As I wake to the blare of my alarm clock, I guess it’s still called that even though it was more of a meditation on the bare white ceiling than any sleep, I pull the letter out from underneath Zoë’s pillow and read it again, for the hundredth time.
My dearest Cub,
I came home from work today and the children along my street were running towards the Ice Cream Truck that was parked, to my dismay, in front of my house. Thinking, "damn bastard!" I drove around - cautious not to hit any children yearning for ice cream - turned the corner and parked in the garage. As I stepped from the car, a slight remembrance of our rendezvous serenaded by one such truck made me grin.
But as the sound of the garage door closing faded away, the music from the truck tickled my ears. Instantly, a barrage of thoughts of you, your smell, your taste washed over me, making me flush as my whole body tingled. Within seconds, my panties were soaked through as my still swollen pussy pulsed from your touch.
I am Pavlov's horny cat. Rowr.
Your favorite Pussy,
Zoë
Vaguely, I’m aware of a ringing sound from the kitchen cum living room divided only by a frail curtain from the library cum bedroom cum computer room where I’m sleeping. Sitting up, I push the tendrils of my fading blue hair from my eyes and listen to the message.
“Hey, it’zzz Zert and Zoë, and we’re catching zzzome ZZZZZs,” the two distinct voices dissolve into a puddle of snickers with only Zoë recovering, “zzzzo leave uzzzz a mezzzage, yezzz leave it here pleazzzz!!!” The left corner of my mouth jerks as if being yanked by a hook. It hadn’t been MY idea to have such a ridiculous message. It always use to tickle me whenever I hear it, now it just makes me twitch. And she says I’m the ridiculous one.
“Zert?” The voice speaking into the machine wanders from one room to the other and into my cringing ears, “Zert, if you’re there, please pick up.” I climb out of bed and stumble to the machine. “We need to talk. This is getting ridiculous.” Again, that word. “It’s been two weeks and I feel like...”
Pop! Just one button on the machine to disconnect the caller and erase the message. And I so use to hate that machine. The phone rings again almost immediately, so I unhook it.
Today, I work. That’s why the alarm had been set. I’ve been sleeping for the past three days, or at least lying in bed that whole time. Not sick as I’ve claimed to friends and family, just utterly depressed, mostly due to the letter I found after she had left. Zoë claimed it was old, but refused to tell me who the Cub was, as if I had to guess, saying I was just being ridiculous. Normally, I’d believe her and let it go. But the paper the letter was written on was from the stationary I gave her for our first anniversary.
Grabbing a towel from off the end of the large metal framed bed, I step into the tiniest of all the rooms in this cramped apartment. Snapping on the light, the electricity fades. Great, there’s nothing I enjoy worse then showering in the dark. I shower quickly, not even waiting for the water to warm up.
Without Zoë there to double check my choice of clothes, I feel a bit nervous about deciding what to wear. “It’s just more proof that I have become too dependent on her,” I announce to Ducky and Puppy, the orange calico and snow-gray cats that have joined me and are lounging disinterestedly on the bed. The cats watch lazily as I shuffle through my wardrobe. Zoë use to put together work appropriate outfits for me and hang them up in the closet. When she first left, I had painstakingly tried to maintain this level of what she called professionalism. But it really wasn’t my style and after I found the letter and had done several loads of laundry, I realized that I wasn’t going to do that anymore. Especially not after she made it very clear that she considered me to be utterly ridiculous. My mouth curves up in a sardonic smile at the thought of how Zoë reacted my previous selections for work.
“Sweetheart, it isn’t that you have no style,” she said, lying back on our bed to stare up at the ceiling so she wouldn’t have to look at me in in what she called a monstrosity of an outfit, even though I thought it looked very Jackie O. “It’s just that your sense of it is, well, all wrong.” Then she’d get up and select some simple kakis or slacks to go with my blouse, get rid of my antique pillbox hat and switch my three inch heels for some dull black platforms or brown sandals. I often wear outfits to the bookstore that are way too dressy for a sales job. I know that, but I like to dress up, even if it’s just a part-time job until I build up my clientele as a talent agent. Then there’s also the fact that I’m kind of colorblind, or so I’ve been told. And I’m not colorblind in any normal sense either, I just have a fascination with wearing entire outfits that are all the same color. But I’ve been told I see all hues the same. As Zoë is so fond of pointing out, I often look like a piece of modern art. Zoë always picks out outfits that are not all the same color and almost always has me wearing either slacks or kakis. I did notice that once she started doing this for me, customers were no longer doing a double-take as they asked for assistance and that my snickering coworkers no longer asked if the electricity had been cut or if I merely preferred dressing in the dark.
The whirr within the walls tells me that the electricity has returned. I flip on the light switch and notice that the two cats have fallen asleep. I watch them jealously as my nude silhouette creates a shadow for them to slumber in. I reach down to run a hand along the feline fur, one cat melding into the other. Ducky quacks weakly as Puppy burps a bark; the reason they were named thus. After staring into my closet for nearly fifteen minutes, I grab my once favorite outfit and dress quickly, trying to not hear Zoë’s reprimanding words in my head.
The bookstore is a monotonous drone of customers, books, orders, mis-orders, annoyed customers and shelving; lots and lots of shelving. But somehow, I survive. There are only a few questions from coworkers about my bedraggled state and unusual dress. But I shrug it off, then hurry to another mind numbing task before any other questions can be thought up. At one point, I walk into the back office and feel the air suck silent as plastered smiles try to hide the fact that everyone was just talking about me. After that, I avoid going back there until it’s time to clock out.
Dragging into my apartment, I throw myself onto my bed and actually sleep instead of lying awake reliving the fight we had the night she left. But I dream about the first time we met.
It had been my roommate at the time, Andrew’s, birthday. Even though I was deeply entrenched in thesis material, I had left my room to party with the rest of our guests. There had been a keg, which I had a few cups from, never one to be picky about alcohol. But most of Andrew’s friends were more interested in the ‘shrooms and pot that he was sharing in celebration. It wasn’t surprising since they’re all a bunch of pot heads, but neither the pot nor the mushrooms held any appeal for me and the smoke was getting to my sinuses and making me sleepy. Saying happy birthday to Andrew, I slunked off to bed.
As I undressed, I happened to look at my lunar calendar and saw that it was a full moon and I hadn’t done a ritual or anything. Quickly throwing on my black kimono, I gathered some rudimentary materials from my alter that doubles as a bed stand. I got a candle, a cup of water, a salt shaker (it wasn’t sea salt, but it works just as well), a stick of jasmine incense and my Athame. I already had a lighter in my pocket. On my way down the hall from my room, through the living room and kitchen trying to sneak quietly past the partiers, I stopped and grab a cup of beer and a piece of cake. Nothing like actual cake and ale! Feeling exalted and a bit tipsy, I hummed my way out the back door.
Out in the yard, I was annoyed to find every bit of our tiny bit of land occupied by either couples making out or some moron peeing or vomiting. I stood and stared at the moon for a few minutes, trying to decide if I should go out to the larger area of the yard shared by all the apartments, but then decided it would just be better to do the ritual in my room.
Back inside, I see Andrew down the hall making out with some girl I don’t know. I giggle as I hear him gasp, “your not wearing a bra!” as they slam up against his bedroom door. She’s pulling on his dreadlocks and nibbling at his neck as I go into my room across the hall. I hear someone shout from behind the door they’re slamming against, “Get your own room!” To which Andrew, a large bear of a black man with the heart of seven year old girl whines, “but this is my room, motha fucker!” To which the voice responded, “like I care, shit sucker!”
I close my door and open the window by my bed. The air from outside is fresher than the stuffy air of my room. I clear a spot on my forever messy floor, and light four candles as I call on each of the directions. I cast a circle with my Athame and do a very basic ritual, just calling for good things and to do well on my thesis and stuff. As I open the circle, eating my piece of cake, tossing a bit out the window for the earth, and doing the same with the beer, I hear a slam against my door. I ignore it, sitting inside the open circle and shuffling my Witches Tarot deck. Creeeeeee-crash! Fuckers broke my door in! I jerk as Andrew and the girl tumble into my room. The Fool card falls out of my hand as I stare into the girl’s seaweed eyes.
Several hours later, I wake to find two pathetic faces at the end of the bed singing a desperate tune of hunger. “Shit kids, I’m so sorry,” my voices is gravely as I unravel myself from my twisted slumber and climb out of bed. Stretching out the kinks, I hurry to the cabinet and pull out the kitty nibbles. Pouring their dinner, I find myself yawning, more tired now than when I originally went to bed. The cats wait until I’ve got my back turned to put away their food before even approaching the dishes. Grinning, I shake my head. Cats never cease to amaze me. I grew up with dogs, so this waiting and inspecting the food before nibbling delicately is so opposite from the way a hound will dive in before you’ve even finished pouring the food. Zoë says she had a cat that was just like a dog, but I have my doubts. A dog’ll lick your face gratefully when done, quickly forget any misconduct on your part.
I hurry back to my room, flop onto the bed and write the dream down in the journal I keep on my night stand before I forget it. As always, there are differences in my dream than with what actually happened that night. This is the second time my door crashed in and the only time I dropped the Fool instead of the Hanged Man. In real life, I hadn’t even gotten my tarot cards out before they came tumbling through my door that I had opened to air out my room. The Fool, I know, is about beginning a journey and naively or over optimistically not seeing the possible calamity ahead. I take this as a caution and an optimistic turn from the Hanged Man who represents a state of waiting for knowledge and wisdom. My stomach growls as I set my pen and journal down.
After setting the kettle on the stove, I check to see what’s in the fridge. Once again, I’m reminded of how much Zoë contributes, or rather contributed, to my life on a daily basis. We both kind of hate shopping, but Zoë’s always such a whiz at it. She never gets lost down the aisles and aisles of strange cans and tempting produce. She never ends up purchasing several items she doesn’t even remember taking off the shelves, much less knowing what she will do with them when she gets home. She buys what she needs and gets out of there, lickety-split. She never has my problems of distraction. Her “running to the store” is a believable sprint while mine tends to mimic a marathon.
“Screw it,” I mutter to my ignoring feline companions, “I’ll just order some pizza.” Picking up the phone reminds me that I never rehooked it last night. Upon connection, it rings. Instinctually, I answer it.
“Oh Zertully, I am so glad you’re there! I've been trying and trying all day. Your answering machine didn’t even pick up. I called the operator, but he said the phone lines weren’t down.”
“Hi Mom.”
“Are you all right, hon?”
“Yeah. I just disconnected the phone last night ‘cause it woke me up every time it rang. I guess I forgot to plug it back in.”
“And you couldn’t just turn off the ringer and mute the answering machine? What if there was an emergency?” A low sigh enters the phone lines as I hear my mother press her lips together and shake her coifed hair. “No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t call to be a nag.”
“’s okay, Mom. I meant to reconnect it before I left for work. Guess I forgot. So, what’s goin’ on?”
“Zoë called.”
“Oh,” the floor begins to wobble beneath me as I make my way to a wall. Sliding down, I sit hard on the floor. Ducky, always the first to forget my transgressions, is immediately purring in my lap. The phone is vibrating against my cheek. I look down at the hand stroking the happy cat and find it shaking too.
“Hon?”
“Yeah?”
I hear my mother swallow. A quick reprimand, like the whole phone thing, is more her way of showing her concern. Confrontation is not her forté. She usually lets me go to my dad with my problems. It’s not like her to pry. Whatever Zoë told her must have been pretty bad, though I can’t imagine what it could be since she’s the one who fucked me over, not the other way around. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” my voice sounds foreign and the word feels harsh, but I just can’t help it. There’s nothing to talk about and I’m not about to talk to her about what there isn’t to talk about.
“Are you sure?” Her voice is dry and squeaky, scratching along the unfamiliar territory of meddling mother.
“Yes,” the hiss at the end sounds vicious.
“I think you need to talk,” the determined tone gives signs of grinding teeth, a trait my mother and I share, along with stiff neck muscles, “look, I’ll come over and take you out to dinner.”
“I just ordered pizza,” the lie slips out. “Besides,” I breathe, softening my tone, “I’ve been sick and I don’t want you to catch what I have. I just can’t leave the house right now.” My mother’s sigh of defeat draws a taste of pureed vomit and cat piss from the back of my throat to sit sour on my tongue. I hadn’t been sick and she could tell. I swallow, “Look Mom, I’ve really got to go.”
“Okay hon, but if you need anything...”
“I’ll call, I promise,” the taste is in my nostrils, making it difficult to breathe.
“Right,” I can almost hear tears in that one word.
“How ‘bout I take a rain check on that dinner? I mean, I have nothing planned for the weekend and I should be well by then.”
A sound of papers shuffling accompanies my Mom’s cheerier reply, “A rain check sounds wonderful, but this weekend’s no good. My next available opening is,” pages flip as she tries to schedule a dinner with her grown daughter into her always busy life. Today must have had a cancellation. I should have taken advantage of it. I won’t see her before summer the way she schedules her life. “How about three weeks from Wednesday?”
“Sounds great, Mom,” it’s now my turn to sigh and feel once again like I’ll never fit into her life, no matter how much we try to work towards a more adult relationship.
“Good. Okay, your penciled in and I’ll have Sonya call you tomorrow if there’s anything I missed.”
“Great,” I wonder if she hears any of the sarcasm in my voice.
“Love ya!” The phone goes dead in my hand. I stare at it, then clearing my thoughts, I hit the speed dial for the Pizza, Pizza! The other line beeps just as I’m completing my order. I confirm what the broken voice teenager reads back to me then switch over, ready for my Mom to cancel plans and take the rain check.
“Zert?”
The phone flies through the air as soon as I hear Zoë’s voice. Rising to shaky legs, I hear her bleating, “Hello, hello?” as I turn the phone off. My breath is shallow and quick as I carry the receiver to it’s cradle, holding it as if it could contaminate me. It rings again just as I set it down, causing me to jump back.
“Hey, it’zzz Zert and Zoë, and we’re catching zzzome ZZZZZs, zzzzo leave uzzzz a mezzzage, yezzz leave it here pleazzzz!!!”
“Zert, I know you’re there. Please, just pick up. I have so much I need to explain. Why can’t you just give me a chance? I can’t help that I’m bi and like boys too. It’s not like Andrew and I planned it.” At least she’s finally admitting that it’s Andrew. “Zert, I really need you. Damnit Zert...”
Her voice fades as I press the volume button. A coldness surprises my cheek as my hand instinctually wipes the tear away. A purr draws my attention to the warmth wrapping itself through my legs. Picking up Ducky, I bury my face in the soft fur.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I look into Ducky’s eyes. “She still thinks I’m upset about what she did,” I shake my head, and stroke the cat, “I know she’s bi. Hell, she almost dated Andrew. But I’m fuckin’ Pagan and polyamorous. If she hadn’t insisted on monogamy, this would never have even been a problem. But behind my back and then she fuckin’ lies about it? If we had talked about it, I wouldn’t care.” Laying back on the bed I cradle the cat closer to me. Puppy hops onto the bed and nuzzles my ear. “I wouldn’t care,” I mutter as my eyelids feel heavier.
A ringing sound draws me out of a light slumber and I lurch my way over to the door. “Who is it?”
“Pizza, Pizza! Come-on lady, I ain’t got all day. I’s about to take off. I’ve been here for about ten minutes!”
Groggily, I unlatch the door to the impatient delivery boy. Excuse me, I think looking at the figure standing at my door, not delivery boy, delivery girl.
“Your total is fifteen oh five,” an impish grin touches the lips of the hot punk girl as she lowers the receipt. Even in my half asleep state, I’m aware that she’s checking me out. I raise an eyebrow, causing her dusky cheeks to flush. “Sorry. Um, did ya just wake up?”
I nod, fumbling for the money I had crammed in my sweats. I pull out a twenty. She takes it, handing me the pizza. She makes slow work of pulling a gaudy green change pouch out from underneath her arm and getting a small key out of one of her pockets. Her mirthful eyes are on me the entire time. I just stand there, staring. She has black hair with red tips in two cute pony tails on either side of her head. The tendrils of a tattoo sneak past the collar of her button up red Pizza, Pizza! shirt while ink climbs out of the short sleeves in a swirl of color and wild designs. Her eyes are a lighter shade of green than Zoë’s, but her dark skin make those eyes pop out due to her complexion. The shower of freckles that sprinkle her nose and cheeks is almost invisible.
I tilt my head to lean it against the doorjamb as I watch her without realizing that she’s waiting for me to offer her a tip. Her grin starts to slip as she has the pouch unlocked and unzipped and is pulling out my change. I realize that she has been talking the entire time about how you can’t be too careful and how other deliverers have gotten robbed and how she has only been robbed once, knock on wood (at which point she knocked on the doorjamb right by my head causing me to jerk my head up) and how she chased the thief for three blocks before he jumped into a car and how other girls disguise themselves as boys but she won’t stoop to that level even though she knows that a delivery girl on a bike is a prime target (she knocks again) but she won’t be intimidated into being something she’s not and my change is four ninety-five.
Smiling, I nod and take the money. Her face falls and her shoulders slump, reminding me of a basset hound I once had. Closing the door, I carry the pizza into the little kitchenette. The garlic bread I ordered rests neatly on the top of the pizza box. Opening the foil, a cloud of buttery garlic warmth cascades over my face. Delicious pleasure cradles me as I take my first bite. I really hope they pay that girl well. My jaw drops, barely keeping the piece of bread in my mouth. Rushing over to the window, my hand still clutching my change, I almost break it by forcing it open so quick. Popping out the screen, I thrust my head out and see her just coming out of the building.
“Miss!” She walks over and starts unlocking her bike, not hearing me. “Hey, Pizza, Pizza! chic!” She turns and looks up at me.
“Yeah? Did I forget something?”
“No!” I grab Puppy just as she is about to spring from our second story window, “I did!” But I’m not so lucky with Ducky who catapults himself from the ledge. Squealing, I reach out my other arm, but he’s just beyond my grasp. He lands in the outstretched arms of my delivery girl.
Giggling, she holds up the calico cat, “this yours?”
“Now I owe you a double tip!” My shout is greeted with laughter as she grapples with Ducky. “Hold on, I’ll be right down.” Setting Puppy on the floor, I pop the screen back in and close the window.
“He’s cute,” the mirth in her eyes is back as I emerge from the apartment. She hands me Ducky as I place a crumpled bill in her hand. Looking at it, her eyes widen. “This is ten dollars. Your total was only fifteen oh five.”
“I know,” feeling the giggly bubbles of cutesy attraction begin to form in my belly, “but you caught my cat. That’s above and beyond the call of a Delivery, um, person.”
Her smile widens, “I’ve only got two more deliveries, you, maybe wanna hang out when I’m off?”
My smile falls, “I’ve gotta girlfriend,” I blurt out. I feel my cheeks go as red as the tips of her hair.
“I didn’t mean... I’m sorry,” she hurriedly gets on her bike, “stupid,” I hear her mutter as she’s about to peddle away.
“Wait,” I say, reaching out and touching her shoulder. “I didn’t mean that.”
Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “didn’t mean what?”
“I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did. I’d really like if you stopped by after your deliveries.”
Her hand hit her hip as she eyes me suspiciously, “but you have a girlfriend.”
I can feel my cheeks get hotter, “not really.”
“So, you had a girlfriend?” I nod, feeling foolish. “Listen,” she sighs, “I think you’re cute and your cat’s adorable, but I’m not a rebound chic. If I stop by and all I get is static about this ex of yours, I’m so out of here. Are we cool?” I nod, holding Ducky in the crook of my arm. She puts her hand on my other arm and grins, “see ya soon.” She starts to peddle away, but skids to a halt and flips around. “Hey, I didn’t get your name.”
“It’s Zertully,” I shout, “what’s yours?”
“Lana.” Then she flips her bike around and peddles away. I lightly ascend the steps back up to my apartment. That was weird, I think grinning, as I open the door. I catch a glimpse of Puppy as she hops off the counter with a piece of garlic bread dangling from her mouth. Setting Ducky down to immediately pursues, I decide to let them have the piece of bread. A bit of garlic won’t hurt them. Grabbing a soda from the cabinet, I glance over at the answering machine. A red ‘F’ flashes at me. Good, that means Zoë won’t be able to leave any more messages. Settling down in the living room, I pop in a movie and I eat the pizza while I wait for Lana.
