Fire Down Below Read online

  Duke was squinting with one eye and biting his tongue. “Somewhere—I saw you somewhere.”

  Beth ignored him. “I know. You love numbers and counting. It’s so normal, Johnson.” Her tone was extremely sarcastic. “I just don’t want to catch anything these kinds of people have.”

  She tossed her hair and gave Dove an arrogant stare. Dove hated the way Johnson hung his head. As though Beth was right. The whole restaurant had gone quiet. The little gathering had gotten awkward enough that the other patrons just had to pay attention.

  “Listen, I got a cream at the pharmacy for my vagina.”

  As if the term for genitals could stop time and sound all on its own, the restaurant became as hushed as a library. A pin dropping would have sounded like a gong.

  “My yeasty cooter.” Dove knew her face was as red as the Olive Garden’s signature sauce, but she had to defend this sweet man.

  Beth pretended to gag. “Get up Johnson. We’re leaving.”

  Johnson looked to Dove and tried to say he was sorry with his eyes. The pair of them rose and Beth grabbed her purse. Johnson pulled out his wallet and dropped an overabundance of bills on the table. To get to the exit, Beth had to get past Dove.

  “Move, you skanky thing.” Beth waited, tapping her foot.

  Dove felt the eyes of all the people in the place looking at her. Now they all knew she had genital problems.

  “No. Up yours. You don’t want him to catch anything? Well, how ‘bout I mainline it for you?” Dove couldn’t believe what she did next.

  Inspired by disgusting Duke’s common hand placement, Dove stuffed her hand down the front of her yoga pants. She touched herself. Then, in the most incredible gesture of her life, she touched the end of Beth’s nose with her “infected” hand.

  Beth reacted as if she’d been touched by acid. She grabbed the ice water from the neighboring table and poured it quickly on her face.

  “Johnson! She touched me with her fuckhole! Johnson!” Beth pushed past Dove and Duke. She ran as fast as her dainty legs would carry her.

  Duke busted out laughing so hard he had to squat down. Johnson paused in front of Dove. He looked sad, like he wanted to apologize, but he moved past her and followed Beth out the door. Dove stood quietly, shamed and horrified at herself. She looked at their empty table and tears filled her eyes.

  Duke was wheezing and trying to talk. “You wiped pussy juice on her! Oh… my… crap…” He fell onto his back like a stranded turtle. “That was the stupidest cat fight… ever.” He was having trouble breathing.

  Dove turned and saw an army of iced teas sitting at her table. She couldn’t stay in the restaurant another second more.

  Duke’s laughter threatened to crack the windows of Dove’s little car. “I… can’t… even…” He slapped the dashboard. “I’m… gonna… piss… myself!”

  He curled himself into a ball, his shoulders shaking with silent, deep cackles. Dove ignored him as she drove home.

  How come I thought he didn’t have a girlfriend? The cooler? The handholding? Fuck men and their mixed signals.

  Duke was finally able to sit up, but he couldn’t look at her.

  “You sure we don’t have to stop and register your beaver with the police as a deadly weapon?” He laughed at his own comment.

  Dove parked the car and got out. “Shut it, King Sausage.” She didn’t bother to hold the apartment door for him and clomped as loudly as she could up her stairs.

  While she was unlocking her door, he hollered to her, “It’s okay that I didn’t even get to eat my motherfucking dinner! It was worth it!”

  Dove slammed her door behind her. Steve the Cat was sitting right where Dove had left him. His eyes glowed shiny in the dark until she turned on the light. He didn’t even blink when the room was illuminated.

  Creepy little wacko.

  Dove dropped her purse and went to the kitchen to wash her hands. The implications of her mortification were far reaching.

  Obviously, I can never leave this apartment for the rest of my life.

  She filled the cat’s dish and set it on the floor. He insisted on Iams Senior dog food. The cat trotted over and started his happy purr-eating.

  She stepped out of her heels and collapsed in her computer chair. Despite all her promises to herself, she relived the incident at the restaurant. She blushed all over her body, again.

  I attacked his girlfriend. What the hell was I thinking?

  She turned to the computer out of habit, and soon, Lotsa’s Twitter homepage comforted her. She could never be embarrassed on Twitter. Johnson’s little pill icon was tucked into her replies. She clicked on it to see if he was tweeting, even though he was most likely antibacterial-ing his girlfriend’s face at this very moment.

  What if he’s talking about me?

  His boring page replaced her loud one. He had indeed been twittering. He replied to everyone so sweetly; she tried not to picture his green eyes thinking of how best to hand out medical advice.

  An @Debra_Anastasia was going back and forth with him about some version of a rash and the cream she had picked up at the store.

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @Debra_Anastasia No, please don’t use that cream! It could make your rash worse. I highly suggest letting the doctor have a look.

  Dove clicked on the woman’s home page. She was a dirty porn author, and God knows what evil she was harvesting, but Johnson was treating her politely. He couldn’t even yell weirdness on Twitter.

  The writer replied to him:

  Debra Anastasia (@Debra_Anastasia):

  @06201984M358 Well, thanks so much, baby. How are you doing tonight?

  Dove was dying to know, and she was glad the porn chick was asking the question for her. She loved that she and Johnson were both on Twitter that exact moment.

  One minute went by. Two minutes went by.

  Maybe he’d moved on.

  Four minutes passed, and when Dove refreshed the page, he had responded to porno weirdo.

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @Debra_Anastasia Did you ever have someone stand up for you?

  Dove refreshed again and again. Maybe porn writers didn’t really care how a pharmacist’s night was.

  Debra Anastasia (@Debra_Anastasia):

  @Johnson Pharm on occasion, did you have to be someone’s knight in shining armor?

  Dove could picture this slutty chick using his information to inspire some horrible writing about a chain mail suit with a metal phallic compartment for erections on it.

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @ Debra_Anastasia No. Someone stood up for me. She went out of her comfort zone to do it.

  Dove’s mouth dropped open.

  Could it be me?

  Maybe he was talking about Beth yelling at Dove.

  Debra Anastasia (@Debra_Anastasia):

  @06201984M358 Sounds like a good friend to me. Did you thank her?

  Dove thought she might push her Enter button through the keyboard she was hammering it so hard, over and over.

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @ Debra_Anastasia No. I didn’t. I should’ve. I bought her a cooler earlier in the day. I should have thanked her.

  Dove took a screen shot and printed it immediately.

  It was me! He was talking about me and my cooter hand! Me!

  She hugged the paper to her chest when the printer spit it out at her. She clicked print ten more times and stacked the beautiful words and pictures together.

  @Debra_Anastasia didn’t respond. She was probably masturbating thinking of writing her next sex scene.

  Twitter was quiet as the hour got later. Soon, it was only crickets typing with their tiny little cricket dicks. She decided to tweet since she was flushed and happy from Johnson’s Twitter confession. Having her followers boost her ego would only make her feel better. Steve the Cat came out of his litter box and hopped up on her computer desk. He sat as still as a knickknack. Dove stared back. S
he often had staring contests with Steve the Cat. She’d never caught him blinking. Not once. He easily won this contest as well. Dove composed her tempting tweet.

  Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):

  Sitting here, sucking on a lollipop wishing I had a man to use my lips on instead.

  There were no replies. She tried harder.

  Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):

  Stretching my arms above my head, testing the boundaries of my lace bra. I hope my nipples don’t pop out.

  Nothing. Her Twitterverse was a void. Lotsa let Dove take the reins for a tweet.

  Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):

  He thought I was good. He doesn’t hate me.

  Dove hugged a printout again, and kissed it for good measure. She hit Notifications. There was one.

  From him!

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @Lotsa_Vampersex He’s a lucky man.

  Dove was still hugging the print out. The curser pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Steve the Cat decided to want love, right then. He stepped over Dove’s keyboard and began head-butting her.

  “Get out, Steve, stop. Don’t step on the keyboard. Stop!” She picked him up and put him on the floor.

  His efforts for affection denied, Steve refused to take no for an answer. After a few jumps and returns, he finally huffed away to stare at her from the kitchen. Dove turned her attention back to the keyboard. Her Twitter account had an update she neither approved of nor typed, but it was there nonetheless.

  Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):

  @06201984M358 F U DIE

  “Steve! You flat-headed dingo! You cursed him out!”

  Steve the Cat grimaced in her direction. She was sure he had done it on purpose. She quickly tried to do damage control, but before she could reply, Johnson’s tweet to her appeared.

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @Lotsa_Vampersex I apologize for offending you. I’m going to get off the Twitter now. So sorry.

  She typed so quickly she didn’t think clearly about her words.

  Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):

  @06201984M358 No! My evil pussy was typing. I wrestled the horrible thing off the keyboard!

  There was no taking a tweet back. It laid its ugly, malformed sentiments on her colorful page.

  He had a return tweet for her, obviously intrigued by her apparently dexterous genitalia.

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @Lotsa_Vampersex Typing with your vagina is an amazing feat. You do it quickly.

  Dove shook her head hopelessly. Her horrible luck with this good-looking man had even infected Lotsa. She decided to try to maintain the sexy as best she could.

  Lotsa Vampersex (@Lotsa_Vampersex):

  @06201984M358 I’ve been known to fold my maxi pads into origami swans with my pussy.

  What? That’s not sexy. Dove, step away from the computer and light it on fire. Do it now.

  Dove was afraid of hitting the refresh button.

  Dear God, I’m glad he doesn’t know this is me. I’m flushing my computer down the toilet.

  Finally the curiosity made her want to kill Steve the Cat, and she hit the return button.

  Johnson Pharm (@06201984M358):

  @Lotsa_Vampersex On that amazing note, I’m off to bed. Make sure not to overexert your genitalia. If you do, warm compresses should help.

  Dove took more screen shots and printed out their exchange. She’d either turn it into a big ball and choke herself with it or make an elaborate scrapbook with cutesy puffy stickers out of their words.

  Steve the Cat came out of the litterbox. Again.

  “Dude. I swear you crap just because you’re bored.”

  Dove decided to scoop his litter. If it wasn’t sparkling clean, he had a tendency to make a mess. She envisioned him inside the little hood of the litter playing with his own dookers like they were Play-Doh. She’d had to bathe him on many, near-deadly occasions.

  She shook out an empty Save-Mart bag and thought of Johnson. She had a big cheesy smile on her face as she picked up the scooper. Steve the Cat pushed himself under her armpit and sat in the box. He stared at her like a murderer out of The Godfather.

  “Hey, noodle brains, get out of my damn way.” Dove had to scoop out the litter that framed his cat ass.

  Steve kept flicking his tail in front of the turd or little pee meatball she was aiming for.

  “This is ridiculous. I feel like I’m getting gold from Gringotts! Move your fat ass!”

  Steve closed one eye, created a stench, and made a face. The fetor of his latest offering spanked Dove’s nose with its evil.

  “Seriously? You’re taking a crap right now? With me all up in your grill? Yuck.” Dove tied off the prizes she was able to scoop from the horrible cat’s treasure chest and tossed them in the garbage can.

  This cat is such a jerk. He’s like a feline Duke.

  Dove washed her hands and brushed her teeth. After changing into her favorite flannel pajamas, she settled into bed. Steve the Cat jumped on her bed and eyed the lumps her feet made under the covers like they were a colony of rabid mice. Dove tried not to move. If she so much as twitched, his crazy butt would be biting her toes and back-leg flicking her as hard as he could.

  “Get down! Go! Get!” Dove tried to shoo him without moving her feet.

  She started throwing pillows at him. He took the blows without changing his focus. It was like trying to sleep with a little, hungry shark. Now without the benefit of a pillow, she lay back. The clock glowed the redonkulous time of 5:15 a.m.

  At least I can sleep late in the morning.

  When Shannon pounced on her bed at seven thirty, after letting herself in with her catsitting, for-emergencies-only key, Dove was dragged from a near dead-like sleep. Steve the Cat was startled, as well. He had maintained a vigil on the feet lumps, settling on her chest with his butt inches from Dove’s mouth. As Dove convulsed, Steve the Cat dug his front nails into her breasts.

  She started screaming while slapping at Steve. “My boobs! He’s killing my boobs!”

  Shannon tried to be helpful by whacking Steve in the face, but the cat flattened his ears and dug in with his back claws, as well. Dove pulled off her top and bagged the evil cat inside it. He still had his claws poking out of the fabric like a porcupine dressed as a ghost for Halloween.

  Dove sat topless in front of her friend. They were good friends, but they weren’t that close. Shannon covered her eyes as Dove hunched her shoulders and tried to cover her tits.

  Jesus H. Christ.

  The self-censored Shannon was weighing down the comforter, so Dove couldn’t get enough blanket to put her nipples away. She leaned forward and tucked them behind the small corner of fabric she could reach.

  And then Duke strolled into her bedroom. He had a horrible habit of walking through doors that were left open. He treated the entire apartment building like his own, personal house. He was wearing just his underwear again, but this time, Duke was snacking on a round piece of breakfast sausage. He stood for a moment, staring at the scene in front of him.

  “Hello, ladies. Vanilla lesbianism? Mind if I buff the banana in this chair right here? Cool.” He collapsed in the cutesy chair in front of Dove’s vanity.

  “Sausage and boobs, fantastic. Go at it, ladies, I’ve got enough grease on my hands and chest to lube us all up.”

  Flower waltzed into the scene, walked up to Duke, and grabbed him by the hair. He dropped his sausage, and Steve the Cat crawled out of Dove’s top just in time to steal it.

  Duke cursed. “Shitty fuck. Not the mean one. Douche canoes.”

  She steered him from the room, using his head as a handle, and slammed the door. Shannon handed Dove the afghan from the bottom of the bed, and Dove covered her nudity. The three ladies looked at one another.

  Dove finally found her voice. “Please tell me this is some antibiotic-induced nightmare and I’m not topless in front of my best friends.”

>   Shannon wrinkled her nose. “You have a nice rack, if that counts for anything. Today is the 90% off Christmas sale at Save-Mart! Get dressed quick.”

  Dove watched her friends and silently cursed her stupidity. The Christmas sale was a time-honored tradition with her nimrod friends. It was the pinnacle of weirdness. And it was at Save-Mart. But she wouldn’t run into him, it was way too early for the pharmacy to be open.

  He wouldn’t be there. No way in Hell.

  Dove threw on some sweats and an old T-shirt. While she brushed her teeth, she thought about her bizarre friends that lived in the building.

  Shannon, her early morning pouncer, was a vibrant girl. She was obsessed with the newest “in” thing. Except that her perception on “in” was “off.”

  As soon as the general populace was sick and tired of something, that’s when Shannon would load up on the craze. Currently, Shannon couldn’t get enough of the song “Tik Tok” by Ke$ha. She insisted she brush her teeth with a bottle of alcohol—which wasn’t a great way to maintain oral hygiene on a daily basis, by the fucking way.

  Shannon spent way too much time every day cultivating the perfect ensemble to match her not-quite-current trendsetting ways. She had to have the top down on her convertible and “Tik Tok” blaring, no matter the weather or the length of the car ride. She always wanted to look like she was rolling up to a party. Luckily for Shannon she was a quirky pretty that let her get away with weirdness and avoid being called eccentric.

  Flower was an anomaly. Dove wasn’t sure they were even friends. The only clear proof she had was that every time she was headed somewhere with Shannon, Flower was in the car, looking morose. Flower was the only Goth Dove had ever spent any time at all with. Though she had long hair with blond roots that peeked through from time to time, Flower’s hair was dyed jet black.

  Dove had honestly thought the girl hated her until Shannon cleared it up one day. “Flower makes it a point to speak no more than ten words in a twenty-four hour period.”