Page 41 of King of Hollywood
“Are you opening it?” Winnie asked on the other end of the line.
“Yes, of course I’m opening it.” The tape was stubborn and hard to pull apart, but I managed—tugging at the cardboard with a grumpy, excited hiss—only for the box to tear open violently, spilling everywhere and—
Oh god.
Oh god.
“Winnifred Nadeen Warden.” I stared in horror at the hundreds of colorful little packages that now covered my usually impeccably clean front walkway like porn confetti. “Did you send me a gift wrapped box entirely full of condoms?” Shell-shocked, I didn’t even know what to say.
“Fuck you” did not suffice.
Winnie’s cackling was so loud I was tempted to mute her so I could make it stop. But…my wits were not about me, so I didn’t do that. No. Instead, I continued to stand there, staring at the rainbow of condoms like if I waited long enough—if I prayed hard enough—they’d disappear.
“Videochat me,” Winnie commanded between wheezing guffaws. “Oh god. I wanna see your face so bad right now.”
“You are a bad person,” I decided, standing in the halo of condoms, my eyes wide. “You are a horrible, bad, no good, awful person.”
“I know, I know—” Winnie cackled. “I’m sorry—”
“You’re not sorry.”
“No.” She laughed again. “You’re right. I’m not.” More cackling. “No glove no love, Marshall!”
I hung up on her then. But it took me a long, painful minute to decide how best to manage the mess that now littered my floor. I didn’t want to run late—but my mind was too frazzled right now for me to feel comfortable leaving this…here.
If the date went badly and I came home to a landslide of condoms I would probably combust. So, with an unhappy groan I struggled to my knees—damn you, aging, you dirty bastard—and began to collect the rectangles one by one. All the while, I cursed Winnifred.
“Condom sending, motherfucking shit ass.” I shoved handfuls into the box, righteously indignant. If this creased my pants I was going to have an aneurism.
“Goddammit.”
By the time I was done, I was running five minutes off schedule—and panicking again. Felix was supposed to meet me at the carnival, as he’d be inside the dunk booth when I arrived. Which meant, he was probably already on his way.
I was going to watch him drive, dammit. I’d put that into my schedule and everything! It wasn’t fair. Because of Winnie and her damn prank I had missed out on some valuable stalking time.
She wasn’t getting a Christmas present for five years.
No.
Ten.
Fifteen.
Yes.
That seemed fair.
Because of her I had no idea what car Felix drove.
It. Was. A. Travesty.
Oh!
And for her birthday all I’d get her was a gift card to Marshall’s. Take that, you latex-sleeve-gifting-hussy. Grinning evilly, the perfect revenge in mind, I pocketed a handful of the condoms—just in case (because Winnie was right, I was a planner)—and headed out the front door.
I dodged the pothole at the end of the cul-de-sac, grateful when I passed Barry’s awful yellow house and realized his car was still there. I hoped that would mean I wouldn’t have any run-ins with him on my date with Felix today—as he’d already ruined enough of our plans.
The sun had sunk below the horizon—the lavender sky peeping between tree trunks and white picket fences as I headed toward the fairgrounds right behind Main Street.