“Eight months. You’re already a ninth of the way there. Hang in there, sister.”
The band was really rocking out by this time, so we stopped trying to hold a conversation and just enjoyed the music. Kinda goes to show how awesome they were if it was enough to make Lisa shut her trap.
Aside from some hair bands and Elvis Costello and only a handful of others, the music of the eighties pretty much sucked. Too much pop with synchronized keyboards and not enough substance. Thank God the Seattle surge in the early nineties finally brought us some decent talent. But it had been a few years since any band made me stop and take notice.
This one did.
My bartender friend came over, so I said, “Hey, Will. These guys are great! Who are they?”
He gave me a knowing smile. “The Strokes. Fucking amazing, right?”
I nodded my head in agreement.
“Yeah, they’ve played here a few times. I never switch my shift when they’re on the schedule.”
“I can see why.”
Will darted off to take care of his customers, and the boys were fully absorbed with the music, so I took the opportunity to finally tell Lisa about the previous evening’s shenanigans. I leaned over and grabbed her head, saying into her ear, “So… I saw Trip last night.”
“What?”
I just gave her the wide-eyes and confirmed with a nod of my head.
“No, I mean what as in, I can’t hear you!”
I tried telling her again.
No luck.
“Layla, it’s too loud in here. Speak up!”
I didn’t want to yell such news across the bar, and I especially didn’t want Bruce or Pickford to hear. So I asked Will for a pen, which he brought to me eventually, and wrote in big capital letters across a bar napkin: I SAW TRIP EFFING WILEY LAST NIGHT.
Lisa’s eyes went buggy as Will said, “Hey. I know that guy. He’s an actor, right?”
“Yeah. And do you always make it a point to read other people’s private notes?”
“When they’re written with my pen, I do.”
I rolled my eyes as Lisa asked, “How did he look?”
Before I could answer, Will piped in with, “Like he coulda used a stiff drink.”
“Dude. Do you mind?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
It took the extra second, but I realized what my drink-slinging friend had just divulged. I’d been trying to edge him out of the conversation, but suddenly decided to switch tactics. “Wait. You saw him? How’d you even know who he was? Seen his movies?” I found that pretty unlikely. Will was never much of a film buff.
“Nope. He came in here with my brother. Remember Mitch? He runs security now. He’s been on the set of some movie they’re filming on the west side.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t know. Week or two ago. Sat right there and had a few sodas one Saturday night. You know him?”
What’s up with the sodapop, Curtis?
“Yeah, we went to high school together.”
Lisa chimed in just then. “He popped Layla’s cherry!”
I laughed out, “Oh my God! Shut the hell up!” I was so embarrassed, but Will just snorted a chuckle and went back to serving the booze. I gave Lisa a smack on her arm. “What is wrong with you, psycho?”
She was cracking up. “Hey. I can’t drink. I need to find other ways to entertain myself.” She took a sip and got down to brass tacks. “So, you saw him. How’d it go? You guys, didn’t… you know…?”
“No, nothing like that. Lots of flirting, but he just went home.”
The band took a break, so Bruce and Pickford came back over by us. I mimed the cut-throat at Lisa to end the subject. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
Pick was out of breath, smiling and enthusiastic as he said, “Oh man! Good band, right?”
We all agreed as he ordered us another round.
The DJ threw on some filler music, and as soon as I heard The Clash’s “Police on My Back”, I grabbed Lisa and dragged her out to dance. We were screaming the lyrics into each other’s faces, laughing and young and silly, Molly-Ringwalding around like a couple of jazzercising idiots, not caring if anyone was watching. It was exhilarating, and a great way to burn off some of the anxiety I’d been feeling lately. Aside from that, it just felt great to let loose and be goofy with my best friend.
It felt like life. It felt like me.
We came back to the bar sweaty and out of breath, and the boys relinquished our stools so we could collapse.
I took a huge swig off my beer. “Hey,” I said. “You guys crashing at my place tonight?”
Lisa answered for all three of them. “No, thanks. May as well let hubby here take advantage of his designated driver for the next eight months.”
Pickford piped in, “I plan on it,” giving his wife a lascivious grin.
“I meant as long as you have me, you may as well use me… oh forget it. That’s an even worse setup.”