Monkey Business

russ omits one significant detail

Sunday, September 7, 1:20 p.m.

Need better reading material. But I feel like a hoser walking to the washroom with a newspaper. Everyone on the floor doesn’t need to know when I’m planning on pinching a loaf.

“Hey, Rena,” I hear a chick say. I know Rena from Toronto. She’s a friend of Sharon’s older sister. She’s a second year, but lives on my floor. I’ve been told I’m supposed to call her and get together, but she’s seriously annoying. Speaks in a nasal voice and wears ties. Thinks she’s Avril Lavigne. Why would a woman wear a tie if she’s not in a music video? I think she thinks it’s sexy. It’s not.

“Hey. How are you?” she replies in a voice so nasal, if there were any windows in here it would shatter them.

Oh, man. Just what I want to listen to. Nasal female voices while I’m taking a dump.

This whole coed deal is not for me. Yesterday I watched a chick from my Block tweeze her eyebrows. Did Superman ever watch Lois Lane groom? I don’t think so. And then she took a People magazine to the toilet. That’s just gross. I don’t want to picture chicks taking a dump.

In junior high I had the unfortunate experience of watching Linda Stalwart, a girl I worshiped from afar, burp the alphabet. It was nasty. Not that she cared-she wouldn’t have looked twice at me then. Ha. She should see me now. Well not now, as in on the throne. Now, as in at LWBS. Built. No longer known as Pizza Face.

My little cousin once called me that. Wasn’t trying to be obnoxious. He was only five. Came over for Christmas dinner and pointed to my face and told me I looked like a pepperoni pizza. My aunt tried to shut him up, but he was laughing and pointing and jumping up and down.

Oh, man, my aunt felt so bad. Tried to convince me it was a compliment. Pepperoni pizza was my cousin’s favorite, she said. I hid in my room for the rest of the night with my comic books, picking my face. Disgusting habit, but I couldn’t stop. Once there was a piece of available skin I’d play with it and end up pulling it off. When I finally went on medication and kept my hands in gloves to stop picking, my skin took a year to heal.

Linda Stalwart. I wonder what she’s doing now. Probably married and fat and teaching little kids how to belch.

Once when I stopped by Sharon’s, she opened her door with that white stuff on her lip. You know, mustache bleach. “That’s something I wish I hadn’t seen,” I said, shielding my eyes.

“Then don’t come over uninvited.” She slammed the door in my face.

I apologized a million times. Then she went on a rampage about how she could stop bleaching if I preferred, let it get dark and style it.

The talking chicks finally leave. To keep myself occupied I stare at the bathroom wall graffiti. You’d think that by this age, people would stop using the wall to express their inane thoughts, but no. In green marker, it says:

Sweet Kimmy,

Violets are blue

Roses are red

Let me marry you

And I’ll please you in bed

Yours forever,

Jamie

What a hoser. The way to get the girl is not by writing cheesy-ass poetry on the back of the bathroom door. I’m not sure if he’s kidding or serious. Kimmy knows he wants her. Everyone knows he wants her. Thursday night a bunch of us went out for dinner, and he dove into the seat beside her and kept telling her how hot she was. She laughed and smiled at him, but I doubt she was interested. She didn’t go home with him, that’s for sure. He was back in Nick’s room after dinner, watching us smoke joints.

Yesterday, one of the get-to-know-your-group activities was a scavenger hunt through Maplewood. We were given questions like, What address is city hall? How many floors are in the library? How much are ten wings at Moe’s? Six bucks. That one I knew. But anyway, Jamie wouldn’t stop bugging her the entire activity. He asked her to marry him four times and serenaded her with Air Supply songs. I’ll admit, it got laughs from the rest of us, but does that act work?

How do I know? Sharon’s the only serious girlfriend I’ve ever had. And Jamie did manage to get two of the best-looking chicks in the class to be in our group. According to him, Lauren is bi, and currently prefers females. How hot is that? Lesbian eye-candy.

I flush, wash my hands and let them air-dry as I head outside. Think I’ll take a nice Sunday afternoon nap. Not that I’ve done anything today to merit a nap. I woke up at eight, stared at the ceiling, had brunch with Nick, bought some pharmaceuticals at the drugstore and spoke to Sharon.

As I push back the door, Kimmy is pulling it open. She’s looking pretty damn hot. Wearing tight black spandex shorts, a black bra that exposes her flat stomach, a red sweatshirt slung around her hips, little white socks, bright white runners. My guess: Going to the gym. Her brown hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, exposing soft-looking triangular ears. I love women’s ears. I can spend hours running my fingers through Sharon’s hair and playing with her ears.

“Hi, Russ,” Kimmy says.

“Where you off to?” I ask like an idiot.

She smiles. “The gym.”

“Yeah? Have you been already? I’ve been meaning to check it out.” I can’t believe I haven’t gone yet. Any build I have is going to melt if I’m not careful.

“I’ve gone a few times this week. It’s pretty good. There’s a wait for some of the machines, but not too bad.” The sweatshirt slips down her body exposing a fine-looking ass, but then she reties it. “Want to come with me?”

Why not? Sounds like a constructive way to spend a Sunday. “Sure. Do you mind waiting two minutes for me to grab my gym stuff?”

She smiles and takes a sip from her water bottle. “No problem. I have to use the bathroom anyway. Why don’t I meet you in the courtyard and then we’ll head over together?”

“Give me five,” I say, trying to mentally block out the bathroom part. I sprint back to my room and grab the gym shorts and T-shirt I wore yesterday to play basketball with some of the guys. I suck, but it’s fun. I started playing postcollege to help pump up.

Wonder if Sharon would care that I was going to the gym with a chick. Probably, eh? What should I have said, no? I can’t go to the gym with you, I have a girlfriend? She wasn’t hitting on me. Probably knows about Sharon, anyway. I must have mentioned it.

I spot Kimmy staring into the sunlight in the courtyard. She’s wearing sunglasses. I need to buy new sunglasses. Left mine in Toronto.

“Let’s go,” she says, now wearing the sweatshirt. Shame.

It’s getting cold. Wish I had a sweatshirt. “Where is this place?”

“At the back of the Student Services Center. Not far.”

She walks fast for a girl. Her ponytail swings from side to side like a tennis ball in play. Sharon is the slowest walker ever. If I don’t pay attention, I leave her a half a block behind.

“So how do you like school so far?” she asks.

“It’s cool. I went to University of Toronto, so I lived at home.”

“Were you in a frat?”

“No, no frat. Not my thing.” I decide not to tell her that I didn’t have much of a life in college. I preferred my calculator and comic books to beer kegs. Of course, that changed in my last year, when I met Sharon. “I bet you were in a sorority, eh?”

“No way. I’m not a gamma, gamma, gamma, can I help ya help ya help ya type girl.”

I can’t help mentally casting her as one of the sorority girls in Revenge of the Nerds.

“How do you like the dorm?” she asks, and takes another sip of her water. “Want some?”

I shake my head. “The dorm is all right. Not used to sharing a floor with so many people.” Not used to sharing a water bottle, either. Sharon doesn’t like when I take sips from other people’s drinks in case any of them are sick and then I get her sick.

“I know. I feel like I’m eighteen again.” She motions to a sprawling stone building. “We’re here.”

We climb the stairs to the top floor and show our student cards to the scrawny kid at the front desk. The gym caters to the entire school, not just the business school, so it’s packed. Puffing women on treadmills are lined against the window.

“Do you lift weights?” Kimmy asks.

“Yeah.” Truth is, I’ve been slacking on my workouts. I feel a wave of panic that my muscles have all disappeared.

She stretches her leg in front of her. “Do you want to run with me?”

Even though I’m feeling anxious about the state of my muscles and want to get to the weights, the idea of watching her jiggle beside me is too appealing to pass up. I stretch out my hamstring beside her. “Sounds good.”

We find two unoccupied treadmills in the corner, facing the window. She sets her speed to seven. I set mine at nine.

Shit. That’s fast.

We run in silence. The sun beats through the glass, and I’m starting to sweat faster than usual. Oh, man. I must be out of shape. The wall of window makes me feel as if I’m running off a cliff. I wonder if the miniature students below us can see us. Maybe the windows are tinted. I’ll have to check next time I walk by.

It’s interesting watching below. Groups stopping, laughing. Someone doing a handstand against the side of a building. What is that guy doing? “Is that Jamie?”

Kimmy peers out the window, then grabs the handlebars and ducks. “Yikes, hide me.”

“Hide you? Why?”

“I can’t escape him. What’s he doing?” A group of three girls are standing around him, laughing. He flips over and sits on the pavement. Two of the girls sit next to him. I think one of them is Rena.

“Gymnastics of some sort. Maybe he’s working out.”

Kimmy smirks. I’m pretty sure we’re both thinking that he doesn’t look like a guy who works out. “So does that mean you’re not interested in him?” I ask.

Her mouth flies open. Closes. Then it opens again. “Jamie? Nooo.”

“What about what happened last week?”

She’s flushed from my question. Or from the workout.

She bites her lip. “You know about that?”

“Ah…no?”

“Very funny. Did he tell everyone?”

“Didn’t you see the ad in the LWBS paper?”

“Hilarious.”

I’m worried that I’ve upset her, but then she laughs and adds, “What a blabbermouth.”

Now I feel bad for Jamie. “Don’t be mad, we forced it out of him. Tortured him, if you want to know. Tied him up then performed Japanese water torture.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I’ll bet.”

“So, you interested in him or not?”

She shakes her head no, and her ponytail swings again. Game, set, match. “That night was a mistake. He’s not what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” I ask, now watching her pump her arms. She gets very into her workout.

She turns toward me. “Exactly what I’m looking at, actually. You.”

I miss a step and almost trip into the handlebars. As I steady myself, I think, me, eh? This hot chick, breasts heaving, is interested in me?

Now might be a good time to mention Sharon.

Okay, now.

Now.

Kimmy reaches over for her water bottle, pulls up the tab with her teeth and sucks the water into her mouth.

Now.

“Do you want some?” she asks.

I nod. I know, I know. Shouldn’t share water bottles. She hands me the bottle and our damp fingers touch. I swallow a mouthful, not unmindful of the bulge in my gym shorts. I’m hoping for those tinted windows. I wouldn’t want this entire scene being described to Sharon via her sister via Rena.

Bad business this sharing of water bottles.