Crazygirl Falls in Love

by Alexandra Wnuk

  That evening, we were at Emma’s local having dinner. It had been me, He Who Shall Not be Named, Chloe, Crazy, Emma and Mags.

  I’ll be fair here, Crazy had been sober for a few weeks before that night, so you can’t say he wasn’t trying to be a better man. And let me tell you, it was tough on him. Watching someone bite their nails down to the enamel thanks to unmanageable withdrawal is just plain frightening.

  That night I saw Chloe’s face drop as He Who Shall Not Be Named insisted Crazy join him in a pint. A few hours later, the sweet man who had been Chloe’s boyfriend was replaced by an inpatient, intolerant, incoherent, loud mouthed buffoon.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Chloe had whispered angrily at Crazy, after Mags and He Who Shall Not Be Named had gone outside for a smoke (Mags still smoked back then).

  “Give it a rest babe,” he had slurred.

  “Beer is not the fifth food group. Why can’t you just have a few pints and stick to that? Why does it always have to be a caseload?”

  “Relax Chloe, it’s a party.”

  “It’s dinner on a Tuesday night.”

  “I don’t need to change for you, or nobody,” Crazy had kept slurring.

  “You might need to change for your career. Aren’t you supposed to be practicing tonight?”

  “Yeah but iz cool the guys’ll understand. I practised day all yesterday.”

  Chloe has turned to me,

  “Penny, would you consider falling asleep hugging your guitar as ‘practice’?”

  “Umm… I guess, so long as he was strumming it?”

  Emma and I couldn’t have been in a more awkward position. Emma stared down into her lap, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. I dodged questions like a seasoned politician and kept my eyes on my cider, pretending to be mesmerised by the bubbles floating towards the wide-rimmed top. Chloe and Crazy continued fighting as if we weren’t there. Chloe eventually had enough,

  “Nice to know I’m dating someone with the IQ of a processed sausage. Don’t bother coming home tonight.”

  Without saying goodbye to me and Emma, Chloe had stood up, snatched her bag, and left.

  I considered following her but thought better of it. She was likely feeling humiliated and ashamed. Shame is a very personal emotion, not one you always want to share with your friends. That’s why I go running alone, the shame of being so slow is best hidden from the world.

  No one said anything for a good few minutes. Emma continued to fiddle, I continued to stare at the caramel coloured bubbly world in my pint, Crazy continued to drink. Eventually Mags and He Who Shall Not Be Named came back and sat down. Still the three of us said nothing.

  “What’s going on?” Mags asked, “where’s Chloe?”

  “She left,” Emma began, before turning to Crazy and catching his eye, “hey, if it makes you feel any better, we’re on your side.”

  I had raised my eyebrows at this. Say what now?

  Emma had continued,

  “It’s your prerogative. I mean, she could just accept that you like a pint here and there. Hell, I’ve seen her drink way more than you some nights, and you never complain.”

  True, Emma didn’t know about the fights, or his rough conduct, or all those empty promises. Nonetheless, she had just violated the Female Code. I knew it, Mags knew it, even Crazy knew it. He told Chloe about it the next day, but instead of relating the full story it went along the lines of, ‘After you bailed Emma called you a bitch’. Such a guy thing to do. I doubt he was being malicious, just low on detail.

  Chloe was livid and started telling everyone exactly what she thought of Emma. Word got back to Emma, and the rest is history. That was six months ago and they haven’t spoken since.

  Tonight is the perfect opportunity to move on. Usually I’m no pacifist. I don’t really care who hates who, the world is full of shitty people and everyone falls out with each other eventually. But sheesh, besides Mags these are the only two people I consider close friends. So I take a long slurp of my pina colada, slam it down on the counter, and start mediating,

  “I’m tired of this, I want you guys to be friends again.”

  “Fat chance,” Chloe says at the same time that Emma blurts, “No way.”

  “Why the hell not?” I demand.

  “You told Crazy I was a bitch.” Chloe says, addressing Emma.

  “I did not, but in any case I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Emma replies haughtily.

  “You change your tune so often your name should be Flip Flop. You may not have said the words but the intention was there, and everyone heard what you said. Right, Pen?”

  I lift my hands, palms facing outwards, and take a step back. I’ve decided I’m not going to mediate anymore. Bitches be crazy.

  Instead, I lift the G&T Antonio placed on the counter a few seconds ago (before he made a hasty exit) and take a big gulp. I quickly scout the room for the Stranger again. I could probably use another one of those creamy delicious cocktail things. Maybe this time the bartender can put an umbrella in it, and a few more glacé cherries.

  Emma and Chloe continue to argue.

  “You know Chloe, you’re just like an energiser bunny. You bitch and bitch and keep on bitching. I didn’t say that at all, you just thought I did and used it as an excuse to tell Mags I was stupid and stuck up and spoilt. Do you know how much that hurt?”

  “Guys…” I interrupt. I feel like I’m chocking. The Stranger has just walked into the club with his arm around Lizzy. Emma and Chloe see the look on my face.

  I feel like I’ve aged ten years.

  “Oh sis, it’s nothing, you know the Spaniards are super affectionate,” Emma reassures, unconvincingly. She weaves her arm through mine.

  Chloe doesn’t say anything, but she steps closer so that our shoulders are touching.

  My eyes don’t leave him as he and Lizzy walk over to Arianna and their group. His arm is still around her shoulders as he kisses people hello. Lizzy looks pleased as punch. Bitch.

  Chloe leans in to whisper,

  “He’s a player, Pen. Don’t waste your energy on him.”

  “I know.” I reply. But I don’t know. I don’t want to know.

  “Do you, do you really?” Chloe asks suspiciously.

  Damn it Chloe, stop mind reading me!

  She continues,

  “You’ve been hurt by players, I’ve been hurt by players. Even perfect princess Emma has been hurt by a couple. Let’s not forget Choda Boy.”

  I’m too upset to pay much attention to the playful tone Chloe just used, or the look she and Emma exchanged. All I can register are the painful wrinkles of gloom etching themselves into my facial features, and the heaviness in my chest. My voice croaks as I reply,

  “It’s just that I’ve never had a guy so amazing, so… you know, pay me any attention. And I know this is how we all get sucked in in the first place, but I can’t help it.”

  “Not your fault, with a body like that even the strongest would fall,” Emma says.

  We turn our eyes away from the Stranger’s direction and huddle.

  “He’s a dick,” Chloe says, “It’s always the same fucking story. Hot guy hooks up with nice girl. He’s okay until you sleep with them, then he stops returning your calls and messages. He stands you up once, twice, three times. He starts acting all aloof, eventually disappearing completely and a few weeks later poof, you find out he was cheating all along and it was all a fucking waste of time.”

  Chloe says it with too much conviction for it to be just a theory she’s dreamt up. Emma is nodding her head in full agreement. We’ve all been there, especially Emma. I notice my head is rocking in the opposite direction.

  “But I know the Stranger isn’t seeing anyone else. Arianna said he hasn’t been with anyone since Lizzy.”

  My voice is quiet and uncertain, and I can see it ain’t fooling nobody. They’re both looking at me with identical expressions of exasperation. I can’t help myself, I glance over their heads again. The S
tranger is laughing with Arianna, Antonio and Lizzy. At least his arms aren’t draped around her anymore.

  Emma hugs my arm tighter,

  “Sis, he’s handsome, fun and popular. But how much do you know about him? Even Arianna thinks he’s a bit… Not quite there. She’s known him his entire life and he’s never been a relationship.”

  “Never?” I say, weakly.

  “Never.”

  Exhaustion suddenly hits my body. My dreams of walking hand in hand on a sunset beach with the Stranger are sinking faster than a dead rat in fast water. Worse, I’m pretty certain that there is no other man in London who I want to walk hand in hand with. I want him and nobody else. This is not a good sitch for a girl to find herself in.

  Chloe must have picked up on my misery because her voice softens,

  “Well, maybe he’s not the worst type of player, you know, those Charles Manson types who enjoy stringing girls along until they turn them into walking basket cases.”

  “But he’s still really bad news.” Emma adds quickly.

  She and Chloe exchange another look and I finally register that they’re talking. Talking is good. Talking might mean they’ve gotten over whatever it was they needed to get over. A tiny spark of happiness ignites in my mind and I momentarily forget about the Stranger, which is of course the exact moment I feel arms wrap themselves around my waist. So it’s true, the second you take your mind of them that is the moment they will appear.

  “Hola florecita,” he purrs into my ear.

  Continuing to hug me from the back he gives me a peck on one cheek but addresses my two friends,

  “Hola Chloe, hola Emma.”

  He shoots them his million dollar smile. They half heartedly smile back as he continues to hug me. His body is invitingly warm and I feel my body falling back into his. Maybe he and I have a chance after all? I mean, he doesn’t normally act like this around girls in public. Maybe he thinks I’m special? The most affection he ever showed Lizzy was a friendly pat on the head once.

  Well, besides tonight when he had his arm around her.

  He turns me around slowly so that we are facing each other. Our eyes meet and I find myself grinning up at him like a freekin’ idiot. He opens his perfect lips with their perfect rows of white teeth and says,

  “Now we dance.”

  He takes my hand and walks me to the DF (that’s what the cool cats at uni used to call the dance floor). He puts his arms around my waist, pulls me in tight, and we start to salsa. Back step, middle step, front step, middle step. Arianna taught me and Emma salsa one night when I was over at their place for a Game of Thrones marathon. It’s not too difficult, salsa that is, not fourteen hours of Game of Thrones which was actually rather trying. Just gotta make sure I don’t lose the three-step. It’s the basic ingredient to the dance, the flour of the cake.

  “Why you no message me today?” He asks.

  “I did, I replied.” Back step, middle step…

  “But you no message first.”

  “I never message first.”

  We continue dancing in silence for a while. The DF is getting more squishy by the minute as other dancers flood the small space.

  “You are a much better dancer tonight than yesterday,” he eventually says.

  I’m insulted for the briefest of moments, then think back to my jiving from the night before. It had featured an outta control Running Man, the Sprinkler and a Wild Knee (the one where you bend your leg, grab hold of the ankle from behind and shake the knee backwards and forwards). I thought I had looked really awesome and cool.

  Clearly not.

  “Thanks, I guess.” I take it as a compliment. My thoughts start to move towards Lizzy,

  “So… what’s up with you and Lizzy?” I ask.

  “Elizabeth? We are friends. What about you and your boyfriend Antonio?”

  “Boyfriend? What do you mean? Antonio couldn’t be the furthest thing from my boyfriend!”

  “He was hugging you before, yes?”

  “Well yeah, but that doesn’t mean, you know, that we’re... He had his arm around Emma, too!”

  I stop stammering when I register his grin. It was a joke. Bit of a weird joke, but whatev. As we dance and talk I start to see he has a ridiculously different sense of humour to me. He’s also a man of few words. That’s okay though. He could have the personality of a wet cornflake and I’d still be head over heels. It’s not just that he’s the second most gorgeous man I’ve ever laid eyes on (after Take-My-Breath-Away-Armani model), but it’s his suave and I-couldn’t-care-less attitude that’s drawing me in. I hate to say this but I’m in awe of him, and freaked out that he’s even the slightest bit interested in me. It’s a lot of pressure to be liked by a 9.

  The next few hours are oodles of fun. The Stranger is an amaze salsa dancer, and I was always okay at samba (Mum was right, all those years of ballroom dance came in handy after all) so by the end of the night we’ve developed a hybrid of salsa and samba which I think is pretty neat. Kinda coupley in a way, don’t you think?

  Everything is going fantastically until I notice Lizzy staring at us from the bar. She’s just standing there, glaring.

  “Lizzy is looking at us,” I lean in to whisper to the Stranger.

  He doesn’t answer. I’ve noticed that he only responds to direct questions, so I rephrase,

  “Why is Lizzy looking at us?”

  “Maybe she like what you wear?”

  I laugh. This guy really is Mr Elusiveness, he’s got a vague, non-committal response for everything.

  The top of my head fits just underneath his chin. I can feel the movement of his chest. His broad, manly, strong… Stop. Stop it Penny. But oh, he’s so handsome… No Penelope Jones, he’s a bad man and you are going to get hurt! But he’s such a babe…

  “We go now?” He asks, stroking my hand.

  “To where?”

  “To my house.”

  “Are we going to have dinner first? I could murder a kebab.”

  I regret saying it as soon as the word ‘kebab’ flies out of my mouth (even though it couldn’t be more true, I could use a grease hit right about now). It came out sounding desperate and needy. Hasn’t he always said he doesn’t ‘do’ dinners? I’m pushing the issue, and it’s never appealing when a chick pushes a relationship issue.

  On another side note, why is it that when a guy chases a girl it’s sexy and romantic, but when a girl chases a guy it seems so pathetic? I guess that’s why I never message guys first.

  Adding fuel to my minor embarrassment the Stranger starts laughing,

  “I do not do that, but there is nice wine back at my house?”

  It takes a superhuman effort for me to untangle myself from his grasp. His masculine, virile, fabulous, sumptuous…

  “And I do not do that, so it looks like we’re at an impasse. Excuse me for a moment, I need the ladies room.”

  I feel powerful and self assured as I turn my back to him and walk away. It actually physically hurts to leave him when I know I could just as easily continue to dance and end up back at his place (where I get carte blanche to ravage that incredible body as I see fit).

  But that would be a short term plan with an even shorter shelf life. I need a new plan, a better plan. Maybe I can wear him down with my relentless insistences on proper dating rituals like dinner and movies, until he eventually caves? But isn’t that just a different version of the same old mistake known as If-I-hang-around-long-enough-he’s-bound-to-start-liking-me?

  God I hate being single sometimes.

  I move carefully between the wild dancing. Legs fly, arms wave, hips turn, couples spin in and out. Ah salsa, you are a sexy sport indeed. I weave my way through the passion, noticing as I go Chloe chatting with Antonio at the bar, Emma dancing with an extreme ginge and Arianna and Bruno, the mysterious boyfriend we rarely see because he’s agoraphobic and gets Stranger Danger. Lizzy has disappeared.

  I find myself in front of the mirror of the restroom. I stare at
my reflection. What’s so wrong with me that the Stranger doesn’t even want to take me out for a coffee? I study my reflection. I could pass as either European or Australian. I don’t look very Polish, and the Aussie accent fools most people. I have very long blonde hair, a side fringe, an okay complexion (except for the problematic forehead and chin regions), a small nose, full lips (not Scarlett Johansson big, but big enough).

  It’s nothing overly exciting, but surely he might at least like the shape of my eyes? They’re large and cat-like, but the colour lets them down, they’re beer brown. I’ve never liked them but people sometimes tell me they look green, which I love to believe. I also have dimples, but they only emerge when I’m grinning ear to ear. He Who Shall Not Be Named used to comment on them all the time. He used to call me Dumpling.

  “Hey Pen, what’s going on?”

  Chloe comes to stand beside me. I hadn’t noticed her come in, hadn’t really noticed anything for the last few minutes, so absorbed I’ve been in my own reflection. Narcissus reborn. Semi-disgusted with myself I hide my one-on-one insecurity session from Chloe by turning the focus onto her,

  “Nothing, saw you and Antonio cooing to each other, how’s that panning out?”

  I bump my shoulder with hers as she takes out her lipstick. I should probably reapply too.

  “He’s alright,” Chloe replies without much enthusiasm.

  Crap. It’s ‘the Tone’ again. She has used it to describe every single guy who has shown an interest in her since Crazy. She ignores my silent stare and starts applying her blood red lippy. She is the only person I know who actually looks good in red lipstick. I gingerly take out my generic pink gloss, thinking as I do that I wish I looked more like my strikingly beautiful friend. One night Chloe stepped out wearing yellow eye shadow and still managed to look like the face of Chanel. She and Antonio would look so good together, but I can tell by ‘the Tone’ that she’s about to blow him off.

  Before I start dabbing the sticky stuff onto my lips I turn to face her and put on my most stern of voices,

  “Chlo, he is tall, gorgeous, nice, funny, into you and not addicted to booze or crystal meth. Promise me that when he asks you for dinner you’ll accept.”