A Gal's Best Friend

"It's freezing in here! This air feels like when I was stuck in that cargo truck for half a week in December. There's so much air. All this damn air--WHY IS IT SO COLD?--what is that SMELL?"

"WOOOOOAAAAHHHHHHH!!! I'M FALLING!!! I'M FALLING!! OH MY GOD!!" I scream.

"What are you doing? NO! No! NOOOOOOO!! I'm falling now toward a shimmering orb! Tracy--what the hell are you doing?!"

SPLOOSH!

I feel ill.

"Oh my God. It's happening. It's finally happening. Oh my GOD!"

"Who is THAT?"

Neat hair buddy. Somebody watched a Timothy Chalamet movie recently.

"Tracy, you're not serious. Are you serious?" I demand of her, she ignores me, as always.

"Salud," says the man, whose name is apparently Robert.

"Cheers--Salud," says a giggling Tracy.

She's serious. And judging by that goofy little giggle this isn't her first glass tonight.

"You're flushed baby girl! I like that cardigan though, and the milkmakers are fighting like hell to bust out of that top, little heroes. Bless'em."

"I like your hair," Tracy says to Robert.

It would appear you're thirsty in more ways than one.

"Why in the hell is he shaking me like that?!" I yell.

Robert's enormous nostril is hovering above me, "Tracy you harlot, I can't believe this. After six months? You drink me with this guy? This is not special enough of an occasion!"

Robert's moan reverberates through his enormous throat shaking my whole world.

"Hmmmmmmm..."

My orb is vibrating.

"Oh wow, oh Robert--OH--that--that tickles!"

Robert looks up at Tracy all puppy-dog between his hanging locks, "...is it French?"

"French? Bruhhh, I'm from Oakland. Get out of my face with that--France--I'm shaking my damn head if you can't see it--Cynthia you need to punt."

"I don't really know anything about wine," chuckles Robert.

Cynthia adopts a faux-patronizing tone. "Wellllllll, that's a glass of merlot..."

"Oooohhh, is that what this is?", Robert, playing along, "It sounds French."

"Here's a little trivia for ya. The word merlot originates from the French word 'merle' or blackbird--which are dark like the berries that make up merlot," says Tracy.

"A French word, but not a French wine?"

"It originates in France, but they make it in California too. There are certain distinguishing characteristics.."

"Damn right, Oak-Town babyyy!!"

Robert leans in flirtatiously."And what are your distinguishing characteristics?"

Don't tell him about the back mole, Tracy.

"I have eleven toes," she says.

"Right, well. I have to go now," he says.

"I'm kidding!"

"I know, me too," he smiles, sipping me.

Some of me passes across his gargantuan lips toward his towering, cliff-like teeth, funneling forth into and amongst his tongue's tiny microscopic hairs, the ones that tell the brain Wowwwwwww that naan bread is garlic-y and NICE or Oh, so THAT's what an IPA tastes like? No, thanks.

I flow across the surface of his tongue, contacting each of his 10,000 taste buds with grace--your girl gets around--cutting through the canyons of his tongue toward an ever-expanding black void, the pit. My aromatic majesty floats toward his nose in my wake--your girl got effervescence too--completing my flavor's full majesty retro-nasally.

He twirls the glass, and by extension, me. Tracy is clearly into this guy.

Maybe he's not so bad...

_________

This wine sucks, I need a beer. Why do women love wine so much?

She's fun though, she looks a little different from her photos, but not in a bad way. It's just when she smiles mostly.

I have to stop staring at her chest.

_________

"Tracy, that boy cannot stop staring at your necklace line. He's either a jewel thief or a pervert."

"This wine isn't too bad," he says.

Tracy is incredulous. "You hate it, don't you?"

"Yeah," they laugh.

At least he's honest.

"At least you're honest," says Tracy.

"That's the grapevine to any relationship, gotta be true to your squeeze," I say.

Robert fumbles his words a bit. "I try to be. Or I try not to have to try to be, when I can, it's better to do it naturally than to force it, I sound like a moron," he says, laughing.

"Well..a pleasant sentiment nonetheless," smiles Tracy, "do you want a beer? I have beer."

"Oh thank God, yes, please," he says, relieved.

This boy has the palette of a pumpkin. Ya know what, this is better, if I'm going down tonight, I wanna be drank by my friend, not some guy named Robert.

"You go Trace. Drink me up! You and me to the last baby! Love you bitch!"

_________

At least I think I have beer. What's even in the fridge? If he doesn't like wine, that's fine I guess, and he was cute about it. Sure, I had to cajole it out of him, but he was honest in the end.

I look in the fridge.

"Oh gross, I have an IPA, do you want that? " I ask.

_________

"Perfect! They're my favorite. Thank you," I say.

Hopefully her taste in food is better than her taste in drink.

She hands me the beer and I hold it decidedly close to myself so she has to lean in closer to pop it.

Sneaky, sneaky.

Her hands are close to my waist, I feel a pulse of heat.

Oh boy. Little man is flexing.

She smiles at me, she smells good, an impulse to kiss hits me.

Not yet.

I sip the beer.

"Better?" asks Tracy.

"Yes, thank you. I hope this isn't rude of me," I say.

"No, you're being direct. That's good. Plus, there's more wine for me now," she says with a cheeky grin.

"Excellent."

_________

Tracy pours herself the rest of the bottle.

"This is it Tracy. The last of me. The bottle is empty, from Napa to Grand Rapids to your shelf to this glass. It's been a trip! --Oh hell, we're walking again, nausea! Nausea! Nausea!"

Where are we going? Oh, the couch. Oh, He's sitting VERY close. Is he touching your arm, this is light petting, this is foreplay before foreplay.

"Tracy--it would be my greatest honor in life to be the wine that helped you find your soulmate, but under no circumstances do I want to watch whatever is about to maybe happen. You have to finish me first or ask him to leave."

God I wish you could hear me!

Robert shifts his weight, working up the courage. "You appreciate directness, you said?"

Tracy, tilts her head to the side, anticipating a first move. "I did, I do."

"Then I'm going to be direct with you."

"Okay."

"Your boobs look epic."

Oh Robert, buddy, no.

Tracy snorts, taken aback, "that's it, huh? That's what you went with? What percentage is that beer? Did I get you drunk? No, I'm kidding, it's okay-- I mean-- thank you I guess. And thank you Victoria's Secret. Hallelujah." She raises her glass in honor of the bra gods before taking a sip.

"They're just so tan and bouncy," he says.

"Oh?"

"Did I cross the line? I'm sorry."

"No, no, no, it's fine, it's sweet, I just wasn't expecting that...phrasing."

"You said you like direct..."

"You can be direct and subtle..."

"Hmm."

"Some people can anyway."

"I'll do better next time."

"Next time?"

"Yeah?"

She grabs her glass, pretends to be thinking about it before letting free her smile, they clink glass to bottle, orb to phallice. The lights of Grand Rapids twinkle outside the windows of her one bedroom apartment.

"To next time."

Tracy sets down the glass on the table, there's just a little merlot left staining the wine glass. Robert kisses Tracy.

"So this is it. This is how I'm going out. All that's left of my ass is a stain in the glass, here I am watching my best friend get dry humped by an attorney's son from Kalamazoo."

Doing Oakland proud....I'm drying out, I don't have much time.

"You two better get married! You hear me? This might not mean anything to you Robert--but it means something to me! Oh! There go the boobs. It's happening--Robert! Tracy has been my ride or die since day one and if you break your heart I will come back and haunt you as an evil dysentery-inducing blackberry or venomous fanged blackbird or both, whatever form, know this, if you do her wrong I will haunt you, I will hurt you, I will protect my baby girl's heart. I was there when she lost her job, when she got wine drunk and hooked up with that never-mind--when she broke her toe moving in and camped out around cardboard boxes, some full of personal belongings she couldn't unpack alone with her busted hoof, and the rest with leftover Thai food. Pretty sure there's still a chopstick under the couch. I've seen her ugly, and it's prettier than most people's pretty. She's a damn diamond! Don't be a douchebag, drink the wine if she likes it, you know what, in fact, next time bring her more wine."

"With or without you, high or low, you best believe, she'll have a friend in Merlot. Oh hey! I just freestyle'd. Effervescent bars all the way from Oak-Town! Get muh name IN your mouth. Feel me?"

You're not listening to me. You're having sex.

_______