To Hell in a Coach Bag

by M. J. Schiller

  He let out an angry hiss, venting some of his sexual frustration by pacing back and forth for several seconds. He seemed about to speak a few times and finally stopped in front of me. "So... You're screwed up. And because of that, I'm not going to get to screw you."

  I nodded, a little worried he was going to explode on me.

  "Fuck!" He took to traipsing back and forth again, his hands twined behind his back. "And you're not even going to tell me why. A guy jerked you around, I guess."

  "No!" I shouted abruptly, my voice ringing in the small corridor. He looked up at me in shock. An immediate jolt of response came from the door.

  "Listen, you son-of-a-bitch!" Samantha screamed, nearly hysterical. "If you hurt her—"

  "No. It's okay, Sam. He's not going to hurt me. Are you?" I added in a lower voice to the pacing panther before me.

  "No. For Pete's sake, no!"

  "We're having a brief discussion. Then, I'll be out." I eyed him warily, unsure of how to explain my actions. "I'm a widow."

  "Oh, geez." The color drained from his face. "Why didn't you say something?"

  "I don't know. It didn't come up in conversation. Until a couple of minutes ago you weren't really discussing anything with me at all."

  He hung his head a little. "Point taken. How long ago did you lose your husband?"

  "Five years."

  "Five...!" He stared at me, several emotions passing over his face, key among these, incredulity. "Your husband died five years ago and you still haven't...?" Apparently, his anger was back.

  "Yes. I—"

  "You are screwed up." He shook his head and yanked the bar down, slamming through the doorway. Samantha had to jump to get out of his way, and Kyle hopped too, as he was standing right behind her.

  I leaned my head against the wall, fighting the tears back. Sam and Kyle rushed in. "Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine."

  They exchanged a glance.

  I couldn't take an inquisition. I stormed past them. "I'm fine. Okay?" I didn't look back to see their expressions.

  * * *

  We returned to the group, though those fantastic hands kept their distance. I ordered another shot of tequila, ready to take this drunk to a whole new level. I blew off Samantha's questions, telling her to give me a minute. For his part, Mr. Handsy threw me a few heated glances. His jaw was set, and he was only giving his friends monosyllabic statements. Every once in a while, he shook his head and exhaled loudly, or ran a hand over his face. I glanced over and caught Kyle and Sam studying me and whispering to each other. After a few minutes, Kyle strolled over.

  "Hey. Do you think it would be okay if I talk with you? Somewhere a little more private?"

  "You're not going to try to kiss me, are you?" I replied dryly.

  "I'm not making any promises," he retorted with a wide grin.

  I knew he was into Sam, so I gave him a smile, and we waltzed to the other side of the bar together. "I want to make sure that jerk, Brad, didn't hurt you or do anything inappropriate. Cause I can take him outside and beat the shit out of him if he did."

  Mr. Handsy's name is Brad? "Is this all you and Samantha could come up with?"

  He glanced over to where she watched us, although Terry again had her cornered. "I think she was going for more subtlety, but yes."

  "She should have taken into account you're a hockey ref and prone to violence."

  The corners of his lips quivered. "Exposed to violence, yes. Prone to violence, no."

  I sighed. "He didn't do anything wrong. In fact," I said, more to myself than to him, "he was doing everything right. It's just I'm... like he said, 'screwed up.'"

  "He said that?" Kyle snapped. I grabbed his arm before he could take off after Brad.

  "I think prone to violence wasn't too far off the mark. Calm down. Like I said, he didn't do anything wrong. It was me."

  "Well, I find that hard to believe," he hesitated, reading me. "But I guess I'll have to take your word on it." We sat without speaking for a few minutes. Kyle chewed on his ice with a thoughtful expression on his face. My last shot was Bailey's, which I asked for on the rocks, so I swirled my ice companionably, also lost in thought.

  "So... do you want to tell me why you're 'screwed up'? You don't have to."

  "Five years ago, I watched my husband die in my arms," I said flatly. I swallowed the Bailey's, then added, "Two weeks later, I learned I was going to be a mother. I would be having the baby we worked so hard to conceive."

  Kyle was silent for a moment. My words hung in the air between us like smoke after fireworks. "That would screw anyone up," he finally remarked.

  "But it's been five years," I replied angrily. "I should be over it. Ask your friend there." I gestured toward Brad.

  Kyle turned to observe him. He scowled at us. "What the hell does that asshole know? I mean, he thought Chase Hatton was from Ottawa, when any real fan knows he's from—"

  "Lincoln, Nebraska," I finished for him. "Attended Lincoln High School, along with his wife, Hope. They have four kids, at last count, and reside in Los Angeles, California."

  He laughed. "Boy. Samantha wasn't kidding when she said you were a huge fan."

  "No, she wasn't," I conceded with a smile.

  "That's better. It's nice to see you smile." He gave Brad the eye again. "Why don't we really make him mad?"

  "How?"

  "Play along."

  He hopped off his stool and motioned for me to stand. The next thing I knew, he was dipping me and putting me in a lip lock so deep I came up dizzy. We turned to see Brad's back as he weaved his way to the front door.

  Kyle laughed. "I knew that would do it. Come on." He took my hand, and we returned to Sam, who was laughing. Terry looked on, confused.

  "Good job. He was madder than a drunk at closing time." She high-fived Kyle, who pulled her into a hug. "Let me buy a drink for all of us." Sam disappeared, leaving Kyle and I with Terry, until The Toe Sucker excused himself to find the rest of the guys.

  "I hope I didn't cause any problems between you and Brad," I began, feeling slightly remorseful for having gotten in the middle of them.

  "Oh, we're not really friends. We only work together sometimes. This concert was the only thing we've ever done as a group, and that's solely because a mutual friend offered us the opportunity to join him in a booth for the night. Besides, Brad stole a game from me last week, so I sort of owed him one." He put his arm over my shoulder. "So, you see, it was a win/win situation."

  Sam showed up with three more shots, which we kicked back with a flourish, and then Kyle and the rest of the guys circled up, and huddled together for a minute. "We're going to take off," Kyle announced. "How about you ladies come on over to my place and hop in the hot tub with us?"

  "We don't have suits," Samantha responded.

  "Oh. Suits are strictly optional, right boys?" Kyle countered, and everyone nodded their heads like bobble dolls, mumbling.

  "Sure."

  "Yeah, that's right."

  "Strictly optional."

  "Not at all necessary."

  Sam spoke for both of us. "Not tonight, boys. We're going to head back to our hotel."

  Kyle's face fell. I was surprised by Sam's response. I would have been totally uncomfortable in a hot tub with these guys, but I didn't think she would. Nonverbals were going back and forth between her and Kyle, but I couldn't read them. We all told each other goodbye. When I got to Kyle, he took both of my hands in his. "It was nice to meet you, Dani."

  I stared at my hands, feeling awkward. "Nice meeting you. And thanks," I said softly. I wasn't even sure if he heard me above the music, at first.

  "For what?"

  I kissed his cheek and looked him in the eye. "For saving the night."

  He bowed elaborately. "At your service." He gave Sam one more longing look, and seemed like he was about to ask her again to come over, but he shut his mouth and turned around to follow the other guys out. I swiveled to peek at Sam. Her gaze still trailed him.<
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  "Nice guy, that Kyle," I said, none too subtly.

  She didn't turn at first, but after a beat she shrugged, responding as nonchalantly as possible, "Yeah, I guess so." She grabbed my elbow and dragged me over to a pair of barstools. "So, tell me what you told Kyle. What happened behind those doors?"

  I squirmed on my seat. "It's not a moment I really care to relive."

  "Oh, okay," she replied, although I could tell she was hurt I confided in Kyle and was holding out on her.

  "All right." I sighed. "Brad told me, quite bluntly, he wanted to take me home and fuck my brains out."

  Samantha howled with laughter.

  "And he made it quite clear that would be a very pleasant experience for me."

  "For real? Was he really that impressed with himself?"

  "No. It wasn't like that. It's hard to explain, but... it wasn't like he was bragging. It wasn't a turnoff." My eyes glazed over as I thought about it. "In fact, it was an incredible turn-on." I exhaled. "I almost took him up on the offer. I really did. I almost said, 'Let's go.'"

  She must have heard the note of sadness in my voice as she became serious. "But you couldn't. Because of Darren."

  I winced at my husband's name and looked the other way to chase the tears back into their place. "Yeah. I guess." We sat for several seconds in quiet as the people around us partied. A group at the bar crowded around the TV, watching E.S.P.N. highlights, and a roar went up when they showed the final score of the Cubs game. They won in extra innings.

  I moaned. "M-m-man. He was such a great kisser, and those hands. Those hands could have made me do anything." I laid my head on my folded arms on the counter in defeat.

  Sam took a long pull on the beer she was finishing. "Well, at least you got further this time. You actually let someone kiss you."

  I raised my head. "And I kissed him back."

  "Did you?" She gave my leg a pat. "Good girl. That's progress."

  "It is?"

  "Why, sure."

  We sat for a second staring blankly in front of us. "That's pathetic," I muttered, finally.

  "Let's get out of here."

  "Good idea."

  We rose and headed for the exit but overheard a girl talking about a fight in the parking lot as she came in.

  Sam and I exchanged a glance. She tapped the girl. "There was a fight?"

  "Well... I think it was about a girl or something, because this shorter guy in a long, black coat said something like, 'Say that about her one more time,' and the other guy said, 'What's your problem, Kyle?' and the guy in the coat said, 'Close enough,' and jumped on him."

  I looked at Sam in alarm. "Oh, geez. Was anyone hurt?"

  "Nah, some guys who were part of their group, I guess, yanked them off each other."

  Sam and I made eye contact again. Then, thinking about the fact they were all hockey refs, the fight suddenly struck me as funny. "Did anybody pull the other guy's shirt up over their head to get a few shots in?" We burst out laughing, and the poor girl looked back and forth between us, trying to figure out the joke.

  "No. Why would you ask that?"

  "It's a long story. Thanks for your information." Sam slung an arm over my shoulder, and we walked out.

  We hailed a cab and climbed in, still giggling about the fight.

  "I think you ladies are up to no good," the Indian cabbie said with a smile, his deep brown eyes sparkling in the rearview mirror. "I am Ramel."

  Sam leaned back into the cushioned seat. "Well, Ramel, you are very intuitive. We are up to no good."

  "You went to concert?"

  "Yes, we did."

  "Ahh. Where do you wish to go now?"

  "Let's get something to eat," Samantha suggested.

  I realized I still hadn't eaten, so obsessed was I in my hunt for Chase Hatton, a hunt that left me high and dry. Maybe that's why the shots hit me so hard. "Good idea."

  "Is there a Denny's or an IHOP around here?"

  "There is Denny's and IHOP."

  "Which do you want?" Sam asked.

  "Whatever."

  "Could you please take us to the IHOP?"

  He nodded and turned on his blinker.

  "Let's call Kyle and see if he's okay," I said when we'd quieted some. I noticed Samantha getting his digits earlier.

  "Okay." She punched in his number.

  "Ask him to meet us at IHOP," I suggested.

  She nodded, checking to see if it was ringing. "I'll put him on speakerphone."

  The phone rang until loud rock music took over. I leaned in, trying to decipher which group he put on his message. "Who's that?"

  She held it closer to her ear to listen, but shook her head. "I don't know."

  "It's Seether," I squealed, finally recognizing it. "This is a great song."

  Finally, we heard, "Hi, this is Kyle. I can't answer the phone right now so leave me a message and I'll get back with you as soon as I can." BEEP.

  "Hi, Kyle," we said in unison.

  "It's your favorite lunch ladies, Dani and Samantha," I added.

  Sam leaned in. "We heard there was a scuffle of sorts in the parking lot."

  "You wouldn't have anything to do with that, would you?"

  "I hope you wiped the asphalt up with that bastard," Samantha shouted into the phone.

  "No, we don't," I said quickly. "We only wanted to make sure you were all right, both of you. Okay, but especially you." Samantha snorted. "And... we're going to IHOP, so, if you're still up and about—"

  "We wanted to see if you would meet us."

  "So... call us."

  A few minutes later, Sam's phone rang. She put it on speakerphone again. "Hey ladies." He sounded tired.

  "Hey, Kyle," we shouted together.

  "How are you?" I added, concerned.

  "I'll have you know that's insulting. I wouldn't have been stupid enough to jump that moron unless I knew those other guys would separate us before I got hurt."

  We laughed.

  "We miss you, Kyle," I whined.

  "Come out with us," Samantha seconded.

  He yawned. "You ladies come here. The hot tub offer still stands."

  "You sound like you have your jammies on," Samantha countered, "not like you're having some wild, kinky hot tub party."

  "Is that your roundabout way of asking me what I'm wearing?"

  Samantha bit her lip, her eyes bright. "M-maybe," she teased.

  Kyle seemed to perk up. "Why don't you come and see for yourself?"

  She paused. "Tempting, bu-u-ut... Meet us at IHOP instead."

  You could almost hear the internal struggle going on. "I don't know. I have to be on the road by five."

  "Well, we'll be there if you want to show up."

  "Thanks again for tonight," I interjected before we hung up.

  Kyle didn't show, so we wolfed down our food and headed back to the hotel. It was almost two when we pulled into the circular drive. We got out and as we leaned together, watching the taillights of the cab drive away, I sighed, smiling ruefully.

  "I guess it's possible Chase Hatton won't be mine tonight."

  Sam wrapped her arm around my waist. "Sorry about that, Dani."

  I gave her a tired smile. "I'll live."

  We returned to our rooms, hearing the siren's call of our nice, warm hotel beds. Samantha had the room with the bathroom; I had the room with the fireplace and tiny wet-bar. When I coaxed my boots off, my feet vibrated with relief, as did my breasts, finally released from the killer hold of their push-up bra. There was still the restraining elastic of the tank, and my underwear, but I could hardly feel them, after having everything squeezed in and pushed up for so long. I stepped out of my jeans and slid my worn body beneath the sheets, which embraced me like the arms of an old friend. The slimming jeans, faded in a long streak down the front, that made my legs appear far longer than they actually were, lay draped in a life-like pose on the recliner, one leg swung over an arm carelessly.

  The dark was welcoming, too, pre
ssing gently on my eyelids as I rewound the many crazy scenes of the evening in my head... the concert itself, Chase in all his glory—my Lord but I loved that man—meeting the shady Canadians, Terry biting Samantha's toe, the intense heat in the hallway... I lingered there, running my hands over my bare skin and remembering how it felt to have those hands on me, caressing me, cajoling me, awakening me. Then I was slapped by the realization those hands were only hands, not the hands I longed for over the past five years. A sob escaped me in the dark, and I covered my mouth, yearning to give in to the tears and bathe myself in my grief. But I held it back as tightly as my control-top panties had my waist. My mind flashed quickly through more sequences—watching the stage going down, sneaking past the security guard, Kyle being so sweet, the cab ride to IHOP...

  But over and over again, the most insignificant of the moments in our night arrested me—our run-in with the roadie on the staircase. Something about him fascinated me, something in his eyes I knew and recognized... pain, desire, loneliness. Was it really there? Or was it only a reflection of what was in my eyes? Whatever the case, I couldn't stop wondering about the nameless, beautiful creature who chased us away. My thoughts kept wandering back, like a shooed butterfly, to those few seconds on the stairs when I stood lost in his gaze, before I scurried away.

  What was he doing now? Was he lying awake somewhere like me? Or was he making love to some other girl who wandered backstage and then didn't fly, like a frightened bird, away from him? I shamelessly imagined him wrapping those strong arms around me, of them peeling the shirt off over his head to reveal his wonderful chest, because, remembering the way his shirt clung to him, he must be built.

  The hot tears I fought off earlier squeezed out and seemed to seal my lashes shut in slumber. In my dreams, I lay my head on the roadie's chest. He had been waiting outside my hotel room, finding me in the illogical way of dreams, and carried me off to bed. His heartbeat soothed me, thump-thump, thump-thump. And then I was listening to a far-distant heartbeat... Darren and I cocooned together after an intimate evening, hopelessly in love. And then it switched to the sound of Darren's last, struggling breaths as I slipped into a restless sleep, his name a final murmur on my lips.