Free Want It Bad by Melinda DuChamp Page A

dangerous levels. She just wanted to get home and have a drink. Maybe take up some incredibly mindless hobby that induced a state of zen, like crocheting. That’s what Carla’s mother did when stressed.
    The only thing that worked in Carla’s favor all day was that Janet was on a flight to Dallas and wouldn’t be back in Seattle until the next evening, so she wouldn’t have to deal with her. A fact which probably meant Carla wasn’t just a coward, but a bad friend, too.
    Leaning back in the seat, she set her radio to a calming adult contemporary station and settled in for a slow torture until she could get past the construction on the highway ahead. The music was familiar, smooth older hits, nothing too hard, too loud, or too challenging.
    Just what she needed.
    When the music suddenly faded and her cell phone rang through the car speakers via the Bluetooth connection, Carla almost jumped out of her skin.
    “Call from Janet,”
her phone’s slightly mechanical voice announced.
“Would you like to answer, or send to voice mail?”
    Carla gripped the wheel tighter. If she didn’t answer, she really would be a bad friend. But if she did? Carla didn’t like keeping secrets in personal relationships, and she was especially dismal at hiding her feelings from Janet. The woman had a sixth sense.
    “Call from Janet,”
the phone repeated.
“Would you like to answer or send to voice mail?”
    Carla blew out a pent-up breath. “Answer.”
    The phone’s background tone changed, and Janet’s voice boomed through the car’s interior. “Just checking up on you, babe. Getting ready for your sex date? What are you wearing?”
    “I had to work late. Still on my way home. How’s Dallas? Meet any cute cowboys or oil men?”
    “Oh no, you are
not
going to change the subject on me. What are you going to wear? It had better not be one of your power bitch suits. How about a skirt? Do you still own a damn skirt? The last time I saw your bare legs was during the Bush administration. The first Bush, not the fuckable one.”
    “You’d fuck George W. Bush?”
    “I’d fuck the white off his dick. Dumb, powerful guys make me horny.”
    “Doesn’t that also apply to his father?”
    “Yeah, I’d fuck him, too. A little POTUS sandwich action. I’d be the all-beef patty in their Bush burger.”
    “Janet, I’m…”
    Her friend didn’t allow her to finish. “You’re going, Carla.”
    “I can’t.” To Carla’s shame, her eyes misted, turning the road in front of her blurry. She wiped the moisture away. This wasn’t the right time to lose her shit.
    “A little clit torture in the dungeon of pleasure is just what you need. It’ll do wonders for your stress levels. Right now you sound like you could chew through a Formica countertop.”
    “No.”
    “A granite countertop?”
    “No, it’s not work stress.”
    “Then what is it?”
    Carla spilled the sailboat story from the night before.
    “A full-scale freak out?” Janet said, disbelief reverberating through the car’s speakers.
    “It was mortifying.”
    The other end of the line was quiet for a moment. Disconcerting, since Janet was never quiet.
    “I know,” said Carla preemptively. “Maybe I can get by with never seeing him again.”
    “Remember the firefighter citizen’s academy I attended?” Janet asked. “The one where they give regular citizens a taste of what it’s like to be a firefighter?
    “You signed up to get a taste of the firefighters, if I recall.”
    Janet chuckled. “Some of those guys really knew how to use a hose.”
    Carla was not in the mood. “Listen Janet, I know you’re busy, and I’m—”
    “A lot of the training firefighters do is designed to condition them to face fear, so they don’t freak out when they have to run into that burning building.”
    “You think I should sign up for a citizen’s firefighter academy?”
    “I think you should keep your appointment with your neighbor’s sin dungeon.”
    Carla shook her head.