Free I'm with Stupid by Elaine Szewczyk Page A

move.” He rattles the door handle a second time. I ask what the rush is. I just need a five-minute catnap. We have time before dinner.
    “No, we don’t, babe!” says a revved-up Libby. “We can’t sleep now! Did you see how cute that ranger William was?” She remains standing at Max’s side. I give her a look. Good Lord, is she sweating like a crack addict? These people have lost their damn minds. She of all people can’t take a nap? She sleeps standing up.
    When I finally get up Libby gives me a standing ovation and recommends that I put on a “cute dress.” I look down at my T-shirt and jeans. I’m certainly not going to be hyperventilating over William. At least I’m not going to show him that I’m hyperventilating. He already knows he’s attractive. I guarantee he’s a big-time player. He probably owns the whole team. No guy who looks as good as that could be anything but. When I express this sentiment aloud Max pleads with me not to say the word
butt
. I tell him to get over it and, while he’s at it, tone down the flattery. He’s delivering more bullshit to William than a teahouse geisha. I’m surprised the guy hasn’t caught on and seen through it. Max tells me to relax. He’s just having fun—where’s the harm in that? “There’s a chance he’s gay,” he adds.
    Libby looks at him in disbelief. “No,” she says, pushing out her chest, harnessing her gaydar powers, “he’s definitely straight.”
    Max makes a fist. “Quiet, you,” he tells her.
    We stroll to the courtyard for an African feast near the boma fire. I don’t know what
boma
means. I wasn’t paying attention when Helga explained it. Sorry. Libby and Max, who have been plucked, tucked, and polished, reminding me of the king and queen of some high school prom, certainly don’t know what
boma
means, either. I go in the T-shirt. I know what T-shirt means. It means I’m done trying to impress. Nothing has changed, at least that’s what I tell myself.
    The long dining table at which we will be taking evening meals is perfectly appointed, laden with an array of dishes whose names I will never remember. Flash cards would be useful. I can already envision the three of us arguing over who gets what first, but they have something else on their minds. William. He’s already sitting down. Who needs me at a time like this? There’s a vacant seat next to him and they race to claim it. I’m afraid one or both will be injured. Max gets there first. I guess it pays to work out. Libby and I have no choice but to claim the seats across from William and Max. As we pull out our chairs, William stands and tells us not to sit just yet—he should pull out our chairs. At the sound of this, we laugh in amazement. Pull out our chairs? There’s no need for that, really. What kind of asshole would need a chair pulled out? William sits back down and smiles. He’s really going to have to stop that smile of his.
    As soon as we sit down Manuel arrives to claim the vacant spot next to Libby. “Good evening,” he offers. He is carrying an oblong-shaped wooden box, as well as a gallon-size jug of alcohol, which he sets in front of her. An offering. He stares at his chair, clears his throat, and looks over at William expectantly. William jumps up, walks to the other side of the table, and pulls out Manuel’s chair for him. Manuel nods approvingly before sitting down. He opens the wooden box using a tiny gold key. Inside there is a long-stemmed wineglass and a gold knife-and-fork set with matching porcelain handles onto which flowers have been hand-painted. He brought his own gilded cutlery? He brought his own gilded cutlery. “Did you enjoy the game drive?” he asks his reluctant love interest while returning the gold key to his breast pocket (the orchid that was there earlier has been replaced with a white lily). When she tells him it was “all right” he points to the bottle. “I brought this for you,” he says. Libby looks away. She