Paul snorted. “That’s because all of the people who work under you wish they were actually under you.”
“Oh,” Vince said. “That… explains a lot. One of the girls asked me last week if I could show her how many push-ups I could do. I thought that was weird because we’re at work, but then a lot of people started watching, and it was fun.”
“Good Lord,” Sandy said, sounding disgusted. “We definitely need to have another sexual harassment seminar. And why the hell were we not informed so we could watch?”
“That’s my husband,” Paul snapped.
“I know that’s your husband. I was there. That doesn’t mean I don’t want to see him do push-ups while wearing a suit and tie. I mean, Jesus, Paul. I’m only human. Look at him. His nips are just so… puffy.”
“Vince! Cover your nips!”
And even though I wasn’t there, I knew Vince was doing exactly that. “My boss isn’t mean,” I said, trying to get us back on track. “He’s wonderful.”
“Oh,” Sandy said. “Then what’s the problem? You could do worse than that, you know.”
“It’s Jeremy Olsen.”
Deafening silence.
Then, “Corey?” Paul asked. “Can you repeat that again? Because the line cut out and we just want to make sure we heard you right.”
“The director,” I whispered ferociously, “of Phoenix House is Jeremy. Olsen.”
Thunderous silence.
Sandy said, “Hold please.”
More Muzak began to play. It was a version of Adele’s “Hello” which sounded like it had been arranged for a fifth-grade orchestra where every child played the recorder. I wanted to stab myself in the ears just to make it stop.
Thankfully, it didn’t last long before they returned. “Hi, baby doll,” Sandy said in a simpering voice, the one I knew that meant everyone on the other end of the line was now completely full of shit and that I should hang up before things got worse. Oh, how the tables had turned. Life was so much easier when I wasn’t the focus. “How are you?”
“Don’t,” I warned them. “Don’t even think about—”
“Can it, Ellis,” Paul snapped, playing his role with gusto. “We don’t have time for your shit.”
“Now, Paul,” Sandy said. “That’s not fair. We should sympathize with our dear friend and help him through his time of need.”
“Wait a minute,” I said slowly. “Are you doing Good Cop, Bad Cop, Corrupt Cop? But… that doesn’t make sense because I’m not in it. And if Sandy is Good Cop, and Paul is Bad Cop, that means Vince is….”
“Corrupt Cop,” Vince agreed. “I don’t really know what we’re doing, but Paul said that anyone who looks at me is automatically corrupted, so that’s cool. I don’t know if I could actually be corrupt, because that sounds rude.”
“He was hit on by a priest,” Paul said. “At Christmas Mass. Nana made us go because she said she’d found Jesus, but I swear to god she was running a grift.”
“Okay,” I said. “Don’t think we’re not coming back to that later, because what the fuck? But now’s not the time for your ridiculous games!”
“It’s no fun when you’re on the other side, is it?” Sandy asked. “Oh, I feel just terrible. I’m sorry, Corey. This was really insensitive of us.”
I was touched. “Thank you. That was very nice of you to—”
“Except it’s bullshit,” Paul bellowed. “Because we’re still going to do this!”
“Whoa,” Vince said. “I’m really starting to get into this. Paul, yell some more. Yell right in my face.”
“Oh no,” Sandy said, sounding disgusted. “They’re doing it again. They’re honeymooning.”
Ah, yes. The unfortunate side effect of our best friends getting married. Ever since they said I do, it was as if they’d been infected by a fuck virus, as everything seemed to turn the other on. Vince working out wearing nothing but his tiny shorts that left very little to the imagination? Check. Paul eating canned peaches directly from the can? Check. Vince shirtless and wearing a tool belt while fixing the gutters at their house? Check. Paul yelling after Wheels shit on the new rug that had been a wedding gift? Check. I’d walked in on them fucking more times than I cared to think about in the last few months, and I didn’t even live with them. And while the view wasn’t always… terrible, the fact that Vince liked to announce he had learned how to be a power bottom really didn’t do a lot to help the situation. Especially since he’d told me this while lying on top of me, as he was wont to do. He didn’t understand the concept of personal space, that one.
“Get out of the splash zone!” I yelled at Sandy.