Paige waves at James the bartender for our drinks and he gives her a grin that tells me they’ve done more than just talk on the few nights he’s driven her home in the last few weeks. I don’t know how she does it, charming everyone who comes within reach of her 10, 000-watt smile, but who am I to question it? It worked on me after all.
“Hey, Noemie,” James says, tilting his chin to me as a greeting, “The usual?”
I nod and give him a small wave before spinning around and leaning my back against the bar rail, looking out into the crowd. It’s pretty much bumper-to-bumper human traffic in here. Or as I like to tell Paige fake bum-to-bum traffic. The ratio of silicon to human flesh is higher than in your average city. Which is when Paige usually demands an apology, pointing to her own chest. I recognize almost no one, which is unusual, considering Paige drags me here at least once a week. I don’t mind, I have no interest in talking to anyone tonight. The louder it is and the more it discourages small talk, the faster I can fulfil my one drink quota, the faster I can go home.
As soon as I think about how peaceful it is, despite the thousands of writhing bodies and thumping music, I feel a hot, sweaty body press up against my arm.
“Noemie, babe. Nice to see you here tonight,” it shouts into my ear, and it’s hot and uncomfortably close. Or it could just be the owner is the reason the skin is crawling up my back and neck. I try to shrink away, but it just follows me.
“Hi. Chris,” is all I reply, turning my body completely away from him. He doesn’t seem to get the message and just keeps leaning forward, like he’s trying to permanently bind his chest with mine.
“You look goooooooooood today, babe. So sexy,” he drawls, his eyes like a centipede slinking over my body. I try to suppress a shudder, but then decide, why should I?
He mistakes my disgust for some other kind of sign and grins, flashing his too perfect teeth. Teeth that don’t look like they grew from natural substance.
“Did you see me on TV tonight? I was hosting for MeemoTV at the Grammys,” he says, naming one of the cable talk shows I’ve never spent more than two seconds watching while flicking through channels. “Well, some of the pre-red carpet stuff.”
“Nope. Didn’t see it. Working.”
“That’s too bad, I could’ve taken you as my date.”
“Yeah, too bad.”
I see Paige over his shoulder and she’s grinning and pointing to him then raising her thumb up. She’s got to be kidding, right? I wouldn’t set this guy up with my worst nightmare. I take another step back and bump into someone, who shoves me, making me fall toward the human centipede. He gives me a wink and slings an arm over my shoulder, his rum drenched breath washing over me.
“I don’t have a date for the rest of the night,” he says, and my legs clamp together so fast, I almost topple over again.
“Busy tonight. Sorry,” I say, pushing away from him to face the bar, where James is standing, looking like he’s enjoying my discomfort.
“Here,” he says sliding a double of Glenfiddich across the bar to me.
“Bout time,” I glare at him, picking up the glass and giving it a swirl, letting the deep, caramel scent waft up. It burns my nostrils, in that way where the heat creeps up on you. I cradle the glass in my hand for a moment, wanting to savor the moment with my glass of liquid gold. They’re few and far between these days. On my $11 an hour job, I can’t really afford to be indulging my premium liquor cravings. Thank God for Paige and her bank account I tell myself, before I take my first sip.
I close my eyes as the liqueur slides down my throat like amber lava, smooth but destroying everything in its path. I’m instantly taken away from the deafening din of the bar and the grabby, rambling creep next to me and suddenly I’m home, sitting at my grandfather’s feet as he describes to me the minutiae of scotch distillation, and I swill the glass, learning to discern the notes of honey and almond and orange peel. Bliss.
The bliss lasts as long as it takes for someone to ram their elbow into my side, trying to make room for himself at the bar. I hug the glass against my chest, protecting it as I open my eyes and snarl at the intruder on my moment.
“Asshole!” I yell, giving him some elbow of my own. I instantly regret it. His chest is hard and broad. And my jab causes me more hurt than him.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. I detect a European accent in the one word. Ugh, fucking tourists.
“Oi, careful of the lady,” Chris intervenes and I glare at him. I especially don’t need him to protect me.
Paige pushes past Chris and gives me a look before turning her perfect smile on the elbow owner. “Oh, it’s totally okay. It’s pretty crowded in here.”
“Not too damn busy for manners,” I say, refusing to let him off so easily, not that he’ll pay any attention to me, now that Paige has turned her charms on him.
He raises his eyebrows and looks like he’s trying not to laugh. “No, truly, I’m sorry. Let me pay for another round.”
“No, thanks.” I tell him. Even though my tongue twitches at the thought of getting another glass of Scotch to enjoy. “Just keep your elbows to yourself, next time.”
Paige gives me a kick and I turn back to glare at her. She just shakes her head and leans in, her mouth against my ear. “Oh my god, what is wrong with you? Don’t you know who that is?”
“Seriously? Star spotting? Haven’t you lived here long enough to not get star struck?”
“I’m not star struck, I’m just-…”
“No! Don’t know, don’t care.” I hold my hand up.
I turn back to face the bar, there are two hundred dollar bills under the tip glass and both he and the Centipede have gone. Good. It’s back to just me and my drink.
Thirty minutes later, my first glass of Scotch is empty and so is my second, my third and yes, my fourth (thank you handsome stranger with the offending elbows), and I’m infinitely more relaxed. In fact, so relaxed that my bladder reminds me I haven’t taken a bathroom break since 5 p. m., before the dinner rush. Suddenly, I need to pee, and I need to pee right now.