by Ava Moore
My column? It can wait. I work better at night anyways – spoken like a true seasoned procrastinator.
CHAPTER TWO
“And on the count of three…one… two… three!”
We all hold shot glasses up to the middle of the table, let the glasses clink in unison and then we all down the alcohol contents inside. I’m usually never one for doing shots of booze. I like the taste of liquor and I much prefer sipping on it and savoring every drop. That being said, I have no idea what type of an alcohol medley we were served, but I’m thankful I didn’t sip it because I might have had to take an emergency trip to the toilet.
Blush is not so bad after all, even though it is your typical bar. It’s a two-story building, with a more lounge atmosphere on the bottom where we are sitting and the music isn’t blaring, which is a nice changeup. Above us, though, is the dance floor, which extends to the rooftop patio above. I think I overheard someone earlier talk about how there is a pool up there. I wouldn’t be surprised. It only seems fitting for such a corny establishment. The entire bar glows with a soft pink hue and all of the serving staff are in black, with pink shoes, including the men. We are situated in a booth near the entrance and even though it’s supposed to feel VIP, with the swarm of people around us who keep bumping into our table, it feels a little claustrophobic.
“Thanks for recommending this place!” Tanya yells. We have been friends for a few years now, and met through our other mutual friend, Jess. Tanya and Jess take their kids to the same after school program and met through there. Tanya is a sweet and kind woman, but one you have to worry about when she drinks because she is notorious for taking her top off. She swats her long red hair behind her and takes a big sip of her martini.
“Yeah! And how did you get us such a great booth?” Jess asks, her brown eyes widening with excitement or just due to the influx of alcohol in her system. Jess is a quiet woman, petite and not one who can handle her alcohol either. She bounces up and down excitedly in the booth, her brown bob dancing as she does so.
“Sometimes, working for Star Struck does pay off.” It’s true. I called earlier to book a table here and turns out, it is some grand opening VIP only event. I just dropped Jane’s name, lied to them about coming here to check it out for the magazine and they got us all in no problem, complete with a few rounds of free drinks and in this instance, I can gladly accept them.
“And thanks for coming out tonight, Trish! How has writing been going?” Cris inquires. We’ve been friends since high school, which people tell me is rare. I suppose it’s even rarer for us considering we both used to live in LA together and when I moved out to New York for college, she moved out to New Jersey, where a few years later, she met the love of her life. Our friendship has withstood a move across the country and nearly eight years together. She’s one of my closest friends and the most normal of the group, but I’m not sure if that is saying much. Cris is the most stunning woman I have met but what comes with that is a painful amount of insecurity as well. I’ll never understand it.
“Oh, you know….” I pause and take a big sip of my delicious martini, “it’s going.” Sometimes when my friends ask me how my writing is going, I feel like they are emasculating me. It feels like they should be asking, Hey Trish, how’s painting going? Are you still working with primary colors? They all work in big office buildings, are entrepreneurs or successful stay at home moms with online businesses. I’m just a heavy set, blonde haired, brown-eyed average looking writer. Sometimes I feel inferior when I’m in their company, kind of like right now.
“Which means…?” Cris wants the juice and she is not letting me off the hook easy, something she is good at, maybe too good at.
“It’s fine. Jane is still a bitch and that hasn’t changed nor will it ever and I’m stuck in a perpetual cycle of indefinite writer’s block with no way out. The end.”
“Maybe you just need some inspiration?” Jess tries to give me advice. It’s cute and endearing but not working.
“I just don’t know where to get inspiration from.”
“Oh! You should write an erotica! Those are so popular right now!” Cris suggests and as she does, the other girls’ eyes light up brighter than Christmas lights on steroids.
I’m not surprised because smut is the big thing right now. I want to pretend like I don’t get it and the fact that they like it makes me superior because I’m not a fan but I can’t lie to myself – it’s hot. I don’t know what it is about us women and reading about two people fucking the shit out of each other so hard that they are literally covered in sweat, spit and cum, but man, does it ever feel good. I swear, sometimes us women are way hornier and dirty than men. I think we all just like getting in touch with our inner sluts and getting lost in a world of taboo sex. It just feels so good to be bad. “I don’t know. We will see.” It’s not a bad idea but I don’t want to admit it.
“If it’s any consolation, I loved your column last month about anal sex,” Tanya pipes in. “I literally had tears in my eyes I was laughing so hard.”
I’m glad she appreciates my humor; some people get it and some people really don’t get it. I’m a self-deprecating kind of gal. No, I don’t hate my body and no, I don’t wish I were different. I think because I’m at peace with my shape, my lips, my teeth and whatever else, I can joke about it. My columns are mostly true stories – my take on sex and all things sex related. Sometimes, they are PG rated but most of the time, they are far from it.
“Did that actually happen?” Jess asks. “Did you actually shit all over the bed?” The fact that Jess just said shit out loud is enough to make me want to snort I’d laugh so hard. It’s like hearing your teacher swear. It’s adorable.
I nod my head. I’m not shy. Weird things happen during sex and I believe they happen for a reason; my reason is so I can share them with the world, much to the dismay of my mother I’m sure. “It sure did.”
“How?” Jess and Tanya inquire, leaning in like they are on the edge of their seats. Cris smiles from across the table. I think she has heard every sexcapade I’ve ever been through and she gets excited when I tell stories to see the reactions other’s have. I like watching her eyes light up and her smile grow. It’s a good feeling when you can make someone you care about and admire laugh.
“Let me just say, don’t ever have anal after Mexican,” I coyly sip my sad excuse for a martini, trying to act as smooth as possible, which never really works out in my favor.
Jess and Tanya erupt with laughter and Cris just smiles at me from across the table; we both anticipated it. “I can’t believe all of the stuff that happens to you,” Jess replies. “You must lead a crazy life!”
Lead, not so much. I led a crazy life, in my early twenties and yes, I’m only twenty-five but to be honest, I feel like I’m a sixty year old woman inside but I’m completely okay with that. “I was just obnoxious growing up but you all know that. So moving along, how are things at the office?” I ask Jess, trying to get the focus off of me. I’m okay with talking about myself a little bit, but after the two-minute mark, I’m reaching my threshold. She mumbles something about how they had to fire an employee for sexual harassment and I try not to giggle. It’s moments like this when I’m reminded I’m twenty-five and I have the decency or maturity of a small child. I don’t try to giggle on purpose; it’s just anything that has to do with sex, sometimes makes me laugh. It doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable or anything. I just think I’m in love with it, in a very strange way.
“How’s dating going?” Cris’ words puncture the air like a dagger. Now, things are getting serious, but we were having so much fun not talking about me!
“Um… it’s going,” with my friends interrogating me and how often I have to take sip of alcohol to try to cope with it, at this rate I’m going to need a martini in a fucking fishbowl.
“I know the break up was hard for you but it’s good to get out there and meet new people,” Cris tries to gently remind me.
She’s right
and I know she’s right. I fucking hate that she’s right. “Dating in New York is tough,” I try to emphasize that the women outnumber the men here and hell if I’m moving to Jersey. I love my girls, but not that much and I definitely do not love Jersey; DJ Pauly D and The Situation remind me of that every single time I see their mugs.
“You just have to put yourself out there.”
“Maybe guys are worried that they might end up in your column if they date you,” Jess and Tanya practically talk over each other.
I laugh. “I’m pretty sure no one reads my column other than you guys and my ma and I highly doubt if any man is.”
The girls all smile at each other, like they are trying to communicate telepathically without me knowing. I’m smarter than that and I know exactly what all of them are thinking. I had just gone through a bad break up and when I say bad, I mean bad. He cheated – numerous times and with numerous women. I was a fool and couldn’t see the signs, at least I acted like I couldn’t but deep down, I did. I knew all along. I was just too afraid to be alone. He was distant and I got complacent. I thought to myself, I’d rather be miserable and have someone than be miserable and alone. Happiness without a companion was something I couldn’t comprehend. Now, four years later, I know that I can be happy and now, I am happy without him.
Thankfully, I don’t have to delve into my life any further and basically recite a memoir for my already knowing friends, because some guy, along with his two wingmen, show up to our table, hair slicked back, chest hair out and some garish bling resting on their necks. Maybe, I don’t feel so thankful for the interruption after all. “Ladies, how are we doing tonight?”
My friends all giggle and his attention is focused right on me, of course. I’m famous for attracting losers. He winks at me, and follows it up with a sideways smirk. It’s enough to make my stomach churn. “We are fine, thank you.” I always hope that being short with a man that I’m not interested will get him off of my back but it never works. It’s almost as though they are looking for you to either invite them into your booth with you or splash your drink on their Gucci suits so they get the point. Subtly and men – that’s the biggest oxymoron of all.
“My friends and I noticed you beauties from across the bar and we just had…”
“You just had to what? Find some sorry excuse to come over here and try to get with us?” I snarl back at them, cutting the pack leader off mid sentence. They are silent and so are all of my friends. I don’t know where this added layer of bitchiness is coming from but I will admit that I like it. I can tell that my friends find it amusing as well, only igniting my bitchy fiery core more.
“We just…”
I cut them off again. “You just thought what? That you could come over here, buy us a few drinks, flash your money around and it would be enough for one of us to drop our panties and to come home with you?”
Jess starts giggling beside me and I can see that Tanya is holding it in as well, like when you have to hold in the giggles in an inappropriate place and even the smallest smirk from one of your friends can set you off. Cris doesn’t even pay attention to me and instead, her sights are on the guys, waiting with bated breath at what kind of a comeback they are going to come up with.
Nothing.
“That’s what we thought. So, why don’t you take your shenanigans and try it out on a different table? Thanks.” They all start glaring at me and I can tell the wheels are turning as they all try to think of something to say.
“Bitch,” the leader of the pack spits out at me after several seconds pass and whips his hand along the chests of his bros. “Let’s get out of here.”
As soon as they are out of sight, Tanya and Jess start cracking up, while Cris quietly sips on her martini. I think I offended her. Sometimes, she gets into these sensitive moods and I’m left feeling like a total asshole for my sophomoric remarks. “Why do men think that is going to work?” I begin to my friends, hoping it opens the floor for discussion. Friendly discussion.
“I think they just wanted to talk to us,” Cris replies, sounding so sincere and making me feel like a total jackass, just like I knew she would.
“But did you want to talk to them?” She falls silent and so do the other girls. “See? And this is how you have to tell them that you aren’t interested or else they are just going to keep coming back like stray pups looking for something to sink their teeth into.”
“I just think there is a nicer way of letting them down.”
“Not in New York, honey,” I am quick to admonish her. “They call it the concrete jungle for a reason.”
Cris and I are getting into it now and we do this often. I think it’s because we both are so similar yet so different that we clash naturally. I’m a no bullshit kind of girl and Cris is a lot softer. She thinks that you should be nice to someone until they give you a reason not to. I feel like it is the opposite way around. She can’t come up with a response though, something else I know really well about her. When it comes to our light hearted arguments, the bitch from New York is almost always the victor, which I don’t know if that is a triumph I should be ebullient about. “You just have to be honest, brutally, stone cold honest sometimes with men. That’s the best way to be. I’m not trying to be mean. I’m not just here to have my time wasted,” I hope my softer side shines through with this comment.
The girls all nod and Cris does too, even though it’s slight. As I look around the table at them, I notice a rather attractive male sitting at the bar, with one other guy, who is also quite the looker. “Now, if those two came over here to talk to us, it would be a different story,” I tease with my blood red fingertips and point in their direction.
The girls’ necks all snap around as they look in the direction of my admiring stare. “So, as long as the guy is hot, you’ll give him the time of day?” Cris mocks my hypocrisy, and me but I don’t back down. I nod proudly and sip on my martini.
“Absofuckinglutely.”
Jess and Tanya giggle and sip on their martinis too, while Cris looks over at me, with a near death stare. “Don’t you think that is a little shallow?”
“What? I’m just being honest. If a guy doesn’t get me wet just by looking at him, he sure as hell ain’t getting me wet in bed.”
“Preach, sister,” Tanya agrees, clinking her martini glass with mine. We share a moment of laughter and I set my sights back on Cris, flashing her a friendly grin and hoping it brings her back to my dark side, but all of a sudden, all of my friends are staring towards the door because quite the sight has just walked in.
Now, I’m a New Yorker, at least for the past four years and it takes a lot to catch my attention. I’ve seen almost anything and everything from exhibitionists in Central Park to full-on cunnilingus on the subway, so when I say a sight walked in, I mean it.
With two beautiful women, or in his world, forms of eye candy on each arm, blonde and the whole shebang, walks this man – maybe thirty five tops, jet black hair that he wears a little long, slicked back of course, piercing blue eyes, almost like ice and the finest Armani suit money can buy. He’s your stereotypical rich guy, with the girls and all. I thought he might have pulled up in a Lamborghini – a big no-no here in the city with the condition these roads are in. He’s cleanly shaven, has broad, strong shoulders, perfect teeth, great hair and you guessed it – he looks like just another douche.
I’m not one for these types of men. I think that they must read some sort of douchebaggery manual before stepping out looking like this. They obviously don’t do it for the women, because what women on Earth would find that attractive?
“Look at that tall glass of water that just walked in,” Jess says, nearly choking on the drool escaping her bottom lip.
Then I look at my other friends and sure enough, even Cris and Tanya are all about him. What the fuck is wrong with you three? Can’t you see that this guy has bad news written all over him? My body is screaming in agony for my friends and I just want to grab them all by the shoulde
rs and shake some sense into them. “He probably has a small cock,” I laugh as I sip on my martini. “Besides, you’re all married anyways.”
They all stare at me in concordance, like I just said the rudest, most terrible thing I could have ever contrived. It’s disturbingly similar to the way my mom looked at me when I told her I smoked a little weed in my freshmen year. That was funny but this is just cold.
“You’re so judgmental,” Cris fires back. “This could be the man of your dreams who just walked into the bar and you wouldn’t even give him the time of day because you’ve already written him off in seconds.”
Ooh, burn! And you’re a fucking expert when it comes to men? I don’t want to get into it with Cris so I bitterly bite my tongue. I know she has been through a lot, especially these past few months. Despite having perfect lives on paper, I know all of my friends have some marital problems. I mean, with nearly half of the marriages in this country ending in divorce, I know we all have really shitty odds. All I can do is shake my head and laugh, “Well, if misogyny and shallowness get you hot, then go for it, but I’m going to pass.”
Jess and Tanya laugh a little giggle and Cris turns away. I hope my comment shut her up. I don’t want to get into this right now and definitely not here - not on girls’ night. Thankfully, the show has just begun with our new form of in-bar entertainment as douchebag master and his little blow up dolls take a seat in a booth across from us. One slides into the booth, then he slides in followed by the other girl, like they are making some kind of greasy sex sandwich and he’s the meat. Man, I could go for a sandwich right now. Think that deli across the street will be opened when I get home? Here I go again with the short attention span.
“They don’t even look real,” Tanya says, pretty much gawking across the bar at their table.
