by Shay Savage
I end up laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. I also have to admit that there just might be something to the east-side, west-side thing though I can’t fathom what it might be.
Maybe Jessie isn’t paranoid after all.
Chapter 3—First Date
A combination of anger and curiosity drive me, and I spend the whole evening on the dating app. I notice almost immediately that many of the profiles with Cascade Hills as their location have either a W or an E at the end of their user names.
I get messages from a few other men, all of whom ask which side of town I live on within the first few messages. Those with a W in their names stop talking to me or block me right away. All thoughts of Jessie being paranoid leave me.
“It’s like a whole town full of Hatfields and McCoys!”
Tossing my phone to the side, I pull out my laptop and start doing a little research on the town of Cascade Falls, Ohio. I look up the words “feud” and “dispute” and “vendetta” but find nothing to explain everyone’s behavior.
Digging a bit more, the only thing I find of note about the town is an obituary for Carlo Orso, who apparently passed away suddenly a few weeks ago. Jessie had mentioned the Orso family once or twice before, calling them philanthropists and going on about them as if they were the royal family of Cascade Falls. With no other real direction, I start researching the family.
The first thing I notice is that Cascade Falls—a town of roughly twenty thousand people—has two newspapers. Two honest-to-goodness, actually printed-on-paper newspapers that come out once a week. I can only shake my head when I see the newspapers are called Cascade Falls West and Cascade Falls East.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
In the Cascade Falls West articles, there is exactly one reference to the Orso family, and that is the same obituary I had already found. In the Cascade Falls East newspaper, the Orso family appears in every edition, often more than once, and usually front-page articles. All the write-ups have a similar theme.
“Orso family dedicates new park!”
“Orso family opens new restaurant!”
“Don’t mind the smell! Dying maples saved by Orso family generosity!”
Grainy, black and white pictures accompany the articles, but the scanned images are of such poor quality, I can’t really see the faces of the Orso family members. I’m intrigued by the article about saving trees and give it a closer look. Apparently, there had been a problem with the pH balance in the local maple forest, and the Orso family had paid for a very expensive sulfur treatment to fix the overly alkaline soil and thus saved the maple industry in the area.
“Okay, now I am impressed.”
I try to zoom in on the grainy picture below the headline. I can identify a woman and two men standing near a grove of trees, but that’s about it. Their features are simply too blurred, which I find really odd. Even a phone camera takes a better picture than those shown in the article. When I investigate further, I find that all the other pictures on the website are of much better quality.
“What’s the deal? These guys don’t like having their picture taken?”
None of it makes any sense, so I set the laptop aside and look back at my phone. Additional notifications from the dating app await, and I’m tempted to ignore them. I’m not getting anywhere, and there has to be a more suitable way to meet people in the area. I would be much better off if I just went out on my own.
But I can’t help it. I read the messages.
The first one is from an extremely attractive young man. I feel a lump in my throat and my heart starts to beat a little faster, but then I realize the picture looks a little familiar. A quick check tells me that it’s actually a picture of the actor from a movie I saw last summer. I roll my eyes and scroll down, skipping the next few as well.
“Seriously, what is with the fish pictures?”
Finally, I find one who appears to be a real person, doesn’t include a picture of a fish, is in my relative age range, and knows how to spell basic words.
AHunt27E: Hey there! Hope you’re having a great day! Are you an eastsider? I’m Aaron.
I check out his profile a little more. His profession is simply listed as “management.” He’s single and wants kids someday. His longest relationship is listed as “Over a year,” and he likes traveling. Otherwise, there isn’t a lot of information to go on, but I figure I’ll give it a shot.
AccidentalC99: Hello, Aaron. Yes, I’m on the east side of town, but I’m new here.
AHunt27E: Cool! How do you like it so far?
AccidentalC99: I’m not really sure yet. Lol
AHunt27E: I’m sure it’s a little weird
AccidentalC99: It is. How long have you lived here?
AHunt27E: About nine years. Started working at the winter lodge here but that place sucks
AccidentalC99: I thought it looked nice. I haven’t been yet though.
AHunt27E: It’s cool for families and all, not much of a night life if you know what I mean. hahah
AccidentalC99: Yeah, I do.
AHunt27E: I’m actually about to head over to the club. Friday night and all. It’s called Big O haha! Wanna go?
Oh wow. He’s actually asking me out, and I’m not quite prepared for it. After the painful breakup with my solitary high school boyfriend, my dates had been few and far between, and none of them could be considered successful despite Aunt Ginny’s assurance that whoever’s son from the next town over would be perfect for me. All the encounters had left a bad taste in my mouth, and I had lost all interest in dating. Then again, this is exactly what I was looking for—an excuse to check out the local hangouts without going all by myself.
AHunt27E: did I scare you off?
AccidentalC99: No you didn’t! lol! Sorry, I was just thinking. I have heard of the place, and have wanted to go check it out.
AHunt27E: Perfect! I’m probably heading over there about 8:30. I could pick you up or wee could meet there. Your choice!
AccidentalC99: Let’s meet there, but maybe outside? I hate walking into places by myself. Lol
AHunt27E: No worries! There’s a Mexican restaurant on the corner by the club. That’s usually about where the line to get into O is anyway. Want to meet outside the restaurant?
AccidentalC99: That works. 8:30?
AHunt27E: I will see you then!
“I have a date.” I sit back, smiling for a moment until the reality hits me. “I have a date!”
I check the clock and then jump up as panic sets in. Nearly crashing into the wall in the process, I run into my bedroom and start tearing the recently organized closet apart.
“What do people wear to clubs?”
I haven’t the faintest idea. The closest thing to a club I’ve ever been to was on a a trip to Atlantic City shorty after I turned twenty-one. A lot of people there were dressed to the nines, but plenty of others were in jeans.
“Maybe a good combination?” I tilt my head to one side, examining a few of my options. “If I ever planned anything, I would have bought a new outfit before opening that damn app!”
I find a pair of slinky jeans and a flowy green blouse that’s nice but not too flashy. “It brings out your eyes,” Aunt Ginny always said.
Shower, shave, and makeup are my next tasks. I blow dry my hair, carefully forming soft curls and hoping it won’t frizz up. I get dressed and look in the mirror. I hate it all, change my outfit entirely three times and then end up with the blouse I chose first combined with a simple skirt. I pop in some gold hoop earrings and drop down on the couch to attempt to compose myself.
“Shit, girl! What are you so worried about?” I laugh at myself.
I have about fifteen minutes before I need to request a ride, but I’m nervous about being late, so I go ahead and contact Uber and wait outside for the driver to appear. John the Uber driver is pleasant but quiet. I wonder if all the ride-share drivers around here have to pick which side of town they work on but don’t ask. I sit the in the ba
ck seat and pull out my phone to look at Aaron’s profile picture again, trying to memorize it.
John pulls up in front of the Mexican restaurant, and I quickly tip him and give him five stars before I jump out. He thanks me, and I’m left standing under a streetlight alone. Just down the street, I can see the entrance to the Big O and a line forming there. I stand at the restaurant’s entrance, looking around and feeling very awkward. It’s still only 8:20, but I’m feeling paranoid. What if this guy doesn’t even show up? Do I go to the club anyway or maybe just stop in the restaurant for a margarita?
“You’re being ridiculous,” I mutter to myself and then quickly bite my lip.
People walk past me and head to the line, which is much longer now, in front of the club. Approximately thirty people are standing out front, waiting to get in, and I’m surprised that a town of this size has a line for anything, but I suppose it’s because all their IDs have to be checked. I’m glad to see that most of them are dressed casually, and I’m not going to stand out. To keep from looking completely out of place, I pull out my phone and poke at a few buttons, hoping I look like I know what I’m doing.
A few more minutes pass. At 8:40, I seriously start considering the margarita.
I glance up to see a man waving from across the street. I narrow my eyes to get a better view of him as I tentatively wave back, not entirely sure if he’s waving at me. I should have spent a little more time studying the picture, but it would probably be rude of me to look now. Still, something doesn’t seem right about his appearance.
As he approaches, I manage to conjure up his profile picture in my mind. I’m not entirely sure it’s even the same guy though there are similarities. In the picture, he was clearly younger, had more hair, less weight, no acne scars, and had dressed in a nice button-down shirt. Now he’s wearing a wrinkled band T-shirt and jeans with stains on the thighs and looks as if he’s just rolled off the couch. How long had I spent picking out an outfit and doing my hair? And what about the picture? Was it a picture of him from a few years ago, or did he doctor it up? Who would have thought a guy would go through all the effort of getting dressed up and using filters for his picture when half the guys on the app are holding fish?
“Hey there!” He laughs as he approaches me. It’s a nervous, staccato laugh that reminds me of nature shows involving hyenas. He runs his hand over his thin, greasy hair. “I’m Aaron. Wow, you look just like your picture!”
I manage to stop myself from saying, “Well, yeah, I look like my picture because it’s a picture of me.” He moves in with his arms out as if expecting a hug, and I step back quickly, extending my hand and forcing him to stop short. He smiles wryly as he takes my hand and gives it a quick shake.
“I can’t believe it,” Aaron says, laughing loudly, “but I didn’t even ask for your name before we talked about meeting!”
“Oh, um, right! I didn’t even think about it.” I shake my head, try to smile, and wonder if I shouldn’t just tell him he has the wrong person and run away, but I suppose it’s too late for that. “I’m Cherry.”
“Oh, are you now?” He winks, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, and I’ve heard that one before.”
“Which one?”
“Whatever ‘Cherry’ joke you are about to make. I’ve heard them all.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He laughs again, and I cringe at the sound. “Shall we?” He points toward a long line of people waiting to get into the club. “They got good deals on bottled beer.”
Oh. Yum.
“I’m not much of a beer drinker myself.” I can’t stand beer.
“We can get to know each other a bit while we wait in line.” Aaron prattles on as we move to the back of the queue. “I drive a truck during the week, but my weekends are free, so we can get together then.”
Is he already talking about a second date? Really? And didn’t his profile say he was in management? I wish I could find a sneaky method to confirm what his profile said, but there’s no way to do that without making it obvious, and I don’t want to come off like a total bitch.
“This place is really popular!” I lean to the side a bit, trying to count the people ahead of us.
“It is, but the line moves pretty quick, so it won’t take long to get in.”
“That’s good to know.” I lean again, trying to get a look at the bouncer checking IDs at the front of the line. I see a burly man with short dreads eyeing the crowd and wonder if it’s Jessie’s nephew. He scowls at patrons’ driver’s licenses and takes their cash before ushering them inside the door.
My chest tightens a little, and I wonder how much cash I have in my purse. Despite Jessie’s warning, I had been relying on credit cards lately, and I’m not sure I have more than twenty bucks on me. I keep meaning to get my bank account changed to a local one so I don’t have to pay fees to get cash out of the ATMs. How much can it cost to get in?
The line moves quickly, and soon we’re at the front. Aaron places his hand on my back, allowing me to move in front of him, and I hold out my ID for the bouncer. He glances at it briefly before handing it back. As it turns out, the cover charge is ten dollars, and I do have a twenty in my purse.
“Thanks, babe!” Aaron says as the bouncer takes my twenty, and Aaron quickly ushers us both through the door.
Apparently, I’m taking care of the cover charge. Classy.
Inside the club, the DJ has the music up loud enough that conversation is nearly impossible without shouting, but no one seems to care. People writhe on the dance floor to the heavy electronic beat, and the bartenders rush around to get everyone their drinks. The dance floor is only about half full of people, but the bar is busy with a crowd of barely twenty-one-year-old college students. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the atmosphere isn’t ideal for a first date when you’re trying to get to know someone.
Aaron walks ahead of me, immediately going straight to a barstool as if it had his name engraved on it. Around the outside of the dance floor, there are comfortable couches to sit on. I don’t like sitting at the bar, and there are plenty of options, but Aaron has clearly made his choice. At least the bar is away from the speakers, and conversation will be possible. I sigh and plop myself onto the stool next to him.
The bartender continues to run around like mad trying to get everyone their drinks. Aaron leans forward on the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention by waving a five-dollar bill, but the bartender is just too busy. Finally, he comes over, offering us a friendly smile.
“Do you think I could actually get a drink around here?” Aaron asks.
I bristle. I’ve been a server, and I can’t stand it when people get rude for no reason. We’ve only been sitting here a couple of minutes, and the place is clearly busy.
“Sorry, dude. We’re a bit busy tonight.” The bartender retains his smile.
“Not really my problem.” Aaron huffs out a long sigh and orders his beer.
The bartender turns to me. I’d love to ask him if there are any specialty drinks—a trick I learned from a bartender in Atlantic City—but I don’t want to put him out when he’s already so busy, so I just order a vodka martini. Simple enough.
Aaron leans over, his face very close to mine. I lean back instinctively, and I swear I hear him inhale deeply. I tense, trying to remember if I’d put on deodorant and knowing that I had. What is he up to?
Before I can ask, he starts yapping.
“What the hell does ‘accidental99’ mean anyway?” Aaron asks. “Did your parent’s call you a mistake?”
That laugh again. The comment alone was enough to give me a bad taste in the back of my throat. One thing I did not want to get into tonight was a discussion about my parents.
“It’s just a regional joke,” I say. I open my mouth to explain more, but he interrupts.
“And you just moved here?”
“Yes. I’ve been in town about a week.”
“Where ya working?” He leans close again, and I shif
t in my seat to put a little more distance between us. He’s sniffing at me again; I’m sure of it this time.
“I’m still looking.”
“Got a daddy paying your bills?” More laughter as he orders another beer.
I have to look away for a minute, trying to keep myself from tearing up. Part of me wants to come out and tell him that my parents are dead just to see his reaction, but I’m afraid he’d just turn it into another joke.
I’ve only taken two sips of my martini. By the time I get through half my drink, Aaron has gone through five bottles of beer and doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. He’s blathering about long trucking hours, his ex, and his landlord. He asks me a lot of vague questions without actually waiting for an answer before he goes on about something else, and I’m starting to get a headache.
Why, why, why did I do this? Why did I jump at the first person who asked me out? Am I really that pathetic and lost? Yes, I’m a small-town girl in a relatively big place, but I have higher standards than this.
I need to just excuse myself to the ladies’ room and sneak out.
Plenty of times I’ve been in uncomfortable situations with people I didn’t care for. A few of Aunt Ginny’s friends were gossipy and annoying, but I still had to be there, playing the attentive host when they gathered to drink tea and play bridge. She taught me from an early age that it was better to smile and nod politely than to create conflict that wasn’t needed.
I turn around slightly, looking out over the club. The dance floor is nearly full now, and all the couches are occupied. One semi-circular couch is set up near the middle of the crowd on an elevated platform. A dark-haired, square-jawed man sits there with two women and a bottle of expensive bourbon. Clearly, he’s a VIP of some sort.
“Are you safe?” Aaron abruptly asks as he turns to me, the tip of the beer bottle barely moving from his lips.
“Am I what?”
“Safe.”
“Um…” I narrow my eyes, not really sure what he’s asking. “Can I get some context?”
“Are. You. Safe.” He says the words slowly as if that makes any difference.