Persistence
Out of the blue, Sean hooks her arm and queries, “Have you met my friend Barclay?” He’s wearing his eternal smile, sincere and goofy. She mumbles something and waves him off without breaking stride. We go back to our conversation about lenses and lighting.
Ten minutes later in her next lap, Sean again hooks her arm again. “Have you met my friend Barclay?” She stops briefly with a noncommittal wave, and continues on.
Fifteen ‘til last call, she’s circling again, although noticeably less stable. Same question: “Have you met my friend Barclay?”
She halts, confused, and Sean starts extolling my virtues. She’s just moved here from New England, she’s a New England girl, New England is the place to be. Sean rolls with it, “Yeah, that’s what Barclay’s always telling me. Barclay’s from New England.”
“Really, where?”
I pause, trying to think of cities of the Northeast, but the drinks have significantly slowed my synaptic firings.
“Delaware?”
She turns to me, and between the rumble of the band and her intoxicated slur, I can’t understand a single word. I takes wild stabs of guesses as to the topic, responding with insightful observations and questions I assume would be appropriate were I correct. She doesn’t seem to notice any conversational drift, and sloppily scans the crowd at intervals.
Eventually, she migrates over to talk with Sean while Charlie and I shoot the shit about writing, but returns shortly to begin grinding against me, ass against my crotch, face toward the crowd.
Yes, I was that guy. The guy that some girl is pretending to hook up with so some other guy, some guy who doesn’t really care what she does if he even knows she exists, some guy who’s probably out of her league, some guy she’s sublimated to nobility in her drunken fantasy, will see the impending loss of his siren and immediately rectify the situation. Yes girls, both This Guy and Other Guy know when you’re doing this, we see it all the time, this bartering frotterism for attention. We let you do it anyway.
I continue my conversation with Charlie while she arches her back in front of me and pushes hers into mine, gyrating and pulling my hand to her side.
After a few minutes, she guides me closer to the wall, body tight against mine. I wonder if these displays ever work. As her mouth opens and our tongues explore, I have my hand on her ass. It’s past last call. I’m kissing her, wondering if her ploy is working, imaging a seductive-sports bookie, some X-Games spinoff, taking odds. I know she doesn’t want me, but I wonder how far she’s willing to go.
We’re parted as they kick the last patrons out into the turbulent mesh of people congregating outside the door, hailing taxis, stumbling home, raucous conversations of subsequent destinations. Reconvening with Sean and Charlie, I see New England, in the embrace of some other guy, hopefully Other Guy, mid-kiss.
Sean winks. “How old are you again?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Yeah, so you’ve been around. You know she was just working you.”
“Yeah. So what’re we doing tomorrow night?”
“Don’t know, but third time’s a charm.”