Free Crazy People: The Crazy for You Stories by Jennifer Crusie Page A

really hungry for the first time since you left, so I said, “I’ll trade you all of it for that McDonald’s.” And she ripped that bag away from that little boy, and he started to yell, and she said, “Shut up, Jason, I’ll get you another Happy Meal in a minute.”
    Then we loaded up the car, and she took off with all your things, and I sat on the curb and ate that Happy Meal, and it was the best thing I’d eaten in years, although I must say I was disappointed to find out that Happy Meals don’t come with cookies or any dessert at all. It did have a Spiderman Action Figure which I put out in the middle of the street and then watched until that Kincaid boy drove by going ninety miles an hour and flattened it good. So anyway, I’m sorry about your clothes and the bowling trophies and the other stuff in the boxes, but since you’re starting a new life, you probably didn’t want any of that stuff anyway.
    And of course I didn’t give away the Mustang, Ronnie. I know how you feel about that car. I remember you telling me once that the only thing you loved as much as me in the whole world was that Mustang. I told Darla that yesterday after work when I showed her the letter, and she said, “Well, I guess that means he’s sweating inside a Chevy now, swearing he never loved a Ford. Let’s drive the damn thing off a cliff.” But I couldn’t do that to you, I know how you love that car, so the Mustang’s waiting for you in the driveway with the key in the ignition so it’ll be convenient for you to pick up just in case I’m not here when you drop by which I probably won’t be. I was a little worried about leaving the key in the car, but this isn’t a bad neighborhood, so it’ll probably still be here when you get home. And like Darla said, even if it’s gone, it’s not going to be hard to find. You just tell the police that it’s a cherry condition, 1975 baby blue Mustang convertible with “Bengals Suck” spray-painted on one side in my handwriting and “Barbara Is A Lousy Lay” on the other in Darla’s. I bet they find it in a minute, and I did call Stan’s You-Paint-It, and he said he thought he could probably get the paint off if you got it in fast. I know it was a terrible thing to do, Ronnie, but we’d had quite a few beers by then and I did enjoy it, I must say. Not as much as Darla did, but quite a lot. And I have stopped drinking now, so it won’t happen again.
    There is just one more thing I’ve got to tell you, Ronnie, for your own good and for Barbara’s. And I think you should know that I did share this with Darrin Mueller last night. “Darrin,” I said to him, right before I gave him what he told me later was the finest blow job in the history of the Western Ohio Buckeye League, “Darrin,” I said to him, “No matter how much I loved him, and I did love him, sincerely I did, I have to say that for the past several years or so, Ronnie Luterbein has not been very good in bed, if you know what I mean.” “I hear you, Debbie,” Darrin said, but then he didn’t have much choice, being tied to my headboard like he was with that cotton cord from JoAnn Fabrics. So I slid myself down his extremely well-built body, and I said, “Darrin, I suppose since you are drinking buddies that Ronnie told you about all those orgasms where I came moaning and screaming and shaking?” And Darrin just nodded, being speechless with anticipation by then. “Well, Darrin,” I said, “I’ve been faking almost every single one of them, and the ones I did get I had to work for, and without much help from Ronnie, let me tell you. The fact is, Darrin, Ronnie Luterbein couldn’t make summer come in June, that’s how bad he is in bed.” Now I know this is painful for you to hear, Ronnie, but I’m telling you this for your own good, so that when Barbara starts moaning and shaking like I did, you’ll know that she’s just doing it out of the goodness of her heart. And then you can try harder. And now