Another crackling pause, and then: “Um . . . okay.”
I’m not sure whether Julie’s going to find a tub or call the police, but either way, Jason’s getting his damn shower.
“So if he scrubs himself down with tomato juice, then he gets the shower,” I confirm with Rich as he slides the walkie-talkie back into his belt.
“Right.”
I look back over to Jason, who throws his hands up in the air. “Sure! Why not?Throw some vodka in there while you’re at it and turn me into a fucking Bloody Mary.” He starts storming down the path again.
I follow a few feet behind him, which is way worse than walking ahead of him when it comes to being coated in the aroma of Pepé Le Pew. My nose is getting more used to it, though (or just giving up on life entirely), which is something.
We make it back to camp and Jason stomps right though the swarm of PAs and other crew, all of whom step way back.The Not-Wives are by their campfire on the other side of the clearing, a ring of cameras around them. Destyny and Kate have jumped to their feet.The others stay seated, watching us. And is that aflutein Monroe’s hand? Were they having a campfire symphony?
We have to go past them to get to the dirt lot with the trailers, and Destyny starts toward us. “Jason, I was so concerned when I heard you yell, I was sure—”
We may never know what she was sure of, because the smell reaches them and Destyny lets out a shriek and jumps back, flapping her hands in distress. Kate gasps and holds her nose.Tiberius whimpers and burrows his pink track-suit-covered body into Monroe’s chest. Genesis makes the sign of the cross.
Calista takes another bite of the s’more in her hands. “I’ve heard skunk oil is good for your pores.”
I doubt Jason is comforted by this.
We keep walking until we’re near the trailers, and then Rich stops us and runs ahead to find Julie and the body-sized plastic tub and tomato juice, which I can’t imagine catering has on hand. God help me, if we have to wait for them to go into the nearest town—
“Gahhhhhh!” Jason says again, as if he’s hearing my thoughts or maybe having the same ones of his own. “Of all the things to happen, I piss on a fuckingskunk?” He tugs at his spiky hair in frustration. “And then it gets me right in the—”
“Right in the junk, I know.” I sigh. “You’re starting to sound like dirty Dr. Suess. ‘It skunked my junk. Now my junk has funk.’”
“Oh my god, Emily,” he says with a groan, but there’s the smallest touch of amusement in it, which brings a smile to my face.
“No, Skunk, no! Don’t funk my junk.”
He shakes his head at me. “You’re such apunk.” His lips twist up into a small smile of his own, and my heart flutters in this little gasp of hope that we can work this out.
But can we, if he never wants anything to change?
I don’t think relationships can stay frozen like that. I don’t thinkIcan.
He swallows, his smile vanishing. “Em,” he says quietly.
I don’t know what he’s going to say, and I don’t know that I can stand to hear it now. I flick my eyes over to the cameras and shake my head a tiny bit.
I really can’t do this in front of them.
He nods and stares at the ground. We stand there silently until a girl—Julie?—hauls over a large Rubbermaid tub.
She stops well away from us and sets it down. She eyes Jason skeptically.There’s no way in hell the tub is large enough for any body, let alone his. “It’s the biggest one I could find,” she says. “Sorry.” She scampers off, and Jason rubs at the back of his neck and glares up at the sky like he’s hoping to be struck down by lightning or maybe a stray meteor.
A few minutes later, Rich returns with a couple more PAs carrying jars of spaghetti sauce.
“Catering had some Ragu,” Rich says. “It’s not tomato juice, but it should do the trick.”
“I’m telling you, there’s no trick. It doesn’t work,” Jason says, but Rich ignores him.
“I need you to sit in it for at least ten minutes. And make sure to, like, scrub it all over.” He looks over his shoulder. “Maybe we can get you a loofah or something.”
“Oh my god, he’s not making spaghetti porn!” I yell. “And can you find a place to do this that isn’t in the middle of Grand-Fucking-Central Station? Can you give him at leastsomeprivacy?”
Rich frowns, then directs some more PAs to bring the tub over to an area behind the trailers. It’s not exactly closed off, but at least it’s not in direct view of the entire camp.
