by W. S. Greer
“I’ll be back. I’m gonna go get another drink from the bar,” I tell him in his ear, and then I walk away, but I can still feel his eyes on me as the distance between us grows, and even as I take my seat on the round stool at the bar.
“Vodka and Red Bull, please,” I say to the bartender who looks way too young to be serving adults liquor in here. He brings the drink to me and sets it down, then wipes his blonde hair out from over his eye.
“Eight-fifty,” he says, his voice much deeper than I thought it was going to be.
I hand him ten dollars and tell him to keep the change—always tip your bartender if you want to keep getting drinks in a timely manner—then I take my first swig. It’s like heaven in a glass, I swear. That’s exactly what I need. Vodka to put me at ease and hopefully take away some of this stress I’m feeling, and then Red Bull to perk me up—give me the energy I’ll need to get through this night with the five other officers here with me. This night is going to be loud, and I need to be able to take it.
I take another sip just as the image of Lieutenant Weston flashes through my head again, and by the time I’m done sipping, the drink is completely gone. A quick eight-fifty—technically ten dollars—to push the thoughts away. I’ll need a few if I plan on keeping the thoughts away, so I signal to the blonde teenage-looking guy that I want another, and this time I tell him to open a tab for me so I don’t have to pay and tip on every single drink.
My second drink makes its way in front of me, and as I go to get a swig of it, someone tries to sit down next to me and bumps my arm. Some of my heaven in a glass spills into my lap and I jump up like it’s hot coffee.
“Shit,” I say, realizing I may have been overreacting, then I sit back down. The woman who bumped me doesn’t even begin to look in my direction or look to apologize as I use one of the little square napkins to wipe the heaven off my crotch. As I’m wiping, the noise of the napkin rubbing against my pants draws the woman’s attention. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her look at me, but then she faces the bar again without saying anything.
“Don’t worry about it,” I hear myself say, a little annoyed at her impoliteness.
She turns to look at me again, and this time we make eye contact, and I suddenly don’t feel so annoyed anymore.
“Excuse me?” she says, her voice low and indifferent, but somehow sexy.
She looks at me, and it’s like I’m frozen. Her beautiful brown eyes grab ahold of me and turn me into stone like Medusa, except with much more beauty and a lot less snaky hair. Her skin has a golden tint to it, darker than white, but not so dark that I can figure out what her race is, and her wavy brown hair falls perfectly all the way down to the middle of the back of the dark gray sweater she has on, which hugs her body tightly like they’re at a family reunion. I’m stuck. I’m staring—and now I’m embarrassed.
“What did you say?” she asks again, and her forehead gets little wrinkles in it like I’m the one annoying her now, which is what snaps me out of the embarrassing trance.
“Umm, sorry. I said, uh, don’t worry about it.” The words king of tumble out of my mouth like I never had any control over them, so I try to play it off by continuing to wipe off my crotch, even though I’m sure I’ve gotten as much of the drink up as I can.
“Don’t worry about what?” the woman asks as the bartender sets a drink in front of her. Long island iced tea, maybe?
“Umm, the drink. Don’t worry about the drink,” I say again.
She squints those dazzling brown eyes at me like I just disrespected her mother.
“I don’t need you to pay for my drink,” she snips, then turns her head and faces forward, cutting off all communication.
Now I feel little lines in my own forehead.
“I’m sorry, I, uhh,” I try to explain, but she quickly turns and cuts me off.
“Look, I’m really not in the mood. I said you weren’t paying for my drink. I don’t know why men seem to think that all they have to do is just swoop in with their wallets and credit cards and bar tabs, and say ‘put that on me’ to the bartender, and that’s all it takes to get a woman to go home with them. You guys seem to think things like hello and how are you doing today? are phrases that are worthless and somehow make a man less of a man, when it actually does the opposite. You think swooping in with your money makes us think of you as our saviors and our protectors, when all it really does is make us feel like you’re trying to buy your way into our lives—like you’re trying to buy us—and that’s the last fucking feeling I want to have. I’m so sick of it. So, like I said before, I don’t need you to pay for my drink.”
I’m pretty much stunned at how passionately she delivered her speech, speaking without moving her hands at all, just her shoulders when she wanted to emphasize certain words, and she looked at me like my presence was truly offensive. It’s like she’d been thinking about saying that for a long time, and the words finally found their way out. She’s quick on the trigger, and when you couple that with how breathtakingly beautiful she is, it’s almost intimidating. But, I can’t let her go on thinking I was hitting on her when I was actually complaining.
“I think you misunderstood,” I say, hoping I can finish the sentence this time. “I wasn’t trying to buy your drink. When you sat down, you bumped my arm and made me spill my drink in my lap. I was trying to tell you it was okay. I wasn’t saying ‘don’t worry about paying for your own drink,’ I was saying ‘don’t worry about the drink you just made me spill into my lap.’ That’s what I meant, although everything you said just now was pretty true, it happens to not be the case at the moment.”
The wrinkles in her forehead are slowly ironed out by her embarrassment as she realizes the error. I don’t want her to feel bad, so I try to lighten the air with a smile.
“Oh, I’m really sorry about that. That was really rude. And embarrassing,” she replies, looking down at the floor in obvious humiliation.
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I think I got it all up anyway. See, good as new,” I say, pointing to my crotch, then realizing what I’m doing. “Oh, sorry, I’m not trying to get you to look down at my crotch now.”
The gorgeous woman looks at me like I’m crazy at first, and after glaring at me with a confused expression, she finally lets her mouth shift into a soft, small smile, but still big enough to make my heart feel funny. Not sure what that is, I just know it makes me feel better than before I sat on this barstool.
“I think we’re off to a little bit of an awkward start,” I continue. “You making me spill my drink, and me making you stare at my crotch right here in front of everybody, it’s a little much. Don’t you think?”
Her smile fades and she’s back to being defensive, but it feels different now. Like she’s forcing it.
“I guess so,” she replies, turning to sip her light brown drink.
“I wasn’t really looking for any kind of an introduction, but since I made you look at my crotch, I feel obligated to at least introduce myself. My name’s Austin.” I reach over and extend my hand. She hesitates at first, but eventually shakes it.
“Layla.”
“Nice to meet you, Layla. So, what brings you into Stacy’s tonight?”
She glances down at the bar before she answers.
“Just a night out, I guess.”
“You come here often? Or are you a tourist?”
“I’m not a tourist.”
“Okay, so do you come here often?”
“I guess so. Every now and then.”
When I realize she hasn’t even turned to look at me, I know she’s really not in the mood to be talked to. It’s like that sometimes. Some people want to go out just get a break from whatever life is hitting them with, and they don’t really want a conversation with a perfect stranger. I get that. That’s the mood I was in before she sat down.
Even though I can honestly say this woman is the most attractive woman I’ve ever seen, I can take a hint, so I decide not to ask her anything
else. Instead, I face the bartender and chug my second cup of heaven. Once it’s all gone, I signal teenage-looking guy and he brings me another. When I start to take big gulps out of the drink, I can feel her eyes burning into me, so I slow down a little and pull the glass away from my lips.
“So, what brings you into Stacy’s, Austin?” she says to me, catching me off guard. I was sure the conversation was over.
“Umm, celebration, actually,” I answer.
“Celebrating a birthday in Las Vegas?”
“Nah, I live here, too. Stationed out at Nellis Air Force Base. Just got back from a deployment so we’re celebrating, or at least they are.” I motion to the table surrounded by the five clean-shaven men I came with, just as they’re getting geared up for another shot.
“Oh. Not what I expected,” Layla responds.
“What’d you expect?”
“I dunno. I figured you were a tourist looking for a wild night of fun, but you seem way too subdued for that.”
“Well, I’m not really in the mood for celebrating.”
“You’re not glad to be back?”
“Oh, I’m thrilled to be back. It’s just hard to celebrate when you’ve seen the things I saw over there. I just didn’t realize I didn’t feel like celebrating until I got here.”
“I see. I’d ask what it was that you saw, but I get the feeling you won’t tell me.”
“And you’d be right, but I’m sure you could guess. It’s war. Bad things happen when you’re at war.”
Layla stares at me for a second, and it feels like her beautiful brown eyes are looking into my soul, trying to figure out if I’m good or evil. Her expression has softened completely and I can tell that whatever wall she had up before has come down, and it only makes her that much more stunning.
“I’m sorry to hear that. That must be hard. I understand hard,” she replies, looking down as she says it.
“Yeah, it can be a little tough, but I’ll be okay. How about you? What do you do?”
“I, uhh, I’m a bartender at a nightclub.”
“Ah, I see.”
“What?”
“That explains why you thought I was trying to hit on you. I assume you’re used to that kind of thing in your line of work, especially in Vegas.”
She glances down at the floor again.
“Definitely.”
“Well, when you find yourself in the situation where you’re being hit on again, try to understand that when a woman looks like you, men can have a hard time not acting like jackasses.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Look, I’m gonna say this one time, because I don’t want you to get the wrong impression. I didn’t come here to compliment women or to hit on anybody, so don’t think that’s what this is. I’m just answering your question, okay?”
She lets out a slight giggle under her breath. “Okay.”
I take a deep breath and try to figure out the best way to say exactly what I’m thinking. It’s a lot harder than you might think. Usually, nerves get in the way, but between the Patron shot at the table and the two and a half Red Bull and Vodkas, I’m pretty numb to all my nerves. So, I take another deep breath and just say it, hoping for the best.
“Look, I’m twenty-three years old, Layla. I’ve been in the Air Force since I was eighteen. I’ve been deployed three times and gone TDY six times, all to different places around the world. I’ve seen a lot of people, and still, I know without a single doubt in my mind that you’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen in my life. So, if I know that after all the places I’ve been and all the people I’ve seen, imagine the affect you have on all the local guys.”
She doesn’t say anything at first, which makes me nervous. The alcohol has me saying things I usually wouldn’t say out loud, so I just hope I haven’t said anything that might offend her and make her think I’m trying to get in her pants. I was just being honest. She’s breathtaking, that’s all there is to it.
“Umm. Never heard anything quite like that before,” she says, looking me straight in the eye, as serious as a heart attack.
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to offend you or be too forward. Like I said, I was just answering your question.”
“I’m not offended,” she replies with another soft smile, but bigger this time. Even more beautiful.
It looks like she’s getting ready to say something else, but before she can get the words out, she’s distracted by something behind her. Someone behind her. A man.
I watch as the huge, bald man taps her on the shoulder and leans over to whisper something in her ear. I can’t hear anything he’s saying, but I can tell from how her facial expression has hardened again that she’s not happy about it. She doesn’t say anything in response, she just nods to him, and then he leaves without ever looking up at me. Once he’s disappeared into the gaggle of patrons inside Stacy’s Bar, Layla turns her attention back to me, but there are no more smiles. The wall is back up.
“Umm, I’m really sorry, Austin, but I’ve gotta go,” she replies, then she starts to get up.
“Oh. Okay. Did I piss your boyfriend off?”
“No. It’s not like that. I’ve just gotta go. It was nice meeting you,” she says as she turns on her heel and walks away. My eyes follow her as she struts through the crowd, the epitome of perfection. There must be fifty guys staring at her as she makes her way out, but she ignores them all.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I reply, even though I know she can longer hear me.
Layla
“You ever wonder if there’s anything better out there?”
“Out where?”
“Out there. Outside of here. Outside of this,” I gesture with my hands like a magician’s assistant showing there’s nothing inside the box.
Marlene lets her eyes bounce around the half-empty club before she turns to me.
“I don’t know. I don’t really think about it.”
“Well, you should consider yourself lucky then.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you don’t have to think about it,” I reply. “For me, it’s always in the back of my mind, like a light that never goes off. It’s there, shining dimly, giving light to the darkness even if it’s only a small light. That light is the little bit of hope I have.”
Marlene runs her hand through her short black hair and clears her throat as she leans over the bar on her elbows. There’s one stripper on the stage right now, but I’m not even sure what her name is. Maybe it’s Jessica. Maybe I don’t even care.
“I hear you. I’d assume everybody has that little bit of hope deep down inside of them. Everybody hopes for something better, don’t they?”
“I don’t know. I guess so. I just wonder if it’s on everybody else’s mind as much as it’s on mine.” I reach up and adjust my hair so that it falls over my shoulder on the left side, and cascades down my back on the right side.
“What exactly are we talking about here, sweetie?” Marlene inquires. She squints her eyes and has a little smirk on her mouth like she already knows the answer. “Are you talking about life after Red Pony Gentlemen’s Club? Like, a family?”
I let out a sarcastic chuckle as if that’s definitely not it, but then I have a second thought.
“I’m not really sure, Marlene. I mean, what about you? Have you thought about what it’d be like to have a husband and some little kiddos running around in a nice house, with a two-car garage and a little miniature pinscher barking at everything for no reason?”
“Well, obviously you have,” she replies over a giggle. “Personally, I don’t get too excited by the thought of having a husband, but I sure as hell wouldn’t mind having a wife to go home to every night. We can get to kids and all that other stuff later.”
I laugh again.
“You know what I meant. The thought of having a normal life is what makes me excited. I like the idea of settling down and getting away from all this bullshit and drama. It’s not so much the
husband part, but the part where I don’t have to do this anymore. I wouldn’t mind being normal for a change.” I reach down and gently run my hand over the tender area on my leg where the cigarette burned me a few days ago.
“From what I hear, settling down isn’t as easy you might think, Layla. From what some of my straight friends tell me, finding a good guy is like finding a fucking dinosaur fossil in Vegas. Like, that shit doesn’t happen. They say all the good guys are either gay or married.”
“Yeah, I hear the same thing,” I agree, but even as the words come out of my mouth, that light in the back of my mind is still there.
I think about all the douchebags I’ve come across in my life, including my own father, and it almost makes me sad. Even having this conversation makes me feel stupid. I’ve never met a guy who didn’t get on my nerves at some point. They all do it. They have this other side that always comes out eventually, and the next thing you know, they’re cheating on you, or they’re hitting you, or both. Guys suck. So, even mentioning the idea of having some sort of a normal life, where I’m settled down with a family seems out of this world. I should know better by now . . . but it really would be nice to have. It’d be great to not have to sleep with men for money. Yeah, I definitely think I’d like that. But, who am I kidding?
“Listen, I can see where this is going, Layla,” Marlene chimes in, interrupting my train of thought. “I can see you’re starting to want something different, something better than this club and all the assholes who come here. But, you need to be careful, okay. While it’s great to be ambitious, you know who you work for, and you know what he’s capable of.”
I rub the circle on my leg again.
“Yeah, I know,” I reply.
“I’ve got your back in whatever you want to do, but just be careful, hon. I don’t like seeing bad things happen to you.”
“I know,” I repeat. “Thanks, Marlene. It’s just a thought anyway. Just a little light in the back of my mind.”
