Paradise by the Dashboard Light

by Kathryn R. Biel

  "I think about working out."

  "Maybe if you did more than think about it, you could get a date once in a while." John flags the bartender and orders two beers. "You want one, too?"

  I nod and shovel another forkful of taco in my mouth.

  "Why the sudden change in plans? I thought Trisha said you were hanging tonight." I can barely hear John's voice over the din of the bar. Pete's still standing behind me, scanning the bar and restaurant for any available females. Frankly, he doesn't care if they are available. Just willing. He'll actually never approach any of them, but he wants to think he would. We all know he's got a major thing for Mel, but doesn't have the balls to do anything about it.

  "Yeah, we're not hanging out anymore. It's done."

  "Done? Why? That shit is hot."

  "That shit is annoying." I know I shouldn't trash talk her like that. I'm not sure why I even say it. I want to take it back as soon as the words are out.

  "Seriously?"

  I look down at my plate. It's not like Trish is horrible. She's not at all. Lots of guys would love to be with her. She just doesn't do anything for me. There isn't anything wrong, but there isn't anything right either. I don't know how to explain that I'm not attracted to her. "No, she's fine. It's just—I don't know. She … she's not it."

  "Dude, are you seriously talking about love and shit? Bartender, get this man a shot of Jameson, stat."

  I don't balk as the shot glass of amber liquid appears. Instead, I welcome the warmth as it slides down my throat. "I'm not looking to get married or anything yet, but why put the effort in if you know the potential isn't even there? It's not fair to either of us."

  "I guess." John's quiet for a minute. "You okay, man? You don't seem like yourself."

  I shrug. I don't want to be out. The guys are fine, but I'd rather be at home, watching the hockey game, than be in this crowded bar. I’m also in a foul mood because the Buckeyes had been routed today—by Iowa of all teams. Yeah, I'll blame my attitude on that. And then out of the blue, a thought hits me.

  "Do you ever think you'll die alone?" I don't even know where that came from, and I certainly can't believe I said that aloud.

  Maybe thinking about Evan being on his own. Maybe knowing that I'm not going to have anyone warming my bed tonight or any night soon.

  And suddenly, I have no desire for solitude.

  Chapter 4

  Rio

  I need more tequila if I'm going to get through this night. The restaurant in and of itself seems cool. There are plenty of Spanish-speaking people here, which bodes well for the quality of food. It's the Scrub Squad.

  Since they all work together, they have a shorthand that I, as the only outsider, don't understand. I don't need any more help feeling like I don't fit in or inferior, especially when they start talking medical jargon. I nod and give an occasional terse smile, but otherwise don't say much. Beth eventually catches onto my discomfort and abruptly changes the conversation, trying to include me. I smile at her lifeline. "So, Rio, you're from Indiana, right?"

  "No, Ohio."

  "Oh, that's where Trisha's ex—"

  "Don't even say his name! I don't want to think about him!" Trisha's loud voice squeals. "He's dead to me."

  I mentally roll my eyes. From the glare Trisha gives me, perhaps it hadn't been a mental eye roll. Oops.

  Lucky for me, the waiter approaches our table. He oozes sexiness, and I immediately knew this is why the Scrub Squad had picked this place. Okay, things may be looking up here. They have good taste. "Hola, mi linda. Qué pasó?"

  In spite of myself, I giggle and mumble a "Buenas noches," which is the only Spanish I could remember while under the spell of his tall, dark, and handsome everything. Beth dives in, asking him what his favorite drink is as she waves the menu about.

  "At Casa Pedro, I must recommend our signature drink, Margarita Pedro."

  "Are you Pedro?" Trish drawls, leaning over and not so subtly letting her cleavage pop up. What is it with women using their boobs to attract attention? Aren't we better than that?

  "No, mi amour. Soy Carlos. Pedro esta mi papi. But he makes one hell of a margarita."

  The rest of the table all order the suggested drink. I choose a mojito.

  "You like to be different, don't you?" Trisha looks me up and down, eyeing my leather pants and long white T-shirt. Not a hint of cleavage in sight. Of course, the shirt is pretty much open in the back to my waist, but she can't see that under my denim jacket. All she can see is that I'm not dressed in dark jeans and a low-cut top like her.

  I don't know why she zeroes in on me. Beth, Angel, and Mel have all been very nice. Stupid group dynamics.

  "I'm a twin and spent the first nineteen years of my life as a matched set. I don't mind being an individual now."

  "Oh, a twin! How much fun!" Angel squeals. "I always thought it would be a great thing to have a twin. Did you guys switch places a lot?"

  I don't want to talk about my sister, but there's no way for Angel to know that. It's such a complicated relationship—hating someone while you miss them like the air you breathe at the same time. Only a freak doesn't like their twin.

  It's unnatural.

  "Well, we're fraternal twins, but we do bear a strong resemblance to each other. We did switch places a few times. Not switch as much as I stood in for her so she could go off and do something she wasn't supposed to. She was a bit of a trouble-maker, to say the least."

  "Oh, so is she the evil twin?" Beth leans in and takes a sip of her freshly delivered drink.

  "You could say that. She definitely pushed the line. And somehow, I was always there to bail her out, which is why I took her place some of the time. If I did my makeup so and styled my hair just so, most people didn't look close enough to be able to tell the difference." I drain my drink and signal Carlos for another.

  "And that worked?" Beth asks incredulously. In my experience, people are stupid and only see what they want to see.

  "You'd be surprised how well." I thought about the last time I'd posed as my sister. "I certainly fooled her boyfriend." The first mojito has certainly gone to my head. I didn't mean to actually say that out loud. We should probably order some food or things might go south quickly.

  "You went on a date with her boyfriend, and he didn't notice?" Beth's voice is louder than I'm comfortable with, even against the loud music of the band.

  "Um, yeah. That. It's a long story. And complicated. Everything about my sister is complicated." It's way too early in the evening for the real truth to come out. I still can't believe it happened. In a car no less. And it wasn't even his car. Not the most glamorous way to have lost one's virginity, especially considering he thought he was sleeping with someone else. In my defense, not that the action is defendable, I thought he knew it was me. It wasn't until ... after ... that it hit me. He still thought I was her.

  I know it makes me sound like a horrible person. Not sound. It makes me a horrible person. I know that. I knew it the minute it happened. "He'd been drinking. And was a horny teenager."

  "You slept with him?" Beth's loud, shrieking voice carries, causing the other patrons to look at her, and then me, since it's obvious who she was talking to.

  Apparently Beth's good at reading between the lines. She's smart. I should have expected no less.

  Raising my chin with a confidence that only comes from rum I respond, "I was a drunk and horny teenager too. Plus he was hot. Sue me. My sister was off with someone else. I was trying to let him down easy. It was community service, really." I neglect to tell them all the gory details.

  The mistaken identity.

  My sister's betrayal.

  The pitiful part where I'd been in love with him for years.

  His words that gutted me to my very core.

  I down the rest of my second drink, avoiding the judgment I know is in their eyes. Like I would look at myself if I could. I don’t like to think about it or him. To this day, he still doesn't know the truth. And I'm n
ot sure if Rainne even knows. Their relationship imploded that night, after someone found her with Travis Nichols a little while later. Initially, I felt badly for letting everyone think Rainne had been with two guys that night. That's the sort of thing that will forever ruin a reputation, not that hers was in good shape to begin with.

  On the other hand, she got what she deserved. I know it wasn't my place to be judge and jury, but I justified it since she was going to cheat anyway. Might as well let everyone see who she really was. Dueling thoughts of remorse and righteous indignation continue to wage war within me, as they've done for years. She took the thing that was most precious to me and treated it poorly. I didn't want to break his heart the way he'd broken mine.

  And then he broke it all over again.

  I left for college the next day, leaving him and Rainne, and the whole big mess behind me. It’s easy to pretend that it never happened when you are almost eight hundred miles away. So that's what I've been doing.

  There's zero chance I'll ever feel that pain again, since there's zero chance of me putting myself out there.

  "Well, Rio, I am shocked. I always thought you were so straight-laced." Beth looks at me over the salty rim of her glass, shaking her head. Is that disappointment I see in her eyes? It should be. "It's always the quiet ones."

  I look at my empty glass and signal for another. Then I say dryly, "Trust me, it wasn't my finest moment. If I could go back in time and do things differently, I absolutely would."

  

  Ian

  "I think I'm going to ask Mel out the next time I see her." The shots have apparently gone to Pete's head.

  "Why and why are you saying this now?" If he was this sloppy already, it's going to be a long night. Or a short one. Either way, I don't know if I can handle him mooning about. Mel is all right. Cool even. But I worry that if she doesn't give Pete the time of day, he'll end up with a broken heart. It could totally screw with his head. And his heart.

  "Because I love her."

  "No, you don't. That's the booze talking."

  "No, that's me. I've loved her since the first day of residency. Three years now. And she doesn't even know."

  John laughs. "She knows. Everyone knows. You're not exactly subtle about it."

  "She knows?" Pete says, looking panicked.

  "Of course she knows. And what happened to Mr. Player? You were scanning the bar earlier for anything with a tail."

  "I was hoping she'd come in. She said she was coming down this way."

  That makes more sense. Pete couldn't even ask Mel out, and he'd known her for years. I can't picture him approaching a woman he doesn't know.

  "So if you see her, you're going for it?"

  "Absolutely. I love her. I want her to bear my children."

  "Oh God, stop. It's going to make me puke."

  Pete stops to look at me. "Shouldn't have had that clam chowder. Maybe you're developing some lactose intolerance in your old age."

  "No, you idiot. I meant because you're being such a sap. How can you possibly think you love her that much?"

  "Aw, because I do. Haven't you ever been in love?"

  "I was. When I was a kid. Or at least I thought I was." I try not to think about her. How Rainne betrayed me. Made a laughing stock of me. Broke my heart. "Been there, done that, got the program. And I never want to do it again." Which isn't totally true. I mean, I want to get married someday. I don't want to give myself to someone to let them hurt me the way Rainne did. If I'm giving myself to someone, I have to be able to trust totally in them.

  I don't hear what else Pete or John had to say. The more I ponder it, the more I can see Pete and Mel together. I hope that if Pete ever gets up the balls to ask Mel out, she says yes and about a year later we can be drunk at their wedding, instead of trolling bars. It'd be good for Pete. I'm sure when I'm done with my fellowship, I'll meet someone to settle down with and be happy like my parents are.

  Or perhaps I don't deserve the happiness they have. Evan will never get to experience it. Why should I? I already have a lot more than my brother, like a physically fit body and a fully capable mind. I don't deserve to have all that and love too.

  Oh God, I am so pitiful, I want to punch myself in the face. Again. Seems to be a recurring theme here.

  It's probably a good thing I'm not actually violent. Otherwise, there'd be a lot of punching going on.

  Looking at my friends I realize we are a sad lot, the three of us. John has a woman who lives somewhere else. Maine, maybe. It's long distance enough to be inconvenient but not far enough for him to want to move on. Pete vacillates between wanting to score with anything or everything and pledging his undying love to Mel. I think the former is a cover for his desire for the latter.

  And then there's me. I'd cut things off with Trish because I knew it wasn't right. And if I am being honest with myself, I'm not searching for right. Right hurts. Right rips your guts out and makes a mockery of you. Right lets you say you love them and then they screw someone else. Right is not part of my plan. Right is something for the future, not right now.

  We hit a sports bar where our sad state becomes only more apparent. I knew I should have stayed in. John is on his phone constantly, texting Ms. Maine. Apparently she, and not unwarranted, doesn't trust John. Pete has likewise become attached to his mobile device, but I think he's stalking Mel on social media. Another good reason to validate maintaining my life offline.

  "We're going!" Pete jumps up from his barstool, nearly knocking it over in the process. I reach out a hand to steady him, but only succeed in knocking my beer over in the process.

  "Shit, man."

  Pete looks down and starts laughing. Giggling like a schoolgirl is more like it. "It's cool to pee your pants," he says in his best Billy Madison voice. "It's the coolest."

  Once upon a time, I would have laughed at the dumb movie reference. Evan loved all that shit. "No, man, that's it. I'm done."

  "Aww, come on. It'll dry. You've got to come with me. Mel and the girls are right around the corner at a place that has salsa dancing."

  "Do I look like Patrick-freakin'-Swayze to you?"

  "But it's the forbidden dance!"

  "Isn't that the Lambada and man, you need to stop watching these bad movies and get a life."

  "Mel plus tequila plus hot sexy music. It's my chance!"

  Never the one to stand in the way of someone else's happiness, I acquiesce. "If it's lame, I'm out." In my head, I picture a run-down, shady looking place with a lot of middle-aged women trolling for meat.

  I was not incorrect.

  Oh boy, this is going to be interesting.

  Chapter 5

  Rio

  Perhaps I should lay off the mojitos. I'm on my fifth. Or sixth. Whatever. I don't care. Ply me with enough rum and all my concerns drift away. I sort of like this feeling. Maybe I should forget about working so hard all the time and do this more often.

  For once, I can let go.

  The steady beat of the band is pumping and dammit, I am dancing. Years of dance lessons, not to mention my distant Latin heritage on my mom's side, combined with the magical influence of rum make me feel like a star. Certainly the different men who take turns twirling me around and pulling me in and out seem to appreciate it. The band finally takes a break, which gives me a chance to sit down. I should probably ask for a glass of water but instead I down the drink Beth gives me.

  "Damn, girl, where'd you learn to move like that?"

  "Ms. Sonya's Dance Studio." I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

  "Never would have thought you had that in you with your buttoned-up blouses and smart trousers."

  Beth's teasing me a bit. She'd heard me refer to my wardrobe choices before in contrast to that of my colleagues.

  The liquor loosens my tongue, and I make a confession. "I have to wear my smart trousers because I have a nasty habit of tucking my skirts into my underwear at various points during the day. Doesn't make the best of impres
sions."

  Beth guffaws, nearly spitting out her drink. "Oh man, I've done that. It's the worst. At least I get to wear scrubs."

  The bandleader makes his way over. "You have some nice moves, mi corazón."

  "Gracias," I stutter, wishing I'd paid more attention in Mr. Mastrianni's Spanish class all those years ago. Based on my mother's last name, Hernandez, as well as my olive coloring, most people assume I'm fluent in Spanish. I don't have the heart to tell them that I am only capable of communicating at a Dora the Explorer level. "The music is great. Lots of fun."

  I wasn't just saying that either. This is fun. Maybe because I'm drunk as a skunk. Maybe because I don't really know the people I am with and have nothing to lose. Maybe because I am finally giving myself permission to let loose. It doesn't really matter. I'm glad I'm here, talking to a middle-aged salsa bandleader, well after midnight.

  After some small talk back and forth and introductions, I finally excuse myself to go to the ladies' room.

  This.

  This is what I'd been waiting for and wanting for so long. To be on my own, free from the burdens of my family and their assumptions about who I needed to be. I am free to be me.

  As I join the girls, I can tell that something is happening. Another round of shots. Fine by me. I pound back the tequila they do another set. Then Filippe picks up the mic, and I hear my name.

  "This is for you, mi amor, Rio."

  The volume increases and I hear none other than the synthesizer beat of the song that haunted me my entire childhood. Is it too late to run back to the bathroom and hide? Before Simon Le Bon can even start singing, the Scrub Squad chant, "Rio! Rio!" and pull me out toward the dance floor.

  Oh what the hell. In for a penny, in for a pound.

  Rather than head to the center of the floor, I climb up on the bar. The cheers that erupt from the crowd only fuel my inspiration. I drop my jean jacket to Beth down below and flick my long dark mane of hair back in an exaggerated movement before I begin twisting and dancing to the song which inspired my moniker.