Rusty Nailed
Page 43
“No, babe. So sweet,” I whispered, holding him tightly.
His arms slipped around my waist and he kissed the top of my head. “Are you still mad?”
“I was, but I’m not now,” I replied, leaning in closer to his ear. “But next time, just talk to me, okay?”
“Promise,” he whispered into my ear, then kissed me fierce. “I’m going to get us the biggest Christmas tree you’ve ever seen.” He grinned, his face full of excitement. Crisis over. He took off his jacket and surveyed the cookie damage. “Now, what can I do to help?”
“You can start by helping me clean up this mess. Then we need to get these packed up if we’re going to make it to the party before Sophia and Neil Round Three begins,” I said, handing him a broom.
He started to clean up, whistling along to “Frosty the Snowman.” I turned back to the soapy sink, wiping my tears away. One of them belonged to Rio.
• • •
The stage for Sophia vs. Neil Round Three (known in conventional circles as Mimi and Ryan’s Christmas Party) was set the second Neil showed up with a hot nerd. A hot nerd, you ask? Let me back up a bit . . .
Sophia had met a new guy at a symphony benefit. Bernard Fitzsimmons, associate professor of applied physics at Berkeley and vice president of the Bay Area Musical Appreciation Society, had the pleasure of meeting Sophia at a Music in Schools program fund-raiser she was performing at. Being incredibly talented as well as gorgeous, she was often called upon to perform at charitable functions, especially ones that were musically inclined.
They shared a cab and a kiss after the event, and Sophia invited him to the party. He was wicked smart and wicked cute, both attributes complementing each other nicely.
Neil got wind of this development, orchestrated carefully and quite purposefully by Mimi to be clear—“Oh, she’s going for the hot nerds now, huh?”—and he went on the hunt for his own Hot Nerd. He ended up meeting Polly Pinkerton, the head of a research lab at UCSF Medical Center, specializing in the effects of pesticides and insecticides on child development. She was appearing on the morning show on the local NBC affiliate, and Neil spent the entire time in the green room flirting with her over a pot of hazelnut French roast. Hopped up on caffeine, he saw her as the perfect Hot Nerd to bring to the party. But he also genuinely enjoyed her company, and had seen her a couple of times before the party.
They both brought nerds to an ex fight, and neither was ready for the outcome.
Bernard? Cute, yes. Smart, yes. Boring, yes. I’d been stuck in the kitchen with him and Sophia for almost thirty minutes discussing beige walls and their place in home interiors, because Bernard loved HGTV, don’t you know. Sophia had been giving me the “sorry” eye all night, but I understood.
He was what Carrie Bradshaw had called a “great on paper” guy. Unfortunately he was as dull as paper too. I was in the middle of discussing sand vs. stone and trying to stop myself from biting off my own arm so I had something to beat him with, when I heard Neil’s voice from the entryway.
Sophia froze. I froze. Bernard waxed poetic on the beauty of a periodic table painted in the softest hues of putty and bone.
“Putty and Bone,” I told Sophia, “what a great name for a—”
“Oh, shush with your great name for a band—here comes Neil,” Sophia hissed, wrapping her arm around Bernard, who was coaxed from his beige oration by very soft br**sts pressed into his side. His eyes widened and he shifted his feet nervously. I almost felt a little sorry for him; the poor guy had no idea what he was caught up in.
“Putty and Bone is a great name for a band,” I mumbled to myself, taking my leave and a shrimp puff from the potluck table.
The party was in full swing; beautiful couples swaying to rockabilly Christmas songs on the stereo, hot toddies and spiked cider being poured generously by Ryan, while Mimi set out tray after tray of goodies.
As I shrimp puffed, I scanned the crowd for Simon. He was talking to one of Ryan’s friends from work. I caught his eye and pointed toward the hallway, where Neil was making his way to the kitchen. The girl he had in tow was darling; sharp eyes and a curious look on her face as she took in the crowd. They were on a collision course for Sophia and Beige Bernard. I stuffed another puff in my mouth and spy-walked back toward the kitchen, meeting up with Simon, who had also alerted Mimi and Ryan, around the corner.
“You know, this is getting ridiculous,” I said as we four took up a watch-and-wait stance, flanking either entrance to the kitchen.
“We’re just watching out for our friends,” Simon said, flattening himself against the wall. When did this become Mission Impossible?
Right about when Sophia and Neil laid eyes on each other for the first time since Game Night, and remembered that while Beige Bernard and Pretty Polly were fine and dandy, they weren’t ever going to blow their hair back. They were never going to be the “one.” But that didn’t stop them from trying.
“Sophia.”
“Neil.”
So dramatic, these two.
“Bernard?”
“Polly?”
Wait, what?
The four of us peeked around the corner like totem poles, watching as Pretty and Beige collided in the center of the room in a tangle of arms and laughter.
“Wow, Polly! I haven’t seen you since the symposium on genetic rehabilitation at the Hilton in Anaheim,” Bernard said, looking thrilled to see her.
“Has it been that long? I looked for you at the Quantum Summit in San Diego; I thought for sure you’d be there,” Polly replied, looking up shyly through her eyelashes.
“I was in Switzerland—the Hadron,” he said, puffing out his chest a bit. I didn’t get it, but she sure looked impressed.
“Large Hadron Collider, it’s at CERN in Switzerland,” Ryan whispered across the entryway. Mimi looked impressed too. With Ryan.
“Uh, Bernard, why don’t you introduce me to your friend,” Sophia interjected, tugging at his arm. He didn’t notice. She pushed her boobs out. He noticed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Polly. These are, I mean, this is Sophia,” he said, flushing. “Sophia, this is Polly. She heads up a lab over at UCSF—”
“I play cello with the San Francisco Symphony,” Sophia spat out, looking surprised at her own word vomit.
I bit down on my fist to keep from laughing.
“Very nice to meet you, Sophia, This is Neil. We just met; he—”
His arms slipped around my waist and he kissed the top of my head. “Are you still mad?”
“I was, but I’m not now,” I replied, leaning in closer to his ear. “But next time, just talk to me, okay?”
“Promise,” he whispered into my ear, then kissed me fierce. “I’m going to get us the biggest Christmas tree you’ve ever seen.” He grinned, his face full of excitement. Crisis over. He took off his jacket and surveyed the cookie damage. “Now, what can I do to help?”
“You can start by helping me clean up this mess. Then we need to get these packed up if we’re going to make it to the party before Sophia and Neil Round Three begins,” I said, handing him a broom.
He started to clean up, whistling along to “Frosty the Snowman.” I turned back to the soapy sink, wiping my tears away. One of them belonged to Rio.
• • •
The stage for Sophia vs. Neil Round Three (known in conventional circles as Mimi and Ryan’s Christmas Party) was set the second Neil showed up with a hot nerd. A hot nerd, you ask? Let me back up a bit . . .
Sophia had met a new guy at a symphony benefit. Bernard Fitzsimmons, associate professor of applied physics at Berkeley and vice president of the Bay Area Musical Appreciation Society, had the pleasure of meeting Sophia at a Music in Schools program fund-raiser she was performing at. Being incredibly talented as well as gorgeous, she was often called upon to perform at charitable functions, especially ones that were musically inclined.
They shared a cab and a kiss after the event, and Sophia invited him to the party. He was wicked smart and wicked cute, both attributes complementing each other nicely.
Neil got wind of this development, orchestrated carefully and quite purposefully by Mimi to be clear—“Oh, she’s going for the hot nerds now, huh?”—and he went on the hunt for his own Hot Nerd. He ended up meeting Polly Pinkerton, the head of a research lab at UCSF Medical Center, specializing in the effects of pesticides and insecticides on child development. She was appearing on the morning show on the local NBC affiliate, and Neil spent the entire time in the green room flirting with her over a pot of hazelnut French roast. Hopped up on caffeine, he saw her as the perfect Hot Nerd to bring to the party. But he also genuinely enjoyed her company, and had seen her a couple of times before the party.
They both brought nerds to an ex fight, and neither was ready for the outcome.
Bernard? Cute, yes. Smart, yes. Boring, yes. I’d been stuck in the kitchen with him and Sophia for almost thirty minutes discussing beige walls and their place in home interiors, because Bernard loved HGTV, don’t you know. Sophia had been giving me the “sorry” eye all night, but I understood.
He was what Carrie Bradshaw had called a “great on paper” guy. Unfortunately he was as dull as paper too. I was in the middle of discussing sand vs. stone and trying to stop myself from biting off my own arm so I had something to beat him with, when I heard Neil’s voice from the entryway.
Sophia froze. I froze. Bernard waxed poetic on the beauty of a periodic table painted in the softest hues of putty and bone.
“Putty and Bone,” I told Sophia, “what a great name for a—”
“Oh, shush with your great name for a band—here comes Neil,” Sophia hissed, wrapping her arm around Bernard, who was coaxed from his beige oration by very soft br**sts pressed into his side. His eyes widened and he shifted his feet nervously. I almost felt a little sorry for him; the poor guy had no idea what he was caught up in.
“Putty and Bone is a great name for a band,” I mumbled to myself, taking my leave and a shrimp puff from the potluck table.
The party was in full swing; beautiful couples swaying to rockabilly Christmas songs on the stereo, hot toddies and spiked cider being poured generously by Ryan, while Mimi set out tray after tray of goodies.
As I shrimp puffed, I scanned the crowd for Simon. He was talking to one of Ryan’s friends from work. I caught his eye and pointed toward the hallway, where Neil was making his way to the kitchen. The girl he had in tow was darling; sharp eyes and a curious look on her face as she took in the crowd. They were on a collision course for Sophia and Beige Bernard. I stuffed another puff in my mouth and spy-walked back toward the kitchen, meeting up with Simon, who had also alerted Mimi and Ryan, around the corner.
“You know, this is getting ridiculous,” I said as we four took up a watch-and-wait stance, flanking either entrance to the kitchen.
“We’re just watching out for our friends,” Simon said, flattening himself against the wall. When did this become Mission Impossible?
Right about when Sophia and Neil laid eyes on each other for the first time since Game Night, and remembered that while Beige Bernard and Pretty Polly were fine and dandy, they weren’t ever going to blow their hair back. They were never going to be the “one.” But that didn’t stop them from trying.
“Sophia.”
“Neil.”
So dramatic, these two.
“Bernard?”
“Polly?”
Wait, what?
The four of us peeked around the corner like totem poles, watching as Pretty and Beige collided in the center of the room in a tangle of arms and laughter.
“Wow, Polly! I haven’t seen you since the symposium on genetic rehabilitation at the Hilton in Anaheim,” Bernard said, looking thrilled to see her.
“Has it been that long? I looked for you at the Quantum Summit in San Diego; I thought for sure you’d be there,” Polly replied, looking up shyly through her eyelashes.
“I was in Switzerland—the Hadron,” he said, puffing out his chest a bit. I didn’t get it, but she sure looked impressed.
“Large Hadron Collider, it’s at CERN in Switzerland,” Ryan whispered across the entryway. Mimi looked impressed too. With Ryan.
“Uh, Bernard, why don’t you introduce me to your friend,” Sophia interjected, tugging at his arm. He didn’t notice. She pushed her boobs out. He noticed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Polly. These are, I mean, this is Sophia,” he said, flushing. “Sophia, this is Polly. She heads up a lab over at UCSF—”
“I play cello with the San Francisco Symphony,” Sophia spat out, looking surprised at her own word vomit.
I bit down on my fist to keep from laughing.
“Very nice to meet you, Sophia, This is Neil. We just met; he—”
