“I need a favor.”
“Anything!”
“I need one of those pregnancy test things.”
“Ommigod! You're pregnant! Ommigod. Ommigod!”
“Calm down. I'm not pregnant. I just want to make sure. You know, peace of mind. And I don't want to buy one myself, because if anybody sees me it'll be all over.”
“I'll be right there. Don't move.”
Mary Lou lived about a half mile away. Her husband, Lennie, was okay but he had to be careful not to drag his knuckles when he walked. Mary Lou never cared much about intelligence in a man. Mary Lou was more into packaging and stamina.
Mary Lou and I have been friends since the day we were born. I was always the flake, and Mary Lou was always the underachiever. Maybe underachiever isn't the right word. It was more that Mary Lou had simple goals. She wanted to get married and have a family. If she could marry the captain of the football team, even better. And that's exactly what she did. She married Lennie Stankovic, who was captain of the football team, graduated high school and went to work for his father. Stankovic and Sons Plumbing and Heating.
I wanted to marry Aladdin so I'd get to fly on his magic carpet. So you can see that we were coming from different places.
Ten minutes later Mary Lou was at the front door. Mary Lou is four inches shorter than me and five pounds heavier. None of her weight is fat. Mary Lou's solid. Mary Lou's built like a brick shithouse. If I ever do tag team wrestling, Mary Lou's going to be my partner.
“I've got it!” she said, barreling into the foyer, brandishing the test kit. She stopped short and looked around. “So this is Morelli's house!”
This was said in hushed tones of awe usually reserved for Catholic miracles like weeping statues of the Virgin.
“Oh man,” she said. “I always wanted to see the inside of Morelli's house. He isn't home, right?” She took off up the stairs. “I want to see his bedroom!”
“It's the one to the left.”
“This is it!” she shrieked, opening the door. “Ommigod! Did you do it on this bed?”
“Yeah.” And on my bed. And on the couch, the hall floor, the kitchen table, in the shower . . .
“Holy shit,” Mary Lou said, “he's got a carton of condoms. What is he . . . a fucking rabbit?”
I took the little brown bag from her hand and peeked inside. “So this is it?”
“It's simple. All you have to do is pee on the plastic strip and wait for it to change color. Good thing it's summer and you're wearing a T-?shirt, because the hard part is not getting your sleeve wet.”
“Darn,” I said. “I don't have to go right now.”
“You need beer,” Mary Lou said. “Beer always works.”
We went to the kitchen, and we each had two beers.
“You know what's missing in this kitchen?” Mary Lou said. “A cookie jar.”
“Yeah, well, you know how it is with men.”
“They don't know anything,” Mary Lou said.
I opened the box and removed the foil packet. “I can't get this open. I'm too nervous.”
Mary Lou took it from me. Mary Lou had nails like razor wire. “We gotta time this. And don't tip the plastic strip. You have to collect the pee in that little indentation.”
“Ick.”
We went upstairs, and Mary Lou waited outside the door while I did the test. Friendship among women does not include viewing each other's urine.
“What's happening?” Mary Lou yelled through the door. “Do you see a plus sign or a negative sign?”