by Kara Hart
“Check please,” I look over at the waiter. He hurriedly brings it over and I give him a hundred. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you, sir.” He gracefully walks away with my money.
I leave the restaurant and call up my buddy, Eric. “Bad date?” he asks, right when he answers the phone.
“Not exactly,” I laugh. “I mean, I got all the roughing up I could ask for.”
“You mean she slapped you for being a scumbag?” he asks.
“How’d you know?” I laugh and pretend like it’s not the usual scene for me.
“Isn’t that the third time this has happened?” he asks.
“Can I come hang out?” I ask him. “I’m bored as hell and don’t really want to go home and stare at the wall.”
“Sure, I’ve got the game saved. Let’s crack open a few and get disappointed,” he says.
“Sounds good, man. I’ll be over in a few,” I say.
Click. He hangs up the phone.
At his place, I’m about three beers in before I get pissed off about the situation again.
“Man, she hit me,” I say. “That’s abuse. She abused me.”
“She abused you?” He starts cracking up. “Don’t go down that path, my friend. It’s not becoming of you.”
Eric and I have been firefighters for ten years now. We normally don’t get time off, but this year has been pretty empty for us. Ever since last year’s fire, the chief thought it best we don’t jump back into things right away. I have to say, I don’t agree.
“Fine. It’s my fault she slapped me,” I admit. “But she was so boring. She wouldn’t stop talking about the different fonts she uses on Wordpress.”
“Yeah, I’d probably tune out,” he shrugs.
“Do you think love even exists, man?” I ask him. “I mean, honestly. Is it even a real thing?”
He takes a swig and thinks about it for a second.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs. “It could be real. So far, I haven’t felt it. I mean, the marriage thing seems like a load of shit. You give half of your earnings to another person who eventually never wants to sleep with you again? Why the fuck would any guy sign up for something like that?”
“No clue,” I laugh. “Maybe the pussy is that good. Like, maybe once you find it, you never want to stop fucking that one pussy.”
“You’re disgusting,” he says.
“Honestly, we both are disgusting. All men are disgusting. that’s the problem,” I reply.
“I’m too cultured to like just one type of woman. I want a chance to partake in every single kind,” Eric says.
“Cultured? Like caviar and French films? Or like yogurt?” I ask.
“The latter. Except, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a French film in my life,” he says.
“You’re missing out, obviously,” I tell him.
“Have you ever been in love?” he asks me.
Is he really asking me or is he just pulling my chain?
“Love? I thought I was once,” I tell him. I feel the beers start to kick in. A smile forces its way onto my face, even though I know that what I’m feeling is really sadness.
“But that was high school, you know? This girl Olivia. Olivia Windsor.”
“That doesn’t count,” he says. “You were probably like 16.”
“Yeah, well. It felt real at the time. What counts and what doesn’t? It’s all about the same to me,” I tell him. “Feelings are feelings.”
“Enough with the feelings, man. I’m tryin’ to get drunk,” he says.
“You’re the one who asked,” I say.
Love? Yeah, I’ve felt it before, I guess. That doesn’t mean it’s real. I was told about the feeling long before I felt it, so I waited for it to come to me. Finally, I felt something that seemed similar to what everyone had been saying.
If “love” suits people better, so be it. As for me, I’ll stick with the slap in the face, as long as it has the potential for some good sex.
Chapter 3: Olivia
“Thirty years old and fucking horny.”
Those words should be on my “LinkedIn” profile. Yes, I’m a professional business woman who just needs to find the right suitor for a potential night in the sack. Night in the sack. God, It’s been so long since I have had sex that I’m starting to sound like my mother.
I’ve spent one day as a thirty year old woman and I already want to turn the car around and relive my early 20’s. I was so stupid back then. I took it all for granted. I had a perfect body. I had zero stress. I had fun at friend’s parties.
I would love to fit in at a party. Now, I stick out. Now, I’m that random, weird lady. At least, that’s how it feels.
Now, I stick to classy restaurants where the douchebags hand me their business cards in an attempt to woo me over. What do they expect me to say? “Wow, you really chose a beautiful shade of white for your card. Can I go suck your cock in the men’s bathroom?”
Whatever happened to the good guys? Where did they run off to? Did they ever really exist in the first place? Probably not.
The good guys get their pickings in early. The good guys get married, go to church, and have children right after college. I’m not sure I would have wanted that either.
I’ve been drinking this glass of wine at home for the past two hours and it’s not even dark outside. I’m reheating some lasagna from the fridge and I’m just feeling very… alone.
It’s shameful to admit it. It’s been more than a year since I’ve been with anyone, really. I have my friends, but they’re just like me. They’re all hitting their 30’s and realizing there’s nothing else to do with your time but work yourself to death.
There has to be something other than your career. Remember the feelings you once had, Olivia? Try and focus on who you used to be, back when you were young and optimistic.
Ding! The lasagna is ready. Great, I might as well stuff my stomach until I explode. I’ve already gained about ten pounds this month.
I eat my food and feel myself get a little tipsy. I turn on the TV and watch Jerry Springer re-runs. I turn the channel and find myself getting even more bored.
“I can’t do this shit anymore,” I whisper, grabbing my phone. I call my friend Sandra.
“I can’t take it anymore, Sandra,” I groan into the receiver. Above my head, my fan is spinning. I stare at it while lying down on my couch. The blank walls are suffocating. I have to get out of this house!
“Oliva? What’re you doing? I’m just finishing up some things,” she says.
“Don’t make excuses with me, Sandra. Not tonight. Tonight, we relive our youth,” I tell her.
I click open my social calendar on my phone and sigh.
“Excuse me?” she says. “No excuses here, but what’s with this about reliving our youth?”
“You know,” I say. “Remember when we used to have fun?”
“I’m not sure I want to relive the glory days, hon. Waking up in my friend’s bathroom, covered in puke is not glory-full. In fact, let’s just change the subject now. We can have a glass of wine in an hour and watch a movie if you want,” she says.
“That’s basically what I’ve been doing for the past three hours. I’m over it. Let’s go out. Let’s feel beautiful. Let’s see what everyone is up to,” I say.
“Ugh,” she groans. “You’re in one of your moods again.”
I ignore her complaints and criticisms completely. There’s just no time for that right now.
“So, there’s an 80’s dance night tonight at Jules’ Bar,” I tell her. “Or we can go to Ladies Night at Crescent Night Club. It’s really up to you, my dear.”
“You’re really going to make me choose?” she asks.
“Yep. You get to choose. Then, we’re going to call a car to pick us up. We’re going to have the time of our lives because I don’t want to rot away for the rest of my life. I want to get drunk and I want to meet a man. A real man.”
“You’re only thirty. What is this abo
ut meeting men? They’re everywhere. And guess what? They’re all turds,” she says.
“Not all of them,” I retort.
“Whatever. I guess if I have to pick, I’m choosing Crescent Night Club. That place is mildly fun sometimes,” she says.
“I know I’m still relatively young in the grand scheme of things, Sandra. But the thing is, I can see the end now. I never used to be able to see it. I mean, I knew it existed for some people. I didn’t think that I’d actually catch up with it,” I say.
“Start eating more kale,” she says.
“Go out with me,” I beg her. “It’s almost Christmas and I always get lonely around this time. Just humor me for once.”
“Fine, fine. I’ll do it. But give me thirty minutes. I have to finish these damn reports,” she says.
“I love you, I love you, I love you!” I yell. “See you soon!”
When I’m at her place, she finishes up the last segment on her reports. She closes her laptop hard.
“There. I’m done. You happy? It’s the shittiest report I’ve ever written,” she says, glaring at me. She’s still wearing her woman’s power-suit.
“Whatever. The men at that place probably do half the job you do and get more recognition,” I say. “And you need to go change that outfit right now. I can’t go out with the Wolf of Wallstreet tonight.”
She snorts. “You’re right though. I can’t have you looking better than me.”
She runs into her room laughing wildly, while I sit and pour myself another small glass of wine. Her living room mirror practically mocks me by showing me my own reflection. Am I hot? I straighten myself out and suck in my stomach.
“Girl, you’re worrying again. Aren’t you?” I quickly turn around to find Sandra standing directly to the side of me. She’s dressed similar to me. Black skirt, complimented by a white shirt that’s open at the top. She’s got her tall heels on too. Boom, the secret outfit to pick up any guy at the bar.
“I’m hot, right?” I ask her, frowning.
“You’re insane is what you are,” she says.
“I’m serious, Sandra. Do I still got it?” I ask her, waiting for the validation to pour in.
“Olivia, you are the friend that every girl compliments. I’m the friend that hates you for it. There. Do you feel better about yourself? You have the best tits in all of the land. Now, come on. Let’s get out of here,” she says.
“You sure know how to talk to a woman,” I laugh, exiting through the door.
Chapter 4: Cole
My life is the fire. My soul is the fury. I live and breathe in destruction. We’ve been firefighters for years now. It’s just what we do.
“I wish we were at the station,” I admit.
Eric looks at me as if I’ve gone completely insane. “We never get the time to do stuff like this. Let’s just bag a few chicks and enjoy the night,” he says.
“What do you see in this place, man?” I ask him. “It kind of sucks.”
“Bullshit,” he says.
He grabs our drinks and we make our way to the booths on the side of the club.
He reiterates, “This is my favorite spot. Don’t talk shit.”
I look around at the half-empty bar. Yeah, this place is awful. Maybe I’m getting older. Maybe I want a little sophistication in my life.
“You’re just thinking about that lone woman at the restaurant,” I tell myself. For some reason, I haven’t been able to get her out of my head.
“Hopefully, you won’t get slapped tonight.” Eric laughs and punches my arm. I glare at him. He stops laughing.
“Let’s do the rounds,” I tell him.
As Eric scopes out the women, I glance out the window. Two women walk by. For a second, I’m convinced it’s that woman from the restaurant.
“What’re you staring at?” Eric asks me.
I snap out of it. “Nothing. I was just looking at the snow outside and thinking,” I lie.
“Are you thinking about that fire?” he asks.
I quickly shake my head and lower my eyes. “Don’t bring it up,” I growl. “Can we just escape that memory one time in our lives?”
The pain in our faces is transparent. Inside the blackness of our eyes are the flames from that fire. It’s not something we bring up anymore. It’s just a memory we both want to forget.
“I can’t believe it’s Christmas time already,” he says. “I still need to get my family presents.”
I haven’t had a nice Christmas since high school. For the past ten years, I’ve spent that joyful day alone in my house. It’s not all that bad. I usually just pour myself a glass of hot cider and pass out listening to Christmas music.
As the bass pumps through the sound system, I find myself pouring more and more shots down my gullet. Women flood our booth and Eric loves it. He’s grabbing ass and he’s surely going to score some tail tonight. It’s definitely in the cards for both of us if we want it.
Big things happen in small ways. Sometimes you don’t even notice that it’s happening, even if it’s right in front of your eyes. The truth is, I do want to take home someone tonight. But this blonde bombshell next to me just isn’t cutting it. I want someone with meat on their bones, someone who has luscious thighs and a big set of tits. I want a real woman.
Sometimes you get the opposite of what you want. Other times, you get exactly what you’ve asked for. Tonight, it’s a little of both.
A beautiful brunette walks by my booth, smiling and talking to some dickhead. She’s got the nicest set of breasts I’ve ever seen. Her ass is to die for. Truthfully, I’d like to rip that skirt in half. I’d like to shove her against my bedroom wall. It’s an urge that keeps growing and growing.
She turns around and catches me staring. She scowls and then I see exactly who it is. I’d recognize that scowl anywhere. My eyes widen and I jump out of my seat. It’s the woman from the other night.
“Hey,” I call out.
As I’m walking toward her, her eyes widen bigger than mine. She quickly turns around, as if that’ll get me to stop in my tracks. It won’t. This fine ass woman is the girl I’m going to take home tonight.
“Oh, it’s you,” she says.
“Don’t get too excited about it,” I laugh. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Who’s this?” Her friend looks at me with twice the amount of sass.
“Sandra, this is the guy who gave me his number the other night. You remember, the guy I told you about?” she asks.
“You’re already talking about me with your friends?” I ask.
“I remember,” Sandra interrupts. “The asshole who left his date.”
“Oof, that hurts,” I scrunch up my face. “If it helps my case at all, my date just couldn’t compare to your beauty.”
“It doesn’t help,” she says. “Real smooth, though. I think I saw her smack you in the face, right?”
“Yes,” I smile proudly. “I’m the asshole who got himself slapped.”
The two look at each other and roll their eyes. “I’m sure that happens often,” she says.
Two against one is always a tricky situation, but they won’t last. I look back at Eric. He’s having the time of his life with four women at the booth. I should be there. But I’m not. I’m here, trying to win over this firecracker. She could probably destroy my life if she wanted to.
I switch it up a bit. I try for a more regular approach. “Look, I come in peace. All I want is to buy you one drink. That’s it,” I say.
“Why?” she asks me. “So you can hand some other woman your number when I run to the bathroom?”
“That’s not a normal thing I do. I was just… bored,” I say. “But you’re not boring. At least, you don’t seem boring. Are you boring?”
Her friend asks, “Is he for real?”
“No, I’m not boring,” she smiles.
“Me neither,” I say. “So, what’re you drinking?”
“An old fashioned,” she says. “But I only drink the
good stuff.”
I chuckle. “I wouldn’t expect you to drink anything else.”
I smile and walk over to the bar. I order two of the same. Laphroaig. Hopefully, that’s the good shit. I usually just drink Pabst.
I come back and hand over her drink. “Laphroaig,” I smile.
“My favorite,” she says.
She’s eying me very carefully, but I have a feeling I’ve started to work my magic. Ultimately, if she rejects me, I can at least go home with the satisfaction that I tried.
Out of nowhere, her friend whispers, “Oh no. It’s Jack.”
“What?” I follow her gaze and see that she’s staring at some guy in the corner of the bar. He looks back at her.
“You’re doomed now,” the brunette says. “You have to talk to him.”
“Fuck me,” her friend whispers.
“Ex-boyfriend or something?” I ask her.
“Ex-husband,” she clarifies.
“It just isn’t your night. I’d say avoid him at all costs. No need for any more drama,” I say.
It’s too late. “Shit, he’s coming over,” she says.
The brunette looks at me with hesitant eyes. This is my chance and I’m going to take it.
“Do you want to sit down?” I ask her.
“Sure,” she sighs. “Why the hell not?”
Chapter 5: Olivia
“So, what do you do?” he asks.
“I’m a DJ for the local radio station 103.9,” I tell him.
“The hip hop station? Really?” he nods his head.
“No, not really,” I admit. “I work in social media. It’s pretty boring, actually.”
“I don’t know. That sounds interesting,” he lies.
“Not really, actually,” I say. “But it pays the bills so I stay. That’s how it goes, right?”
“Yeah, I guess that’s how it goes,” he says.
“What do you do?” I ask him.
“Take a wild guess,” he says.
“Cop?” I ask him.
When he hears my guess, he winces. “Damn,” he sighs. “I really look like a cop to you?”
“I guess not,” I say. “You’re more fit than most cops.”
“I’m a firefighter,” he says.