Accent Hussy (It Had 2 B U) (2 page)

“Oh bullocks,” I yell, peeling remnants of potato salad from my shirt.

Combat boots gets up from his seat and grabs my arm. He grins at me. “Are you okay?”

Oh god, I’m melting! Three words and I’m already picking out china patterns and planning our wedding. When he smiles again, I realize he has yellow teeth—that means he must smoke. Gross! Maybe I should bail like Jessi told me to. If I wanted to be a chimney sweep, I’d find Burt from
Mary Poppins.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my foot was in your way. How incredibly rude of me,” he tells me.

“It’s quite all right. I should’ve watched where I was walking.” Even through wavering words, I manage to keep my accent. He smiles even bigger.

“Are you English?”

“I lived there for a couple years with my Ma and Pa, then we moved back here to the States. My accent is rusty, but it occasionally filters in when I get angry.”

“I was born and raised in Wilshire. It’s nice to meet another person from back home. I’m Leo, and you are?”

“Everly, Everly McGowan. Pleased to meet you,” I tell him as he takes my hand and kisses the back of it. Every time he doesn’t speak, I find one thing about him I don’t like. His handshake is too weak. I want a guy who can shake my hand and show me just how manly he is.

“Would you like to join me for dinner, Everly? I could make up for tripping you and ruining your blouse.”

I could listen to his voice every day. I’m sure I can overlook the zits and piercings and the fact that he smells like a chimney. It will be worth it in the long run when I get to hear that sweet voice of his every morning.

“That sounds wonderful.” I hand him my phone. He plugs in his number and takes mine in return. We then we make plans for him to pick me up for dinner at eight. He tells me to dress casual as most places won’t let him in because of the way he dresses. Once we finish out the basic details, I return to my seat across from Jessi.

She shakes her head at me. “Was potato salad tits worth all that trouble?”

“I scored a date out of it,” I mumble taking a drink from my soda.

“What good is a date if the guy isn’t even good looking?”

“But he talks like a dream. I could listen to that voice all night long.”

“Good, you’re going to have to figure out something that will distract you from that horrible face of his.”

“You’re mean, Jessi. He seems like a perfectly nice guy.”

“I’m sure he is. He’s just not the right guy for you. I don’t see you with him, Everly. You need someone who’s going to handle your sarcastic, bitchy attitude. Someone that looks as good as you do. Someone who is your equal, not your polar opposite.”

“I’m sure Leo can handle me just fine. His accent sure knows how to get me going.” I smile widely, picturing him talking dirty to me in his English Accent. It isn’t until I close my eyes that the whole image becomes more sexually arousing. In my head, a different man speaks like Leo. He’s muscular and fit, with sculpted arms and perfectly tanned skin. There is no yellow on his teeth, or skunky yellow hair. In my mind is the perfect man. Maybe if I keep picturing somebody else’s body with Leo’s voice, I can get through our upcoming date without thinking about how
not
attracted to him I really am.

All I need to do is keep him talking . . .

Two months later . . .

“Everly, come on Love. Do you always have to take this long to get ready?”

I’ve wasted the last two months dating Leo. He’s slowly growing on me, but if it wasn’t for his accent, I probably wouldn’t have given him a second glance. Now I’m invested, and he wants to celebrate our second month anniversary by taking me out to see some silent film he’s excited about. I try to pretend that I care what he’s into. Sometimes I think I do a good job of it until I slip up and accidently mention how bored I truly am.

Leo is sitting on my couch smoking a cigarette when I finally emerge from the bathroom. The first couple of times I nicely asked him to stop, but after the tenth or eleventh time of asking him, I just gave up altogether. Now I don’t only kiss chimneys, I have to live with the smell in my dorm room as well.

“Hey Love, are you ready?” He smiles at me and gets up from the couch. He pulls me into a hug, poking me with one of the many spiky bracelets on his wrist. He kisses me, and I can taste the faint taste of alcohol on his breath. I’ve learned that he has a slight drinking problem. Right now it’s manageable, but the longer we date, the more frequently I see him drink.

It’s hard to keep up this English persona I’ve created for myself. There have been quite a few times that my accent has faltered, but fortunately, he hasn’t seemed to notice, or if he did, was too drunk to care. One of these days, I’m just going to tell him the truth . . . it will save me from having to sleep with him. How I’ve managed to deflect him for this long is beyond me.

“I think tonight we should celebrate our anniversary a little differently. Maybe consummate this relationship, finally.” The hopeful look in his eyes is a little endearing, but not the thought of actually sleeping with him.

“I dunno, I’ve been having bad cramps. I think I may be starting my monthly friend.” I forget my accent altogether this time. He looks at me oddly.

“You sounded like a complete Yankee there.”

“I’ve been practicing my American accent. What do you think? Pretty good huh?”

He doesn’t look impressed. Actually, he looks annoyed. “A little too good . . . Everly are you keeping things from me? For the last two and a half months, I’ve done my best to try and make this relationship work, and yet, the only time you seem happy is when we’re talking on the phone.” The phone! I have to thank that magnificent piece of electronic genius that keeps this silly little fantasy relationship going. On the phone, I don’t have to look at his face. On the phone, the one thing I love about him takes center stage.

“I really like talking on the phone,” I say, picking up my fake British accent again. I’m hoping he believes me, but the look in his eyes tells me that he’s a little skeptical.

“Nobody likes talking on the phone.”

“Well, I do. Especially when I’m talking to you,” I tell him, tickling my fingers up his stomach.

He laughs and bends in to kiss me. “Okay Love, let’s get going. The movie starts in twenty minutes.”

The movie was just as bad as I expected it to be. The whole time Leo sat there and pretended to know what they were saying. He talked for each character and ended up almost getting us kicked out because he was disturbing the only other two people in the theater.

“Wasn’t that movie great, Love?” he asks when we finally get out of the theater.

“Um, I guess so. Why do you like silent movies so much?”

“I’ve always wanted to be a screenwriter, so going to silent movies lets me pretend to be one. I can talk for the characters and give them life through dialogue.” His eyes light up as he talks. It’s the first time, other than when we talk on the phone, that I’ve found him attractive.

“So have you thought about it anymore? The whole consummation thing?”

I open my mouth to answer him when my phone goes off. It’s my mother. I hold up my finger and walk away from him so I can answer her call. If I talked in a British accent to her, she’d think I was crazy.

“Mom?”

“Darling, how are you?” She asks.
Crap, she’s calling me darling. Something is up.

“What do you want, Mom?”

“It’s Max, he’s not doing well, Everly. I was wondering if there was any way you could come home and help me with him.”

“He’s home? Why? What happened between him and Breezy?”

“Oh Darling, Breezy chose someone else. It’s pretty much devastated your brother. I’ve never seen him like this . . . it’s like . . . well . . . like he’s a zombie or something.”

“Well, crap. That doesn’t sound like Max at all. When do you want me home?” Seeing as it’s Thursday, I’m sure I can swing a weekend home with the family, especially if I pack tonight and use it as an excuse to get out of sleeping with Leo.

“The sooner the better. He’s going fishing with your father later, but after that, I’m pretty sure his only plan is to mope around the house and reenact scenes from
The Walking Dead.
You know I can’t even watch one episode of that show without peeing my pants. Now I have a living version in my son’s bedroom. Should I be afraid of him limping into my bedroom and tearing my throat out? I wouldn’t make a good zombie; I just know it.”

Her odd ramblings give me something to laugh over, “Mom, Max is not a real zombie; I think you’re good for now. Just in case, you may want to stock up on guns and daggers, or maybe buy a sword like Michonne.”

“Imagine me with a sword, scary thought, huh?”

“Yes very, I better get going. I’ll come up and see what I can do for Max. I don’t know why you think I will be the cure to his moping, though.”

“He needs a dose of his little sister; you always make him feel better.”

“Mom, all I do is annoy him. If anything, I will make him feel worse.”

“No, you won’t. I know that deep down, underneath all that hostile older brotherliness, he loves you. If anyone can make him happy, you can, Everly.”

“Fine, but if he tries to stuff his dirty socks in my mouth, I’m coming home early. I’ve tasted enough dirty socks to last me a lifetime.”

She chuckles. “You two crack me up. You’re both so cute when you’re together. Maybe we can get in a family photo or two.”

“Why, so he can give me bunny ears?” I don’t think there’s been a single family picture where I don’t have Max’s fingers sitting behind my head making me look like a rabbit. It’s happened in every single picture since the age of six. He’s so annoying. I’m not sure why he’s my favorite person in this whole world, but he is.

I guess I’m going home for the weekend. There’s absolutely no way I’m letting Max be all depressed over Breezy. That’s what a good sister does in this situation.

“But bunny ears are sooo cute,” she teases. “What’s the verdict? Are you coming home this weekend?”

“Yup, consider me there. I’ll see you soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it. I need some girl power around here. Dad and Max keep teaming up on me. I need my mini me to come help me out.”

“You got it, Mom! Love you!” I hang up the phone and notice Leo standing awfully close to me. He’s glaring. He pretty much heard my entire conversation.

“Something you want to tell me, Love?” He takes a puff of his cigarette and blows it out the side of his mouth.

“I have to pack. My mom needs me to come home for the weekend. My brother isn’t doing too good.” I have my accent again, but this time, he rolls his eyes.

“How about the fact that you aren’t British?”

“Oh yeah, that. I may have over-exaggerated when I said I spent some time in England.”

“How much did you exaggerate?”

“Maybe like all of it? I was trying to impress you.” He throws his cigarette onto the ground and smashes it beneath his foot.

“Hmm, sounds like you owe me more than an explanation. I think you need to make up for the fact that you lied to me.”

“What do you mean?” I ask him, as he walks me backward against a building. There’s no longer the hint of alcohol on his breath. It’s now straight up Vodka. Cigarettes and vodka have to me my two least favorite smells.

“I told you what I wanted earlier today. I think you need to pay up.”

“You want to have sex with me even after finding out I lied to you?”

“Everly, my love, the only reason I’m even interested in you in the first place is sex. I’m not even British, for Christ’s sake.” His accent completely disappears and is replaced by a horribly whiny American voice.

I feel like I just got kicked in the gut. “You’re not British?”

“Fuck no,” he laughs. “English accents get the girls. American accents get shit unless you’re from Boston, the South, or the Bronx.” Each accent he does perfectly. Holy crap! I just met
me
in male form. This shit is insane.

“I think I need to get home, now,” I tell him nervously as he wedges me even more between him and the wall.

“What’s your hurry, Toots? Don’t like it when you get played?” He bends in to kiss me, but I duck, forcing his lips to meet the rough exterior of the wall. He wipes at his mouth and there is blood on his fingertips.

“Stay away from me, Leo.” I reach into my bag and my hand fits around the little bottle of pepper spray Max gave me last Christmas. I don’t want to use it on him, but I will if he doesn’t back off.

“My name isn’t even fucking Leo. It’s Norman. God, it feels good to be myself for once. All this ‘rebel against the world’ crap to impress my lame ass friends gets tiring after a while. Look Everly, you’re fucking gorgeous, but all I want from you is sex. We have absolutely nothing in common, and you don’t even like to party. My perfect girl is someone who likes to drink and get high. Shit, it’s been two months and you haven’t even touched my dick. It’s not worth it to me anymore. You’re a god damn cock tease, and unless you plan on taking me back to your place and having your way with me, then it’s probably time to call off this bullshit relationship, don’t you think?”

“God yes, it’s probably best to cut our ties right here and now. You’re a nice guy Leo . . . er . . . Norman, but you’re right, we have nothing in common.”

“Except our infinity to copy foreign accents.”

“Yes, there’s that. I guess it was nice getting to know you. Although, I’m pretty sure we don’t know a true thing about each other.”

He laughs. “Yeah, we’re both a bunch of liars.” He takes a step towards me. “One thing before I go.”

“Yeah?”

He grabs my arm forcefully and pushes me down on the grass. I try to fight him off, but he’s stronger than me and I have no idea how to defend myself. My only lifeline is that stupid little bottle that has rolled out of my hand and under a bush. I can see it from where we are, and if I figure out some way to reach it, I could probably get away.

“Get off me, Leo!”

“Not until I get what I came for. You may like being a cock tease, but I hate it. If you don’t give me yourself willingly, then I’m just going to take you for myself.” He releases his grip on me for a brief second, just long enough for me to buck wildly and throw him off. I scramble under the bush, grab the pepper spray, turn around and spray that motherfucker all over his zit-covered face.

“Fuck it burns!” He screams.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Leo. If you come within a hundred feet of me, I’m going to press charges for attempted rape.”

He groans as he tries to wipe the spray from his eyes. I grab my purse and hightail it back into the movie theater. I don’t expect Leo to follow me, and he doesn’t. I watch as he peels out of the parking lot, leaving me a minute to check my thoughts. I can’t believe that asshole tried to rape me! Even worse . . . he wasn’t even British! I guess that old saying is true. You can’t judge a book by its cover. Or, in my case, you can’t judge an accent by its owner.

One thing’s for sure; I’m never letting another man fool me like Leo just did. Next time, I’m going to be more careful when it comes to choosing who I date. No more fake people for me and definitely no more guys with Mohawks and combat boots.

I hate to admit it, but Jessi was right. It’s time to put my Accent Hussy ways aside and seek out that one guy who’s perfect for me. I just hope he’s hot and has a foreign accent, too.