"See how easy it is?" Maralynne asked. "If you can get one, I could get dozens." She raised her glass.
Sometimes her sister's back-trackings and changes of subject made Rowena dizzy. "Good," she said. She placed her own order; the bartender brought it to her without comment.
"So, what were your ideas, anyway?" Maralynne asked. "Not that it matters."
"Well, you could find a better place than a bar to hang around, or at least a nicer bar than this one. Or, better, you could take a class at the community college, maybe computers or something, if--"
"A class?" demanded Maralynne. "Computers?"
"Well, it wouldn't have to be computers. I just thought, the number of guys--"
"Number of nerds, you mean," Maralynne said. She took a gulp. "Anyway, I'd flunk."
"That never seemed to bother you much in high school. Or your legions of boyfriends, either."
"Now you're making fun of me. I didn't--"
"I am not making fun of you. I'm just pointing out that you were popular despite not doing all that well gradewise."
"Well, I don't want to take any more classes."
"Then don't. I just--"
"Nerds," Maralynne scoffed. Rowena stuck her elbow on the bar and rested her head on her palm.
"You kind of have to ask yourself about the guys here and what they come here for," she said. "Do they come looking for relationships or just somebody to pick up?" She pushed her glass with her finger. "Look around," she said. "I would guess they want somebody to pick up. Which means this is really not the place for your particular--"
"Once a guy picks me up," Maralynne said, "he's not going to put me down." She giggled. Rowena raised her head and stared. "Don't worry," Maralynne said. "If you have to take a cab I'll pay you back. I'm considerate."
"Maralynne," Rowena said, "do you mean to tell me you think you can just waltz off with the first guy who walks in the door--the door to a place like this--and go live happily ever after? Just like that?"
"Don't be silly. You talk to him a while, find out what his sign is--"
"Maralynne!"
"You gotta start with a date, right? And then . . ." Maralynne made a vague gesture with her hand. "They only think they want a one-night stand," she said. "But that's 'cause they haven't met me yet."
Rowena put her head back down. She could hear her sister's glass leave the bar, then clink back onto it again. She hoped she hadn't quite understood what her sister really meant.
"Hiya, Red. Buy you a drink?"
"No."
"How 'bout you, Blondie?"
"Like I'm gonna take her leavings!" Maralynne cried. The man retreated. "Like I'm--Oh!"
"Maralynne, the place is full of jerks. Let's go."
"What'd he ask you for, anyway?"
"How should I know?" Rowena asked. "Maybe he's strange or something. Or maybe you're being just a little too loud."
"I'm not loud; I'm vivacious." She raised her glass and drank. "Vivacious," she repeated.
"Maralynne--"
"I'm not going," Maralynne said. "You're always pushing me around."
"Maralynne, you're too upset. Nothing good--"
"Watch this," Maralynne said. "Bartender!" She gave him a big smile and thrust her implants out at him. "Doing anything after work?"
"No free drinks, lady," the bartender said. "Ain't nobody gets a free drink here." And he turned his back.
Maralynne stared at him with her mouth open. Rowena tried to think of something to say that would prevent a disaster, but she was interrupted.
"May I buy you ladies a drink?" asked somebody--somebody next to Maralynne. At least this one is polite enough to include both of us, Rowena thought, as she turned to see him. He was regarding Maralynne quizzically.
"I've seen you before," he said. "I know I have."
Maralynne stared. "Mr. Felcher!" she said. "What--what nerve!"
"I--"
"You flunked me in tenth-grade Social Studies. And now you're here . . ."
Mr. Felcher ran his hand through his hair. He was about sixty, and Rowena--who had no trouble picturing him in a classroom, giving out easy A's--found herself wondering whether Maralynne would be quite so indignant if he were younger.
"Marilyn, was it?" he asked. "You had a very poor attendance record."
"You flunked me!"
"Maralynne, you did graduate," Rowena said. "Anyway, I'm sure--"
"He flunked me! And now he's going to stand here--"
"I'm sorry," Mr. Felcher said. "I just thought you looked like an attractive young lady. I didn't mean to be insulting." And he left.
"Maralynne," said Rowena. "Let's go."
"Right," said Maralynne. "Just when I'm starting to get somewhere."
"Get somewhere? Get where? Maralynne--"
"I just got here," Maralynne complained. "Have another drink."
"I'm not done with the first one."
"Then finish it." Rowena heard her glass sliding towards her. She sighed.
"I'm just too generous," Maralynne said, several drinks later. Rowena was still on her first. "We Pisces women never think of ourselves. Everybody wants to take advantage of us."
"Maralynne, for the thousandth time--"
"You wouldn't understand that," Maralynne said. "You wouldn't know what--"
"Will you stop it already? Listen, it isn't that you're too nice or whatever. The problem--"
"See? I knew you wouldn't understand."
"The problem is you keep running around in a state of desperation and when you do get taken advantage of you won't admit it. You go around insisting that--"
"You just wait'll your relationship blows up. You wait and see. You Leos are too self-absorbed for--"
"And anything that goes wrong you blame on Astrology. Brian was a disaster from the word go, and now you're doing your best to find another guy exactly like him. If--"
"You want me to sit in a cave? You want me to dress like a nun? You want me to be ugly?" The horror in her voice when she said this last word was impressive. "You think--"
"Maralynne, I came out here with you, I am watching you get drunk, and I am getting a headache, all on your account. Will you please do me the favor of listening to me for once? Just hear me out, okay?"
"I'm not getting drunk."
"Maralynne. Let's go. We can go back to my place and have some coffee. I baked--"
"I am not leaving here a failure," Maralynne said. Rowena sighed.
"Look. Stay right here and keep out of trouble, okay? I'm going to the Ladies' Room. Be back in a few minutes." She patted her sister's arm and left. As she went she dug the aspirin from her purse and started to plan what she'd say on her return. When she looked back, Maralynne was slumped over, staring at her drink.
Rowena had to dodge two amorous drunks on her way to the Ladies' Room, and a puddle of vomit on her way back. She had not managed to think up an argument she thought would really convince Maralynne, though she still intended to try. But Maralynne was gone. Rowena stood and stared. Then she went to the bartender. "Excuse me--"
The bartender looked at her, then gestured with one hand toward the corner, where there seemed to be some kind of commotion. Rowena went there and found her sister and a strange man under the table.
"Maralynne," she said in a level voice, "button your blouse and get up, please."
"Go away!" Maralynne cried. "Who invited you?"
"You did," Rowena reminded her. "Maralynne, you're drunk. You've lost your mind. Get up."
"Go away," said Maralynne again. "I'm doing better without you."
Rowena crawled under the table after her. The things I do, she thought. "Maralynne, let's go. Right now." Maralynne shoved at her and she almost went over backwards. She picked herself up. "Maralynne, listen to me."
"Leave her alone," the stranger said. He tried to push Rowena back, but she was braced this time.
"Hey!" yelled Maralynne. "Quit shoving my sister!" She took a swing at the man, and Rowena grabbed
her and pulled her back. Somehow she ended up at the edge of the table, out of the fray and facing the rest of the bar and--Brian.
Rowena stared at her sister's ex-boyfriend. She stood up.
"So," she said, just loudly enough. "Brian." The scuffling under the table ceased. "Does, ah, does Betsy know you're here?"
Brian shook his head dumbly. Maralynne, with one middle button fastened, though not correctly, scrambled more or less upright beside Rowena.
"This place sucks," Maralynne said, looking at Brian. "Especially the so-called people here. Let's go."
The sisters left without another word. Rowena made no reference to Maralynne's dishevelled state; it was dark, and what was a button or two? But they'd come in Maralynne's car, and the thought of Maralynne behind the wheel . . .
"You know," Rowena said, "you have the neatest car. I've always wanted to drive it."
And drive she did.
Rowena Goes To A Party
Fiction by S. D. Youngren
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Rowena sighed. "I just don't know," she said.
"Electronics?" asked Terese. "Of some kind?"
"I don't think so." Rowena shifted the phone to her other ear.
"Well, what did he give you for your birthday?"
"A stuffed lemur." She listened to Terese saying nothing for a second or two.
"He gave you a stuffed lemur," Terese said. "I think you're on your own here, kid."
After she hung up, Rowena went back to her dishes, wondering all the time what she was going to give Sammy. Her mother called. Rowena really did not want her mother's advice, but of course she ended up having to explain why she would not be available that particular day, and . . .
"Oh, how nice!" her mother cried, overcome, as far as Rowena could tell, by Sammy's having been born on a real live birthday. "What are you going to give him?"
"I--I'm not quite sure."
"I remember I once gave your father a box of handkerchiefs I'd doused with my scent, to remind him of me. Just in time, too; that very night he started sneezing, and he didn't stop for three days."
"How romantic," said Rowena.
"He said whenever he was sick he'd think of me," her mother reminisced. Rowena wondered how her parents had managed to get married at all. "That's what you need, Rowena; a nice thoughtful romantic gesture."
"Uh-huh."
"Rowena, you don't seem to be taking this very seriously. If--"
"Mother, please. I think I should come up with something really personal, you know? Something only I could think of."
There was a pause. "Well, if you think so," said her mother, cautiously. "Just remember what I said."
"Of course," said Rowena. She wouldn't forget, no matter how irrelevant. At least, she wouldn't forget until she'd told a few people.
The Men's Department was all but empty, and there were no salesclerks in sight, which for Rowena was just as well; she was not at all sure Menswear was even the right place to look. She wasn't sure why she had come here, after striking out at a couple of men's clothing stores already, and she was not convinced that this was the right approach. But as the toy store hadn't worked either, and the bookstore had yielded up only one little paperback . . .
She went vaguely through the clothing. Shirts. Pants. Suits. Ties. Nothing right. There was a small table displaying G-strings and other such items; Rowena hesitated. All different colors, patterns, and sizes. But these weren't quite right either, especially since she wasn't even sure how Sammy felt about sexy underwear for men. Whether he would wear it.
Next, pajamas and bathrobes. Rowena stopped. Sammy had an old beat-up robe she would love to replace with something warmer--if she could be sure he wasn't sentimental about it. She reached out and stroked a sleeve. Plush. Nice. And on sale, too. She bit her lip. She'd never asked the history of his old robe--why he still wore it in such a bedraggled condition. Had an old girlfriend given it to him? If Rowena gave him a new one, would he think--
It was awfully nice. She would like to wrap such a thing around him. Rowena wavered. It wasn't as stunningly original as she'd hoped, but it was so nice, and it would keep him so warm and . . .
Eventually she bought it.
And she told the clerk she would wrap it herself.
As planned, Rowena arrived before anyone else. She gave Sammy the cake; he kissed her and ushered her in.
"Where do you want your present?"
"H'mmmm; hadn't thought of that. How 'bout over there?" Sammy waved at a corner of the living room. "I think we're going to need the coffee table for dinner."
Rowena set the package down. "Who's coming?" She was supposed to help set up, but Sammy already had his dining table laden with potato chips, nuts, and raw vegetables for dipping.
"Steve and Barb, Mike of course, Ken, and a couple of people I don't think you've met."
Rowena lifted her hair and let it go. "How's your mom?" she asked.
"I love it when you do that," Sammy said, smiling. "Mom's fine. We had a very nice lunch. She says hello."
"I hope you told her hello from me."
"Of course." Sammy stood a moment looking at her. "She really likes you," he said.
"Good," said Rowena. "I like her."
"I knew you'd get along. I just knew it."
"Expecting your girlfriend and your perfectly nice mother to like each other," Rowena said. "Entirely unreasonable of you."
"How's your mother?" Mike asked her. He always asked her that. They were awaiting delivery of dinner, which was a large selection (happily argued over) of Chinese food from one of Sammy's favorite restaurants.
"The same," Rowena said. "Now she's a Gift Selection Consultant; she was telling me how great it was when she gave my dad some handkerchiefs soaked in enough of her cologne to make him sneeze for three days. Apparently if I do the same I too can have a couch-potato husband and two ungrateful daughters, just like her."
Mike grinned. "So which package is yours?"
"The big one with the blue and purple paper."
He shook his head. "That's a lot of hankies, lady."
"So how's your mother?" Mike's mother did not speak much English, and his stories about her always included at least one barrage of rapid Spanish, not a word of which Rowena could understand, but she always laughed at the faces he made and at the translations that followed.
Barb leaned over. "Don't you believe a word of it," she told Rowena. "I've never heard such nonsense in my life." Before Rowena could think up a response, Mike turned and let loose a flood of Spanish in Barb's direction. Rowena still didn't know any of the words, but the general meaning seemed pretty clear.
"Got that?" she inquired.
"Close enough," Barb said. She shook her head at Mike. "And they let you teach our children."
"I don't teach swear words. That's for, let's see, the coach, the shop teacher, and the poor sap in charge of computer literacy. Anyway, all I said was that your refrigerator is full of panthers and--"
"Our refrigerator couldn't hold one panther. Shows what you know."
"You mean," Rowena asked Mike, "that junior scientists don't need swear words?"
"Not yet. I gotta get 'em past the planarians at least."
"Planarians," said somebody named Dean. "I wanted to take mine home."
"What, for a pet?"
"Oh, yeah. First on my block."
"At least it'd be easy to keep. No grooming, no walks, no getting hit by a car; and if it does have an accident, well, you got yourself two planarians."
Rowena thought of her friend Terese, and how much Terese would have enjoyed herself here. She should have a party herself, she decided, and invite her friends and Sammy's. As many of them as her apartment could hold.
She began to feel self-conscious, watching Sammy open his presents. Most of Sammy's friends seemed to have brought him gifts that were funny or at least a bit whimsical. He had a T-shirt, a coffee mug, a Ve
nus Flytrap . . . Rowena felt very out of place. She'd been telling herself that none of Sammy's friends would be shocked that she was giving him a bathrobe, but now she felt entirely inappropriate.
And then Steve handed him her package. Sammy looked up at Rowena and smiled.
"Let's save this one for later," he said. "Hand me something else." No explanation; no excuses. Steve just handed him the next package and nobody said anything.
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