Melvin's Magic Love Juice

Author's Note:

Ok, so it's been awhile since the last chapter of Melvin, but this one's substantially longer than previous chapters, so hopefully, that makes up for it a little bit. In case you don't remember what happened last, here's a (not so) short re-cap.

Last time on a very special Melvin: Not only was Courtney's roommate, Shelly, Melvin's waitress from earlier in the day, the one that had watched Melvin couple with his ex wife's niece in the men's room, but she was going out on a date that very night with Tina. Yes! His ex wife's niece, the one he had banged! Tina shows up with Tasha, another woman that Melvin had coupled with, only this time in the supply closet at his building earlier in the day. Worse, they all decide they will have a group date together, much to Melvin's disdain.

Well, Richie and Bridget (Melvin's friend and lawyer, respectively) are watching Melvin's back for the likes of Melvin's ex wife, Abigail. They all meet up at a Chinese restaurant (where Tina secures them a table by hooking up with the maitre d), only for Bridget and her twin sister to find out they are wearing the same dress, and no one can tell them apart... whoops!

Meanwhile, Abigail is stalking Melvin, and for some reason, she's bought a gun. What the hell is she thinking? Such is the way a deranged ex wife's mind works, one supposes...

***

“It’s funny,” Courtney said after swallowing a mouthful of rice and shrimp. Dimples formed at the corners of her cute smile. “You’ve been looking at me with big, puppy dog eyes for months, and now I’m here with you, you don’t even know my last name.

Melvin smiled back at her. “Well, let me guess. I’m pretty good at these kind of things.” He paused, observing the unconscious tilt of her head as she waited from him to continue. A red bang of hair floated into her eyes, and she deftly blew it away by blowing a burst of air from her mouth. Melvin could look at her for days, doing nothing else, and be content.

“Let’s consider everyone here at the table. Ok, there’s me, Melvin MacMuffin. The twins, Bridget and Brenda Briswell. Then there’s Tasha Turner and Shelly Stone. Hmm, if we were to keep with this theme of alliteration, I’d say you’re last name is something like... Cross or Covington or Corningstone or Cotten,” he said.

“No, no, no, and double no,” Courtney replied with a laugh. “It’s Brown.”

Melvin leaned back in his chair, considered it and said, “What a perfectly normal yet beautiful name. I’m impressed.”

Courtney simply blushed and stabbed at her shrimp and rice with her fork. She’d tried the chopsticks and found she was hopeless with them. She hated being so clumsy, especially in front of Melvin, but he didn’t seem to fare much better with the chopsticks either. Of course, he could have just been being nice and failing on purpose so she wouldn’t feel bad. What a great guy.

Out of nowhere, Tina Swift returned from wherever she had disappeared and plopped back down into her chair with a sigh. She flashed a bright smile at Melvin and Courtney.

“You two are too cute for words,” she said, searching the plate of food before her with hungry eyes and grabbing at her chopsticks.

“So cute, it makes me want to puke,” Tasha Turner replied with a laugh. She held a long green vegetable between two chopsticks before popping it into her grinning mouth.

“Where have you been, Ms. Swift?” asked Shelly Stone, somewhat suspicious about her date vanishing for so long. Tina leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek. Richie Golding caught a sight of this from across the table and felt a strange stirring in his pants. He couldn’t help it. He had just observed a girl kiss another girl, after all, even if it was just on the cheek.

“Nothin’ for you to worry your sexy li’l head about,” Tina said with her southern slur, her hand reaching under the table to caress Shelly’s warm thigh. Richie had to force his eyes away and concentrate on his own date, Brenda the Ice Queen. The sacrifices one had to make to be a so-called gentleman.

***

The scene at Melvin’s table was admittedly a chaotic one. Three tables had been pushed together, and it was hard to keep track of all the conversations going on at once. Tasha chatted with Shelly and Tina; Bridget chatted with Joey and Brenda and Richie; and Courtney and Melvin chatted with each other and every one else.

Shelly kept laughing at everything, bits of rice flying out of her mouth like tiny white missiles. One flew across the table and clung to Tasha’s face which she wiped away gracefully with a disgusted look.

But the food was delicious and everyone seemed to be having a good time, even Brenda who was coming around and enjoying herself. She laughed loudly at a joke Joey told about a Rabbi, a Catholic priest and a Southern Baptist at a Mexican brothel. Melvin, personally, didn’t get it.

The hardest part about dinner was deciding what they would do next. Melvin hadn’t planned on so many people, and his original thought was to separate from Bridget and Richie and their respective dates after dinner, ending up alone with Courtney. Unfortunately, the trio of young hotties: Tina, Shelly, and Tasha wanted to keep the group together and go somewhere to continue the party; they were just having too much fun to want to separate yet.

“The more the merrier,” Shelly kept repeating, her brown pigtails bobbing. Melvin couldn’t have disagreed more, but he didn’t want to cause a scene and be the one labeled as a “party pooper.”

“There’s an awesome club just down the street from here, like in walking distance. We could go there for awhile and get some drinks, maybe dance,” Courtney suggested, and the matter was settled.

Even though the last time he’d attended a concert his ear drums had burst, Melvin would have agreed with anything Courtney might say, and if she had told him that she thought that they should all drink poisoned kool-aide and set themselves on fire, Melvin would have been the first to do so. It was her dimples, he decided; they were hypnotically cute.

The others seemed to agree the night club was a good idea, and Melvin flagged down their waiter for the check. In moments, they walked out of the Chinese restaurant and savored the cool night air.

***

Abigail Sanderson, Melvin’s ex wife, watched them leave. Her car was parked far enough away under a large, shady oak to not be seen, and she sat low in the driver’s seat, her eyes peering through the open middle of the steering wheel. She took the binoculars away from her shimmering, deep brown eyes and tried to keep her boiling anger submerged. Those tramps should have stayed away from Melvin; he was much too good for any of them, especially the redhead that Abigail took to be Courtney, Melvin’s apparent date. Abigail blew air through her gnashed teeth.

She took the gun from its spot in the passenger seat and slipped it into her purse, the grip of it hard and cold in her hand. She still wasn’t sure what she planned to do with it, but who knew if it might come in handy? Might come in handy? What a ridiculous thought! She slapped an open palm against her forehead. Was she going nuts?

She leaned her head against the rim of the steering wheel and closed her eyes. What was she doing here? Why was she stalking her ex husband? What did she care if he wanted to waltz around the city tonight with a parade of nubile, young babes? But for some reason... she DID care.

Melvin was hers; she had worn his wedding ring. Yes, she had given it back and upgraded her spouse, but now she wanted Melvin back. She had dibs on him because he had been hers before, right?

She pushed back from the steering wheel and leaned back in the car seat. She brought up one hand and slapped herself gently in the face. Her cheek stung from the blow.

“Get a hold of yourself, Abigail. You gotta start thinking straight,” she whispered. But even though she knew it was crazy, knew it didn’t make any sense, knew no one would understand, she wanted Melvin to be hers and hers alone, again and forever.

***

The Deep End was the name of the club, blazing in blue neon letters under three blue neon curvy, triangular waves and above a double oak door painted red. As Melvin approached he could feel the bass, drumming and thumping through the club’s walls and inside of his bones. He wasn’t much of a dancer, didn’t like large crowds and hated extremely loud noises; he wondered how he was going to survive the club. He would just have to tough it out, and it helped that Courtney was there with him. He would have been happy to go anywhere with the likes of her. Every time he looked at her and caught her sparkling hazel eyes, his stomach fluttered.

“Didn’t this place used to be a strip club?” Richie asked as they pushed through the doors. Shelley turned to answer him.

“Recently changed owners. Just renovated...” she began to explain, but then the music overtook them in a sweeping, crashing wave of sound. They would have to yell to be heard, so further conversation was out of the question. Shelley just shrugged and started to dance, her hips gyrating and her arms waving. Richie smiled, and his head began to nod with the beat. He turned to Brenda. Or was it Bridget? Impossible to tell which.

“I need a drink!” the blonde yelled and headed over to the bar. Richie watched her go, appraising the round curve of her bottom under her tight dress.

“Checkin’ out my sister?” the other twin said in his ear.

“Well, she’s my date, so it’s ok,” he yelled back.

“Stupid asshole, I’M your date!” Brenda Briswell cried and pulled him towards the dance floor. Richie felt his arms yanked nearly out of their sockets and stumbled after her. Tasha, Shelley, and Tina followed suit, forming a hip swaying trio as they grooved their way close to the stage.

Melvin looked up and saw some curvy, bikini clad women dancing seductively in some glass cages suspended from the ceiling. A live rock band boomed out a crescendo of guitar through the speakers. The scratchy yelling of the lead female singer seemed vaguely familiar, and Melvin turned to check out the band. He should have known better than to be surprised when he saw the singer was none other than the purple-haired pizza girl that he and Bridget had enjoyed sexually only a night before.

Melvin cursed his ridiculous bad luck.

“Let’s get something to drink,” he said to Courtney, leaning towards her ear, and she nodded back at him. Melvin wanted to stay away from the dance floor and the band for as long as he could. He certainly didn’t need the purple-haired singer recognizing him from onstage, and he wanted to warn Bridget before she discovered who the lead singer was for herself.

Sauntering up to the bar next to Joey and Bridget, Melvin cupped a hand over Bridget’s ear and whispered into it, “Check out the singer. Look familiar?”

Bridget glanced towards the stage, and her head snapped straight up like a turtle startled out of its shell. A bright, broad smile flashed across her face.

“Holy shit!” she cried cheerily. “Let’s go dance!” She pulled at Joey’s wrist, but he held her off with a shake of his handsome head. A mug of foamy beer was held precariously in his other hand, and an uncertain look narrowed his features.

“Not much of a dancer,” he replied over the beat of the music. Melvin didn’t know much about punk rock, but he could tell that the purple haired chick’s band was pretty good. Everyone in the club seemed to be digging the hell out of them. Courtney stepped towards Bridget and Joey, letting go of Melvin’s arm. Melvin felt a pang of disappointment as he lost contact with her.

“I’ll go with you,” she offered, looking questioningly at Melvin.

“Yeah, sure. Go with Courtney,” Melvin said to Bridget, and the two women scurried to the dance floor, Bridget’s arm wrapped around Courtney’s trim waist. Melvin and Joey watched as they began to dance with one another, Bridget gliding behind Courtney and placing her hands on the young redhead’s hips as she pressed into the back Courtney’s body with her own.

“They’re something else,” Joey said and brought the mug of beer to his mouth for a long swig. He smacked his lips approvingly, trying not to be too obvious about the mental visualization he was having of the two women together... naked... touching each other... a tingly shiver tickled up his spine.

“You better believe it,” Melvin said in reply and turned to order a beer. He wasn’t normally a drinker but tonight was a special occasion. Things seemed to be going pretty smoothly, and they hadn’t seen any sign of Abigail all evening. Maybe Richie had been exaggerating about her desire to hunt Melvin down.

The bartender was an attractive, bleached blonde who looked more like a surfer chick than a bartender. Melvin ordered his beer, thinking that on any other night he might try the love potion on such a smiling cutie. He was happy to know that he didn’t feel the need to tempt her now that he was with Courtney. He passed over some cash and thanked her as she handed Melvin his beer. She slipped Melvin a sly wink before turning to the next customer.

“Hey, what’s your ex wife look like?” Joey said, leaning over.

“Short black hair. Attractive. Surgically enhanced hooters,” Melvin ticked off Abigail’s features on his fingers with a laugh. Joey Dangerfield didn’t smile back, but his face darkened. His jaw clenched. Melvin was again reminded that Joey had the physical attributes of an action star.

“I think she’s coming this way,” Joey said in a low voice, and Melvin barely heard him. However, it was enough to chill his heart, and Melvin pivoted around on his heels and searched the growing crowd with his eyes.

It only took a moment to spot her. Abigail. His ex wife.

She had already found and zeroed in on him through the crowd and snaked towards his position at the bar with long, purposeful strides, her dark hair swishing to keep up. A certain resoluteness held her face, and Melvin didn’t like the looks of the expression. Abigail was the kind of woman who always got what she wanted and couldn’t handle it when something was out of her reach. Melvin knew that this time, above all others, he was finally beyond her reach.

How Abigail would react to this discovery was anyone’s guess.

“Should I head her off?” Joey offered, his jaw stony and set. Melvin shook his head in the negative. Having another man save him from a woman was almost too pathetic for words, and Melvin was pretty positive he could handle the likes of Abigail on his own. He had already done so once today, after all.

“No, let her come. We need to finish this nonsense for good,” Melvin said, and Joey nodded in understanding.

The tall, muscular man took in Abigail with an appraising glare. She was a looker, no doubt about it: pretty face, dark flowing hair, athletic yet curvy build, and a set of fiery amber eyes. Joey could understand how Melvin had been sucked into a doomed relationship; any other man would probably make the same mistake faced with the likes of this woman. That was exactly what made her so dangerous.

“Melvin, we need to talk,” she yelled over the banging of a drum solo as she came to a stop in front of Melvin. Her chest heaved under her white, buttoned shirt. Melvin couldn’t help but think about what he was giving up if he turned her down. But then again, he was only giving up two delicious breasts, a hot body and not much else. Abigail had nothing to offer that wasn’t physical.

“So talk,” he replied curtly, his face not betraying any sense of emotion. He took a long sip from his beer mug and waited for Abigail to reply.

“Can’t we go somewhere more private?” she said in exasperation, her brow furrowing. She wanted Melvin to give some indication that her presence had an effect on him whether good or bad, just a sign that he cared.

“Nah. Here’s fine,” Melvin replied. His face was unmoved, set in stone and expressionless. He knew that his indifference would frustrate Abby more than anything, and hopefully, she might give up after awhile. Unfortunately, “give up” was not in Abigail’s vocabulary.

“Melvin, I know this isn’t the time or the place, but... when I saw you today, I don’t know how to explain it, but... you had this EFFECT on me, ya know? And I couldn’t stop thinking about you. About US,” Abigail said loudly, struggling to be heard over the roar of the band and the dancing crowd.

“There’s no us,” Melvin said, cupping his hand next to his mouth, forming a human bullhorn with his fingers. Joey watched on silently next to Melvin, noticing that Abigail’s left hand stayed hidden in her purse. Strange...

“How can you say that? Melvin, I fucked up, I know! But... but... give me another chance, and you’ll see, that I’ll fix everything. It’ll be the opposite of what it was before. We can work things out, I’m sure of it!” Abigail cried.

Melvin wiped his mouth and gave her a wry smile.

“Abby, you’re married. What about your family?” he responded with a disappoving shake of his head.

“Fuck them! I want YOU!” she said. Her eyes went all fiery in the red blinking lights from the stage. Abigail pressed closer and snuggled against Melvin’s chest, but he pushed her forcefully back with his free hand, hard enough that Abigail wobbled on her feet, almost losing her balance. One hand stayed in her purse as she steadied herself with the other, grabbing the bar.

“See? That’s why it’ll never work out. You never think of anyone but yourself,” Melvin replied, finished off his beer and thumped the empty mug against the counter. He surveyed his ex wife with cold eyes.

“Get lost. For good,” he said over his shoulder as he turned his back on her.

Abigail’s mouth gaped open, and her lips began to tremble in angry rejection. Red heat flushed through her cheeks. She attempted to set herself in the right frame of mind, to have some comeback or put down to shock Melvin back in his submissive place, but nothing came. Instead, she felt her fingers close around the handle of her gun, and her rising internal temperature come to a boil.

Joey watched her expression and the hand in her purse with a cool steady gaze. He’d seen his share of hysterical women over the years.

Abigail despised the cliché coming out of her mouth even as she began to say it, her mouth opening and spitting out the words, “Melvin MacMuffin, if I can’t have you...”

She started to lift her hand out of her purse. The grip of the gun was cold and hard in her sweaty palm. Melvin’s head turned, and his eyes widened in fear. He’d seen this scene enough in movies to know what was going to come out of her purse. The blonde bartender had just walked up to refill Melvin’s glass, and her face went slack as she saw what was happening.

“The fuck...” the blonde began to say. Melvin caught a glimpse of gray as the gun rose from Abby’s purse.

“No one w...” Abigail continued but was cut off as Joey Dangerfield caught her wrist while it was still in her purse, twisted the gun and purse out of her grip, and swiftly caught her in the gut with a punch before she could scream in pain.

Abigail’s breath rushed out of her with a whimper, and she crumpled into Joey’s arms, her heaving sobs muffled by his biceps.

“Let’s get her out of here,” Joey said, basically carrying Abigail in his arms and away from the crowd.

“Through the back,” the blonde bartender said, pointing them in the direction with her hands. Melvin followed Joey, his heart thudding against his chest. Everything seemed surreal. Like a waking dream. Was all of this an effect of the witch’s potion or was it all really happening?

Had Abigail just tried to kill him?

***

Not much was in the alley behind the club, just a couple of dumpsters and random trash, mostly fliers and stacks of old cardboard. The ground was still wet from the day’s downpour, and the air was chilly and damp, clinging to Melvin’s skin like cold sweat.