“Do you have the entire website memorized?”
“It’s not my fault! Do you know how long I had to stare at that thing to let it sink in when Vince showed it to me? Sandy, he wants to ride horses. Like we’re some kind of horse people. It’s 2016. If I need a mode of transportation, I get in my car.”
“Wait. So you want to drive your car down the aisle?”
“Oh sweat balls. No. That’s not what I meant.”
“Because that would be really dumb.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t think they’d even allow it.”
“Why are we even talking about this?”
“I don’t know,” Sandy said. “You’re the one getting married at a horse farm. Oh, excuse me. A horse ranch.”
“They had packages,” I said morosely. “We went with the one called Wild Horse Premiere Sonoran Sunset.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It’s an open bar.”
“That sounds amazing,” he corrected. “The wedding of the century. This is going to be the best event I’ve ever—I can’t do it. I just can’t. Paul, I need to be honest with you.”
“You always are. Even when I don’t want you to be.”
“Good. You’ve already dashed my dreams with the venue and the whole not allowing me to plan the wedding thing and also not allowing me to officiate.”
“Sandy, if you planned the wedding, there would be more sequins and glitter than at a drag queen orgy.”
“Rightly so. But there is one saving grace, one light at the end of this whole dark tunnel. Would you like to know what that is?”
“I don’t know if I do,” I said honestly.
The smile he gave me made me really uncomfortable. “I, as your best man, get to plan your bachelor party.”
Lord have mercy. “Oh no,” I whispered.
“Oh yes,” he said, pointing the nail file at me. “And Paul, you best believe me when I say that it is going to be a night that you will never forget.”
Oh dear God. I needed to salvage this before he got drunk with power. “Okay, but there needs to be a few rules. No strippers. No drugs. No—who are you calling?”
“Vince?” he said into his headset. “Hi, baby doll. Can you do me a favor? I’m sitting with a sad sack that you might know. Paul? Yes, Vince. Paul Auster. I—yes, Vince. I’m aware you know him. That’s why I—I’m so happy you love him. That’s… good. Yes. No, I don’t need to hear about that. That sounds like something you need to keep between you and your priest. Yes, Vince, I know you don’t go to church. I just—never mind. The reason I called? Dammit, now I forgot. You distracted me with all your—oh. Paul. That’s right. Can you do me a favor and take him to the supply closet and blow him? He seems to be having some doubts about the whole wedding thing. Oh no, dear, not about you. He’s worried about you having doubts about him. Right? He’s such a silly goose. Now I’ll send him over, and if you could just fellate all those worries away, it’d be greatly appreciated. Thanks, baby doll.” He disconnected the call and swiveled his chair in my direction again.
Where I sat gaping at him.
“What?” he asked.
“You can’t just do that!”
He rolled his eyes. “Uh yeah, I can. And I just did. Now get out of here, get your penis licked, and when you come back, I expect you to be ready to tell me how pretty I am because I have a show tonight and I don’t have time for your shit, Paul Auster, I really don’t.”
“What the hell is going on?” I asked faintly.
“I’m taking charge,” Sandy said. “Now scoot. You’ve got a muscle jock probably waiting on his knees for you. How many people can say that?” Then he grinned. “Well, I can say that, so.”
For some reason, I found myself on my feet, walking toward the supply closet. I wasn’t planning on letting Vince blow me at work, but I couldn’t be too cautious. I had to act cool, calm, and collected so no one would know I was thinking sexy thoughts while at work. “Evans,” I said, passing a coworker. “Didja see that sportsball game on the television last night? Yeah, me too. I have touchdown fever. We should sit in a room together and make up a fantasy sportsball league because that sounds amazing. Go sportsball! Mildred! It’s your birthday today, and the only reason I know that is because people passed around a birthday card for us to sign, hiding it in a folder and trying to be secretive about it, even though it’s painfully obvious to anyone with eyes. When you get the card, still act surprised. There’s cake. Well, sort of. It’s cherry cheesecake bought from the store, so. You know. That’s disgusting. Chris! You have mustard on your face. It’s nine in the morning. What could you have possibly been eating at nine in the morning that needed mustard? Don’t answer that. It sounds terrible enough already.”