Men of the Year

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Men of the Year Page 14

by Colleen McMillan


  “Aren’t he and Kevin going somewhere on Hennepin?” Her voice doesn’t sound agitated, just curious. I sigh with relief. This is going to be much smoother than I anticipated. I might have time to get ready before he gets to my apartment.

  “Kevin’s in Chicago for a last-minute trip.”

  “How much does Weston’s pay him?”

  “His brother’s rich. Are you sure you’re okay with Justin coming?”

  “I’m fine with it, but did you ask Lindsey? I thought she was going to murder me when I told her about my costume.”

  “I already called her. Maybe Justin will be dressed as Batman or something. That’ll make her happy.”

  “Right. I’d better go take the curlers out of my wig. See you soon! Oh! How was your date last week?”

  “About as much fun as a Mexican prison.”

  “I can’t wait to read that chapter. Bye.”

  After talking to Keeley, I run into my room and survey the scene: the costume is laid out on my bed, reserve tights are on the nightstand, the curling iron is heating up in the bathroom, and I have my makeup selections ready. I talked Keeley out of helping with my look. Makeup and hair first, then the costume. Thank God my hair is already red, or I’d have to wear some stupid wig.

  As I’m finishing my hair and spraying a lethal hairspray dose over the curls, the buzzer goes off. Shit, he’s already here! There’s no way that was half an hour! I look at the clock and see that he gave me an extra ten minutes, and even that wasn’t enough. I guess men have a valid complaint that women take too long to get ready.

  “Coming!” I run to the buzzer and press the button. “Hello?”

  “It’s Justin. Can I come up?”

  “I’ll leave the door open.” I buzz him in and race back to my room to assemble the costume. I suddenly feel bashful having Justin in my place while I’m changing. It must be the unconventional clothes. No one’s seen this much of my legs in a long time. I sit on the bed with the first pair of tights. They don’t tear when I pull them on one leg at a time, thank you Jesus, and they fit over my stomach nicely. I was afraid they might create some kind of fat roll or that my legs would look like chunky asparagus stalks.

  The top is really tight, but I can take small breaths, and at least my boobs don’t fall out. Kenny would love this top: it’s a corseted body suit. Some of the glitter cascades to the floor, but the leaves stay put. Dammit, I’ll have to vacuum later.

  The front door opens, and Justin calls a greeting. “I’m grabbing a beer! Take your time!”

  “Almost done! Just give me a second!”

  The boots are tall and barely fit over my calves. I’ve always had trouble finding boots that zip past my runner’s muscles, but Lindsey found the perfect solution: vinyl. It’s stretchy enough to encompass even my calves. The zipper winces under the pressure but goes all the way up. I can’t find my headband and panic before remembering that I left it in the bathroom next to my nail polish. Or course my nails are a poisonous green. I throw the headband on and catch a sideways glimpse of myself in the mirror. Not too shabby. Lindsey did a great job picking all this stuff out. With my glittering yellow eye shadow and pink lips, I become a different person. I smile deviously, trying out my villainous persona. I choke back an evil laugh and step back into my room to check out the full-length mirror. I really could be Poison Ivy. They should have cast me in that terrible movie instead of Uma Thurman.

  Feeling proud of myself, I strut into the living room to show Justin my costume. He sits on the couch with an open beer and stares when I enter. His mouth opens an inch or two, and his eyes appear foggy.

  “Whoa.”

  “I know! I thought I’d look terrible, but Lindsey knows what she’s doing!” I spin around slowly, and Justin’s lost gaze turns into an embarrassed smile. He starts laughing and sips his beer.

  “What?” I ask. Oh God I’m wrong. I look awful. My ass must look wider than Missouri. What was I thinking agreeing to this? I knew Lindsey would make me up like a vine-covered streetwalker. “Is it that bad?”

  “NO!” he shouts and puts up his hands. “You look fantastic! It’s just…”

  “What?” I look down at my boots. Are they silly? Did I take it too far with the makeup?

  “There’s a pair of green stockings stuck to your butt.”

  Mortified, I run back into my room and look in the mirror. The green tights look like recently shed reptile skin, and they blend in with the costume, so it’s no wonder I didn’t see them. I peel the access tights off and fling them across the room.

  When I step into the living room, I hope I look composed and not extremely flustered. Justin stands next to the sofa, grinning. I’m so annoyed with him that I barely register his outfit, but as my ire fades, I take him in: he brings to mind Mr. Darcy with well-fitting trousers, an immaculate dark brown coat, a cravat, and tall brown riding boots. It must have cost a fortune, and I had no idea Justin fancied Jane Austen. His hair is combed neatly, but his smile suggests rakishness. I’ve never seen him look so great.

  “You look amazing!” I walk over to him to inspect every article of clothing. As I grab at the coat I ask, “How on earth did you come up with this? You’re going to make us all look bad! Except maybe Keeley. She spends notorious amounts of money for Halloween.”

  “My sister thought of it. She said I’d look quite dapper as Mr. Darcy, though she thought I resembled somebody called Mr. Bingley ‘in both looks and manner.’” He imitates his sister’s lilting voice and shrugs. “I never got past page one in Pride and Prejudice, but these clothes are pretty comfortable. I just hope the bar’s not too crowded.” He moves to pull at the tight neck scarf but holds back at the last moment. Despite the fact that he hasn’t read up on his persona, I have to admit that Justin’s laid-back attitude toward his costume is admirable. Most men wouldn’t be caught dead in his attire. They’d have torn off the cravat and untucked the shirt in no time.

  “It shouldn’t be too bad. It’s in some suburb.”

  “You don’t think I look stupid, do you? I would have gone with something easier. Like scrubs and a stethoscope.”

  “Mr. Bingley fits you well. He’s amiable and handsome.” Justin’s face brightens when I say this, and he blushes. Keeley will take one look at him and fall in love again. “I wish I could be Elizabeth Bennett instead of…” I gesture down my body, and Justin tries not to stare.

  “Poison Ivy’s one of the strongest female villains in comic book history, so I think she fits you too.”

  “Thanks, but I usually prefer more costume. Last year I wore my Ren Fest outfit. It shows cleavage but everything else is covered up.” Sensing my embarrassment, Justin moves to take off his coat, possibly planning to hand it to me. “Don’t be silly! The coat completes your ensemble.”

  “You’re not cold or anything?”

  “Ha, no, just not used to seeing so much of myself.”

  “What do you wear to bed? A potato sack?” he asks, bemused.

  “None of your business. Now come on. We can’t be late, or Lindsey will freak out.”

  He bows at the waist, one hand out in front. All he needs is a tall hat and the illusion would be complete. As we leave the apartment, he opens the door for me and picks up a gorgeous silk hat from the side table next to the entryway. There’s no way Lindsey and I can win the contest with Justin in tow.

  The bar is crazy busy. I’ve seen places in the Cities get a bit nuts over Halloween and the Zombie Pub Crawl, but Throwbacks has gone all out. Young and old alike belly up to the bar and yell out drink orders in a discordant yowl, but the bartenders don’t seem too perturbed; they merely ignore everyone except the one person they’re addressing. Bartenders have the best tunnel vision.

  We didn’t have to pay cover, because Lindsey knew the bouncer, and our costumes fit right in. Almost everyone is dressed to win this contest. One guy walked by in a fully functional Tin Man costume, and he bent his head slowly to Keeley, who is the Good Witch of the North. She lo
oks sensational as always, and I’m jealous of her long hoop skirt, but it must be so uncomfortable. One guy passed by and practically knocked her over, but she whacked him with her sparkling wand. The bustier shows off her other ample gifts, and the guy stares before teetering away.

  There are other creative costumes roaming about: a six-foot man dressed as a keg, a lot of naughty nurses and cops, some devils and angels, and two Princess Leias who should not have chosen the slave girl ensembles. But I think Justin has this is the bag. Every woman we pass stares at him and melts. Keeley has been pleasant toward him and shows no inclination to tumble into his arms. Lindsey looked him over jealously when we arrived, and she said, “Well, maybe I’ll win next year.” Her costume is skin-tight and shows everything I’d want to hide, not that I’m hiding much as Poison Ivy. I’ve gotten my fair share of gawkers, and one or two offers to buy my first drink. Justin turns them away with a haughty glare, and they seem intimidated by a guy who would wear a neck scarf into a crowded bar.

  There’s one guy who can’t seem to take his eyes away from me: The Flash stands across the bar and won’t look away. It takes a long time to get drinks, and I feel his gaze the entire time. Justin notices too, and he says, “Do you want me to drape an arm around you or something? Or make out?”

  “He’s probably just drunk.” I grab my two beers and back away from the bar. Justin follows warily, keeping his eye on The Flash.

  “Freak,” he mutters.

  “That would describe the whole bar. I didn’t think it would be so busy.”

  “Me either. I’m sweating through my vest.”

  “Waistcoat. You hate to take anything off though. Maybe after the contest you can dump the great coat in the car.”

  “Which one’s the great coat?”

  We wander through the dance floor to find Lindsey and Keeley who scored a booth near the stage. It’s loud over here, but at least we can sit down.

  “Did you get lost?” yells Keeley. I’m surprised she can sit in that getup.

  “It takes forever to get a bartender’s attention.”

  “That explains the double fisting,” says Lindsey, nodding at my beers. “See anyone you know?”

  “How could I? I never come out here.”

  “You never know,” says Keeley. “I’ve already seen a few guys I’ve dated.” Not counting Justin? I ask in my head. Keeley has piled up a few exes. It’s not shocking that some live out here. It’s a nice neighborhood, but I wouldn’t be caught this far from the city.

  “It’s really loud in here!” says Justin. “And the band’s not even playing yet!”

  “They’re on break,” says Lindsey. “They’re great though!”

  “Do you want to dance at all,” he asks me, but I shake my head.

  “I’ve got to finish these beers before you get me out there.”

  He doesn’t get me to dance until four beers later, and by then his brown great coat sits on the booth behind him. It has to be at least one hundred degrees in here, and he’s not even sweating! He swears he is, but I don’t notice any armpit stains or back sweat. I feel like it’s pouring down my face, but I’ve done a few make-up checks with Keeley, so I know the eye shadow has stayed in place. Once we start dancing it’s hard to stop.

  Keeley’s skirt has a hidden feature: the top part comes off to reveal a shorter version, so she can dance. She swirls around the dance floor, looking marvelous, while Lindsey can barely move. She shimmies and sways and tries to do a sexy maneuver, but the costume holds her back. Justin takes turns dancing with all of us, but Lindsey has always made him nervous, and he and Keeley’s history is too fresh, so he spends most time with me. I don’t mind. I’d rather dance with my friend than the other weirdoes who dry-hump me. Justin disperses them with alacrity, and I thank him with my eyes. Unwanted dance partners are the worst. Listen up gentlemen: if the girl you’re trying to grind on doesn’t turn around or acknowledge your presence in any way, leave her alone and find a new quarry. It’s not that she doesn’t know you’re there. She’s not being coy or mysterious. She just doesn’t want to dance with you.

  At least I haven’t seen The Flash since our first bar visit.

  When we take a break from dancing, a guy dressed as a carnival barker walks toward us with tiny blue tickets. He hands one to each of us and says they’re for the costume contest.

  When the lead singer calls people up for best costume, we have to take the stage. Even with the beer I’m nervous. Standing on stage for the entire bar to see is quite different from mingling amongst the other hussies in short shorts and barely-there tank tops. At least Keeley, Lindsey, and Justin all go up too.

  “Yes! One of us has got to win!” says Lindsey, her ticket raised in triumph. “If someone else takes that prize money I’ll tackle them in the parking lot!”

  “How much is it again?” I ask.

  “Two hundred bucks! And momma needs a new pair of shoes!”

  “Speaking of mommas,” says Justin, “where’s Alicia?”

  “She takes her kids around their neighborhood, and by the time they get home she’s too tired to come out with us,” says Keeley, and Lindsey rolls her eyes. “But it’s okay. We get it. She’s just not able to hang out as much anymore.”

  “Couldn’t she make her husband do it just once?” asks Lindsey, and she swigs her beer and crashes it on the table. “It’s not like he has anything going on.”

  “We could fight about Brian all night and it wouldn’t change anything,” I say, because we’ve had this discussion too many times. “He goes to his work party on Halloween. He’s been going forever, so he gets this day. You have to compromise in a marriage.”

  “No, you don’t,” says Lindsey. “I compromised my way right into a divorce. What if Alicia gets pissed enough about never getting to see us and freaks out on him?”

  “I’m getting another beer,” says Justin, eager to leave the conversation. “Anyone want another one?” Keeley and I nod but Lindsey ignores him.

  “She can’t keep kowtowing to Brian every time he wants to jerk off with his work buddies.”

  “I’m glad Justin left,” mumbles Keeley. “It’s embarrassing when she rants like this,” she whispers to me.

  “I know you’re talking about me Glinda, and I don’t give a shit. It’s about time one of us said something to Alicia.” I’m glad we agreed to leave our cell phones in the car, because Lindsey might drunk-dial poor Alicia, and it’s after one o’clock. I hope she doesn’t find the energy to run outside and call her.

  “We totally agree with you Linds, but you have to see Alicia’s side too. She likes spending Halloween with her kids, even if she says it drives her crazy,” I say. “She’ll miss making their costumes and taking them out soon enough.”

  “Then we’ll get her back,” says Keeley.

  “Whatever. By then my ass will be too saggy to fit in any costume besides ‘middle-aged woman.’ How exciting.”

  We’re silent until Justin returns with a pitcher of dark beer and four glasses.

  “I thought we could all use something stronger.”

  “Here here,” mutters Lindsey, and Keeley shakes her head. “I hope the contest starts soon so we can go home.” This is the one thing I hate about Lindsey. Once she gets in a mood, there’s no turning back, and she gets everyone down. She’s sullen for the rest of the night. I understand why she’s angry but harping on about it won’t change the fact that Alicia has three children. She has to be there for her family before us. I don’t like it either, but that’s life. Lindsey should know by now that Alicia has made her decision. She needs to grow up.

  Our pitcher’s half gone when the band’s lead singer taps the microphone and announces the contest starting. Keeley perks up and puts the top skirt back on. Justin shrugs into his coat and grimaces. He can’t wait to leave either, but mostly because he’s in a furnace. I don’t think he’ll wear that costume next year. Lindsey stirs her beer with her finger and mopes. I just don’t want to go onstage.<
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  The contest contains three categories: worst costume, sexiest costume, and best costume. I think we three girls should be up for sexiest, but I guess someone nominated us for best. We’d have had a better chance winning sexiest, because I think Justin’s going to win.

  Worst costume goes to a guy wearing nothing but tight, white underwear, and he whoops and hollers as the lead singer gives him an ancient trophy and a pair of sweat socks. A naughty cop gets sexiest, and I can see why: she’s short but very busty, and she has muscular legs and a sultry swagger.

  Then it’s time for best costume. We all stand and take the stage with Keeley leaping forward and Justin sheepishly at the rear. Five other people come up behind us, and I’m annoyed to see the Flash. This time he doesn’t look at me but stares into the crowd. It’s even hotter on stage under the white lights, and I wonder how the band can stand it, but then again, they’re not in heavy costumes. The other people’s costumes seem shabby next to ours, except the Tin Man we met walking it, and the keg. I hope one of us wins.

  The carnival barker takes turns standing beside one of us and asks the crowd to clap and yell for their favorite. Lindsey and I receive a lot of hoots and noise, but Keeley gets way more. The audience loves the keg and the Tin Man too, but they are barely audible for the Flash. Take that, weirdo. But the one who gets the loudest praise is Justin. People bang on the bar and women scream. He’s Elvis up there. Even I start clapping when the host stands next to Justin, who blushes and smiles, which only energizes the noisy crowd. Someone throws a pair of lacy underwear onstage, and Justin hides his eyes in mock embarrassment. He loves it. He’s playing the crowd brilliantly.

  “You’ve made your choice ladies! The winner is Mr. Darcy!”

  “I’m Mr. Bingley,” says Justin into the microphone, and the entire female population would have left with him tonight. Keeley and Lindsey snicker off to my right as I stare at Justin in awe.

  “Why don’t you throw your panties at him?” asks Lindsey and I realize my mouth is hanging open like I just spotted a unicorn.

  “Shut up! I just can’t believe the women in here! This is insane!”

 

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