Page 90 of The Friend Game

Tomorrow I’ll think about putting on real clothes and mascara.

Or maybe the day after tomorrow.

At least sometime in the next week…or month.

I walk into the piano bar flanked on either side by my four companions. Brooke grabs a table for us in the back, and I sink down into the chair in relief.

Brooke, who knows me too well, orders us a round of Shirley Temples, and soon I’m happily sipping on the cool, sweet beverage.

Well, not happily. But the sugar hit does at least take the edge of the slight headache that was starting to form from all the crying.

It’s just past 9:30, which means the karaoke is starting to pick up for the night. Turns out one margarita is all it usually takes for most women to get up onstage and belt out “Man, I Feel Like a Woman” or some other power anthem. Men are a bit more stubborn, but a couple of beers often gets at least a few of them up on stage to croon Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’.”

Right now there’s a trio of women up there doing a very interesting rendition of “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls. It would be funny if I were in a better mood. As it is, I feel nothing but sadness. So I keep sipping my Shirley Temple until it’s gone, then pick the cherry out and start fiddling with a stem like my life depends on tying it in a knot.

“Oh,” Brooke sits up straighter in her chair, “Grant is here.” She frowns and I follow her gaze to the door where Grant, the guy she’s been seeing the last month or two, is entering the piano bar. “I told him not to come,” she says to me with an apologetic glance my way, “that I was with my sisters. I’m sorry.”

Grant has spotted us and is now heading our way. Lovely. Just what tonight needs, another spectator to my downfall. At this rate I should sell tickets.

“Hey, Brooksie,” Grant says as he reaches our table.Brooksie?I wait for Brooke to jump down his throat about that horrible nickname, but she says nothing, just gets to her feet to give him a quick hug in greeting.

I exchange a look with Jill who rolls her eyes in Grant’s direction. I know what she’s thinking: Here Brooke goes again.

Brooke is to boyfriends like I am to jobs. They never last long.

All of the men she dates are carbon copies of one another too. Tall, dark hair, successful business types.

I swear she even dated a different guy named Grant before too.

“Mind if I pull up a chair?” he asks. Again I wait for Brooke, this time expecting her to tell him that unfortunately she does mind because her little sister is currently having a nervous breakdown, but again she surprises me.

“Of course not, babe,” she exclaims. “Go for it.”

Okay. She’s being really weird. As Grant turns to grab a chair from a nearby table, I catch sight of Sydney smirking at Brooke. She looks as ifshe’s fighting a laugh. Meanwhile Brooke is studiously not looking at Sydney.

Something is definitely going on there, but whatever. I have enough problems of my own at the moment to add figuring out Brooke’s weird behavior to the list.

“So is anyone going to actually sing tonight?” Belinda asks, taking a sip of her drink as she flips through the karaoke menu on the table. “I’m thinking about doing an old Olivia Newton John song myself.”

“I think Grant and Brooke should do a song,” Sydney announces a note of mischief in her voice.

“What?” Grant looks appalled at the very idea.

“Oh yeah, we totally should,” Brooke enthuses.

“Nah, I don’t think so,” he says nervously. “Karaoke isn’t my thing.”

“But you were singing karaoke the night we met,” Brooke protests.

“Yeah, but that was just a one-off. Plus, I was with my friends; I’d had a couple of beers.”

Brooke’s smile definitely looks pasted on now. “Right,” she chirps. “I see.”

“Aww, Brooksie,” Grant says with a frown. “Are you mad?”

“No,” she replies quickly with a glance Sydney’s way. “Why would I be mad that myboyfriend doesn’t like karaoke? Not like I own a karaoke bar or something.” She lets out a strangled laugh. “Anyway, I can just do a solo or drag Jill up there with me.”

Jill, who—like me—has been watching this whole exchange with interest, startles to attention. “Yeah, definitely,” she says. “I can get up there with you. Although if we do a guy/girl song it’s your turn to be the guy. What are you thinking—'Don’t Go Breaking My Heart'? Ooh, 'The Boy is Mine'?”

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