THE THINGS GUYS DO FOR GIRLS WITH GREAT LEGS
I’d completely changed after a few months with Candy. My black shirts had been replaced with white and light blue polo shirts. My shaggy hair had become clean cut. My once exploding bookshelf now had a neat pile of books she insisted I read: Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill, Rich Dad Poor Dad by Robert Kiyosaki, One up on Wall Street by Peter Lynch.
I was a different person. I slouched a lot less and consumed a lot less and pretended I was a much more positive, outgoing person. We’d have expensive dinners with her expensive friends with expensive diamond rings, and I’d tilt my head back and pretend to laugh at their expensive jokes. Do you know how we don’t act like ourselves on the first date? I was exactly like that, except on overdrive – every single day. I was constantly correcting myself, I was constantly self aware; I spoke to her as if I wasn’t in complete strange infatuation and in complete strange lust with everything she did, I spoke to her as if I wasn’t afraid that if I changed even slightly, her beauty, her intelligence, her personality, her wild hands and her wild lips and her wild legs – it’d all shit itself away and I’d be left grasping in a familiar darkness for an idea of what we once were.
How much would you change for someone you’re infatuated with? How much would you spend on someone you want to repeatedly sleep with? How much would you hide?
But there were great moments. She’d teach me how to cook a dish like beef stew or salmon linguini or something with chicken in it and after we’d eat it all we’d sit at some place and just drink wine and have something on in the stereo in the background and talk about things and laugh about things that didn’t matter too much.
“You’re young.” She held my cheek. “I don’t know, you’re too young. Am I wrong?”
“You’re a damn paedophile.”
She giggled. “I have a list,” she said. “A list of everything I need for the man I want to marry.”
“You’re looking to get married?”
“I’m twenty nine in a few months, Dean. My vagina’s far exceeded its peak.”
“So?”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I’m looking to settle–”
“I’m all you need, trust me.”
She slapped my arm. “That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”
“Can’t you just be happy with the way things are?”
“Your room,” she shrugged, looking around. “It’s so messy.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“It’s got to do with a lot in my life. You don’t get it.”
I leant in close to her. “I’m crazy about you.” I exhaled. “It’s screwed up.”
She sighed and lowered her head. “I’m crazy about you too.”
There she was, Candy. Candy who liked buying things from group buying websites. Candy who had a PhD in her office. Candy who watched the stock market. Candy who hated the students she taught, Candy with her mature thoughts and her classy hair, Candy who stood confident and neat on a pedestal I made out of matchsticks. It was dark then and her lips smelt like wine. In the deep distance my ashtray was as empty as the street outside. I fell asleep and dreamt of nothing, and it was six in the morning when she woke me up and told me that she had to drive to work.
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Romance"ROUGH, RUGGED AND HIGHLY ADDICTIVE": Follow the life of self-destructive writer Dean Blake and his misguided friends as they tangle themselves in a world of sex, drugs, love and everything else that comes in between.
