Free Take My Dress Off by S. Gilmour Page B

orange plastic phone cord in my fingers as I discretely finished my phone call.
    “He’s coming over, he’s bored.”
    “Alone or with someone?” Danielle asked, her eyebrows raised.
    “He didn’t say. Alone I guess. Who would he bring?”
    “I don’t know. Donny?”
    “Don’t you need to be somewhere?”
    “Well then. I’ll be moseying along, don’t want to ruin your date ,” she smirked as she pushed off the sofa. “Besides, I have to get to work.”
    “It’s not a date, we’re just hanging out.”
    “I’m sure in your mind it is,” she chewed on her straw and walked to the door. “You’ll turn this into something it isn’t, blow it out of proportion, call me crying about it as you write in your Precious Moments diary.”
    “Please leave.” I held open the door.
    “Bring him by the store later, we can watch him shop.”
    “Piss off.” I flipped her off as she walked to her car. “My new car’s better than yours, bitch,” I called after her.
    “Duh,” snorted Danielle as she climbed into her pea green Comet. It belched smoke as she backed down the driveway.
    Twenty minutes later Chaz was standing in Maddie’s formal living room. “Nice house.” He turned around taking it in. He was wearing a bright green polo, collar up, brown braided leather belt, Levi’s 501 jeans and topsiders. He was a total Adonis.
    “Not as nice as yours,” I said as I led him through the kitchen to the family room.
    “It’s okay.” He sat right where Danielle had been. The seat was probably still warm from her fat ass.
    “You live on an estate in Fallbrook, you have a pool, shut up.”
    “I’d hardly call it an estate, more like a ranch I guess,” he blushed. We spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on Maddie’s red velvet sofa watching old reruns and eating dry Captain Crunch out of the box.
    “The Brady Bunch is so lame,” he commented. “No one really wore those clothes in the seventies.”
    “I bet you did,” I chided. “I’m sure there are pictures of you somewhere in a butterfly collared shirt and bell bottoms.”
    “As if!” He reached into the cereal box, picked through the cereal and lifted out a handful.
    “Hey, don’t eat all the crunch berries,” I whined and plucked the box out of his hands.
    “If you had to pick one Brady boy to go out with which one would you pick?” he crunched.
    “Are you serious?” I asked digging through the cereal for the remaining berries.
    “Yeah. C’mon, who?”
    I found the prize and tossed it to Chaz. “I guess, Greg.”
    “So typical,” Chaz sang. He tore open the envelope concealing the prize. It was one of those plastic glow-in-the-dark rings.
    “Why?” I asked. “Greg seems nice and he can sing. Peter is whiny and selfish and Bobby is, of course, too young.”
    Chaz leaned back into the pillows and slipped the plastic ring onto his pinky finger. “They’re like the Hunter brothers. Donny is Greg, Dillon is Peter, and Davy is Bobby,” he laughed.
    “Davy? They have another brother?”
    “Yeah, he’s younger and looks just like them.”
    “That’s right,” I nodded, the image of their family portrait in the hall coming back to me. “Jesus, they’re like Russian nesting dolls,” I muttered as I sat back against the sofa.
    “I’m sorry.” Chaz rolled toward me and took my hands into his. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. You won’t be seeing Davy anytime soon, he’s with their parents in New Zealand.”
    “New Zealand? Are you kidding me?” Dr. Hunter was a professor at San Diego State. He was probably writing another book.
    “Donny said his parents left last week on a sabbatical. They won’t be back until May. Donny and Dillon are watching the house.”
    “Oh my God, that’s a terrible idea! That house is fantastic and they will trash it!”
    “You’ve been in it?” asked Chaz.
    I had never actually walked through the main part of the home, only glanced in awe before Dillon led me down the stairs to his