At Play in the Garden

About a year ago, my wife Rosemary and I went out with two of our friends to see a stand up comedian, an awesome local guy named Dick Edmonds. He's crude and sexist as hell, each joke topping the last, and during the show I looked over to Rosemary expecting her to give me the signal to leave, but she was actually laughing.

I should say now that Rosemary is not uptight, in fact she's a Goth chick, or sort of, but she has let me know on a few occasions that she's not a fan of porn or raunchy talk and shutters at the word 'cunt'. She's a bit shy, however, and would be the last person in the world to make a scene over something she found offensive. Actually she's a sub, as in submissive, and I like that, at least while we're in the bedroom. Out of the bedroom, however, it's hard to ever know if she's having fun or letting herself be pushed around. It's a little frustrating, and so even though she was laughing, I had no idea if she'd liked the guy or was just trying to make the best of our night out.

After watching Dick Edmonds do his stand up thing, the four of us stopped at a bar for a drink, and our friend Stanz was trying to pick up where the comedian left off, spewing out one bad joke after another. He was no Dick Edmonds, but it was enough to keep us laughing. Laughter is sort of like cocaine in that way, when you start coming down you'll pretty much snort a line of anything to bring yourself back to full speed. I guess you could say we we're snorting Stanz's punch lines,

yuk, yuk

!

Stanz's girlfriend had a shrieking laugh that I found embarrassing, especially in the tiny bar. Rosemary complained that her cheeks were killing her and begged him to stop. I bought three rum and cokes for us, because Penny, Stanz's girlfriend, had switched to water, and when I returned with them Stanz was reiterating on something ole Dick had said, which was that a tattoo on a woman is a sure fire sign she's easy. As Dick put it, "Of course she'd fuck anyone; she even fucked both her parents getting the damn thing." Stanz was adding to it now, saying, "It's totally true, tattoos on girls all say the same thing, they're all code for 'Wanna fuck?' That's why everyone's into those Suicide Girls, cuz they fuck and fuck and fuck, and it's spelled out all over there hot little bods."

This got a few more chuckles out us, and since candle in the red jar on our table had burned out, and the next nearest light happened to be a blue neon sign, we became a table of toothy blue smiles. The blue neon also popped out or eyes and the clips in Penny's hair, and given that I was pretty drunk I was completely tripping out on it.

I asked what the fuck a Suicide Girl was, because I was clueless about them at the time, and the fact that they'd fuck and fuck and fuck prompted my interest in a bad way.

"Tattooed pin-up chicks who will fuck anybody, especially if the chick has one of those low back tattoos," Stanz answered, "All low back tattoos should be required to say, 'I'm a dirty bitch, so if you're reading this then you're probably banging my ass so hard scientists are picking up an eight on the Richter scale."

I was worried he'd finally crossed a line with Rosemary when he said that, but she surprised me by adding, "It's ten dollars a letter, do you know how much that would cost?"

"How do you know that?" Stanz asked, incriminatingly.

"She has one," I answered, "and it's on her low back."

Everyone laughed––my god did they laugh––except for me. I was pissed, because this should've bothered her and didn't.

"Rosemary, you're full of shit," he said, "I've seen most of you and there ain't no tattoo."

She wiped the tears from her big reddish-brown eyes, rubbed her sore cheeks, hooked her black hair behind her ear, and then, fully recomposed, said, "I got it last year, I wanted to do something special for my twenty-fourth

birfday

."

"Bullshit, let's see it?"

"No, it's too low."

"Too low?"

"So my skirts can hide it."

"It's on your ass?"

"Just the top part."

"Well that's nothing. We can see

that

, come on."

"

Jeeze Louise

, fine."

At this point I'd grown too pissed to stop her, and so I just let her hike a knee up onto the 'U' shaped seat we were sitting on, unclasped her black slacks, and then lower the zipper enough to loosen them down and reveal the top of her white ass. When I said Rosemary was sort of a Goth girl, I meant that she is Goth but keeps it relatively conservative. She doesn't have any crazy corsets, fishnets, or laminated, black hot pants. Instead she has an affinity for black slacks and long, wine colored skirts topped with either a patent leather jacket or her favorite fifties, short-waisted, mint-green sweater, complete with a black, zig-zaggy trim up the front and around the collar. That evening she'd worn the sweater and slacks. Her makeup and hair made the strongest Goth statement, with heavily applied eye shadow and liner like the early silent film stars, and she kept her straight, black hair in a bob cut. She appeared like something out of the past, but with strong suggestive undertones.

She attempted to show everyone her tattoo, but didn't loosen her slacks enough at first, and the tight hem pinched into the cheek area, accentuating its softness. She unzipped them all the way after that, so the waist was completely baggy, then lowered them to expose the tops of either cheek and just below the V divot where it turns into genuine ass crack.

She was between us, facing me, so Stanz had a clear view of her partially exposed ass. Penny sat on his other side, leaning over the table to see, and like me, I could tell her laughter was quickly fading.

Rosemary's tattoo read, 'At Play in the Garden'. On the left cheek, underling that section of letters, was also a neatly detailed sprig of rosemary, and on the right cheek, underling that portion, was a sprig of leafy sage. The letters were in a fancy, swirling script, and hard to read in the dark bar. Stanz leaned in a little closer, trying his best to make out the words.

"What's it say?" Penny asked.

"I can't tell," Stanz said, then to Rosemary, who was turned around and looking at her own ass, "What's it say?"

"You really can't read it?"

"Hold on." Stanz pulled out his keys, which had a small pen light attached to them, and the blurry black lines suddenly turned into delicate writing. "At play in the garden," he read. "What's it mean?" he asked, putting his keys away.

She began to pull up her pants and say that it's personal, but not before Stanz said, "Wait! Wait, I got one," and stopped her. To everyone's surprise, he touched her left cheek, just under the words, then quickly ran his finger underneath them as it pushed into the soft flesh, dipped into the start of her ass crack, and then into the soft flesh of her right check. He immediately returned his finger to start position, and zipped it along a second time, and on this pass his finger went lower, and when it bumped into her crack it bent down and spread her cheeks a bit when dragged out. "I'm speed reading! Get it?"

Before he could make a third pass, Rosemary pulled up her pants, which knocked his finger away. She then sat back down and leaned against me, mainly to get away from him. I'd grown furious, although I was still trying to smile and not be a dick about it, but I wouldn't put my arm around her, and just sort of let her lean uncomfortably. She was drunk, Stanz was drunk, and I was drunk––possibly so drunk that it might have been the drink encouraging my anger. So was it just me? I looked to the most sober person in the group, trying to read how Penny felt about it. She didn't seem upset, although she wasn't laughing anymore. She'd maintained a polite smile, but her eyes had wandered upwards and appeared very uncomfortable. So, no, it wasn't just me.

Stanz keeled over as far as the table allowed him to, laughing his ass off, and Rosemary was only giggling now.

"So every time you two go doggy, Less reads that? How many times have you had to read that thing, Less? Fifty? A hundred?"

"Something like that."

"Man, Rosemary, I wish I'd known you in high school. I would have wrote my homework up and down your back, then popped some Viagra and studied like a mother fucker. People would be like, 'Hey, Rosemary, why are you walking funny?' And you'd be like, 'Owww ahhh owww, Stanz got another 'A''. Then they'd be like, 'Hey Rosemary, why do you have an ice pack on your crotch?' 'Ouchie owww ouchie, Stanz has his, ouch ouch, SAT Saturday.'" He drummed on the table and said, "Oh man that is funny shit. Then they'd be all, 'Rosemary, how'd you lose your voice?' 'Uh, Stanz put the extra credit questions on my forehead"

I'd had it. I whispered to Rosemary to follow me to the bathrooms.

"We'll be right back."

"Cool. Going to catch up on some

reading

?" He drummed the table again.

I walked Rosemary to the little alcove that lead to the restrooms, looked sharply into her eyes, and said, "What are you doing?"

"Nothing. What do you mean?"

"Stanz just felt your ass."

"He's only goofing around, Less. He's just trying to be funny. You didn't think it was funny?"

"No."

"Touching my butt was a little unexpected, I admit that."

"Then why didn't you say something?"

"He's your friend, and I didn't want to shake things up and get you mad."

"I'm already mad.

"Don't be, please. I had no idea you were getting jealous or I would have moved to the other side of you."

"It has nothing to do with whether I'm jealous or not. He's in there treating you like dirt and you don't even pick up on it. I'm at a fucking loss here."

"Don't say that, please. If there's something you want me to do, just tell me what it is? Anything you want me to say or do, I will."

"But you don't see how he's disrespecting you––how he's disrespecting me?"

"Yeah, but they were only jokes, and nobody else seemed to mind."

I didn't know how to get through to her, and her public submissiveness was really starting to get to me. I always thought that if I treated her special she'd demand the same from everyone else, but I guess it's stupid to assume you can change anyone, because you can't, and that's why I was at a loss.

Several years before this, Stanz and I were getting breakfast at a restaurant on the street leading up to the Manhattan Beach Pier, when he thumps me in the chest and says, "Shit, the waitress, she's the chick Kyle put the slammy on."

I'd already noticed the waitress, not because I'd recognized her but because I found her remarkably cute––pale skin, jet black hair with straight bangs, angular cheeks, reddish brown eyes, and a dainty pouting mouth. She also wore her eyeliner and shadow in a heavy way that caused me to immediately think Goth chick. I could easily picture her hanging out at some club after work wearing something far more moody and dark than the yellow dress she hosted in. Her expression and the way she held herself made her seem unapproachable, perhaps even on the cold side, or maybe just shy.

'She's absolutely stunning,' I thought, and when Stanz had pointed out whom she was, that she was the girl Kyle did 'that' to; I almost pulled a double take.

Of course our hostess had been Rosemary.

I'll be honest, if Rosemary weren't so stinking beautiful I probably would've never ended up asking her out that day. I know it sounds shallow, and it is, but her looks made me lose my mind and get into a relationship that had more giant warning signs than a nuclear power plant run by nearsighted preschoolers.

As we walked up to podium where she stood, she looked suddenly nervous, like Stanz was a cop about to accuse her of a horrible crime, but Stanz thankfully kept quiet, a first for him.

We sat and ordered, and about half way through the meal I left the table to go to the bathroom. I'm a sucker for a girl in distress, and I think Stanz presence caused her plenty. Instead of going to the bathroom I found myself writing my number on a food-to-go menu and returned to the podium were she greeted people. Then I confessed, "Listen, my friend Stanz is a bit of a dick, and that guy Kyle is a total a Dick."

"

Okay

? Why are you telling me your friends are dicks?"

"Because I'm not! Seriously, I'm not a dick. Not like them."

"Okay, your friend is a dick and your not. Is that what you wanted me to know?"

"Yeah. Here!" I handed her the menu with my phone number on it. "I've never given my number to a girl before, and you are fucking beautiful, and I am terrified right now."

She took it, looked at it, and laughed, "Your name's 'Not a dick'?"

"Actually it's Less, but I got you to smile with that, and the phone number is real."

"I don't know."

"That's fine. Just––don't throw it away, Okay. At least not until I leave."

She was blushing at this point, and still smiling. I made some crazy nervous gesture with my hands and then went back to breakfast.

She was truly tragic, and I couldn't stand it. For some reason I felt I had to right a wrong, prove to her that a guy could be someone nice, and nothing like Kyle. I hadn't known the whole story with her and Kyle, but I'd heard enough from him one night over beers. She seemed shy, not easy or loose or at all how I'd imagined her, and I just couldn't believe she was 'that' girl. Once I had a face to put with his story, all I could think was how fucking dare he mistreat a creature as pretty as our hostess.

But it wasn't just Kyle, and that's where it gets really sickening.

Kyle and Stanz had a band with this dude we called Pleats, but that's all they had in common with him. In fact, I remember back in high school, Pleats was kind of this boring kid who dressed just like his yuppie old man and didn't have any friends. Kyle on the other hand, was always a bastard, but he was also funny as fuck and totally fearless, so he could pretty much get away with anything and still have more friends than a whore on a battleship.

Kyle picked on Pleats a lot, and I'm pretty sure Pleats hated him. The school used to give us apples with our lunch that no one ate, and Kyle saw him opening his locker across the hall from us and said to me, "An apple a day keeps the Dockers away." He then threw the apple and it exploded on the neighboring locker, showering Pleats in applesauce.

But none of that mattered when Stanz decided he needed a trumpet player for his band, which Pleats happened to be. Their band sucked, but apparently girls don't know shitty music when they hear it, and they booked real gigs at real clubs and conjured up a bit of a groupie following. I know it was mostly just Kyle drawing them in, he was still funny as fuck and had a certain fifties greaser's charm about him. Once I saw the girls coming to their shows, I was so pissed at myself for not picking up an instrument and participating that I couldn't stand going to see them play.

Then, after a two year lapse in our friendship, his band happened to be the first of several opening acts for Save Ferris, so I showed up early for old time's sake. I was surprised to see that Pleats had been replaced with a new horn player, whom I thought better suited the band. In fact, the whole band had grown in size and Kyle stopped singing juvenile frat boy songs to deliver real material. I actually enjoyed their show.

When their set ended, Kyle loaded up his equipment, and then we headed across the street and started catching up over beers at a bowling alley bar. Save Farris didn't come on until ten-thirty, so I still had a few hours to kill.

We were the only ones in the bar area and so we sat in a booth by the jukebox, loaded it with quarters, and talked as loud as we damned well pleased. He was going on about the band as if they were big time, and he already had a ton of 'band stories'.

His Rosemary story happened to be right at the top of the list. He took a swig. "Remember Pleats? Pleats can tell you what a dog I really am. We were playing a show, and this chick I'd went to elementary and junior high with showed up. She was with her sister and her sister's friends, bar hoping for someone's birthday. So this chick wanted my dick back in school real bad. Hold on, I gotta piss, and I wanna give you the long version of this story."

He got up and went to the head.

I recently learned from Rosemary that it was true; she did have a crush on Kyle. Apparently back in fifth grade some stuck-up bitch was showing off to her friends by harassing Rosemary, telling her that Rosemary's sister is a slut because her dad had killed himself. She asked Rosemary some really nasty things, like, "Have you sucked a guy's dick yet? I heard your sister sucked black, scummy, bum dick so the bum would by her beer, is that true? I heard it was true. I bet you're going to do the same. Or have you already sucked a guy's dick?"

Rosemary was crying at this point but the stuck up girl wouldn't let up. "Don't cry. We're sorry. What if we find you some dicks to suck, will that help?" She saw Kyle at that point, and said, "Kyle, can you come visit with us. Rosemary needs your help. She won't stop crying unless she can suck a guy's dick. Can she suck your dick, Kyle?"

He apologized to Rosemary for not being interested in a blowjob at the moment, and then said to the stuck up girl, "How about you, Kelly, you wanna make out?"

All

the girl's had

always

liked Kyle, and stuck-up Kelly was no exception. He caught her completely off guard, however, and she bashfully stammered, "Okay."

"Well, have fun making out. Tell me how it goes."

Kelly's friends burst out laughing, and Kelly couldn't stand it. The tears came so quick that she started crying before she could do anything to stop it, while her friends practically laughed right in her face. Then, in front of crying Kelly and all the other envious girls, Kyle took hold of Rosemary's books, and walked her home. By the time they reached her house, Rosemary felt completely better, and had a total crush on Kyle ever since.

Of course I hadn't known Rosemary or any of this while talking with Kyle at the bowling alley bar, and now it rips at my heart strings whenever I think of this otherwise charming childhood tale.

When Kyle returned from the head, he tore right back into his story. "So I see this chick who's wanted me to fuck her brains out since elementary school. But she was a beanpole and a total basket-case back then. Her dad killed himself and shit. The whole family was loony. But dude, she is all grown up, and fuck, she's completely filled out––looks fucking awesome! Still a basket-case, though. I'd fuck her, but no way would I ever date a basket-case like that."

"So, as I'm walking over to talk to her, I realize Pleats is tailing me, like right on my heels. So I ask him what's up, and he tells me he's had a thing for this Rosemary chick since like forever. And so now I start thinking, what the hell, I'll make it happen for Pleats. So I introduce him and get them both close in on each other, and it seems like it's going perfect, but then a week later he tells me that ain't shit happened yet. I mean, this girl's older sister is a huge whore, it's a known fact, so I know this Rosemary chick's got it in her, and I tell Pleats, 'If you really wanna nail this chick, bring her to my apartment.' And he did."

"So we're at my place, all kicking it and eating pizza out on my small balcony, and they are like two fucking mutes, like I don't remember them saying anything the whole time. It was pretty obvious why no fucking was happening––they couldn't even talk! So I start playing like a couple's counselor, kind of asking Pleats what he thinks about her hair and shit. And he even blows my point blank question, telling her he liked how she wore it back in school. So I just decide I'm going to show him how it's done, and I start telling her she looks like Cleopatra. I fucking start telling her that Cleopatra was awesome, because while every male emperor was making giant, vertical, stone cocks, she was putting tit pyramids out in the desert. Then I tell her that Cleopatra goes and lets an asp bite her tit, that's how she went out––crazy fucking poetic suicide, that's how it's done––like she induced death by sex––the poisonous bite of a patriarchal society, because she was too fucking awesome and they couldn't stand it. I had Pleat's chick blushing with that, dude. Her ghost ass was blushing!"