Page 2 of Fundamentals of Being a Good Girl
“You need an au pair,” Sloane advises in the tone of someone who grew up thinking au pairs were standard issue. Leo is nodding lazily next to her.
“I’ve already put in an emergency request at a local agency,” Bram says tiredly. “At least for help in the afternoons. Otherwise, it’ll all be down to Fern, and she’s already got enough going on after that shithead boy dumped her.”
Bram saysshithead boywith the same neutral composure that he uses for everything, but Joey doesn’t miss the subtle twitch of Bram’s hand around his glass when he brings up his daughter’s ex-boyfriend. (None of them have forgotten that an undergrad Bram once explained in great and drunken detail how he would hide a body without getting caught. It involved carnivorous plants and a trip to the fine arts department’s pottery kiln.)
“I know what you need,” declares Joey, “and it’s not an au pair. You need to get laid, my brother. Just like Sloane.”
“But not like me?” Leo inquires.
“Leo, you were in flagrante delicto when I called you this morning to ask about Aunt Cassandra’s birthday dinner,” Sloane remarks dryly. “I don’t think you need any encouragement in the sex department.”
“Trust me on this, guys.” Joey spreads his hands wide, ready for his TED Talk moment. Maybe he’s not a professor like Bram or a fancy, galas-for-good-causes person like Sloane, but heisan expert in the long-term health benefits of great sex. “Riley and I have sex all the time—”
“Yes, we know,” Sloane says.
“—and my blood pressure is great, my cholesterol is great, my bench press is better than it’s ever been—”
“I don’t know if that can be ascribed to biblically knowing your wife,” observes Leo.
“—and I just really think you need to getoutthere with those gonads, and leave nothing on the gonad field!”
“Thank you, Coach,” says Sloane.
Bram hasn’t been listening at all. “I can’t believe she stole that parking spot from me,” he mutters.
“Who?” Leo asks.
“Thebrat.” It’s the most irritated Joey’s ever heard Bram. “I was there with my blinker on, waiting to turn in while Hester Prynne was throwing up all over my car, and then she just shamelesslytook my spot. And when I rolled down the window and told her I’d been waiting for it before she got there, she flipped me off!”
For someone who deals with undergrads, a teenage daughter, and twin first-graders on a daily basis, Bram sounds uniquely peeved by this act of finger-based rudeness.
Joey shakes his head and finishes his beer. Bram really needs to cut loose—they all do. And Joey knows just the answer.
Leaving the others to deal with Bram’s bad mood, Joey goes up to the counter and flags down the bartender on duty, who is also the owner (and also the reluctant short-order cook). Robbie has owned The Dry Bean since long before Joey and the others discovered its hallowed halls as fake-ID-bearing college students, and Joey genuinely doesn’t know if the man is in his fifties or in his eighties—the only evidence of the accumulated years is in Robbie’s long, wispy eyebrows, which make him look like a great horned owl with rosacea.
“You got any shots that will make a table of thirtysomethings act like they’re twenty-one?” Joey asks.
Robbie thinks for a moment, then taps the chalkboard sign hanging behind him.
SHOT OF THE WEEK: ACADEMIC AFFAIRS
A shot of Copperhead pride! A splash of gin, rum, tequila, vodka, triple sec, and Midori, topped with edible copper glitter.
Joey grins, delighted. “That looks awful. I’ll take four.”
9:17 P.M.
Joey returns with the shots as the lights dim and the familiar strains of Lesley Gore’s “It’s My Party” start playing.
“Someone’s about to get birthday spankings!” Joey calls out fondly as he passes out the shots. (He bought an extra shot for himself, something called a Big Guy Touchdown, and as a big guy who is a high school football coach, it was clearly calling his name.) “Okay, on the count of three, everyone!”
“What’sinthis?” Leo asks as he holds the green and copper drink up to the barely there light.
Joey doesn’t have the time to fight with Leo about this and also, he doesn’t remember what’s in it. “It’s your medicine.Ourmedicine. We are going to drink these and then we are going to have a Best Night Ever. You hear me?”
Leo looks doubtful, but Sloane is nodding and Bram looks too ready to wash away the memory of dog vomit to say no. They hold up their shots, clink them together, and chant, “Optimus noctem!”*Then they all give a good, old-fashioned Astra University Copperheads hiss before they toss the shots back and slam the glasses on the table.
“You brought us glasses of poison,” sputters Leo when he can speak again.
