Revolting Relations: The Bachelor Journals of Nick Twisp II (Youth in Revolt Book 11) by C.D. Payne

Author:C.D. Payne [Payne, C.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Aivia Press
Published: 2019-08-24T22:00:00+00:00

JULY

WEDNESDAY, July 1 – I had trouble getting out of my bedroom this morning. No, I wasn’t sleeping in; the damn door wouldn’t open. It was binding along the top. Eventually, I yanked hard on the knob and the door popped open. So I sat on my bed and phoned Luco.

“Are any other doors sticking?” she asked.

“Not that I know of, darling. Is this normal?”

“Perfectly normal, Nick. I’ll get a hand plane and swing by on my way to work. Or is this just a ploy to lure me into your bedroom?”

“No, but that’s not a bad idea. Should I tell my dad about the door?”

“Better not, Nick. We don’t want him freaking out again.”

“I’ll say I invited you to breakfast. So be prepared to eat with us.”

“Not a problem. When I’m working, I eat like a horse.”

Being a native, she came the fast way via Mulholland and Roscomare. She downed half a cantaloup and several large slices of Lefty’s savory quiche. Probably more expensive to feed than my other marriage prospects.

Teejay attempted to cop another feel, but he does that with all the girls. I think that kid needs to be locked in a room with Maya Chan for 24 hours. It might do them both a world of good.

Dad proudly showed Luco the “macerator awareness signs” he’s posted in all the bathrooms. Banned from flushing are feminine products, wipes and towelettes, hair, cigarette butts, and “foreign matter” of all types. Small type at the bottom adds: “If in doubt, do NOT flush it!”

“Very good,” said Luco. “People shouldn’t take plumbing for granted.”

“I just hope the bastards mind the signs,” sighed Dad.

Down in the privacy of my bedroom Luco shaved off a bit from the top corner of the door.

“You wield that plane like a pro,” I said. “How come the door was sticking?”

“Mostly it’s our California weather.”

“How’s that?”

“No rain in summer. Not for months. The sun beats down, our clay soil dries out, it shrinks, and houses settle a bit. Voila, sticking doors. Is your room always this neat?”

“Pretty much. We could mess it up a bit, if you like.”

“Some other time, tiger. I’m late for work.”

I settled for a kiss and Luco’s second feel of the morning. Such a great antidote to the lingering Maya trauma from yesterday.

Before the day got too hot, I took a long walk down our road. I noted down in my phone all the addresses with on-street parking places. Most were quite a jog from our place. Up the road from our house is only one other house, which straddles the crest of the hill. It’s behind a tall stone wall and a fancy iron gate that closes off the road. No place to park or even turn a car around. Lefty says it’s occupied by a reclusive actress who made her last movie in 1974. Perhaps it’s Gloria Swanson waiting with her dead monkey for Bill Holden to show up. She’s probably pissed that we moved in next door.

I emailed the addresses with the parking places to everyone on the burgeoning guest list.

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