by Xavier Neal
Once we're inside, I question, “Which way?”
“We're gonna head to the left, but first I'm going to get something to eat. I'm starving.” She glances over her shoulder at me. “And you're probably going to want to pick up some ear buds. Shit gets pretty loud.”
“You don't need any?”
“I came prepared.” She smugly smiles.
The urge for payback increases. “I'm going to snag a pair. I'll meet you in line?”
She nods and migrates towards the closest concession stand. Quicker than I expect, I manage to purchase a pair of ear plugs and maneuver my way back into the line where Brie seems to be unable to decide what she wants by the expression on her face.
“So what are we having for our first date?” I ask, shoving the object into my pocket.
“Only date,” she mumbles her correction. Her eyes gravitate to mine. “You like nachos?”
I give the list of toppings a read. “Over processed liquid cheese, beans from a can, and questionable beef. What's not to like?” When the line begins to move, allowing us to order, I add, “It's all fine. Just no jalapenos.”
Our eyes meet again. “You allergic?”
“No.”
Brie turns back to the woman waiting and states, “One order of Monster nachos, monster size with extra jalapenos.”
How did I miss that coming?
“One monster order of popcorn. And two waters.” She leans over and drops her voice to an exaggerated whisper. “As you can see, someone is clearly trying to watch their figure.”
The head motion my direction makes the workers behind the counter laugh alongside the couple behind us.
“Twenty-two dollars even,” the woman announces, which is when Brie looks at me.
Promptly I question, “You don't expect me to pay do you? Did Mistress Lacey forget to mention that all accommodations during my service are to paid for by the client renting my time?”
Brie's eyes enlarge as it seems she's rendered speechless.
“Escorts don't pay for their own meals,” I pretend to be in shock. Suddenly, I say to those who are listening, “Was it not obvious? I mean why else would someone wear something like this to an event? Miscommunication between her and my employer.” The eavesdroppers nod their understanding and I let my eyes meet Brie's enraged ones. “Obviously.”
Her bafflement remains yet the cashier speaks again. “Ma'am. That'll be twenty-two dollars.”
Brie glares at me one final time, turns towards the woman, pulls out cash from her pocket, and offers it. After returning her change, the workers behind the counter hand us our refreshments, laughs trying to be contained under their breaths.
The moment we're no longer in line, she mutters in an irked tone, “Un-fucking believable.”
“Says the woman who tricked me into wearing a 4,000 dollar suit to a bloody truck show.”
“A little different than convincing total strangers I paid for you!”
Seeing the frustration on her face forces a smile back onto mine. “Told you it would not be fair.”
Brie abruptly stops, looks up at me, and growls, “This isn't over, Duke Douche Bag.”
“Would not dream of it Vanessa van Gogh Duch Yourself.”
The sassy expression I crave reappears. “Not sure what's more ludicrous, the fact you think for even a moment I would ever wanna be duchess or the fact you could turn a famous artist into an almost clever insult.” Brie hums to herself and starts walking again. “Come on. We're right around the corner.”
I adjust my grip on the popcorn and follow cheerfully behind her.
You didn't seriously think she was that upset over what I did, did you? Ha. I haven't even known this girl that long yet knew that was nowhere near the line of too far. Rest assured, I wouldn't go there. The enjoyment is not found in hurting her. I'm not a monster...
During our climb up three levels of stairs for the top row, we're bumped into by out of control kids trying to drive their toy trucks, over enthusiastic fans who are already slightly inebriated, and displeased ushers having to constantly redirect people to their actual seats as opposed to the ones they wished were theirs.
They are just very large vehicles. People can't truly be this excited, can they?
Brie drops herself down into the end seat and I sit in the one beside her.
Unable to resist teasing, I sigh with false concern, “Should I have bought gum? You know, to help keep our ears from popping at such high altitudes?”
She gives me a phony smirk. “Keep it up and your dry cleaning bill will be almost as ridiculously priced as the suit itself.”
I reach for a chip, shaking the jalapenos free. “So who were these tickets originally for?”
“My dad,” Brie answers a bit of sadness in her tone. “They were a Christmas present from me. Actually, they were his only Christmas present from me. It's not like I have a shit ton of extra cash laying around, so I saved and grabbed the best ones I could. I know they don't feel like much, but they weren't cheap.”
After swallowing my bite I ask, “Why couldn't he come?”
“Had to work. Someone called in, and he had to cover.”
“What's he do?”
“Grocery store manager. Nothing glamorous like being king of a country, but people still need him. Too much sometimes.”
The side comment isn't missed, but I don't take the bait to fight back.
Told you. Not about hurting her. It's about humoring.
“You two close?” I question finally receiving her attention on me.
“You could say that.” Her smile softens. “Two daughters and one takes after his beer and cheeseburger loving ways while the other takes after our mother with her love of Sushi and spritzers.”
“Glad you're the 'All American' girl.”
She snickers before she asks, “Why? You're not into the other type?”
“I'm into you.”
My comment causes a small flush to her face.
Rather than continue the conversation the direction she's anticipating, I reach for another chip. “Tell me. You're the younger one, aren't you?”
A playful smile forms.
“You were trouble growing up.”
She leans forward and whispers, “Still. Am.”
My eyes steal a glimpse of her wet lips and whisper, “Obviously...”
Brie winks, reaches into my lap for the popcorn, and throws a handful at me. She starts laughing and I immediately join her, throwing a handful at her in return. All of a sudden a man takes the spot in the center of the arena while the announcer over the speakers indicates the show is about to begin.
With my eyes plastered forward once more to admire the dirt covered area, I ask, “And what exactly am I supposed to do here?”
“Yell and scream when they do cool shit. Pretty basic. You know. Like you.”
I give her another glance, which is when she winks. “Is there a particular car-”
“Truck-”
“That you prefer we cheer harder for?”
“My dad's favorite is The Blue Devil.”
“Blue Devil for my brown eyed devil it is.” The remark tugs the corners of her lips upward as she turns back around.
The host begins his opening speech and I wiggle free my ear plugs in preparation. My attention helplessly swings between the pending event and the playful woman flicking popcorn obnoxiously my direction. The behavior is childish yet I can't stop myself from responding to it. Tossing pieces into the hair bun high on her head. Smearing cheese on her glasses for smearing some on my pants. Turning the jalapenos into hockey pucks inside the nacho container. By the time the show is actually starting, we're covered in what should've been dinner and laughing so hard my side hurts.
This is exactly the opposite of growing up like Kristopher wants. But where's the real harm in food fighting and laughing with someone who is enjoying the moment just as much as you are? Why do 'adult dates' have to consist of meals with hefty price tags and conversatio
ns about politics that neither of you really care about? Shouldn't life be enjoyed as long as no one is getting harmed?
For the next eighty minutes, Brie and I are on the edge of our seats, hollering at mind blowing heights reached, high fiving over the total destruction of vehicles, and swatting each other's hands out of the way during attempts made to grab more food. Between the special effects to enhance the show and crowd participation to make us all feel like we're a part of the event too, it barely registers how quickly time has flown. As the evening's final song plays and people begin to move towards the exits, it strikes me like a sharp stab in the side, just how much I don't want this to end. Not yet.
Brie stands, dusts off the remaining popcorn, and cheerfully squeaks, “That was awesome!”
Her enthusiasm is enthralling. “Hell yeah. When the one that looked like a dinosaur-”
“Dyno-mite.”
Don't look at me like that. I didn't name the damn thing.
“Yeah. That moment it looked like he was going to end up backward then didn't-”
“Oh my God, right!” She shakes her hands in excitement. “That was so scary!”
“I have to agree.”
Brie offers me another smile before stating, “We should get out of here. Parking lot's gonna be a bitch to get through.”
“Yeah...” I reluctantly reply.
Our eyes lock and to my surprise the longing in her eyes matches mine.
Perhaps she doesn't want this night to end either?
“I'll send Swiss a message once we're outside and some of the crowd has begun to fade. Make his job less difficult to reach us.” Hopeful, I add, “That is if you don't mind waiting.”
Brie slips her hands into her back pockets. “I don't mind. It's really not as frigid out there as you think.”
Her poor attempt at an accent scrunches my face. “You have got to stop that. It's like nails on a chalkboard.”
She gives me the finger.
“Not on the first date...” I stand. “Not even if you beg.”
“Who would,” she scoffs and spins around on her heels to start for the stairs.
“You'd be surprised.”
“I wouldn't.” Unexpectedly, Brie stops and turns to me. “And you're full of shit. You would totally sleep with a chick on the first date.”
“Never said I wouldn't.”
“You just did!”
“No...” I insist catching up to her. “I implied I wouldn't with you.”
Watching the internal debate over the notion of it being a compliment or insult merely makes me smile wider.
It's obvious which it is.
Brie starts to speak but immediately decides against it. Instead, she turns back around, and continues our descent towards the rest of the crowd filtering out of the room. While the process to get to our seats was difficult, the one to get out of the building itself is twice as hard. Between the over hyped and over exhausted, the crowd seems easily unstable. During our attempt to make it to the outside door, someone shoves past Brie, knocking her body into mine. Instinctively, my hand tugs her closer into my protection. I swallow the urge to smile at the action. With her tightly at my side, I slip us smoothly through the gaps, eventually guiding us to freedom.
Outside, I lead us to one of the picnic tables where we park ourselves with asses on the table and feet on the bench.
“That was a nightmare,” Brie huffs.
“It's just the end of the night. People are tired. Cranky. Ready to get home, so they can have some rest before work in the morning.”
She groans at the word.
“What do you do for work?”
Brie hesitates to answer. “I'm a lunch lady at a private school.”
She's....kidding. Is this a weird American joke I don't understand?
Her eyes meet mine. “Seriously.”
I press my fist to my mouth to block the chuckle.
“Oh...Shut up,” she bites. “Not all of us are just paid to be pretty and social. Some of us actually have to work for what they have.”
Now the defensive one, I counter, “I work for what I have too. Make no mistake about that. Handouts may come with my name, but that doesn't mean I take them.”
Silence falls between to the two of us as our attention shifts elsewhere.
That went poorly...
I give the back of my neck a small rub and attempt to make amends. “For the record, you're the hottest lunch lady I've ever met.”
Brie lets out a small giggle. “I'm probably the only lunch lady you've ever met.”
“No. I grew up in boarding school. I've met and learned to love my fair share of lunch ladies.”
The word seems to part her lips in surprise.
Not that I was indicating I am in love with her...I just...How do our conversations keep taking wrong turns? Is this a normal date problem to have because I've never had it before now. Before her.
“Do you wear a hairnet?” I tease, thankful when her demeanor changes again. “Tell me. Is it pink?”
“Did they spit in your mash potatoes and call it gravy? Because I would.”
A laugh escapes and I retort, “No. They adored me. I'm quite charming.”
Brie attempts to argue with a straight face. “To the rest of the world maybe...”
My eyebrows lift in curiosity. “But not to you?”
Her bottom lip momentarily slips between her teeth. She hums softly and turns away, her sweet refusal to answer endearing.
“I'm in town for a week-”
“So you've mentioned,” she interjects, her attention at the honking vehicles poorly moving around the parking lot.
“But I want to see you again.” This time her eyes move to mine. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
“Why....Are you plotting some weird payback thing for the unconventional plans I made tonight?”
“Actually no,” I deny. “Tonight was more fun than I've had in a really long time. Honestly.”
Sounds like a line but I swear it isn't. Sex and gambling is definitely entertaining, but not quite like this. This was effortless. The smiles genuine and not liquor coerced. Our conversations and laughs were innocent, not an attempt at manipulation to get something out of one another. It was all rather refreshing.
“You should get out more,” she teases with a laugh.
“So. What do you think? Dinner tomorrow night?”
Brie battles what I assume is the desire to say yes.
I'll admit. It's part of the turn on. I've never met a woman quite so determined to tell me no all the time. To crave the creation of a challenge for the sake of capability. Yes. I like a challenge as much as the next asshole with a list of names to cross off, but this is different. This is so much more than some chick who is pretending not to be interested. She has me actually convinced at times she's not. At others? It's impossible to deny. This woman makes me mad and I crave it.
Suddenly she shouts, “No! You can't keep borrowing my make-up and then not returning it! I don't care how hot the guy is! If he really loves you for you, he'll love you without it.”
Okay...I don't crave that.
Eyes from the dispersing crowd direct themselves our direction. Some sets are disapproving others comedically surprised.
With a heavy sigh, I look back at Brie just as she smiles brightly. “We can do dinner tomorrow night.”
“Oh you can't pay for a date, but I'm clearly gay?”
“Clearly.” She winks. “I mean...have you seen your suit?”
Her infectious smile makes me shake my head. “Don't worry. I'll make sure to find my own mascara to wear tomorrow night.”
“Good,” she giggles again. “Should I wear mine too?”
“If you want.” I shrug. “Won't tell you what to wear, just advise you, it won't be a pint and cheeseburgers.”
Brie smiles seconds before my cellphone begins to vibrate with a call from Swiss.
I answer only to immediately receive an ear full for not letting
him know we were out sooner. However, his tantrum falls on deaf ears. My eyes linger in Brie's, thankful she agreed to see me again.
I've only got seven days until I fly out. I plan to occupy as much as my time with her as she'll let me. Doubt she'll make it easy, which will just make it more fun. My brother should worry less about my face in the papers and more about the art student effortlessly conquering my thoughts.
