by JC Gatlin
Ahead of them, paved streets ran between a stretch of historic buildings that used to be hotels, feed shops and dry-goods stores. Today, they were now restaurants, night clubs, tattoo parlors, antique shops and vintage clothing stores, all ending at an old cigar factory. The street was barricaded, preventing cars to pass through and allowing pedestrians to freely cross from side to side. Behind white barricades along the curb, the people were ten deep, easily.
“This whole Twenty One Dares Party was exactly what I wanted for my twenty-first birthday.” McKenzie seemed unfazed by everything as they passed a display featuring a mermaid swimming in a fish tank. Abbie couldn’t take her eyes off it as McKenzie continued. “But all I got was a dinner party at Bern’s Steak House. And it wasn’t even a surprise.”
Abbie looked away from the mermaid and stared at McKenzie. “So you’re high-jacking my birthday?”
McKenzie didn’t answer. The group strolled down the block, past two-story brick buildings, and pushed through crowds of party seekers. A doorman stood at the entrance doors of a club called Wicked T’s and invited them to step inside. They walked past him and came up alongside a policeman on horseback. Abbie pet the horse and it whinnied, startling her.
McKenzie took Abbie’s hand again and they headed toward a bright, noisy corner bar at the end of the block. A wooden sign with hand carved letters announcing “Gaspar’s Grotto – Tampa’s notorious pirate bar” hung in the arched entry gates.
The patio outside the Grotto took up an entire vacant lot between the pub and the next building. Hordes of twenty-somethings, “Millennial Hipsters,” as McKenzie put it, jammed the place, most standing but others sitting on the short stone perimeter wall. Almost everyone just kind of nodded their heads, barely moving their arms up and down. There wasn’t enough room to dance.
Abbie stopped, turned and looked McKenzie square in the face. “It’d better be Sarah Michelle Gellar waiting in there.”
“Okay, I’ll give you a hint.” McKenzie got out her phone. She typed on it a moment, moving her thumbs, then looked at Abbie. “Your surprise guest graduated with a PhD.”
Abbie dropped her purse. “No way!”
“Yes.” McKenzie bent her knees to pick-up the purse. Abbie could hardly contain her excitement. She pushed through the crowded patio and stopped at the entrance. The interior was equally crowded, with a large center bar and booths lining the walls. Every inch of wall space was decorated with swords, treasure maps and other pirate trinkets. Abbie searched the crowd for her surprise guest.
“You got Joss Whedon to come to my birthday party?” Abbie’s voice raised to a fever pitch as McKenzie, Susan and the others surrounded her. Abbie stood on her tiptoes for a better view of the people in the bar. “I can’t believe he’s here. I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”
McKenzie looked at Susan, then back at Abbie. “Wait, who? Jess what?”
“Joss Whedon!” Abbie could barely hear over the karaoke music and she bumped into the people around her. “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it.”
Susan moved forward. “Who’s Joss Whedon?”
“Who’s Joss Whedon?” Abbie repeated, thinking she was obviously joking. “Who’s Joss Whedon? He’s the writer and creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and its spin-off series, Angel.”
“I don’t get it,” Susan said. “How would you even know what the writer and director looks like.”
Rocky moved closer to her. “He’s a movie producer and geek overlord. Every nerd on the planet prays at the television altar of Whedon.”
“I honestly don’t know what that means,” Susan said. They pushed through the crowd to a seat at the bar. The bartender set a pitcher of beer and four frosted mugs in front of them. Susan grabbed a mug and poured herself a beer. “But then I don’t watch television. Too many Viagra commercials. All those women wandering aimlessly through their living rooms waiting for an erection that doesn’t last for four hours to walk through the door, like they have nothing better to do. At least bake something.”
Rocky laughed. “Joss Whedon is the writer and director of The Avengers movies too. You know… Captain America. Thor. The Incredible Hulk.”
Susan planted her elbows on the bar and rolled her eyes. “You’re not improving your case.”
“He graduated with a PhD from Wesleyan University,” he said as Abbie sat down at the bar between Rocky and McKenzie. Abbie was still giddy.
“I just can’t believe that he would take the time—”
Their cell phones beeped simultaneously as a new text message came in.
“Shhhh—people,” Susan said. She set her frosted mug on the bar. “Joss Whedon just sent Abbie a new text message.”
McKenzie sighed, taking a stool beside Susan. “Stop it. It’s obviously not Joss Whedon waiting for you,” she said. “There are other people who—”
Abbie interrupted her, reading the new text message.
“On a girl?” Abbie asked.
Susan laughed and set her mug on the counter. “That was my idea. I wanna drag you out of your comfort zone.”
“Three word sentences and in that butchered British accent?” Rocky asked. “This is going to be brutal!”
“We’re not doing the British accent anymore,” McKenzie said. “We’re done with that.”
“Thank God.” Rocky took a sip of beer then elbowed Abbie in her side. “Well, go on. What’cha waiting for?”
Abbie looked around the Grotto. She studied the faces in the crowd, evaluating each and every one, and noticed a girl sitting alone in a booth at the back of the bar. There was something familiar about her. Wearing a black Amara lace off-the-shoulder dress, the girl was a little heavy set. A purple streak ran through her white blonde hair. Abbie recognized her from Behavioral Science.
Miss Larson, was it?
Abbie looked back at Susan and smiled. “Okay. Dare accepted.”
Chapter 18
You can only use three word sentences and you can’t tell her what’s going on.” Susan sat beside Abbie and urged McKenzie and the others at the bar to agree. “Wait until we give the okay.”
Abbie sighed, looked at McKenzie, Rocky, the twins. They stared at her, waiting. She glanced back at Miss Larson sitting alone in a booth. Getting up from the bar, Abbie pushed through the crowd. Behind her, McKenzie, Rocky, Susan and the twins turned in their bar stools to watch. Abbie stopped at the booth. Miss Larson looked up from her iPad.
“You. Remember. Me?” Abbie asked, spacing the words evenly. The girl nodded. Abbie slipped into the booth and contemplated her next three word sentence. “We. In. Class.”
The girl looked puzzled. “What?”
“Professor. Cunningham’s. Class.”
“Yeah?” There was an awkward pause. Abbie twisted the unicorn pendant.
“I. Am. Abbie.”
“Okay.” The girl’s eyes seemed to study Abbie with curious intensity. “I’m Dharma.”
“I. Know…” Abbie paused. She looked back at the group sitting at the bar. McKenzie held up two fingers. Abbie looked back at Dharma. “That! I. Know. That.”
Dharma nodded. Abbie looked back at McKenzie, then back at Dharma. “Are. You. Alone.”
The line of Dharma’s mouth tightened a fraction more. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I. Am.”
“Well, good then.”
“Thank. You.” Abbie paused, thinking, tugging on her necklace. “Ma’am.”
“Have you had too much to drink?” Dharma set her iPad flat on the table.
“No.” Abbie scrambled for two more words. Finally she blurted out, “Me. Sober.”
“What?” Dharma’s eyes shifted and Abbie knew she was looking at McKenzie and the others at the bar. Then she focused on Abbie again. “What’s going on?”
Abbie wondered how far she’d have to take this. “I. Got. Question.”
“You got question,” Dharma repeated slowly. “Okay. Ask away.”
“You. Me. Date.”
Dharma straightened in her seat. “Excuse me?”
“Date. With. Me.”
Dharma’s brows narrowed. “Are you sure you haven’t had too much to drink? Can I call someone?”
“Go. Out. Together.”
Dharma slipped out of the booth, revealing the full splendor of the black lace and satin layers of her dress. She could’ve been going to Prom. Or a funeral. Dharma stood at the edge of the table and turned her head from Abbie to the group at the bar, then back to Abbie again. “Okay, what’s going on here?”
McKenzie and Rocky laughed, leaning into each other and nearly falling off their bar stools. Susan whistled as the twins clapped. Several other patrons at the bar turned their heads to see what was going on. McKenzie waved then ran her hand across her throat, gesturing to Abbie to end it. Abbie let go of her necklace. The unicorn pendant swayed beneath her neck.
“I’m sorry.” Abbie could feel her cheeks blush. “It’s my twenty-first birthday and my party posse at the table over there dared me to ask out a girl using only three word sentences.”
“Really?” Dharma slipped back into her seat. “Are you sure they’re your friends?”
“The jury’s still out, but either way, they’re helping me celebrate.”
McKenzie and Rocky walked over to the booth. “That was classic,” McKenzie said, scooting into the bench seat next to Abbie. “Now send the mission complete text.”
Susan looked over at three girls sitting at the bar. They had shots lined up and a woman with frosted highlights in her hair sat the center . She wore a cheap, silver tiara. Susan motioned to the girl.
“Did you see our friend here?” she asked, laughing. “She hit on this girl at the table and could only talk using three word sentences. Wasn’t it hilarious?”
They’d clearly been watching the whole thing, but Highlights in the tiara said nothing. She shot daggers at Susan with her eyes. Her friends glared too.
“You having a birthday party too?” Susan asked.
Highlight’s eyebrows narrowed. “I have a boyfriend.”
Surprised, Susan stepped back. She looked at the girls, then smirked. “That’s okay,” she said. “I don’t mind if he watches.”
Rocky yelled at Susan to come join them. Susan pulled a bar stool over to the booth. Abbie sent the text. Susan introduced herself to Dharma.
“Please,” Dharma said. “Have a seat.”
“We’re not really crazy,” Rocky said. “Abbie is celebrating her birthday by playing twenty-one dares.”
“I gathered as much,” Dharma said, nodding, then turned to Abbie. “By the way, happy birthday.”
Abbie started to say something when her phone chirped in her hands. McKenzie and Rocky’s phones beeped, and they both instantly looked down. The twins phones went off, and Susan leaned over Lindsey’s shoulder to get a better look.
Abbie read the dare.
Abbie looked up from her phone. “I don’t sing.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Susan grabbed her hand. “It’s a rap.”
Abbie pulled her hand away. “I’m serious. I don’t sing.”
Susan raised her arms and curved her hands as if she were framing a headline. “Stop the presses! A karaoke singer can’t sing, says Abbie Reed. Print it!”
“I-I-I’m serious. I can’t get up there and sing in front of all these people.”
Susan took Abbie by the arm. “You’re gonna have fun,” she said. “If you want to meet Jess Williams, you’re gonna have to do it.”
“It’s Whedon. Joss Whedon.” Abbie yelled. Susan tugged harder on her arm, forcing her out of the booth and leading her across the crowded bar. They came to a stage along the back wall. Large speakers blocked either end, and a mic stood in the center. Susan motioned for the short guy wearing a fedora to pull up the 50 Cent song.
The first beats of “In Da Club” blared through the speakers.
“Hold it. Hold everything!” McKenzie came up after them. She yelled over the pulsing beats, and bound up the steps onto the stage. “You’re not singing 50 Cent.”
Susan looked indignant. “But it’s the dare.”
“We’re picking another song.” McKenzie pointed to the man in the fedora. “Pick another song.”
Susan approached McKenzie and the DJ. “Isn’t that against the rules?”
“I don’t care,” McKenzie said. “Abbie doesn’t rap.”
“I don’t sing either.” Abbie took a step toward the edge of the stage. Susan grabbed her arm and swung her back toward the microphone. McKenzie pushed the fedora wearing DJ aside and switched off the rap song. Her fingers typed on the computer, flipping through songs. Finally she lifted her head and said, “Ah, hah. Here’s the song.”
Abbie stood behind the mic, waiting. She looked out at the crowd. Three bright lights shined in her eyes. Still she saw hundreds of eyes, staring, waiting. She dreaded the prospect of singing. Alone. On stage. It petrified her. It always had. When she was thirteen, she’d turned down the chance to be the lead angel at her church Christmas pageant. She would’ve had to sing “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” alone, all by herself. Her grandmother was so disappointed. But, singing in her bedroom, in the shower, even to Clem—she lived for that.
Abbie looked at McKenzie, who pointed at the monitor. The song title and copyright info flashed on the screen, and Abbie shut her eyes. “Why?”
“Because, it’s all you’ve been talking about,” McKenzie said. “And because it’s the only stalker song I could find.”
Abbie looked into the spotlight as the speakers crackled. A few people in the audience cheered. Others clapped. She wondered if he was out there now, among them, watching her. She looked at the lyric monitor as the first chords of Sting’s “Every Breath You Take” began over the loud speakers. She trembled, then spoke the first couple words of the song. She was too early though, and repeated the line a couple of beats later. She looked over at McKenzie, who was urging her on. Abbie sang the next line, off-key, and basically whispered into the mic.
“Louder,” Susan yelled.
Abbie cleared her throat, then sang a little louder. Her voice warbled. She could feel his eyes on her, and she wanted to get out of the spotlight. She wanted to hide, shrivel up, disappear like a waft of smoke. McKenzie put an arm around her. She yelled into the mic in time with the music, “I’ll be watching you!”
McKenzie raised an arm and pointed at Abbie. “This is my dearest, closest friend Abbie Reed and it’s her twenty-first birthday and she’s got a birthday stalker, so let’s give her a hand!”
Thunderous clapping erupted in the bar as McKenzie joined in the song with Abbie. As the two sang, Susan approached her and joined in. She waved to the twins, and Lindsey and Lindsay came up on stage.
As the girls sang, Rocky returned to the booth with Dharma and set a couple of cell phones on the table. He clapped along with the crowded bar and watched Susan on stage, flipping a flat pump off her foot. It flew into the crowd. She egged on the others, and McKenzie pulled the pink ribbon off her head, letting her hair fall. Rocky turned away and nodded toward Dharma.
“The birthday girl believes she’s got a stalker.”
“And you’re what, watching over her?” Dharma scratched her head, tousling her white blonde hair. “Why don’t you get up there and join them?”
“I would, but I woulda picked a different song. Maybe ‘Somebody’s Watching Me’ or something like that.”
“The Michael Jackson song?”
“Sounds like Jackson, but it’s some one-hit-wonder.” He took another swig from his frosted mug. “You know how it goes, I always feel like somebody’s watching me.”
“Oh,” she said, clearly not understanding the joke. Rocky leaned toward her.
“So what’s a girl like you doing at the Grotto, alone?”
She eyed him. “Well, if you must know, I’m getting stood up.”
“You’re on a date?”
“Yeah, I am. But I guess the guy I’m
supposed to meet here isn’t on the same date as me.”
Rocky laughed. “That’s great. It gives us an opportunity to talk.”
“It does?” She looked perplexed. Rocky smiled. She leaned across the table. “So exactly which one of those girls up there on stage is your girlfriend?”
“Whoah!” Rocky raised his voice and lifted his arms. “Back the bus up. I was just making conversation. Wanted to ask you a question.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said with a smirk. “Are you happy with your income?”
“Excuse me?” It clearly wasn’t the question she expected.
“I used to have a corporate job,” he said. “That was a rat race and, regardless how hard I worked for the company, my income was tied to some market standard. But in my new career with Vitamin Ritamin, that’s not the case.”
“Are you trying to sell me vitamins?” she asked.
“I’m offering you an opportunity.” Rocky removed his glasses. A deeply serious expression lined his face. “As a Vitamin Ritamin distributor, it’d be up to you to decide how much you want to earn.”
On stage, McKenzie tapped Abbie on the shoulder. “Look at him,” she yelled into Abbie’s ear.
Abbie stopped singing and turned her head. She followed McKenzie’s finger, expecting to see the man from the photo. McKenzie spotted him, she thought. She found the man in the tan trench coat and brown hat. And they would rush off stage. Call the police. Maybe a Rugby player sitting with his team would jump up and pin the creepy stalker dude down. He could tackle that deranged maniac and put him in a headlock. That dirty brown hat would fly off his head, revealing his identity, and the Rugby player would keep this sick, perverted stranger from disappearing into the night. Abbie smiled just thinking about it.
She followed McKenzie’s finger, pointed at Rocky sitting in the booth across from Dharma Larson. He put a hand on her shoulder. McKenzie’s mouth fell open.
“That does it!” McKenzie jumped-off the stage and pushed her way through the crowd. Half watching McKenzie confront Rocky, and half looking at the lyric monitor, Abbie tried to jump back into the song. Rocky slid out the booth, knocking over the stool. McKenzie pushed him back against the edge of the table, pointing a finger in his chest. Rocky pushed McKenzie’s hand away. As the song ended, Abbie watched McKenzie storm out of the bar.
