Mine: A Love Story

by Prussing, Scott

  When we get to the front of the line, I see a familiar face seated on a stool beside the door, collecting the cover charges and passes.

  It’s James, from the frat party. Suddenly the pieces all fit. No wonder he knew about me and Chris and the piano playing—he’d been working that night. And now I know why Marissa and Gary were so anxious for me to join them tonight, and why James had free passes. Mixed metaphors aside, I can smell a fix-up when I see one. I glance at Marissa, intent on giving her the evil eye, but she’s smiling at me all sweet and innocent like. All I can manage is to shake my head in resignation. Well played, roomie.

  I have to admit, James does look good in his pale blue long-sleeve shirt. I think it’s the rolled up sleeves that do it, making him look smart and casual, rather than stuffy. His forearms are pretty muscular, and I find myself wishing I could see a little more of his arms.

  “There must be some mistake here,” James says playfully. “What are two such lovely ladies doing with this loser?”

  Gary grins and holds his fist out for a fist bump. “Jealousy does not become you, my friend,” he says.

  “Thanks for the passes, James,” Marissa says.

  “No problem,” James replies.

  He turns to me and smiles. “Hi, Heather. It’s nice to see you again.”

  “You, too,” is about all I can manage to say.

  “I hope tonight is more fun for you than our frat party was,” James continues.

  “It really wasn’t so bad,” I say. I notice that somehow my hand has made it to my hair and is playing with the end of my braid, so I force my hand back to my side. “I’m sure tonight will be fun, though.”

  Gary and James exchange another fist bump and then we step through the doorway.

  Inside, the place is about half full. There’s one group of seven or eight very loud guys near the front. A couple of them are really big—jocks from the football team, most likely. Thankfully, the hostess guides us to a table on the other side of the room, about half way back. If the behavior of the guys up front is any indication of how they’ll behave during the performances, I feel sorry for anyone who gets up on stage and is not really good. I can’t even play for my friends—how someone will manage to perform with those guys right in front of them is beyond me. We’re sitting far enough away that their noise is merely annoying, but not overly bothersome. Not yet, anyhow. I hope they’ll quiet down a bit during the show, though. Either that, or I hope they have good bouncers here. I wonder if James is a bouncer. He’s tall and pretty well built, but he doesn’t really look like the bouncer type.

  The hostess gives us each a menu and skitters away to seat the next party. On the way to our table, I took a quick scan of the place looking for Chris, but now that we’re sitting, I do a more careful check. My heart momentarily skips a beat when I spot a brown beret across the room, but the guy is blond and way too short to be Chris. There’s no sign of him, and I feel myself relax a bit. I look over at Marissa and see that she’s watching me.

  “So far, so good, huh?” she says. “No sign of he-who-shall-not-be named?”

  Marissa has taken to using the Harry Potter Voldemort reference when referring to Chris. Hearing his name doesn’t really upset me anymore, but I haven’t disabused her of the notion. Who knows, it might come in handy one of these days if I need to get out of doing something.

  I shake my head. “Nope. He’s not here. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

  “Great,” Marissa says. “So it’s safe to order some food? I’m hungry.”

  “Me, too,” Gary says.

  I pick up my menu and say, “Well, what are you waiting for then?”

  I give the menu only a cursory glance. I don’t feel like a hamburger, and the chicken sandwich was pretty tasty last time, so my choice is easy. Marissa and Gary put their menus down a few moments after I do, and less than a minute later, a waiter arrives at our table.

  “What can I get you guys?” he asks.

  I order my chicken sandwich and a diet cola, while Gary and Marissa both opt for BuzzBurgers. Marissa asks for a lemonade and Gary orders a soda. We also order a jumbo basket of fries we’ll all share.

  “Coming right up,” the waiter says as he finishes scribbling the order on his pad.

  “You two probably think you’re so smart,” I say after he spins away from the table and heads toward the kitchen.

  Marissa gives me that innocent look again. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Heather,” she says, smiling sweetly.

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” I say. I shake my head. “I should have known when you said you had three passes and not four. Was James behind all this?”

  Gary and Marissa exchange a glance.

  “Actually, he did give me four passes,” Gary says.

  “I knew you wouldn’t go with anyone,” Marissa adds, “so I figured it’d be easier if I just told you we only had three tickets. That way you wouldn’t worry about us setting you up with someone.”

  For a moment, I’m worried that’s exactly what they’ve done, and that some friend of Gary’s is going to appear with the fourth pass and join us at our table. My concern must show on my face, because Marissa quickly reassures me.

  “Don’t worry, Heather,” she says. “We didn’t give the extra pass to anybody. It’s just the three of us.”

  I’m glad to hear that. And I’m also glad to hear that James wasn’t behind this whole thing. But I still think there’s more to it than Marissa is admitting.

  “So my name never came up when James gave you the tickets?” I ask Gary.

  Gary looks like he doesn’t really want to be part of this conversation. He glances at Marissa. “Well, he might have mentioned something about bringing Marissa and her friend,” he admits.

  I can tell there’s more. “And?” I ask.

  Gary shrugs. “James said he thought you could use some fun, that’s all. So he suggested we all come to open mic night.”

  I look at Marissa. “And you knew James worked here, of course.”

  “Well, yeah,” she replies. “But that’s just it, Heather—he’s working. So it’s not like it’s a date or anything.”

  I’m not ready to give up yet. “And there’s no plan for the four of us to get together after the show?”

  Marissa does a crossing her heart gesture with her fingers. “No, I promise,” she says. “Nothing at all.”

  I look at Gary for confirmation.

  “No plans,” he says. “James helps with the cleanup after they close. We’ll be long gone before he’s anywhere near done.”

  “Okay,” I say, satisfied finally. “You guys are off the hook…for now, anyhow.”

  I’m glad to hear there are no ulterior motives behind our night out, but I’m surprised to find myself a little disappointed that this wasn’t more of a setup. I’m certainly not going to tell them that, though. Especially after the hard time I’ve been giving them—and since I don’t quite understand it myself.

  The arrival of our food keeps me from having to think about it any further.

  Chapter 28

  My chicken sandwich is even better than I remember—the cook’s spicy Dijon sauce is totally delicious. The chunky fries are tasty, too. Marissa and Gary seem to be enjoying their Buzzburgers as well.

  Our waiter begins clearing our plates away almost as soon as we finish eating. I think we’re getting special service, which is nice, because the MC is making his way toward the stage. It’s the same guy as last time.

  James materializes at our table, standing behind Gary.

  “Have fun, guys,” he says, before heading back toward the door, where his stool is now just inside the doorway.

  James seemed to be talking to all three of us, but I have the feeling his comment was really directed at me. And why not? He’s probably seen Gary and Marissa together enough to know they’ll be having a good time regardless of the performers. I’m the one who admitted to not having much fun at the frat party.

  The MC
’s welcome speech is basically the same as the last time, as is his introduction of the first guest, Anthony Tomaso. The crowd cheers as Tomaso makes his way to the stage with his guitar. Clearly, there are plenty of regulars here who know what song Tomaso is going to sing.

  Sure enough, he launches into his traditional opening number, his custom written rendition of “I Love The Joint.” He’s barely into the song before a number of people are singing along with him. I find myself humming to the melody.

  Apparently, the Katy Perry guy from last time isn’t here tonight, because when Tomaso finishes to a loud ovation, the MC is back on stage asking who wants to be next. For a moment, nobody moves, but then an older guy—forties maybe—in a black button shirt and dark blue jeans makes his way toward the stage. His curly black hair is flecked with gray and reaches to his shoulders. I wonder if he works on campus—he looks like he could be a professor—or if he’s just someone who lives near campus and has somehow managed to discover The Joint’s open mic night. Either way, he’s prepared, because he’s carrying a large music player up to the stage with him.

  He takes a minute to plug in and set up the player before grabbing the old guitar from the back of the stage. He hooks the strap over his shoulder and strums the guitar a few times.

  “This old girl isn’t quite enough to do justice to the song I want to play for you,” he says. He takes a moment to twist a couple of the keys, tuning the guitar, and then plays a few more chords. Apparently, he’s satisfied now, because he moves closer to the microphone.

  “Back in the day,” he says, “I used to have a band behind me.” He reaches over and pats the top of the music player. “Tonight, this thing will have to do.”

  He strums another couple of chords. “Any of you kids ever hear of something called…” he pauses for effect, and then shouts: “rock and roll?”

  Some boisterous cheers erupt from the audience. He flips a switch on the music player and launches into a rousing rendition of Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” This guy is totally talented—his old band must have really rocked. By the time he’s done, the crowd is clapping and singing along, and a dozen or so kids are dancing in any open spaces they can find. Rock and roll never dies… or even gets old. Just ask my dad.

  The MC is heading toward the stage, but the old guy is not finished.

  “You folks want another one?” he screams into the microphone.

  The response is immediate and overwhelming. Shouts of “Yeah!” and “Encore” fill the room. The MC backs away. He knows a good thing when he hears it.

  The singer leans the guitar back against the wall and fiddles with his music player for a moment. He grabs the microphone out of its stand and begins singing “Satisfaction,” mimicking Mick Jagger’s antic moves as he bounces across the stage. This performance is even better than his “Born to Run.”

  He leaves the stage to thunderous applause, a huge smile on his sweat-soaked face. He’s clearly thrilled to have relived some piece of his past. I wonder who’s going to have the guts to go on after him. He’ll be a hard act to follow.

  Some groans from the back of the room give me my first clue. I turn and see a familiar sight. It’s the comedian in the loud suit who bombed so badly the last time I was here. The groans grow louder as he nears the stage. Obviously, a lot of people here have heard him before—and are not all that anxious to hear him again.

  I’ve got to give the guy credit. He doesn’t seem to let the catcalls and groans bother him at all. He’s either got the thickest skin in the world, or he just figures the derision is in some twisted way an approval of his act. His jokes are all new, but are equally as dumb as the last time. I wonder if he writes this stuff himself or gets it from some website—stupidjokes.com, maybe.

  The big guys up front heckle him mercilessly after every punch line. It’s mean and obnoxious and most of their comments are only funny to their table. I notice James is watching them closely from his perch by the door. Finally, the biggest guy, a brute with shoulders as wide as an SUV, yells something really crude, something not fit even for this very liberal college crowd. James strides quickly over to the table. He leans over and says something into the guy’s ear. The guy starts to stand, but James pushes his hand down on the brute’s shoulder, forcing him back into his chair.

  Gary is immediately on his feet, ready to go to his frat brother’s aid, and I see two waiters also beginning to converge on the table. I’m afraid we’re about to have an all out brawl and that James is going to get himself pummeled by the giant. But James leans down again, his hand still on the guy’s shoulder, and says something else into his ear. The brute nods vigorously and throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender. I don’t know how James did it, or what he said, but he definitely got that guy’s attention. I watch and see the guy talking to his buddies, who all nod back at him. Finally, James lets go of his shoulder. Everyone at the table gets up and meekly leaves the room.

  As soon as they’re gone, the audience erupts into applause almost as loud as the rock and roll guy got. James smiles and waits for the clapping to subside, then nods to the guy on stage to continue his act. The would be comedian picks up where he left off without missing a beat as James melts back into the dimness at the side of the room.

  Finally, the guy is done. He smiles as he receives a smattering of polite applause. I’m pretty sure the applause is mostly in sympathy for how he was treated by the now vacant table. Catcalls and groans are apparently fair game, but meanness is not, and those guys had gone way over the line. Whatever the reason, the guy is clearly pleased by the reaction.

  Two girls and one guy are heading quickly toward the stage from different directions, each eager to be the one to follow that act. The guy does the gentlemanly thing and backs off when he sees the two girls also making for the stage, leaving them to figure out who goes next. One is tall and dark-haired, with bright red lipstick and a full sleeve of colorful tattoos covering her right arm. The other is much shorter, blond and fair, wearing a pretty blue and orange dress. If they end up fighting for the spot, my money is definitely on tattoo girl.

  The two of them converse for a moment, and then the blonde sits at the piano while tattoo girl grabs the guitar. Apparently, they know at least one common song and are going to play together. Good for them. Make love, not war.

  I’ve been so busy watching them I don’t notice James making his way to our table. Suddenly, I realize he’s standing behind the empty chair next to me.

  “Ten minute break,” he says. “You guys mind if I take a load off for a few?”

  “Sure, have a seat,” Gary says.

  James is polite enough to look at me to see if it’s okay. He’s been so easygoing about everything, how can I say no? Besides, it’s only ten minutes, and it’s not like he’s hitting on me or anything. He just wants to take his break with some friends, right?

  I nod my okay, so he pulls out the chair and sits.

  “Good job with those jerks,” Gary says. “Very smooth.”

  James shrugs. “It was time for them to leave.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but that’s not how it looked from back here.

  “I thought I was going to have to bail your ass out,” Gary says. “But you obviously had things well in hand.”

  “What did you say to that guy to make him calm down like that?” I ask. “He was ginormous.”

  “I just told him this is a friendly place,” James explains, “and that we don’t tolerate rude behavior.”

  “No way,” Marissa says. “He bought that?”

  “I don’t get it either,” I say. “He looked like he wanted to kill you.”

  James smiles. “It wasn’t so much what I said as how I said it,” he says. “My brother’s in Special Forces. He taught me a few tricks.” He puts his hand lightly on my shoulder.

  A tingling sensation shoots through me, like a weak electric current. What the heck is that about? Did I really just feel that? Was it a surge of desire—or of anxiety? I don’t ha
ve a clue. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know, anyhow.

  “There’s bundle of nerve endings right here,” James says. “Squeezing them is very painful, and I had a tight grip on his. I told him if I wanted to I could break his shoulder, and his coach wouldn’t be very happy about that.” He smiles again and removes his hand. “I couldn’t break it, of course, at least not by squeezing, but I’m sure it hurt enough so he believed I could.”

  Well, so much for that desire/anxiety thing. Whatever I felt was just his fingers triggering that bunch of nerve endings—I think.

  “Perception is reality,” Gary says.

  “Hey, smart boy,” Marissa says, giving Gary’s forearm a playful squeeze. “That’s very deep. Where’d you learn that?”

  “Oh, it’s just something I picked up in one of my psych classes,” Gary replies, smiling. “If you study hard, sweetheart, and do all your homework, one day maybe you’ll be as smart as me.”

  Marissa laughs and bats her eyelashes at him. “A girl can only dream,” she says.

  James and I shake our heads at the two of them and laugh.

  The girls on stage have worked out whatever they needed to work out, because the blonde at the piano begins to play. A moment later, tattoo girl joins in with her guitar, and I immediately recognize Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now.” The blonde starts singing first, so I guess tattoo girl will do the guy part. They both have pretty good voices, but it’s still a bit disconcerting watching two women sing that song. But they really are good, and the crowd gives them a nice round of applause.

  “Did anyone else find that a tad strange,” Gary asks. “Or is it just me?”

  “What’s the matter?” Marissa asks, grinning. “Aren’t you into the girl-girl thing?”

  “I’m not sure how to answer that,” Gary says, returning her grin. “Not in mixed company, anyhow.”