3. Thea
three
Whenever Jo wanted to drink, she called me and pretended we were best friends. In reality, she wanted to use me as a free drinking ticket at my aunt’s swanky bar. The Station was a big deal around Durango. It came up first in internet searches, so if that doesn’t speak to what a big deal it is, I don’t know what would.
I usually told Jo to fuck off when she called, but I wasn’t writhing in pain, and I felt strangely magnanimous tonight, so I said, “What the hell, kid. Let’s go drinking.” It might be my last time, after all. I hadn’t fully decided yet.
Jo and I were actual friends when we were kids. Then, the typical teenage tragedy unfolded wherein she turned hot, and I became the weird goth kid. It’s cliché enough to make me want to throw up in my mouth. Jo rose the ranks at our high school while I got high in other ways. Our sweet little childhood friendship died. She humiliated me and teased me. I made a voodoo doll that looked like her. You know, regular teenage girl shit.
Now we were both pushing thirty, and Jo’s charmed life had turned as pathetic as mine. She had three kids with two different guys — neither bothered sticking around— a soul-sucking call center job, a shitty apartment, and only me for a friend.
I kept telling myself it wasn’t the voodoo doll that screwed up her life. I didn’t believe in voodoo magic, and I’d only ever stuck a single pin in the doll’s back. I found it poetic at the time.
Now, Jo had tasked me with watching her purse while she flirted with one of the rich-looking tourists. I snorted into my vodka cranberry and turned away from my not-friend. There had to be something more interesting to watch at The Station. If I got too bored, I’d see if my aunt was around. Good old Lenny always had an interesting story to tell.
Lenny wouldn’t like my tentative plans for Tuesday. She’d be really freaking pissed right now if she knew.
Maybe I’d keep hanging on for her.
I scanned the bar and caught sight of a dude who looked exactly like a fish out of water. He wore jeans and a plaid button-down shirt, but not in a sexy, lumber-jack way. It was more like an awkward kid trying to play dress-up with daddy’s clothes. He had short, dark brown hair and a clean-shaven face. His body type was difficult to discern under that baggy shirt, but I guessed dad bod.
The guy held a single shot of whiskey up to his lips, then set it back down. Then lifted it back up to sniff it, grimaced, and put it back down. I cracked a smile and continued to study him without his knowledge. Finally, he worked up enough courage to sip his whiskey. His face screwed up in disgust, and he coughed several times into his fist. Then he glanced around the bar as if searching for witnesses. When he caught my eye, my grin probably looked maniacal.
This poor, poor soul! Oh, I needed his story!
I scooped up my drink and Jo’s purse and headed straight for the adorable little misfit, who now gave me a sad and sheepish look. “Thea,” I said, sticking out my hand for him to shake. “What is going on with you, bro?”
The guy took my hand and cleared his throat. “Brigham.” He waved his finger in a circle and rolled his light brown eyes. “And I honestly don’t know what’s wrong with the whiskey here. I’m clearly a big drinker. I’m obviously very comfortable in this atmosphere. There’s something weird about this bar, Thea.”
I threw my head back and laughed at his deadpanned sarcasm. What a freaking delight. Oh, I was going to have fun with this— wait, what did he say his name was? “Brigham? What kind of name is that?”
Brigham tried to sip his whiskey again. After another cough, he replied, “Oh, it’s the name of a polygamist Mormon prophet. My parents are big fans.” He offered me a weak smile. “Me? Not so much.”
“Dude, that sucks. What’s your middle name?” I prodded.
“Levi.”
I burst out laughing. “That sucks big, hairy balls, too!”
Brigham laughed. “Gross. Why do they have to be hairy?”
“To illustrate my point of how bad your name sucks. What’s your last name?”
“Thompson.” Brigham playfully narrowed his eyes. “Wait, are you trying to guess my password and hack into my social media accounts?”
“Yes.” I nodded and then drummed my fingers on the bar. “Your initials suck, too. BLT? Are we sandwiches now? We could maybe call you Thompson. That might be okay.” I very rarely found people as interesting as I immediately found this guy. He had stories to tell. I could feel it, and I suddenly wanted to hear them.
It might help my art.
Brigham watched me with a grin. “No, thank you. Thompson is my family name, and things are a tad bitter with my family these days.”
“Brig? Let’s try Brig.”
“Like the brig on a ship? Stop trying to change my name if you’re not going to make it better.” Brigham laughed and put in an honest effort to knock back more whiskey.
“Fine. Levi is better than Brigham, though.” I let out an exaggerated sigh and twisted a strand of my dark purple hair around my pointer finger. “So, Levi, you’re a Mormon?”
“Used to be.” Levi gave me a pointed look. “Born and raised, but I no longer identify that way.”
“K, so are Mormons the nerdy kids that knock on your door and try to sell you their second Bible?” Who would want another Bible?
Levi nodded.
“And they’re the ones with five wives?”
Levi shrugged. “Not mainstream Mormons. The ones that still practice polygamy are offshoots. But there’s polygamy in heaven for the righteous men.” He smirked and shook his head.
I laughed while eyeing his whiskey. “Which wouldn’t be you because Mormons can’t drink, correct?” I didn’t know much about Mormons besides polygamy, two Bibles, and the no-drinking thing. There was one Mormon girl at my elementary school, but she moved away after a year.
“Correct, Thea!” He held up his hand for a high five. I stared at his raised hand until he finally dropped it in defeat, high-fiveless. “I’m going to have to settle for one woman. If only I could have stayed righteous.” Levi pretended to gaze wistfully toward the heavens.
“Dude, you fucked that up.”
He burst out laughing. It had a rich, contagious sound that I felt deep in my belly. It made me feel at home.
Home.
What a funny word. People defined it as a place, but it’d always been more like a feeling for me. My aunt gave me that feeling, the smell of acrylic paint and pine trees, and now Levi’s laugh.
Weird.
Levi lifted his glass to his lips again, but I reached out and pressed it back down. I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “Levi, is this your first time? Are you a whiskey virgin?”
He leaned forward, too, and whispered, “Yes. Am I making a fool of myself?”
I bit my lip and nodded. Then I called Desi over. “Girl, can we get this man a coke for his whiskey?”
She smirked at Levi and slid him a glass of coke. I poured his shot of whiskey in and presented his new drink to him. “Whiskey neat is for badasses like me, seasoned old gentlemen smoking cigars, crazy Irishmen, or alcoholics.”
Levi laughed. “My mistake.” He sipped his new drink and breathed a sigh of relief. “That is so much better.” He took one more long pull from his glass before asking, “Are you vacationing or local?”
“Local. My aunt owns this bar, and I like to hang out here and take sad little strays like you under my wing.” Not true. I never took anyone under my wing, ever.
“Ah. Fantastic. Glad I fit the bill.”
“What about you?” I asked, even though I thought I already knew the answer. I rested my elbow on the bar with my chin in my hand.
“I am a tourist.” Levi downed his drink a little too quickly for a whiskey virgin. This night was bound to turn more entertaining if I could convince him to have a few more drinks. I signaled Desi to give him a refill and scanned the bar for Jo. She’d pressed herself up against a man old enough to be her father. It looked like he might get lucky tonight. Or she. Maybe Jo was the lucky one in this scenario. I couldn’t say.
A better person than me would have pulled Jo aside and smacked some sense into her until she could see her worth.
But I’d never pretended to be a good person, and I’d never pretended to be Jo’s friend. Pretending was her game, and she’d have to choose to stop playing all on her own.
I turned back to the adorable, sheltered man beside me with a smile. “Levi, did you come here all by yourself?”
“I did.” He nodded and took another drink. Again, a good person would have told him to slow down, but what did I say about me being a good person? “I’m recently divorced and hated by everyone I know.” Levi chugged his second drink.
“That’s a little dramatic, dude.” I laughed and signaled Desi again. I was an ass.
“I’m guessing you’ve never left a cult, Thea.” Levi raised an eyebrow at me. “I’ve had enough judgment for one lifetime, so please spare me yours.”
His piercing stare caught me right in the chest or something. Not the heart. I didn’t have one of those. I cleared my throat and did something highly out of character. I patted his shoulder in a show of comfort. “I’m sorry, Levi. No, I haven’t left a cult, but I’ve left other hard things.” The pain and struggle were written all over his face, and like a true macabre weirdo, I wanted his pain.
“What’s it like — leaving a cult?”
“It’s like…” Levi paused and ran his finger down some condensation on his glass. “It’s like living your entire life blind and afraid and then suddenly gaining the ability to see, realizing that you were never sightless. You’d only been blindfolded by the people who were supposed to love and protect you.” He lifted his glass to his lips but didn’t drink. “And then, once you can see, you realize that everyone around you is still wearing their blindfolds, but instead of being happy when you tell them, they’re furious.”
Levi took a gulp and then chuckled. “I feel all tingly and a little dizzy. This is fun. Is this why people drink? It can’t be for the taste.” His eyes lit up at this discovery, like being buzzed excited him more than anything.
Fascinating. The first time I got drunk, I was thirteen and had such an unremarkable experience. I downed four cheap piss beers at a party and let Marcus Johnson touch my boobs. Everyone did it. It didn’t remotely blow my mind.
But Levi sat there, completely enthralled by the way his extremities tingled. He stared at the bubbles rising in his glass, his mouth slightly open in awe. His analogy about gaining the ability to see for the first time was spot on. He looked hungry for experience, and I wanted to watch this journey unfold.
“Levi, how long are you visiting Durango?”
His eyes shot up to meet mine, full of concern now. His eyes were so expressive. “Uh, well, I have a hotel booked for two weeks and haven’t figured out what I’m doing after that. I have a boring job teaching accounting at Southern Utah University, so I guess I have to go back for that.”
Two weeks. I could hang around for two weeks to watch Levi discover life. I mentally erased possible suicide from Tuesday evening on my calendar. “Well, my friend,” I patted his arm. “I’m going to give you my number, not for a date, absolutely not for a date. Call me if you decide to go out drinking again. My aunt owns this bar, and I can get you drinks for free.”
“Really? Wow, thank you.” Levi hiccuped like a classic drunk.
“No problem, dude.” I signaled Desi by holding up two fingers. Two more drinks wouldn’t kill the guy, and I’d make sure he found his hotel room safely.
By the time Levi finished his fifth drink, he’d described the Mormon temple ceremony, complete with the secret handshakes Joseph Smith taught the Mormons to get into heaven. “Oh crap,” he mumbled. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone about those. I’m definitely going to hell now.” Then Levi burst out laughing. “But hell isn’t even real, is it?”
I grinned and shrugged. “Let’s debate that. Let’s figure out right now if heaven and hell are real.” I loved drunken logic.
Levi scrunched up his face. “Nah. It’s getting kind of hard to think.” His eyes lit up. “Wait, did I tell you about the special underwear that Mormons wear?”
I tilted my head in confusion. “Mormon God picks out your underwear for you?”
Levi laughed and swayed a little on his stool. “Yeah. They’re like thin white undershirts with secret symbols over the nipples.” His words slurred, and he gestured toward his nipples. “And then, and then long white shorts. And you have to wear them 24/7!” He gave me an incredulous look and then muttered, “My ex-wife sometimes kept them on during sex. Those garments are a real boner killer, let me tell you.”
I snorted into my fist. I’d been trying to keep a straight face for the past twenty minutes, but that boner-killer comment got me. “Levi!” I laughed out loud, “You’re telling me you just now realized that you were raised in a cult?”
He started laughing, too. “Shut up.” His face turned serious for a moment. “Not all Mormons are crazy, though. Some of them are good people.”
“I’m sure. There are good and bad people everywhere.” For example, Levi seemed like a good person, and I was not. See? That dichotomy existed everywhere you looked. I signaled Desi one more time to let her know we were closing out his tab courtesy of my dear Aunt Lenny. After she returned his credit card, I said, “Alright, bud. Let’s get you back to your hotel.” I stood, gripped his forearm, and gently tugged him to a standing position. He was taller than I realized. Levi swayed, but I steadied him. “Where are you staying?”
“Uh…” He scrunched his eyes shut like he thought that might help him remember.
“Okay, did you walk or drive?”
“I definitely walked.”
I looped his arm through mine and headed for the exit, tapping Jo’s shoulder and passing off her bag as we left. She’d be fine.
There were only two hotels within walking distance from The Station. I’d go through Levi’s wallet to find a room key if I had to. I wouldn’t even swipe his cash.
“Thea?” Levi asked as the cool September night air washed over us. “What’s your last name?”
“Traeger.”
The string lights from the Italian restaurant next door twinkled in his eyes. He nodded like he thought he might retain that information. Cute. “And your middle name?”
“Lenore.” Lenny hated that my mom named me after her. She always said it was too much pressure to have a kid named after you.
Levi laughed out loud and leaned into me a little more. It usually irritated the shit out of me to have a stranger touch me. But this felt fine — comfortable, almost.
“Look at us, Lenore! We’re a couple of sandwiches out on the town!” Levi snorted and almost stumbled over the curb.
I threw my head back and laughed. “What?”
“I’m BLT, and you’re TLT. Get it? Turkey, lettuce, tomato?”
I laughed out loud as we approached the Durango Inn’s front door. “You’re so weird. I love it!” I elbowed him in the ribs and pointed to the hotel. “Is this you?”
His eyes lit up. “Yes! Ha! We found it!”
I steadied him, then stepped away and dug around for a Sharpie in my black bag covered in skulls and roses.
“Cool bag.”
I glanced up at Levi, who studied my bag as if he’d never seen a skull before. “Thanks. If you like this bag, you’d love my tattoo.” I located the Sharpie and grabbed his hand. Our eyes locked, and I thought for a second that he might try to kiss me. I quickly scribbled my phone number on his wrist, capped the Sharpie, and backed away. “Goodnight, Levi. Hit me up if you’re drinking tomorrow night.”
“Goodnight, Thea! Thank you!”
I waved over my shoulder and walked away from Brigham Levi Thompson. Against my better judgment and everything I stood for, I smiled.