Page 19 of Greased

There are booths around the stage with small tables for drinks. Even though it is early afternoon, a few men occupy the seats throwing money at the girl. There are a few booths around the rest of the room with lounges surrounding small platforms with poles in the middle. A couple of them are occupied with a couple of younger guys and a stunning brunette who is currently shaking her ass in a guy’s face. Poor lad looks like he is going to bust where he’s sitting.

It takes everything in me to hold in a chuckle.

Rhodes directs me towards the bar that sits off to the right of the stage.

“Oh my god! My babies are back!” A voice yells out causing a few of the patrons to glance over at us with curious glances. It's obvious they all know who Rhodes is with the nods they give him, but their eyes stay locked onto me, curiosity filling their gaze. The newbie. Great.

I startle as I’m pulled into one of the tightest hugs I’ve ever had as the wailing lady embraces the both of us. It seems like she holds us there forever as she rubs my back non-stop repeating ‘My babies are home’. I stiffen, not quite sure on what to do or how to react.

Eventually she pulls back, her gaze stays locked on mine.

“Oh my sweet Scarlett. I couldn’t believe it when your father told me that you were alive. It broke my heart all of those years ago. Your Mum was one of my best friends.” She rushes out but waves a hand in front of her face, like she shoos away the thought. She dabs at a few tears that leak down her cheek. “But enough of that. That’s a story for another day,” She says, grabbing my shoulders and holding me directly in front of her.

“God, you are just as beautiful as your mother. Look at that beautiful blonde hair. Oh my lord Jesus and those eyes. Just like your Dad and your brother.”

Tears begin to well in her eyes again as her hands move to my cheeks. I feel like they are about to be squeezed but I don’t care. I don't know what it is but I instantly love this woman. There is just something about her that makes me feel at home. Like she could be a second Mum to me. By the way she is acting, it seems like that may have almost been the case back before everything happened.

“Dakes is going to be so relieved when I can finally tell him you are home. He has been so lost all of these years without you, my girl. He should be back soon.”

Dakes?

It occurs to me that no one has mentioned any of my previous friends I used to have. This ‘Dakes’ was obviously one of them. It makes me question just why none of them have ever been mentioned.

Who are they? How did they cope with my accident? Will they still want to be friends now that I’m back? The thought is pushed aside as Rhodes jumps in, swinging his arm around my shoulder.

“Jesus Shell, I’m sure feeling the love here.”

“Oh, shut up you.”

The woman in front of me says as she smacks Rhodes in the stomach causing the wind to knock out of him. For such a short lady she seems like she would be a pocket rocket.

“Come on you two, let’s get a drink. Rules are a little bit more relaxed here. The whole twenty one drinking age thing doesn’t apply. All you young kids are running around here doing much worse shit than drinking alcohol. What’s your poison, my girl?” She asks me as she directs us over to the bar and calls over one of the bartenders.

“I’ll just go, a Bundy and coke.”

The dumbfounded look she gives me makes me question myself.

“Sweet girl, we aren’t in Kansas anymore. What in the fuck is a Bundy?

“Ahh, like Bundaberg Rum?”

“Oh, my darling. We don’t have that here. I’ll order it in for you.”

Shelly taps my hand in a motherly gesture.

“I’ll just get you a Captain Morgan and coke.”

I nod my head as she tells the bartender our orders. Soon three Jack and Cokes are sitting in front of us.

I can’t help but let the feeling of displacement trickle through me. I never would have thought that something as simple as asking for a Bundy and coke would make me feel that way.

For the first time since we touched down, I feel homesick.

As I take in my surroundings, it really starts to set in that this is my reality. There's no Ashton Kutcher about to jump out and tell me I'm being Punk’d; this is all real.

I start to feel nervous. What if I’m not made out for this life? What if I can’t live up to the expectations that have been set for me?

As the doubt filters in, so does the overwhelming feeling of knowing that I can in fact do this. That I can live up to the expectations I have set before me. That I can exceed in fulfilling them. There are people that will be counting on me. Lives that need to be saved.

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