This past week has been the pits. The hardest I’ve had in quite a while. Mom scared the crap out of me on Monday when she collapsed while we were making dinner. I called an ambulance, and she was rushed to the ER. After a slew of tests and meds, the picture is getting dimmer and dimmer. Her heart is deteriorating all the time. Mom refuses to do anything more about it. She is mad as a hornet that I took her to the hospital in the first place.Burning money we don’t have, she said.
I’m glad she’s feeling better now, but I’m still reticent to leave her side. Mrs. Franklin has been helping us out. Staying with Mom while I’ve been at work. There was no way I wanted to leave her tonight to come out with Evelyn and Rina. But Mom insisted. Said she wanted to see me act my own age for a change. Threatened not to take her meds if I didn’t listen to her. We actually fought about it, something Mom and I rarely do. I ended up giving in, if only to make sure she takes her remaining pills.
My throat feels like it’s coated in syrupy sugar as I throw back another of Rina’s favorite shooters. How many have I had? I have no idea which one this was. A gummy bear? A lemon drop? Heck, they’ve all kind of blended together into the same candy-flavored buzz. Not sure I like this one any more than the one before.
What I do like is that I’m feeling lighter now. All my worries seem to have floated away. I’m not even agonizing over the massive hit “Mom’s heart fund” has taken following her latest episode. I’ve never been one to run from my problems, preferring to face every challenge head-on, but the way I’m feeling right now, I see the appeal of alcohol. Tonight, nothing is real. Reality doesn’t exist. Just for one night, I’m letting go.
“I know,” Evelyn shrieks beside me. “We need to get Iris a boyfriend.”
“No time for men,” I shout back. Were those the right words?
“Nonsense! Hey, Saul.” She pokes her boyfriend in the arm. “Don’t you have any single friends? My girl, Iris, needs someone nice and gentle. Preferably a blond. That’s her type.”
I roll my eyes and immediately regret the action when the room starts to spin a bit. But blond is definitely not my type. My type might be someone…rougher. Likes to wear glasses and occasionally kill a pest.
Nope.Stop thinking of that man!
“Oh, uh… Jerry just broke up with his girlfriend. But he isn’t blond. Hold on.” Saul whistles loudly and waves his arm over his head at someone. “Yo, Jer! Get over here!” he shouts at the guy a few tables to the left of the bar. “I want you to meet someone!”
I groan. “I don’t need a boyfriend, Evelyn.”
“Oh, relax. Jerry’s a good guy. He and Saul went to high school together. Give him a chance.” She shoves a margarita at me. “Just talk to him. What do you have to lose?”
Ugh. Evelyn means well, but sometimes she can be rather pushy. Plastering what I hope is a normal-looking smile on my face, I turn toward a guy weaving his way in our direction.
***
“So, have you ever gone?”
“Huh?”
“Fly-fishing. Have you ever done it?”
I’m about to reply, but Jerry barrels on, not interested in my answer. Kyle used to do the same thing. He’d ask for my opinions, but didn’t want to hear my reasons or follow through on anything I said. Sometimes, he’d zone out even before I finished talking, as if what I was saying didn’t matter at all. It never really bothered me, but I noticed and wondered if it was common with men.
I let him prattle on, absentmindedly nodding once in a while, as I sip my drink. I’m not even going to try to figure out how many I’ve had tonight. I know it was a lot. But my mood is up, and my bones feel loose, as if gravity itself has relaxed its hold on me. I tap my foot on the sticky floor in time with the beat, enjoying the pumping music as the notes vibrate through my chest. All around, the crowd seems to be moving too fast, individual faces blending with others nearby.
So this is the life of the twentysomethings? The party scene? The sexual heat? Wherever I look, there are people dancing, gyrating; their laughter and animated jabber compete with the strobing lights. I can’t help but think how different tonight is from the evening I expect to have tomorrow at the Annex. And even with this frenetic vibe surrounding me, I wish it were already Saturday. And instead of being at the nightclub, I was enjoying my time at the gentlemen’s club. With a certain silent fellow.
I’ve never considered myself to be interesting. Not in a way that would draw anyone’s attention, at least. And I’m not academically smart enough to have deep, worldly discussions, so the idea of someone choosing to spend their time just to hear me talk night after night is so odd to me. I’m used to being ignored or overlooked most of the time, so this new experience is really nice. Flattering even. It makes me feel important, in a small sense. Like what I have to say matters. It feels…good. Addictive.My evenings with my silent guest have become times I look forward to every week.
My gaze drifts over the crowd, various groups huddled around tables, sprawled inside booths, or just hanging out, leaning on walls or occupying the dance floor. This place is huge. There are two separate bars at each end of the facility, and hundreds of people in between. Young twenty- and thirty-somethings. Everyone having a great time.
Jerry is still talking next to my ear, but the best I can make out is maybe every third word. Something about hockey, the score, and a bet. I let him vent. Obviously, that’s what he’s doing, while I look around, imagining who these people are and what they do with their lives.
A girl who might still be in college is taking selfies, posing in her flowy yellow dress. Her makeup and hair are stunning; a little clutch in her hand. I’m picturing her as a pre-law or economics major, here to let off some steam. Close at hand is a guy in faded blue jeans and a long-sleeved black Henley. With his messy, shoulder-length hair, he’s got the whole struggling musician thing going for him. Or maybe a misunderstood artist. It really doesn’t matter; it’s all just for fun.
My eyes bounce from one person to another, and crazy idea after crazy idea about these people spring up in my mind. At my side, Jerry is practically forgotten as he keeps talking about God knows what. I’m happily checking out the room when my attention falls on a man at the end of the U-shaped bar, maybe a hundred feet from me and diagonally across. Around him, everyone is in casual or nightclub fashion, while this guy’s in a dark-gray suit. He definitely doesn’t fit in. Maybe he’s the manager? He certainly seems a bit older than the party crowd.
I try to focus on his face, but the bartenders are moving between us, and people nearby keep bumping into me. Likewise, the flashing lights aren’t doing my impaired vision any favors. My view of him keeps being blocked every other second. But the odd times my sight line clears, the man seems somehow familiar. Something about him tickles my senses, stirring my inebriated mind. It annoys me, like a missing piece of an almost complete jigsaw puzzle that I simply can’t find.
Finally, I get a clear shot, an unobstructed eyeful. My gaze collides with the dark-haired mystery guy, this enigmatic stranger. The breath gets caught in my lungs. My drink suspended halfway to my lips. I stare. And he stares back, watching me from across the way as he nurses a tumbler of amber liquid. Scotch? Whiskey? Rum? Suddenly, I really want to know. And wish I were closer.
I know who he reminds me of.
“Iris?” Jerry’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “You doing okay?”
My line of sight is lost. Bodies move in the way.
