Friedman drove them to Burgers n’ Weenies and had Tori buy a dozen cheeseburgers and a jumbo soda because he left his wallet at home. He finished about half of those burgers on the drive back and parked his LeSabre outside one of the many off-campus housing units that lined Mason Avenue.
Tori looked out the smudged car window. It was an old, three-story building—white, with peeling paint and broken shutters—and there were mounds of empty bottles and crushed cans swept up against the house like piles of leaves. Most of the windows were open, despite the cool October air, and she could hear loud voices coming from inside.
“Welcome to Alpha Sigma Omicron,” Friedman said, grabbing the brown paper bag from Tori’s lap. He slid his hand across her left boob as he opened the driver side door and stepped out.
Tori waited in the car and watched him for a moment. He got as far as the front steps before stopping, cupping his hands over his mouth, and barking as loud as he could for some reason. More barks echoed from inside the house.
Tori unbuckled her seat belt and tried to wipe the grease spot from her lap with the underside of her sleeve, but it wouldn’t come out. Sighing, she climbed out of the car through the driver side door and followed Friedman into the house. He hadn’t waited for her, but he had left the front door wide open. Some stray dogs ran out as she stepped inside.
“Um, excuse me…” she said, trying to navigate through the horde of football players who were crowded in the doorway. They were chugging beer and didn’t even seem to notice her, so she got pushed and jostled until she reached the kitchen, where Friedman was scarfing down another burger.
Tori started walking towards him when Matt Clay jumped out in front of her, raised his arms in the air, and let out the loudest, most foul-smelling belch he could muster.
Tori gagged and waved a hand in front of her face. “Okay, that was disgusting,” she said, as Clay and his buddies left the kitchen, laughing. She looked at Friedman for an apology or at least some comfort.
“You should try one of these,” he said, pointing to the greasy bag on the table. Ketchup sprayed from his mouth and oozed down his chin as he spoke.
“I already told you I’m a vegeta…” Tori stopped and combed back a loose strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes. Deep breathing, she told herself. “It doesn’t matter. Can we do the interview now? Please?”
Friedman shrugged. Not even bothering to put down his burger, he yanked a chair out from under the kitchen table, spun it around on one leg, and plopped down.
“Shoot me,” he said, folding his arms against the backrest.
“Huh?”
“Ask your questions! Geez, what kind of reporter are you? You don’t even know the lingo…”
“Oh. Right…” Tori took a seat at the table and used her forearm to push away the wads of fast food wrappers before setting her notepad and pencil down. When she was finished, she removed her jacket and folded it neatly against the back of the chair. “Okay, so… First, your name.”
“Friedman. Duh.”
“Um, your full name.”
“JOSS FRIEDMAN, KING OF THE ALPHAS AND GREATEST QUARTERBACK EASTERN SHORES HAS EVER SEEN!” He roared so loud that Tori had to adjust her glasses.
“I’m just going to put down ‘Joss.’ Now, um…how long have you been a student at ESU?”
“I dunno.”
“What is your major?”
“I dunno.”
“Do you have any interests outside of football?”
“YO, CLAY!” Friedman yelled, startling Tori again. “WE STILL ON FOR THE GAME TOMORROW NIGHT?”
“YEAH, MAN,” came a voice from the next room.
They barked to let each other know how they felt.
Tori leaned across the table and put her hands on either side of Friedman’s jaw, forcing him to look at her face. But his eyes fell to something a little lower.
“I don’t think this is working,” she said. “How about you just talk about some of the things that interest you and we’ll see where it goes from there?”
Bad idea. Tori sat there for thirty long minutes and listened to Friedman ramble on about sports and women and women and sports and sports and women. And just when she thought she had heard enough about balls and scoring and all the cheerleaders he had slept with, he found another topic that led to the same thing. By the time he had downed the last burger and crushed the plastic soda cup in his hand—ice cubes and all—Tori didn’t have a single thing written down that would make a good story.
She brushed the chunks of ice from her notepad and checked her watch. Maybe if she hurried, she could still find one of the cheerleaders on campus.
“This has been fun and all, but I really have to get going,” she said, standing up. “Thanks for, um…well, thanks.” Friedman was so absorbed in talking about himself that he didn’t even notice she had grabbed her jacket and was heading for the door until she was halfway there.
“Hey, wait!” he yelled, racing after her. He easily beat her to the door. “What about my story?”
“I don’t think my readers want to hear about how many women you slept with…”
“Why not? The guys like to hear those stories. Don’t you, guys?”
Naturally, the guys barked a response and went back to drinking. Tori was beginning to think that was all they knew how to do.
“My readers aren’t just guys,” she said. “I need a story with substance.”
“I don’t know what drugs have to do with anything, but I can show you my trophy room. Maybe you’ll find something there that interests you.”
Tori let out an exasperated sigh and let her arms fall to her side like limp branches. It was getting late. At this point, she would probably have to wait until Monday to schedule another interview, and there was no telling if the next person would be any more useful than this joker.
“Okay, sure,” she said. “Lead the way.”
--------------------
Tori followed Friedman up the rickety stairs of the fraternity house, getting a good look down at all the drunken buffoons who were gathered in the common room. Based on their matching varsity attire, she surmised almost all of them were on the football team, and she wondered how any of them had the energy left to be so loud and disorderly. Matt Clay was still trying to impress people with his sack dance and some guy named Nate Burgeson had just brought a stack of pizzas into the house after crashing his car into the fire hydrant outside.
“It’s okay, guys,” he said. “I saved the pizzas!”
They cheered and huddled around him to grab a slice.
“Is it always this loud in here?” Tori asked when they reached the top of the stairs. She had to yell it again because Friedman didn’t hear her the first time.
“You get used to it,” he said. He led her down the hallway and stopped at a locked door near the end of the hall. Digging around in his pocket for the key, he unlocked the door with his back to Tori, as if there the door required a secret combination that he didn’t want her to know about.
“Check it out,” he said, pushing open the door.
Tori stepped inside and found herself in a tiny room surrounded by empty shelves and empty display cases.
“I think you’ve been robbed,” she said, turning around.
“Nah, the room isn’t finished yet.” He shut the door and the voices from downstairs were finally muffled. “This is just where I’m going to put all my trophies once I win them. See this spot?” He pointed to a wooden pedestal in the center of the room. “This is where my Heisman is going to go.”
“Heisman? Don’t you have to be…good for that?”
“Well, I’m not going to get it by stealing it!” Friedman laughed, slapping Tori on the back. She stumbled forward and her glasses came flying off.
“Look…” Tori picked up her glasses. “I really appreciate you showing me your empty trophy room, but I don’t think there’s anything in here I want to see.”
“There’s me.”
Tori frowned.
“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that I’m not the most charming guy you’ve ever met.”
“That’s a double negative and I’m not sure you’re the kind of person my readers want to read about. I’m just going to interview one of the cheerleaders.”
“Fine.” Friedman smashed his fist through the wall. “…Go then. You’re just as stuck-up as the rest of them.”
“Stuck-up?”
“I’m not GOOD enough for your story. My trophy room isn’t GOOD enough for your story. My car isn’t good enough, my house isn’t good enough, my damn choice of food isn’t good enough! Is anything good enough for you, Tori Butt?” He started pounding his head against the wall and put another dent in it. “You’re just like Kate.”
“My name’s not… Are you crying?”
“No!”
“Yes, you are.” Tori stood there awkwardly for a minute and then slowly reached up and patted his brawny shoulder. “There, there… Um… Is there anything I can do?”
Friedman sniveled and blew his nose on his sleeve. “Haven’t you already done enough damage?”
“Um, no…”
“Then prove that you’re not too good for me.”
“Uh, okay,” Tori said. “How do I do that?”
Friedman produced a thick, soggy cheeseburger from his back pocket. It was still wrapped in paper, but the grease had soaked through and made the sandwich clearly visible on the inside. He held the wrapper up to Tori’s face and kept it there.
“Eat it,” he said.
Tori pushed his hand down. “I’m not going to eat—”
He started bawling again.
“Fine!” She snatched the burger from his hand, unwrapped it, and took a small bite. She chewed quickly and then swallowed. “There! Happy? See, I don’t hate you.”
“All of it.”
“What?”
“If you want to make me happy, eat all of it.”
Tori stared down at the disgusting lump of meat and mushy bread in her hand. Slowly, she put it to her lips, held it there for a moment, and took another bite. A nauseating taste and odor filled her senses.
Friedman smiled on the inside. This girl was more gullible than anybody he had ever seen before. At this rate, he would be banging her on the master bed before the sun went down. She looked so ridiculous and stupid with that burger in her mouth, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel holding onto its nuts, that he couldn’t help but point and laugh.
“You should be our mascot!” was his clever retort.
Tori looked at him and felt a sudden tremble in her stomach. The burger slipped from her hands and her face turned a shade of green not unlike the withered grass outside the house. She tried to get around Friedman, but it was too late, and she ended up vomiting all over them both. She covered him, she covered herself, and she covered the entire floor in the remains of the ground-up cheeseburger.
Gagging, she grabbed her knees and puked again.
Friedman was no longer laughing. His face was plastered in chunks of hamburger meat and cheese. He blinked once, reached up to wipe away the dripping food with the back of his hand, and then he shouted.
“That…was…AWESOME!” he roared.
Tori threw back her hair and glared up at him.
“I told you I don’t like meat!” she cried. She looked down at her designer clothes, which were now ruined, and her hands began to shake. “Ahhh…” She dropped her jacket. “So gross!”
“I’ve never seen a girl do THAT before! You are AWESOME!”
“I need to change my clooothes!”
“You can do it here.”
She scowled.
“Not HERE,” he said quickly. “We have a bathroom right across the hall. I’ll…get you something to wear.”
--------------------
Tori cringed at the sight of the bathroom. There was hair in the sink, cobwebs lining every corner, and the toilet bowl looked like it had never seen the underside of a scrubbing brush. She was afraid to even step barefoot on the floor. But she did, removing her black pumps one at a time, and setting them on the counter next to the sink. Then she slipped out of her mini-dress and her undergarments before stacking them in a neat little pile next to the boots.
“This stuff better come out,” she mumbled to herself. She fumbled with the clasp on her watch and then leaned against the door. “Are you still out there?”
“Yeah,” Friedman said.
“Cover your eyes.”
Tori leaned the watch against a can of aftershave and cracked open the door. She put a hand under the pile of clothes and quickly tossed them into the hallway before closing the door and locking it.
“Call me when they’re dry!”
“Okay.” Friedman bent down and picked up the mini-dress, followed by a white sports bra, and then a pair of panties with a cartoon bunny on either side. On the front, there was the face of the bunny with his big blue eyes, and on the back were his floppy ears. Friedman chuckled and removed his own clothes before heading towards the laundry room.
“Hey, man!” Clay said, stopping Friedman in the hallway. He saw Friedman was stripped down to his underwear, so he threw off his shirt and kicked off his pants too. “We’re gonna go moon the girls in the chess club! You want in?”
“Yeah, let me just throw these in the washer and—”
“Dude!” Clay ripped the bunny panties out of Friedman’s hands. “You don’t wear these. Chicks wear these!”
“I know. They belong to Tori Butt.”
“Who is Tori Butt?”
“That chick I came up with. You burped in her face.”
“Oh, right! The skinny one.” Clay crumpled up the panties and tossed them back. “Duuude, what happened?”
“I was getting her to eat meat for the first time and she totally puked everywhere!”
Clay burst out laughing. “I bet she did! Oh, man. Some girls just can’t control their gag reflex.” He leaned over the railing and shouted to the guys downstairs. “Friedman just scored a Hail Mary with the new chick! MVP of the Cherry Bowl right here!”
Cheers erupted from the main floor and Friedman and Clay bumped fists.
“Yeah, uh, that’s exactly what happened,” Friedman said, grinning. He dropped the clothes on the floor and posed for his fans. They didn’t seem to mind him strutting about the house half naked.
When he was finished, Clay put Friedman in a headlock and they began to horse around and act like general assholes.
Meanwhile, Tori had just gotten out of the shower and was drying herself off with a ragged towel when she looked at the clothes Friedman had left for her to wear on the toilet. There was an oversized jersey with Friedman’s name on the back—as well as the number ‘5’—and a pair of stained boxers that she immediately pushed into the trash can with a wad of toilet paper.
“Disgusting,” she breathed, running the towel through her hair and looking at herself in the mirror. She picked up the jersey and slipped it on over her head. The sleeves fell well past her elbows and the bottom of the shirt covered her knees. Sighing, she sat down on the toilet and waited for Friedman to come back with her dry clothes.
Instead, though, Friedman came crashing through the door with nothing but his underwear on and Clay on his back. They were laughing and having fun and Friedman managed to push Clay to the floor, where he got a view straight up Tori’s legs.
“Oh, my God!” Tori squealed, jumping onto the toilet seat. She leaped over Friedman, who made a desperate grab for her ankle, and ran out the busted door.
“Hey, come back, Tori Butt!” Friedman yelled, but Clay held him down, and soon Friedman forgot all about Tori and went back to wrestling his buddy.
Tori, meanwhile, stopped only long enough to grab her bundle of clothes off the floor and she hurried down the stairs three at a time. The guys in the common room stopped drinking long enough to laugh at her and the ridiculous spectacle she put on went she came tumbling down the second half of the steps and made a mad dash for the door. The last thing they saw from her was her wet hair flapping in every direction and Friedman’s name in bold red letters on the back of the jersey she was wearing.
She heard their barks and hoots and hollers until she was well out of their sights.