“Oh, excuse me, I forgot. America is the center of the universe. Please forgive me.” Simon scowled at Mitch.
Mitch ignored him, turning his attention to the office girls at the table. “Now, who’s ready for another shot? Let’s have a show of hands.” He turned to his left. “Yumiko, you in?”
Several of the office workers raised their hands. Mitch counted them and then called the waitress with a loud. “Sumimasen!”
An attractive young woman dressed as a Playboy Bunny appeared at the table. She had shimmering black hair that fell to her waist.
Mitch casually placed his arm around her, brushing his hand against her hair. “Jägermeister no nine chotto kudasai.” The Japanese words came easily to him.
Although still not fluent, Elle’s hard work in language class was beginning to pay off, and she could now speak and understand conversational Japanese. Hearing Mitch’s request, she shook her head in objection. “No, not Jäger. I can’t!” The room was already spinning a bit, and what sense Elle had left told her Jäger would not be such a good idea. That stuff could really mess her up.
“C’mon, why not?” Mitch slurred.
“How about some Sex on the Beaches instead?” Elle queried the group of women next to Mitch, hoping they would agree.
“Yes, yes. Sex on Beach. Good.” Yumiko clapped her hands together excitedly, a habit amongst Japanese women Elle found insufferable. It’s not as if they were five years old and at a birthday party with a clown performing tricks.
“Oh, fine,” Mitch conceded. “You’re all a bunch of pussies.”
“Hey, watch it there, mate.” Shane removed his arm from the back of Trixie.
Koko, looking slightly perplexed, turned to Yumiko and asked her in Japanese to explain what “pussy” meant.
Mitch waved his hand. “Whatever, I don’t care. Order what you want. I’m going to sing!” He stood up, somewhat dramatically. Noting the looks of confusion on the office girls’ faces, he pointed to Shane and said, by way of explanation, “Shane—pussy.”
Thinking it was a term indicating affection, Yumiko and Mariko clapped their hands and repeated, “Shane, pussy!”
“You’re a fucking arsehole.” Shane pushed against the table and abruptly stood up.
Mitch jutted his chin forward defiantly. “Take a chill pill, mate.”
“Go fuck yourself. I’m out of here.” Shane turned to the women next to him. “Koko, Trixie, you coming with me?”
“Going to take the girls home with you, I see. That’s brilliant. I’m sure your wife and kid will be thrilled to make their acquaintances.”
Mitch’s unbridled sarcasm made Elle nervous. It was so unlike him.
Shane moved closer to Mitch. “So you want to take this outside, do you?”
Worried things could get ugly, Elle quickly interceded, “C’mon, everyone. Let’s all just relax.”
“Whatever, I don’t have time for this shit.” Shane motioned for Koko and Trixie to follow him. As he left, he flipped the bird over his shoulder, adding, “See you arseholes tomorrow.”
The waitress returned, carefully balancing a tray with nine shot glasses filled with a pink liquid. Elle was thankful the shots were the Sex on the Beaches she had requested. Mitch was antagonistic enough already, Jäger would only make things worse.
“Good, leave. It just means more for us.” Mitch waved Shane off and greedily grabbed two of the glasses from the tray. Throwing his head back, he quickly drank one shot after the other.
The waitress smiled widely, exposing a crooked eyetooth. It was higher than the rest of her teeth and looked like a fang. For reasons neither Mitch nor Elle could understand, the Japanese found these “snaggleteeth” desirable. They were considered cute.
Mitch set the empty shot glasses down and put his arm around the waitress. “Oh, honey, you really should get that fixed.”
Elle was again shocked by Mitch’s attitude. Why was he being such an ass?
Luckily, the waitress seemed unsure of what Mitch meant and smiled agreeably, like she had been given a compliment.
Mitch did another shot and announced, “All right, I’m going to sing!” He clumsily pushed his way to the microphone and started looking through the song list.
Elle was sure this wasn’t a good idea. Mitch was too wasted. He hated to sing. She needed to stop him. “Wait, Mitch—why?”
Mitch looked up. “Because I want to.”
“No, Mitch—why?” Elle tried to get across she was using their safe word. The word that meant she wanted to leave.
Mitch nodded he got it. “Fine. One song then we’ll go. I have the perfect one in mind.” Mitch plugged numbers into the karaoke machine and appeared to steady himself, his eyes fixed on the screen where the song lyrics would appear.
The music began, “Da err . . .”
Elle immediately recognized The Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now,” a song about a gay man bemoaning his father’s inability to love him for who he was. So she had been right about Mitch, but that wasn’t the least bit important to her now. This was bad. What should she do?
The office workers were encouraging Mitch as he swayed drunkenly to the music and sang the opening lines. He seemed okay. Still, Elle held her breath. She knew better.
Mitch came to the part of the song about being human and needing to be loved. Elle stood and began to walk toward him, instinctively recognizing she needed to be near him. Her fears were confirmed. Mitch suddenly stopped singing and looked helplessly at the table. Everyone quieted, looking back at him in eager anticipation of what he would do next. Mitch was the life of the party. What outrageous behavior would follow?
Mitch dropped the microphone, turned, and ran out of the room. Elle followed and caught up with him outside on the street. He was trying to light a cigarette, but his hand was shaking too much. “Fuck!”
Elle gently took the cigarette from Mitch’s hand, lit it, and handed it back to him. She lit another for herself. “You all right?”
Mitch took a long, protracted drag from the cigarette and then waved his hand in the air. “So there it is. Newsflash: Wayne is gay. A fag, a fairy, a flamer, a poof . . .”
Elle reached out. “Mitch, it’s okay.”
Mitch moved his arm away. “No, it’s not okay, Elle. It’s not fucking okay.”
Elle wasn’t sure what to say or what to do. How could she let Mitch know this news didn’t matter to her, that she accepted him for exactly who he was? All she could think to do was hug him. He tried to resist, but she wouldn’t let go.
“Oh fuck!” Mitch collapsed in Elle’s arms, tears streaming down his face.
They stood this way for several minutes, Elle occasionally looking around to make sure no one from their group came out to check on them. Luckily, most of them assumed Mitch and Elle were a couple—something the two did nothing to discourage—and likely figured they wanted to be alone.
Mitch brushed his arm across his nose and reached for another cigarette. “Did you know?” The intensity of the situation had sobered them both.
“Yeah, I guessed as much.” Elle ran her fingers gently through his hair. “A cat named Queeny? I mean, c’mon!”
Mitch’s lips turned up ever so slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile, yet Elle was encouraged. “And then there’s the fact that you have somehow managed to resist my amazing breasts.”
“The left one is a little bigger, you know.”
Thank goodness! Mitch had his sense of humor back. He would be okay. “So really, my tits do nothing for you?”
“Let me put it this way: one time in college some friends insisted on taking me to a strip joint for my birthday. This girl with a rocking hard body is dancing naked right in front of me—I mean, her bush was literally in my face. All the other guys were freaking out, getting hard-ons, and all I could think was ‘I like your shoes!’”
Elle laughed. It would be safe to ask a more serious question. “Have you told anyone else?”
Mitch shook his head. “Do
you remember when you told me your greatest fear was you wouldn’t be good enough?” Fresh tears formed in his eyes. “Well, that would be me. I’m not good enough, not for my parents at least. If I’m honest with them about this, they’ll disown me.”
“Mitch, I’m so sorry.” Elle hugged him close again. Sure, she had demons of her own, but mainstream society didn’t shame her for something wholly out of her control. Elle couldn’t imagine how difficult that would be, how terrible it would feel. “I think you’re incredibly brave.”
“Brave? That’s rich. I’m so brave I had to move halfway across the world so I wouldn’t have to face the truth. So I could pretend it didn’t exist.” Mitch tossed his finished cigarette on the ground and stomped on it with his foot. “You can see how well that’s working out for me.”
Elle rubbed Mitch’s back. “I’m running away, too. We all are.”
As if on cue, always interrupting when he shouldn’t, Stewart appeared. “Hi, guys! Whatcha doing?”
Really? He had to show up now?
“Nothing. We just wanted to be alone.” Elle tried to be nice, hoping Stewart would take the hint to leave.
No such luck.
Stewart continued, “I just love Halloween. Well, Christmas is my favorite holiday. What do you want for Christmas?”
What the fuck? He was so mental.
“Actually, Elle was getting ready to suck my dick, so can you please leave us alone?”
“Oh, right. Geez, okay. I’ll see you guys in a minute.” Stewart nodded knowingly and winked at Mitch, like he’d had lots of blow jobs outside bars before.
“It’ll take more than a minute.” Elle smiled sweetly.
Stewart’s face reddened as he walked away. “Yeah, okay . . . See you later.”
Mitch watched Stewart leave. “Do you ever wish you could be like him?”
“Like Stewart? Umm . . . no! Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you ever think it’s a curse to have been born smart? Wouldn’t it be a relief to be one of those people who doesn’t know any better, someone who is happy with their mediocre little life. I mean, take Yumiko, Ayumi—all of them. Do you think they are tortured by the endless possibilities of what is ahead of them? No, they go home, have their cup of tea, watch TV, and wake up content to do it all over again. Don’t you think that would be nice?”
“Only every minute of every day.” Elle knew exactly what Mitch meant. It was like her mom, somehow perfectly content in her pathetic little life. She accepted the dismal fate she had been handed and never wanted nor expected more. For all the things her mother was not, like the Japanese girls in the karaoke bar, she was satisfied. She hopefully bought a lotto ticket every week and was never disappointed when she didn’t win.
Not Elle. Her every waking moment was colored by guilt, shame, resentment and an unrelenting need for something more. Something better. She put her arm around Mitch. “What’s wrong with us?”
“Fuck if I know, but it sucks. Sometimes it really fucking sucks. I’d happily give up fifty IQ points to live in blissful ignorance of my potential.”
“Don’t say that!” Elle was emphatic. “I wouldn’t like you nearly as much if you weren’t exactly who you are.”
Mitch put his head down. “Sometimes I don’t think I can take it.”
What did he mean? Elle was concerned. Mitch needed her. She had to help him. Elle put her arm around Mitch’s shoulders. “I think you’re perfect.”
Mitch rubbed his hand across his face to dry his tears. He seemed intent on regaining his composure. “Running from the truth—overrated/underrated?”
“That’s easy. Overrated. Most definitely overrated.”
“Agreed. You’ve got to help me get laid.”
“Yes! Totally!” Elle was glad the conversation had become light again. She couldn’t bear to see Mitch so distraught. “So what’s your type, Mitch Carpenter?”
“Well, I once had a rather lurid dream about Gopher from The Love Boat which involved bondage. And then there was a slightly less X-rated, yet nonetheless satisfying one with Donny Osmond, but I suppose I would have to say I’m mostly attracted to creative, pretty, slightly feminine guys. David Bowie in his Thin White Duke faze, that sort of look. Having George Michael sing ‘Father Figure’ to me naked would fulfill a major fantasy.”
“All right, I can work with that. I’m on it!” Elle paused and added, “You need to hook me up as well. It’s not like I’m beating men off with a stick.”
“Well, you’ve certainly had more action than me.”
“True, but considering the one guy I’ve ever had sex with is someone who regularly wore plaid pants and bow ties, I’m not exactly qualified to discuss the finer arts of the Kama Sutra.”
Mitch grimaced. “Ugh, I guess you do have a point. Okay then, let’s make a pact. We both need to score. Soon.” Mitch stuck out his hand and they shook on it.
Elle didn’t release her hand. Instead, she took both of Mitch’s hands and held them to her lips. He could joke all he wanted, but she needed him to understand he shouldn’t be ashamed. “You deserve to be loved for who you are, Mitch—and you are. I love you. You’re my best friend and I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. Not one thing.”
“You wouldn’t add an inch or two to my johnson? I sure would.”
“Nah. Not even that.” Elle circled her arm in Mitch’s. “Now, getting a Taco Bell in Tokyo—there’s something to change. How amazing would a Burrito Supreme be right about now?”
“Yes! The Double-Decker Taco is possibly the greatest invention ever. Highly underrated. Maybe after our trip to Europe we should come back here and open a T-Bell franchise. Seriously, we could become zillionaires.”
Arm in arm, Elle and Mitch walked toward Roppongi Station to a train that would take them home. Elle was glad Mitch had confided in her. She had meant what she said. Mitch was her best friend; she loved him. He was safe with her. Elle would make up for what had happened with Jimmy. She would protect and take care of Mitch. No matter what.
Chapter Twelve
The All-American Rejects: “Move Along”
May 18, 2017
6:39 p.m.
“Hi, Mrs. Martin!” Tabby waved enthusiastically to Elle. Smiley face, smiley face. Four’s girlfriend spoke with such animated emotion, it seemed like everything she said ended with a corresponding emoticon.
Elle waved back as she walked into the crowded stadium. She liked Tabby. She was a genuinely sweet and perpetually happy girl. She hand-painted fairies and flowers onto children’s clothing and sold them at the Junior League Holiday Bazaar, donating the proceeds to St. Jude’s. Tabby was also pretty in the lithe, wholesome, horseback-riding, patrician sort of way Elle so admired. She would go to a good college, major in art history or French, study abroad, and get an internship at a trendy gallery in the city before marrying.
Tabby would always know what to wear.
She was perfect for Four and just the kind of girl Win should have married.
Tabby skipped toward Elle. She wore black lululemon yoga pants and UGG boots, the de rigueur out-of-school look for Country Day females. In addition, she had on Four’s #4 away jersey. She hugged Elle, careful to avoid smudging the 4 she had painted in red on her cheek. “It’s so good to see you!” Row of pink hearts. Tabby stepped away from Elle and frowned. “My mom told me about your tennis match. Is everything okay?” Furrowed brow emoji.
Elle wasn’t surprised that news of the argument at the tennis match had already made the rounds. She ran in a small social circle; it had been Tabby’s mom who had sought advice on the color scheme for her Range Rover at Jane’s house that morning.
Although sure Tabby’s concern was genuine, Elle didn’t have it in her to talk about all the bickering. It seemed pointless. She swatted her hand in the air casually. “Oh, it’s fine. Nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, good!” Smiley face. Tabby looked around and then lowered her voice asking, “Did you hear about T
hatcher? It’s such a huge bummer.” Frowny face, frowny face, face with a tear drop.
Thatcher’s suspension was another issue Elle had no interest in discussing, so she didn’t answer. Instead, knowing Tabby was easily distracted and not the type to dwell on anything negative, she changed the subject. “Aren’t you glad the weather is so nice?”
“Yes! I’m so glad it didn’t rain! But still, I’m sooo nervous for Four!” Wide eye emoji. Thatcher’s fate temporarily forgotten, Tabby jumped up and down, rubbing her hands along Elle’s arms. “They can do it, right?” Nervous face, hands in prayer.
“Yes! They can. I have a good feeling about this game.” Elle was confident; she had heard “We Are the Champions”—there couldn’t have been a clearer sign predicting victory. She patted Tabby on the arm reassuringly. “Go on ahead with your friends. I’ll see you after the game.”
“Okay. My stomach is just in knots!” Face with tongue sticking out. Tabby offered Elle another quick hug, waved good-bye, and ran to catch up with her friends. Just like the women on the tennis court earlier that day, Tabby wore her blonde hair in a high ponytail. Adorned with navy and red ribbons, it bounced with youthful optimism as she ran off.
Yes, Tabby was a happy girl. How lucky for her. She would continue to make dream boards and end every text to Four with smiley face and heart emojis. In a few years’ time, she would be debating the merits of varying color schemes for a new European car of her own.
Could Elle be happy in the same way Tabby was? If she had grown up in a house with a pediatrician dad and a nurse mom, would she have been one of those girls who used a red sharpie to decorate white boxer underwear with hearts for her boyfriend? If Jimmy hadn’t died and her dad hadn’t left, would she have spent her free time making mixed tapes for friends with each song title written in a different-colored pastel pen?
It didn’t matter, not anymore. What was important was that Elle’s children wouldn’t look back at their own childhoods and wish they had had more.
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