“Oh, it’s okay, I thought you were saying ‘see you then’ to Friday.”
“Yes, I can totally see that. I’m an idiot.”
“No, please. I’m sure I was probably unclear.”
“That’s fine. Gives me an excuse to go over to Rodney’s and get a drink. I thought I’d be stuck reading all night or something. No offense,” she says, and I laugh. “But let’s do next week, ’cause I can’t get a sitter again for tomorrow.”
“Oh, you came all the way out. I can skip the group.”
“No, no.” She lights a cigarette and rests her other hand on one skinny hip. “It’s my stupid fault.”
She pulls her phone out, and the light reflects off her face, where I can see the cut on her lip is almost healed. She seems in good spirits. Not in danger, I think.
“Okay, then. Next week.” I smile. Then I wave, awkwardly, to Luke. “Thanks for the book.” I look like a complete moron right now, visibly jumpy, but I can’t seem to control it. Conscious of the need to get to the bathroom so I can do up my still-open zipper, which my T-shirt is barely covering, I finally make myself turn and go in.
I was less than a second away from getting caught. Would I have gone back to his place with him if she hadn’t come? Or would I have held to the promise I’d made to myself a thousand times in the last week and walk away, go home, forget him, tell him to leave town?
***
10
I HAVE NOTHING IN common with Lacy Dupre. We would never come together or form a friendship in any way if I hadn’t seen what I’d seen.
She shows up the following weekend, at Rodney’s, a bar she suggested, wearing pink cutoffs so short that her butt cheeks peek out the bottom. Her tight tank showcases boobs that are too big for her small frame. She later explains they were a gift from an ex. She sits and I can smell drugstore perfume attempting to mask the heavy odor of cigarettes.
“Hey, what’s up?” She drops her phone in her purse and smiles. I see a line of lipstick across her teeth but don’t say anything. She pulls out some Tutti Frutti lip gloss and applies a second coat. She reminds me of a Fruit Roll-Up, all pinks and reds and tropical smells. I feel very beige next to her in my skinny jeans and plain white tank.
“Hi, it’s crowded, so I just snagged the first table I could. This okay?” I ask.
We’re seated at a small two-top in the front of the bar, near the windows that look out to the sidewalk. The damp, stale urine smell sort of just comes with the territory when you go to a bar in this town. It’s the kind of place where shaky addicts and drunks are slumped over the bar before noon, redolent of sour liquor as alcohol leaches from their pores, clinging to the halcyon days of their youth because they haven’t got much of a future.
“Sure.”
A waitress is quick to place a napkin down in front of Lacy as she passes us, carrying a tub of dirty glasses and empty beer bottles. She orders a beer-rita, and I don’t know what that is. I trace the rim of my wineglass with my finger, anxiously, not really having a plan. Not really even knowing why I’m butting into her life. If it weren’t Joe Brooks, would I still feel this compulsion to help her, or whatever it is I’m doing?
A giant margarita with a bottle of Corona stuck into it, upside down, arrives at the table.
“Wow,” I say, taken aback by the monstrosity.
“Want some?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“I actually bartend here one night a week, so I know all the good drinks.”
“I can see that.” I try not to sound condescending, but my mom voice is coming out a bit.
“Ronny Lee pissed on me, so I had to change, that’s why I’m late. Sorry.”
“Oh, is that your...son?”
“Yeah. He should be passed the pissing on me stage by now. I hope he don’t end up retarded,” she says, sighing, then taking a few gulps of her vat of green beer-rita. I try to make sure my face doesn’t show how offended I am by her choice of words.
“Kids always hit milestones in their own time. I’m sure he’ll be fine.”
“I guess.” There is an awkward silence. She probably wonders why I asked her here. A bus lumbers by on the street outside. The paper birch tree outside the front window bends as it surrenders dozens of dead leaves from a heavy gust of wind. I try think of what to say. I have no real plan.
“I thought it was cool of you to ask me to hang out.”