“What about Lizzy?” I ask, breaking his angry silence.
“Well, I guess there’s no way I’m going to let her anywhere near you now, can I? Which reminds me, are you going to be well enough to come to the bar tomorrow night?”
“Yeah…why?”
“Good – we’re having a meeting. Be there by 7:00.” Pause. “We done?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before—
Click.
***
The next conversation is with Chris, also over the phone:
“So…—”
“Ah, fuck. What’s it now?” he responds quickly, like a child awaiting scolding.
“How would you like to take a trip to Canada?”
“Fuck that noise. I hate Canada.”
“What? Why?”
“It’s cold an’ French and I don’t trust any place that doesn’t have enough irrigated land—”
“What? Fine, where do you want to go?”
“What do you mean, where do I wanna go? What—dude, what the fuck happened to you, man?” he asks with a mixture of anxiety and anger.
“I was poisoned—look, David’s leaving town next week and I think it’s probably best if we all do.”
“Aw, man, what the fuck, man?” he groans, obviously upset.
“Look, all expenses paid vacation out of town. Wherever you want to go, on me. I just want us to clear out of here until I can figure a few things out.”
“This is so not cool.” He thinks a moment. “If I’m goin’ anywhere, I want to go home—I mean, not home here. Home, where my family used ta be. I’ve been thinking about it lately. Mississippi, I ain’t been there since I’m twelve. Wait, when’re you talkin’ ‘bout leavin’?”
Pause.
“As soon as possible. David’s taking Lizzy to New York and London next week.”
“And where are you goin’?”
“I’m…uh, I guess I’m also going home.”
WITHHOLDING AND “OVERPROTECTIVE”
I find everyone stepped up their A-game while I was gone – most impressively (and surprisingly) is Kate: she bartended on a slow Monday when Pam Noel called out and, the second night, David begrudgingly asked her to watch Lizzy. About mid-way into his relationship (and for the first time ever), I had told David that he was being “overprotective” by not letting Lizzy meet Kate; if he was going to see her often, over weeks, then it was appropriate – even if it was going to end.
“But I can’t do that to Lizzy – what if she gets attached and forms like a mother-daughter thing and then it ends and she’s heartbroken?”
“Yeah but she spends like a quarter of her time with Sadie and that hasn’t—”
“Sadie’s not going anywhere anytime soon but how do you think she’d feel if Sadie just suddenly left?”
“Like any of us would, David. If Kate’s a part of your life – and she isn’t leaving tomorrow, she isn’t planning on leaving just yet…it becomes withholding after a while, almost lying. That’s all I’m going to say – you’re the parent, it’s your call. Maybe there’s no right answer.”
We both had a point and, now that they had accidentally met (as an awkward result of David’s poor handling of the situation, something I like to remind him), the outcome doesn’t surprise me at all: In Lizzy’s words, the evening with Kate was awesome – Kate “spoiled the hell” out of her, knew how to have fun, spoke to her “like an adult for once” (one thing about Kate was that she always cursed a blue streak), and that Kate understood her.
The last part worried David; the next part worried me.
On top of all that, Kate had formed a friendship with Sadie – an aspect that did give me pause. I may not know Kate especially well but I do know Sadie; both enjoy drinking and having a raucous good time, and Sadie can be a beautiful, swirling force of nature. That’s enough to cause me worry – she found a foul-mouthed drinking partner. David had asked Sadie to check on Kate the Monday that she bartended and inadvertently caused a friendship that now seems like it was destined to happen; it’s a wonder it hadn’t occurred sooner.
Of course, it only took three nights of friendship between Sadie and Kate before the police arrived to find the aftermath of what can easily be described as “the biggest fight Pairadice has ever or will ever see.”
THE OUT-OF-TOWNERS
It starts when the front door opens hard enough to slam against the wall.
As if it’s a uniform, the four gentlemen that march in one-by-one are all in blue jeans, tank tops, and dark-colored suit jackets; each is covered in more gaudy accessories than the last and none of them remove their sunglasses. The five women accompanying them show a bit more variation: all wear high heels, head-to-toe garish jewelry, and short, low-cut dresses, but they each have a different color scheme.
From the start, they’re loud.
“We got this table?” one of them asks a regular sitting alone, his implication being that he would like it – it’s the least rude encounter all night, and the regular nods without trouble, taking a seat at the bar. The group pushes three tables together, commandeering a large section of the floor near the bathrooms. The males remove their suit jackets to flaunt massive, bulgy, unnatural muscles.
“Ew,” Sadie says when she notices the men’s arms and necks. Kate turns to check what elicited the response and makes a similar noise. She forms a tiny ball with her thumb and index fingers, which Sadie doesn’t understand, so Kate whispers, “’Cause’a steroids. Tiny balls and peckars.”
They laugh heartily.
The apparent ringleader – the one that slammed open the front door; the one with the least hair – approaches the bar. “Hey—” he snaps his fingers, rudely interrupting the conversation Pam Noel was having with Bethany Walker-Stevens at the other end of the bar. When Pam turns her tiny frame toward him, he turns his back to her and calls across the bar, “Whatchu douchebags drinkin’?” The entire table clamors, every voice rising louder and louder to be heard over every other voice until they forget about the drinks and resort to a round of vicious name-calling.
“Yo, they retarded yo but I got ‘em,” he tells Pam Noel. “Bring us nine shot glasses-ah…” he leans over the bar, lifting his sunglasses to look at the liquor shelf, finally mumbling to himself that it’s “all shit” and ordering, “A bottle’a Patron. Unopent. And let’s get uh…five appletinis and four Natty Ice – you got Natty on draft?” He leans back and looks at the taps, noticing that Sadie and Kate are quietly watching him with inquisitive expressions on their faces, as if two scientists watching a new species.
“What up, ladies?” he asks, arching his brow and lowering the sunglasses.
This causes an instantaneous and loud, single syllable “Ha” from Kate, a gut-reaction that escapes before she’s even aware of it. Sadie tilts her head a little, trying to understand this particular specimen of man. There’s a sincere look of mystification on her face as the ringleader continues to wait for a response.
...a moment of staring between all parties…
“And four lite drafts, yo,” he says slowly, off-guard from the unanswered encounter, while turning back to Pam Noel, his eyes and half his interest with Sadie and Kate an extra few seconds. Pam Noel sets an “unopent” bottle of Patron on the counter. The ring leader takes the bottle to the table and returns with a crony. Before taking the three stacks of three shot glasses, he very deliberately reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black metal credit card, holding it out in an elaborate way to show it off.
“Put all our shit on that,” he says.
“And get them two girls some drinks on us,” his crony says about Sadie and Kate, “—not her, though,” he sneers at Bethany.
“Think they dykes,” the ringleader says a bit low but by no means in an attempt to be inaudible.
“Hey, you—” Kate starts, “You, yea.”
[“Oh shit, she’s got an accent,” the crony exclaims without anyone paying him attention.]
“Whatchu wan
t, sugar?” the ringleader says, shifting to suave mode.
“An’one evah say thatcha look like a guerilla wit’out ‘air.” Sadie chuckles hard and tries to cover her mouth but Kate turns to her, lightly slapping her shoulder, continuing, making Sadie laugh harder. “For som’on that don’ have no fuckin’ ‘air – to look like’a creat’ah known fa’ havin’ hair—for bein’ cover’t in ‘air, tha’s amazing. ‘Airless guerilla—ah, fuck me,” Kate says, holding off as long as she can until finally succumbing to Sadie’s snickering; their laughs join together, growing into boisterous guffaws. The ringleader spits out something vulgar – the crony seems amused enough – but there’s no funny response except to take back the drinks to their table.
“He’s right, I totally wanna lez out with you right now,” Sadie tells Kate.
“Maybe lat’ah, dearie. I’m sure yer wonderful, bein’ in porn an’ such.”
“You have no idea…” and Sadie describes some techniques in particular.
They forget about the rude gentlemen and his ignorant posse for a moment as Bethany scoots several seats closer to Sadie and Kate. The bar’s at half-capacity, lower than usual because the live music had to be cancelled. (David told everyone some of the electronics short-circuited but, in reality, he had run out of excuses to leave and be alone, plan, think.) The older crowd stays on or around the dance floor, swaying to Fleetwood Mac as it plays on the jukebox. Some of the younger folk had been at bar tables near the rambunctious newcomers but they either move to the bar or leave outright.
“Mind if I join you?” Bethany asks, timidly.
“Not – at – all, darlin’,” Kate says, “butcha should know wer crass.”
“That’s fine. Better than…” and she motions to the group at the table behind them.
Bethany Walker-Stevens introduces herself.
“I don’t get many nights without my son,” she says, “only when he’s with his dad – so this is my uh my night to relax. And this is the only bar I can walk to so it’s either here or home.”
Bethany sighs.
“Well, Bethany, we’ll keep ya close and safe,” Sadie promises.
“No rough stuff tonight, nope,” Kate agrees.
WHEN I GROW UP
The bar loses most of its patrons by midnight.
The out-of-towners migrate to the dance floor and, straight away, the older crowd leaves – all except one fedora-wearing old man. He pulls a chair against the wall and sits comfortably, a half-empty bottle of beer resting against his knee as he spends the evening apprehensively gawking at the dance floor and the lewd grinding that follows; from under the hat’s rim, his eyes occasionally glance to the door as if fearful of watching such an indecent show.
Kate and Sadie are well-lubricated – five shots, four drinks, and counting – but Bethany’s nursed each of her Bay Breezes at least an hour. Pam Noel is propped up on the beer cooler behind the bar, sipping at her third mixed drink while describing the feeling of her cold metal seat and its impact on her “flat ass”, as she describes it.
“Sadie, yer so lucky,” Pam Noel begins to compliment Sadie’s ass but stops to get up and yell a quick “Hey!” toward the stage, where one of the men has disappeared into the back.
The lights over the bar dim, then return.
The lights over the tables dim, then return.
The lights over the dance floor dim—“Yea, boy!” one of the women shouts—the lights stay dimmed but the man doesn’t emerge. The music glitches, goes silent, then comes back with loud techno.
Finally, the man comes back out.
“You want—I should yell at them?” Sadie asks, steadying herself on the stool.
“No dear, I’m gonna call David or Mr. Ridley,” Pam says, picking up the phone.
“Aw, baby girl. Na’ tonight, Ritley’s out of town and Davit’s with Lizzy,” Kate says, a tiny bit more sober than Sadie.
“Where’s Chris?” Pam hangs up the phone.
“I don’t know. He ain’t home. Them boys’ are up to somethin’,” Sadie nods, looking from Kate to Bethany, who’s intrigued and asks,
“Like what?”
“Like…I dunno. They got like, some secret club or shit—but Chris won’t tell me. Hey, maybe one of you can try and have sex with him…but, like, don’t give it up until he tells you. I-I beat the shit out of him—still give it up but—eh, I don’t know. David ever say anything to you?”
Kate thinks a moment.
“Na’ really – mean, Davit’s pri’y open. For’a dude, anyways.”
“And Mr. Ridley,” Sadie chuckles, “that man’s another planet—he a whole different world. I betcha none of us couldn’t even get his favorite color outta him. Scary – I’d fuck ‘em but, scary. Intense. And he never tried,” she says the last part to herself before coming back to ponder aloud, “I wonder if he’s gay…”
“Why do you think that?” Bethany asks a bit hurriedly.
“’Cause he’s never with a girl. Never with a boy either but he’s just a loner—wait, you totally want Mr. Ridley, don’t you!” Sadie laughs, adding, “Yer just as dirty as us.”
Bethany blushes.
“Swee’eart, lemme tell ya this – yer beautiful. How old are you? Thir’y-five?” Kate has an earnest look in her eyes.
“Forty-two,” she finally admits.
“Swee’eart – I’ve spoken with Ritley a couple’a times and…he’s a tough cookie, dear. Don’t getcher hopes up but I’ll put in’a good word. Personally, I think he’s a bla’y alien.”
Bethany gives an appreciative nod before excusing herself to use the bathroom.
“Look—” Sadie points to a girl on the dance floor – she’s not wearing underwear and her entire undercarriage flashes each time she twirls or lets a guy lift her up. “Oh my, look—there it is again. Whoa, that girl is all lips.”
Kate bursts with uncontrollable laughter.
Behind them, a woman with long, poorly dyed blonde hair does her best to stand in front of the door to the woman’s bathroom, half-leaning on the ridge of a nearby chair to balance. As Bethany approaches, the woman holds a hand out to stop her.
“Ssssseat’s taken,” she slurs, her eyes half-open; she’s talking about the woman’s bathroom.
A few polite moments pass where no words are exchanged.
With a courteous smile, Bethany finally has to ask, “Is she going to be much longer?” Her eyes move from the wobbly woman to a nearby goon leaning against the wall.
“Bi’ch, sit yer old ass down an’ wait yer turn—Don’ be smilin’ at my man,” the woman’s disdain is loud and it draws Sadie and Kate’s attention. She wobbles again, spitting out the words “Old piece’a trash” while narrowing her eyes to focus clearly on something three feet in front of her.
Bethany gasps, terribly offended.
The wobbly woman takes a step back to prevent herself from falling down, then staggers forward two steps and intentionally dumps half a drink down the front of Bethany’s shirt.
Sadie and Kate watch as the nearby goon laughs.
“Oh shit!” another bulky douchebag goads from the dance floor, “Corky, you crazy, girl.”
Once they all notice Bethany backing away – shaking with horror and anger, her shirt soaking wet – each of the out-of-towners give a snicker or catcall, congratulating Corky on her victory.
Corky raises the empty martini glass in triumph, stumbling.
Bethany makes a dash for the exit but Sadie stops her, linking arms to redirect her in a drunk circle back toward the crowd of nasty out-of-towners. Together, arm-in-arm, Sadie calmly walks Bethany back to her stool at the bar; she forces her to face the crowd on the dance floor.
“It’s okay,” she whispers in Bethany’s ear and gives her a tiny peck on the cheek.
Kate’s already up and disappeared behind the stage, unplugging the music. (As they watched the woman accost Bethany Walker-Stevens, they had had a brief exchange where Sadie asked Kate if she could fight and Kate responde
d: “I don’ know how to fight but I sure as fuck know when to.”) The bar’s silent a moment as the out-of-towners mull around the dance floor, aware that their fun is coming to an end; among the many unending obscenities they hurl, only one is clearly audible:
“Aw, did you call the cops?” one of them asks Pam, condescendingly.
“Not yet,” Pam snidely answers.
Sadie pulls her hair back tight and ties it, yelling, “Make sure the plug for the jukebox speaker is back in the sound system please.”
Kate reemerges from backstage, signaling that it’s done.
The dance floor is slowly abandoned as the men and women return to their table and their belongings, each of them spitting a seemingly infinite combination of vulgarities at Sadie, Kate, Bethany, Pam, and the gentleman in the fedora, still nursing half a beer. The only person that doesn’t move to gather her belongings is wobbly ole’ Corky, and Sadie calmly passes her on the way to the jukebox. She doesn’t even look at the music selection: G7.
As Sadie passes Corky again, she stops to look in her eyes.
“You got som’n ttttsay, bi’ch?” she slurs, swiveling her neck side-to-side.
Sadie steps forward and smacks wobbly ole’ Corky right dab in the center of her forehead – not hard but enough for Corky to lose balance and slip, knocking over the chair that had been providing her stability. From the ground comes a few incoherent mumbles as Corky tries to sit up; finding it too difficult, she laughs and remains on her back.
As these ridiculous actions slowly register to the out-of-towners, Sadie positions herself in the center of the dance floor, facing the group as she loudly cracks her neck—Standing beside her, Kate cracks her knuckles, equally loud.
The song “When I Grow Up” by the Pussycat Dolls begins loud enough to drown out any other sound in the bar.
One of the three remaining woman – ugly as sin, with a pointed witch-nose and brunette hair chopped short like a boy’s – begins incessantly nagging in a high-pitched voice for the men to “teach that cunt a lesson.”
Kate smiles.
Sadie points a gun-like finger at the ringleader, mouthing the word:
“Guerilla.”
The men, after sharing a glance with one another, shrug and approach. The girl with the witch-nose follows at their side, nagging in a horrendous screech, “Hit that bitch, Don, hit her—she don’t know you, fuck that skank up fo’ smacking Corky and shit, she ain’t know—she ain’t know—” and then she turns to look Sadie in the face “—my boy gon’ beat yer stupid slut face, whore! He gon—”
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