Dodger

by Dan Gallagher

8

  WE EXECUTE THE PLAN A few days later.

  There's a band playing at Snakepit called Silly Goose, who I've been meaning to see and will be my excuse for being there, with Paiger, my girlfriend. Once Kara sees how happy I am with someone else she'll have that same reaction as before, jealousy will consume her to her core, and I'll wind up winning the day and the heart of the girl of my dreams.

  Or she may not give a shit.

  Either way, this is happening.

  Paiger picks me up around seven and away we go. I've started in with the vodka and away I go, slowly though. Minus The Bear's Omni plays throughout the tiny Toyota Corolla. A pine tree air freshener dangles from the rear view, smelling all piney and stuff. I relax.

  Then she turns on the grill.

  “All right, Jim,” she says. “Even though I think this is one of the dumbest plans of all time, I'm going along with it. So you better hold up your end of the bargain.”

  “Don't worry,” I say. “I never go back on my word.”

  “Here's hoping. Nevertheless, I want a down payment.”

  “What?”

  “Give me another story.”

  I sigh. “You know, I'd like to get something in writing before I spill the rest of my goddamn guts to you.”

  “We will, we will. But I want to hear more.”

  I decline the car seat and close my eyes.

  “Fine. I'll tell you about... Brian night.”

  Brian night.

  The night of the beginning of the end.

  Nothing takes me out of reality more than an orgasm. It's the release of life, the world's most natural and pleasing high, the very beginning of human existence. The end all be all of everything, why we exist and why we'll continue to do so.

  No wonder it's so damn dangerous.

  And why it brings nothing but trouble.

  It's been scientifically proven that after two people have sex, a bond is formed in the mind/heart/whatever. There's a level of unspoken trust between lovers, because the transfer of life is a sacred act. There's an unbelievably deep knit closeness established after sharing an orgasm with someone – it's the most intimate act in the world, and we're at our most vulnerable after it.

  And for some people, like me, it really hits hard.

  I orgasm like a spider monkey.

  It's no joke. I seizure. I flop around like I'm having an epileptic fit. It's like lightning strikes me and a thousand volts course and pulse through my veins. I shake and shudder with electric fissures and go faceless, nameless. I cannot think, only breathe. When all this finally passes, I float and see stars. It's like being on another planet.

  It's incredible.

  So I think because it's so emotional physically, when the chemistry's right, I tend to act rather aggressively upon the bond.

  A lot.

  I jump dick first into things with women without a good feeling out period, and either I wind up scaring them off by coming on too strong or they wind up scaring me off by being too clingy too early. Vicious cycle.

  At least I get laid really early in the going. Even if they have boyfriends. Especially if they have boyfriends.

  Unlike Brian, who was dead meat from the get go.

  Poor bastard.

  So this kid was like twenty two when Kara swept in and uprooted his life. It wasn't anything she did – she just got a job. But Brian was so unlucky in love and skinny and sappy and infatuated that he never had a chance against her smoldering magnetism.

  What I went through with Patty nine years ago? That's what Brian went through with Kara.

  It was sad, really.

  Kara went back to Iowa for Thanksgiving weekend, and throughout her absence we texted – just bullshit mostly, cracking wise, wishing each other a happy Thanksgiving, blah, blah, blah. Innocent enough.

  The whole time she was gone though, I felt this longing, this withdrawal, this I really want to see her so bad feeling. I don't get that feeling often.

  So when I got it, that's when I knew I wanted her for the long haul. She just... made me happy. In every possible way.

  When she got back into town on Monday, I immediately suggested a drink on Tuesday. The open mic at Holiday Club. I'd play more songs for her. She said yes, and that she couldn't wait to see me.

  I was elated.

  As soon as I see her in the bar all I can think about is running my fingers through her hair and jamming my tongue down her throat. And that's exactly what happens. We can't keep our hands off each other, it's terribly passionate, like time doesn't exist, like we're the only two people in the world. And it's heaven.

  We have a few drinks, me with my Stellas, she with her Jame-O's, and it's pure bliss catching up. We exchange Thanksgiving stories, talk about work, discuss the play she's writing. It's called Rock-A-Bye Baby and she thinks I'd be perfect for the lead character Christian, who after unknowingly impregnating his high school sweetheart becomes a smash hit musician and rock star. He dumps the girl before she finds out she's pregnant, and she never gets the chance to tell him. Until he returns eight years later, and the kid's all grown up.

  I love it, I want to do it, I yearn to be onstage spouting her words. We make out like sea otters fuck.

  It was going great.

  And then... Brian happened.

  Since we weren't technically dating or whatever Kara didn't see our rendezvous as a thing to be kept secret, so she casually mentioned to some of her coworkers that she was going to the open mic at Holiday Club that night. Brian was crazy about her so the son of a bitch showed up. Of course.

  With the addition of the stowaway, our 'date' ceased to be one. The guy has a jealous streak a mile wide and as soon as we casually kissed he damn near shit his pants. It was actually quite rewarding for me, since I never really liked him because he's pompous and a smart ass and a weasel. That really is the best word. Brian is weaselly.

  I kind of enjoyed his pain.

  I finally get called up to play and I'm pretty much tanked so I let loose and just have fun with it. As I'm tuning between songs I clearly hear Brian's voice from among the masses.

  “What the fuck, you're making out with Jim?!”

  I smiled and kept on playing.

  As the ugly lights came up Brian and his lanky bones went to the bathroom. I paid the bartender, grabbed Kara's hand, and we fled the bar like we'd robbed it.

  Once in a cab we couldn't keep our tongues in our mouths. She nearly gave me a handjob in the back seat. Her hair smelled like a meadow. A crowbar couldn't have pried my face from it.

  Then Brian called. Kara's tongue was cleaning my teeth. She didn't answer.

  So he called again. Kara was dry humping me. She didn't answer.

  So he called again. My fingers were down Kara's pants. She didn't answer.

  And so on and so forth.

  By the time we get to my place and upstairs and realize we have cell phones, she has eight missed calls. Each one has a message. Each message is worse than the next. The kid sinks through the Earth lower and lower with every syllable he utters until finally reaching the last crust known as rock bottom. He burns to death upon impact.

  He even uses the L word. Several times.

  Amateur.

  We're both drunk so I make fun of him and she feels sorry for him. We fuck like jackrabbits into the wee hours of the morning despite the difference of opinion.

  I have to work the next day, so after our glorious wake up sex I'm ready to leave while Kara's still getting Z's. I kiss her on the cheek as she stirs. Our eyes meet and we smile.

  And I'm in love.

  And I show it.

  “All right, just lock the bottom lock when you leave. I'll, uh... call you later.”

  I'm stoned too so I smile the dopey smile, the I want you for all eternity smile, I'm Mr. Simple Von Simpleton, the biggest idiot alive. It's in that moment that everything changes and I cross the line between casual and serious, and even though it's just a toe over it's blatantly obvious. I'm treating he
r like a girlfriend by leaving her in the apartment alone.

  I should've made her leave with me. I should've kicked her out post coitus. I should've just left without saying anything. Anything else would've been better, anything else would've kept the game going.

  But instead my intentions are as plain as the nose on my face.

  Downfall, begin.

  Of course I text her a few hours later playfully asking if she slept until three. She responds that she was out of the house before noon. The playfulness on her end has obviously dissipated, and I realize my first fatal mistake - showing it.

  It's a slip up, but I'm not a lost cause. There's only one thing I can do.

  Play it cool.

  So I do. For a day.

  Then... she drunk dials me.

  I shoot up like a tack, see it's her, answer. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Jim... hey. What are you... are you up?”

  Of course I'm infamously incoherent having just been shook from slumber.

  “I... what, Kara? Are you okay? Is anything wrong? What's wrong?”

  The second fatal mistake – insecurity. In my stonedrunksleep stupor, stupidity runs rampant.

  “No, no, nothing's wrong,” she slurs. “Just... I'll talk to you soon.”

  We hung up and that was that. I tried to go back to sleep but was worrying out of my skull, how I'd never received a drunk dial but knew they generally weren't good, and that the recipient of one was usually the recipient of not so good news. I couldn't get back to sleep and didn't speak to her again until Saturday.

  When she invited me to check out apartments.

  Which led to the third fatal mistake - bringing it all up.

  Why I did is beyond me. I should've just concentrated on swaying her in my direction, because all throughout us looking at these shit apartments, one thing was abundantly clear – she liked me. She enjoyed me. She was giving me a chance to win her heart with the simple act of real estate honesty, just by hanging out with her on a beautiful Sunday morning, grabbing coffee and shooting the shit in the car while listening to great music. She was giving me an opportunity to be cool.

  As we walked out of the last apartment she hooked her arm in mine and I felt this rush of emotion start at my heart then take a water park ride through my body. I'd felt it before and shuddered at its return.

  The unmistakable, undeniable ardor of the warm fuzzies.

  I brought up the drunk dial. It was the worst thing I could've done. It reeked of insecurity.

  And it cost me her.

  Paiger parks the car and shuts off the engine. Snakepit looms in the distance.

  “Wow.”

  “I know. I didn't learn anything from Brian's dumbass antics. He clearly has no idea how to keep a woman's interest let alone get them interested, so him being such a little bitch should've been the example I needed to witness to understand how to behave with her. And instead, I went ahead and acted like a little bitch anyway. I showed her my hand and she couldn't walk away from the table sooner. I just... couldn't not care.”

  The vodka is definitely working. Some kids wearing Silly Goose tee shirts walk past, smoking and laughing. I watch them and actually crack a smile.

  Paiger unbuckles her seat belt, then leans over and kisses me on the cheek. I look at her, perplexed.

  She smiles.

  “Let's do this.”