She looks thoughtful. “Mason, I’m going to have to wean myself…from you.”
That makes me happy, and since I’m already goofy, I give her an out.
“Ahhh, I don’t think I’m in the greatest shape to meet your,” air quotes, “other best friends. I thought I was your best friend.”
Relieved, she chuckles. “Good, you’re plastered, best friend number four.”
After five minutes of her fidgeting, I know I’ve overstayed my welcome. In what I hope is a whisper, but Chloe’s grimace says no, I say, “Chloe, I’m gonna get outta your way. I’ll just sit over there at the bar, drink a couple glasses of water, and when I feel like I can, I’ll walk on out. You won’t even know I’m here.”
Gratitude shines in her eyes. She bats her lashes and says, “And you’ll pay the tab?”
I grin. “Of course. One thing Mason Dixon does is pay his debts.”
“I didn’t want to party on your tab and then kick you out, but…”
I stand and bump into the lady seated behind me. Tilting my cap towards her, I say, “Pardon me, ma’am.” This place sure has filled up. I turn back to Chloe, moving my thumbs in the air. “I’ll text you.” I give her a sloppy grin and feel…happy, I realize.
It’s Chloe, I think, and turn back to give her a goofy grin, but she’s already shooing me away, her attention on the opening door. Late afternoon sunshine shatters the doom and gloom of this place.
Chloe
I don’t miss it. Mason looks like he got kneed in the balls when he sees my Lola. She, as usual, is oblivious to the attention. I swear. What do I have to do?!
Helloooo! A hot guy’s drooling over you at nine o’clock. I sprain my eyes trying to get her to look. But she doesn’t even see me. She’s too busy looking for red curls.
I catch him checking out her ass as she passes. Check your six, check your six!
But all I end up yelling is her favorite cheer. It’s corny cheeseballs, but hey, she won’t get many more of these from me. So I really blast her.
Lola
“L-O-L-A!” she yells out, pinpointing her exact location for me while managing to make my name sound like a halftime cheer. “That spells Lola!” She’s beaming in my direction, but I can’t return the sentiment.
Mason
It takes my bleary eyes a minute to adjust to the late afternoon light, because I can’t be seeing what I think I’m seeing. An angel, bathed in glowing yellow light has fallen from heaven and landed in the Last Drop. Take me Lord, cause I’ve seen the light!
I’ve got a waitress on one side of me trying to get by, the lady I bumped eyeballing me to move the fuck on, but I can’t. I’m stuck in this moment. She’s got the tan of a sailor and the body of a mermaid. Blue-gray eyes that pass over my drunk ass without even a pregnant pause. It’s Star-Spangled Bikini.
She moves like a gazelle, her long legs eating up the floor and spitting it out.
Chloe’s cheering? Right now? But all I can make out is the beat of my own heart as she passes me. She smells like vanilla and cinnamon, like home, my real home. Back when I had women in my life. The waitress shoves my stomach as she passes.
Too drunk to remember what a filter is, I say. “Did you smell her? Doesn’t she smell good?”
She pushes her tray under my nose. “It’s the apple cake. Move please.”
Lola
I wince the minute I see her and what she’s done to herself. I walked in expecting to see a curly redhead bob in my direction and instead I get this.
And she saw. The sparkling rainbows that had been shooting from her eyes just moments ago withered and died. Despite whatever lies the hairdresser had told her, she can see only cold, hard truth in my eyes. I don’t try to hide the shock, why bother?
I attempt a weak smile as I make my way around the backs of chairs towards her booth. Despite my halfhearted efforts, the grimace won’t leave my lips. Standing across from her, I take in the crime scene.
Her penciled-in—not neatly, mind you—blackened eyebrows shoot up. “That bad?” she asks as she curls a sooty black lock around one finger before hanging her head in shame and that’s when I see it. A trail of bright red roots blazing down her part, glaring like a slap mark to her scalp.
It’s too much, a chortle escapes me, and I try to stop it, but once it’s unleashed…I can’t. I throw my head back, hysterical.
“Jeez, tell me how you really feel.” The surly words are softened by her wide grin.
I stop laughing long enough to let her in on the joke, but barely manage to get it out. “Dalia left a red line down the middle, kind of like a Pepe Le Pew skunk mark from hell.”
Her eyebrows, two penciled-in furry caterpillars, stand up on their hind legs at the comparison. She frowns, but why hold back now? “Plus the black emphasizes your freckles. They might as well be in Day-Glo.”
There, the meanness is out. That’s how it’s always been between us. Her doing Mad Hatter shit, and me calling her out on it before fixing it. The crux of our relationship. All the way back to grade school, where there wasn’t a teacher I couldn’t persuade to give her a break. Not a bully that I couldn’t detour by listing Chloe’s countless flaws. Her brain didn’t work like the rest of the human population. She’d speak, act, do things, and not even give her actions the courtesy of thinking about them later. No, Chloe just acted and moved on.
Leaving me to clean up her messes. Of course I was the responsible one in our relationship. With all her shortcomings, I had no time for my own.
I reach across and hug her as I gently reproach her. “Shots, Chloe?” I take in all the empties on the table. It’s worse than I thought.
“Here’s your wallet. Dalia says hi. What if I said no? I wouldn’t jump when you snapped your fingers? Were you planning on doing dishes to pay for all of this? Oh, and I gave the kid that found it, the last two twenties in your wallet for being honest.”
“That’s weird. I had 240 bucks in there.” She shrugs.
Some good Samaritan I make.
I reach across and grab her beer and down it. “Penance, for making me rescue your wallet twice in one week.”
I turn to who I hope is Chloe’s waitress. When she comes by with a plate of desserts, I say. “We need a couple more beers and shots when you have a minute.” She nods, and I’m sure she rolls her eyes at my tone. If I could’ve snapped my fingers at her, just so she’d know the urgency of this situation, I would have. I need to get some liquid courage before I have the talk. With Chloe.
Chloe watches my antics with amazement. “Day drinking? You? The responsible one?” The tsking she gives me is well earned.
Yes, I’m the responsible one. The one to say, don’t take rides with the creepy guy from the 7-Eleven parking lot, you’ll end up on a milk carton. Stop smoking so you won’t need an iron lung when you’re forty. You’ve had enough tequila, unless you want to sleep curled around the toilet. Oh, and my favorite. Use two condoms with that guy.
Yep, I am that friend.
There’s concern in her eyes when she asks. “What is it? The break-up?” She pushes two shots towards me and takes her own.
“Double tap,” I say and down the shots. My heart’s not in it.
I know she’s been drinking, but this is as good a time as any.
“Bad day,” I say, but it’s not enough to encompass everything that I’m feeling. “Bad week.” The waitress drops off another round with a sympathetic look on the side.
Laying two twenties down on her tray, I say, “Keep ’em coming.”
Chloe blurts out, “That’s what he said.”
“Only I didn’t listen and lost him.” She shoots me a Great, Lola! look and shakes her head.
But I’m just about fed up with her. “Wait, what was that about? Isn’t this supposed to be my Dumped Drunk Party? Am I not allowed to wallow even a little?”
Miffed, she says, “That doesn’t start until 5:30. Besides, it was just a joke.” Incredibly, she rolls her eyes at me and wave
s to someone at the bar.
I take the note out of my purse that I worked on half the night. “Chloe, I need you to put your listening ears on. Focus please. Can you do that for me?” I talk to her like a child, because that’s what she’s been acting like.
She’s so solemn and doing her crazy eyes-wide listening thing that I have to look away. I look down at the letter, and in a shaking voice begin.
Dear Chloe,
You might never talk to me again, but this is worth it. You are worth it. I’ve stood by and watched you change in the following ways: you never draw anymore and drawing is your life. It’s your gift. You once said, without art in your life, you would wither up and die. You don’t spend time with me. You’re very secretive. It seems like you don’t want me in your life anymore. In fact, I feel like you’re avoiding me. I will no longer stand by and let you push me aside. Because I love you, I will no longer enable you. The drugs are ruining our friendship.
She raises her head. “Wait, what…is that…an intervention letter?” And she screams with drunk laughter.
“Chloe, please. Let me finish.” I swipe at my tears while she tries to get her giggling under control.
“Who’s going to rehab now?” I look up from my letter at the sound of my sister’s voice. Good. Reinforcements have arrived. Once she gets a good look at Chloe, she won’t be able to put me off any longer. In fact, I pull her down on my side of the booth. She slides in next to me, scrunching me into a cloud of perfume and baby bump. A few of the bar patrons look our way, especially the drunk guy at the bar that hasn’t stopped staring since I walked in. I give him and everyone else an angry fuck-off look.
Incredibly, Roxy uses this as another opportunity to say black when I say white. “Chloe doesn’t need an intervention. She needs a drink. Waitress!” And it’s okay for her to snap her fingers, I guess. Chloe gives a loud cheer and I’m outnumbered.
Roxy gives her order—cranberry juice—and brings us up to date on her pregnancy. “Any day now, and it can’t come soon enough. But no more bedrest, thank God. I’ve got to get back in shape for fashion week.”
I try to bring up the letter again, but Roxy shuts me down with a look.
“Fine! Cheers. Thanks you for stepping all over my intervention!” I clink their glasses too hard.
“Aww, Lola, finish reading your letter. That was rude of me, Dahling.” As my sister looks meaningfully into my eyes. Roxy’s expression reminds me too much of a hospice pamphlet she’d done a shoot for, months ago, with just the right amount of empathy and sadness.
I don’t know if she realizes it or not, but whenever she needs to feel human emotion, she slaps on the appropriate model face. It’s like there’s a little cameraman on her shoulder, yelling, “Give her concern! That’s it! Good, now show a little compassion!”
“I don’t need no stinkin’ intervention!” Chloe’s half in the bag. Begrudgingly, I have to admit it’s not the best time for an intervention. I’ll try again when Paul’s here this weekend. Maybe he’ll be on my side, which reminds me. “You’re so lucky to have Paul, Chloe.”
Both my sister and Chloe remember why they’re here in the first place. Even though this is my second break-up this year—and its only June—it still hurts.
Chloe says, “What happened with Matt anyway? That was awfully abrupt. The last I heard, you said you could probably tolerate him a little longer. Definite progress over the others.”
Roxy scratches my back. “What did happen, love?”
I smile back at her as she smizes with her eyes, and give it to them straight. “I happened, or didn’t happen for him. The end started with him asking for a blowjob, and you know I don’t do that kind of thing.”
I don’t even respond to their insulting gagging noises.
“Poor Matt, another good one bites the dust.”
“I don’t know, Roxy. Was he a good one?” That a girl, Chloe. You’re a druggie, but at least you’re on my side.
As the two of them bicker about my ex, I can’t help the nagging feeling that maybe Roxy’s right and I did let a good one go, or more like chased him away with my weird aversion to blowjobs. How many times had he looked down at his hard dick and then meaningfully at my lips? He’d never asked outright before, but there’d been plenty of clues. Like gently steering my head to his lap. Real subtle, Matt. It didn’t work the first fifty times. Tidbits I willingly didn’t get. Until he asked the deal-breaking question.
To my sister, who’s frowning, I say, “He wanted more than I was willing to give.” We’ve been back and forth since Clifford was a little red dog, but my view has never wavered on this subject.
So I remind her. “The instrument to pee through is just not the Swizzle Stick I wanted to be sucking on. Nope, not sexy in the slightest. And before you ask, no, I don’t let guys do that to me either. Disgusting.” I make a face like there is a dick and balls lying on the table in front of me.
Chloe giggles, leans in too close, and drunk whispers. “How’d he ask you for it?”
I exhale and stifle a laugh. “We were kissing on the couch, pretty hot and heavy. My shirt was off, his hands were on, you know the drill. He pulled back from me, eyes half-lidded, and whispered, “Hey lips. Why don’t you give my dick a hug?”
Both ladies stare at me openmouthed before totally losing it. They roar with laughter, and once again, our table is under the scrutiny of the whole bar.
“Dick hug!” Chloe’s crying, and Roxy’s holding her pregnant belly.
I wait till their laughing dies down to titters, signaling the waitress for a shot and something fruity. “I laughed, too, but even worse, I snorted and blew some spit on his lip. The same spit clump I stared at as he berated me for being too frigid and not wanting to try anything new for the last forty minutes of our relationship.”
“Who’s frigid?” Great, Em’s here, the fourth wheel on this traveling vagwagon, slipping into the booth next to Chloe, air-kissing my way, then Chloe’s.
Chloe pulls a Cookie Monster and chomps the air kiss before she nods in my direction. “Apparently Lola is. She wouldn’t give his penis a lip hug, so he called her out on it.”
Using her lawyer lungs, Em addresses the bar. “A what? A lip hug?” she declares before giggling into her hand.
I look around. “Louder, Em. I don’t think the bouncer heard you.”
I beam a smile in her direction. Great, my defense team’s here. I keep enough of her naughty secrets, you’d think she’d be quick to fight for my ego, which is bruised and fading fast.
I sit back, waiting for her to jump in at any time.
The knowing smirk along with the double shoulder raise is not what I was expecting. Yeah, real cute Em, in a business skuit. So professional.
I shake my head and look towards the bar. The place is so packed; I don’t see that Angel hat anymore. Guess he gave up the chase when he heard I’m not into lip hugs. “Thanks, Em, by the way.”
She grabs my hand, hard. “What did you expect? A guy that hot? There’s gonna have to be a few blowies in there. You better believe it. And I’m not talking monthly BJs either, Nope, I’m talking going down on the weekly.”
Our waitress arrives in time to get the blowjob schedule.
“Grey Goose Martini, please,” Em says, totally unfazed as she examines the drink menu.
I guess I’m still smarting from the BJ comments, because I say, “I can’t help it. In your little skuit with those black-rimmed lawyer glasses and big red lips, you look like you just came off a naughty librarian porn shoot instead of the courthouse. You’re looking more like the defendant than the law these days.”
But she’s not even listening to my awesome insult.
She’s staring at Chloe. She leans in to Chloe and hisses, “What the fuck is going on with your hair?”
Chloe turns her wide eyes in my direction and it’s just too much. We both burst out laughing.
Chloe
I excuse myself to go to the ladies and veer slightly to the
left, out of eyesight of my friends and grab onto an arm that shouldn’t be here. He follows, looking sheepishly down at his boots, and bumps into me twice before we get to a private alcove.
As luck would have it, it’s right next to the bathroom in case either of us needs to throw up.
“Is this how you blend in, like you’re ‘not even here’? Because Lola already spotted you and…your stupid Angels hat.” I have to keep whispering; everybody needs the bathroom at this exact moment.
“I’m sorry, Chloe. Don’t be mad.” He pulls me into a drunken hug, and he’s more than drunk. He’s smashed and having a hard time standing on his own two feet.
I pat him on the back. “I’m not mad, just, ugh, give me your phone.”
I order Uber and hand it back. “Five minutes. We’re in luck.” I push him off of me. “Lean on the wall, big boy. You’re way too heavy.”
He nods and won’t stop staring meaningfully down at me.
“What?” I hiss, trying to see out the front windows for his ride, and around the corner to make sure all my people are still at the table, where they’re supposed to be.
“You. This. I couldn’t leave. Once I saw you with them, laughing, joking, just being you, I couldn’t stop. I was watching your moment, Chloe, one you didn’t even know you were having.”
My voice hitches. “Mason, stop crying. Somebody’s gonna come and ask if I’m abusing you.” I notice more than a few angry looks thrown my way.
“There. Your Uber’s here. Walk.” Some secret agent I make, I end up escorting him right down the front and center aisle of the bar. While we’re here, I turn to the bartender drying a glass. “See that table over there?” I point at my staring friends as I hold Mason up. “The tab’s on him.”
The bartender shrugs. “It has been all night, but okay.”
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