The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

Dates That Don't

Previously: "The Chess Club" 

Whatever you may have told Dean, you're not about to follow your own advice. So after making sure that he's actually "with" the girl you pushed him at, you return to the saloon.

You haven't gotten anything to drink yet, so taking your courage in both hands you approach the bar. With no fuss—only a quick, uninterested glance from the skinny, acne-crusted kid who's selling them—you but an outrageously overpriced bottle of beer and look around for a place to land. The table full of "Tiffany's troop" (as Dean called them) doesn't look any friendlier than before, so you return to the table where you found Dean.

"What'd you do with him?" Andrew asks as you settle back in your chair. Now he's got his phone out too, and barely glances up at you to ask the question.

"Got him a girl to dance with."

"Good job!" David exclaims. He holds up his palm as though to high-five you. "He needed a kick in the butt!" But the table's between you, so you just mime returning the gesture.

"So you guys were in middle school together?" you say when the conversation has flagged for a few moments.

"Yeah, Proctor," David says.

"I went to Schuyler. How did you guys end up at Eastman?"

"School boundaries or something." David glances at Andrew, who is still on his phone, and nudges him. "Get this guy someone to dance with!" he challenges you.

"Who does he like?" you ask as Andrew gives his friend a dirty look. But David only laughs in reply.

"So, you got an ex-," David says to you. "I wish I had an ex-. I never had one."

"It's not fun."

"Yeah, so I hear. Still, you didn't know she was gonna be your ex-, did you? When you were with her? If I thought it was gonna suck having an ex—" He pauses with his beer halfway to his mouth, then breaks into a grin. "I'd still want one!"

"Cheers!" You reach across the table and clink bottles with him.

* * * * *

So that breaks the ice, and talking becomes looser and easier. (With David, at least. Andrew only drops in the occasional one-word answer, and only when prodded by David. He seems restless and preoccupied, though, not sullen.) You learn that the two of them and Dean shared a lot of classes in middle school, and were in the chess club, and remained in contact even after they moved into different high schools, though they don't see very much of each other except when they coordinate to be at the same parties. They don't know Patrick or Lorenzo, really, except through Dean, and they have nothing to say about the guys at the table you were at earlier, except that they think they are all juniors at Westside.

Of yourself, you only tell that you dated over the summer but that it ended a few weeks ago, and shrug vaguely when David alludes to the girls you must have been with before.

Talk stops, though, when Andrew abruptly asks if you're going to sit out the night or actually try to score. The directness of the question—almost the hostility—takes your breath away.

"Okay," you say as you get to your feet. "I guess I'll go look for some."

"I'll come with you," David says, and he gets up too. "Can't let Dean have all the fun."

That's when you realize that you've not seen Dean since you left him on the dance floor.

As you're walking through the saloon, David lays his hand on your shoulder, a gesture that puzzles you until he leans in to talk into your ear.

"Don't mind Andrew," he says. "This place has bad memories for him."

"Then why'd he come back out here?"

"'Cos this is where he met Terrence."

"Is that his ex-?" you ask after you take a moment to do some addition.

"Yeah!"

David has pulled you at an angle toward the bar, passing directly in front of a tall blonde guy who is shirtless except for an unbuttoned, sleeveless vest. David shoves a handful of bills at the guy, then holds up one finger and points back from where you came. The guy glances over at Andrew, then nods at David, who now pushes you away from the bar.

"So we don't come out here much," David continues, and he has to start shouting as the music rises in volume. "Last couple of months have been rough. You know anyone at Westside might be interested in Andrew?"

"You mean guys?" you ask, just to confirm. "I know some guys who might, but I don't really know them."

"Well, if they're out, Andrew would know them too. So I mean guys who aren't out." You sense him scrutinizing you. "You wouldn't be interested in him, would you?"

"Uh, no."

"Didn't think so, but thought I'd check. Hey Angelee," he calls to a girl who's standing near the doorway, chatting with a tall, well-groomed guy. She glances over, smiles at him, then goes back to talking. "If you don't mind," he resumes talking to you, "I'm gonna stop and hang out here, talk with some guys, then go back to sit with Andrew."

"You're not gonna dance?"

"Later. Night's just getting started, and Andrew's not gonna stick around long, I can tell." He claps you on the shoulder. "I'll catch you around!"

But you're caught by someone else first.

* * * * *

You're coming in off the dance floor, after an unsuccessful search for an at-loose-ends dance partner, when you catch sight of a classmate you know. As it happens, she catches sight of you too at the exact same moment, and does a double-take at you. And when she breaks into a smile, you jerk your feet onto a new course and walk over to say hi.

"Hey, Will!" Dorothy Harmon coos. "I don't think I've ever seen you out here before! Or maybe, I don't remember!" She laughs.

"You don't remember," you retort. "We've danced a couple of times of times."

"You liar!" She shoves you playfully and laughs again. "I'd remember that!"

You smile tightly, and look over at the guy she's talking to.

It's James Brewer, who you've shared a few classes with in the past. Both he and Dorothy are dressed the same as at school—she in a dark t-shirt and jeans skirt; he in a gray t-shirt and blue jeans—and yet both look completely in place at here: Dorothy in her oversize rainbow-colored ski cap, and Brewer with his light-brown hair cut, molded and gelled into a lush crew cut. You feel a pang of self-consciousness when Dorothy looks you up and down and says she almost didn't recognize you.

"Yeah, I got dressed up tonight," you reply. "First time, and I don't think I'm gonna do it again."

"It's not your usual look," Dorothy agrees, "but it's fun to try something new. You come with anyone?"

"Just some guys, but I don't know where they got off to. You?"

"Mm-hm. S'posed to meet some people out here." She gives Brewer a sidelong look. "Hope they show."

"They'll show," Brewer says confidently. He's looking at you, though, with a speculative gaze as he says it.

"What do you think of the band?" Dorothy asks you.

"They're okay. Kind of hard to dance to."

Dorothy nods, and starts telling you about some of the other bands that play at the Warehouse. You listen with interest, until Brewer touches you on the shoulder while addressing Dorothy. "I'm gonna go blow a fag," he says, then smirks at the startled look you give him before sauntering for the doors leading outside.

"Don't mind him," Dorothy says. "He just means he's going outside to smoke. He's not gay," she adds in an insistent tone.

"I didn't think he— I—" you stammer. "Never mind."

"He just said that to shock you." She then resumes talking about the bands, a resume she doesn't interrupt until she grabs a passing girl and starts gabbling at her.

You're glancing around, wondering if maybe this isn't a moment to make an escape, when your phone buzzes with a text. To your astonishment, it's from Brewer, asking you to come outside.

How does he have my number? you wonder, but you interrupt Dorothy long enough to tell her you'll be right back.

Brewer is standing a couple of yards off to the side from the entrance, but it's not like he's got the parking lot to himself: it is boiling with crowds carrying on their own party outside. He drops his cigarette and grinds it out with his toe as you approach.

"Hey," he says in a low voice when you reach him. "You wanna do anything with Dottie in there?"

"Like?" you blurt out, then grimace at the look he gives you.

"You have a chance," he says. "More than a chance. The guy she's waiting on isn't coming."

"What? Who—?" But he waves you silent.

"Just stick close to her, be friendly. She'll throw a tantrum at some point, but if you stick with her she'll go upstairs with you. Just a substitution fuck, you understand, she won't even be thinking of you while you're doing it."

Your brain seems to freeze up.

"You don't gotta decide right now," Brewer says. "Just drift, bump into her, be around."

He claps you on the shoulder, then saunters back toward the doors, to disappear inside. You stand rooted to the spot.

You're rooted there still when two things happen, almost simultaneously.

The first is that your phone buzzes with another text, this one from your mother, a clear reminder that your curfew is coming up: Are you on your way home?

The second is that Dean's friend Andrew comes out, and halts in the parking lot only a few feet away, looking around with a distracted frown. He sees you, does a double-take, and comes over.

"You willing to give me a quick ride?" he asks. "Leave and come back? I wanna get out of here, but I'm parked at the high school."

If you wanted a good reason to bolt this place (aside from the reminder from your mother), this would be it.

* To stick around for Dorothy: "The Deal with Dorothy" 
* To leave: "Ex- Marks the Sore Spot" 

*
"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"