The Best Friend's Guide to Surviving Matrimony (and All That Other Happy Shit)

When I got the phone call, it had to be the worst possible time to receive the news.

It was a Monday. You'd think that making this kind of thing occur on a Monday of all days would be cruel enough – this isn't exactly the kind of thing you're craving to hear when you're nursing a brain-splitting hangover – but that wasn't even the worst part. The worst part was that it was the Monday I’d been anticipating for months: the Monday that the company confirmed the long-awaited merger with Penthouse. The Penthouse was merging with my company. It was fucking incredible. With merging, not only was I entitled to a generous portion of the Penthouse empire, but forty percent of their profit too. It was the largest pinnacle of my career to date.

Except there wasn't any merger. In fact, a representative from Penthouse's board of bigwigs called up two hours before the meeting was to take place and aborted the whole mission. “Our board is looking for someone with more experience under their belt,” he'd said in his apathetic, monotone drawl. “Someone who can make major financial decisions without the aid of tequila shots. You're just not what we're looking for at the moment.”

I could agree with his first statement. Admittedly, three-fourths of the time, I hadn't the slightest inkling of which hand to wipe my ass with, let alone in which direction to drive the franchise. Owning a company that specialized in adult toys and raunchy pornography wasn't the easiest job in the world. Three years as CEO and I was still learning the ropes, and haphazardly at that. The second accusation, however, was simply for spite, and I didn't need any experience to recognize that.

Yet as I sat slouched in my too-big desk chair, arms thrown over the sides, blazer sloppily splayed open, my fake silicon boobs threatening to leak out of my camisole, and only half-sober, I felt a putrid black hatred for my own self. That corporate pussy was right: I was inexperienced and unprofessional. I couldn't possibly have expected a company of such esteem to ever take me seriously. I was a second-rate piece of trash sitting on a throne of gold.

It was in that moment of the utmost self-loathing – the worst moment ever – that I got the call.

“Miss Hough?”

I glanced at the intercom on my desk. The little red light was on. I gave it a halfhearted glare. Regardless of my suffocating self-hate, it wasn't above my fairly inebriated state to reply, “Jeremy, what have I told you about using the intercom?”

Jeremy was my secretary. My sexy secretary. He'd originally came to L.A. to pursue an acting career and secure himself a spot on the Walk of Fame, but after spotting him reciting a mediocre poem in a local cafe, I’d offered him this job as a way to keep him on his feet. Why not? He was young. And cute. And his biceps nearly burst out of his Abercrombie button-up when he bent his arm to put the phone to his ear. What better way to receive phone calls and faxes but by a fresh-faced pin-up boy?

“Um...” Jeremy trailed off awkwardly, almost nervously. “Not to use it...?”

“Precisely. And why is that, Jeremy?”

“Because I'm too pretty to relay messages on the phone and should come deliver them personally instead?”

I grinned, though it was more a sick grin of habit than a product of any sort of joy. “Exactly. I look a mess right now, anyway, and probably smell like your dead grandpa's flask, so I'll let you off the hook this one time. Next time, though, I may have to take it out of your pretty little hide – oh, shit, did you have a message for me?”

Fuck, was I drunk.

“Uh, yeah. You have a caller on line one.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“He told me to call him 'Dickshit McGee.' Said you'd know who it is.”

My heart gave a sudden unexpected lurch. I took a shallow breath, a smile of genuine delight coming to my face. “Did he? Okay. Thanks, Jer.” I hooked the phone and put on line one, bringing the receiver to my ear again. Clearing my throat, I put on my business demeanor. “Miss Hough speaking for Big O's. How may I help you experience your ultimate pleasure?”

“I think you know how, baby,” came a sultry coo over the line.

“Do I, sir?”

“Unlike any other.”

It was difficult to keep from laughing. “You think so?”

“Mm, I know so.”

Suddenly, I was in stitches, laughing so hard I was leaning over my desk. “Damn, I ruined it!” I managed to calm myself down, still cracking a goofy grin. “Oh, God. Hi there, Satchel.”

His chuckle was long and hearty, making my heart throb. “Hey, kid. How's life been?”

Shitty for the past year that you've decided to spend dicking around in other states.

“Great, actually,” I lied. But it was only a half-lie. Truth be told, it was a bit easier to forget the failed merger and my own verging on alcoholism now that I was hearing my Satchel's voice. It was easy to forget a lot of things. “How about your adventures on the road?”

“Crazy as always. You get that t-shirt I sent you?”

I rolled my eyes. “You mean the one that says 'I'm on the Hole Patrol' in gigantic letters?”

His reply was an evil snicker laced with a sense of self-satisfaction.

“I put it with my collection of vulgar Steel Panther garments. I seem to have quite a pile.”

“As it should be.”

I giggled. My heart felt warm. I leaned back in my chair, smiling to myself.“So, Playboy, to what do I owe this honor?”

“What? There has to be an occasion now? I can't just call you?”

“Not without wanting something.”

“Not true!”

I had to laugh. “Didja miss me that much?”

“It's entirely possible,” I quipped.

I snorted. Unlikely. He had enough girls fawning over him to last him a whole lifetime. “Really, Satch, what's up?”

There was some sort of radiation over the line, some sort of beaming expression, and it felt like a smile. “I've got some news.”

“Uh-oh. What'd you do now?”

“It's not like that,” he replied, chortling. “It's good, actually.”

I didn't generally associate Satchel with good news. “Oh? Spill.”

“I'm getting married.”

It hit me like a shock, right in the chest. I was speechless for a moment, wondering how or what to feel when I knew that I should've been ecstatic. This was a good thing, right?

I blinked. “Oh.” I blinked again, then again, then realized that my eyes were filling up with tears. “Are you serious?”

“Hell yeah.” He laughed airily. “I've sure as hell waited long enough, don't ya think?”

I couldn't think at all. In fact, the only thing running through my mind at that instant was no, no, no, no.

It felt unreal. He'd said “married.” Married, as in matrimony – as in monogamy, children, settling down, eternally caring for and loving one person and one person only. And that person wasn't me.

It made no sense. I’d been pining after Satchel since the ill-fated day that we met, nearly a decade ago now. From the second we were introduced, hair teased out to the heavens and a waggish smile on his chiseled face, I knew I had to have him – so I took him. For a glorious five months, he was all mine. Things were steamy. There was hardly a moment in his presence that wasn't spent undressed or in a bed. I just couldn't stand seeing him clothed when what was underneath was so beautiful. And I suppose he felt the same. The day came, though, when he decided to call it quits. He dumped me flat on my ass in the middle of the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. It was okay, though – after all, “it was just sex, right?”

But even then, I didn't feel I’d lost him quite yet. Despite our demise, the Steel Panther Family wore on and I was to remain part of that family, for better or for worse. Being constantly around him and knowing he was no longer mine to drag into the nearest bathroom was hard, but the feeling eventually faded. He met other people and took a couple trips around the block, and so did I. We even double-dated once. Things just seemed to mellow out. It was almost like our little rendezvous never happened – in fact, it became something to joke about. We were platonic as ever.

One thing that never faded, however, was the adoration. While the lust eventually dwindled and died, the affection always remained. It sat on the back burner of my mind like a pot that only boiled over now and then when Satchel came around and turned the heat up.

But at the mention of marriage, it was like he was turning the flame off once and for all. He was finally signing himself over to someone else. No longer could I have him – not even in fantasy. He was gone. My pilot light had blown out.

“Carrie?”

I ran a hand beneath my eyes, despite that no tears had fallen. “Sorry, I just...” I swallowed. My throat was getting tight. “I never pictured you getting married. I mean...wow.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Neither did I. But she's a great girl, Car. Her name's Vivian. You remember her, right? From the Christmas party?”

Vivian. It sounded good. Sounded like it was just meant to be next to his. Satchel and Vivian. Vivian and Satchel. Satch and Viv. Kind of like the cute, heartbreaking sort of couple you saw on sitcoms.

I didn't remember this girl, though. I’d never met her. In fact, I hadn't even attended the Christmas celebrations that year – I’d spent the festivities in the geriatric ward of the hospital with my decaying father instead. I’d though he would've remembered me telling him that. Or at least that I wasn't there. Apparently, he had other things to worry about; things like Vivian.

“I wasn't at the Christmas party,” I replied, my voice icier than I’d intended.

“Oh, you weren't?”

My back tightened. I stayed silent.

He must have taken that silence as a good thing. “Well then, you've got to meet her! She's got the greatest sense of humor. You'd love her.”

“I sincerely doubt it,” I murmured.

“Hm?”

“Just clearing my throat. Well, uh...Congratulations, then.”

“You don't sound too enthused.”

I'm not. “I am! Trust me, I am. It's just a lot to take in, but...this is good.” A pang of sadness hit my heart. I slowly closed my eyes, feeling tears well up behind my lids. “I'm really happy for you, Satchel.”

“Really?”

“If you're happy, I'm happy.”

His exhale crackled over the line, so relieved and so human. It sounded like the Satchel I knew. “Thank you, darlin'. Honestly, your approval means a lot to me.”

I gave an empty half-chuckle. “I'm glad.”

“So...” He was quiet for a moment. “You're coming, right?”

My eyes popped open. ”Huh?”

“The wedding? You're gonna come?”

“Um...I wasn't aware that I'm allowed to.”

“You're obviously invited to my wedding, turd brain.”

“Oh. Well...”

Was I willing to accept that fact that I was no longer to fantasize the thought of being with him again? Maybe. But did I want to be there to witness him be handed away forever? Certainly not.

“C'mon, Carrie. The whole Family will be there. You can't not come.”

“But...”

“I want you there.” He was quiet. I could tell that he wanted to say more, but didn't know how to say it. “Please, Carrie.”

I’d never heard him talk so sincerely, so openly before. He usually only spoke to hear the sound of his own voice – that was Satchel. This, though, was genuine. And although seeing him leave forever was the last thing I wanted, I couldn't say no to that pleading voice. Not to my Satchel.

“Okay, okay, I'll be there.” I closed my eyes, feeling a headache coming on. “When is it?”

He cackled mischievously over the line. “This is going to be a blast.”

Something in my gut told me that I had just made one of the poorest decisions of my life.