Chapter 61

Friday, June 22 Heading Home

Arlene showed me no mercy the next morning, kicking my ass out of bed at 6 o’clock Pacific time. She went back to her room — where she never slept during our entire stay — to shower, dress and pack. I performed my morning toilet, dressed for the flight and stuffed everything else in my duffle.

They had lots of granola and yogurt available for breakfast. I consumed enough to get me to the airport and told Arlene I was ready to go when she was.

Our driver today was a redhead with “Kortnee” on her nametag. They definitely had a mold they used to create these girls. Cleavage, micromini, “fuck me” pumps were all in order.

We arrived at the terminal by 8:30 and went through the same routine. This time, it was Arlene who was “randomly selected,” but I heard no complaints about anyone getting handsy.

The flight home was uneventful — I again failed to gain membership into the Mile High Club, not that I had the opportunity — but this time it was Arlene who slept most of the way. I expected a request for a footrub once she got home.

We landed around 2:30 local time, having lost two hours, and I texted Mom that I was almost home as soon as we reached the concourse. Arlene was still somewhat zombified as we collected her bags and boarded the shuttle to the longterm lot. She handed me her keys and enough cash to cover the parking fee, showed me how to adjust the seat and got in the passenger side.

It was almost 4 p.m. when I pulled into her driveway. I helped get the redhead and her bags to her master suite, then went to pull the Jag into the garage and get what few things I’d left in the apartment. I took the time to add the Metzger women’s lingerie to my trophy collection.

While I was there, I called Morgan — we’d been texting back and forth since Sunday night — and got caught up. She was going straight from science camp to her next venture, a public affairs forum at Duke University that seemed to be the first step toward law school. She also had events at Northwestern and Wisconsin coming up in July.

“So, how many models did you bag?” she wanted to know.

“None,” I answered honestly. “None of them seemed interested in me — male or female. I think part of it was because the photographer threw a fit when he found out I had no experience.”

“I like that pic Arlene sent me,” she said. “They managed to make you look even hotter. I didn’t know that was possible. All the girls on the floor where I’m staying want a copy.”

We chatted for a bit more with Morgan reminding me of my obligation to her friends before she had to go. I then called Bethany, who was eager to get together with me. I agreed to pick her up between 6 and 7 depending on how much time I had to spend at home before Mom would let me out again, sent a group text to the four members of the Gang of Eight still waiting for dates to notify them of my return and took Arlene’s keys back to her.

She was dead to the world, so I scribbled a quick note about my plans and left it with the keys on her bedside table. I got home to find my bedroom unchanged, which I took to mean Mom wasn’t aware of George Patterson having a hit out on me.

I sorted my laundry and started a load, then hopped in the shower. It felt good to just relax for once as the hot spray pounded into my back. I had just dried off and was preparing to brush my teeth when my phone buzzed. I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered anyway.

“Gary, this is Jan Metzger. Bethany told me you’re going out tonight. I just wanted to get in touch with you before you got on the road.”

We made tentative arrangements to meet Saturday evening before I went to get dressed to take her daughter out. I was definitely going to have to do a better job of keeping track of all this. I was afraid my life would turn into one of those sitcom episodes where the guy finds himself on separate dates with two girls at the same time.

I waited until Mom and Kacie got home, moving my laundry to the dryer while I did, informed Mom of my plans and was allowed out for the evening. I got to the Metzgers’ about 6:30 and was immediately pulled into a sizzling kiss before I could even tell who opened the door.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week,” Jan gasped as she turned me loose. “Arlene called me yesterday to tell me she knew. I can’t believe she’s jealous of me, as many boys as she’s poached in her life. It’s not like I was trying to seduce you.”

Before I could respond, Bethany came down the stairs. She was wearing a baggy western-cut top with the sleeves pushed up to her elbows, another denim miniskirt and western boots. She’d done her hair up with a kind of sideways ponytail that looked like something off an old Nickelodeon show, but I thought it worked for her.

“Bye, Mom,” she said as she grabbed my hand and headed for the door.

“Not too late, Beth,” Jan admonished.

I didn’t think that would be an issue. The week was already catching up to me.

Bethany hit me with a haymaker as we pulled away from the curb.

“You really did it with my mom?”

Oh. Shit.

“I don’t guess you’d believe that it was an accident?” I stammered. “That I didn’t mean to?”

“I believe you didn’t intend to until she took you to her room,” Bethany said, her expression seeming somewhere between finding it the most hilarious thing ever and outright jealousy. “She told me all about how you took her out Tuesday and did the same things you did Monday with me. Except for the part at the end where you rocked her world.

“I haven’t seen her look like she did Wednesday morning since before she and David, her last boyfriend, broke up. I was in sixth grade when that happened. I really thought they were going to get married. Nan thought they were, too.”

The thought of Jan expecting some kind of relationship with me was difficult to process. I was 15 years younger than her, for crying out loud! And I was at this very moment on a date with her daughter with her knowledge and blessing. This was getting to be too much.

“I’m not mad about it,” Bethany said. “She deserves to have a little fun. Just don’t hurt her.”

“Funny, she said something similar about you,” I said. “But I get the feeling that somebody’s going to get hurt no matter what I do — you, your mom, Morgan, one of the other girls.”

“We’ve talked about it, us girls I mean,” she said. “We know we can’t all openly date you at the same time without somebody getting mad — somebody’s parents, teachers, community busybodies. But we’ve been thinking of a rotation, maybe a couple of weeks at a time.”

“I can’t see Morgan going for that,” I said. “And depending on what happens with this modeling thing, I may not be around to date any of you.”

We pulled into the parking lot of the Italian place Bethany wanted to try. It was supposed to be more Tuscan cuisine than Roman or Neapolitan. It was all pasta as far as I was concerned.

The place was already hopping even this early on a Friday evening, requiring a 20-minute wait to get a table. I felt fortunate that Bethany did not pursue our previous topic of conversation.

“So, tell me about Malibu,” she said. “Is it anything like what you see on TV?”

“I only saw about a half-mile stretch and was mostly confined to a couple of hundred yards,” I said. “But it is really pretty. The main part of the house we were in is built on top of a bluff, but it had different levels going down the cliff. You could walk out of the bottom floor right onto the beach.

“One of the photo assistants took this shot that really shows the beach.”

I pulled out my phone and called up Fran Goldstein’s photo.

“I’ve seen that,” Bethany said with a hint of excitement. “Morgan and Kacie made sure we all got the email from Arlene. Morgan’s already posted it and it’s going viral. Girls from all over are asking if they can get the poster. Imagine you being on the walls of college dorms across the country!”

Great, just what I need. More notoriety. I hoped Fran received proper credit and compensation.

The hostess picked that time to call us for our table.

“What were the models like?” Bethany asked once we were seated.

“Good looking,” I said. “I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to them, though. The photographer kind of scared them off of wanting to have anything to do with me.”

Bethany’s questioning look forced me to relate my introduction to Giorgio and how that seemed to influence the models’ perception of me.

“It got a little better after we did the stuff Wednesday evening that produced that picture,” I said, nodding to my phone. “Thursday was just run around on the beach while somebody took pictures, then change swimsuits and run around some more.