by Willow, Jo
“He’s not due for three weeks. He can’t come any time. He’ll come in three weeks like he’s supposed to.”
My mother began patting his hand, trying to soothe his ruffled nerves.
“Son, relax. First babies often come early or late. They keep their own schedules and have no regard for yours. Believe me, it’ll be fine.”
“It won’t be fine! He needs those three weeks to form things!”
Dorothy looked at him and wrinkled her brow.
“What things?”
He threw his hands up and began to pace.
“Things! I don’t know... fingernails or hair! Maybe teeth? Eyelashes? Things!”
My mother and I exchanged a look, silently willing one another not to laugh. Neither of us spoke or that bond would be broken. Dorothy was made of sterner stuff than either of us.
“Teeth? Sweetheart, babies aren’t born with teeth and a lot of babies aren’t born with hair. Everything will grow in time. You’ll see. He’s got all of the important stuff. If he’s ready to show, then we’ll be ready to meet him. Calm down and relax Deacon. We have a wedding to get through in a few days.”
Deacon stopped and scanned Dorothy head to foot.
“What are you doing standing? Sit DOWN woman! Gravity is not helping our condition! Do you want him to come early? Do you want him to fall out?”
That did it. I wrapped my arms around my mother and we huddled together in silent laughter, tears streaming down our cheeks. I glanced up and saw Dorothy smile and put her arms around her husband, my idiot brother.
“Deacon, he can’t fall out without our knowing about it.”
“How do you know this? You’ve never had one before.”
“You’re right. But I know that having a baby usually entails screaming, a lot of bad words, and me hurling insults at you. Also, if babies fell out routinely, there would be a pregnant women dragging them around by the umbilical cords all the time. Pretty sure I’ve never heard of that. I know it wasn’t in the pamphlet the doctor gave me...”
He let out a deep breath and put his arms around Dorothy.
“Alright, alright. I over-reacted. I still worry. Neither one of us have done this before and I just want it to go well. Know what I mean? God Dor’, if anything happened to you...”
She kissed him on the cheek and put her head on his chest.
“Nothing’s going to happen. You’ve been to almost every doctor’s appointment with me Deke. You heard her. I’m healthy. Brian’s healthy. We’re ready baby. First the wedding, then the baby. Okay?”
“I wish you were staying home that day Dor’. You don’t need the stress or the excitement.”
“I’m going to the wedding, then I’m staying for the pictures. Afterwards, I’ll head home. I promise.”
Fully appeased, the Wolf smiled, his tail once again wagging in contentment.
Here we were, three days later, trying to keep Anton on a short leash. I liked the idea of another joint bachelor-slash- bachelorette party, but Anton wasn’t having it. He said the first one was out of necessity, and this one would be done traditionally like everything else.
Traditional and Anton have never been used in the same sentence. I’d like to bring that to everyone’s attention.
Deacon refused to attend. He and my parents were keeping Dorothy under house arrest and she was just angry enough to plot an elaborate escape. Obsessed doesn’t even begin to cover the way he hovered over her.
We dropped by their place in one last ditch effort to persuade him to come along and give her a break. My folks reminded him that they’d be there if she needed anything, but he stood like the Rock of Gibraltar, refusing to leave her side. I understood how he felt, but it didn’t make my position enviable. Chase and Austin thought Anton was hilarious and often encouraged him to push the envelope. I was the lone voice of sanity and I was singing in an empty hall.
I’ve reread this and I realize something. I started out strong and I’m finding I’ve earned the nickname, “Teddy Bear”. At least to a certain degree I’ve earned it. Not entirely though, because my story isn’t finished. The problem is, this next part is still a bit blurry.
Money buys privilege. The more money you have, the more privileges you enjoy. If that sounds upper class elitist, that’s because it is. It’s also true. You may not like hearing that, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Thank fuck for that, I might add, or Anton never would have made it to his wedding and the next part of the story would have contained his eulogy. You see, Melody Lincoln has money too. His death could easily have been made to look accidental and after the stunt he pulled, nobody would have refuted whatever story she would have offered up.
We left their condo, the Three Musketeers, me as the driver, and I was driving blind. Anton had programmed the destination into the GPS without giving me the name of the establishment. That should have been my first clue that we were wading into troubled waters.
When we pulled into Brooklyn, my radar engaged. When we stopped in front of The Cheeky Monkey, a false sense of security settled in. We were at Austin’s bar. What could go wrong? Right?
First clue? The bar was closed. Or appeared closed anyway. It was dimly lit and the “Closed” sign was displayed prominently on the door. That deterred no one. Austin hopped out, keys jangling, a carefree look plastered on his face. Chase followed with Anton close behind. I locked up the car and brought up the rear.
I clung to the fraying threads of hope. Perhaps the four of us would turn up the jukebox and open the bar after locking the door. Yes. That had to be it. We’d discuss the past year or so and all the trouble and strife we’d survived, then toast Anton’s nuptials. We might get a bit shit-faced, but what harm could we do? We were an island unto ourselves. Just the four of us and a cheeky monkey.
Hey. A man can dream.
In my own defense, I never knew there was such a thing as cinnamon whiskey. Now I understand why it’s called, “Fireball”. It tastes like those little cinnamon candies, but it packs a punch. Also, never mix said Fireball with Jaeger, beer, or anything resembling clear liquor. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The minute Austin unlocked the door, we scurried inside like rats into a candy shop and Austin locked the door behind us. One of his regular bartenders was behind the bar and three waitresses were meandering through the crowd. Yes, I said crowd.
The lights were dim, but the bar was crowded. I think everyone Anton knew in this and in previous lives were there, and yelled a greeting when he entered. I scanned the room and saw several problems. I’m pretty sure that I was the only one who saw the train barreling down on us, because if anyone else saw it, they gave no signs of distress.
A waitress met us at the door with a tray containing four shots of amber-reddish liquid. My companions each took a shot and I followed suit, trying to remember not to be a “stuffed shirt”. I’d survived two other bachelor parties and I was certain I could survive this one.
I downed the shot and thought, “yum”, just before I screamed, “Holy Shit!” and grabbed for a glass of water that was conveniently placed on the bar near me. I downed it as quickly as I’d downed the shot.
Anton grinned at me knowingly and I couldn’t stop blinking, trying in vain to control the water that was gathering in my eyes.
“Fireball little brother. A few of those and you’ll be a proper Sloan.”
“What? A Sloan with a knocked-up wife and a deathwish? Or a Sloan with a woman I have to attach a tracking device to?”
Anton was not amused, but he ignored the slight and handed me another shot. Like a fool, I downed it too. Then the music started.
It’s not my favorite genre of music, but I know Rock. Ayla likes Rock and I’ve grown accustomed to heavy guitar and bass. This was different. It was vaguely familiar, but someone else had bought a round of drinks and I’d downed something clear that tasted like a flavored vodka. Hoping to stall off a rapidly approaching decline, I ordered a beer and bought myself some time. The music
seemed to be getting louder as I approached the smaller room to the side. The room where the stage was.
The man of honor, or should I say the idiot of the hour, was seated at a bar table with Austin and Chase. They’d saved me a seat and I wove my way through the whistling throng until I found myself at their table, very near the stage. The stage where Liza, Anton’s ex-something, was slowly taking her clothes off to the music. If we were anywhere else, this would not be surprising. She is, after all, a stripper. And if you’ve ever seen her perform, you’d know it was indeed her calling. However, we weren’t anywhere else. We were at Austin’s bar. And although I was mildly inebriated, I still had the presence of mind to process the thought that he didn’t have a license for this type of entertainment. Even if he did, I was fairly certain the area wasn’t zoned for it.
Yeah, that’s me. Mr. Level Headed.
Just as I was about to lay this small problem at the feet of the man it belonged to, another round of shots came our way. The liquid was dark and smelled of licorice. The other three held up their shot glasses and raised their eyebrows at me. I knew a dare when I saw one. Alright then. Throwing caution to the wind, I clinked glasses and downed this one as well.
This is where the facts start to blur together.
Liza gave way to Sandra, who led to Sheila. Clarice came next and then she was upstaged by someone doing some kind of dance that involved feathers and a Meatloaf song. I didn’t know and honestly didn’t care. I couldn’t feel my tongue and I was more concerned with what that might mean neurologically. This sensation was new to me.
All things lead to paranoia when you’re a drunk control freak. That’s why I never get drunk. I’m always the driver. Except I wasn’t driving anywhere. I understood this, because if I couldn’t feel my tongue, what would come next? My legs? Could I go blind? What if I forgot my own name or address? Yes, these were the roads my imagination traveled after one drink too many. The questions were endless with no answers in sight.
What I do remember is this: After every dance, the girls congregated at our table to talk-slash-grope-slash-half heartedly congratulate Anton, who was eating up their attention with a spoon. Did I mention that none of them thought to put on clothing?
Since the door was locked, there was little chance that Melody would come charging in to find her fiance getting a lap dance by a naked woman. When a beautiful woman with red hair came slinking up to me, I distinctly remember raising both my index fingers and making the shape of a cross while shouting, “Back you devil woman! Back I say!” I’m sure it got worse, but thankfully, the question part of the program is shadowed in my memory.
I do remember Anton taking his shirt off, quickly followed by half the men in the bar. Then, they proceeded to start dancing with the naked siren strippers. I’m sure I resembled that kid in that Christmas movie that spends half of his screen time face palming. By this time, the numbness had spread to my nose and I thought about calling an ambulance before it spread to my brain.
All of this might have gone unnoticed by the public at large, except the music had gotten progressively louder. That, and someone had unlocked the door so that they could leave. No one else thought to secure the lock once that someone had left.
Unfortunately, Chase was one of the half naked men dancing with an entirely naked woman. It is also unfortunate that he was drunker than myself, because his declaration that, “I’m a detective! Do you KNOW who I am?”, fell on the deaf ears of the four police cars full of cops that were dispatched to find out what all the noise was, coming from a closed bar on a Friday night.
It probably didn’t help that I was standing in the middle of the dance floor screaming, “I can’t feel my face!!”
That’s when things became blurry. I do remember sitting in the backseat of a black and white between a woman named Dixie and a large dude named Dave, humming, “Bad Boys” and wondering who was gonna call Deacon. Because it sure as shit was NOT going to be me.
My money was on either Chase or Austin. Once again, the four of us found ourselves together. We’d been isolated from everyone else once they found out who we were and the likelihood of our staying more than a few hours.
A jail cell has the ability to do things that a cup of coffee cannot do. It makes you question the cleanliness of your surroundings. It removes all doubt as to whether or not you can urinate in public. It also sobers your ass up in about half the time. Especially when you’re staring at your dumber-than-toast brother who keeps raking his hand through his hair while chanting, “She’s gonna kill me”, over and over ad nauseum.
I finally reached out a hand and stopped him. He looked up at me, hoping against hope that I had something uplifting to say.
“You may have to sleep with one eye open, but she won’t kill you. It’s far more likely that Deacon is going to take care of that. He’s been torn from his wife in the middle of the night and this is the SECOND time you’ve been in charge of a bachelor party and we’ve ended up in jail.”
Anton grabbed his head yet again.
“I didn’t call him, I thought you called him.”
I was shaking my head and looking at both Austin and Chase. They both looked guilty.
“Not me. This is one of those times that I would rather have called DAD than Deacon. Dad would be pissed, but he’d have kept his sense of humor about it. Deke will HAVE no sense of humor about it. I’d be trying to figure out how to explain all your naked ex’s too. You know he won’t keep that little tidbit to himself. At the very least he’ll tell Dorothy, and she’ll for sure tell her sister. I’m curious to see her face when the name, Liza, comes up in conversation...”
He moaned and clasped his hands between his legs, his shirtless torso gleaming with whiskey scented sweat.
“You’re dying to see me throw up in a urinal that hasn’t seen bleach in six months, aren’t you?”
I leaned over and placed my hands behind my neck.
“Now I’m gonna heave. I swear Anton, I will NEVER fall for your party bullshit again. I managed to go twenty-six years without getting arrested and now I’ve gone down twice in a year because of your sorry ass.”
My head popped up and my eyes flew to Chase who was also shirtless and clad in tight jeans, as was Austin. If my sense of humor had remained intact, I might have thought the situation funny. My first assessment was that they locked us up together because of who we were. Now, as I looked at the three of them, it occurred to me that they looked like stars of a prison porn movie and I looked like the odd man out. I had on a denim shirt, my sleeves rolled up and a pair of dark prewashed jeans. Ayla dressed me before I left. I had been wearing a comfortable pair of khakis and a Polo, but she said I looked like I was going to work on, “Casual Friday” instead of to a bachelor party.
As I studied my cellmates I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d call their attire.
Chase caught me gawping and tossed his head at me.
“Why are you staring and what are you thinking Pierce?”
“That, my friend is a complicated question. I’m staring because the three of you look like porn music should be starting any second and you should be looking at Anton with smoldering eyes, if you catch my drift. What am I thinking? That, plus I’m wondering if that ‘three strike’ rule pertains to stuff like this. If I get arrested one more time because of that shit-for-brains brother of mine and get sent to homosexual hell, I’m telling everyone in there that he prefers young men and cute pets.”
Anton’s head flew up and his eyes were huge. I shrugged.
“Sorry bro’, but I’m too pretty for prison and this is all your fault anyway.”
“You prick! You’d sell your own brother into prison whore hell because you got caught with me? What kind of bullshit is that Pierce?!”
I shrugged again.
“Hey - if I didn’t do it, Melody would! When she finds out that you were practically playing naked Twister on a dance floor with a dozen of your ex’s, she’s going to bust your nut and earn he
r nickname! If I were you? I’d wear chainmail to bed tonight Mr. ‘Honey-I-Swear-It’ll-Never-Happen-Again’.”
Anton stood and began to pace, after full realization of his situation hit home. He was marrying Jaws in approximately thirteen hours. He smelled like whiskey, cheap perfume, and guilt, and there wasn’t a snow cones chance in Ecuador that she wasn’t going to find out. At that moment, my appreciation of Ayla came back to me in full force.
The woman was my rock. My anchor. My center of gravity. She’d laugh herself stupid over this situation and feed me tidbits of what Melody had to say later on. We’d lie in bed sharing chocolate and coffee and giggle about this night once I got home. I knew my wife. My wife loved and cherished me. She trusted me. She had every reason to. Whereas my brother? He had reason to be pacing and thinking about various ways to fake his own death.
“Holy Mother of God. What the fuck are you three supposed to be, Prison Penis Party Part One?”
I started laughing hysterically until his blazing silver eyes landed on me and I shut down completely. I forgot what kind of temper the eldest Sloan brother had until it was focused on me.
“And you. I trusted you to keep an eye on the idiot. I am sorely disappointed in you Pierce. Ayla is frantic. The police phoned her and woke her out of a sound sleep. She phoned me right after Chase did. She’s waiting in the car.”
I began to wonder if there was room in Anton’s escape plan for one more. It was almost four a.m. and my wife was waiting in a Town car for her husband to be bailed out of jail. As Anton would say, this sucked about eighty ways from Sunday.
We kept our heads down and our mouths shut as Deacon and three of our lawyers did their best to intimidate the NYPD. I don’t recall who was scarier, my brother or the three suits, but it didn’t matter. In the end, it was that money-buys-privilege thing I told you about earlier. We were set free with a warning and a threatening glare and Austin was told to keep his nose clean. It turned out that the only thing that saved him from losing his bar was the locked door and the “Closed” sign. It was a private party and he’d be slapped on the wrist with “Disturbing the Peace”, but the naked strippers would not be held against him because he wasn’t paying them and it was a closed party. It was probably the ONLY bit of silver lining any of us would see in the next forty-eight hours.
