My Horizontal Life: A Collection of One-Night Stands Read online

  My brother Greg walked into the living area still in boxer shorts and a T-shirt, yawning and scratching the back of his neck. That's when our dog Whitefoot and my father, who was wearing a Sean John track suit and Uggs, came in through the sliding glass door that leads to the back deck. That's also when Nathan began to squeal like a pig.

  "Oh, my goodness, look at this beautiful creature," he said, running over toward Whitefoot. He dropped to both knees and began petting him uncontrollably. "Yes, yes, you like that, you big beast of a doggie dog dog, don't you? Do you like it? Yes you do, you do do do do do! I love you already, yes I do, yes I do. Do you love me? I think you do!" Whitefoot's tail was wagging and he was maniacally licking Nathan, whose mouth was also open. It didn't take much to get Whitefoot aroused and I knew that his miniature ding-a-ling was at full throttle.

  "What a gorgeous creature!" Nathan cooed, in a voice that a mother would use to talk to an infant. Whitefoot's your basic mutt, with the ability to sit when commanded--a sweet dog but nothing to go crazy over. Nathan was not a flamboyant guy and I had never seen him act like this before.

  My father eyed this exchange with disgust. Then he loudly cleared his throat. We were not off to a good start. Greg, meanwhile, looked on with a huge smile on his face. He loved watching our dad's reaction to anyone left of center. After allowing Whitefoot to face-rape him for another ten seconds, Nathan stood up and approached my father with open arms. My father took a step back and put out his hand instead.

  Greg had met Nathan before on a visit to Los Angeles and gave him a bear hug.

  "This is gonna be fantastic," Greg said to me on his way into the kitchen.

  Once Nathan had finished eating the small feast my mother had prepared for him, he asked which room was his and then promptly changed into his running clothes. It was early afternoon and everyone was at the beach, so our normally chaotic house filled with my five siblings, their significant others, and their half a dozen kids was empty and unusually quiet.

  I gave Nathan directions on where to go on his run, opting to stay home to do some damage control.

  As the front door shut and Nathan took off on his run, my father looked up from reading the newspaper. He glared at me, his reading glasses resting low on his nose.

  "Well, looks like Chelsea brought home another loose cannon," he said to my mother.

  I needed to change the subject quickly for fear my father's already tenuous good mood would get worse, so I asked him if the gardener was done preparing the lawn for the wedding.

  "Yeah, he's done," my father said, disinterested. "I told him to take one of those linden trees as his payment."

  "What?" my mother asked.

  "Those linden trees. We've got two of them and they're normally found in Germany. Very rare."

  "Melvin," my mother said, "how is he supposed to take one of our trees?"

  "Simple," my father said. "All he has to do is cut it down and load it into a truck. It's not a big deal."

  Greg's face lit up. He took major delight in all of my father's business maneuvers. He is of the thought that my father is wildly insane and operates on a completely different plane of existence.

  "Why would the gardener want one of our trees?" Greg asked innocently.

  "Those trees are very valuable, Greg. They're worth about fifteen hundred dollars. Who wouldn't want one is my question."

  "Right," Greg said, "but is our gardener in the tree-selling business? A tree's not something you just take out into the marketplace and sell."

  "Not sure," my father said and then went back to his newspaper.

  "Well, when is he going to cut down the tree?" my mother asked.

  "I don't know, he's gotta get some guys and rent a truck," he said.

  "Well, not before the wedding, I hope," she said.

  "Maybe if we're lucky he'll saw it down right in the middle of the wedding," Greg said.

  "Nah, he wouldn't do that," my dad replied, as if my brother were serious.

  "I wonder if there'll be a bidding war on eBay," Greg said.

  "If he wants to sell it on eBay, let him sell it on eBay, what do I care? All I know is this guy's making out like a bandit!" my father said.

  I went to my room, changed, and came downstairs to find my sister and her fiance. They had been visiting some friends who were in town for the wedding.

  "Look at that figure," my father said, upon seeing me in a bathing suit. "Hot stuff tonight!"

  Then he nudged my sister and said, "Look at that hourglass figure. She's a heartbreaker, this one."

  Sloane reacted with disgust, as she always did. "That's your daughter, Dad. You're not supposed to be complimenting her figure."

  I disagreed. I like compliments and don't care who they come from. Besides, my dad was always singing our praises to the point of embarrassment, only to turn around the next minute and say something like, "Some women don't get married until they're in their forties."

  "Dad's got a crush on you, and I think it's disgusting," Sloane said.

  "I love all my daughters equally," he announced. "Each one is more beautiful than the next!"

  "Yeah? Where am I in that lineup?" Sloane asked.

  "At the beginning," I told her.

  My dad turned to me. "You got a lot of chutzpah, love. Men aren't always going to respond to that. You're one of those girls who could do it all by yourself. Make a fortune, have a couple kids . . . build a house."

  "Who is she supposed to have kids with, Dad?" Sloane asked.

  "Whomever! That's what women are doing these days. She's one hell of a smart-ass, that sister of yours," he said to Sloane, then looked at me. "But you got a good head on your shoulders and a lot of men find that intimidating. That's why you tend to hang out with such basket cases like your friend Nathan there."

  "Sloane, did you hear the news?" Greg asked.

  "Yes," I chimed in, ignoring my father. "You don't have to pay the caterer tomorrow, you can just give her one of our trees. They're very rare."

  The door swung open and Nathan walked back inside, dripping sweat from his run.

  "This place is beautiful, God, Melvin, just beautiful," he said to my father. Then he spotted Sloane. "You must be Sloaney Baloney! Yippee!" he shrieked and ran over to embrace her.

  My future brother-in-law slid out the back door as soon as he saw that a hug might be headed his way. My father lowered his paper an inch below his eyes, watching Nathan like a detective on a stakeout.

  "Sylvia," Nathan said to my mother, "I'd love a smoothie."

  "Hey, asshole," I whispered, "this isn't Jamba Juice."

  "Chelsea, I heard that," my mother said. "I'd love to make a smoothie for Nathan."

  "Well, then, you better make one for Whitefoot too," my father said and muttered something under his breath.

  After taking a forty-minute shower, then dumping his running clothes on top of our laundry machine and asking my mother not to wash his shorts and shirt together, Nathan picked up our phone and went into the bedroom where all the little kids sleep.

  I quickly slipped outside to the deck to avoid further discussion with my father. Half an hour later, when I came back inside, Nathan was having a loud argument with his bookie/lover, which my father was listening to through my sister's baby monitor that he held inches away from his ear. My father got up, grabbed me by my elbow, and dragged me into the kitchen.

  "Do you know what a sbnorrer is?" he asked me.

  "Dad, what is your problem?" I said.

  "It's Yiddish for mooch. That faygeleb friend of yours is the classic definition of a mooch, and I don't like it one bit. When is he gonna get off the goddamn phone? We've got a wedding to arrange for that Mormon sister of yours and there's no goddamm cell-phone reception. What kind of misbigas is this?" Misbigas is another Yiddish word, for bullshit. "Do you know he has a bookie? Where did this guy grow up, in the woods?"

  "Let go of my elbow, Dad."

  "I don't like it one bit. Now tell me the truth, is he delir