I Started to Believe We Had a Secret.
Larry’s biker friends stopped by on a regular basis. Everyone wanted to come to our house to drink. My new roommates, Joe and Dave, were always invited to drink with us.
While I did not find Joe or Dave attractive, it became evident that they both found me to be attractive.
While Larry was doing god-knows-what, I was fending off advances from both of them. Joe and Dave fought each other constantly trying to get closer to me, impressing me with their worldly ways.
Joe realized very quickly that I liked music, and talked to me about all the concerts he’d seen. He shared tapes of his favorite bands – all classic rock, music I already knew well. Joe talked louder than everyone in the room, and he never left a room when there was still beer in the fridge.
Of course, Joe slept on the couch so it’s not like he could have gone anywhere anyway.
It was obvious from the first night that Joe wanted me for his very own, and that he believed he was worthy. It didn’t seem to matter to him that he was living in Larry’s house and that I was Larry’s “old lady.” He was cocky and obnoxious and rude and, as loud as he was about wanting me, he didn’t seem to have a brain in his head.
Although they were both gross, I much preferred Dave.
Dave was a greasy fellow with dark hair and brooding eyes. He was soft-spoken and junkie-thin with shiny yellowish skin. Unlike Joe, Dave waited until no one else was looking to make his advances.
We’d all be sitting around in the living room – me and a bunch of guys – and I’d look at Dave, who’d be staring right at me. He’d wink and keep staring. I started to believe we had a secret.
Or we’d be sitting alone waiting for Larry to get back with the beer, and Dave would rub my feet, talking all the while about the different pressure points in feet, as though he were explaining anatomy instead of being surprisingly sensual.
Dave’s were the kind of smooth moves to which I usually responded, but I was with Larry.
And unlike Joe, Dave was terrified of Larry. So Dave stayed quietly seductive in a corner while Joe blurted out his intentions every day.
Once after a very long day of drinking, Joe sat down on the couch next to me and smugly put his arm around me. This was not something I wanted, nor did I snuggle into Joe. Instead, I froze.
That’s when Larry decided he’d had enough.
As Joe casually lifted his beer to his lips, Larry took two giant, boot-clad stomps across the room and smacked the beer out of Joe’s hands.
Before Joe could complete the phrase, “what the fuck,” Larry had lifted Joe off the couch with one hand and started punching him in the face with the other.
Tossing out delinquent apologies, Joe scrambled away into the kitchen where Larry pummeled Joe until Joe couldn’t rise from the kitchen floor.
The house was dead silent.
Larry calmly strolled back into the living room, sat on the couch and put his arm around me.
Minutes passed. Crickets chirped. When Joe finally emerged from the kitchen, Larry didn’t even look at him.
Larry’s voice was a hushed roar. “Get the fuck out of my house, Joe.”
Joe and all of his worldly possessions were gone in five minutes; I never saw him again.