What the Hell? - Chapter 2

Chapter 2 of "Exit, Stage Left"

"Hey, ex wife, you home?" I hear, as the door to my apartment opens. 

"In here, ex husband," I call out from the bedroom, surrounded by piles of clothes and one pretty full bag to donate. I hear Billy's giant footsteps though the kitchen. "Whatcha doin''?" he calls out. "Cleaning out my closet," I answer. He comes down the hallway. He walks in, dressed in a football jersey and jogging pants with paint splattered sneakers. "Any more lesbians in there?" He still dresses like he's 20, but like I said earlier, he gets away with anything because of his dimples. "Nope. Hey you, what's up?" I ask, clearing a spot for him to sit. "My Mom said you wanted some mirrors for the set of your next play, she gave me two from her old dining room, so I just put them in your car," he says plopping on the bed, "Jesus, I'm so f*****g full, Deen. I just had a wicked huge steak & cheese hoagie from Fredo's." He rubs his stomach. "Fart free zone, man," I warn him. He sits up, seeing a jersey hanging in my closet. "Is that my Giants jersey?" Billy is the only man I know who's wardrobe changed when he got obsessed with Fantasy Football. Instead of favouring one team, like a normal dude, Billy bought a different team jersey for almost all the players he had on his fantasy team. "You traded Manning that year. I didn't think you cared." He grunts. "Eh, keep it. Probably won't fit me now, anyway. I'm getting fat as hell, right?" I laugh at him, and toss the Giants jersey to him. "Well. Try it on, let's see." 

This is where guys and girls are so goddamn different. If it were a girl sitting there saying, "I'm so fat," I would have to say, "Nooooooo! Don't say that!" and rub her back, and tell her how perfect she is. And this? Oh, this is just going to be fun. Billy takes the jersey, puts it over his head and pulls it on. "It's like stuffing a sausage!" he says, laughing. He wiggles it down, stretching it tightly across his belly, then watches it ride back up. I burst out laughing at him. "You look like Winnie The Pooh! S**t, that's funny! Let me take a picture!" I grab my phone, and Billy poses on the bed like a Playboy centerfold model. "Priceless," I say snapping a picture. "So, what are you guys up to tonight?" I ask, scrolling through the last few pictures I've taken. I casually show him a b**b pic someone sent me and he grins. He peels off the jersey and puts his normal shirt on. "Hannah wants to see a movie but the girl who babysits Danny for us is away for the weekend. So..we'll probably do nothing, like usual. I don't know what's wrong with us, but lately we've been so busy, or so tired, that we do nothing but have dinner, put Danny to bed, turn on the TV and within a half hour, we're asleep on the couch, like an old married couple."  

Capri pants? What the...? Ew. Donate. I stuff those in the bag. "Well, Billy, you are 35 now, and it's time you turn into your father. It's the nature of things. Circle of life, or whatever."

He seems genuinely sad about it, though. "I'm serious, DIna. Why does it seem like when we were together, we were always having fun and stuff all the time? I love Hannah, but I feel like we bring out the 'boring' in each other. Is that a thing? Can that happen?" I sit next to him on the bed. "Billy, we weren't ALWAYS having fun ALL the time. Everything was just new and we were 8 years younger then, AND we didn't have a kid. Your lives ARE busy and you guys probably ARE tired. You're not boring. Hannah's not boring. It's a completely different life than what we had. Don't compare. It's not fair to Hannah. I've told you that before when you said she didn't mop the floors like me."  Billy flops backwards on the bed and sighs, "But we watched porn together and fucked on the computer desk. I don't do that anymore."

I flop backwards, too, sighing, "Neither do I." 

Billy laughs, "You may not do THAT anymore, but you get tons of p***y, so I don't want to hear it. You even have tit pics on your phone. Hannah would NEVER send me a tit pic."  I think about it for a second. "So..send her a dick pic, see what happens. Shake things up a little, Mister. You know what? You go in that bathroom right now and send her a dick pic and sexy text message and I will babysit Danny tonight so you can follow up and have desk sex."  Billy sits up straight. "Nooo. Ya think? What if she gets pissed? No. I can't. Wait. Should I? Really?" I pull on his arm, "Yes. In fact, if you don't, I'm sending that Winnie The Pooh picture to her and you'll never have sex again after she sees it."  He goes into the bathroom and closes the door, giggling like a 14 year old boy. 

My phone beeps with a text message from Holly. "DID YOU HOLD 3 TKTS FOR MRS GLASSMAN FOR 2NITE?" Yes, I held tickets for her. I can't stand texting. I call her instead. She answers quickly. "Hi, I'm sorry I bothered you, I just tried Leslie but she didn't answer and Mrs. Glassman called twice to confirm."  I kick aside clothes, forming a path to my satchel and pull out my notebook. "It's okay. I'm sure I did. I probably didn't enter it in the computer but check my calendar or notes, you'll see an entry."  I wait for her, hear the tapping of the laptop keys.

"Hey, should I jerk off or something? I can't send a picture of my softie, right?" Billy yells out from the bathroom.

"Billy! I'm on the phone!" 

Holly stops typing. "Umm..." 

I recover, "It's totally not what it sounds like. Keep checking." Tappity, tap, tap... 

"Hey, do you have a Victoria Secret magazine or something?" Billy yells out again. 

"Billy! Jesus!" I say, as I walk out of the bedroom and into the hallway. 

"Ok, I found it. Is there anything you want to tell me, Dina?" Holly asks.

"No, trust me, it's not what you think. How's everything going tonight?" I can hear Holly shuffling around in our shared office. "So far, so good. Oh, guess who stopped by to see you? You know that lady we all think has a big crush on you, with the feathered 80's hair? She totally came by to see you!"  I laugh it off. "I think it's YOU she has the crush on." Holly always gets really quiet when I tease her. She says she has a boyfriend, but no one has ever seen him. "Ok, well, enjoy your night off. You'll be in tomorrow, right? They're delivering the salon chairs for 'Steel Magnolias' and Jess is dropping off her dresses for wardrobe." 

I assure her I'll be in and hang up. "Ok, big guy, wrap it up in there," I yell towards my room, "it's become a little weird now."  

Billy comes out into the hallway, following me to the kitchen, holding his phone. "Ok, I did it!" I open the fridge and pull out a leftover Chinese carton. "Now..we wait," I say, picking out a pea pod out of the noodles, and munching it. "I'll pick up Danny at 6-ish? He can spend the night here. I just have to stop by the printers and pick up a box of playbills and then I'll take him out for dinner and we'll rent a movie or something. Can you come get him in the morning, though, because I have to actually be in to work at noon tomorrow?" 

Billy leans against the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone, barely listening. "Yeah, that'll work. You really think Hannah is going to go for this?" 

"I can't believe you don't do this on a regular basis."

"You're awfully confident, Miss Thang."

"I know what I'm doing, Billy. Trust me. You need to recharge your sex life batteries, that's all."

**Bling**

We both look at each other. I hop over to him and lean on his shoulder.

"Come on! What's it say?"

He holds up his phone, "It says, 'Your current balance is $70. Thank you for using AT&T'.." he laughs, "No, no wait- I'm kidding, it says and I quote: 'You are SO on. I'll be ready at 7!' Holy s**t, it worked!"

I smile all smug, "Don't ever doubt me."

He nods like a dumb a*s with a devilish grin.

"Now, get out of here, I have a date of my own to prepare for. Have my man ready at 6."

"Ok, ok, see ya later.." Billy says, barely looking up from his dirty sext exchange. 

As Billy opens the door to leave, my pain in the a*s cat, Jeffrey, decides to come back. He sneaks out of bathroom window every now & then, goes to my neighbours patio, and suns himself for a few hours and then returns when he needs a snack or some attention. This time he had to use the door because I got wise and fixed the screen in the window. He never goes any further than Michelle & Ray's place, but I always get nervous and I've vowed to make him an indoor cat after this last time. I can't count how many times I've been late getting to the theatre because I'd realise he had snuck out. I would have to go get him, bring him home and make sure he's inside so I could close & lock the window. By that time, I'd already be 10 minutes late.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the rock star himself," I say, giving him a pat on the head, "You know, Jeffrey, there is nothing wrong with the sunlight that comes in from the office window right here. I even put a nice, comfy cat bed in there for you. You need to stop bothering Michelle and Ray and stay inside from now on."  I pour some of his food into a bowl as he winds around my legs, meowing, and head butting my hand as I set it down on the floor. He was only 10 weeks old when I got him. Now, he's two and he's grown into a big fluffy tan & black beast. I believe he's part Maine Coon and part linebacker. I found him outside meowing by my trash bin on the very first morning I woke up here after my first night in this apartment. It was symbolic. We were both a little scared, and unsure of things, both needed each other, I convinced myself. He was tiny, but had the most magnificent colours, tan, orange, black and bits of white. I named him "Oliver" like Oliver Twist, and decided he was British. I would say "Hello, My Lord" when he would enter the room or "there's my little Prince!" He would plop down and lick his butt hole. I bought him the best toys and he insisted on playing with the plastic milk rings, or water bottle caps. I bought the fanciest of foods, but they made him super gassy, and he would fart worse than Billy, so he gets plain ol' Iams now. After about 6 months, he was such an obnoxious, fat a*s, that he reminded me of a guy I went to high school with named Jeff Zimmer, who won a pudding snack cup eating contest and puked on the cafeteria aid's shoes. Oliver's personality was not at all British, like I had hoped- all persnickety, sleek, and regal. He didn't want to be brushed, and always made a mess around his food bowl. He was a dude, who probably would scratch his balls, if he had them, and burp like Jeff Zimmer did before he hurled. So, he became Jeffrey. Furthermore, he totally hogs the bed. Yet, I adore him. Some people might say they see a pattern here. Not me.