Pending Argument is now Dead Horse To Be Beaten At A Later Date. LJ will not be budged from his position that it was NOT him who wrote that e-mail; he says he'll try to find out who DID do it, but somehow I don't see that happening...not so much because he's guilty, but because shit blew up big time in his little circle a couple of days ago, and everyone he knows is feeling the repercussions....including me, oddly enough, since it's not something to do with me directly.
What happened was this: apparently one of his business contacts got a bit too greedy, started messing with more-felonious products, got his comeuppance, and is currently (to the best of our knowledge) residing in a lovely federal suite on Dearborn Avenue. And they got this guy's cell phone as well...containing, as cell phones do, all kinds of interesting data on who he called and who called him, and when and how long and for what, and so on. So now everyone whose numbers were likely to be in the guy's phone is in an advanced state of paranoia.
The end result of this, however, was kinda fun, all things considered.
Last night when I got home, the house was dark, to match my mood rather closely. Damian was snoozing on the sofa in front of "Malcolm In The Middle", and LJ was knocked out upstairs. Neither of them had come home the night before; apparently they crashed at LJ's parents' house, and neither of them slept much.
Damian woke up first and came into the kitchen, where I was fixing myself a can of soup. My first words to him: "So what'd you DO, anyway?" Which--of course--elicited a long, melancholy tale of the injustices done to him by Lisa, calculated to inspire the maximum of sympathy...and it might have worked, if I wasn't still dwelling on LJ's theoretical betrayals.
"...and I mean, she didn't have NOTHIN' to bitch about. I mean, NO REASON," he said.
"That she knew of," I added. "According to what you told me the other night, she had PLENTY of reason to bitch--she just didn't know about it!"
He looked VERY slightly ashamed of himself...in the same way a cat will look ashamed of itself after it's just demolished a whole off-limits roasted chicken. Not so much sorry, but sorry you brought it up. "Well yeah, but....man, sometimes people just DRIVE you to do things, you know??"
"Oh, please," I said. "I've heard THAT once too often." (He knows the CR story, or at least its skeleton.) I told him I just did not want to hear excuses about how it was always the other person's fault--especially since I could prove that it WASN'T always the cheat-ee's actions that caused their partner to cheat. Or as I said to him: "Man, you see how I am around here--and yet I have a feeling I'm up against the same shit!"
I could have continued that debate for quite a while, but then: in the distance, the rumblings of a great big cranky bear coming out of his den, followed by the sounds of feet on the steps. Damian and I, at opposite sides of the kitchen hallway, peeked down the hall like something out of the Patty Duke Show intro, watching LJ getting himself together to go forth into the snow. Damian said something to him--I didn't hear what--and got his head snapped off. "Man, I ain't playin' with you. I just ain't in the mood for this shit today." He unlocked the front door to leave; being LJ, he said nothing about where he planned to go--just "I'm gonna go clear off the car--I'll be back." :::SLAM:::.
Damian and I looked at each other. "OOOOkay," I said. "I ain't sayin' SHIT to him tonight. I have never seen him that pissed before, I've gotta say."
A short conversation ensued, in which I was given the basic details of what happened within their circle of supply and demand; other than the brief outline above, no one is still sure about the exact details, LJ included. Damian went out to see what LJ was doing and if he was supposed to go along, and popped his head back in a moment later to tell me "C'mon--we're leaving!"
That's right, boys and girls: in the midst of the worst snowstorm in two years, we were going for a ride.
I knew where we were going, once they told me I was coming along; I have one of LJ's friends, Jayson, on my cell-phone contract, and everyone was getting their numbers changed, just in case. And I'm a cautious soul myself; I could see their point--I just wished for more cooperative weather!
What would have been a 45-minute errand took three hours. But I didn't mind. There's a certain cachet, if you will, about walking into a public place flanked by three large, dangerous-looking men--and then spending thirty minutes waiting for a clerk, talking and laughing, flitting among those same three guys like a strange little miscegenating moth. The poor clerk who ended up with us didn't know what to make of the situation--here I am getting one guy a new phone number, and he's buying me a new phone, yet the other guy across the room hands me a $50 when I ask him for money, and I spend most of the wait time talking to the third guy... The clerk was actually stumbling over his words, at one point, not sure whether to call Jayson my "boyfriend", my "friend", or what. I love inducing that sort of confusion; it's one of the great rewards of my ambiguous life. I love the dirty looks the other customers gave me. It used to make me self-conscious, long ago, and I know for a fact that LJ hates it--for example, there are certain friends of his I can't meet because their girlfriends don't like that he's dating a white girl. I'm not sure if he's trying to protect me or himself, though I suspect the latter.
We got home at 9:30 and I made a big pot of spaghetti sauce, and Damian and I stayed up long after LJ had gone upstairs, watching cartoons and talking. I'm beginning to think I fall into the "one of the guys" camp--or possibly "older sister"-- but I don't mind that so much either. I just enjoy the company.
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