by Cindi Madsen
“But how do you have that all-about-you period without getting attached?”
“You don’t.”
I threw my head back and groaned. “I’m starting to think my plan has a few flaws.”
“Girl, I’ve been telling you that for the past year.” Stephanie parallel parked in front of a bar called Hot Shots. “Wow, this place looks kind of ghetto. Anthony said it was supposed to be the new, hip nightclub.”
The run-down bar had a layer of dust on the windows, as well as neon flashing booze signs hanging half-lit around the place. There was no nightclub about it. Several people sat along the bar, drinking and watching the game. Pool tables lined the other side of the room. The people there didn’t look like they cared about name-brand clothes or drinking the fanciest wine in the place—one guy even had his butt-crack hanging out for the world to see. Anthony usually made a point of hitting the newest and hottest places in the city. So where were we?
Anthony, Karl, and Finn, Anthony’s other college friend and groomsman, walked up to Steph and me, and Anthony kissed Steph on the cheek. “I got the place wrong,” he said. “This place is Hot Shots. The place I meant to go is called Shots.” He wrinkled his nose as he surveyed the place. “It’s up north. You want to go?”
Even though he hadn’t asked for my opinion, I gave it anyway. “I say we stay. If we drive up there now, we’ll spend most of our night in the car.” And I’m not about to drive with Finn and Karl like you would surely suggest. “We can get some greasy food and shoot some pool. How bad could it be?”
Steph put her arms around Anthony. “I don’t really care where I am, as long as I’m with you.”
Sure, I was happy for Steph and her lovey-dovey phase, but I occasionally missed the girl who used to tell boys how it was while they cowered in fear.
Anthony gestured to a table in the corner. “Let’s have a seat, then.” As we walked, he looked at me. “You remember Finn, of course.”
I smiled. “Of course. Hey, Finn.”
He gave a tiny nod. “Darby.”
That was about all you’d get out of Finn. He didn’t say much. According to Anthony he used to be a party animal but had mellowed over the years. I wasn’t sure if Anthony was qualified to define a party animal.
Anthony pulled out a chair for Stephanie. “And you and Karl just met a week or so ago.”
Karl sat across from me. “We did. She told me that I only preach communication to keep getting paid. I have a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s in marriage and family counseling. I teach workshops, yet she apparently knows more about it than I do.”
I gritted my teeth, trying to remain calm. “You’re twisting my words. I simply expressed my opinion on communication between men and women.”
“Yeah, that they shouldn’t even try to communicate,” Karl said.
Anthony waved his hand in the air, a nervous expression on his face. “Where is our waiter?”
Anthony’s obvious discomfort didn’t deter me. If Karl thought he could slam me and have the final word, he was mistaken. “What I said was everyone preaches communication like men and women have the capability of communicating the same way. My personal belief is that if we realize we’ll never understand each other, we wouldn’t all feel like failures. The part about counselors preaching it to get paid was thrown in for a joke. Obviously counselors don’t know anything about that, either.” I shot Karl a smile. “And I didn’t even need a degree to figure that out.”
“Let’s go play some pool,” Stephanie said. “I’m not that hungry.”
“But I’m hungry,” Anthony said.
I kept my eyes on Karl. “See right there? Stephanie was trying to subtly change the subject to keep you and me from communicating our bitter feelings toward each other. Since Anthony isn’t a woman, he didn’t pick up on that. He simply heard her saying she wasn’t hungry.”
Karl leaned forward. “I’m not that hungry, either. How about instead of passive aggressively jabbing at each other all night, we go play a game of pool. Loser buys dinner.”
“You’re on.” The legs of my chair scraped the floor as I stood. “Would now be a good time to communicate to you that I’m rather good at pool?”
“I personally prefer to show,” Karl said. “Sometimes nonverbal communication can be rather effective.”
“Hmm. Maybe you aren’t so bad at the jokes after all.”
…
Karl and I were pretty evenly matched and had each done our fair share of smack talking during our game of pool. As he aimed a nearly impossible shot at his last striped ball, I mentally chanted for him to scratch.
“Oh man!” a guy from the next table over yelled. “Eat that!”
The group of guys playing pool next to us had gotten louder and louder. They were now sloppy drunk, hollering and laughing at everything. I tried to ignore them, but one of them kept “accidently rubbing up against me” as he walked by, thinking he was funny and clever, I’m sure.
Karl’s ball bounced next to the pocket but didn’t go in.
Looking for my best shot, I leaned across the table. For the third time, the guy rubbed up against me, and this time, he’d gotten even more suggestive about it.
I whipped around and shoved him. “Look, buddy, that’s enough.”
The man stepped up to me, pointing a finger in my face. “Don’t you dare shove me, woman!”
I threw my hands up. “What are you going to do, hit me? Will that make you feel cool in front of your friends?”
Karl stepped between the guy and me. “I think you better back off, sir.”
“Oh, listen to you, mister hoity-toity. You better keep your woman in line before I have to put her in line for you.”
“How about you just go back to your game of pool,” Karl said, his voice calm, “and we’ll go back to ours?”
The guy’s friends had surrounded us, and they egged their friend on, shouting insults at Karl. “Kick his ass,” one of them said.
“We’re not going to fight,” Karl said. “We’re just going to settle this like—”
The guy swung. I tried to shout a warning, but it was too late—his fist hit Karl’s face with a loud smack. Karl stumbled back, into the pool table. I quickly moved to steady him, a mix of disbelief and anger pumping through my veins.
“What do you think about that, hoity-toity?” the guy said.
Karl had a dazed look on his face, as though he wasn’t entirely sure what had happened. “That was such a cheap shot,” I said. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be bragging about it.”
Stephanie, Anthony, and Finn showed up at the same time a large guy—the bouncer, I presumed—made an appearance. He stepped between us and the other group and told us to break it up.
“I think we better go,” Stephanie said, tugging on my arm.
“I think that would be a good idea,” the bouncer said, like we’d been the ones causing all the trouble.
Not wanting things to get any worse, I fought back the urge to yell at the bouncer and all the other idiots, and let Stephanie pull me away.
As our group headed outside, the other group continued hurling insults at us.
“Well, that was fun,” Karl said, flinching as he patted the red mark next to his eye.
I took his chin in my hand and tilted his head toward the streetlight so I could get a closer look. “You’re going to need to ice it. How bad will it be for you to show up at the office tomorrow with a black eye?”
“It’ll probably scare my clients. I suppose I could claim basketball injury or something. I hate lying, though. My office is supposed to be a place of honesty.”
“Then just claim you got it playing pool.” I stepped back, looking at the guy I couldn’t stand at the beginning of the night. Somehow, I’d ended up getting him into a fight—because he’d stuck up for me. “Thanks for…stepping in back there. I thought I’d just humiliate him and he’d back off. Sometimes my temper gets me into trouble.”
“No,” Kar
l said, like he was shocked. Then one corner of his mouth twisted up. “I probably shouldn’t say this, since I’m all about peacefully working things out, but I guess you’ve gotta get punched once in your life. It’s kind of a rite of passage for a guy.”
“I wouldn’t suggest making it a habit. Girls aren’t as crazy about it as you’d think.”
“Darby, do you mind riding home with Karl?” Anthony asked. “I’d like to go with my lovely fiancée. And Finn lives pretty close to us.”
Stephanie gave me that what-can-you-do look.
It’s not like I had a choice. “Sure.” I held my hand out to Karl. “Give me your keys. I think I better drive.”
…
By the time we got to my place, Karl’s eye was nice and puffy. “How far away do you live?”
“It’s about another forty minutes north.”
“I think you should come up and ice your eye. See if you can get the swelling down before driving home.” I pulled the keys out of the ignition. “Besides, I feel like I owe you. I still think I would’ve won our game of pool”—I flashed him a smile to let him know I was joking around—“but you didn’t get to eat, and I’m sure you’re hungry.”
I headed through the lobby of the building with Karl. I decided to stop at the vending machine and grab a couple of sodas. I needed some caffeine. “What do you want?”
“I’ll take a Pepsi,” Karl said.
I bought a Pepsi for him and a Mountain Dew for myself, then we got on the elevator. I held my cold can of Mountain Dew on Karl’s eye. “Here, this should help.” Metal and cold worked wonders on swelling.
The doors of the elevator opened back up and Jake stepped inside. Of course.
“Don’t worry,” I said as the elevator lifted. “I didn’t punch him that hard.”
Karl laughed. “After everything you put me through tonight, at least let me keep my dignity.”
“But if you don’t have any dignity, how can I let you keep it?”
“I thought we were at peace now.”
“Sorry. It might take me a few days to switch gears to being nice to you.” The elevator stopped, opening up on my floor. “This is me.”
Karl walked into the hall. I stuck my hand over the elevator door so it wouldn’t shut, then twisted back to Jake. “Long story. The short version is it’s not as bad as it looks.”
“You have my number,” Jake said. “And you know where I live.”
I smiled at him. “I think I remember.” I let go of the door and blew Jake a kiss good-bye as my view of him narrowed.
As soon as Karl and I got to my apartment, I pointed him to the couch. “Have a seat and I’ll get you some ice. The can probably isn’t cold enough anymore.” I headed to the fridge and dug out a bag of frozen peas, then walked over to the couch and handed it to him. “Peas do a good job because they conform.”
“You have lots of experience in this kind of thing?”
“Too much. Combination of breaking in a horse and having a boyfriend who liked to get into fights.”
Karl sat there, holding the bag of peas on his face. “Who could’ve seen this coming after our disastrous date? You’re actually pretty nice when you want to be.”
“Don’t tell anyone. I’ve got to keep up my reputation.”
Karl smiled, then winced. “I know it wouldn’t have solved anything, but I kind of wish I would’ve at least taken a swing at the guy.”
“Then you’d just have cut-up knuckles to go with your busted eye.” I leaned back on my couch. “I would’ve really liked to see that guy go down, though. Freakin’ jackhole.”
Twenty minutes later, the swelling had lessened, the ibuprofen had kicked in, and we’d filled up on grilled-cheese sandwiches. Karl decided he was good to drive home, so we said our good-byes and I sent him on his way.
What a night.
I picked up the bag of soggy peas. Now this brings back some memories…
Beauty and the Beast Case Study: Boone/The Beast
My Age: 19
I started college with the feeling that no matter who I met, he’d never be as good as Gil. In a lot of ways, this was true. Still, there comes a point when you’ve got to try to move on.
Boone was in one of my study groups sophomore year. The first time I met him, I wouldn’t have used the words cute, hot, or any other flattering word to describe him. He had a big nose and out-of-control, dark hair that stuck in all directions. But there was something about him—the whole tortured-artist thing—that drew me in.
We started flirting and he seemed better-looking every time I saw him. He took me to his place and showed me his paintings. His artwork had this deep, disturbing quality. The nightmare images displayed pain, anger, and suffering. Simply looking at them made me feel a mix of emotions, and I thought that was powerful.
After dropping a few hints that I was into him, I still couldn’t tell how he felt about me. So one night when we were studying, I finally got the courage to say something. “Boone, if I told you I was interested in being more than friends, how would you take that?”
He stared at me like I’d asked him to travel to the moon with me.
My cheeks blazed. “Forget it.” I started gathering my books, desperate to get away from the humiliation.
Boone put his hand on my wrist. “Why would you like me? You’re really pretty. And smart. And I’m just…not those things.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit. I think you’re funny, I like hanging out with you, and your artwork is amazing.”
He slowly leaned in and we shared an awkward, all-open-mouth first kiss. It got better over time. Before long, we went everywhere together. But the more time I spent with him, the more I saw him lose his temper. When his painting wasn’t going well, he’d throw paintbrushes and yell; he had several arguments with his roommates; his road rage was bad enough I started driving everywhere we went. Then he’d always calm down and go back to the guy I knew.
He began calling all the time to “check in.” Being somewhere he didn’t think I should be started an argument. If I ever talked to another guy at a party, on campus, or in class, he’d go off about it. He started throwing punches at other guys on a regular basis. Eventually, the fight would be broken up. Afterward, we’d go back to his or my place and I’d ice his bruises, soak his cuts, and he’d tell me that he couldn’t stand the thought of losing me. I felt like if I just stuck by his side, he’d see that I cared about him, and he’d stop fighting everyone else.
Instead of getting better, it got worse.
“Did you drink all of the juice?” Boone asked one day while we were at his apartment.
I looked up from my book. “No. I haven’t touched the juice. Didn’t you finish it off yesterday?”
“I think I would’ve remembered that. You think I’m stupid?”
I stood and hugged my book to my chest. “I’m not going to sit here and let you yell at me. I don’t deserve to be treated like that.”
“There you go, overreacting like you always do. I swear, you make every little thing into a big deal.”
“I think you yelling at me over juice is a big deal.” Every time I said anything, he acted like I was completely crazy. Like I was some psycho chick who was irrational. The guy who yelled at me over juice insisted I was irrational. “I’m going home. Call me when you decide to stop being a jerk.”
I opened the door, but he slammed it closed from behind me and put his foot in the way, so I couldn’t pull it open again. I twisted to face him. “Come on, Boone. Move so I can go.”
“You leave, you leave for good.”
I stared at him, my heart racing. “I guess this is good-bye forever, then.”
He punched the door and I flinched, thinking I was next. He let out a stream of profanities, then stormed back to his room.
The next weekend I was at a party with Stephanie, talking to Carlos, who lived in our same building. I saw Boone walk in and immediately panicked. He met my gaze from across the room and
started toward us. My pulse sped up with each step that brought him closer.
“Who’s this?” he asked, glaring at Carlos.
“He’s just a friend,” I said.
Boone stepped closer to Carlos, getting in his face. “Why are you all over my girlfriend?”
“Calm down, dude,” Carlos said. “Darby and I are just talking.”
“That’s the problem. You need to stop.”
I tried to sound as firm as I could. “You need to stop, Boone. I’m not your girlfriend anymore, and if you’re going to be like this, you need to leave.”
Boone took a few steps away from us and I let out a shaky breath.
Carlos put his hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”
Boone glanced back, saw the contact, and went crazy. He charged Carlos, throwing wild fists through the air. Unfortunately for Boone, he finally picked on someone too big. Carlos’s main hobby was working out—at a boxing gym—and Boone was no match. It took several people to break up the fight, and by the time they did, Boone’s nose was gushing blood, and I suspected he’d have a black eye, if not two.
I stared at him, thinking that he’d gotten uglier and uglier over the past few months. And yeah, that does kind of happen in Beauty and the Beast, too. All that time spent waiting for the prince, and then he turns human and you think, man, he was cuter as an animal. Who knew you’d be asking for bestiality in the end?
My grandma always hated the story, claiming it was ridiculous that a pretty girl would fall for a beast. It used to be one of my favorites, though—one of those true-love-will-fix-anything stories. Belle was so patient and overlooked his temper, even ignoring the fact that he almost killed her dad and imprisoned her. I’m not sure it’s a good idea to make girls think they can heal a guy with love and patience, though. Because most guys don’t ever change. At least in the movie, the beast really does learn to love, and his mean streak is broken. I don’t know if Boone ever had his mean streak broken, but I knew I couldn’t stick around to find out.
Time Wasted: Three and a half months
Lessons Learned:
Getting mad once in a while is normal. Flying off the handle over every little thing is a sign to run.