"Don't say a word while we danced with the devil. You brought a fire to a world so cold. We're out of time on the highway to never. Hold on. Hold on."
Soon, I felt cocktail girl's ass against mine. My peripheral vision quickly picked up her maroon bob and little black dress. Next thing I know, the Caramel girl and not-Harley Quinn sans pigtails were on either side of me, carelessly dancing the night away. I'm fine. I'm cool as a cucumber. Cucumber, my ass! Psh, more of a ghost pepper! The girls would not stop shaking their asses in my direction. The female quartet frolicked around my body until I felt someone's breath on my left earlobe. It's Erica Bionx. I didn't realize until now that she's a major flirt when she's not around Capra. Is every entertainer in New York a dirty cheater?
I pulled Erica by her hand, letting her know that she's coming on too strong. She knew to take the hint, but I'll still dance with her. Is she humping my leg like a dog? Okay, safe word. Safe word.
Ro told the other girls to meet her by the punch table when the song rolled out.
We slow-danced to this mid-tempo song. I led Ro wherever my hands and feet wanted to take me. I care for Rolanda, but Riley occupied my mind all night. When she stopped mid-move, she admitted to me that she wanted to kiss me, and I didn't have to return the kiss if I didn't want to. I just couldn't.
"I have a girlfriend," I said.
"I don't see her. Who's the lucky girl?" she asked.
I stammered, trying to find the right words to say.
"It's Riley, isn't it?" she asked with understanding.
"Riley's not my girlfriend. She's just a friend. She deserves this party."
"Cut the crap. Erica put a microphone in a plant to give to your father, and we all heard that you like this girl, Riley, and your father has a crush on her mother."
Shit. What else does Erica have on me?
"What else did she hear? How much did she hear?" I've got nothing.
"There was a shot that Riley had been dying to get, and you got it for her. It was in the magazine, and we all saw it. Erica feels like it's her fault that the picture came out. She has this 'gut feeling' that her boyfriend may have an alibi in this. I just read the magazine for the crappy-quality pictures and the articles, but your pictures are the best, Farkle. Everyone at Minkus International loves your work. I'm torn because Erica's my friend," Ro confided in me while we were dancing.
Now I'm torn about what other truths could be out there. I can feel it in my face.
"Listen, I'll give Erica your number, and she'll call you later," Ro said as the end of the song came about, kissing me on the cheek as I kissed her cheek. She walked towards the punch table where the guys are. And that foundation, pfffffft, ugh. How do they put up with the smell, let alone taste?!
...
The elevator girls dragged me to their area, and... oh, damn. What are their names? I only know them as Jamaica, Brunette, and Vanilla Latte.
The Jamaican girl caught my attention first with her booty shaking and twerking. Hot damn, where do they learn to dance like that? Nobody truly knows, but I sure am glad they do. The Vanilla Latte stood behind Jamaica and lazily shook her body as she leaned back, aiming her hips for that Jamaican booty. It's like they're in tune with each other. The Brunette Blue Eyes just watched with a knowing look shooting in my direction.
I loved the gyrations their hips made. Every beat and phrase, they popped and locked their bodies. All over my body, too, I might add. It seemed to me that the trio wanted me to go toe to toe with them. Umm, my body ain't capable of that kind of poppin' and lockin'. But, I am willing to show what moves I still have left. Making eye contact with Brunette Blue Eyes, I raised my hand and slowly drug it down an imaginary wall. Then, I spun around a perfect 360 degrees. Finally, I threw my hands up and drew them down the same wall. Brunette Blues threw herself at me. Our hipbones made contact, so I placed one hand on her hip and the other around her waist at the small of her back. We danced in this loose embrace, still popping and locking.
"Lucky for you, that's what I like. That's what I like."
"You're good at this, Farkle," she said, her blue eyes never leaving mine.
"Thanks, uhm..." This is what happens when I forget names: I make a "duh..." kind of noise.
"Undarma. Like the Mongolian contortionist from Vegas? I'm named after her."
That is the most exotic name if I've ever heard one.
"Undarma, huh? What about the rest of your clique?" I asked.
The Jamaican and Vanilla Latte jumped in to introduce themselves as they gyrated their bodies around me and Undarma. I soon learned that Renetta is the Jamaican girl with that booty, and Eliza was the Vanilla Latte with hazel eyes. Damn, these girls know how to dance. I didn't realize I could measure up when my hips went more of a salsa route. But, that's okay. The girls didn't seem to mind because I lost myself in the dance. I didn't make a fool of myself. Yay!
As the song ended, the girls gave me a group hug and said that they'd see me at work. Girls, I don't work there! I just stop by occasionally to see my father, who runs this shindig!
...
Someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to dance with her when she heard the opening bars to this song. I turned around. Hot damn, she looked so beautiful. She wore a simple white tank top tucked into a pair of navy blue high-waisted shorts. Her hair was loosely curled, with some hair pulled back and fastened with a silver barrette. Riley Matthews, I was kind of waiting for the guest of honor. She wants to dance with me?
I, of course, accepted. She grabbed my hand, and I spun her around so her back faced me. I gripped her waist by the sides, and we were practically dirty dancing from there. She loved it. While we rolled our hips in time with another, I was imagining myself as the star in a music video. I was Usher, and she, Nicki. In the video, Maya and Smackle were my other groupies. I mean, I can't just half-ass my way through the first verse.
"If you're comin' with me, really comin' with me, you go get some girls and bring 'em to me."
If my imagination serves me right, my Usher character and Riley's Nicki character were just as much head over heels lusting over each other as reality-Riley and I were. Also, imaginary-Maya and Smackle crumped, twerked, and flexed on me in front of the imaginary-Riley. My imagination ran wild as I mouthed the words close to a whisper.
"I'm about to have a ménage with these here ladies, looking little freaks at the bar who like fucking with a star, I told her."
It also helps that what I'm doing is working for Riley. I take it that Riley's liking where I'm going with this if I'm breathing on her neck right. She kept gyrating her hips to the rhythm against my own hips. I tried so hard not to spring an erection. Why I gotta keep losing? She used a free hand to grab onto my chin, bringing my face closer hers. Our lips were almost touching. Oh, the sexual tension I'm feeling right now. How do I get rid of this sexual tension?!
The only thing I could do was to roll my own hips with hers, so our bodies fit like missing pieces of a puzzle. I felt my upper lip sweating. Then she pulled me in for a kiss as we both closed our eyes. Oh god, why did she do that? Was she caught up in the moment? She's just so sultry. So sexy. I can't complain. Our lips entwined with one another. As I inhaled during the kiss, I could smell her perfume. Very floral. Her unpigmented lips were soft and tasted like black cherries. I missed her kisses. It was perfect.
Perhaps, a little too perfect.
At the fade-out of the song, she broke the kiss, turned to face me, and said into my ear, "Save me a dance for the last song. It's really important."
As Riley walked away, I wondered why she fled so fast. Nerves? That time? A secret?
...
"Gasolina" played over the loudspeaker. Maya walked up and asked me to grind with her. She lives for this kind of dancing with me. Then again, she'll grind with anybody. I don't understand what's so fun about that.
"Por favor?" she asked, and my hand naturally rose up.
She took my hand, turned herself around with her back facing me, and guided my hand to her bony hips. She also reached for my own ass and pushed my hips toward hers. As we were in full swing, our little freak dance soon turned into twerking when the blonde leaned forward, bouncing her bubbly ass against my crotch. God damn it, Maya! I had to shift my focus to the music and lyrics to avoid pitching a tent. I saw her head turn right, trying to look at me. She made a face of having a good time and smiling at every "awkward" stare that we caught from each other. Just the fact that she was having a good time, as was I, put a smile on my face. A smile of satisfaction, that is. Makes me think she's living for the moment, which is bad.
However, it didn't turn me on as much as Riley did tonight. Sorry, Maya.
...
Since I had been tasked to close out the party with a final song, I walked up to the DJ booth and took the mic from him.
"Thank you for your presence at this, the Dirty Deeds New Editor release party. Tonight, we'll close out with a slow dance per the guest of honor's request. Thank you," I bowed, "I am Farkle!" I raised my free arm gloriously, "Goodnight!" Mic-drop.
I walked off the stage and saw Riley. I promised her that I'd dance the last song with her. Once again, I took her hand and led her back onto the dance floor. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and mine wrapped around her waist as we held each other closely. This is her favorite song. Favorite color. Favorite weather. My favorite girl.
"I never meant to cause you any sorrow. I never meant to cause you any pain."
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Remember when I said that I thought your picture was perfect?" Riley asked in return.
"Yes..." I was anxious to see where this was going.
"I had a revelation. I know you'd do anything for me, yet you won't do everything I say, and that's okay with me. I've always wanted loyalty in my relationships. You're the one who knows me best. I don't want to go through what I went through with Lucas. I can't bottle things up anymore. You taught me that. Now that my first issue has flown off the shelves, I feel like I can spill. I want to explode. I'm starting with you, Farkle. I love you. I'd like to see you again, start back up again," she confessed.
So, she does want me back. I don't want to start over.
"Why start over when we can pick up where we left off?"
"It's complicated. I never stopped loving you. When I'm far away from you, I hear that you're with another girl. It pisses me off that you danced with every girl at this party, and that includes Maya! I hate it! Are you using her to make me jealous? Don't get me started on all those girls you let crawl all over you," she raised her voice, getting firmer.
"They're just girls. They think I'm hot, so I just roll with it. No more. If anything happens, I'll need a bulk supply of whiskey," I said. But, I had backtracked in my thoughts a bit, "Or some cabernet sauvignon to forget I ever did anything with them."
She giggled at my alcoholic crack as she avoided my gaze. Oh god, that giggle. My favorite sound in the world. Music to my ears. A musical orgasm, even. I smiled back at her, but she wouldn't look at me. Being shy, much? I didn't want to let her out of my hold, so I spoke.
"I only wanted to see you bathing in the Purple Rain."
"So, what else is new?" I broke the ice again.
"I'm miserable. Stuck," she answered.
Miserable? Riley Matthews is never miserable.
"How so? What happened?" I asked.
"I don't have much needed support from my publisher. Everyone takes my assignments to heart, and Barricklow treats this as a joke," she sighed and looked down at our feet. "This is going to be harder than I thought."
On the verge of lament, Riley had just poured her soul to me. She told me the major downfall about her new position at Dirty Deeds. She just needs the right support system. I'll be there 100% of the way.
"Riley?"
She slowly looked up at me with those brown eyes that make my heart melt every time.
"You can't seem to make up your mind. I think you better close it, and let me guide you to the Purple Rain."
"You know, if you need me, I'm here. You come to me if you need anything. And I, you. Even if it's for a release."
I was soft, yet serious. She listened to me. I just knew it.
"I'm here, too," she said, eyes glossing from her nerves.
Our slow dance turned into a loose embrace. She inched closer to my body and rested her head on my shoulder. Could this be a breaking point in our newfound relationship? I still wasn't sure, and we're not official... are we?
At the climax of the song, I turned her around as she pressed her back against me. Riley's hair smelled like jasmine and vanilla. As I wrapped my arms around her waist, she started singing along to what she calls "the best part of the song." I can't disagree to that. It's just a bunch of "oohs" in the same chorus and chord progressions. I didn't know what else to do except join her in singing. Except, my voice can't hit those high notes anymore. When I didn't sing with her, I kissed her bare shoulder. I then rested my head upon her shoulder until the song went out. We didn't even notice that everyone had left.
"Can I come over to your place? My house is being fumigated, and my duffel is in one of your dad's locker rooms," she said without turning around.
"Absolutely," I said solemnly.
...
Riley and I were arm-in-arm all the way down to the locker room once the party was over. I unlocked and opened the door, gesturing her to go in and grab her duffel. I then shut the door because I needed to make an important phone call.
(excerpt from Dr. Smackle's Boys)
Change can be a good thing, but sometimes it's not.
"You are a royal fuck-up."
"No, you're the fuck-up, Connie."
My tape player cannot comprehend the two bickering comedians. With my Asperger's Syndrome, it was super hard to separate one voice from the other. That's why I initially hid under my desk with my candy bowl until I heard something important that changed the direction of my therapy sessions with them. My brain was going into overdrive, so I shut off the tape player and threw it towards the wall. I then massaged my temples to alleviate the tension.
As I typed my notes onto my computer, I have come to a revelation that Connie and Dominic will continue to use me (very much to my chagrin), but if it puts more money in my account, then so be it. It sounds so wrong, but until they see the roots of their faults, I'll be rolling in it! They probably won't see the roots of their faults, even if I must explain it to them constantly. I'll give them until the end of February. That oughta shake things up.
Bzzz!
I looked on the screen of my phone to see Farkle, calling me. I swiped right and answered...
"Former dearest, what troubles you at this time of night?"
"Do you know of a group of girls who party with Connie Haley?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"Rolanda Heiferschmidt is thinking about asking me out. Rolanda is one of Connie Haley's best friends. Do you think I can get more information about Connie, since you won't?"
"Why are you asking me, Farkle? Shouldn't you be asking Riley if you can get darker secrets from Connie Haley since I'm neither legally allowed nor obliged?" I countered with awareness. "Rolanda Heiferschmidt is just an intern at your dad's work. It should stay that way."
"Riley is jealous of those girls. They were all over me at the party tonight until Riley showed up. Riley won't want to hear anything from them unless I'm the one dishing the dirt," Farkle rambled on. "Rolanda confided in me, Isadora! She knows I'll keep a secret, but I can't keep a secret to save my own life."
"True," I replied.
"I don't want to use her, Smackle. This is where I'm torn," Farkle groaned.
"Tell you what. Come see me Thursday. I have the day off, but I'll always make room for you, honey-buckets," I slipped. Curses.
I felt my face cringe when I called Farkle honey-buckets. Maybe it was me smiling inside, or maybe I still have feelings for him, but I'm happier and more content with him as a friend and challenger than a significant other.
"I miss it when you call me that," Farkle said after a long pause.
"Me, too, Farkle. Me, too," I murmured.
I pressed the red circle on my screen to hang up. I then looked at the screen before letting out a frustrating curse.
DAAAAAMN!
(and now, we return to Dirty Deeds)
I am stuck. Riley's the only girl I can talk to about my situation with Rolanda. Smackle won't help until Thursday. I don't see the interns again until Friday. It was Saturday going on Sunday, and I had just wrapped up the party I threw for Riley. Riley told me she wanted to be with me again. So, I just told her I'll think about it because I don't even know what I'm ready for anymore. I know she loves me. I just know, but what about me? Do I love Riley?
You motherfucking bet I do.
I opened the door to my house and let Riley inside. She walked in as I followed her and shut the door. The brunette dropped her bag by my couch and made a beeline for my bedroom. I guess she didn't bring any sleepwear for the night. That's okay. She's always looked beautiful, even in my clothes. As she walked towards my dresser drawer, she took her shoes off and stripped herself of her denim shorts and white tank top. Her undergarments matched her skin tone. She took off her strapless bra, leaving her in her flesh-colored hipsters. She then searched my drawer for a shirt. I didn't realize she exited my room when she donned my old Abigail Adams baseball shirt. That was almost ten years ago.
"Abigail Adams. Your dad still teach there?"
"Of course, he does. Absolutely."
"Why my baseball shirt?"
"You used Avogadro's number as your last name for a joke, and I thought it was the most adorable thing you've done. Look. See?" she turned around.
And there it was, vinyl still intact after all these years. Across the upper back read in blue, basic typeface: 6.0221409e23. My uniform number was 8, a reference to my birth month, but Avogadro's number as my last name was funnier. I wanted the fans to know that science always came first in my life.
Riley walked over to the TV and turned it on, wanting to watch a movie. I'm guessing she doesn't want to do anything naughty tonight, and I don't blame her. She's bitter about the girls who danced with me. I'm equally bitter because of my unawareness that Riley and I were together-together. Anyway, I walked to my kitchenette to find a bag of popcorn in my snack cabinet. I stuck the bag in the microwave and timed it as it cooked. Riley looked at me in awe. I don't know why she's amazed at everything I do. She must be happy to be with me for one night.
When the popcorn finished, I emptied the bag into a large midnight blue bowl and carried the bowl to the couch. I took a seat next to Riley, and she snuggled into my body. On the television was a black and white motion picture about a has-been actress trying to find fame again. As the movie drug on, and we fell asleep on the couch underneath a throw blanket, I could've sworn I heard something sounding sexy from Riley.
"Okay, Mr. Minkus. I'm ready for my closeup."