After Gina ordered another glass of chardonnay, she searched the crowd for a familiar face but wasn’t able to locate anyone she recognized from college or even Penelope’s family. Lunch was finishing up, and the guests were starting to disperse around the room. When she got back to the table, it was empty. Everyone was on their feet and mingling.
Gina sat down, thankful Shirley was done with her impromptu photo session. She decided she would finish her wine and then make her way over to Penelope and Donny. She would wish them well and get the hell out of there.
As Gina sat at the table, sipping her wine, she saw Penelope and Donny walking toward her.
“Hi, Gina!” Penelope said with more glee than Gina could stand. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Me too,” Gina said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster and gave Penelope a quick hug. “You look beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“Congratulations,” Gina said, turning to Donny and giving him a hug as well.
“Thanks, Gina,” he replied before turning to Penelope. “He must be around here somewhere.”
“Who?” Gina asked.
“The photographer. We’re going to start the dancing soon, and he seems to have disappeared. We’ve cased the whole room for him.”
“He was over here just a few minutes ago,” Gina said.
“Well, we had better go hunt him down. Thanks again for coming, Gina. I’m glad you were able to get the day off.”
“Sure,” Gina said as the couple departed.
Gina set her wineglass down on the table and started off for the bathroom. She would run to the ladies’ room, then fetch Shirley and be on her way. As she strode toward the restroom, she heard some voices coming from behind the coat-check counter, which was unattended during the summer. She poked her head over the edge and saw two pairs of legs sticking out on the other side.
“Shirley!” she shrieked, recognizing her mother’s shoes.
Shirley hurriedly hopped up from behind the counter and began rebuttoning her blouse.
“What are you doing? Who’s back there with you?”
“Just me,” the photographer said, stumbling on his feet and fiddling with his loosened tie.
“I’d better run,” he said to Shirley, gathering his camera and awkwardly touching her on the arm. He nodded to Gina and hurried back toward the ballroom.
“Shirley! What the hell were you doing?”
“He was taking a little break from photographing the reception.”
“A little break? On the floor behind the coat-check counter?”
“Oh, loosen up, sweetie. We were just having a little fun.”
“We’re leaving, Shirley,” Gina said curtly. “You’ve embarrassed me enough for one day.”
“Oh, please! No one saw us.”
“I saw you! We’re leaving, Shirley,” Gina said again. “Now!”
“All right, all right. Let me get my purse.”
“I’ve got to run to the ladies’ room. I’ll meet you back here in a minute if you can manage to behave yourself for that long,” Gina told Shirley, not bothering to lecture her mother any further. Gina was annoyed and embarrassed by her mother’s inappropriate conduct at the reception, but, truth be known, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Shirley had behaved far worse in her time, and Gina had come to expect such behavior from her mother. She was just thankful no one knew about this particular incident.
“Let’s go,” she said to Shirley in a cool voice as they met in the hallway.
Gina was silent as they walked out of the hotel toward the car.
“Is that it?” Shirley asked as they got inside the car.
“Is what it?”
“No lecture? No reprimand?” Shirley asked.
“Why? It obviously doesn’t do any good.”
“Yeah, but it’s so fun to see you get all riled up.”
“Shut up,” Gina said, cracking a smile. One thing about life with Shirley—it was erratic, unpredictable, and often embarrassing—but never boring.
“Hand me the phone, would you?” Gina asked Shirley, who was lighting a cigarette. “And put that thing out the window, would you? You know I don’t like you smoking in here.”
Shirley retrieved the phone from the glove compartment and passed it over.
“So where were you?” Gina said into the phone as soon as Linda answered.
“I had one of my killer migraines, Gina. I’m sorry. Was the wedding bearable?”
“I guess, until Shirley ended up on the floor with the photographer,” Gina added, looking over at Shirley and grinning.
“What?”
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Gina said. Linda was probably the only person Gina didn’t mind knowing about Shirley’s antics. That was the kind of relationship she had with Linda. Gina knew she could always count on Linda and confide in her.
“Are you feeling better?” Gina asked. “Maybe we can go out tonight and have a few drinks. I’ll tell you all about the wedding.”
“Yeah. I’ll probably be up to it by the evening. Why don’t I meet you around nine or so. I’ll come by your place.”
“Sure,” Gina said, and hung up the phone and handed it back to Shirley.
Shirley lowered the antenna and put it back in the glove box.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, sweetie. I’ll try to behave myself from now on.”
Gina turned to her mother “You do that, Shirley,” she said, both of them knowing full well it wasn’t going to happen.
Princess Charming in a World of Toads
Gina and Linda were at one of their regular haunts, a dance club called Rumors, one of many in a cluster of bars and nightclubs in downtown Washington, D.C., that were known as “meat markets” for young professionals. In fact, the entire neighborhood was jokingly referred to as the “herpes triangle.” On weekends these clubs were filled with D.C.’s singles—mostly young men and women who were employed by the federal government or had jobs with government contractors. Aside from the young crowd, there were always a few middle-aged businessmen searching for a little love while their frumpy wives thought they were working late. Gina spent more time than she cared to admit at these bars, hoping to find Mr. Right or at least Mr. I’ll-Do-for-a-While. But even in her worst moments of desperation, she never dreamed of getting involved with one of the old farts with the tight starched dress shirts—shirts so tight you could almost hear the buttons screaming Help me! I can’t hold on! She would never talk to one of those guys. Not until she met Griffin anyway.
Gina was standing against the bar, waiting for Linda to come back from the restroom. The bartender had just handed her a rum and Coke, and as she reached in her purse to grab some cash, a short, balding man intervened and paid for her drink. He must have come straight from work, because he was wearing the remnants of a business suit—no blazer or tie but those formal creased pants that look really awkward when worn without the rest of the suit. Of course, the shirt was too tight, especially around the belly. And the icing on the cake—he was wearing some ridiculous baseball cap that had “The Big G” printed on the front of it. Gina smiled, not knowing quite how to react. The kind of smile that said thanks for the drink. I’m flattered. Now get lost. She sipped the drink and smiled again, wondering how long she had to stand there. Hoping he wouldn’t make her talk to him, she scanned the bar for Linda, wishing she’d come back soon.
“I think you’re absolutely beautiful,” the pudgy little man said with a hopeful smile.
Of course you do. Fat, ugly guys always think that, Gina thought, returning his smile, and again hoped that if she just stood there without saying anything, he’d go away.
The bald, potbellied man persisted. “And your name is?”
“Hi, I’m Gi—Mary,” Gina replied, feeling obligated to say something to him. As much as she wanted to just ignore him and walk away, she couldn’t do it. He was truly pathetic; she just couldn’t be rude to him. Besides, there was no harm in chatt
ing with him for a minute or two and then saying she had to go find her friend or run to the restroom or whatever it took to get away from him.
“Mary, what a pretty name. I’m Griffin,” he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting up, and offering one to Gina.
Gina shook her head. Short, fat, bald, and you smoke. How do you keep the women away? “Yeah, my mother’s name was Mary, and her mother . . .”
She almost said “And her mother too” but caught herself before the lie seemed too ridiculous. It wasn’t so much that she was afraid to give out her real name. She just got a kick out of making one up, especially around guys like Griffin, whom she knew she would never really be interested in. Just as she was thinking of a good occupation to tell the loser (maybe a nurse or, what the hell, how about a personal assistant to Laura Bush), Linda emerged from the crowd. Gina gave her the look, and Linda immediately went into action. She frowned and put her hand to her forehead before telling Gina that she had a headache and wanted to leave.
Gina turned to Griffin, not remembering his name. “Oh, ah . . . ?”
“Griffin,” he replied.
“Griffin, my friend really isn’t feeling well. I think we have to leave.”
“I’d be happy to take you home if you’d like to stay for a while.”
“Oh, I need to go anyway. I have an early day at the White House tomorrow.”
“The White House?”
“Yeah, it was nice to meet you.”
“Can I call you?”
“Sure,” Gina said as she walked away, hoping he wouldn’t have the guts to ask for her phone number.
“Mary,” Griffin called. “Your phone number?”
Gina kept walking pretending not to hear, and fortunately Griffin didn’t persist.
Gina and Linda hit the street.
“Where should we go now?”
“I don’t know, Linda. There are so many trolls out tonight. Here a troll, there a troll, everywhere a troll troll.” Gina was getting frustrated. It had been months since she’d met anyone who even remotely interested her.
“Why don’t we go over to the Phase?” Linda suggested, referring to Phase One, a bar near Capitol Hill.
“The Phase? That’s clear across town. Besides, what are the chances of me finding a man there?” Gina said, exasperated.
“Would you forget about finding a man for once in your life and just try to have some fun? Come on, we’ll have a few drinks, and dance, and maybe I’ll get lucky.”
“All right, Linda, let’s go.” Gina was feeling a little resigned anyway. Maybe just relaxing and getting stone drunk was what she needed.
Booty Call
“You know, you’re a royal pain in the ass.”
“Yes, but you love me anyway. Come on, Peter, if you had a dog, I’d do the same for you,” Gina said, calling from her cell phone outside Rumors.
“I don’t know, Gina. I think I’m coming down with something. I don’t feel like going outside.”
“Please, Peter, it will just take a minute.”
“Yeah whatever,” Peter said, and hung up the phone.
He was in the middle of taking his daily vitamin regimen when Gina called. He recently switched all of his vitamins into a handy pillbox with seven compartments. It was so much easier than finding seven different containers in his gym bag and then opening each bottle individually. He got up from the chair, muttering to himself, “Gina, out having a good time and wants me to make sure her dog doesn’t pee all over the place.” He got the key from the hook and went down the hall to Gina’s apartment.
Peter and Gina met when she was still an undergraduate at American University and he was in his first year of law school there. They dated for just over a year, and it was actually after they had broken up, and after Peter dropped out of law school, that he moved into Gina’s building. Gina’s grandmother owned her unit and leased it to Gina for a nominal rent. When a unit a few doors down from her opened up, she mentioned it to Peter, and he moved in a few weeks later.
“Hi, Gomez. Hey, boy. How ya doing? Yeah, your owner’s out drinking and trying to find a man,” Peter said to Gomez in what Gina had come to call his Gomez voice. He sounded like he had just sucked down helium and some angry woman was pulling on his balls. Gomez always got so excited when Peter came over—or when anyone came over for that matter. Peter picked up Gomez and stroked him on the head.
“How are you, Gomez?” he said to the little dog, putting him up to his ear.
Silence.
“Oh, you are?” Peter said back to the dog.
Silence.
“Oh, you did? Wow, that’s cool, Gomez.”
Peter wasn’t sure what kind of dog Gomez was. He thought Gina mentioned something about him being a miniature dachshund, but Peter had never seen a dachshund like Gomez. He had the elongated body and short legs, but he also had a long, fluffy fur coat like Peter had never seen on a dachshund. Peter sat down on the floor with Gomez and rubbed the dog’s belly and scratched his neck before getting up and grabbing a leash from the table by the door.
“Hold still, boy. I can’t get the leash on you if you don’t hold still. I’m going to leave you here if you don’t calm down. God damn it, you stupid mutt . . .”
When Gomez and Peter finally got outside, they traipsed straight to the grassy area in front of the apartment building. Gina and Peter lived in one of the few buildings in the neighborhood that actually had a small grassy patch between the building and the sidewalk. Gomez knew it was stupid to do his business right away, because then Peter would just take him back inside. Playing the moment for all it was worth, he searched for a lightning bug or moth to chase. No such luck, so he just kept walking and sniffing the ground. Once again Peter and Gomez caught the attention of some fellow apartment dwellers. This time an Asian couple just getting out of their car. They had the typical reaction most people had when they saw Peter walking Gomez—a six-foot-tall, burly Italian walking a miniature dachshund. It didn’t help matters that the dachshund constantly tugged on the leash while prancing around with his tongue hanging out. Gomez insisted on pulling too hard on the leash, causing him to make harsh choking noises every few minutes as he meandered around the neighborhood. The couple gawked a little and laughed under their breath as they walked toward the lobby.
“All right, Gomez, shit or get off the pot. We’re going inside,” Peter called to the dog, who continued to trot ahead of Peter, ignoring his walker’s frustration.
When Gomez finally watered the lawn, Peter dropped him off at Gina’s and went down the hall to his apartment. After he finished thoroughly washing his hands with antibacterial soap and super-hot water, a ritual he performed whenever he came back into the apartment, he saw that the message light on the answering machine was blinking.
BEEP. “Hi, Peter, it’s Cheryl. I just got in. It’s about eleven-thirty. Call me if you get in soon. I rented a couple of movies if you want to watch them with me.”
Peter grinned when Cheryl mentioned the movies. She was probably calling for a little midnight action, and rented movies were an easy segue. Although Cheryl did have other excuses and sometimes got quite creative. The time she actually took the drapes off the window so he could come over and help her put up some “new” curtains was probably one of her best. The whole facade was silly, but then, leaving a message on Peter’s machine saying “Hey, I’m horny as hell. Want to come over and fuck me?” might have seemed a tad blunt.
“Hi, I was just out walking Gina’s dog,” Peter said, playing with the phone cord.
“You let that tramp walk all over you. Isn’t that mutt of hers dead yet?”
Peter couldn’t help thinking how ironic it was that in the midst of making a booty call at midnight, Cheryl managed to call Gina a tramp. “Careful, Cheryl, your claws are showing. What are you doing just getting in at eleven-thirty?”
“I went for a drive. I have a lot going on right now. Do you mind if I come over for a while? I really coul
d use someone to talk to.”
“No, not at all. I’m kind of tired though. I had a long day myself.”
“Okay, I’ll be over in a bit.”
“Bye.”
Perky Cheerleaders
Gina and Linda were on the dance floor at the Phase, moving to the music played by the heavy set (all right—fat) deejay up in the booth overlooking the room. She must have been a guest deejay. Linda and Gina had never seen her before. Apparently, her name was Tanya and she never took song requests. Actually, she accepted them, saying, “I’ll try to get it on for you,” and then played whatever her fat ass felt like playing. But Gina figured it worked. The place was packed every weekend.
Gina was buzzed to the core. Her vision blurred just a little as she left the dance floor and headed for the bar. She felt really good, or at least numb, and one more beer would only intensify this state.
“Another draft, Pearl,” Gina asked the bartender. She was probably the only straight girl in D.C. on a first-name basis with the bartenders at the Phase.
“Okay, darlin’. Are you sure you haven’t had enough?”
“I most certainly have not had enough. In fact, I haven’t gotten any in months.”
Pearl grinned, twisted the cap off a bottle of Miller Lite and handed it to Gina. “On the house, darlin’.”
Gina barely had a chance to taste her beer, when someone approached her from behind.
“Gina? Is that you?”
Gina hesitated for a moment before recognizing the woman. “Annie! My God! How are you?” Gina replied with a look of surprise on her face.
“I’m great. Never thought I’d see you here.”
Gina never thought she’d see Annie there either. “Yeah, well, I’m here with a friend. She’s on the dance floor.”
“Why would she leave you all alone over here?”
“I just don’t feel much like dancing right now,” Gina replied.
Girlfriends Page 2