My Best Man by Andy Schell (top 10 novels TXT) 📕

“Yes shit,” she answers. “In the cervical cap.” “Your mom and dad called,” I tell her. She looks nervous, fidgety. “When?” “While I was jacking off.”

She tries to laugh, but it’s not much of an effort.

“Do they call you Amy?”

“It’s my nickname. Short for Amity. What did they say?” “Just that they love you. Want you to call them. By the way, I flew with a girl who says you were married,” I blurt out. It’s not nice of me hitting her with this when she’s already weakened by mention of her parents. It’s what Winston would have done.

She’s stiffens, looks me square in the eye. “Would it matter if I was?”

“Not at all. That’s why I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me about it.”

She sighs. Takes a moment to gather her thoughts. “It was ugly.” She looks past the back of the sofa to the light beyond the

lace curtains. “I had a lot of pressure from my family to marry him. It wasn’t good chemistry with Arlen. After leaving that godawful Christian wench he was married to, he just wanted a little trophy to carry around and give him sex on demand. He never really liked me. I fell in love with Jerod right after marrying him. He suspected and had me followed and his goons discovered me and Jerod making love in the bathroom of a Black-Eyed Pea.” “Those little peas have bathrooms inside of them?”

“The restaurant chain, silly! They have the best fried corn.” “How the hell do you fry corn?” I ask.

“The whole ear. Dip that bad boy in batter and throw it in oil.” Ole. “Come on. This is serious,” she says, her face adopting a sad look. “Arlen had me ripped to shreds. He even disregarded the prenup. Of course I couldn’t fight him he was too powerful. So I was left penniless. My daddy threatened to kill him.”

“Sounds like a Country-Western song. How come he was so vicious?”

“Because I was kind of a bad girl. Arlen was wealthy,

He was from a family like yours. He was married when we met, and his wife was this mega religious woman from a similar Their marriage was an arrangement. But poor Arlen well, know those Christian women: They just can’t give head. Or dance. Or laugh. I’m not even sure they like to eat.”

I flash back to my high school friend Doug Samuelson, parents were divorced. Doug had a mother who was this tall st Christian nut ball who plastered JESUS=SAVIIS and I BEqEATH aim bumper stickers on everything. You couldn’t see out the windows of their house because they were all covered bumper stickers. My mother forbid me to go to that hood, but I liked hanging out with Doug because he would smoke:: pot and jerk off with me, and I loved watching his dick go up and down because he was uncircumcised. He wasn’t gay. He just liked to smoke pot and jerk off because he knew it wasn’t condoned by

the Bible, and he loved doing anything that wasn’t condoned by the Bible. His psycho mother served poor Doug and his sister charred fish sticks every night of their lives for six years, until Doug’s junior year of school when he threatened to kill her. The judge let him off with counseling after determining he suffered from frozen fish rage, and he got to go live with his dad.

“I broke up their marriage, and it was an ugly divorce that cost Arlen a lot, emotionally and financially. Right after I married him I started having a little cocaine problem. And I fell in love with

Jerod. And Arlen hung me out to dry. I didn’t get a penny.” “Did you marry him for the money?” I ask. “Yes,” she answers. “Yes, Harry, I did.”

I take a drink of tea. OK, it’s time to tell her everything just as she’s done with me. She spilled her guts, offered me unfettered veracity, and obviously she’s sensitive to my position in life.

“Amity, remember when I said we need to visit my mother?” “Yes, Harry.”

“There’s a reason. See, the deal is, I’m broke. Busted. It doesn’t matter how much money my family has, they won’t give me any.” Amity looks sweetly into my eyes. “G’yaw, Bubba. I’m sorry.” “My father fucked me over in favor of Winston, the straight son. Dad was so mean the last few years, always holding it over my head that I could have everything Winston did if I were willing to play the game, become straight.”

“That’s so unfair, Harry. You can’t just wipe the logo off a Louis Vuitton bag and call it Chanel. A Louis is a Louis.”

“Dallas women and their analogies,” I say, shaking my head, “but you’ve got it fight.”

She hits me on the leg. “I’m from Fort Worth!”

“Anyway,” I proceed, taking a sip of my drink, “my father is messing with me, even from the grave.” Amity looks at me, remains silent. “He stipulated in his will that I would forfeit my share of the estate if I wasn’t legally married by my twenty-fourth birthday.

In just a few months, my percentage of my family’s holdings will pass to Winston, my older brother.”

“Well, we’ll just have to get married, Harry.” She says it matter of-factly, just as I thought she would.

“Amity, I’m gay.”

“I know your dick tastes like shit!”

I playfully kick her, and we both almost fall off the sofa. After hauling ourselves back into place, I continue. “But everybody knows I’m gay. I’ve been resolute about it since I was seventeen.”

“All the better, Bubba. Listen, any other guy in your shoes would go out, find some naive little country gal, and marry her. And he’d spend his nights leaving her at home while he prowls around some city park, looking for a boo-foo in the bushes. But that’s not you or me. We’re on the level with each other, Harry. We know exactly what’s going on. So