Emily Uncensored Book 2: Long Island Read online

  I reach up to the top shelf to grab my shoe box where I store my weed. I’m not going to smoke it now but I like to pre-package a little when I know I am going to have to be social, in case my anxiety levels peak.

  I hop up to grab it and down tumbles the red box.

  Oh, the red box. The reason I am here in the first place. I should have burned you, red box. Pictures fly out and are now displayed on my floor. I go to retrieve them.

  No.

  Wait.

  I should burn all of these fuckers. All of these women who were duped. Duped into either sex, or just being stalked. Or, on the other hand, maybe they all loved it. Either way, the pictures represent something I don’t like. Molly didn’t have a back bone, but I freaking do!

  I grab the box and my weed and head to the kitchen.

  It is 4pm.

  Martini time!

  Thank you Cindy.

  Martini, check.

  Weed packed in purse, check.

  Now for the burning. I realize there is about one hundred pictures I have to burn, and the only fire available is the stove. The fireplace isn’t real, it’s one of those crystal heat thingies. So, I head out to the back yard. It’s about 100 degrees today and the sun is at it’s strongest. I lay out the pictures face up on the cement, hoping they will just melt. After thirty minutes of waiting, I realize this will take far too long, so I grab my lighter and just burn them one by one. I stand over the garbage can on the side of the house. I have to hurry or I am going to be late for my community outreach.

  I get through twenty or so and decide I’ll have to hide the rest until tomorrow. I realize I could just throw them away like a normal person, but burning seems so much more official. I hide them behind the trashcan and run upstairs to replace the box to its original home.

  Grab my Keys.

  Kiss the bitchy pussy on the head.

  She swats at me but misses.

  Emily one point, Gertie zero.

  I arrive at the Hall which is exactly 2.2 miles away from my house. I hop out of my new stick shift Jetta. On lease, a gift from Jonathan to “improve my chances of staying”. Kind of pathetic, but he has a point. I have a professional and put-together outfit on (for once). I am feeling good due to my very strong Martini. I see Darlene and Cindy sitting at a table folding napkins, and I join them.

  “Where the hell is everyone?” I ask.

  “Oh, hey woman! We thought you weren’t coming.” Kathy says.

  “Why? Am I late?” I look at my phone.

  “No we just thought you weren’t going to show. Glad you did. Sit.” Cindy pats the seat next to her. She lights her cigarette.

  “Are we allowed to smoke?” I ask.

  Cindy leans in, “Honey, the more you ask that question, the more the answer is no. It’s not against the law. I light up when I want to.”

  I am very pleased with her remark.

  The men start to roll in; old, rich and hunched over. There are a couple husbands; younger, glasses, bellies. Then there are the wives. Besides my little clan of housewives, there is another tribe from across town. They are, as Kathy puts it, “Devils in Gucci.” These women have way too much money and way too much time on their hands. They don’t raise their own children, as I am told, which is the worst part of who they are. Besides that, they tend to be husband snatchers.

  Cindy says that they are “typically horny as hell because their husbands are either always gone, or are substantially older.”

  I think to myself that these women need to be documented in my journal. My journal is in the car. So I will just make a mental note. If they snatch husbands, have I got one hell of a catch. Jonathan Clark is the sexiest husband up for grabs I have ever seen. I laugh at myself and Cindy and Kathy give me a weird look. I shake my head at them.

  I sit.

  “Where is Darlene?” I ask, as I start to fold napkins.

  “She doesn’t do these kind of community functions. Their family is Mormon.” Cindy whispers the last part as if it’s some terrible secret.

  “Mormons!?” I yell just to set her off.

  “Shut the fuck up, Emily. Yes they are Mormons, so what? Let me tell you, that woman is set. Joining that church turned her life around.” She puts her cigarette out on one of the napkins. “From a poor hairdresser, to a middle class housewife, yay!” She laughs.

  Cindy you care too much about money and not enough about your eternal salvation.

  I laugh at myself.

  Everyone is seated. Separated by race and age. The old men’s table (cute old fuckers and their canes, it’s just adorable), the Devils in Gucci (crossing their legs and drinking their diet cokes), the professional men (mostly teachers I presume), and the only two black guys in the whole town (both gay and delicious). I haven’t met the last two yet but I intend to.

  That reminds me of Dirk! Shit. our pillow fighting sleepover! I can’t forget.

  The chairman stands at the front of the room. I think his name is Frank. I’m not sure. I shall call him Frank.

  “Thank you all for attending the first meeting of the year, and a busy year it will be. First order of business is sign-ups. I have four sheets here at the front of the room with our four regular yearly functions starting in September.” He points to the table. “Let’s get those spots filled and greet one another. There are beverages in the back. That should take up the majority of our meeting. The next meeting is set for one week from today, same time. Thanks for coming.”

  I turn to Kathy. “Well, that was fucking easy. We just sign up for shit?”

  Kathy smiles. “Honey, you don’t know what you have taken on. You might as well buy a gun right now. The people of this town are merciless, and expect only the highest quality gatherings. Are you up for it?”

  I am puzzled by this and no, no Kathy, I am not sure if I’m up for it, but I do know that I have to make friends with these freaks if I am ever going to lose my hot mess of a fiancé to one of them! I say this to myself and realize the whole time I am just staring at her.

  “Darling? Emily, Where did you go?” Kathy asks.

  “Oh, Kathy. You haven’t seen my skills when it comes to decorating.” I stand up straight as if I believe myself. My words are like clay and hard to get out of my mouth. I am turning into one of them!

  “I have no doubt. Now let's get tanked!” Kathy winks at Cindy.

  I nod because it’s a great idea.

  We hurry and sign up at the front. I sign up for the Glen Cove High School Homecoming Decorating Committee and Chaperone list. It was better than a Harvest Festival, or Christmas Parade, and yes, even better than the Better Homes and Gardens Showcase. A kid’s dance: simple, easy, nothing to be expected of me.

  Cindy and Kathy sign up for the Harvest Festival.

  The three of us turn to walk outside and head to Cindy’s trunk where she keeps the alcoholic beverages stored under her spare tire. Right then the Devil bitches from Hell walk over and assert themselves in my face. They stick out their long fingers, with even longer nails applied to them, and introduce themselves. They are freakishly tall! Granted, I am a shrimp at only 5’3” but my god, I didn’t think Amazonian women existed on Long Island.

  Diane, Deborah and Bethany. My gateway to freedom!

  4

  Evenings @ Home

  He’s pulling into the driveway. I am wearing a red polo shirt and khakis. Who am I? Eh, it fits, it’s soft, it’s expensive, I’m not complaining. My closet seems to resemble what I remember Molly’s closet looking like when I rummaged through their apartment. Full circle I think you call that.

  Earlier today I finished burning the pictures from the red box. I smoked as I did this, and it was like double ecstasy time. And now with Jonathan home, it’s going to probably be round three of ecstasy. He likes to have sex before dinner. I of course oblige because, duh! He may be a crazy-stalker-cheater, but he is good in the sack. Plus he’s easy on the eyes. And if I’m telling the truth, I don’t know how I feel about him. One day it�
�s easier just to be mad at him and loathe his “type”. The type that takes pictures of young women and escorts them behind his wife’s back. But on the other days, he is really quite interesting. He is pretty much perfect (which is disgusting), and has this way of making me lay down for him (which is also disgusting). I often ask myself what I am doing?, But I am Emily and I don’t have a plan for the future, so I just ride whatever rollercoaster I am on.

  The other day I wrote in my journal: Jonathan did me from behind, and I haven’t come like that in years! I wish I hated him more. Oh, wait, he works for my father. Yes, that helps me hate him a little more. Hate and love are two horns on the same goat. And I like goats.

  He walks through the door and notices I am not wearing a bra under my polo. He comments something like “cold in here?”. Ugh, typical. I hate those comments, but I hate bras more. Plus, I was just sunbathing naked, so it seemed easier to just plop on a shirt.

  He gets close to me. He smells amazing. Emily, you must resist. You are trying to plot a way out of this, not get more entangled. But what other people can’t see won’t hurt, so I close the curtains and jump on him and kiss him on his neck and I make him drop his briefcase. He pulls off my clothes and lays me on the dining room table. I just set this table, you asshole! I think.

  Oh well. We have business to conduct. He pulls on my hair and pushes my head up so he can lick my neck. I wrap my legs around his middle, and he thrusts himself inside of me. My mind goes blank for a second. He pulls out of me, and comes all over my red polo. Well, guess I will have to throw that away. It’s not really me anyway.

  “That was fast.” I comment.

  He looks up at me, “I’m not done yet.”

  He finishes me off with his tongue and then we sit to eat the lemon chicken I made. Cindy gave me the recipe, and I had all day to cook, so after the first burnt chicken I just called her and had her walk me through it.

  “It’s, um, chewy babe.” Jonathan says. I glare at him.

  “Fuck you, it took me like three hours to get this shit right.” I bite into it. And yes, not only is it chewy as hell, but it’s bland and disgusting. I don’t let it show, as I’m swirling it around in my mouth making smiley faces at Jonathan and groaning like it’s delicious.

  “You owe me a new shirt.” I say with my mouth half-full, sitting naked at our dining room table. Well, actually I have Batman panties on but my boobs are basically in my dish.

  “You have a whole closet full of new clothes, Emily. Don’t start being like those Long Island Women who just shop and cook. It’s not what I signed up for.”

  This is when I almost choke on my chicken. Keep your cool Emily. I laugh like an evil queen in my head because he is making me mad.

  “Not what you signed up for?” I say.

  “You know what I mean.” He puts his fork down and wipes his mouth with his napkin.

  “I just fucked you on our dining room table, and now I am eating dinner with you topless. This is like every man’s dream.” I take a bite of my asparagus. That’s gross too.

  “Ya, true. But this meal is like eating rubber.” He jokes as he smiles and leaves the table. I throw my spoon at him from across the room.

  He is right, I suck at cooking. Right then Gertie jumps up onto the table and starts eating off my plate. At first I think about throwing her across the room. But I let her eat my chicken, because I for sure am not eating this shit.

  She looks up at me like I am in her way, so I get up and decide to get dressed. Jonathan can do the dishes. I am proud of myself for trying to cook. I am like a freaking Goddess. Like Jessica Jones meets Bridget Jones!

  Haha.

  That would be a great character.

  I get into my room and write in my journal: Tuesday, August 26th: burned pictures, check! Cooked dinner, check! Sex with loathed husband, check! All I need now is a drink with my women folk. I highlight the next part. Funny: have to get a new shirt because Jonathan ruined it with his devil semen. You cannot make this shit up.

  I change into a small tan dress. It’s still quite warm out. I put on my converse and reluctantly decide that a bra is necessary. I head into the kitchen where Jonathan is on the phone. He has his papers sprawled out onto the kitchen island and seems busy. Great. Perfect time to sneak out. Molly wasn’t kidding when she warned me that Jonathan works all of the time. I don’t even ask what he is working on. For all I know he’s on the phone with my father right now. Weird.

  I grab my wallet and wave as I leave the kitchen.

  He looks up and covers the phone with his hand. He mouths to me, “Where are you going?”

  “Out, see you in a few.” And before he can stand up and ask anymore questions I am free and out the front door. The sun is still strong at 7pm and the clouds are full in the sky. It’s sort of a gross, humid day and as I start to walk, I realize I am sweating. I am fanning my own pits, when I see our neighbor kid Alex watching me.

  “What are you doing?” He says as he parks his bike in his driveway. Ten year olds are so fucking clueless. I hate boys at this age. They are gross and dirty all of the time. I remember when I was ten, and my classmate tried to kiss me after school on my walk home. I vividly remember wanting to barf because of the smell. This Alex kid is no different. Smelly and full of dumb questions.

  I oblige his naiveté. “It’s a new dance I am working on, Alex. I am dancing in the street, waving my arms like this because, well, adults are weird.”

  He is standing next to me now. I am not sure if he has a small crush on me or what, but I notice a little baby boner rising from his pants. I try not to look because that is gross, but my god, he is ten. What the fuck is wrong with this little hellion?

  “You look pretty today.” He says as he approaches.

  Ew. Emily you need to be moving along. Last thing you need is to be labeled a pedophile in your new neighborhood. Tell this little creep to go take a bath.

  “Where are your parents?” I ask as I continue to walk, tightly grasping my wallet.

  “Why? Do you want to come in?” He asks.

  What are they feeding this kid? Fuck off, little bastard.

  “No, Alex, I don’t want to come in, go get yourself a little hussy to worship ok?” I stand still and look at him dead on. “It’s rude to hit on women like this. You have a lot to learn, you little shit!” I realize the words as they are coming out and I immediately regret them. I am going to pay for that.

  “You suck! And you’re fat!” He adds the last part as he is running up his driveway.

  I roll my eyes, and uncontrollably shout “Ya, well at least I don’t smell like dirt and peanuts!”

  Good one Emily.

  My immature adolescent self is impressed, but my adult, upper-middle class self is regretting leaving my house. I start to jog to the park, hoping my warrior women will have two things waiting:

  1) Vodka

  2) more Vodka

  I arrive and they are all sitting.

  “Where have you been?” Darlene asks.

  “Sorry. I got caught up,” I say as I sit down on our bench. Cindy hands me the flask.

  “With your sexy husband?” Kathy asks and they all laugh.

  I take a sip of the beverage and wipe my mouth while rolling my eyes.

  “Well, that happened too but no, it was with that gross little shitty kid, Alex.”

  I tell them about the micro boner and his tone. They laugh and say I should have tried to be more adult. I can’t argue with that.

  “We only have about thirty minutes before our husbands start to go crazy with the kids.” Cindy says as she lights up a cigarette. She hands it to me after she takes a puff.

  I guess I should be glad I don’t have kids, but it would be cool to have someone else to hang out with sometimes.

  We sit and talk and drink and then we part ways.

  I walk back across the street and open the front door. The sun is starting to set, and as I close the door I can see the beginning of a colorful sunset.
/>
  I take a deep breath and am thankful that I live in such an amazing place. No cement buildings blocking the light.

  Right then I hear, “Emily! Where is my box?” Jonathan is yelling from our bedroom.

  Fuck! I didn’t think that he would find it empty this quickly. He’s probably had it in the same exact spot for years. In every closet he’s ever lived in. I run upstairs.

  We argue. We have sex. We sleep.

  Turned out better than expected.

  Emily wins!

  5

  I Call Them The Badass Mom Squad

  I am sitting on the couch reading my most recent erotica, SEXTING MY BOSS: MR. BROWN'S WEEKEND FANTASY, when I get a glimpse of a gang of people in motion.

  Here is the image I am watching right now: looking out my large living room window facing the street, I see some badass chicks in all of their glory. They seem to be strutting in slow motion like a replay. Some heavy-hitting rap song is playing in my head as they sway towards me.

  Cindy: Bright orange Juicy Couture jumpsuit with oversized sunglasses and a pearl necklace. A large two carat diamond ring sparkling in the sun. Her long, dark hair is perfectly maintained and her nails are long and hot pink. She pushes a stroller with two toddlers hanging out the sides. Even they have cool sunglasses on. They nod their heads to the beat of their mother’s shoes. One is sipping on her straw. Her facial expression says “screw you world, I am heading to the park.”

  Kathy: has on a crop top. A bold choice for a suburban mother. She sways as she holds her daughter's hand. She has bangles stacked on her wrist and a Starbucks coffee in one hand. It’s probably spiked. She has aviator glasses on and they reflect the sun, casting a blinding streak of light. Her tightly bound hair shows off her large ears, but she gives no fucks. She sports those hoop earrings anyways.

  Darlene: khaki capris and a Ralph Lauren dark blue polo, fitting tightly. She carries a leather back pack (which most likely is hiding baby bottles, carrot sticks and extra hair ties). She is pushing a large black stroller that seems to be stacked to the top with toys and blankets. Her tan body shimmers as she clicks her short heels along the pavement. ‘Click-clack, click-clack’.