Chapter 5 – GLENNA #4
“Is that all you can say?” She raises the pitch of her voice, mimicking me. “‘Yes.’ ‘Okay.’ ‘All right.’”
I smile, and I raise the pitch of my voice, too. “’You’re a real bitch, you know that?’”
It’s not a perfect imitation, but it’s recognizable. I can tell ‘cause her jaw drops at my audacity.
I elbow past her, and I take the whole two “happy birthdays” to wash my hands. This fake date is over. It’s not gonna work. It was bonkers from the get-go. I don’t know why I agreed.
Addison keeps running her mouth, but I stop paying attention. Eventually, she disappears into a stall and slams the door. I leave.
Instead of returning to Cash and the dance floor, I turn the other way, toward the back exit. The crowd has thickened. It’s standing room only, and even though you can’t smoke indoors, I walk through several vape clouds.
People look at me and whisper to each other. I’m used to it, but not in condensed form. I lower my head, let my hair fall in my face.
Halfway through the room with the big screen TVs, I get turned around and end up near the second bar in a far corner. I’m hemmed in by strangers on all sides. They’re all talking to each other, and I’m surrounded, invisible, except for when someone recognizes me and nudges their friend.
I knew I was a pariah, but I didn’t know that so many people actually recognize my face.
This blows such big chunks. And I left my purse on the table with Cash.
I’m gonna have to go back. My wallet’s in it.
Which way is back?
I look around and accidentally make eye contact with a full-bearded dude in a button-down shirt like Cash’s, only red striped.
For a second, he looks tharn. A rabbit in headlights. Then he forces his lips to approximate a smile.
I’m polite, so I do the same.
He saunters closer, and it’s not a cool and casual move. He has all the swagger of a dude forcing himself to walk toward a guillotine.
“Buy you a drink?” he shouts down at me when he’s close enough.
I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him around. He’s older. Late thirties. Tall. He has that recently barbered, new outfit look that Cash has tonight.
Hell. Why not?
“Okay,” I holler.
An awkward, silent minute later, there’s a cold beer in my hand. The room is tilting a little. I think it’s the shoddy construction, but there’s also the possibility that I’m hella tipsy.
I stand there and drink my beer.
He stands beside me, drinking his.
We look at each other.
He starts to speak a few times, but he stalls out.
“You’re the girl who wrote that article about the sheriff, right?” he finally asks.
Oh, yes. Let’s talk about that. I nod.
He’s desperately searching for a follow up, and after a painfully long pause, he settles on, “I’m Matt.”
“Glenna.”
We both take a long sip of our beers.
“I heard you got shot.”
“Yeah.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Yeah.”
This is weird. This is how a real date would go. It’d be awkward and stilted, but the guy wouldn’t invite all his friends, including the friend who is a girl and clearly has unresolved feelings for him. Or Sheriff Willis. Or both. Addison was really mad. Who knows?
Matt and I glance at the TV for something to do. It’s a chip commercial. We look back at each other.
“Do you come here a lot?” Matt shouts. Guess we’re down to that.
“Never been here before.”
He nods more times than he needs to.
He looks as miserable as I feel.
“I used to come here with my wife.”
Oh?
His eyes widen. “Shit. No. I mean my ex-wife. Well, we’re technically still married. But we’re separated. She left. In July.”
He has to holler the whole thing, and as he does, horror dawns on his face as he hears what his mouth is saying. The folks around us are being very obvious about not looking at him.
Oh, poor dude. I want to buy him a puppy.
He runs out of confessions, and he stands there, looking at me like I’m a bomb, and he just cut the red wire. I want to tell him it’s okay to run.
“This beer is good,” I say instead. I hold up the bottle.
“Do you want another?”
“No. I, uh—” I jerk my thumb vaguely over my shoulder toward the room with the dance floor. I need to get my purse.
“Oh, you wanna dance?”
That is not what I meant.
He waits, lips pressed firm, hope flaring in his sad, droopy eyes, like he thought he was dead in the water, but he got a last-minute reprieve. Like maybe, just maybe, he’s still got it after all.
I can’t dash this guy’s hopes.
I also can’t dance.
The only time I ever do is alone in my apartment while I clean, but this guy is straightening his shirt, taking my empty and setting it purposefully on the bar, a look of such determination on his face—
I guess I’m dancing.
“Yeah. Okay.”
He flashes a smile of pure relief, takes my hand, and leads me through the crowd, back to Cash and his friends who hate me. And my purse—which I do need.
Yes. This is a good idea. I’ll shake my ass for a minute or two, grab my stuff, and bail. Cash has his posse. He might not even notice. I’ll be sneaky. Tiptoe over and zoink my bag all stealthy-like. I am definitely capable of stealth with this much liquor in me.
Then, I’m getting the heck out of Dodge. The fake dating experiment is a fail. It’s way worse than sitting at home alone in my pajamas, editing photos, and eating taquitos.
But first, I’ll do the Electric Slide to whatever song they play so Matt can get his groove back. It’ll be my good deed for the day.
I’ll feel a little less bad about the disaster this turned out to be. Not that I was looking forward to it. Not that I thought it could possibly not be wretched. Maybe even the teensiest tiniest bit fun.
Matt, the almost divorcé, is a strapping, big dude, so folks make way. We enter the main room just when a line dance is ending.
Crap.
In my head, I’d agreed to a line dance. We did the Cupid Shuffle back in gym class. I was the master. The Wobble. The Chicken Dance. I could do it all. It was the one unit where I got an A.
I stop and wobble a little unintentionally. My head goes whoosh . What am I doing?
Oh, I’ve reached the point when the booze hits you all at once.
The lights spin, blurring out of focus.
My body goes loose and limber.
I feel great .
The DJ has switched to pop. Awesome. It’s a lady ballad. I vaguely recognize it from the radio. It’s about speaking the truth. Being yourself. Getting back up when you get knocked down. You don’t need a man. You’re a firework, a meteorite, something else explosive. You’re dynamite!
Hell yeah, I am.
Women flood the dance floor, whooping, raising their hands in the air. Beers slosh. Butts waggle.
You know what?
This is the best song.
It’s so bouncy .
Everyone sings along, bottles and red Solo cups in the air. I don’t know the words, so I bop up and down. Matt seems happy. He bops up and down, too, just not on the beat. That’s okay. He’s a good guy. A great guy. He’s never gotten me shot.
He bops closer.
I’m not even looking in Cash’s direction. I don’t care who’s kissing his ass. He can kiss mine.
Matt smiles down. I smile back.
There’s a shout, miraculously audible above the music, and a clatter. A cluster of people surge onto the dance floor. People scramble out of the way, and as a path clears, Cash emerges, blazing across the parquet tiles like the cop in Terminator .
The last few oblivious drunk folks scurry out of his way.
Oh, he’s big mad. His face is flushed. His arms swing menacingly at his side, biceps bunched, fists clenched. I’ve seen him like this before. In the Stonecut High senior parking lot right before Andrew Ryman hit the asphalt. Oh, shit. He’s gonna punch someone.
What do I do?
I’m frozen with drunken indecision as Jaxson and Logan barrel past him on either side.
Logan grabs him, shoves him into Ethan, and Ethan wraps his arm around Cash’s shoulder in a vise grip.
Logan keeps going. For a second, I think Jaxson and Logan are coming for me, but they plow past and stop on either side of Matt.
Ethan and Holden are flanking Cash now. Cash has shaken off Ethan’s arm. Holden’s talking a mile a minute in Cash’s ear. I can’t hear anything but the bass and two dozen women singing along at the top of their lungs.
I glance over my shoulder. Matt’s farther away now, sandwiched between Jaxson and Logan. It doesn’t seem unfriendly. Jaxson’s talking, and Matt’s listening. His arms are folded. He’s looking over here, but he’s not making a move to come back.
Where’s Cash? Is it too late to run now?
I turn my head just as Cash comes toe-to-toe with me. He’s scowling, his chest rising and falling like he speed-walked a lot further than he did.
Angry Cash is bright red and bulgy in the muscles. A little bit Hulk, a little bit ripe heirloom tomato.
He’s frowning for once. I love it. I poke a downturned corner of his mouth and push it up. It doesn’t stay put, so I try again. Droops right back down.
“Do people tell you all the time that it takes more effort to frown than to smile?” I get most of the words out, but they kind of slur into each other, taking the scenic route out of my mouth.
“Are you drunk?” The frown’s back, frownier than ever.
“Yes. Are you?”
“No.” He glances over my shoulder.
Shit. Matt. What happened to Matt?
I spin to check, teeter, and Cash grips me by the hips, one hip per hand. I’ve got big hips. He’s got big hands. He drags me back so my butt’s cradled by his pelvis. He grabs like he means it. Bossy.
Yum.
I lean back against his chest. He’s hella broad and sturdy. Makes a good wall.
I chuckle to myself. Good Wall. That’s an excellent pun. I should tell him, but I was doing something important, which was—
Shit.
Matt.
He’s nowhere nearby anymore. I scan the room, but my eyes are having trouble walking a straight line. I finally find him at the table with my purse, sipping a beer, chatting with Addison. The rest of the guys are there, too. Hanging out. Perfectly casual.
They stole the dude I was dancing with. Uncool.
“Hey. I’m dancing with him.”