She was supposed to be the dream, my pin-up dream. She was cute. She was gorgeous. She had great posture and naturally thick eyelashes. Legs from here to Heaven. I was in Heaven. She was just perfect. It was Friday night, 10 p.m. Time to get moving. I called up my best friend James. He's the best wingman out there, at least the best wingman I know.
"What's up? He says. "Bout to get my drink on." I say. "Cool." He says. "Cool." I say. "See you in a bit?" He asks. "Yeah, see you in a bit." I told him. As you can probably tell, we are awesome conversationalists, champions at the craft.
A bit passes by and we're at the club, readying ourselves to get our groove on. Yeah, we're thorough like that. We enter the club, we get all up in it. I'm sipping on a mojito. Not because I like them, but because girls like guys who drink mojitos and that guy on that one commercial looks badass. It's 2009's dry martini, shaken not stirred. I'm bobbing my head calmly, keep the beat like a lounge singer. James is over talking to some girl. She looks like Julia Roberts. It looks like its going well. What a pretty mouth. He touches her arm.
She touches his arm back. Houston, we may have lift off. It looks like I might be going home alone tonight. And since I have D. S. S., or dry streak syndrome, I can't go home alone. I scope the rest of the bar. There's a couple of cute blonde chicks over to the left. There's a pretty redhead a bit to the right. Right in front of me is a goddess. She's dark-haired, thick lipped, almond-eyed. It's like the pin-up that my grandfather gave me the day he told me it was time to be a man, came alive. She was my destiny.
I had to make my move soon. I shot a quick glance over at James. He wasn't there. Gone. What? Where could he have gone so fast? I searched the bar again, this time with a completely different intent. It's like he just vaporized. 'Well, good for him' I thought. Houston, we have lift off.
I turned back to the business at hand, my Miss. America, and there was James. What the hell? But how... why? It was like the Universe was playing a trick on me. Why God, why? I stood and watched in slow motion horror as my best fried was talking his way into the bed of my Aphrodite. I couldn't let this happen. I intervened. I had to.
I walked up to James and the Goddess of Love. "Hey man." I turned from him to her. I said. "My name's Dan." I offered my hand. She took it. A chill went right down my spine if you know what I mean. "I'm Becky." She said. Her voice was honeysuckles and roses. I smiled, a little too dreamily perhaps, but it wasn't anything I could control.
James eyed me, gave me the cut off signal. He was claiming rights. I shot him a look right back. It said "fuck no, I'm in this." That was it, the game was on.
Shameless flirting ensued. Innuendo was made. The war was being waged. It was an even fight; he just had a little more ground on me because he struck first, the bastard. We were at the tipping point. Then the Nagasaki moment. James turned to Becky, smiling a-wicked,
"Dan, over here," he nudges me, "has one and a half testicles... and sleep apnea." Becky looks at me in horror and pity. I look at James, betrayed to my very core. Becky tells him she's just going to tell her friends that she's going to another club and that she'll be right back. The silence is violently awkward. It feels like he's standing over me, unsheathed dagger plunged in into my heart, a laughing maniac.
By the time Becky comes back, I've lost my anger and fallen into self-pity, righteously so I might add. I shuffle over to the bar and order. My good friend Johnny comes to cheer me up, followed by a bit of the Captain as he navigates his way through my Coke. I watched Judas escort my Mary Magdalene out the door. Neither of them even looked back.
Someone pats me on the back. "Don't worry about it. She always does that." The voice is kind, understanding. "You can have your friend back tomorrow morning." I turn. A girl with reddish-brown hair and freckles smiles and holds out her hand. "I'm Annie." She says. "I'm
Dan." I say. "Nice to meet you." We say, at the same time. We started talking. On our second beer, her phone played that Vegas song by the chick who kissed a girl. "Do you mind? It's just a text message." She asks. "Not in the least bit." I answer. “It’s from Becky.” She says. She flips open her phone and puts her hand up to her mouth. She can't hold back the laughter. She holds the phone up so I can see.
(505): That's the great thing about NY, if you pee your dress you have an entire cab ride to air dry your panties before the next club.