Old Fashioned

by Rene Gutteridge

  Clay slowly released his fist and stuck his hands in his pockets. “When did it happen? How did we . . . ?”

  “What?” Brad asked.

  “When did treating women with respect become the joke?”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “You want to laugh at believing love can be something sacred? Go ahead. Laugh.”

  Brad gave a Roman soldier salute. Behind him, Clay saw the men streaming out of the hotel lobby, heading toward the limos that idled at the curb. Apparently the party upstairs had broken up even without him.

  “Brad! Let’s go!” one of the guys yelled. Three hung out of two of the sunroofs, chanting something incoherent.

  “Catch you later, Spartacus.”

  Clay stepped out of the glow of the streetlight and headed into the darkness. He just needed to walk. The rowdy sounds of drunk men followed him.

  “Hey. Clay.”

  He turned to find David walking toward him, his shoulders slumped with a night not gone as planned. David glanced back once at the limos waiting for him. “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I swear.”

  “I know.”

  “All I wanted was a steak.”

  Clay nodded toward the limos. “Looks like you’re getting your wish.”

  A horn honked.

  David gestured to the dark street ahead of them. “Going for a walk?”

  “Yeah.”

  David took Clay’s hand and shook it hard, looking him straight in the eye, the wordless thanks of a close friend. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  David headed back toward the hotel, disappearing into his limo.

  Yes, he had to walk. Walk long. Walk in the dark. Walk through his emotions. Just walk. Maybe never stop. He stuffed his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, wishing he had a coat. The cold air stung his cheeks and rippled up the inside of his shirt.

  He was barely a hundred feet down the street when he heard, “You.” A large hand grabbed his arm and whipped him around, throwing him off-balance. The “security guard.” Standing behind the dude was the woman, buttoning up her blouse while looking right at him.

  Clay yanked away from the man’s grip.

  “You know how much you cost her in tips tonight?” He poked Clay hard in the chest. “Don’t you think you should do something about that?”

  It rushed back to Clay like it was yesterday—like he was in a bar, in a brawl, angry at whatever or whoever had cast him a dirty look. With one fluid motion, he shoved the guy, who stumbled backward, caught off guard, his eyes flashing with rage.

  Clay wasn’t about to back down, either. In those days, he’d never backed down even when common sense told him he should. Clay started for the guy, but the stripper stepped between them like she’d probably done a hundred times in her life. She held her hands out and cast the guard a back-off look.

  When she turned to Clay, she was plaintive. “Hey, if you weren’t feeling it, that’s cool. But why didn’t you just leave, then?”

  Clay saw the hard lines of a woman who’d never been treated right, the overly done makeup of a girl who couldn’t bear to look at herself in the mirror anymore. It was hard to even tell how old she was. He gazed at the road behind her.

  “Look at me,” she said, her voice gruff. “Somebody ask for your help in there?”

  There were no right answers here. Clay knew it.

  She stepped closer to him, wobbly on her heels, her voice getting meaner. “All you did was guarantee my kid won’t get much of a birthday present.”

  Clay could only picture Cosie with her dump truck wrapped in a pink blanket. He wondered how many times this woman had dressed up as a princess when she was a little girl, spun in front of the mirror, dreamed of Prince Charming. What could he say to her? He wanted to tell her there was hope, that there was good, solid love. Life-changing love.

  “You think you’re better than me?” She looked him up and down. And then she took the guard by the hand and took off in the other direction, her strides shortened by five-inch heels.

  Clay stood there for a long time, hollowed out by what was supposed to be an ordinary night of fun with friends. He looked up, but the stars were hidden by an inky black sky. So he started walking.

  He didn’t have any friends. Not really. Not any who got him, got what he was trying to do, understood the path he’d chosen, understood why. There was really only one who clearly saw the path of destruction he’d left in so many lives. And he’d vowed every single day to try to make it up to Him.

  No, he didn’t think he was better than her. The truth was, he was certain he was worse.

  He walked. And walked more. His heart and his legs trembled with exhaustion, but he couldn’t stop. He thought of that money jar Amber kept, how it freed her to go when she wanted. To run.

  Clay stopped in the park, sat on an empty swing, too tired and emotional to go home. Above him, the chains creaked with each sway of the swing. He wrapped his fingers around them, reminding himself that he’d yet to really be free of his chains and probably never would be.

  LIKE A WIND BURST, Amber flew out the door, banging the screen, hurrying down the steps toward him, clutching the shoe box, her eyes wild with excitement. She yanked open the truck door and slid in, hauling what could only be described as a massive purse. Popping off the top of the box, she said, “It’s my turn! Choose.”

  Clay reached in, pulled out a piece of paper.

  “What’s it say?”

  “‘Get lost.’” He was pretty sure he already was. It was a new day, but he hadn’t been able to shake last night. Any of it. Here was a ray of sunshine sitting right beside him. He was the black hole sucking up all the light. He tried a smile.

  “Start driving.”

  They drove awhile, up into the hills, with Amber giving specific instructions to turn here and turn there. An hour later, they were driving by a dilapidated old barn, crushed by invisible weight, collapsing into itself.

  “Don’t you wonder,” she said, gazing at it as if it were some field of wildflowers, “what its story is? What passed by it over the years?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “This is it.” She leaned out the window, letting the wind tear through her hair. “Look at the color on those leaves.” She slid back in. “Something wrong?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Make another turn.”

  Clay looked ahead. There was nowhere to turn. “Where?”

  “Just turn. Any old road you find.”

  After fifteen more minutes of turning this way and that, they were thoroughly embedded in the rural outskirts of town.

  “Do you have any idea where we are?” she asked.

  “None.”

  “Perfect. Then pull over.”

  Clay pulled to the side of the road, though they hadn’t seen a car in miles. A red barn, sturdier than the last, sat in the middle of a still-green field, near an old silver maple, its roots struggling out of the earth, causing a dry and dusty circle around it. The remnants of an old fence disappeared behind the barn and out of sight.

  “Get out.”

  “What?” His attention snapped back to Amber.

  “You heard me.” A playful half smile belied her serious tone.

  “Just me?”

  “Just you.”

  Clay got out, walked toward the barn. When he turned back, she’d cranked up the radio in the truck and opened the doors so the music spilled out like sunlight through a rain cloud. With a single finger, she beckoned him.

  He was so . . . empty of the joy he’d had only days ago. He wanted her in his arms. It was what he wanted most. More than anything. But the fact of the matter was, she was too good for him. She needed more than what he had, which was a vacuous set of goals that didn’t matter to anyone but him.

  But at the same time, he couldn’t resist her, and before he knew how he got there, he was standing right in her midst. She took his hand, which he found to be trembling, into hers. An
d she slid his other hand around her waist. And then she danced with him.

  Clay wanted to be swallowed up by the moment. He couldn’t even hear the music anymore. All he could feel and think about was her.

  He moved closer, trying not to clutch her, trying to be all that he promised he would be. He kept his hands in place, pressing his cheek against her soft hair. At some point the music ended and a commercial came on, but they kept dancing. He didn’t want to stop. And that’s why he had to.

  He stepped away, looked at Amber with regret. Let go of her hands.

  Her eyes searched him for some answer, but there was nothing he could do or say. Like always, she seemed to sense when it was too much for him. She put on a cheery smile. “I brought a blanket!” She ran back to the truck.

  Clay could only watch her go.

  Soon they were lying on their backs, sprawled out like kids, staring at the sky. Clay stared beyond the sky. And he assumed God was staring back at him.

  “You haven’t said a word about the bachelor party.”

  Clay rolled to his side and opened his workbook, which she had dutifully packed alongside tuna sandwiches. Right to page 27. Amber seemed caught up in watching a bird perched on the barn.

  “How many sexual partners have you had in the past ten years?”

  Amber’s eyes widened. She put her hands over her face and screamed like she’d just witnessed a murder.

  “We’re almost done,” he tried.

  “And this was almost a normal date,” she said, peeking between her fingers.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean? A normal date, Clay. Normal.” Her nostrils flared with frustration.

  “A normal date. You mean where two strangers hop in bed first and then try to figure out later if they have anything in common? Is that what you mean by normal?”

  She sat up, took his book, tossed it to the side. “What is with you today?”

  He looked away. It was something he couldn’t even put words to. Beside them the barn creaked in the wind.

  “Why are you so hard on everybody?” She curled her knees into herself. “Most of us are just doing our best to . . . to not feel lonely. And it isn’t easy.” She scraped her hair out of her eyes and shot him a sharp look. “Do you like living by yourself, Clay? Without anybody to . . . ?” She started to drift away from him. Not physically. But her eyes were losing that intense shine he loved so much. “Buy me flowers. Make me a card. I don’t need you to make me your community service project.”

  “I’m not . . . That’s not—”

  “I need you to dance with me.” Her expression softened. “That was okay, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Clay, I know it’s in you. I know it.” She gestured dramatically. “Flatter me. Excite me. Sweep me off my feet. Tell me I’m the most attractive woman you’ve ever seen even if you don’t really mean it. I don’t care.”

  “Lie to you?”

  “Exactly. A normal date.”

  “I’ve wasted a lot of words. I don’t want to waste any more.”

  “On me.” Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Oh, you’re scoring all kinds of points.”

  “It’s not about scoring points.”

  “I’m sorry. That’s right. It’s about red-yellow-green.” She grabbed his book again and threw it over his head. “Fine. I’ve been with five. I’ve had sex with five men. Heavy petted with about four more. Give or take.”

  Clay swallowed. He didn’t want it like this. He didn’t want to hear this. Not like this. Not with tears running down her face.

  She swiped them off, her eyes furious. “And I’ve been married.”

  Clay froze. “What?”

  “Yep. Once, if we’re counting. That’s not even a question in the book, by the way. What else do you want to know?”

  He was breathless.

  “It was like I was living by myself anyway. Well, you know what I mean by that, don’t you? So one day when he was actually home for a change, I walked up and set the divorce papers down in front of him and made myself some oatmeal. We never even discussed it.”

  A thousand questions raced to his mouth, held back only by the fact that he couldn’t get that many words out at once. “Did he—?”

  “I’m not going to live back there anymore, Clay. And I’m not going to tell you a bunch of bad things about him to try to make myself feel less responsible. I can’t blame him for my decision. And you can’t either.” She swung both arms wide. “But this is who I am.”

  She got up, shooed him off the blanket, and started packing things up. He sat there in the grass watching her, terrified. He was losing her.

  And then it just burst out, like someone else said it. “I can’t even remember how many girls I’ve been with.” It was the most repulsive thing to say out loud. Clay could barely look at her, but when he did, she didn’t seem repulsed. Why wasn’t she running for the hills?

  She dropped the blanket and knelt next to him, reaching for his arm. He didn’t mean to flinch, but he did anyway.

  “Can we start over?” Amber said. “Get in the truck and get lost again?”

  “It’s too late.”

  She stayed there beside him, but she should be running. Long. Hard. Far.

  The wind whistled through the missing slats of the barn. The smell of hay came and went. Clay stared at the wide-open sky, wishing somewhere there was a cave to hide from himself.

  Amber turned to him, her emotions settled down. “Why haven’t you invited me to David and Lisa’s wedding? It’s the day after tomorrow, isn’t it?”

  It was the oddest question, so far from what they’d just been through, so random.

  “You want to go?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  He nodded.

  She leaned into him, her hand on his chest. “I don’t want to crowd you. Or change you. Or change what you believe.” She moved into his line of sight. “Do you hear me on that, Clay? You’re good, through and through. I believe that with all my heart. All I want is for you to say how I make you feel.” Her hand moved toward his face. “Can you?”

  Why weren’t there any words coming? The backs of her fingers brushed against his cheek.

  “How do I make you feel, Clay?” Her hair fell over her shoulders. “Do you feel?”

  Her face was a few inches from his. He had nowhere to look but into her eyes.

  “Do you think about me before you go to sleep?” Her fingers traced the top of his shoulder. “Don’t you wish you could just turn your head on your pillow and see me looking back at you?”

  Now her hand stroked his arm. He closed his eyes, afraid of what she might see if she looked deep enough.

  “I need to know that you want me,” she whispered. “I need to know that. It’s important to me. Me . . .”

  Clay finally opened his eyes. It felt like his soul was splayed open. What more could he hide from her?

  Gently, like warm water, she leaned in to kiss him.

  And he turned his head.

  Her hands fell off him. She sat up, pushed away. Her eyes looked . . . frightened. Then angry. She left the blanket, kicked the workbook as she went, and got into the truck, slamming the door so hard that the cluster of swallows perched on the barn instantly took flight.

  He lay down again and stared up into the sky. He was what he had always suspected and for nine years had tried to deny.

  An emotional wasteland.

  THEY’D RUN OUT OF KLEENEX and were now handing Amber the tissue they wrapped flowers in.

  “This hurts.”

  “Of course it does,” Carol said, patting her back.

  “This,” Amber said, holding up the wadded tissue paper.

  “Oh.” Carol glanced at Trish. “See if you can find something a little softer.”

  “But the other thing too,” Amber admitted.

  While Trish went to the back, Carol pulled Amber into a tight hug. “Honey, I had no idea you were married before. If I’d
known that, I would’ve told you to be careful.”

  Amber lifted her head. “You already told me to be careful.”

  “Every time a woman has a significant relationship end, it steals a corner of her heart and she never gets it back.”

  “It hasn’t ended. . . . We’re just taking a break.”

  “Up.” Carol sighed. “Honey, one of the first signs it’s over is when you don’t get invited to a wedding.”

  Amber burst into tears again.

  Trish returned. “I was going to use this sweater for after work, but here.” She handed it to Amber. “It’s washable.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Tell me what happened with your ex-husband,” Carol said gently.

  Amber closed her eyes, trying not to think about him, but there he was.

  He wandered the house, drifting by her like fog, never reaching out for her. Flinching when she tried to reach for him. She began waking in the middle of the night to find him out of bed, holed up in the other bedroom with the door locked. In the coldest, darkest night she sat up and waited for him to come out of that room, hopeful he would just sit and talk to her, tell her what it was she was doing so wrong—why she wasn’t good enough for him.

  “You were right,” she said, looking at Carol. “Clay and I, we’re too different.” She was beginning, though, to think she was the one who was too different. She was the one who caused hot-blooded men to freeze like the tundra. She’d never gone more than a few weeks without a man in her life, but she could also count on one hand the days that she hadn’t been lonely. Fresh tears flowed and Amber blotted her face with the sweater.

  “What? What is it, honey?”

  “I’m a cliché.”

  Carol reached for a box of chocolates. “Trust me. Trish is a cliché. You’re nothing close.”

  “It’s true. I am.” Trish nodded.

  “Here. Take a piece,” Carol said.

  “Where’d you get these?”

  “It’s fine. They’re a customer’s. He’s not due to pick his order up until later. Trish can run down to Walgreens. In the meantime, we need to make sure you’re okay.” She grabbed both of Amber’s shoulders. “You can’t quit on me.”

  “I wish I were dead.” She stuffed chocolate into her mouth. “No, I wish he were dead.”