Catsby: A Novel

Chapter 2: Part 2

The door in front of me swung open. Tucker swallowed me in his arms with a giant bearhug. "Dick! How long has it been, old bro?"

"We graduated two months ago."

He set me down and gave me a wary look. "Too long, my bro. Too long!"

I followed him inside. "You have some interesting neighbors. The Star Trek fan next door...."

Tucker rolled his eyes. "Catrick Stewart?"

"Wait. That was Sir Catrick Stewart?"

"Is there another? Not only does he dress up all the time in that stupid cat costume, but he also wears that ugly leotard over it. We get dozens of nerds every day walking by, gawking at him and hoping to catch a glimpse of his royal highness. The sidewalk's just lousy with nerds at times."

"Sounds awful."

"Listen, Dick. I know you were always into books, but you were never a nerd. One of these days I'm going to go berserk and use my fists to beam one of these Trekkies straight to heaven."

"Are you complaining about nerds again, honey?" a woman called from the next room.

"Your cousin is here," Tucker shouted. Then, to me: "Dandelion's been dying to see you. Want a beer?"

I hesitated. I was twenty-one days sober—not by choice, but by necessity. Since arriving out East, I'd done nothing but work, commute, and sleep. The few hours of free time I could find were usually spent reviewing manuscripts at home for my bosses at Fandom House. It was my first real job; if things didn't let up soon, I would throw in the towel and make it my last. I was lucky to find a few hours to sneak away to visit the Boobcannons. Did I want a beer? Absolutely. My big worry was that I'd fall back into the same pattern from college: one beer would turn into two, and two would turn into three hundred.

"I think I'm good," I said, declining Tucker's offer with a wave of my hand.

He recoiled in horror. "Dear lord. Who are you and what have you done with Dick Narroway?"

I sighed. "You know what? I'll take one. Just one."

"That's my boy," Tucker said, grinning. He ushered me into the living room, where he left me while he went to grab our beers. I glanced around the room; Dandelion was nowhere to be found.

A hand shot up over the couch, which faced away from me. "Is that my dear cousin, Dick Narroway? You're late, darling. So late..."

"I'm still trying to find my way around the city," I said, peeking over the couch. Dandelion was stretched out with a red crayon in hand, busy at work on an adult coloring book.

She dropped her task and leapt off the couch at me. I ducked, but she landed on my back. My legs buckled out from under me, and she hit the floor with a thud.

"How much have you two had to drink, Dandelion?" I asked, helping her to her feet.

She held her finger and thumb an inch apart and giggled.

"You never drank in college. What happened?"

"Kids, Dick. I have eight kids now. No—nine. I don't even know all their names. It's awful, so awful."

"You look great for giving birth to nine children," I said. For once, I wasn't lying to a woman. Dandelion still had the same thin waist she'd had just a few months ago. She had some bass (no treble), but didn't look like she'd given birth anytime recently.

"My nipples look like dog park chew toys. It's horrible."

"You're still breastfeeding? Should you be drinking?"

"She didn't give birth to the kids," a tall, shapely brunette said, entering the room. "Her surrogates did."

"They were my eggs!"

"You're not even raising them," Tucker said, returning and handing me a glass boot filled with beer. "The nanny's doing all the work."

Dandelion shot her husband a nasty look, and he stuck his tongue out at her.

"Young love," the brunette said, flashing me a devilish smile.

I nodded, and sipped my beer. It was like drinking the piss of angels. 

Delicious.