by Richard Fore
The vibration of my phone wakes me up. I groggily check my alarm clock and see that it’s 12:33am. I feel bad for making Jessica wait, and wonder if she’s so eager for a report it’s actually keeping her awake, or if she would have been up anyway. I flip open my phone and look at her text: Well? She asleep in your arms or you still going at it? ; )
I turn over and stare at the other side of my bed as if the answer needed to be confirmed. I want to just not respond and turn off my phone. But Jessica is my friend and she deserves an answer. And I need her to know that I can have a successful date, be a partner in a relationship. I start to type a response and stop. I can imagine Jessica chastising me for instantly responding to her text if she thought I was still with Sonya, that I should excuse myself to the restroom before I respond. I head to the sink and wash my hands before I finish typing: Still out having coffee. Go either way for needing condom. Will call you tomorrow.
It won’t be hard to tell Jessica that I went on a few dates with Sonya and that things were going well until she dumped me, saying she was getting back together with her ex-boyfriend. Jessica will believe that. She’s taken Scott back more than once.
Chapter 2: Of Wolverines, Nightcrawlers, and Dazzlers
Seth pays the cost of admission, my terms for agreeing to come. He’d call it a cover charge. Perhaps not a regular here, but he traverses a path that leads to bars and clubs, sometimes a patron, other times a performer. He could tell you which night is college night at which bar, where to go and where to avoid for good music. Seth is my guide for tonight. With purple hair worn short and spiky and a t-shirt boasting the name of a local band (he seldom wears anything else), he looks like what I envision someone who belongs here might look like. Sticking close to him makes me with him, so mess with me and you mess with him, and since he’s well liked you’ll leave me alone. The door attendant compliments him on his show from last night, and I know I’m in good hands.
I give a backwards glance at Chris as he pays for himself. He seems at home, wearing the same awed smile on his face he wore while he watched the credits of Batman Begins on opening night. Tonight he wears a red t-shirt with the emblem of the Flash, although I’ve always considered the lightning bolt safe in regards to semiotic apparel, if for no other reason than it is much less recognizable to the layperson than the bat-symbol or Superman’s S. Supporting your superheroes is fine when you’re heading to The Vault, but there’s a risk in wearing something like that to a place like this. I double check my fleece shirt to see that it remains long-sleeved with a solid dark blue color. I advertise no bands or comic characters, I draw no attention. I will not be noticed.
Tonight is about coming out so that I can put to rest the accusation that I never go out. Tonight is about appeasing my friends who despite my best efforts to mask my emotions have deduced that something is rotten in my state of well-being. A week has gone by since I was stood up by my supposed date Sonya. Thus far she has neglected to respond to my email asking for an explanation. I hadn’t mentioned the date to Chris or Seth as a preemptive measure to avoid having to explain why things went wrong as they ultimately did. They sensed something amiss anyway, but at least I’m spared telling the tale. It’s hard enough continually lying to Jessica.
“Watch yourself. This place can be a little rough,” says Chris as I go through the turnstile.
“I’ll be careful,” I say. “I know enough not to tug on the bartender’s sleeve and ask Can I have one of those? like I’m an ignorant farmboy looking for trouble.”
“I’m surprised you know that much,” says Seth.
Sight and sound hit me at once. The music is loud. Loud enough that I wouldn’t enjoy it even if it were a song I liked from a band I recognized. It is very dark. A half-dozen or so women move about the club taking orders and delivering drinks. They all wear bumblebee costumes complete with rear-end stingers and bobbly headbands. Nearly (or perhaps completely, I’m reluctant to inspect too closely) nude women dance on stages. Smoke fills the room giving it the appearance of a foggy 1888 Whitechapel alleyway. Not full, not empty, the faces I can make out are all focused on women and not on me as Seth leads us to an empty table near the largest stage. I cough from the smoke and hope no one noticed.
“Screw crushing your enemies. This is what’s best in life right here,” says Seth as he lights a cigarette. “Tobacco, women, soon to be booze. Now if they just had a craps table there’d be no limit to my decadence this evening.”
“Welcome to the Honeybee Inn,” says Chris. “Now this place opened after Final Fantasy VII came stateside, so I like to think that’s no coincidence. But don’t worry. This place is just what it looks like, none of that shady stuff going on in the back like in the game. At least I don’t think so.”
“You guys come here often?” I ask.
“A few times,” they reply in unison.
One of the busy little bees approaches our table. “Hello gentlemen, and welcome to the Honeybee Inn. What can I start you off with tonight?” she buzzes. She is tall and slender, with an aura of genuine friendliness.
“No need to be so formal, Stephanie. We’re a casual bunch,” says Seth.
“Hey, Seth! Heard you played a good show last night at Liquid.”
“Always do. Now, my friends and I shall be drinking tonight. That is to say I will and he will,” says Seth as he gestures at Chris. “My other friend is a real killjoy, to use an expression that ceased being used after nineteen sixty-nine, so he won’t be. So we’ll need two beers. And whatever the teetotaler gets I’ve got covered to.”
“What’ll you have honey?” Stephanie asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll just have a Coke.”
“You got it. Be right back.” Stephanie leaves without writing anything down. While our order was lacking in complexity, I wonder just how many other orders she’s managing right now.
“Friend from school,” says Seth. “Good voice. Could use some work on her piano skills, though.”
“She’s cute,” says Chris.
“Boyfriend. Bass player,” says Seth.
“You know everybody who sings or plays an instrument?” I ask.
“You’d be amazed who you can meet just by going out and meeting them, say at a show by one of your buddies,” says Seth.
“Give the man some credit. He is here,” says Chris.
“That’s true. You are here. That’s step one. Step two is finding the dancer you think is the hottest and paying her twenty-five dollars in exchange for a lap dance set to a song that preferably doesn’t suck.”
“Don’t rush the man,” says Chris. “Let’s let him see who all is dancing tonight. He’s more likely to actually go through with it if he spots someone he really likes.”
“Also true,” says Seth.
“Oh, that reminds me. Sabrina asked about you the other day,” says Chris dismissively, as if he were relaying the hello given to me by someone from high school I never liked and hadn’t seen in five years.
“Sabrina from The Vault?” I ask.
“Yeah, that one. Why, how many different Sabrinas do you know?”
“She’s a little cutie,” says Seth, eyeing the dancer on stage making it unclear if he’s referring to Sabrina.
“If I point out a hot redhead and say she calls to mind Mary Jane,” says Chris before I can respond, “is it really necessary for me to add by which I mean Mary Jane Watson-Parker, wife of Peter Parker? Wouldn’t that just be implied, unless there was an actual Mary Jane who was part of our social circle? Now, if you are in fact juggling two or more Sabrinas, that’d be awesome. Are you?”
“No. You’re right. There’s just the one Sabrina,” I say.
“All right then. No need to voice questions you already know the answer to,” says Chris, as if he were a forum moderator scolding a user for having not read the read before posting thread.
“Okay. So, what did she ask you about me?”
“She asked me what your name was. Said you ta
lked a few days ago, hasn’t seen you since. Wanted to know if you were coming back. Asked about your situation.”
“My situation? What’d you tell her?”
“Well, I told her your name. Now, you certainly have a situation. But as to what that situation is and how to put it into words for someone who doesn’t really know you, well, that’s not very easy. So I just told her that you’re unattached.”
“What do you mean it’s not very easy?”
“For starters,” says Seth having decided to join in, “when you got rejected by Molly you avoided going into The Vault for several weeks, even though it’s one of your favorite haunts. That’s not typical behavior.”
“What’s typical then?” I ask.
“Not severely altering your day-to-day habits over being turned down,” says Seth.
“But Sabrina actually likes him, so that won’t be a factor this time,” says Chris.
“You think she likes me? Like, like-likes me?”
“Like-likes?” asks Seth. “Dude, unless you’re talking about the Zelda enemy, you stop saying like-like after you turn twelve years old.”
“What’s a like-like?” I ask.
“Yeah, what’s a like-like?” asks Chris.
“Those blob things that take away your shield if you get stuck in them. That’s their official name,” says Seth.
“Oh, you mean the pancakes,” says Chris. “That’s what me and my brothers called them. In the original game they looked like a stack of pancakes.”
“They do resemble a short stack,” I say.
“I suppose that they do,” says Seth.
“I could go for some flapjacks right now,” I say. “They serve food here?”
“Some nights they have pizza, but it’s about as pricey as ballgame food and not very good,” says Seth.
“Anyway,” says Chris, visibly annoyed by the use of a sports-related analogy, “Sabrina like-likes you, so why don’t you make like Link and lose your shield inside of her?”
“You really think she’s into me?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah, that’d be why she asked me if you had a girlfriend.”
“Unless she wants to fix you up with Molly, which would be kinda funny,” says Seth.
“I don’t think so,” says Chris. “I don’t think they spend their free time giving each other pedicures and talking about boys.”
“Why not?” asks Seth. “It’d be very erotic if they did. A threesome with them both, think about that.”
“Just don’t be stingy and not give the girls a two guy experience in return,” says Stephanie. She hands out our drinks, passing me my unbelievably small Coke last, as if to call attention to it.
“Oh now darlin’ you know I’d love to do that for you,” says Seth, “but you see I don’t do trio shows with anyone other than the frontman of a group. So no bass players, sorry.”
“Selfish as always,” Stephanie says taking some bills from Seth. He refuses change. “Maybe not so selfish then,” she says as she rubs the top of his head. “You boys have fun tonight. Call me over when you need another.”
Stephanie leaves as Seth and Chris begin their beers. I take a baby sip of my Coke, mindful to ration it out for the long term. I can’t help but marvel at Seth’s ability to have such an easy back and forth with Stephanie, although he’s always been one who walks the line between being a geek and being popular with women.
“She’s cute,” says Seth.
“Stephanie?” asks Chris.
“No. Sabrina. Stephanie also. But I was talking about Sabrina. Let’s get back on track here. Sabrina. She’s a nice girl, and a cutie. Kinda looks like Kitty Pryde, I think.”
“Definitely,” I say. “I’ve actually thought that before myself.”
“Yes,” says Chris. “But only when she’s drawn by John Byrne. And only then,” he says with the authority of a king ordering a scribe to carve a law into a stone tablet. “But what you said before Seth, about Sabrina and Molly at the same time, that’s a no man, just no. That’s like putting Hayden in Jedi.”
“Hayden in Jedi?” asks Seth.
“How’s that like putting Hayden in Jedi?” I ask.
“It’s like putting Hayden in Jedi because both involve poisoning already good things. Look at the ending of Return of the Jedi. The real ending. Everyone’s partying on Endor. You got your droids dancing with the Ewoks. You got your Han and Leia finally together. Luke looks out and sees the Force ghosts of Obi-Wan, Yoda, and his father. Now in the original ending, Anakin’s ghost looks just like Vader unmasked. Sebastian Shaw plays the unmasked Vader and the redeemed ghost of Anakin Skywalker. And everything’s fine. Luke’s happy. We’re happy. Everyone’s happy except for George Lucas.
“So somehow George gets the misguided idea to make the original trilogy mesh better with the prequels so he goes ahead and replaces Sebastian Shaw with Hayden Christensen at the end of Jedi. So now we’ve got a smiling Hayden Christensen Force ghost to end the Star Wars saga for us. Now, you might be thinking so what, I’ve still got the poor quality laser-disc transfer of the original versions on DVD. But let me ask you this: can you honestly say that even when you watch the laser-disc transfer of Jedi that you can watch that scene and be completely detached from Hayden’s presence in it? No, you can’t. Because once you’ve seen Hayden in Jedi, he stays in Jedi.
“Same thing goes with a threesome. Suppose you start seriously dating Sabrina. And let’s say she’s actually up for the idea of bringing another girl into bed with you. Not Molly, but someone.”
“Why not Molly?” asks Seth.
“Because they don’t get along. Sabrina’s the daughter of the owner. Last time we were playing Magic, he mentioned he was a little reluctant to hire his daughter to work at the store. For one thing it might cause friction between them if there are any problems. But he also mentioned that Sabrina used to be friends with Molly and they had a falling out. I don’t know the details. But I do know that they’re not going to be doing any threeways together.
“Anyway, say Sabrina’s your serious girlfriend and she’s up for a threesome. Don’t do it. Don’t be Icarus. That’s rule number 1. Don’t be Icarus. Because it might sound great, bringing in a second girl into your bed for a night. Problem is, you’re never gonna get her back out. Just like Hayden in Jedi. One of two scenarios will happen. Either your girlfriend is going to decide afterwards that she likes the other girl better than you and that since they can have their fun together limitlessly via an apparatus that by design goes beyond your own endurance they may as well drop you from the equation altogether. I don’t care if you’re Captain America and you just got a fresh dose of the super-soldier serum, a girl armed with a strap-on is going to be able to outlast you.
“Or, your girlfriend is going to decide that you liked the other girl better and she’ll start raving about how she only agreed to do this in the first place to make you happy and she couldn’t stand seeing you with another woman but didn’t object at the time because she wanted to make you happy. But now she’s seething with jealousy and eventually the relationship dissolves. Either way, you attempted to make an already good thing even better and wound up destroying it in the process. Now Lucas has been doing this for years, but you can avoid even starting it. So don’t be Icarus. Don’t be Lucas. Don’t put Hayden in Jedi.”
“What if you’re not actually in a relationship with either of them? What if it’s only sexual to begin with?” asks Seth.
“Well, that’s entirely different. If you got two chicks together in a Sith lord/apprentice relationship and most of the time they’re happy using their artificial red lightsaber, but every once in a while they call on you to wield your flesh and blood blue or green lightsaber for a little taste of the light side, awesome. There’s no relationship to poison. No ramifications. That’s fine then. You know this is all old stuff though. Hemingway wrote a book about a threesome that ruined his relationship. A Moveable Feast, I think it was. It’s also why he killed himself.”
>
“That’s not why Hemingway killed himself, nor is that what Feast is about,” I say.
“I’m gonna have to back him up on that,” says Seth.
“How would you know?” asks Chris.
“I know enough about Hemingway to know you’re wrong,” says Seth.
“He was a depressed alcoholic,” I say.
“And what makes you a depressed alcoholic?” asks Chris. “When your wife leaves you for the woman you had a threesome with. That’s why his marriage with Martha Gellhorn ended.”
“Look, whatever,” says Seth. “At least we can agree that he needs to work on getting with Sabrina and that it’d be best to discourage bisexual exploration in the process, right?”
“Oh, agreed. He needs to move in on Sabrina for sure,” says Chris.
The music ceases and the dancer on the main stage heads into the back. The semi-comprehensible words of a fast talking DJ blare into my ears. “All right gentlemen, that was Madison! Now we’re calling Starry Nights to the main stage for the first of a three-song set. And remember, all of our lovely ladies are available for private dances.”
“Starry Nights?” I ask.
“Must be a Van Gogh fan,” says Seth.
Chris and Seth are nearing the end of their beers. I’m only halfway done with my Coke. Reluctant to finish it and order another, I’m wary of the price given its small size, even if someone else is paying.
“So you going to do it, man?” asks Chris. “Are you going to ask Sabrina out?”
Sabrina. Employee of The Vault. The owner’s daughter. A genuine fangirl. Very cute. Presumably single, if she’s asking about the relationship status of others. And she was friendly to me. But so was Molly at one point and I brought an end to that. If Sabrina does indeed like me, it must be for something she thinks is there but really isn’t. If we started something it wouldn’t last, and the aftermath of returning visits to the store would be even more awkward than just getting rejected by Molly. And she could just be being friendly anyway. Situation can mean a lot of things. She could have just wanted to know my major.