Over-the-Counter Encounter
5. Giving
Dean's apartment was contained in three rooms and a little kitchenette. It was furnished in a retro-1950s style, not because he liked that style, but because his mother had extra pieces she did not need. She often visited her son and furniture and would show up unannounced at any time or day, her key fitting the door as easily as his.
Mrs. Vivian Taylor was a tall woman with straight, long black hair halfway down her back. It would be difficult to describe her face as it was so rouged, lacquered, mascara'd and glossed so heavily that only the mistress herself and the occasional gentleman caller saw the true article and only if they arose before her.
This day, a week before Christmas, she wore a long black beaded dress with wild bunches of fringe along the hem. A pot hat graced her head. She chewed gum. She carted a shopping bag with some gifts, no doubt for her little brat of a son. Not bothering to knock, she just fitted the key into the lock and swooped into the apartment.
"Hey shithead," she bellowed, "Merry Christmas!"
She heard some noise in the bedroom and figured Dean was not alone. She proceeded to the bathroom. She opened the door quickly.
"Need to pee," she said.
Matt was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth and quit as naked as Mrs. Taylor was dressed. He turned and quickly covered up.
"Nice," she said. "Dean baby, quite an upgrade from the last one. Nice to meet you. I'm Dean's Mom."
"Hi, Dean's Mom," said Matt.
"You can call me Viv," she said. "Shit, did I scare you?"
Dean appeared, draped in the sheets.
"Shit Viv," he said. "Can't you at least knock."
"If you want me to knock, don't give me a key. And if you take away my key, I'll leave you as fast as that motherfucker who fathered you, my little queen."
She hugged him, or rather amerced herself in him, rubbing his head and showering him with kisses. She then, hit him on the side of the head.
"What's that for?" said Dean.
"For being so fresh and holding me up from peeing."
She disappeared into the bathroom. Matt was dressed now and sat on the couch putting on his shoes and rubbers.
"I probably should leave," he said.
"Nonsense."
"Well, you need to visit with your Mom. I see she's brought gifts. It would be a bit awkward."
"You stay put."
"I've been staying put here every night this week. I probably need to check on my place. My folks might drop by."
"You stay put," said Dean. "We'll stay are your place tonight after I come home from work. OK?"
Matt looked at him and winked. Dean sat beside him kissing him on the lips.
"Looks serious," said Viv standing behind them.
"Shit Viv, you're like a cat," said Dean. "You're always sneaking around."
"Matt," she said, "do I look like I could sneak around? Listen, sweetie, I got work today."
She flashed her set of long, beautifully sculpted fingernails.
"She does nails," said Dean.
"Not just 'does nails' smart ass," she said. "Do these look like any nails you've ever seen? I'm an artiste. But in any event, I probably won't see you 'til after Santa’s day, so I brought your crap over today. You can open them now or wait. I don't care."
"Right! You don't care," said Dean. "You love the drama. Give them here."
Viv plunked the shopping bag in front of him and spread the packages on the floor. They were an ill assortment of gift wrapped objects - square things looked round - round things square. Viv was never a person of great detail. Dean picked one up and unwrapped it. It was a shirt - a black shirt with little pink hearts on the pocket.
"You don't like it," she said.
"I love it," he said passing it to Matt.
There was also a pen which when turned upside down contained a naked California surfer. That one was better appreciated. There was a brass talisman with a peculiar symbol on it - half-serpent - half-centaur. Dean smiled at it with thanks. There were also three packages of incense, which would go with last year's three packages of incense to the back of the kitchen utility drawer.
"So, shithead," she said with love, "where's mine?"
"Well, if I knew you were coming?"
"You mean . . "
"No," said Dean, "I have it. But it's not wrapped; and I don't give unwrapped gifts, like some people I know."
"Well wrap the fucker and give it here," she said.
Dean disappeared into the bedroom closing the door to secret the wrapping operation.
"So, Matt," she said, "How long have been fucking my son?"
Matt laughed. The Texas lassies were never so blunt as this mamma.
"About two weeks now, Mrs. Taylor."
"Viv. Call me Viv or don't speak to me at all. Lemme hear you!"
"Ah . . Viv."
"That's right. Viv, and nothing else. Now, I'm telling you, so hear me straight. If this is just a ‘jabberhoo fuckeroo any man I see I screw’, let him know now. Dean tends to fall in love; and I don't have time to put the pieces back together. But if you intend to stay a while, or longer, you have a mighty big obligation buster."
"I don't follow," said Matt.
"Yes, you do," she said. "No man fucks around for two weeks and puts his shoes under anyone's bed without considering the big obligation buster. So, don't screw me. Screw him - that's what you guys were born to do. But don’t screw me, unless you're bi. You’re not bi are you?"
"No chance," said Matt.
Dean returned with a perfectly gift wrapped present, a small box with a larger than life bow.
"Merry Christmas, Viv," he said.
"Shit," she said. "All that time to wrap this little fucker."
She ripped the bow off and slaughtered the paper. It was a tarot card deck. Her breath was taken away.
"Oh, the Aquarian Deck," she said the tears running down her eyes. "You know I've wanted this deck for how long? Give me a big hug and kiss, shithead."
She wrapped herself around Dean. He was lost in her fringe.
"Well," she said recovering as fast as she emoted, "Gotta go! Glad to meet you Matt - and I hope to see you again."
"My pleasure . . .Viv."
"There you go!"
Viv disappeared through the door waving good-bye with the back of her hand, her long nails pointing to the heavens.
"Hasta la Vista, sissies," she said he voice trailing away.
Matt was stunned.
"Sorry I didn't warn you about her," said Dean.
"She's something, isn't she," said Matt. "Very liberated.'
"And crude. Say it, she's an old hippie."
"She's also very frank. How come you don't call her Mom?"
"No one ever calls her anything but Viv. Did she give you her little warning when I was out of the room."
"How did you know?"
"She'd sit beside us and couch our sex if she got the chance."
"And how come she calls you shithead?"
"Ah, that's as close as she can come to 'I love you.' Maybe I should have warned you. You look shell shocked."
"No, I guess I had to meet her some time," he said.
"Really?" said Dean. "You mean that as its part of a process or something?"
"I guess," said Matt. "You need to meet my folks."
Dean bounced beside Matt giving him a hug.
"Does this mean we're engaged?"
"Well," said Matt, "I guess it does; but bear in mind I believe in premarital sex; and my Mom and Dad call me 'hon.'"
"And what will I call your mother?"
"Mrs. Kieler, of course."
Dean hung on Matt's neck.
"Of course," said Dean. "And there's still time for another . . ."
"Jabberoo fuckeroo?"
"Of, she's been here alright," said Dean. "She has truly been here."
"You bet your tits, shithead," laughed Matt. "You bet your tits."