Chickens Coming Home to Roost (Part II)
It's the fifth inning, and the Yankees have a huge lead - this time in a game that really matters, because they're playing Tampa Bay, the team currently edging them out for first place in the American League East. Unfortunately, after pitching four fantastic innings, Ivan Nova's wheels start to come off, and suddenly the Rays are shelling the boys in pinstripes. By the time the dust settles, instead of 6-0 Yankees, it's 7-6 Rays, and we go into the sixth inning.
Luckily for me, this means that a lot of people in the Pub suddenly have a serious need for more alcohol, and Lisa and I manage to oblige them. By the time I have another chance to glance at the television, Robinson Cano is tying it up with an RBI double. I take off my Yankees ballcap, adjust my hair a little, and put the cap back on, pulling my hair through the opening in back. The cap isn't as much of a guarantee of better tips here at the Pub as it used to be at The Bar, but it still gives me the excuse for a ponytail.
A few minutes later, a small group of guys walks into the Pub, and for a moment I forget to breathe. One of them is Rick.
Cue shimmery camera effects...
--
In the couple of months after I stopped sleeping with Bonnie, and before I started seeing Jenny, one reason that I didn't post here was that I wasn't very proud of the way I was behaving. I had ruined my relationship with a guy I loved by taking up with someone who excited me more, and it was difficult to come to terms with that. Instead of pausing to take stock, I engaged in behavior that upon reflection seems... well, self-destructive. About half a dozen times during those couple of months, I violated one of my most essential personal rules of bartending, and I let customers of The Bar take me home with them after my shifts.
I like to think I wasn't obvious about it - when I left I would declare to Jocelyn, or Maya, or Simone, or whoever I was working with that night, that I was going to let this guy or other get me a cab or walk me home. I suspect they knew what was going on anyway, but it was a convenient little fiction that allowed me not to believe I was doing something a little sketchy or even a little risky. I always used condoms, but I have to admit there were a few times I was drunk enough that I'm lucky not to have forgotten.
On the night he was drinking at The Bar, Rick's appeal to me was that he was a tall guy in a Yankees t-shirt who had the courage to tell me he thought I was beautiful. If that sounds a little indiscriminate, you're not wrong. It really didn't take much during those months. He tipped well and insisted on buying me a drink, too, and that pretty much sealed the deal for him. When he asked for my number, I think I said something like, "You can have it if you make me breakfast tomorrow." Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Subtlety.
Because I did a few shots with him before we went to his place, the rest of the night is a bit of a blur, but I'm quite sure I had sex with him. I'm also sure that I gave him my number over Eggo waffles, and I'm just as sure that he never called me, and never showed up during one of my shifts at The Bar again.
--
To his credit, Rick approaches the bar himself, as his friends grab a table. "A pitcher of Yeungling, please," he says, and smiles.
I look for a sign of recognition in his face, and then I start filling the pitcher. "Was I that forgettable, Rick?"
He blinks a couple of times, and regroups. "Not at all. I just wasn't sure you'd want me to say anything here in a crowd."
I smirk, and motion for him to lean forward so I can speak a little more quietly. "You don't know how to say, 'Hey, it's good to see you again' without also saying, 'I'm sorry I didn't call you after we screwed'?"
Rick laughs nervously. "I am sorry, for what it's worth. I had a good time. I just got really busy."
"For two and a half years?"
"Hey, now, that's not --"
I hold up a hand. "You're right, that was out of line. There's an expiration date on these things, and I haven't been waiting by the phone. I just wanted to give you a little bit of a hard time." He pays for the pitcher, and I let him escape without further upbraiding. When it comes time for refills, someone else from the table makes the approach.
A long while later, Jorge Posada's solo homer gives the Yankees a lead in the top of the tenth inning, and Greg Golson makes a beautiful throw to third in the bottom of the tenth to put the Yankees back on top in their division. I'm adjusting my cap again when Rick comes back up to the bar and waves me down.
"Hey, um..."
"Debra."
"Yeah, that's embarassing."
"Don't sweat it, it's been a while."
"I really did have fun that night. Can I have your number again?"
"Nope."
"That's it, just no?"
"Just no. Sorry. Different times."
He shrugs and smiles. "I had to try."
"No foul," I nod, and he walks back to his table, where it appears to me he takes a bit of good-natured ribbing from his buddies.
Inside where my heart feels empty I'm saying yes. Call me, take me home, give me something to hold onto. Anything. Yes.
Luckily for me, this means that a lot of people in the Pub suddenly have a serious need for more alcohol, and Lisa and I manage to oblige them. By the time I have another chance to glance at the television, Robinson Cano is tying it up with an RBI double. I take off my Yankees ballcap, adjust my hair a little, and put the cap back on, pulling my hair through the opening in back. The cap isn't as much of a guarantee of better tips here at the Pub as it used to be at The Bar, but it still gives me the excuse for a ponytail.
A few minutes later, a small group of guys walks into the Pub, and for a moment I forget to breathe. One of them is Rick.
Cue shimmery camera effects...
--
In the couple of months after I stopped sleeping with Bonnie, and before I started seeing Jenny, one reason that I didn't post here was that I wasn't very proud of the way I was behaving. I had ruined my relationship with a guy I loved by taking up with someone who excited me more, and it was difficult to come to terms with that. Instead of pausing to take stock, I engaged in behavior that upon reflection seems... well, self-destructive. About half a dozen times during those couple of months, I violated one of my most essential personal rules of bartending, and I let customers of The Bar take me home with them after my shifts.
I like to think I wasn't obvious about it - when I left I would declare to Jocelyn, or Maya, or Simone, or whoever I was working with that night, that I was going to let this guy or other get me a cab or walk me home. I suspect they knew what was going on anyway, but it was a convenient little fiction that allowed me not to believe I was doing something a little sketchy or even a little risky. I always used condoms, but I have to admit there were a few times I was drunk enough that I'm lucky not to have forgotten.
On the night he was drinking at The Bar, Rick's appeal to me was that he was a tall guy in a Yankees t-shirt who had the courage to tell me he thought I was beautiful. If that sounds a little indiscriminate, you're not wrong. It really didn't take much during those months. He tipped well and insisted on buying me a drink, too, and that pretty much sealed the deal for him. When he asked for my number, I think I said something like, "You can have it if you make me breakfast tomorrow." Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Subtlety.
Because I did a few shots with him before we went to his place, the rest of the night is a bit of a blur, but I'm quite sure I had sex with him. I'm also sure that I gave him my number over Eggo waffles, and I'm just as sure that he never called me, and never showed up during one of my shifts at The Bar again.
--
To his credit, Rick approaches the bar himself, as his friends grab a table. "A pitcher of Yeungling, please," he says, and smiles.
I look for a sign of recognition in his face, and then I start filling the pitcher. "Was I that forgettable, Rick?"
He blinks a couple of times, and regroups. "Not at all. I just wasn't sure you'd want me to say anything here in a crowd."
I smirk, and motion for him to lean forward so I can speak a little more quietly. "You don't know how to say, 'Hey, it's good to see you again' without also saying, 'I'm sorry I didn't call you after we screwed'?"
Rick laughs nervously. "I am sorry, for what it's worth. I had a good time. I just got really busy."
"For two and a half years?"
"Hey, now, that's not --"
I hold up a hand. "You're right, that was out of line. There's an expiration date on these things, and I haven't been waiting by the phone. I just wanted to give you a little bit of a hard time." He pays for the pitcher, and I let him escape without further upbraiding. When it comes time for refills, someone else from the table makes the approach.
A long while later, Jorge Posada's solo homer gives the Yankees a lead in the top of the tenth inning, and Greg Golson makes a beautiful throw to third in the bottom of the tenth to put the Yankees back on top in their division. I'm adjusting my cap again when Rick comes back up to the bar and waves me down.
"Hey, um..."
"Debra."
"Yeah, that's embarassing."
"Don't sweat it, it's been a while."
"I really did have fun that night. Can I have your number again?"
"Nope."
"That's it, just no?"
"Just no. Sorry. Different times."
He shrugs and smiles. "I had to try."
"No foul," I nod, and he walks back to his table, where it appears to me he takes a bit of good-natured ribbing from his buddies.
Inside where my heart feels empty I'm saying yes. Call me, take me home, give me something to hold onto. Anything. Yes.