See Dot Smile

The Beaumonts

The inside of Bud's castle is surprisingly homey. I was expecting vaulted ceilings and chandeliers in every room, but it's cozier than that. I mean, there are countless rooms to explore, but none of them are especially extravagant. Except the billiard room. That's like something out of a James Bond film. All leathery and masculine with shelves full of awards and half drained bottles of scotch and other brownish liquids I can't identify. Bud clearly hates this room, so we don't stay long. He's eager to get me to the kitchen, where we find his sister sitting at a marble island, reading a magazine, and eating chocolate covered strawberries, a fitting afterschool snack for a fifteen-year-old ice cream heiress.

"Hey Tiff, this is Dot," Bud says reluctantly.

She looks up from her reading and her eyes bulge to the size of golf balls. "Oh my God," she says, an evil grin spreading across her round face. She really does look like Bud. Just more feminine. And naughtier. "Does Mom know?" she asks, looking around for Mom, who for all I know is lurking inside the pantry waiting to pounce on us.

"No, but she's going to be pissed you ate those." Bud nods to the diminishing plate of strawberries. "That's wife bait and you know it."

"What?" I laugh.

"Hush," Bud says. "A man is talking." He winks at me, and it makes my heart jump to see him having fun. I was worried my presence in his house was making him unhappy. Now that he has his sister to torment, he's more at ease.

"There's still four left," she says dismissively. "I don't think she roofied this batch, so you should be okay, uh... what's your name again?"

"Dot."

"Dot? Like Dot Matrix from Spaceballs?"

"Um..."

"I'm sure Dot's never seen Spaceballs," Bud says. "She was born this century."

"Well, you can't watch it tonight. I reserved the theater. I've got people coming over." Tiff shoves another strawberry into her mouth and bites down aggressively.

Did she say, 'the theater'?

"Wow. People? Plural? How popular are you?" Bud teases, snatching the plate away from her and handing it to me.

"Fuck off, ass head," Tiff snaps. She stands up and heads for the front hallway, leaving her Cosmopolitan magazine open to a centerfold story about how to give the best oral sex. "Nice to meet you, Dot," she says. "I will have to tell my mom Bud knocked you up. It's kind of my job to make his life miserable."

"Don't say anything, Tiff," Bud warns. "We're just friends."

"In that case, I'll tell her to bring the roofies. Can't let this one get away." She narrows her eyes at Bud. "Monty Three." She makes a bee line for the door, and Bud chases her into the hallway. There's a brief scuffle, followed by a sustained, "Mooomm, Bud brought a girl home! They met nine months ago, and they have something important to tell you!"

"You're a fucking idiot," Bud says from the hallway.

Not sure what to do with myself, I hop onto a stool and start reading about blow jobs. Can't hurt to educate myself, right? I reach for a strawberry. It's halfway to my lips when Bud takes it from my hand. "Don't eat that," he says, his fun face gone. "I'll make you a real snack."

"But I like them," I say.

He sighs. "Fine. Let's take them upstairs before my mother--"

There's a muffled squeal before she reveals herself in the doorway. "Hello there." She tiptoes into the kitchen, rubbing her hands together like she's about to butcher a goose. I have no idea what Bud's dad looks like, but it's obvious he contributed very little to the gene pool for Bud. I see every bit of him in his mom, right down to the hyper color blush in her cheeks. "I'm Bonnie," she coos. "It's so nice to meet you..." she holds her hand out and raises her eyebrows.

"Dot," I say, shaking her warm hand.

"Dot." She smiles and winks shamelessly at Bud. "What a sweet name. And just look at you." She does. Extensively. Like she's judging a Shetland pony at the state fair. "Such a tiny, little thing. Buddy, she's so tiny. Isn't she tiny?"

Bud looks like he died ten minutes ago and was reanimated by scientists to finish this conversation. "She's a regular sized girl, Mom. I'm just huge. That's why she looks like that."

"Oh hush," Bonnie says, letting my hand go and attacking Bud with a fervent Mom kiss on the lips. She leaves behind enough rose-colored lipstick that I'm now convinced Bud would make a ravishing drag queen.

He pulls a napkin from the holder on the island and wipes his mouth. "We're going to hang out upstairs for a while," he says. Bonnie holds in a delighted squeal. "Don't make a big deal or cook for forty people. We're just friends. And it's just today."

Bonnie furrows her brow. "Buddy, don't be rude. Dot is welcome back anytime." She turns to me, takes both my hands, and looks me dead in the eye. "Any...time," she says, her face pleading with me to come back before I've even left. Bud wasn't kidding about his mom. She is... intense. "Can I make you kids a snack to take up with you?" she asks, crossing to the fridge so fast she creates a gust of perfume scented breeze.

"We're good," Bud says holding up the three remaining strawberries.

Bonnie looks appalled. "There were twelve of those. Who ate them all?"

Bud's mouth turns up into a smile for the first time in several minutes. "Tiff did."

Bonnie growls and I laugh at how familiar it sounds. "That sneaky little b-word," she hisses. "Fine. You can have the sweets I made for her friends. That'll teach her to mess with my system."

Bud elbows me and I look up. He mouths the words, wife bait." I press my lips together to keep from giggling.

Bonnie pulls a box out of the fridge and opens it on the counter. It's filled with cake pops of different flavors and colors. She transfers half a dozen of them onto the plate with the chocolate covered strawberries. "There. Now, off you go. Have fun. Be safe."

"Friends, Mom," Bud sighs. "We're just friends."

"Friends can have fun, too." She winks at me. "Dot, you'll stay for dinner." It's a statement. Not a question. Bud starts to answer but Bonnie covers his mouth with her hand and keeps her eyes on me. I don't have to look at Bud to know he's protesting internally. I try to come up with a solution that won't leave either of them disappointed in me.

"I'll have to check with my parents," I say.

She nods. "Well, there'll be plenty of food if you decide to join us," she says. "And Buddy. Your father's upstairs in the study. So..." She brings one finger to her lips to suggest we keep it down. How loudly does she think we'll be eating cake pops, I wonder?

"Got it," Bud says picking up the plate and a handful of napkins and walking toward the doorway. I follow him, waving to the beaming Bonnie as I go.

Bud is walking fast, and I have to hustle to catch up to him at the bottom of the stairs.

"Do I get to meet your dad?" I ask.

He laughs sarcastically. "Ah. No. He won't talk to you unless you have a ring on your finger," he says. "And he hasn't talked to me in months."

I try to get a read on his emotions, but he's trying to appear unaffected. I slide my hand through his arm and snatch a cake pop from the plate. He catches me and smirks. "Those might be roofied," he says.

I shrug. "I'm in good hands." Then I put the whole cake pop in my mouth and watch with satisfaction as Bud blushes pink and tries desperately not to smile.

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