Dead End Job (20 page)

“Oh, I’m fine,” I lied. The bartender returned, sans skanky boob display, and plopped our drinks unceremoniously in front of us.

“Twenty-three fifty,” she said. I went to grab my purse but Clark pulled a twenty and a ten out and handed it to her.

“Keep the change,” he said. Good tipper too. Clark was full of surprises tonight.

Right then I smelled a whiff of stale cigarette as Alex and the two Jesuses walked back in.

“Who’s your cute friend, Lu?” yelled Alex, right into my eardrum. I was glad that she didn’t seem to recognize Clark from last week, because she was getting to be buzzed Alex, which meant more chain smoking, glossy eyes and talking at me in an extremely too-loud voice.

“Alex, this is Clark. He works with me at Merit,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t say something too completely embarrassing about my crush on him.

“Hey, hey!” Alex’s hand was raised and she was pointing at Clark across my body in little jabs. “You’re that drink guy from trivia. I didn’t know you were coming down tonight.” I don’t think Clark could hear what she was saying in the loud bar, but either way he seemed unimpressed and gave her an apathetic wave of his hand. Alex sat on my left, but there was only one open seat, so the Jesus twins had to sit next to Clark on my right. They ordered a round of Jameson shots and PBRs. Soon I was trying to have a conversation with Clark, a conversation with Alex about the conversation with Clark, and also listening to Alex and the Jesuses outright yell at each other over my and Clark’s heads. Twenty minutes later I’d finished my fourth tequila and things were starting to get confused. I wasn’t catching on to exactly which Jesus Alex liked and which Jesus liked her. Clark was in one ear talking to me about the documentation he’d been drafting for the merger, and Alex was in the other telling me that she really needed to go buy toilet paper because she’d been out for a week and was currently wiping with a stack of thin, ass-chafing napkins that she’d stolen from the bar downstairs from her apartment. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“OK guys,” I announced loudly, interrupting everyone. I stood up woozily. “I’m out of here.” I started marching towards the door before anyone could say anything or realize how fucked up I was. I got outside without incident, which was fantastic because I’d been known to fall right onto my ass as a result of too many shots.

“Louisa, wait!” a voice called out from behind me. Just when I thought it was safe. I stopped dead. Clark ran up to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, wait! I’ll give you a ride home.”             

Even in my tequila haze I didn’t think this was the best idea. I’d learned over my years of drinking that I should avoid situations where I could and would make a total asshole of myself. A car ride with a relatively sober Clark was just one of those scenarios.

“Uh, no, that’s cool, I’ll just get a cab home,” I said, slurring a bit.

“No, I insist. Look, my car’s right here,” he said, pointing to a small, sporty, black BMW parked off the street.
Well, fuck
.

“Whatta bout your friend’s band?” I asked, my resolve crumbling.

“Don’t worry about it, they don’t come on for another hour,” he said. “I’ll take you home and then swing back to see them. Come on, it will give me something to do. I don’t want to sit here with that crowd for the next hour.” He had a point.

“I live right over in Greenlake, it’s only 10 minutes away...”

“Perfect, get in.”

Clark flashed me his 1000 watt smile and released my hand to click the unlock button on his car keys, and my libido did a mini back flip. I couldn’t stop my mind from picturing dragging this man into my apartment and having my way with him.
Whoa boy, restrain yourself, Hallstrom
.

He started the engine and we pulled onto 45th, driving West over I-5 through Wallingford on the way to Greenlake. The BMW was basically sound-proof, so I couldn’t hear the powerful engine revving outside. The only sound in the car was Mumford & Sons playing softly on the stereo. I found myself staring at Clark’s muscular arms, and decided to try to snap myself out of it by reminding myself of exactly how “not his type” I was.

“How is your girlfriend? Ivy, right? Or is it Lynn?” I wracked my brain, trying to remember which hot Asian he was seeing at the moment.

“Oh, you’re probably talking about Veronica. We actually broke up last week. She started bringing all of this shit over to my house all the time. I think she wanted to move in. I wasn’t ready for that, well at least not with her—you know how it is. So…I am officially single I guess.” He looked over at me and smiled.

What was this? Was Clark seriously hitting on me? ‘Cause that’s what it felt like.
Uh, no way Louisa, you are drunk
, I lectured myself.
He’s just talking to you. Just a normal, friendly conversation
. I smiled back, nervously.

“That’s too bad,” I said. Then before I could stop myself, I blurted out: “Being single is hard.” Oh god, here she was: Truthful Louisa.  

“It’s not so bad. Sometimes it’s fun.” Clark tried to derail my impending rant, but to no avail.

“People are just assholes, you know? Seriously dicks,” I continued. I sensed the impending disaster but was unable to stop myself from speaking. “This last guy I was seeing, he was MARRIED. So: disaster.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. That’s horrible.” Clark looked over at me sweetly and put his hand on my knee. “I would never lie to you like that.”

He rubbed his hand up and down my bare leg, gently. Seriously good call on shaving my legs this morning. Wait, what the hell was happening? Did Clark like me? Did I like him? Did I still like Rocky? Did any of this mean anything at all? My mind was spinning. I was really confused, and suddenly really, drunkenly emotional. I felt my eyes brimming up with tears as we pulled up to a stoplight. I sniffled.

“Are you OK?” Clark asked, cautiously removing his hand from my leg.

Oh fuck, the flood gates had opened. I started sobbing.

“I’m fine,” I wailed, feeling my face get rashy from the crying. “It’s just that you are being so sweet to me, and I’ve had such a horrible week. I’m sorry for this,” I said, burying my face in my hands. Mortifying.

Clark opened his glove box and handed me a tissue. “Here, don’t cry,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve had a really rough week Louisa, but it will be OK. I promise.”

“Thanks,” I sniffed, trying to pull it together. I was furious with myself for blowing my one shot with Clark by crying like a moron. I wiped my eyes and nose, took a couple of deep breaths and looked up at him. I became distracted from my emotional breakdown with the realization that we’d gone almost all the way around the lake and were quickly coming up on my apartment. “We’re almost there, take a right up here at the light then pull over when you get close to 80th,” I said. “Thanks for the ride.”

“To be honest, I’m really glad that I ran into you tonight. I’ve been thinking about asking you to grab a drink with me, and then there you were. Is here OK?”

“Yeah, this is fine,” I said, turning to look at Clark and unbuckling my seatbelt.

I was trying to think of a cute way to say goodbye when suddenly Clark’s hands were on my face. He held my cheeks gently, leaned in without hesitation, and pressed his luscious lips against mine. My body responded and I opened my mouth to his, letting his tongue gently touch mine. He kissed me harder and more urgently. His hands left my face and went straight for my legs, sliding up my shorts. Then they were suddenly on my breasts, and mine were climbing up his muscular arms, grasping and clawing at his shoulders and back while he kissed me deeply.

We made out urgently in the car for several moments, groping and grabbing each other. It was great. Really great. I was thoroughly enjoying myself when suddenly I started to get really dizzy, and everything began to spin. I knew from years of practice that this meant only one thing: I was going to hurl. I started to panic: I needed some space, I needed to get the hell out of this car and I needed to breathe. I pushed Clark away and grabbed my purse.

“I’m sorry but I gotta go,” I said, throwing the seat belt off of my lap and swinging the car door open.

“No, wait! Louisa, stay!” he protested as I climbed out. I wanted his request to be all I needed to feel better, but the truth was that the world was whipping around me in circles. I felt flushed and nauseous, and it was all I could do to fight the tidal wave of puke that was building up in my throat.

“Sorry,” I managed to spit out, slamming the door and taking off at a drunken sprint for my house.

I jogged up the street until I reached the fence outside of my little patio and unhitched the gate. I had barely made it inside the patio when I turned to my right and started puking my guts out into the bushes. My body violently expelled the beer and tequila while tears streamed out of my eyes. I could feel the prickling of bursting blood vessels around my eyes as I puked harder and harder. Even through the heaves my ears registered the growl of Clark’s BMW speeding away as I cowered in the corner in my shame. At least I wouldn’t have to face him until Monday.

Eventually the streams of vomit tapered off into drips. I dry heaved a couple of times, slowly pulling myself up out of the universal, legs straight, bent-over-at-the-waist puking pose.  “Whoa Louisa, did I miss the party?” 

The voice behind me was deep and familiar. Too familiar.

Standing in the entrance to the patio was Rocky, immaculate in a black T-shirt and jeans, staring at me incredulously. I looked from him to the pile of orange-y puke that pooled up around the azalea bush, then back to him.

“I saw you on the street. Looks like you had a bit too much to drink. Didn’t exactly make it to the toilet, did you?” Where did he come from? His attitude was really pissing me off—seriously, was he lecturing me? Not only was he a liar and a cheater, but I was an adult and could drink and puke what and where I liked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked finally, wiping my face with the back of my arm with as much dignity as one could in the situation.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls or texts. I just wanted to talk to you.”

For a minute I thought about going straight gangster and throwing him off my patio, but after vomiting up all of my internal organs I didn’t have any energy left for fighting or otherwise. “Fuck, fine,” I finally said, waving my hand drunkenly in acquiescence, giving in and plopping down onto my front step. “Talk away.”

“Thanks.” Well, he sounded humbled. That was a good start. “I am so sorry that I hurt you,” he began. Even though an apology was what I was craving, at these words my eyes filled up with tears. I was immediately pissed off: not only at myself for allowing Rocky to talk to me, but for getting emotional and showing weakness. “I never meant to hurt you Louisa. I should’ve told you about my marriage to Rachel.”

“No fucking shit,” I muttered under my breath. My eyes burned with hot tears. I felt if I let another one fall, the flood of emotions I was holding back would spill out and refuse to stop. I couldn’t stand the embarrassment, so I stared down at the ground, studying Rocky’s shoes. “That’s fair. I messed up. I guess I just thought that meeting you was meant to be. I felt so close to you, and I thought you felt the same. My past relationship doesn’t mean anything to me, and I just thought somehow that you would understand. I realize now that there’s no way that you could have.” He took another step towards me, until he was standing only a foot away. When I still refused to look up, he knelt down and lifted my chin with his large, rough hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, staring into my eyes. “You don’t know how sorry I am.”

I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry
, I mentally repeated to myself. I looked down at the ground again, fiercely and stubbornly blinking back the tears. I really was winning the battle up until the exact moment Rocky leaned in for the hug.

He was suddenly so close to me, so warm, and his familiar scent hit my nostrils like that first drop of heroin to a junkie’s pulmonary. Fuck. His arms circled around my waist, holding me in a way that made it easy for my head to lean on his strong shoulder. His hands gently rubbed up and down my back as he cradled me.

My complete and utter breakdown was eminent. My chin was unsteady, and my clenched jaw was an anchor keeping my lips from wobbling into a mouthy pout. My limbs shook, and I was beginning to find it hard to take a breath. I felt the sobs building up inside of me, piercing my lungs with their sharpness, pushing and straining to get out of my body. Part of me wanted to give in, to release the hurt and anger I’d held onto, even though the rest of me knew that the anger was the only thing I had that was keeping me together. The sadness and anger in my body were holding hands, linked together and spinning in circles faster and faster inside of me. It was inevitable that one was going to win out, breaking the link and sending the other emotion flailing off into somewhere deep in my subconscious. 

I made a snap decision. I was not going to give in and let some asshole back into my life just because he stalked me and gave me an “I’m sorry” and a hug. I took as deep a breath as I could, sucked up every ounce of self-righteousness I could muster and in one move leaned away from Rocky, pushing him, his warm arms, and his intoxicating smell as far away from me as I could.

“So what!” I screamed at him, standing up and backing up a step towards my front door. “So what if you’re sorry, Rocky?! I don’t know what to tell you. Do you want me to say that everything’s OK now, just because you’re
sorry
?”

“I don’t know, I honestly don’t know,” Rocky answered, taking a step towards me and reaching his hand out. “I just needed to tell you. You wouldn’t pick up the phone, and I had to see you.”

“You know what,
I’m
sorry.” I swatted his hand away. “I’m sorry that I don’t want to talk to you, I’m sorry that I’m confused and hurt and fucking DRUNK right now. Oh My GOD, Rocky, I just fucking barfed my guts out all over my landscaping. Don’t you think this is possibly a bad time?”

“You know what, maybe this was not the right way to go.” I could tell that Rocky too was starting to get pissed off. This was probably not how he pictured the conversation.