Jen winced as she looked at Sandra, seeing the resigned frustration on her friend’s face. “I’ve got a puking kid at home…” she started, then cut off the bad news, and shrugged. “Let’s at least have one more drink before I take the next train, ok?” It was peace offering. Another fun night out of supposed freedom had been derailed by the bullshit of useless spouses and responsibility.
Sandra cut her off with a shake of the head. “No, no…it’s fine. You need to go. GO. There Will be other nights out, someday…when our kids are all in college or jail.” She gave a wane smile.
Jen looked at her, and Sandra saw the look. Jen, more than the other two, definitely DIDN’T want to go home, either. Sandra had actually been relieved when it was just the two of them left, because the wet blankets were gone and she knew that there was a decent chance of a fun night. Instead, her last ally was getting pulled away.
“Do you want to walk out together?” Jen asked. “We can try again in a few weeks. Sandra, I’m sorry.” Sandra knew that she was. Grabbing her drink…maybe the 3rd? 4th? Not enough yet plenty, she said, “Here’s to next time,” with mirth in her voice. The purple cocktail disappeared.
Jen laughed a bit at her theatrics, and followed suit. “We’ll get ’em next time, really…” her voice trailed off. Sandra and her both knew that neither wanted the night to end. “Let’s go. At least we get to skip the hangover, right?” Sandra laughed quietly, in response to the saddest of silver linings on what was supposed to have been a “fun” night out.
They trudged out of the door of the club, pushing past other people that, Sandra ruefully noted, were just arriving. They reached the street, and Jen turned to her. “Train is that way…where did you park?” Sandra tilted her head the other direction. “A few blocks that way. Sure you don’t want a ride?” Jen shook her head. “It’s 40 minutes out of your way, I’m good.”
They briefly hugged, and Sandra set off. It was a nice spring Friday, warm weather, and there was that early spring buzz of energy in the air. She could see the streetlight up ahead that indicated the turn that she should make to get to the parking garage, but she found herself instead drawn to every restaurant and bar that she passed, filled with people and energy. Doors opened and she would hear laughter and music inside. It’s not even 10 o’clock! She thought to herself.
Suddenly there was a scent in the air, the unmistakable whiff of a cigarette, a smell Sandra knew, was decided different once a few drinks are involved.
Sandra looked for the source of it. Leaning against the side of a alley, underneath a small sign, she spotted her potential nicotine provider.
He was tall, a bit gangly, even. Not slouched against the building but relaxed, enjoying his cigarette. He wasn’t dressed up but not dress down, just jeans and some nice shoes, a collared shirt and a thin leather jacket. His hair looked like he didn’t put any effort into it – dark, not slicked back but far too perfect to have required no attention. It was the look of someone who put far too much work into trying to appear as though no effort had been involved.
Sandra knew this guy, or a hundred others like him. She smiled to herself…she was going to get her cigarette. Bumming a cigarette off of a drunk girl, difficult. Off of a man? Child’s play.
She walked up to him, making sure to square her shoulders back and show off her low-cut top. “Sorry to bother you, but…is there any way I can bum a smoke?”
He glanced over at her, quickly, and then, looking away for a second, started to fumble in his pocket for the pack. Then he stared at her again, and smiled a bit. She saw him go up and down, up and down, and Sandra knew that she was being check out. Not even discreetly, just an open appraisal of her. Wanting the cigarette, she tolerated it — it was almost amusing, in a way.
The guy was in his mid-30s, she guessed. Perfectly normal looking, maybe even handsome, he reminded her of so many mistakes, good and bad, that she had made in a former life. How many times had a shared cigarette involved a guy that looked exactly like this one?
His eyes were glued to her chest, and Sandra knew, even if it was his last, that a cigarette in his pack was as good as hers. She smiled, and batted her large eyes a bit more at him. His eyes went from her chest, to her pretty face, and back to her chest. It’s still easy, she thought to herself.
He held out the pack, it was halfway full. He smiled. Sandra went to reach for it, and he pulled it away, briefly. Ah, a clever one, she thought to herself. “What’s it worth to you?” he asked playfully.
Sandra smiled, and reached confidently for a cigarette. He let her take one, and their eyes met. She noticed that his were dancing a bit with excitement, and her stomach did a small flip. Maybe Friday night doesn’t have to end quite yet… “Someone to talk to out here while everyone else has fun?” she said, trying to sound flirtatious.
He nodded. “That’s a pretty fair trade, ok.” He took another drag, holding it in and again staring her up and down. The look on his face told her that he very much enjoyed the view.
Sandra held out her borrowed smoke. “Can I get a light, perhaps?”
He grinned, and shook his head. “Nope, a lighter is extra.”
Sandra smiled back — it was weak flirting, but it was a dance that she had done before and was rather enjoying. “Oh really? And what will THAT cost me?”
He looked at her closely — he was actually pretty cute — and leaned in. “You have to let me buy you a drink,” he said.
Sandra laughed a bit — he was forward, that was for certain. She shook her head and said, “Sorry, I have to head home after this. Anything else I can offer?”
He gave a fake wounded look at her response and said, “Nope, a deal’s a deal. The cigarette is free. But the light, I need to be allowed to buy you a drink.”
Sandra waved her cigarette at him in reply, as if to say, ‘Cmon, just light it’, but then she relented. What the hell, she thought, it’s not even 10 yet. “So let me get this straight,” she asked. “You’ll light my cigarette but I have to have a drink with you?”
“Well,” he said, “put it this way: I let you grab one of my precious cigarettes, then we talk politely, then you leave me sad and lonesome? Nope…let me buy you a drink after. That’s my offer.”
Sandra quickly did a bit of mental calculation in her mind. She knew that she should go home, but also knew that she had sworn up and down: don’t wait up for me. Girl’s night out. I deserve a night out. A REAL night out.
Sandra watched him, staring her up and down. She already knew that he liked what he saw…she had seen that look far too many times. But this time, she did the same. They sized each other up.
She had fought for this night out. Her friends had all gone home. But she wasn’t done.
Sandra found herself thinking what a story this might be to tell. “Ok, fine. Deal. But I get to pick the drink, ok?” The man held up his arms a bit, as if you to say, ‘be my guest’. He then pulled out a bic lighter.
“One drink…” she said with a smile, remembering that flirting really had never been hard for her.
They smoked mostly in silence, him waiting for her to finish, and then, as she exhaled for the last time, trying to look suave, he motioned towards a door next to them and said, “Right this way, to your cocktail, m’lady.”
She laughed, and watched as he held open the door for her. Walking past him, she ascended down a few stairs and through a narrow hallway. She could hear the bass of terrible dance music, and wondered what sort of place she was about to enter.
Through a curtain, she found out. A large dancehall was in front of her, with strobe lights on the dance floor and lined with darkness around it, booths and tables. She couldn’t even take it all in with the swell of people, and as she began to lose herself in the mesmerizing scene, she felt a warm hand on her elbow. It was the cigarette guy from outside, and he motioned to the bar, as if to say “What do you want?” She shrugged her shoulders and then said “vodka martini” loudly over the din, figuring it a safe call.
He walked away, and she stood there, soaking it in. this is the night out that I wanted, and it occurred to her that she didn’t even know the name of the place. Oh well, she thought, might as well make the best of it.
As she waited for her drink to arrive, she glanced down at her phone. Numerous texts, one from Jen (“Caught the 9:55 p.m.!”) and none of other importance. She had said that she’d be home late. She put her phone on silent and dropped in back into her small purse.
Her drink, and…date? Arrived. He handed her one of two martini glasses, and then, his hand now free, guided her over towards a far corner of the club.
Away from the dance floor, the booths and table area was dark, illuminated only by the light of a few cell phones that she saw scattered about. Almost purposefully dark, Sandra thought, and smiled. She was feeling mischievous.
Her new friend sat down, and she sat next to him. The martini glass was comically oversized, and Sandra made a mental note that this was not one, but probably three drinks. For courage, she took a large gulp, and then, another. Her new friend laughed at her speed. “Hey, you don’t have to chug and run!” he said.
Sandra looked at him and put on a smile. This was fun, she realized. “Sorry…not trying to be rude, just a bit thirsty.” Their legs were touching, and now Sandra felt his hand resting on her bare leg, above her knee. Still innocent, she thought, with the potential to be dangerous.
“No problem,” he smiled. “Just wanted to get comfortable.” It was nearly pitch black where they sat, even after her eyes adjusted to the darkness. His hand traveled up her leg, and curious as to how far he’s try to push it, Sandra did not protest.