by Julie Dill
I don’t need to use it, so I check myself in the full length mirror for a few minutes and try to imagine what’s going on between Nate and the bartender. When I walk out, Nate’s right there.
“Hey, do you have your ID on you? He won’t serve me two drinks without it . . . so ridiculous for a place like this.”
I stammer, “Oh, yeah. Just a minute. I think I left my lipstick in there.” I point back to the bathroom door and walk in. I’m frazzled. I look for an escape route. A tunnel. A loose ceiling tile that I can crawl through and hide. A secret passage that will lead me to the alley. I squat down and bow my head because I’m on the verge of fainting.
After a few minutes, I stand and walk back to the door and poke my head out.
“Hey, you go ahead. I’m not feeling real well. I’ll catch up in a sec.”
“Are you okay? You don’t look so well.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. I just need a couple of minutes.”
I close the door and regain my composure. Great. Just great. He probably thinks I’m in here with an upset stomach. How freaking embarrassing. The need to escape becomes greater.
I take deep breaths. Reapply my lipstick that doesn’t need reapplied, and walk back out.
Nate’s sitting at the bar now, drinking a beer. I make my way over and place my hand on his back. He turns and says, “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Sorry, I just think my blood sugar was a little off.”
“You’re diabetic?”
“Oh, no . . . I just haven’t eaten much today. That’s all.’
“Want a drink?”
“Thanks, but I better not until I get something to eat.”
Nate turns around and takes a swig from his beer. I notice the words on the label are not written in English. I keep my hand on his back. He’s extra cute tonight. A pale blue, collared, cotton shirt. Starched khaki pants. We stand, unable to make a lot of conversation because of the crowd. Nate doesn’t even finish his beer before they call us to our table, so he brings it with him.
It’s slightly awkward since the tables are round. But the hostess helps us out by pulling out the chairs and assigning us a place to sit. We sit down directly across from each other.
He says, “You look great tonight, by the way. Your hair is extra beautiful.”
I fight back a smile.
“Well, thank you.”
I open my menu.
“So, what’s good here?”
“Everything’s good here. You really can’t go wrong.”
I decide on something safe and easy to eat: lasagna.
Without ever opening it, Nate pushes his menu to the side. He looks right into my eyes. “So, Chandra. Tell me about yourself.”
I have a quick panic attack from the way he says my name. Does he know it’s a cover? Did he just say that in an intentional I-know-everything-about-you tone? I pause, and then calmly respond. “Me? What do you want to know?”
He doesn’t look away.
“Where are you from? Where do you work? Do you have family?”
I’m caught off guard.
“Um. Why?”
He laughs.
“Um. Because we’re on a date, and I’m interested in getting to know you . . .?” A reply in question form.
I continue to look at my menu, although I know what I want.
“I was born in Newcastle, Oklahoma. I work at a tag office (tag office??!!!). I have a dad.”
He sympathetically raises his eyebrows.
“That’s it? Just a dad?”
“Well, I have other family members too, it’s just my dad is the only one that I’m close to.”
He looks like he wants to ask more questions but doesn’t.
“Oh.”
I close my menu and shoot right back.
“Tell me about you.”
“Me? Well, let’s see . . . I’m Aquarius.” He finishes off his beer. “I’m a huge St. Louis Cardinals fan . . . I like long walks on the beach.”
We both laugh about the beach.
He says, “Ok, my turn again,” and gets all serious. I anticipate the worst.
And out comes the worst.
“So how old are you, Chandra?”
I hesitate, and then answer, “How old are you?”
He answers quickly, “Twenty-two.”
“Twenty-two? How can you be the boss at your work when you’re only twenty-two?”
I do the math in my head, figuring that he’s five years older, only five years older than me and about this time the waitress walks up. She looks like she could be the bartender’s sister; it’s basically him wearing bright red lipstick and a black mini skirt. She places a basket of shiny bread sticks between us then looks at me first.
“Hi, doll. What can I get you to drink?”
The words come out of my mouth before the thought clears it with my brain. I order a margarita. She stares at me a few seconds and looks at Nate’s empty beer bottle on the table.
I don’t take a breath until she throws down one of those square napkins, and I exhale slowly.
Nate will take another beer, and she’s off to the next table clearing plates and dropping a check.
I take charge of the conversation.
“What were we talking about, again?” Then I answer my own question with confidence. “Oh yeah. I’m twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one, huh?”
I nod.
“Yeah. The big 2-1.” I’m a dork. He will never go out with me again. The big 2-1?! What was that?
The breadsticks are screaming for me to take a bite. I’m nervous. I’m starving. But more nervous than starving. Nate dunks a breadstick into a plate of oil and goes to town. Obviously he’s not nervous.
“So tell me about you.” I look up and smile.
“What do ya want to know?”
“Whatever you want to tell me.”
He goes in for another dunk of oil then leans back. “I’ve got three kids. One girl, twin baby boys. Been separated for about two months now. Giving up smoking. What else you wanna know?” He bites into the breadstick.
I’m speechless.
“Don’t let that scare you off, now,” he says.
My eyes widen. I sit.
He chews for a minute then starts to laugh. “I’m kidding. Totally kidding.”
“Well, I was going to say . . .”
“What, that’s a dealbreaker for you?” He laughs some more.
“Yeah, that would probably be a dealbreaker for me.” Considering I’m still in high school. Changing diapers between cheer practice and Spanish homework would be a challenge.
“That’s hilarious.” He wipes his mouth with a cloth napkin. “No, you don’t have to worry about that. I’m just a regular, handsome, responsible guy.” He’s still joking.
“I see that.” God, I suck at flirting. A deep breath of relief fills my lungs. “So. . . did you go to college?”
“Yep, OU. Boomer Sooner. I was a business major but got sidetracked with making money.”
“You can always go back someday.”
“Yeah, that might be difficult with a wife and three kids. Papa’s gotta keep the lights on and the water running, ya know.”
“Whatever.” I push my leg against his under the table.
We flirt our way through dinner.
Chapter 23
When Nate suggests going to play poker after dinner, I slightly panic.
“You play poker?” I ask as we walk out onto the street.
“Yep. All casino workers play. Every one of them. We’re basically slaves to the casino. Shoot, half those people never even make it home with a check.”
This surprises me.
“Wow.”
He’s persistent on going to play poker,
not in a casino, but at his friend’s house. His buddies have been playing since they were fifteen . . . they’re good guys . . . He’ll make them watch their language.
I basically answer his question when I follow him to his car. Yes, of course I’ll go.
He has a nice car for a guy in his early twenties. A black SUV, tinted windows, leather seats. The car chirps when Nate pushes his remote, and he walks to the passenger side to let me in. Being the non-drinker I am, I have a buzz going after the two margaritas at dinner. I grab the car door to steady myself, and hop into the best smelling vehicle I’ve ever stepped foot in. Did he spray men’s cologne on the seats to make them smell this good?
He gets in, and we’re off. The dashboard lights his face in the darkness, and he turns down his music to a perfect volume, one where we can listen and talk at the same time. Rolling Stones, “Beast of Burden.” This makes him that much more attractive . . . Let’s go home and draw the curtains.
We don’t say much on the quick drive. His friend lives in a new downtown development—high-end apartments surrounded by a quaint sandwich shop and a cupcake bakery. Parking is difficult, and we drive around for at least ten minutes waiting for someone else to surrender their space. The margaritas are my saving grace; they’ve downgraded my shakes from convulsive to internal. I’m shaking on the inside, but I don’t think it will be noticeable.
We walk up a brick pathway to a door with hanging plants. It’s unusual that a bachelor would go through the trouble of hanging plants, but whatever. Noise behind the door lets us know that we’ve definitely found the party.
After three rings and no answer, Nate grabs my hand when we just walk in.
I hear voices, but I can’t make out faces; the cigar smoke makes it difficult to see. We break through the cloud of smoke and, in unison, his buddies holler out, “Heeeey! It’s Nate!”
“And a girl?!” A guy in a visor with a cigarette behind his ear lets me know I’ve just walked into a boys’ club.
Nate waves his hand through the smoke. “This girl can outplay every single one of you amateurs. Give her some chips.” Nate throws down $100 on a green felt table. It’s a table straight out of a casino. In the formal dining area.
A scruffy looking guy in a hoodie takes a long hit off his cigar and demands, “Get the girl some chips.” He slurs his words. “And a shot of Jack if she’s going to run with this wolf pack.” They consider it a good enough reason for a cheers! Glasses clink together, and they crack up so long it’s forgotten what they were laughing about to begin with.
Drunk guys playing poker.
Really, really drunk guys playing poker.
Opportunity knocks.
Nate tells me he doesn’t want to play against me. He pushes a fold up chair to the table, the kind you take with you on a camping trip. A guy in dark shades starts stacking my chips in front of me, and I sit down in the chair. It’s embarrassing because my chair is shorter than everyone else’s, and I’m sunk down about six inches lower than the other players. I can’t stomach the Jack Daniels. There’s no way. I hand mine to Nate, and he shoots it back and announces that will be his last. I hope so. He is driving!
Once I settle into my chair I start to look around the apartment. It’s tidy. It’s decorated in a cute, eclectic way . . . turquoise painted furniture, candles, and fresh flowers in milk glass vases . . . the exact opposite of a bachelor’s pad. My eyes widen when I see the guy in the visor pictured on his wedding day. The classic picture: he’s scooped her up in her gorgeous gown, and she’s beautiful. He’s married?! Oh my! Married?! I’m reminded of my youngness.
“Ante up, losers.” The dealer calls the game. “Follow the queen.”
“Yeah, he’s always wanting to follow a queen.” A player adds, and they all explode into laughter. Again.
I just smile politely, and Nate says, “Don’t start it you guys, we have a lady in the house.”
The same guy adds, “Lady in da house.” In his best high-pitched, hip-hop voice.
I pull closer to the table, and take a look at my cards. I’m two margaritas brave. I clear my voice and say, “May the best man win.”
The cards are good to me, and my stack grows quickly.
About an hour into it, the guy’s wife comes home. She goes toward the living area and pulls a blanket from an old trunk that’s being used as a coffee table. She sits down, turns on the television, and makes herself comfy. I think about how cool it is to be married and all grown up. She flips through the channels, and rests her head on a throw pillow tolerating the rowdy group of boys acting like they’re at a frat house.
Nate hollers over to her.
“Amber, come here. I want you to meet someone.”
We make eye contact; she smiles, then gets up and walks to the table.
“This is Chandra.” Nate nods his head to me.
She offers her hand. “Hi, I’m Amber.” She looks me up and down to the point of extreme discomfort.
She knows.
She knows I’m young.
Girls have that instinct.
She knows I’m young and don’t belong here.
“It’s nice to meet you, Amber.” I say, then turn back to Nate and whisper that we better get going.
Nate’s ready too.
“Cash the lady out.”
Everyone rebukes.
“What? You guys are leaving?” They’re all in a tizzy.
“You heard me. Cash the lady out. It’s my bedtime.”
The word “bedtime” is received as one last hilarious revelation.
One guy elbows his neighbor and says, “Oh, it’s his bedtime, alright.” And they laugh and strengthen the ties that bind the boys’ club to which they belong.
Nate does laugh, but plays it off with, “We’ve gotta get out of here before things get really ugly. Amber, they’re all yours, honey.”
Amber’s not amused. You can tell this isn’t her first time to deal with cigar smoke and sloppy drunks.
“Gee, thanks. I’m so lucky.”
Her husband likes this comment.
“Luckier than a leprechaun with a winning lottery ticket.” And the crowd goes wild.
I’m smiling but more focused on the money that’s being counted out: $257.
I needed this. I really, really needed this.
Amber walks us to the door and politely says the, “It was nice to meet you,” line. I wonder how many “nice to meet yous” Amber has dealt with over the years.
We walk out the door, and I hand Nate back the $100 I started with. He grabs my hand and pulls me close to him. “We should get you on the poker circuit; you’re a money-makin’ machine.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t always go that way.”
He drives me to my parking lot, pulls behind my car, and shifts to park. “I had a great time tonight, Chandra.”
I’m melting.
“Me too. I had a great time.”
“I’ll follow you home to make sure you get in safely.”
“No.” I stumble with my words. “I mean, thanks, but I’ll be fine.”
He squints at me like I’m hiding something, and I know he knows there’s a piece of the puzzle missing. I just pray he doesn’t find it.
Chapter 24
I sit in the back of math class Monday morning and do some real-life math figuring on a scratch sheet of paper. My teacher’s talking ratios when I realize that even with my weekend win we are still short on rent and bill money. Way short. Not to mention I still owe Cass $100 bucks. I’m a million miles away, and people and teachers around me are the equivalent of static radio background noise. There’s a test I didn’t study for waiting on my desk when I get to Spanish. I look around and everyone else is cranking out answers. I look back and stare at the paper, but I really don’t care. I’d rather be at the casino. I think about Nate and playing poker.
I avoid Cassidy, again, and make it through the day and after-school practice without talking to her. I get the feeling Cassidy’s beginning to distance herself from me too, and right now I’m okay with that.
I want everything about high school and cheer to go away.
__________
A second date with Nate is just what the doctor ordered. He tells me it’s a surprise and to dress comfortably. I put on a loose fitting cotton dress (a two dollar bargain from the Goodwill), look in the mirror, and decide it’s perfect. Periwinkle-colored cotton and it’s the perfect length to show off my thighs. I pull my hair back in a messy bun, and I try hard to look cute in a “comfortable” kind of way. I do, however, deviate from comfortable and put on my new boots because they are just that fabulous.
We meet at a gas station, because I tell him my house is too hard to find and it will make things easier. I go weak in the knees when I pull in and see him waiting for me in his SUV.
I strap my purse across my chest and bend down where he can’t see me so I can squirt some body spray on my neck. Mango and watermelon. He walks to me first. Opens my door, and reaches in to give me a kiss on the cheek. Thank God I thought to remove my algebra book from the passenger seat.
“Wow.” Nate looks me up and down when I step out of the car. “You look great.” He reaches in for another kiss on the cheek. “You smell great too. Maybe we should just forget what I have planned and . . .” He laughs. He’s testing the waters, and I’m already in the pool.
“So where are we going on this mystery date?” I grab his hand and we walk toward his Tahoe.
Just like last time, it’s this overwhelming feeling of excitement when he opens the door for me and I step into his leathery man cave of a car. He walks around to his side, gets in, and starts the car, and I’m ready to go anywhere with this boy. Guy. Man-boy . . . or whatever he is.
“Well, it’s a surprise. You’ll see when we get there.” He starts the car then pulls out into the traffic. The music adds to the mood, set at a perfect volume where we can still talk about things like bands, sushi (I do my best), and some of the regular characters in the poker room.
He makes his way to the highway and merges on in the most masculine way possible. I fantasize that we’re leaving town. And will be gone for a very, very long time.