July 29, 2001 - 7:21 am
Morning. I'm exhausted but I can't sleep. I got up because . . . Well, let me start at the beginning.
Last night I was supposed to be hanging out with Paige on the couch, watching TV. June had plans with a friend who lives in the Valley, so I gave her the keys to my car and sent her on her way. Dee was going to someone else's birthday dinner and Boss claimed she was giving Paige and I some friend time, but I knew she had a date. She was wearing the leather cuff she always wears when she goes on dates.
Anyway, Paige and I hit the couch with strong fuzzy navels in hand and turn on the TV around 8:30. After flipping channels for awhile we land on Shawshank Redemption. By the time Andy Dufresne has his arms outstretched, face to the sky, rain washing the poop away, Paige and I have happily let our drinks lull us almost to sleep. Then Boss practically kicks the door down. It's not yet 11.
"She didn't show," Boss says.
"Ohhhhh nooooo, you got stood uuuup." Little Miss Paige is suddenly awake and present with a level of concern in her voice that makes me tilt my head.
"First time ever." Boss says still in shock.
I roll my eyes. "You'll live."
"Oh my, well, you come sit with us, we're watching a movie and relaxing with no worries." Paige scoots over and pats the sofa.
So Boss sits and gets comfortable. Paige hands her cup of watery fuzzy navel to Boss and tells her to "sip on this" while she makes fresh drinks. Forty-five minutes later the movie is over and I'm the fucking drunk, 3rd wheel on a Boss and Paige pseudo-date. It's at this moment Paige walks her fingers up Boss's arm and says in a low voice, "You work out, don't you?"
I'm on my feet and barreling toward the bathroom. "Hey Paige, where's that hair stuff you were talking about? Can I use it?"
Paige comes running after me, lickity-split. "Okay, I will let you try my product, but you only need a tiny—"
"Uh, what the fuck are you doing?" I say interrupting her.
"Getting my hair balm for you to—"
"No, what are you doing with Boss?"
"Uh, obviously exploring my girl-on-girl options," Paige says.
"You have girl-on-girl options?"
"Yeah, it's on my list."
"WITH BOSS? The lady is literally a tramp. Literally."
"Fuck off Rosie, she's gorgeous and—"
"Gorgeous?"
"What are you, blind?" Paige squeals. "HAVE YOU SEEN HER? Plus, this chick knows what she's doing and—"
"What does that mean?"
"The girl's got moves! Don't you recognize an experienced hot chick when you're being dressed by one?"
"Boss isn't the person to—"
"But it's perfect! She got dumped tonight, she doesn't live where I live, and she has casual sex! It's a gift from the vacation gods!"
"You planned this?" I say dumbfounded.
"No I didn't plan it, but I'm sure as shit not going to miss the opportunity!"
"WOW. Okay. Okay. But, okay, wow—"
"Whoa, you're melting down." Paige puts her hands on my shoulders. "When's the last time you got laid?"
YOU ARE READING
Rosie's Diary
General Fiction19-year-old Rosie drinks, swears, cries, studies, rehearses, lies, confesses, smokes weed and rants all over New York City. But all she really wants to do is love June.
