Кэндес Бушнелл - Four Blondes

“You think so?" Winnie says.

(She's not even yelling, he thinks. Maybe he is going to get away with this after all.) "I'm going to take a shower," he says. "I think that's a good idea.”

He passes the living room. Clay is sleeping on the couch. Did he fuck Evie? When James had left Tanner's hotel room last night, Clay and Evie were still there. Would they (Clay and Evie) really do that?

Christ. He'd wanted to fuck Evie. For about two seconds. But then he'd started talking to Tanner about that monkey shit. And alpha males. What the hell was he talking about?

(What if he had slept with Evie? Winnie's sister. It would be like Tanner sleeping with Winnie.) He goes into the bedroom. It's clean. And neat. His glasses are on the night table next to the bed, along with his black Braun traveling alarm clock and three old business magazines he keeps meaning to get through. Winnie's shoes are on the floor. The strappy sandals he gave her for her birthday.

Suddenly he feels okay. Maybe he didn't fuck up after all.

When he comes out of the bathroom, he can hear Winnie on the phone. "I'll send him home as soon as he wakes up," she's saying. "Oh God, Veronica. I don't know. I don't give a shit anymore.... I know, but maybe you should try to have the same attitude. Maybe you should go out and fuck someone else.”

“Veronica," Winnie says as James passes by on his way to his little office. He nods. "I don't think we should get involved.”

"Neither do I," Winnie says. "I don't give a shit." James sits down at his desk. He turns on his computer. The phone rings again. Shit, he thinks. What if it's Amber? He didn't give her his number. But she might have Winnie's number.

They work in the same office.

He's just being paranoid. Amber isn't going to say anything. She's not that kind of girl.

He can hear Winnie giggling softly into the kitchen phone. "We definitely have to do it again," she says seductively. He's never heard her use that tone of voice before. "The next time you're in town.

"It's Tanner!" she shouts. Oh.

He picks up the phone. "Hey, man.”

“Hey, man. How you feeling?”

"Rough." (He wants to tell Tanner he got laid. Because he did. He did get laid. But he definitely wouldn't tell Tanner about the girl's vagina. It was enormous. And a little stinky.

He definitely can't do that again.) "I hear you, man," Tanner says.

"Gay's here," James says. "Veronica kicked him out of the house.”

"She'll be begging him to come back in about two hours.”

"She already has," James says. They laugh.

"You heading back to L.A.?" James asks. "Tomorrow morning. I'll see you next time I'm in town.”

James hangs up.

He checks his e-mails. The top one, sent at 5:03 p.m., says, "From Amber 69696969. Re: Alpha Males.”

This can't be happening. Should he delete it or read it?

He'd better read it. Find out how bad the damage is.

Dear James, It was great to meet you. It's so hard to find decent guys. (Don't worry about your wife. I told you, I'm not that kind of girl, and I NEVER go back on my promises. Unlike other people we know.) I really want to talk to you about this idea I have about alpha males. (I think there are alpha females, too, and I'm one of them.) This would be a terrific piece for the magazine. And, I think you should know this, I'm going to proceed with it. Let's meet on Monday at six at the Cafe Grill. My friend Jerry is the bartender and he always gives me free drinks. Big Kiss.

Oh fuck.

Should he respond? What if he does respond and his e-mail goes to the wrong address? What if, somehow, Winnie sees it? (Amber and Winnie work in the same office. E-mails are always getting passed around in offices.) What if he doesn't respond? She might keep sending him e-mails. She might get mad. She might tell Winnie.

He has to be very, very careful here. He has to cover his tracks. (She's crazy, this girl. She's trying to steal his idea. And he's going to have to let her.) "Dear Amber, " he writes. (No, he can't write "Dear Amber. " It sounds too intimate.) Amber: It was nice to meet you today. However, I believe I led you astray. There is no such thing as an alpha male. At least not in human beings. Good luck with your story on monkeys.

He hits the send button.

The phone rings. Again. "Jess!" Winnie says. "What a privilege." (She's such a suck-up, James thinks.) "It was an emergency situation, but I can promise you, it won't happen again.... Oh yes. I love the project.... With the right management, it can be a huge success.... Thank you. Thank you so much, Jess.... My goodness. I promise you, I'll be worth every penny." She hangs up. "James," Winnie says.

He jumps. (Is this how he's going to be from now on? Jumping in terror every time Winnie comes into his office? In terror of what she might find out?) "That was Jess Fakes. The CEO. He's just offered me the job as head of their new Internet site. It pays five hundred thousand a year. With stock options." James says nothing. He's shocked.

"Can't you sound a little more excited? I'm a really big deal now.”

"I am excited," James says. "Can't you tell?" And then Winnie does something she's never done before. She walks over. Puts her hand on his hair. Ruffles it.

"I'm proud of you, too," she says. "You've been working really hard. I'm sure this piece on monkeys is going to be great. Maybe you're right. Maybe it could be a book.”

Winnie yawns. "I'm kind of tired. I'm ordering sushi and then I'm going to bed. Should I order you the usual? California roll?”

"Sure," James says.

This morning, I totally got even with him for coming in at one-twenty-three a.m. When he PROMISED, PROMISED, PROMISED he'd be home by midnight. At the LATEST. It was a test, and he failed. Again. But instead of screaming at him when he got home, I ignored the whole thing but lay awake all night again, feeling like my head was going to explode, which I'm sure it is, one of these days very soon. But if I tell him that, he'll just say, Why don't you take some more pills? Well, why doesn't he stop being such an asshole, and then I wouldn't have to take any more pills. As it is, some days I feel like my legs are made of rubber. If s no wonder I can barely walk across the room to answer the phone.

So this morning, when he got up, I pretended to be asleep. As soon as I heard the water running in the bathroom, I went to my secret stash and snorted a large line of that shitty cocaine that N. got from the bartender at M. Sure enough, in about one minute I felt a huge puke coming on and I ran into the bathroom and vomited several times while he stood there in horror with shaving cream on his face. And when I stood up, I was trembling, and I sort of stumbled back against the wall, wiping my eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I smiled mysteriously and said, "Oh, I'm okay now, I guess. I don't know what came over me.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor," he said.

All he wants is for me to be pregnant. That’s what they all want. They think, once I'm pregnant, mat all the trouble will end and I'll settle down. I'm like Mia Farrow in Rosemary's Baby.

"I'm so sorry I was asleep when you came home. Did you have fun?" I asked. Then I got back into bed, and he came in before he left for that STUPID office, and sure enough he said, "Do you think you're pregnant?”

"Oh, probably not.”

"But you're sick. Do you think you should see Dr.

K. again?”

"ALL I DO ALL DAY IS GO TO DOCTORS," I started to shout, but then I saw that closed-up expression on his face again, so I switched into my sexy voice and said, "It's nothing. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine.”