Chapter 11
HE’S YOUR NEIGHBOUR?!
Mariana gives me a wide-eyed stare, her tequila shot stalled right before it hit her lips. Shrinking down so Rudy can’t see me, I nod. She slowly shakes her head at me before downing her shot in one gulp.
And nothing happened between you two? Marcel asks in disbelief. Did you see the way he was staring at you?
I let out a snort. Yeah, everyone was staring at me, I mumble. I looked like I was trying to flag down the coastguard to save me from drowning.
Mariana sprays her tequila everywhere.
Not your finest moment, sure. But that’s not what Marcel’s talking about. He meant before that. He was looking at you like—
Apparently I’m not meant to find out more details, because Rudy and his drummer suddenly show up at our table.
Hey, Bluebird, he chuckles.
The drummer looks at him in surprise. Who’s this now? she asks, a hint of curiosity in her voice. I’m used to you introducing girls as, ‘This is, ummm . . .’
Rudy glares at her and I glare at him. I didn’t agree to this nickname, and he knows it.
Rudy feels the heat from my stare and responds with a crooked smile and a suggestive glance. I give him a grouchy stare-down.
Seriously? You could just use my actual name. You know, the one I told you just the other day?
The drummer observes our interaction with raised eyebrows as a twinkle appears in Rudy’s eyes.
Now where’s the fun in that? Gesturing at the empty seats around our table, he asks, Mind if we join you? This seems like the perfect occasion to get to know my new neighbour a little better.
Marcel has been in a trance studying Rudy’s beautiful face this whole time. He jumps to scoot over now, making room for the singer responsible for all that enchanting music just moments ago.
I’ll order us some drinks—performers drink for free at this place. The drummer motions toward the bar as she speaks. Can I get you folks anything?
She quickly takes our order before checking in with Rudy. Rudolph? What are you having?
Rudolph?
In the silence that follows, Rudy’s expression loses any trace of amusement he had over the nickname he chose for me. He gives the drummer an annoyed glare. Lauren, for the love of God, can you please just call me Rudy?
She widens her eyes, the absolute picture of innocence. It seemed more likely that you’d respond if I used your real name, she replies in a sugary sweet voice. We exchange a quick glance of understanding before she spins away, heading over to the bar.
Rudy—or Rudolph—shoots daggers her way as she goes.
Your name is Rudolph? I ask him with a barely hidden giggle in my voice.
He sighs. Yep.
Like the reindeer?
He narrows his eyes. No. Like my grandfather.
. . . and the reindeer.
He continues to scowl at me as I stare back in defiance. And that’s the moment Mariana chooses to declare Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer her favourite childhood movie. Marcel scoffs in disbelief before sharing that Home Alone was his number-one requested holiday movie growing up.
Rudy’s still holding me captive in his stare and when he finally opens his mouth to reply, Lauren appears with our order. Sitting down next to Rudy, she hands us our drinks.
Rudy takes a huge gulp of beer before tilting his head to one side. How do you all know each other? he asks, waving his bottle at Marcel, Mariana, and me.
We work together, Mariana replies. I’m the assistant to the director and Emma’s the event planner in charge of a Christmas party for a law firm.
Rudy screws up his face in disgust. Christmas party? he says in a voice you might use if you were being forcibly fed rotten oysters and could feel them sliming down your throat one after the other.
I cross my arms in opposition. Yeah. What’s wrong with that?
He shakes his head. I mean, there’s the fact that it’s Christmas-related, he states, as if that reply pretty much covers it.
I don’t understand what he’s getting at. Almost everyone I know loves Christmas.
He hates it. Lauren chimes in. Ever since—
Rudy cuts her off with a sharp look as he picks at the label on his bottle of beer.
Yep, ever since then, he confirms. It’s also become disgustingly commercialized.
Companies latch onto it, trying to sell you everything under the sun.
People run around in those ugly Christmas sweaters and take the whole season as the perfect excuse to binge eat anything they can get their hands on while people on the other side of the world are starving.
And then they have the audacity to complain about weight gain, and the fact that their jeans no longer fit.
I listen to his entire tirade, mouth agape. Christmas is so much more than a capitalist feeding frenzy. It’s a holiday for coziness, love, family reunions, all that lovely stuff.
I’m about to tell him exactly that, when Mariana gives Lauren a look of curiosity and asks, How did you and Rudy meet?
Lauren giggles. I’m pretty sure it was in the womb. He was just as horrible to be around back then as he is now. He crapped all over his amniotic fluid and I nearly choked on it during our delivery.
The corners of Rudy’s mouth lift up, but he tries to camouflage his smile with another sip of beer. Where are the others? he wonders, once he’s managed to straighten his face again.
Something was wrong with Joey’s amp. We’re on again in a few, so they wanted to get it sorted out first.
Shit. Something did sound a little off about it. Maybe we should give them a hand, he says, before standing up and looking me in the eye. Good talk, Bluebird.
He turns to walk away, just missing the sight of me flipping him off as he leaves.