Miranda July - The First Bad Man

AS IT TURNED OUT, KATE’Smother’s sister was a party planner with a catering crew.

“It’s a real job,” Clee said, “not like Ralphs. It’s a career.”

“So she’s Kate’s aunt?”

Jack erupted loudly in his diaper.

“It’s her mother’s sister. My dream is to learn everything and then start my own company.”

“A party-planning company?”

“Not necessarily, but maybe. That’s one idea. Rachel who’s on the crew is going to start a company that does popcorn in flavors. She already has all the popcorn. It’s in her room.”

“Do you want to do it?” I put Jack in her arms.

“What?”

“Change him.”

When it had been eight weeks and seven days I shaved again and put on the curtains. Because if you didn’t count the first week, which she probably didn’t, then this would be the last night of the eighth week.

After that night I didn’t shave again.

FOR THE CATERING EVENTS SHEhad to wear a white tuxedo shirt and a caterer’s black bow tie. She looked incredible, of course; that’s why she’d been hired. The first night she got home at two A.M.

“They made such a mess — I’ve been cleaning for hours,” she moaned.

She noisily unloaded a paper bag full of half-drunk bottles of champagne and cupcakes and a stack of napkins with ZAC & KIM printed on them.

“Shhh.” I pointed furiously at the baby monitor. It had taken four laps around the block to get him to sleep.

She dropped the empty paper bag like a hot potato.

“Okay, I have to say something.”

Her face was strange and serious. My stomach dropped. She was breaking up with me.

“When I tell you things? You don’t always seem very interested. Like, you don’t ask questions and that makes me feel like you don’t care. Don’t smile. Why are you smiling?”

“I’m sorry. I am interested. What wasn’t I interested in?”

“Well, and this is just one example off the top of my head, when I was telling you about Rachel’s flavored popcorn company that she’s gonna have? You didn’t ask anything about that.”

“Right, I see what you’re saying. I think maybe in that one particular case you gave a very complete picture so there weren’t any questions left to ask.”

“I can think of a question.”

“What?”

“What flavors? That would be the first question that an actually interested person would ask.”

“Okay. You’re right.”

She shifted, waiting.

“What flavors?”

“See, that’s the whole thing: papaya, milk, chocolate milk, gum — all stuff like that. Have you ever had gum popcorn?”

“No. I’ve had gum and I’ve had popcorn, but not—”

“Not as one thing.”

“Never as one thing.”

Two A.M. was early. Sometimes the parties ended at three and she cleaned until five. Once she and Rachel had to drive a marble podium to Orange County at four in the morning so Kate’s mother’s sister wouldn’t have to pay the rental fee for another day. Sometimes she was drunk when she got home, which was just part of the job.

“Because there’s so many leftover beverages,” she slurred.

She unbuttoned her tuxedo shirt and pumped out the alcoholic milk. Hutz-pa, hutz-pa, hutz-pa. I poured it down the drain and she gave me a peck. Then another, longer kiss that tasted funny.

She watched my face. “Tastes like tequila?”

I nodded.

“You like it?”

“I’m not a big drinker.”

“Well, we gotta get you drunk sometime, lady.”

Lady wasn’t really one of her names for me; it made me feel old. She put her hand on my hip.

“Where’s that dress?”

“What dress?”

She made a sour face, one of her old mean faces.

“Never mind.”

The TV came on; I went into the bedroom and shut the door. Anytime I was alone now I dropped into a stunned stupor, holding my forearms and trying to locate the old me in this new life. Usually I didn’t get very far — Jack cried and I streamed into motion, forgetting myself again. If he didn’t cry my thoughts became increasingly curly and frantic, which was what was happening now. I realized the dress she meant.

She blushed when she saw me. Her eyes locked onto the pennies in my shoes and slowly crawled up the length of the corduroy dress, button by button. When she got to my face she stepped back and took in the whole picture. Her face was stricken, almost pained. She ran her hand through her bangs and wiped her palms on her sweatpants a couple of times. I had never been looked at this way before, like a fantasy come to life.

She stood up and bowed her head, kissing me on the neck just above the high collar. The way she pushed me down was rough. Not like before, but a little bit like before. Which made me tearful — that was us too. She scooted down to my feet, down to the hem. They were difficult buttons, almost slightly too large for the holes. She grappled with each one as if it were the first, never accruing any tricks or unbuttoning techniques. I thought the chances were very slim that she would make it to my pubic area before Jack cried, if that’s where she was headed. When he didn’t cry I worried he was dead, but since I didn’t want to be the one who found him I stayed on the floor. Her fingers worked their way past my waist. I watched the serious oval of her face as she struggled across my bosom. Her alcoholic breath was quick with anticipation. It was an arousing sound; anyone of any persuasion would have become excited hearing it. When the button under my chin was free, she carefully spread the two sides of the dress apart, like a fish split open. I wasn’t wearing the curtains or anything else. She sat back on her heels, locked her eyes on my watery breasts and began mumbling something under her breath.

“Cheryl can do it alone… I am joining her even though I’m not much help…”

She quickly muttered through the end as if it was the Lord’s Prayer. It was hard to bow in acknowledgment while lying on the floor, but the moment I did she pulled off her sweatpants and thong in one swift motion and lowered herself, lining up her dark blond mound on top of my stubbly gray one. I lifted my head to kiss her; she shut her eyes and cleared her throat while shifting her hips a little to one side. With great concentration she began slowly kneading herself on my pubic bone. It was a lot of weight and I wasn’t sure where to put my hands. They hovered over the lobes of her bare bottom for a while before landing there. I squeezed. There was no denying that this felt good but it was hard to gather the sensation into any kind of momentum. I shut my eyes and Phillip encouraged me, “Think about your thing.” It had been a long time since I’d thought about my thing. I pointed my feet and tried to generate an echo, the fantasy inside the fantasy, but somewhere along the way my eyes had fallen open. Her swollen breasts were pressing against my hard, hairy chest and I felt her actual wet puss sliding against my stiff member. I squeezed her bottom as hard as I could and thrust upward; the sensation was incredible, I had her, I was having her. I thrust again and again until I ejaculated in clenched and thunderous surges, filling her. Clee watched my face contort and sped up, her rubbing becoming embarrassingly pointed. I tried to go with the movement but it was too fast for two people, so I held still like a good post for a dog to scratch against. The smell of her feet rose up in waves, alternating with clean air. I could feel the paunch where Jack used to be. She kept working at it; something was chafing. Finally she shuddered stiffly with a high-pitched moan that almost sounded fake. I knew I would get used to it. Maybe I would even make a sound next time.