Emily Uncensored Book 2: Long Island

  Emily Uncensored

  Book Two: Long Island

  Fiona Lexus

  PandaFox Publishing

  Contents

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  1. An Explanation

  2. The Process

  3. Community

  4. Evenings @ Home

  5. I Call Them The Badass Mom Squad

  6. Looking Good in a Tux

  7. Phase Two

  8. Allergies

  9. The Beach

  10. Sick

  11. Birthday Dildo

  12. Bathroom Talk

  13. All Business

  Author’s Notes

  Also by Fiona Lexus

  Check out this other indie author!

  Everyday Apocalypse: Season One

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  For salty women everywhere. May your journey be respected, and your coffee always strong.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product’s of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.

  Emily Uncensored Book 2: Long Island

  copyright © 2017 by Fiona Lexus

  www.fionalexus.com

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

  Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com

  Created with Vellum

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  -Fiona

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  Emily Uncensored Book 3: It’s Complicated

  1

  An Explanation

  I am sitting on a nice plaid-printed couch sipping my morning coffee. I’m looking out a very large window, trying not to stare at my neighbor tackling her Yorkie as it tries to bite a man with a cane. It’s pretty fucking entertaining, if I do say so myself. The view from my new living room overlooks the beginning of Hatch Haven Park, a large expanse of green grass met by an array of plastic and metal play structures for children. People just seem to breed here like no other place on Earth. Unlike my old view, which was a brick building and fire escape.

  My setting is very different than a year ago. I am a new person, a different person, and I will destroy you!

  No, I’m kidding.

  I am thumbing through my latest hump-thump mystery novel: CATCH ME IF YOU CAN: I'VE BEEN A NAUGHTY GIRL. It’s just so-so.

  My house is large, handsome and located in quaint Glen Cove, Long Island. We have the cars, the cute neighborhood friends that “power-walk” every morning, and we also brought Gertie bitch-cat from New York City. Molly got to keep her cat, which I hope brings her some comfort.

  What am I saying? She is comforted. I fucking rescued her from the painful and slow death of being married to Jonathan. I should be expecting a thank you card in the mail any day now (my thoughts for the last eight months).

  Oh, right, and Jonathan is my fiancé now. That would be a joke, but it’s not. It’s real. So very, very real. I signed up for this lifestyle, I signed the contract, I decided to be ‘the chosen one’. Blame it on my ego, or blame it on my big heart, but there is just something about being in a fucked up relationship that gets me off. Did I mention he is gone most of the time? That matters. A lot.

  The best part of my new circumstances is the fact that I am alone most of the time. Perfect for my strategy. Jonathan has to commute an hour to work everyday, and sometimes on Saturdays. I have plenty of time to get acclimated to my new surroundings and community. And to figure out my plan.

  Figure out how the hell to get my dominant, sexy, perfect, stalker-y husband-to-be to fall in love with someone else.

  I know, I am fucked up. It’s what I like best about myself.

  Order of operations for said plan are as follows:

  1- keep a journal of happenings (do people say ‘happenings’ still?)

  2- get to know my neighbors and community (they may come in handy)

  3- keep Jonathan happy and out of the loop (he can’t know my plan)

  You see I have nothing against Jonathan as a man. He is pretty much a perfect specimen. But no one ever taught him that women actually don’t like being held hostage as someone’s wife. See, Darling Jonathan, 1920 happened and women got the right to vote, and ever since then, we have been on an upward spiral, and you’re messing with the wrong gender.

  Those are the words I want to say to him. Someday. Not today. I am a pussy.

  So I’m sitting here reading and sipping and not smoking as I usually would, because heaven forbid I smoke inside. One more reason to be rid of that imposter! Lately I have been smoking out in the front yard which is across from the community park. I people watch and it's pretty fascinating.

  Sunday morning Yoga classes, Tuesday night basketball matches and sometimes annoying, screaming children having a play date which their valium-filled mothers scheduled for them. This town is like New York City’s disabled brother. It wouldn’t exist unless The Big Apple was wiping its ass every day. That’s crude, but I am crude. And it's true!

  My people watching has moved to the next level, which I call “journal entries”. They are hilarious to read afterwards and will help me in my plan which we shall call “The Terrible Plan Which Shall Not Be Named”.

  Sounds perfect.

  It’s ten O’clock and I haven’t had my smoke yet today. Let the routine begin.

  2

  The Process

  I grab my cigs and prepare myself for the heat. It’s been a scorching summer. Only good part about it is that I have an amazing tan from laying out naked in the backyard.

  It’s been eight months since I saw my parents. When I visited them in San Francisco. When I saw a glimpse of my past and decided I should again run from it. Eight months since I realized Jonathan worked for my father. Eight months since Molly asked me to be her replacement. It seems like a long time ago, but it has flown by and I don’t even really know where it went or how I ended up where I am. I am sure more than one of you can relate.

  I sit on the edge of the sidewalk out front of my house and light the good old friend which I carry in my pocket. Relief and freedom fill my lungs. So this is what I do. I enter my sights and thoughts into my journal. Sometimes, I even talk to these people. These foreign Long Islanders who, yes, scare me a little. But more than that, they are my gate keepers. I have to find one of them and bend them the way that Molly and Jonathan bent me. I try to weed out potential candidates all the time.

  I thumb through my journal entries from the summer.

  July 4th was a doozy: Fireworks over the ocean. People watch in amazement. Tall lady in hat spills her drink and falls into the water. Jonathan stands up to see if he can help, but fat man with ugly shirt has already drug her wet, scrawny body out. Jonathan is off the hook. It was funny. I laughed. I also drank a whole bottle of champagne by myself. Jonathan gave me “the look”.

  See this one is very helpful, because ‘drunk lady in water’ may be a potential candidate. I mean Jonathan wanted to rescue her, she likes to drink, it may not be as hard as I think.

  Journal entry from my 30th birthday: There are so many people I don’t know here, and mingling gives me hives, so I am sitting in the bathroom blowing smoke through the vent. I open the door, and standing there is a stunning man, more stunning than Jonathan, wearing a polka dot shirt and pink bow tie. My gay-dar comes on and he confirms my suspicions when he starts to speak. He is nice. And every girl needs her token gay. Take note Emily, take note. Wait, what the fuck was his name? Oh, well. I have always been a terri
ble note taker.

  I write Dirk into the journal because earlier this week I ran into him at the grocery store and I asked him what his name was. He was just as charming. In fact he invited me to his house this weekend. But I was high when we were talking so I may have invited him to mine.

  I make another note: must confirm if I invited Dirk over or if I am going to his house. Sleepover!!? Pillow fights?

  I amuse myself.

  I feel the hard sidewalk under my legs. I am wearing jean shorts and a black Hello Kitty shirt that has an excessive amount of glitter on it. I figure I can get away with this much glitter in summer. Anything goes in summer. You can just blame things on the heat such as: oh these shorts are way too short but it’s so hot out…

  And people will just nod as if that is a good enough explanation.

  I once told my old, snarky neighbor Jeff, when he commented on my lack of clothing a few weeks ago, that I had to be in a bathing suit all summer. I explained that if I wear clothes when it’s above 90 degrees, I start to sweat and I have a rare disease that makes me allergic to sweat, and did he want to be the one responsible for taking me to the emergency room when I go into anaphylactic shock? He just continued to water his roses and snarled quietly, “No.”

  I felt pretty good about myself in that moment. Jeff, by the way, is not in my journal or on my list of possible co-conspirators. He admires Jonathan and I have even noticed his old, wrinkly self, outside his house around 6pm awaiting the arrival of my beloved fiancé. I, on the other hand, usually try and find something to do around 6 O’clock, and leave Jonathan notes filling him in on my whereabouts.

  One note read: Eating Ice Cream with my new friend Dorothy. You better be naked when I get home.

  This note indicates to him that I am blending into our new Long Island environment and that I still have hard-ons for him. Which technically is true. He is probably the sexiest man I have ever met and I use his body when needed. But I try to be professional and stick to my plan as much as possible. It will be worth it in the end. I think?

  I spot a glimpse of the neighborhood mothers gathering their gremlins at the playground. They are all wearing sweat suits or maybe they are still in their pajamas, it’s hard to tell. One child falls immediately after exiting his stroller. Clumsy little fucker. The women gather on the benches and talk. The usual. I have noticed this behavior every weekday morning since I moved here. I have documented their behavior in my journal, but the one thing I have yet to do is invite myself into their conversations. Today shall be that day.

  I head over, realizing my outfit might seem obscure, so I decide to change into the appropriate costume.

  I come back outside with my Gucci skirt which Jonathan bought me for my birthday, and a lace tank top. I pull my hair back into a clip and slip on my leather sandals. It’s not perfect but it’s better than a glittery cat. I cross the street. I round the corner of the bench and walk casually past the beauty queens. They all stare and I look over to them hoping they will join me in their conversation but not expecting it.

  “Hey, you’re new to Glen Cove, right?” One stunning, middle aged lady says.

  I look around but know that she is talking to me. I like to pretend like I am stupid, because through all of my research I have found that sort of thing works well here in suburbia. It worked for my mother.

  “Yes, I live across the street.” I say as I approach their bench. They could all be sisters. They sort of even match. You know how dogs start looking like their humans? Ya, like that.

  “You are the one who sunbathes naked right?” Another one says. She has brown hair and crystal blue eyes. She has on gobs of make-up, but I can tell underneath it all, somewhere, she is beautiful. I am sort of taken aback by her comment. It is so blunt after all. I like this sassy bitch!

  “Yes, that would be me. How?…”

  She interrupts me.

  My oldest saw you out of his upstairs window. I think he probably watches you weekly. He’s going through one of those ‘masturbation phases’ so I think in a way you are helping him out.”

  My mouth is dropped open at this point. The three women are staring at me and then they start to laugh. I feel like a loser.

  “I’m kidding. I live behind your house and I was out gardening the other day. I heard your music on and was going to introduce myself, so I peeked my head over, but I figured we should both probably be dressed for that.” She smiles and crosses her legs.

  I like this sassy-cunt-nugget and I will be friends with her, I think to myself.

  “Oh. You sort of gave me a little heart attack. Last thing I need is my husband finding out what I do during the day,” I say as I place my hand over my heart. If anything she gave me a tiny boner, but we won’t go into that. I figure this is the perfect time to throw Jonathan under the bus and start to build my case against him.

  “Oh, go fuck your husband. We all want to!” Another one says.

  “We are totally playing with you. You see, we are the real desperate housewives. We have nothing else to do but come up with weird shit to say about people.” The third one says.

  “Oh, and get our nails done.” The first one says.

  I am caught off guard and I feel like I could be learning something from these ladies so I take a seat. Introductions are made.

  I find out that Kathy is on her second husband and fourth child. Her husband is the Chief Financial Officer at Chase Bank and she left her day job as a hairdresser to drive her “little shits” around. Good stuff.

  Darlene is blonde, only 28 and moved to Glen Cove a year ago when her husband got a job as Glen Cove’s High School principal. She works part time at her father’s accounting firm and has one child named “Brock”, who she admits she did not name. She refuses to call him that, so she just refers to him as “Buddy.”

  The third, Cindy, is 50 but I would never have guessed. She tells me Botox is her only drug, and between her and her six children, she keeps pretty busy. She tells me that the secret to any happy marriage is a dry martini at 4pm. I won’t drink for a happy marriage, but I will take note of the 4pm alcohol consumption idea. Sounds genius. Cindy has thick black mascara on, and is the sassy older version of me. I love her. She is the mother I always wanted; witty with a side of crazy.

  They shall be my guides. Goddesses of Glen Cove. I can’t believe I am going to say this, but I actually like these bitches. They will be useful.

  When they ask me about my situation I realize I have to set the stage. I can be whoever I want. I left New York, I left my single-dom, I am marrying my sexy-crazy-stalker-angel, and I am planning on laying him flat on his ass. But no, I shall leave the destruction out of it.

  “My fiancé is a lawyer and works constantly. So I am pretty bored most of the time. I was left a large inheritance from my grandmother, so I don’t really have to work, but I would like to. I graduated from Berkeley and my family lives in San Francisco. I just turned 30, I have no kids, and probably don’t want to. I think Jonathan does though.” This is where I look down at my hands and pretend to feel sorry for myself. Luring them into my web. They must hate him in order to help me.

  The ladies all turn their heads to the side. Cindy starts in: “Kids aren’t everything. Plus, men aren’t everything either honey, so you just remember that!”

  I laugh because lord knows she is right.

  We sit for a while. The kids are screaming which is annoying but the women tune them out. Battles are held on the playground and blood is spilled but the women just keep talking.

  “They’ll work it out themselves, it’s good for them.” Darlene says as her young boy is crying after being punched.

  “Park time is our time.” Cindy adds.

  I get it. Loud and clear. These women could probably rule the world if they wanted to. And it intimidates me, but I don’t let it show.

  The next day we sit again. After a week, I am officiated when Kathy brings her flask and we each take a sip of the orange flavored Vodka. She slips it awa
y under her bra and each mother takes off in a different direction. Their strollers and small children following close behind. I stay seated. The sun is being blocked by a tree and the shade feels nice. I am comfortable. I like these women. I have never really liked women.

  Weird.

  3

  Community

  Jonathan and I first decided to move to this town in spring. Well, he decided . I gave him the criteria. My criteria was: small town, not New York, beaches. He filled in the rest.

  Anyway, when we first decided to move here, Jonathan thought it would be a good idea for me to get involved in the community. After all, he is gone a lot.

  He thinks I am gloriously happy.

  And he would think so based on our sexual escapades, but truth be told, that is sex. And I do it because I need it. I also do it because Jonathan is the best at it, but I won’t be telling him that. His crazy tendencies and warped ideas about women don’t exactly make me want to fall in love with him.

  Long story short, I joined a group.

  I am not a group joining sort of person.

  I hate groups.

  The first meeting for The Glen Cove Community Boosters is tonight.

  I am getting ready.

  My room is badass. One benefit of pretending to be this person who I am not, is that I get to pretend to enjoy things I might not normally enjoy. Such as a Calvin Klein dress: navy blue, tight. I figure this is my costume for the evening. And I look awesome in it. We have a large walk-in closet, which currently Gertie-bitch-cat is using as her bedroom, that little skank.