who already seems a bit drunk. She is surrounded by a group of people who are trying very hard to look sincerely fascinated as she describes her plans for a book tour. “She really should have worn a bra with those droopy boobies. The Big C will be validated.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Let’s get another drink.” The bartender, Luis, is a really cute Spaniard who makes me a Kettel One gimlet. He likes Tabitha, so it’s pretty stiff.
“So,” says Tabitha, eyeing our new friend as she speaks. “What does Ronda do? Finance, right? Fascinating,” says Tabitha, just as the annoying guy squirms his way over to me. I feel him standing a little too close. I don’t even have time to give Tabitha the red flag when she’s all over it. She glares at this poor sod.
“Excuse me. Do you think she would ever want to talk to you?” I look at the guy sympathetically, he really is no match for her. “Okay, then.”
He cowers away, cursing under his breath. Luis is impressed by Tabitha, although he can’t really understand the harshness of her words. She smiles at him. They begin to talk, well, shout over the music. The best part is the broken English and sign language that goes along with their communication. I can see Tabitha mouthing the word “fabulous.” When he has to make someone else a drink, Tabitha bombards me with questions about where “Rowena” and I are going to live.
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe you should live on Wall Street.” She never takes her eyes of Luis.
“Tabitha, stop being so testy and go play conquistador with your new friend.”
“He’s busy, serving.”
“Well, I guess he better get used to it.” She glares at me.
“This is the thanks I get?”
“What, for saving me from the evil swine? You know you enjoyed that more than anyone. C’mon, if you’re good I’ll go make the excuses for the Big C’s absence for you.”
“Well, I guess she really isn’t coming. It is two-thirty. She has an eight o’clock breakfast. She’s certainly not the spring chicken she used to be. It probably looks better for her not to show up. What a great image she cultivates.” Deep down Tabitha admires the Big C.
“But, she’s not as good a friend as you are.”
“All this flattery! I assume you want a car voucher?”
“Well, I’d hoped to stay with you, but I forgot Thursday is Matador Night.”
“Brilliant. Let’s do some kind of crazy Spanish shot and then you can put your spin on my dear employer’s absence. I guess this means no Krispy Kreme tonight.”
“Well, I’m sure you can get some special sweet treat.” We motion to Luis who gives us a double shot that looks a lot like a lemon drop. We clink our glasses and swallow down the tasty goodness.
“Tabitha,” I say, swaying a little. “We will always go dancing.”
“We rarely go dancing now.”
“Well, you know like from that movie about the people in Seattle when she meets the guy from Spain and thinks she’s going to marry him.”
“Whatever.” She looks around at the thinned-out crowd, the men who have been pretending to drink so they can schmooze, the love connections that have been made for the evening and then the classic Tabitha, “Oh the carnage!”
“Do you want to live with us?” Perhaps, that wasn’t the best way to phrase it. Tab would never admit to wanting to live with us.
“No.”
“Well, at least be happy. It will be fun, a new place to hang out.”
“I guess. I’ll have to.” She hands me the coveted voucher.
“It’s true what they say.”
“Which is?”
“You are a queen among women.” I kiss her cheek.
“Be gone!” She waves me away with a hand. “This party totally thinned out and I need to look ready before our little Latin friend makes other plans. Don’t incriminate me with Elizabeth.”
“Oh, right, that’s her name.”
“She uses lowercase, if you can imagine the obnoxiousness of it all.”
“I can’t. Enjoy.” I wave to Luis. He comes over, kisses me and calls me something in Spanish. I call my car, which should be here in fifteen. Enough time for me to pee and make Tabitha’s excuses for the Big C. Lucky for me, the poet elizabeth is on line for the bathroom. Two birds with one stone.
“You really shouldn’t have to wait on line, you’re the guest of honor.” (Now I know that seems like ass kissing, but I want to think that if anyone ever threw a party for me, I could avoid the whole bathroom line thing.) She laughs.
“I think I might pee on the floor.”
“Do you want a glass or something? I have a dance I like to do in these situations.”
“I’ll try to hold it. Are you an artist, too?”
“Yes,” I say, “I am a writer. I often freelance for Diana Milana’s magazine.” The great thing about these things is no one will remember specific facts the next day. “I know you two are old friends. She was really hoping to make it tonight, but we’ve got so much going on.”
“Oh, Diana, she’s great, isn’t she?”
“Oh, yes, great.” There’s that funny word again.
“She must be such a joy to work for.”
“She’s pretty intense,” I say, intending to be ambiguous. (It’s not easy to gauge if my intentions are actually coming across when I’ve had all this good vodka.) “What was she like in school?”
“We didn’t go to school together. We knew each other through her ex-husband. It’s a long story. Diana doesn’t have much education. She just worked her way up. Started as an assistant on the lowest level. Some rag magazine. Who knows what she did to get this far.” Talk about ambiguous.
The bathroom door opens and three people come out. I look at elizabeth and shrug. I extend my hand for her to go in. She puts her hand on my shoulders and puts her face a little too close to mine.
“We could go in together if you want.” As boozy as elizabeth is, I catch the sparkle in her eyes.
“Gee,” I say (this is the speech I reserve for women and men wearing tube socks), “I’m awfully flattered, but you know I’m sort of out of that stage. Thanks for asking.” Lesbian experimentation is so passé.
“Have a great night—” she smiles up at me “—and be sure to pick up the copy of my book.”
On the ride home, I chat with Dwight for a while. He’s a sweet old guy whose got no problem with speed. This I like in a driver. Dwight
