Could the woman get a life? Any at all. Hell, a game of bridge or bingo at a church function would be better than hanging around, looking through books, and waiting to throw verbal stones when I skulked in looking like a homeless show girl.
I slowly turned to face the interrogation head-on, head held high. Hands clasped to hide the tremor, I straightened my back and oozed purpose. Hopefully she didn’t smell the stale beer from my clothes from the few mishaps in balance last night.
“I was with a friend.” I said in a matter-of-fact tone, easily hiding the lie. “Why?”
“Oh. You went to a slumber party, then?”
“Not since I was five, no. I stayed over at a friend’s house.”
“Oh, I see.”
“His house was closer to the bar.”
“The bar?” Her eyes flared as she glanced down to my clothes. She was judging. She must be! I looked like a hot mess.
“His house?” she continued excitedly. “Oh! Is this a new boy-friend?”
“No, actually. Just a friend. That I know. From school. No big deal."
“Oh. That’s nice! How long have you known him?”
“A while. It’s no big deal. Just a friend. So…” I half-turned, indicating that my unraveling had nothing to do with her questions.
“How exciting!” She threw me a friendly smile, missing my subtle cues.
“Well, not really. It was kind of a dull night. Well, I am going to head to the shower…”
“But, didn’t you shower at your friend’s house? Did you forget your overnight bag?”
Honestly, only the intensely naive were this inquisitive. Either that, or her mental pen was scribbling furiously in anticipation of relaying all of this to her busy-body, snooty mother.
I attempted a nonchalant, overconfident hair flick, but with so much residual hairspray tangling un-brushed sex hair, my fingers got snared. I yanked my hand away, painfully ripping a few strands of hair with it, and tried for an all-knowing smile to hide my discomfort.
“I didn’t actually know we were going to a bar that was so far away. You know cab drivers; they can be dangerous at night. So, I just stayed with him at the last minute. Didn’t have my toiletries so I thought I would just head back home to shower.” Lie.
“Oh my God! You should have called me! I could have come and picked you up. I was home early from dinner with Randolph. You definitely don’t want to be entrusting your life with cab drivers. A nice looking young girl in this city? No way!”
I clutched at a change of subject. “So you were out with Randolph? How did that go?”
I took a step toward the bathroom, conjuring up a face that could only be described as Nice, as if to say, “Look, I’m friendly, I’m interested, and I would rather talk about you than my intensely soul-crushing, sexual proclivities."
“Oh Randolph, he is so funny.” She got a faraway look in her eyes. “He took me to the cutest little bistro, I swear. He really has great taste in restaurants. And he’s sooo romantic!”
I threw a friendly grin at her and took another subtle step away. When she refocused on me, I amped up the fake enthusiasm. “Oh great! Is he your boyfriend yet?” I attempted an eye twinkle.
I could only muster a slightly neurotic, glazed hang-over eye. Damn.
Her brow furrowed slightly, her eyes analyzing my face.
"I think we are close," she said with a noticeable hitch in her words. She was two seconds away from asking if I was all right. I hated that question, because I never was, but didn't want to admit it to Miss Perfect.
"I really do." she went on. "And my mother approves of him wholly, which is a good sign. He is from good stock, my mom says.”
“Oh, well, that is good! Ha ha, yeah. Good stock. Excellent.” My face was starting to crack under the strain of Nice. I was close the bathroom now. I already knew I would be slamming the door in her face. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“So, how long have you known this friend of yours? The one you stayed with last night? Any potential?” She stepped after me, smiling all the way. Her mental pen was getting all the details, including my escape attempt.
“No. No way. Nah-uh, no. No. I’ve known him a while, but just a friend he’ll stay I think. He isn’t really my type. Too nice...I mean--” Shit. “You know, girly nice. Too...you know...”
Her eyebrows rose mid-smile, waiting for me to finish. This Nice thing was ridiculous. It just wasn’t in me.
With one last effort, I attempted the resurgence of my Nice smile. Result: a fracture in my face that looked like a grimace.
“So, I better head off to the shower. Great talking to you. Really." I slipped away to bubbly nods and requests to join her after for some coffee.
Later that night I met up with the girls for our weekly dinner. The idea was to meet at a new hotspot in L.A. every week, drink fancy drinks, dress in designer clothes and feel fabulous. Being that we were in college, poor and had few material things with a name anyone knew, we didn’t live up to that aspiration often. But in our heads we did, and that was truly all that mattered. At least to us.
After I entered the dimly lit, slightly dingy restaurant, I heard a perfectly tuned chorus of cackles. It looked like the girls were here. Sure enough, in the back, sitting around a big table, were the dearest four girlfriends a gal could have. All different, all extraordinary, they were my chosen family. Nothing happened that I didn’t share with them, and visa versa.
That’s why this dinner was about to truly suck. I would be breaking the news of my eventual departure of this city and my lifetime home. School would be ending soon, and my life needed a severe change of direction. I couldn’t keep going like I was. It was dangerous, not to mention disgusting. I had to grow up, and I had to do it soon.
“Hey, girl!” Flem shouted, waving her hand. Her real name was Clementine, and most often went by the nickname Clem. Which we then, in a moment of hilariousness that no one outside of our group shared, or even understood, changed it to Flem.
I ignored the outstretched menu of the server slash host and zig-zagged through the mostly empty tables.
“Hey, Jess,” Jane said, looking up.
“Jane, is that a text book in your bag?” I asked with a pronounced eye roll.
“I have a test in a few weeks. I keep going over some of the things I need to remember, then realize it isn’t in my head where it should be.”
“So you brought your entire text book? Isn’t that what your smart phone is good for?”
“I want to make sure I have exactly what will be tested.”
“Dumbest smart person I know," I droned as I sat down. And it was true. Jane the brain: Quiet, reserved, and sometimes naïve—at least for our group—she could write an essay without her morning coffee and still get an A. Point her to the classroom and she smiled, right along with her teachers. But ask her where she parked her car, or how to get from point A to B on the bus, and you got a blank look. School smarts.
On the opposite side of the table sat Lump, who would probably punch you in the head if you called her by her real name, Betsy. Street smarts. The two ladies were proof the two existed. Drop Lump in the middle of a citywide riot, and she’d get the whole group home safe without raising her blood pressure. Give her homework, and she’d probably not bother to turn up to school the next day. Our own little science experiment, the two girls.
I sat down to a menu that was half Chinese and half Japanese. A joint venture, huh? Yikes.
Flem greeted me with, “What’s up, girrrrl?”
“Hello ladies. How’s life?” I answered to the group.
I was met with smirks. Oh joy. Judging by the anticipation on everyone’s faces, I could tell I only remembered half of last night’s excursion.
“Where’s Claire?” I asked the table.
“She’s probably afraid to show her face after picking this place. She doesn’t even eat seafood and it’s half the men,” Jane intoned.
“Here,” Lump handed the wine in my direction, “have some wine.”
“No way! No alcohol. My liver needs to re-calibrate!”
There was a chorus of laughing and “Shut ups!” Flem immediately reached for the bottle and glass at the same time.
As I was about to protest for the second time, the door swung open, emitting a loud, “Fuck!”
Claire stood in the doorway, juggling cigarettes, a lighter, and her handbag while bending over a shoe. After she shooed two waiters away and started laughing, she saw our table and headed over.
“I picked this arse hole, I did? Feck!” She threw her bag down at her feet.
“I don’t know what she just said, but she sounds pissed.” Lump said with a smirk.
“She’s from Ireland, they’re always pissed!” I laughed.
Jane handed Claire a menu without saying a word.
“It is mostly seafood. Load of bollix, this menu. Ah well.” Claire put the menu down and looked at all of us. “Well. How are ye now?”
All eyes one me.
Then it started.
“So...” Claire began, putting down her wine glass and looking at me. “You found a Prince Charming last night, did ye?”
“Yeah, girl.” Flem leaned in toward me as she asked, “What happened there? We leave you for one minute and you sneak away with some guy. Who was it?”
I hesitated.
“Come on, Jess. We won’t judge,” Jane said with an encouraging smile.
Laughing, Lump said, “I will so judge you, and then point and laugh! But I will at least wait until you’re done telling your story.”
“Oh, well, in that case…” I sighed. “Alright. It wasn’t my great design at the time, but the man I woke up with was very well built, tanned, and hung just right…”
“Wh-at?” Lump shouted. “Who was he? How did I not see him?”
“Well, uh...” I scratched my nose to stall while my insides shriveled. “It was probably because you were looking straight ahead, and he walked right under your eye line.”
Jane said, “That is nothing new. She’s a giraffe--most men pass under her nose!”
Lump shot Jane a dirty look.
“Okay,” I said, “he is a little shorter than that, even.”
“Short isn’t the end-all, be-all,” Flem uttered with a wave of her hand.
“Well, he wasn’t exactly gorgeous, either.”
Claire’s smile widened, prodding me on with a nod.
“He was a little less than fairly ugly.”
“This isn’t sounding good...” Jane muttered, looking down at her glass of wine. She was losing the fight of positive thinking.
“Come clean!” Flem shouted.
I let them have it. I explained, from beginning to end, the horror story of my morning. When I finished, I looked around the table expectantly.
Jane was sharing my misery and probably would’ve reached out and hugged me had she been closer. Lump looked like she was reliving some similar past horror. Claire was looking past me and watching what someone was doing behind me, apparently having lost focus. And Flem... well, Flem was looking at me with the oddest expression I have ever seen.
Half her mouth was slightly twisted in a sort of smirk. Her eyebrows were furrowed, almost like she was witnessing some tragedy, and her eyes held a quizzical look. She was leaning toward me, but her head pulled back as though there was poop on the table in front of me. She looked around at the others. Then back to me.
And guffawed.
She rolled with laughter. Roared with it. Body heaving, she slammed her hands on the table. She laughed so loud it echoed. Somewhere a glass broke, which startled Claire into looking around wildly.
Flem threw out her finger and pointed at me, doubled over. “He-was-so-ugly!”
“Yeah, I remember that lad." Clare nodded, watching a waiter go by. “Fecking disaster!”
And there went Flem again.
“We’ve all had our memorable moments, you guys!”
Bless Jane and her sweet temper.
“All I’m saying is, I am getting too old for this.” I looked for the waiter and more wine before I went on. It was time to break the news. It was time for that new life. It wasn’t just an idle thought, either. I was hoping that a relocation might help sort me out. It might help shake things up so I could make a change.
“I have some news.”
The table went quite. Eyes dropped to the table, except for Lump, who was staring at me. That was never a good sign.
“I’ve applied to jobs all across the country,” I paused to take a sip, trying to cure my suddenly dry throat. “I got one in Texas. A house, too. I’m…ah…moving.”
“Yeah, Jane already told us,” Flem said with eyebrows shelving her eyes like a cartoon character. “And you’re headed to a dumb f**king place, you know that?”
“Is that because you were born and raised in the inbred state?” Lump smirked, still staring at me despite the fact that she was talking to Flem. Men quailed in that look. She had the mite and know-how to do serious damage. Had since she was young. Her father was a martial arts expert, her oldest brother a master. She got beat on until she followed in her dad’s footsteps. She had slow to temper, but if she did ever get riled out, get out of the way.
It was the least of my concerns at the moment since she wouldn't beat me up in a public place. I hoped.
"What do you mean Jane told you?” I turned to a somber Jane. “How’d you know?”
She shrugged. “You were being secretive. I hacked into your email.”