"OK, what did that...gosh-darned fluffernutter do to you? Is that better?" he turned to ask his wife in a snarky tone.
I snorted. "It loses something in the translation," I said teasingly.
I explained what had happened, and Hannah and Dean both wanted to hunt him down to kick his ass. I assured them that he wasn't worth the effort.
"Well, he's clearly a," Dean paused to shoot a pointed look at Hannah, "fluffernutting moron. What the hell kind of name isDoyle, anyway. It rhymes with oil, which should have been your first clue, Allie."
"Agreed. I think I'll refer to him as Doyle-slick from now on, or maybe Doyle the Douche. Maybe both" I said. "Oh, and by the way, we really need to come up with something other than 'fluffernutter' to replace that other word. It sounds like we're on a porn set."
Dean choked on a laugh and smirked at me. Hannah just looked confused.
"Huh? I don't understand."
Dean shot his wife a wicked smile. "I'll explain it to you later, baby. Don't worry, you're really good at it." He waggled his brows at her with a comical leer.
"Oh, God, Dean. Quit trying to sex up my little sister in the middle of my living room!" I yelled, running out of the room.
The sound of his laughter followed me into the kitchen, as I went to join my daughter at the table. She was eating a bedtime snack, coloring, and singing some of the words to The Beatles 'Twist and Shout'. Nico had taught her, using the songs off Alex's old playlist. She had the 'Baby, twist and shout' part down pat. The rest of it, not so much. I grabbed one of the apple slices off her plate. I was starving. I really should have grabbed another piece of that focaccia before I left the restaurant. Of course, ol' Doyle-slick probably would have had an apoplectic fit. I would have been willing to take that chance.
The next morning, I had to meet Michael at the office for a meeting with one of the other bands that he managed. Tony walked in shortly after I arrived, and I looked at him in surprise.
"What are you doing here. Aren't you guys supposed to be in final rehearsals at the studio today?" I asked.
He nodded, heading over to the coffee station in the corner of the room. Michael drank it by the gallon, and always started a pot as soon as he arrived every morning. "I have to grab some paperwork from Michael to change all of my banking info for the accountant. My debit card got hacked, and I had to open a new account," he said, clearly irritated.
He grabbed a mug out of the cabinet, one of my funny ones, and filled it to the brim. I read the message on it and laughed. He looked at me and said, "What's so funny?"
"I could have used that mug last night," I said, still chuckling.
He read the message on the side of the mug,"Lord, if you give me strength, I'm gonna need bail money to go with it!"
"Why? What happened last night?"
I told him about Doyle the Douche, able to find the humor in his epic level of assholery. Tony was not amused.
"He did what???" He roared. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me! Is he fucking blind?"
"Hey, it's OK. I mean, I was a little hurt and embarrassed last night, but I'm over it now. It's his loss."
"Goddamned right it is. Stupid motherfucker, what the fuck is his problem?" Tony was on a roll now, pacing the small room, completely caught up in the tirade he was delivering.
Michael poked his head around the door in alarm. "Uh, guys, is everything OK?
"No, everything is not fucking OK, Michael," he sniped. "Do you know Doyle, the stupid shitheaded prick who manages that new band that's been recording in studio C?"
Michael stepped fully into the room. "Yeah," he said warily. "What about him?"
"He's a stupid fucking dickwad, that's what a-fucking-bout him," he huffed, before pausing for another sip of coffee. Good, maybe the caffeine would soothe his temper. Good Lord, he was even madder than I had been last night.
Michael looked at me, clearly hoping for some clarification. "You want to tell me what he's pissed about, or do I need to wait for him to run out of curse words?"
"He is pretty inventive with them, isn't he?" I said with a wide smile. God, I loved Tony. He was usually pretty quiet and reserved, but when he went on a rant about something, he really let loose.
"Doyle asked me out for dinner last night, then was rude to the waitstaff and condescending to me, then topped it off by implying I was too fat to risk eating bread and potatoes," I said, summing things up for him.
His nostrils flared and he clenched his jaw, "He fucking said that to you? What a colossal dick!" he said angrily.
"That's what I said," Tony nodded in satisfaction, looking pleased that Michael agreed with him.
