Chapter 9 #2
Daylen’s obnoxious meter is off the charts tonight. The more he drinks, the more unbearable and cruder he gets. Every little thing he says bothers me. I dislike most people, but none as much as him.
DAYLEN
“Lesbian first dates are a minimum of six hours. I’ve had several as long as twelve.”
I look at Alyssa in disbelief in our booth at the karaoke bar as we get ready to celebrate the New Year. “What in the world could you possibly have to talk about for that long?”
“Don’t mind him,” Kennedy interrupts. “He doesn’t have enough words in his vocabulary to talk to anyone for six minutes, let alone six hours.”
Why? Why do I spend time with this woman?
There is nothing redeeming about her except her tits, which happen to look spectacular this evening.
She’s in some sort of plunging, gold, sparkly shirt that looks like it was wrapped around her from behind.
It’s barely holding those boulders. If I pull the strings in the front, her tits will pop out.
I’ve contemplated doing so multiple times since she took off that over-the-top fur coat. This woman thinks she’s royalty.
Why, God? Why would you put the best tits in the world on the worst woman? It’s the greatest travesty I’ve ever heard of…besides war, violence, famine, and homelessness.
Speaking of Kennedy, she’s knocking them back tonight in a way I’ve never seen from her.
She’s getting sloppy, and it’s not even midnight yet.
She’s been talking to some preppy douchebag all night.
At least she’s not fawning all over Champ anymore.
Maybe she finally figured out he’s not into women.
Watching her fail at trying to win him over all those months was extremely satisfying.
For some unknown reason, she’s been particularly salty to me tonight. Maybe it’s the booze. It figures she’d be a nasty drunk. She’s mean when sober, why not drunk too?
“Next up,” the MC announces, “we have Richard Dickgrabber.” He looks around. “Richard, are you still here?”
Vance elbows me. “I can’t believe you still use that name.”
Richard Dickgrabber is the real name of one of my father’s childhood friends. And he goes by Dick. Dick Dickgrabber. What were his parents thinking?
I’ve been using it as my fake name on everything my whole life, from restaurant reservations to hotel reservations, and even my fake ID before I was of age.
I chuckle. “Time for good old Dick to sing. I bet you know what song I chose.”
He shakes his head at me in exasperation. “God help us all.”
I stand and walk to the stage, grabbing the microphone. Speaking into it, I wink at Vance and say, “This one is for the sexiest quarterback in the world.”
I begin to sing “Waterfalls” by TLC, the greatest song in existence. Vance knows I play it on repeat in my car. I’ve been working with BJ on the lyrics. I think she’s starting to get the melody.
As soon as I get to the rap verse, I proudly belt out all the lyrics without even having to look at the screen. For some reason, the girls at our table start laughing hysterically. Like falling on the floor type of laughter. I don’t know why.
I finish to a loud sea of applause from the crowd. I take a little bow. Man, I crushed it. My accompanying dance moves were on the mark tonight.
There’s a cute blonde in the corner making googly eyes at me. I’m going to play it cool a little longer, but then I’ll make my way over to her.
I walk back to our table, feeling like a million bucks. That song is my happy place. I have so many great memories of it.
I’m surprised to see the girls are all still laughing. I clearly missed the joke. “What’s so funny?” I ask.
Unable to speak because she’s cackling so damn loud and hard, Kennedy hands me her phone. I notice that it’s open to her notes app. Her damn catalogue of red flags. “Why are you showing this to me? I already know this obnoxious list exists.”
She sputters, “Look at item four.”
I scroll down to the fourth of what must be two hundred. Sure enough, it reads, men who know every word to the rap verse of “Waterfalls” by TLC.
“What?” I ask, feeling slightly offended and very surprised. “Why is this a red flag?”
“It’s…girlie and nerdy,” she croons in her whiny, annoying voice.
I narrow my eyes at her. “Do you even know what the song is about? It’s about making good decisions in life. About staying away from the pitfalls. It’s deep shit.”
Her laughter only grows louder. “Don’t throw a mantrum, manchild.”
I ball my fists. I usually only choke women with their consent, but this bitch is really asking for it.
She goes on and on about what a tool I am for knowing all the words. I’m feeling a level of anger I’ve never before experienced. I’m such a happy guy, and this woman makes me so damn unhappy.
I turn and head back up onto the stage. After whispering into the MC’s ear and handing him money to move me to the front of the line, he hands me the microphone again, and a new song begins to play. I calmly begin to sing the lyrics.
I keep going until I get to the chorus, at which point I jump off the stage and walk over to the table. I look directly at Kennedy and yell-sing, “So let me spell it out, A-B-C-D-E, F-U and your mom and your sister and your job.”