by Shane Bolks
“Gray, let’s just go home,” I say at the same time Dave and Cindy! say, “Great” and “That sounds like fun!”
Everyone looks at me—the party pooper—and I say, “Fun! Let’s go.”
Grayson laughs and slaps my back. “Come on, Allie. You look like you could use a drink.”
Dave suggests a place on the other side of the lake where we can get dinner and—his main requirement—cheap beer, and Gray and I take my Z4, while Dave and Cindy! take his Hummer.
That’s right. As if the Land Rover wasn’t big enough, now he’s driving a silver tank—I mean, Hummer.
At the Bait Shop—yes, that’s the name of the restaurant Dave has selected—we grab a table on the patio and watch the sunset. The food takes forever to come, and when it finally arrives it’s greasy guy food, so I order a fourth margarita and nibble on oily french fries.
Cindy! has like two beers and starts giggling and singing along with the honky-tonk band, playing covers of Jimmy Buffett and Garth Brooks. Every once in a while, she tries to get Dave involved, and he plays along with her, but I can tell he’d rather talk than sing. He and Gray are discussing basketball, doing the play-by-play of every game they’ve ever attended, seen, or heard about, and “Cheeseburger in Paradise” isn’t holding Dave’s attention right now.
Cindy! and I tried to talk to each other for the first five minutes. I can see why a guy would be attracted to her. She’s blonde, pigtailed, and twenty-three. Add that she just graduated from college with a sociology degree and doesn’t have a job yet because she’s trying to find herself, and it becomes clear why I’m not enamored of her.
Finally, the band takes a break, and “Blue Suede Shoes” comes on the jukebox. Gray loves Elvis. He’s taken Elvis’s half-snarl and modified it into model chic.
“Allie, this is our song. Come dance.” He hauls me out of my chair, at which point the margaritas go straight to my head, and I stumble.
“Maybe later, Gray.”
“I’ll dance with you! I’ll dance with you!” Cindy! screams, jumping up and down.
“You know how to swing-dance?” Gray asks dubiously.
“A little. I’m a fast learner, though!”
“All right, let’s give it a go.” He grabs her hand and pulls her into the small group of couples lumbering away to the music. He shows her a few moves and a moment later, they’re doing a decent job.
“Your brother’s a good dancer,” Dave says, moving to the chair next to mine so he can see the dance floor better.
“My grandmother was a hepster. She used to go to the Cotton Club in Harlem. Taught us the jitterbug, Susie-Q, trucking…lots of swing moves.”
“What, no tango?”
“That, too, but Gray always gets carried away and dips me too low.”
We’re both watching the dancers, not looking at each other, so Dave surprises me when he lifts my empty margarita glass. “What is that? Four?”
“You watched your Sesame Street.”
He laughs. “One margarita, two margarita, three margarita! Ha-ha-ha.”
I grin in spite of my intention not to let him affect me. “You’re a goof.”
“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before.”
I shrug. “I’m not used to drinking four margaritas on an empty stomach.”
“You’re drunk.”
I think for a moment, stare at Gray and Cindy!, and say, “Yep.”
“That bad of a day?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I filed, cleaned up after a bunch of messy kids, watched you kiss Cindy, got caught in my underwear, and then spread calamine lotion over three itchy kids. Not my ideal Saturday.”
“Why did my kissing Cindy drive you to drink?”
I whip to face him. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yeah, you did.” He’s leaning back in his chair, the bar’s sting of festive lights illuminating his face in patches of red and gold. “You said you watched me kiss Cindy.”
The waitress walks by, and I snag her arm. “Another margarita, please.”
“You avoiding the question?”
“I’m not avoiding anything. I’m thirsty.”
Another song comes on, I think this one is by Sammy Davis Jr., and the waitress returns with my drink. Dave hands her a credit card and asks her to close out the tab.
“Thanks,” I say and sip the margarita. Like the four before, it’s too strong and tastes like crap.
“I like that about you.”
I frown at him. He’s smiling again. He’s always smiling. “I like how you don’t argue when someone does something for you.”
“What do you mean?”
I took my hair out of the ponytail when we arrived, and now he lifts a strand of it and twirls it around his finger. I try to pretend I don’t notice.
“Like today when I gave you my shirt. You didn’t argue, you just said thanks. Most girls would have argued or been all prissy—telling me not to look. And now when I paid the bill, you didn’t argue. I like that.”
I shrug. “If you didn’t want to do it, you wouldn’t. You know I can pay, I know I can pay. What’s the big deal?” I sip my margarita again, feeling the heat of the tequila slide into my belly. I cross my legs and my calf brushes against Dave’s leg.
“And giving me your shirt this afternoon made sense. Why am I going to be illogical and argue or make a big deal out of telling you to turn around? I’ve got breasts. You know it, I know it, and I’m reasonably sure you’ve seen a pair before.”
He doesn’t answer, just releases my hair and watches Gray show Cindy! how to Charleston.
“I like that about you,” I say, but I’m not sure I’ve said it aloud until Dave gives me a curious look.
“Wait a sec. I’m not hearing straight. You like something about me?”
“I did. I liked how you don’t say stupid things like other guys.”
I reach for the margarita glass, miss, and Dave hands it to me.
“I mean, like just now. You didn’t say something stupid like, ‘No, I’ve never seen breasts’ or ‘I’ve never seen any like yours.’ I hate that bullshit.” I drain the glass. “And this afternoon, you didn’t make any wet T-shirt jokes or exploit the situation.”
He laughs, and Frank Sinatra starts singing “They Can’t Take That Away from Me.”
“As much as I like being the good guy, I gotta tell you that I exploited your half-nakedness this afternoon as much as I could.”
“Yeah. Oops.” I wave an arm, knocking over an empty beer bottle that Dave catches before it hits the ground. “But you didn’t make it obvious you were exploiting it. I like that.”
“You like that I’m sneaky?”
I scowl at him. “Just forget it. I can’t even compliment you.”
He stands up. “Come on. We can’t sit here when Frank’s on.”
“You like Frank?”
“Who doesn’t?” He pulls me to my feet, his hand on my back to steady me, and takes me to the dance floor. I drape my arms around his neck, and he puts his hands on my back, pulling me close to him, just like he did with Cindy! this afternoon.
I let him lead, closing my eyes after a moment and resting my head on his shoulder. Everything is spinning. I hardly feel my legs or my arms.
“Where’d you learn to dance?” I say after a moment.
“Three older sisters.”
I glance up at him. God, his mouth is so close. It seems like I’ve never wanted to kiss a guy as much as I want to kiss Dave right now. “Three sisters?” I force my lips to speak, so I don’t kiss him.
“Yeah. They all took dancing lessons—ballet, tap, and ballroom—then graduated to the high school drill team. I was the token male ballroom partner. I can dip and twirl in my sleep.” He dips me, and I laugh as my head spins.
“Did you really go to homecoming with Hunter?”
“No. He was homecoming king. I was queen. We never dated.”
“Why not? Rory?”
“No, he’s ju
st not my type.”
“Who’s your type?” He glances down at me, and I can’t take it anymore. I don’t know if it’s him, or too much to drink, or me just being an idiot, but I tug his mouth down to mine and kiss him. His hands tighten on my waist, and I feel the muscles of his shoulders bunch when I slip my tongue in his mouth. He responds, meeting me more than halfway, and then my head is really spinning. And then I’m falling because he’s pulled away.
“Sorry,” I say when everything isn’t spinning anymore. “I don’t know why I did that. You’re just such a good kisser.” Did I really say that? His jaw is set, and he’s not looking at me, staring instead across the room. Cindy!
“Dave, I’m sorry. I’ll tell Cindy it was my fault—”
“Shut up. I’m enjoying this way more than you think.” His hand skims across my back. “Did you put your underwear back on?”
“It’s in my purse.”
“Oh, man.” He drops his forehead on my shoulder, then straightens again.
With a laugh, I wrap my arms around him and press my cheek to his chest. I really don’t get Dave. We talk like we’ve been friends for years, he makes it clear he thinks I’m attractive, but he doesn’t want to take things to the next level. Okay, so maybe I overreacted a few weeks ago when he said he didn’t want to sleep with me. I mean, that was like our seventh date, and I still didn’t know where I stood with him. And, okay, maybe I pushed him a little because I wanted to see what he’d do, and because—oh, just admit it—because I liked him, and I couldn’t tell if he liked me, and I hate uncertainty.
So now he’s with Cindy! but dancing with me, and he’s hot and bothered because I’m not wearing any underwear but he won’t kiss me. I’m beginning to remember why I was so pissed off with him before. And still, if I had another chance…
“Come on, Red. Time to go,” he says, and his voice is far away. Then Gray is beside me. The next time I open my eyes I’m in a tank, moving really fast on the freeway.
Gray’s next to me, and Cindy! and Dave are up front.
“Where’s my car?”
“We decided not to let you drive,” Gray says.
“We’ll pick it up in the morning,” Dave says.
I’m not sure how that’s going to work, but I’m at that stage of drunkenness where everything is pretty much okay.
“Right up here. The lofts,” Gray says. I lift my head and study Gray’s trendy neighborhood. Dave pulls the Hummer over, and Gray shakes his hand, then says good night to Cindy!
“You still going to the lake tomorrow?” he asks me.
“Yeah. I’ll be okay.”
He leans over and kisses my temple. “Call me in the morning, kiddo.”
I lie down in the backseat, lulled by Dave and Cindy!’s voices, and the next time I look around, we’ve stopped. I sit up, wondering if they’ve abandoned me in the tank, but when I look outside, I see Dave and Cindy! standing on the porch of a small house. There are five other cars in the driveway and grass, so I’m assuming Cindy!’s got roommates. As I watch, Dave bends down and kisses her. It’s not a long kiss, like this afternoon, but it’s not exactly short, either.
She turns to go inside, and I flop down on the backseat hastily.
Oh, fuck. I mean, fudge. Mistake. Head fallen off body.
Dave opens his door and looks over the seat at me. “You still alive?”
“I don’t know. Is my head attached?”
“Yeah. Want to sit up front?”
“No. Drive on, James.”
Dave doesn’t turn on the radio, and we’re quiet for three minutes. I know this because I can see the little clock on the dash from my position. “When did you get the Hummer?” I say.
“Last week. Bonus from the Y and Y account.”
“What was wrong with the Land Rover?”
“Blue, sticky, and smelled like Gatorade.”
“Oh.” I feel my face heat.
More silence.
“Dave?” Shut up, Allison. Whatever you say now will make you cringe in the morning. Pretend you’re asleep. “You were kissing Cindy.”
He glances at me, then back at the road.
Another minute.
“How come you kiss her but not me?”
“I did kiss you.”
“But you didn’t want to.”
“I don’t want to get into this right now.”
We slow for a light, and I sit up. “I don’t get it. She’s like twelve.”
We turn the corner, and I recognize the convenience store. We’re almost to my town house.
“Look, Allison, you’re drunk. You don’t want to talk about this stuff now.”
“Yeah, I’m drunk, but I know what I’m saying. I think I’d hate myself in the morning more if I didn’t say all this.”
“Okay, let’s test it. If you still want to talk about this in the morning, call me, and we will.”
“Goddamnit, Dave! Just tell me what the fuck is going on. Are you fucking seeing Cindy or not? Do you fucking like me or not?”
We slow and he pulls in front of my house.
“Oh, just fucking forget the whole thing.”
I open the door, fall out, and curse all tanks and their drivers. When I finally make it to my door, it’s locked, and I can’t find my purse or my keys. I rest my forehead on the door.
A moment later, Dave nudges me aside.
“Go back to your tank. You might need to invade Michigan Avenue.”
Dave unlocks the door, pushes it open, then, without even asking, picks me up and carries me inside. I want to yell at him, but I can’t summon the energy to argue. I hear him kick the door shut and drop my purse and keys on the tile floor. He heads upstairs and straight for my bedroom, and when I make a hasty check of his face, he looks pissed.
“Light?” he asks.
“Wall on the right.”
He flicks it on with his elbow, and the lamp on my night-stand illuminates the room. Dave stands in the doorway for a moment, staring at my room. “That bed is huge.”
As the bed dominates the room, it’s a little hard to ignore. “It’s a tester bed, king-size.”
“It has curtains.”
“Just whispy sheers strewn through the canopy.”
“Right.”
He strides forward, lays me on the edge of the bed, then stands there looking at me. I scrutinize his face, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I’m shaking. I don’t know why. I’ve done this before. With another guy, I’d grab him, pull him down beside me, and rip his clothes off. But I honestly don’t know what to do with Dave.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on. I’m not seriously seeing fucking Cindy, and yes, I fucking like you.”
I stare at him. He hasn’t moved, and his face is still completely unreadable. “So, what are you going to do now?”
He looks around. “Your cat’s sitting by her bowl. I’m going to feed her.” He heads into the kitchen, and I hear Booboo Kitty meowing for dinner.
I sit up, brushing my hair out of my face, and wait to see what will happen next. I’m completely on edge. Dave might do anything—leave, watch TV, come in here and kiss me senseless. I hear him walking back down the hallway, and then he stands in my doorway, his shoulder against the jamb. “Do I get to ask questions?”
“I didn’t sleep with Nicolo,” I say, slurring his name.
“Okay.” He looks a little thrown by my admission. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I don’t want you to hate me.”
He looks more confused.
“Not that I didn’t sleep with him because of you. I wasn’t really thinking about you.”
He inclines his head. “Good to know.”
“No, what I mean is—remember when you said that thing in Rory’s bedroom?”
“What thing?”
“You know what thing. What did you mean, maybe you didn’t sleep with me because you like me? Is that some kind of prefeminist holdover?”
“Whoa.” He h
olds up both hands and walks toward me. “Don’t even play the feminist card, and I’m not going to talk about this if you won’t listen.”
“Hello? I’m listening.” I flop on the pile of pillows.
I expect him to argue, but he props himself on an elbow beside me. “I’m friends with Hunter and Rory. You’re friends with Hunter and Rory. We can’t have a one-night stand because we’re going to see each other again. We can’t have a relationship because I don’t know if I want that with you yet. I was trying to walk a middle line, but you’re sort of a right or left girl.”
“I can walk a middle line,” I say, flipping on my side to face him. “You’re the one who’s right or left. You’re all friendly around other people, and then you act like you don’t know what to do with me. Then I see you kissing Cindy—who’s all wrong for you, by the way—and FYI I’m not saying I’m right for you, but we’ve been out half a dozen times or more and you won’t even touch me.”
He lies back and closes his eyes. “Things aren’t that simple with you.”
“Why not? I’m a simple girl.”
He laughs and spreads his arms as if encompassing the canopied bed, the white chaise longue, cherrywood dressing table, cheval mirror, and silk sheers on the window.
“No, you’re not. You’re high-maintenance, and I’m not a very good mechanic.”
“Oh, poor baby. That’s why they have Viagra.”
“Go to sleep.”
“You’re not going to rip my clothes off and make mad, passionate love to me?”
“Not tonight.”
“But sometime?”
“No comment.”
“Are you going back to Cindy’s?”
“No.”
“Good.” I scoot closer and he turns, fitting me against him. He’s warm and solid, and he smells like a man—a man with a hint of pinewoods, lime margaritas, and Frank Sinatra. I’m asleep in no time.
9
Are You in Love with Me Again?
When I open my eyes, the comforter is tucked around me, Booboo Kitty’s sitting on my pillow staring down at me, and Dave’s gone. I don’t even have to call out or look around for him. A place feels different when it’s occupied. People give off certain vibes—casual, neat, artsy—and I’m good at latching onto those when I decorate. Dave’s vibe, sort of casual and sexy, isn’t present.