I exaggerated a sigh. “Fine, but nowhere crazy.”
“Whatever,” Jen threw over her shoulder before leaving me alone in her apartment.
* * *
Sipping at the vodka and Sprite, silently thankful Jen had kept her promise of stopping for supplies on her way home, I looked at my own face in the bathroom mirror. I looked like shit: bags under my eyes, blotchy skin, and hair that was two weeks past needing a cut. Ah well, nothing a little makeup and hair product couldn’t fix, not that it mattered. Just because we were going to a bar didn’t mean I was looking to hook up. No matter how much Jen went on and on about how a good lay would kick-start the process of getting over Dave, I didn’t think two days was an appropriate waiting period before hopping in the sack with some stranger. Notwithstanding the fact that the last thing I was interested in was sex. I’d much rather focus my energies on an activity that had proven itself valuable at getting me through rough times in the past: an activity like drinking.
“Woo hoo! I am on the prowl tonight!” Jen yelled from the living room. It was my cue to finish up in the bathroom and join her.
I quickly brushed on another coat of mascara and headed back to the living room.
“What about Seth?”
“Fuck’im.”
Jen was on about drink number four, gauging by her belligerence level. Time to slow her down before she got to ‘bitchy’ which was a precursor to ‘all out uncontrollable’.
“I need another drink,” she said to no one in particular.
I headed her off before she made it to the kitchen. “I’ll get it, my ice is melted anyway.”
“Aw, thanks, Vicky.” A hug was coming, I could feel it. Before I had the chance to seriously question the wisdom of taking Jen out to a bar where she would consume more alcohol, the buzzer rang.
Jen made no move towards the intercom. “Who is it?” she hollered into the center of the room, before realizing her mistake. “Oops!”
I left her to answer the buzzer so I could go freshen my drink and pour her a very weak refill. I heard Zoë’s voice through the intercom, asking to be let in.
Even though I was tired of recounting the story already, I owed it to my friends to fill them in on what had happened to bring me to crash on Jen’s couch; although I was very grateful that Kendra and Zoë had come together, alleviating the need to recount the story twice.
They were both quiet during the telling except for the obligatory “um hums” and the occasional “right, go on”. But when my story was over, I took a deep breath, waiting for their reactions, my heart pounding in my chest.
Zoë spoke first. “I don’t blame you. You know, I don’t know if I would have had the kids if I’d known how much work it would be.”
Kendra sucked in her breath. “How can you say that? Your kids are your life.”
“Exactly. I used to have my own life. Do you know how hard it was to get out for tonight? You can’t just pick up and go at any time, you know.”
Kendra rolled her eyes at Zoë, before turning to me. “Well, I have to say I’m shocked, Vicky. I had no idea you didn’t want kids.”
“I didn’t know myself until very recently. I think I was in denial.”
Kendra clucked, sounding surprisingly like my mother. “But how can you not love babies? Maybe you have a hormone imbalance or something.”
Jen spoke up before I had the chance. “Are you on crack? There is nothing wrong with her. Why can’t a woman make a choice if she doesn’t want kids? It’s the twenty-first century for Christ’s sakes.”
I looked at my new roommate, a little surprised at how she had done a complete one-eighty from the night before. I’d hardly expected her to be the one to jump to my defense.
Kendra stuck out her chin. “It’s not a choice. We are women. We are put on this planet to have babies. If you don’t have children, you are not following your destiny.”
An angry knot lodged in the pit of my stomach, churning with the vodka. I toyed with what I could say to my friend without offending her completely, but Jen beat me to the punch again.
“What fucking century did you crawl out of?”
“Don’t talk to me like that.” Kendra spouted.
Jen ignored her and kept talking. “Listen, I’m not trying to freak out or anything, but isn’t it Vicky’s choice? I mean when she told me last night I was shocked too. But she’s our friend and no matter what she does, we need to support her.”
Zoë looked over at Kendra. “Jen’s right you know.”
Kendra turned to look at me, a sour expression on her face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”
I didn’t believe she was sorry. Kendra had always been a staunch purveyor of all things right and good and had often been accused of being overly traditional and reluctant to accept change. She was our ‘Charlotte.’ We had pretty much gotten used to her attitudes after numerous discussions around such topics as gay marriage and euthanasia (as they came up in the news: we were by no means a group of constantly debating philosophers) but sometimes she still came across as sanctimonious, especially when topics hit so close to home.
But what else could I do other than accept her apology?
Looking for a break in the tension, I offered to pour drinks all around and excused myself to the kitchen.
Zoë offered to help, and as I measured out the vodka, she sidled up to me, covering my hand with hers. “I think it’s really brave what you’ve done.”
“Brave? Or just really stupid?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m serious. Brave. I meant what I said in there, if I’d known then what I know now…”
I stopped pouring and looked up. “You wouldn’t have not had your kids.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids with all my heart, but I probably would have just had the one. It’s just so hard.”
I looked into Zoë’s tired eyes and saw her truth. I wrapped my arms around my friend, feeling more confident in my decision than I ever had: if she, who seemed like Supermom in so many ways, was having trouble, I surely would have fallen apart under the pressure of motherhood. And she had wanted kids.
Pushing away from Zoë, I looked in her eyes. “You are a great mom.”
She gave me a consolatory smile and nodded. “I know I’m good with them, I just never imagined that there is not one minute in the day that I can sit down and just have a little time to myself. I miss that. I miss being able to have a bath for relaxation. Now I have to shower as quickly as I can so I can get back to the kids to help with homework or cook dinner or pack lunches. It’s little things like that, you know? And it’s never-ending.”
I did know. And it was adding to my resolve.
“But we’re not talking about me, and I complain too much anyway. I do love my kids, I really do.”
There had never been any doubt. I grabbed my glass, nodding my head towards the living room. “Come on, let’s get back in there before Jen rips Kendra a new one.”
“Good idea. Maybe I should do some shooters so I can catch up. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out and God knows when it will happen again.” The twinkle in Zoë’s eye promised we would be having an interesting night, reminiscent of the bar-hopping benders of our twenties.
I just hoped Jen was well stocked with Pepto; I had a feeling I was going to need it later on, probably after a slice of post-last-call pizza and, of course, the copious (more) drinks I was planning to ingest.
“You’re crazy,” I told her, sipping at my drink.
She smirked until her eyes landed on my hand. “You’re going to take that off, aren’t you?”
I glanced down; my own hand looked foreign to me, cupped around the glass. And there it was: my wedding band. The piece of jewelry that once meant so much which suddenly held no meaning at all. Finishing my drink in one last gulp, I put the glass down and poured myself another. But before raising the glass to my lips again, I pulled off the ring and dropped it into my pants pocket. It w
as soon joined by the engagement ring I wore on my right hand.
I looked at Zoë, who was giving me the ‘buck up little camper’ face. Her look was more likely to make me cry than the bitter reality of removing my rings. I quickly turned away from her and looked back down into my glass and spoke to it as though it were my new best friend, filled with promises of escapism and comfort.
“I am gonna get me ripped tonight.”
Zoë clinked my glass with her own “’Atta girl. You need a good distraction. I am so right there with you.”
Chapter 6
As it turned out, both Zoë and Jen were right there with me, the three of us reduced to hysterical fits of giggling and slurred attempts at conversation.
Kendra, our designated driver thanks to her being on fertility medication and her desperate hope that she might already be pregnant, herded us into the nightclub and towards an empty table. She kept us moving in a forward direction, even grabbing Zoë as she tried to make a turn towards the bar. We had to find a home base before we would be allowed to procure more drinks. More important than Kendra’s role of designated driver was the very necessary one of babysitter: a drunk woman always had to know she had a sober friend watching out for her to make sure she didn’t do things which were foolish or at worst, dangerous. Kendra with her motherly demeanor and take no shit attitude fit the role perfectly, never hesitating to reel us in when necessary. We knew, without a doubt, that we would always be safe with her around.
It was only a couple of days before Halloween so the bar was decorated with orange and black streamers. Skeletons and cobwebs dotted the corners of the huge nightclub and even the odd patron was dressed up in costume. I doubted we would have dressed up if it had occurred to us that it would be a Halloween party. We were pretty much too old for that kind of thing. Booze and dancing were our main objectives; why cloud that up with having to put effort into a costume? Been there, done that.
I was still sober enough to recognize that me and my friends were about a decade older than most of the people already gyrating on the dance floor or hovering close by at tables. That along with the fact that it was ‘retro night’ and the song being played had been very popular at my prom, could have made for a minor bout of depression. But thankfully, the liquid Xanax I had already consumed dulled my consciousness enough to make me just not care.
Obediently, I headed over to the empty table and took a chair, glad to get off my not-too- stable legs. Before I had my coat off, a waitress materialized from nowhere.
“What can I get you?” she hollered over the din.
“LAID!” Jen answered on my behalf. I couldn’t help but snicker.
Clearly, the unsmiling waitress wasn’t amused.
“Bloody Mary.” I figured it was practically a health food compared to the Smurf piss I’d been drinking at Jen’s the night before.
“At your own risk,” the waitress said before turning to the other girls for their orders. I wasn’t sure what she meant but shrugged it off. Nothing the alcohol wouldn’t kill off.
I focused, or, at least, tried to focus on the dance floor. The music was a loud, almost painful thumping in my head to which the people moved, some better than others. Most of the people out there were women, but there were a few rogue males, having broken away from the sanctity of their packs to perform their ancient ritual dances to attract the females of the species. Most of them looked like fish out of water, flopping around in jerky movements, but at least they were making the effort.
It was so amusing to watch that I didn’t notice the waitress return with her laden tray. She placed my glass on the table first, then turned to the others to give me time to pull my wallet out of my pocket. I handed her a bunch of bills and waved off the change, assuming whatever was left over would be a decent tip.
I brought the cup to my lips. My first impression upon taking a sip was that it was watered down, but as I swirled the lone piece of ice around with the straw, I was then able to taste some of the vodka. Within seconds, I was halfway through the drink, lamenting I didn’t order two, knowing it would be a while before we saw the waitress again.
“Let’s dance!” Jen popped out of her chair, grabbing my arm. The drink sloshed in my hand as I was jerked to my feet, but miraculously I didn’t spill any. Thank God.
“It’s been so long since I’ve been dancing, we are so going out there,” Zoë yelled as she returned her drink to the table, adjusted her bra not-so-subtly and rose to her feet.
Who could argue?
With Kendra left behind to watch the drinks (I had seen a show on the prevalence of men dropping roofies into unsuspecting women’s drinks only the week before on Dateline), Jen, Zoë and I headed to the dance floor. Before long, we carved a tiny piece of geography, protecting it by facing each other, marking our dancing boundaries. Several times, as the club became bloated with more and more twenty-somethings, we had to protect our territory from invasion, but we were seasoned professionals and didn’t give up an inch.
Jen imitated the guy dancing beside her as he did some sort of repetitious clean and jerk. Zoë and I both laughed; the guy didn’t have a clue how to dance, but worse than that, he actually thought he looked good. Of course, when he saw Jen, he thought she was hitting on him. That just made us laugh even more.
He sidled over, still bopping away to the music and whispered something in Jen’s ear. As he spoke, her left eyebrow rose. Then she turned to him and said something back.
I couldn’t hear the words over the music, but from across the circle, I was able to make out when his lips formed the word ‘bitch’ before he turned and disappeared back into the crowd.
Our triangle contracted as Zoë and I instantly swarmed Jen to find out what the guy had said to her.
She shook her head. “He said he had a Porsche and a waterbed and did I want him to take me for a ride in either.”
In unison, Zoë and I groaned and rolled our eyes.
“And your response?” Zoë asked, a twinkle in her eye.
“I told him I’d rather ride the bus with fifty horny winos in a hundred degree weather.”
I smiled. “Nice one.” Jen sure was the queen of the zinger. Not only did I not have the nerve to deliver her type of sharp-tongued retorts, but I rarely needed to give guys the brush off due to both the infrequency of my going out and the fact that I gave off the “married and not looking” vibe. I touched my finger where the ring used to be, and it occurred to me in that moment that I would not be married much longer.
Time for another drink.
And another.
And a few more until they began to taste less like vodka and more like liquid psychotherapy. Each one made Dave seem a little more distant, a tiny bit removed from my life, and it felt good. It also felt good to dance and laugh with my friends with complete abandon like we used to do every weekend before we grew up and became responsible members of society.
The drinks were definitely the key. So halfway through jerking to ’Whip It,’ when my straw began to stutter against the bottom of the plastic cup, I stopped dancing to wallow in my sorrow of suddenly being drink-less.
“Can I get you another?” Someone distinctly male said into my left ear.
I looked up, trying to blink his face into focus, rather unsuccessfully. “Huh?”
“Drink. Can I get you a drink?”
Magic words. “Wow, um yeah, thanks. Vodka Sprite.” I had abandoned Bloody Marys after the first one had been such a disappointment. I handed him my empty glass.
He turned and left in the direction of the bar. I resumed my dancing.
Suddenly Jen was right in front of me. “What did you tell him?” Surely she was expecting that I had rebuked him.
I had trouble focusing on Jen, especially as she was moving to the music. I focused on an exit sign on the wall, just over her left shoulder. “I told him vodka.”
“You let him buy you a drink?”
Zoë interjected. “Come on, Jen, he was kinda cute.”
<
br /> The man’s cuteness hadn’t factored into it. He offered me a drink, I accepted. It seemed very simple. Supply and demand. Basic tenets of business.
Before my friends could debate the issue any further, free drink guy returned, handing me a full cup. “It’s a double,” he said into my ear just as my lips met the straw.
It tasted more like a triple. “You trying to get me drunk?” I yelled over the din.
“That ship has sailed, sweetheart!” Jen hollered, just as the song ended.
We all laughed as her voice rang out over the crowded but suddenly quiet dance floor.
Suddenly one of my favorite slow songs from a million years ago, ‘Forever Young’ began. Most people scattered off the dance floor, my friends included.
“You want to dance?” free drink guy asked.
Not sure how I would dance with a full drink, I nodded but held up my finger for him to wait. As he stood patiently, I downed the rest of the drink, while a tiny piece of my brain nagged that it was a stupid move. Ignoring my better judgment, I didn’t let up until every drop had passed through the straw into my mouth.
“Wow,” the guy said.
I burped, realizing too late that it probably wasn’t very becoming. “Oops, ‘scuse me.” Leaning down, I placed the empty cup on the floor and rose up, unfettered and ready to dance.
“What’s your name?” free drink guy asked once his arms were around my waist and mine lay over his shoulders.
“Vicky. What’s yours?”
I thought I heard him say “Rob,” but wasn’t sure.
“Rob?”
“Todd,” I think he said, but wouldn’t bet my life on it.
“Todd?” I asked, feeling like an idiot. But in my defense, the music was loud and my hearing was dulled from the vodka.
“Rod,” I’m almost positive was his answer but I didn’t pursue it. Did it even matter?
Rob/Todd/Rod smelled nice, a pleasant mixture of fabric softener and cologne, so I leaned into the crisp cotton of his shoulder and hummed away with Alphaville until the song ended. Neither of us moved away when ‘Forever Young’ became ‘Holding Back the Years,’ we just continued swaying together as we turned slowly clockwise on our little patch of the dance floor.
Life, Sideways Page 4
