Liquid Charm

         My expression contorts into a frown as a silver cloud of smoke wafts by my face. I turn as my buddy is leaning in to speak into my ear. It is the only way to be heard over the loud noises of the bar. “I think that guy over on the couch might be him.”

         I want to turn around but I’m nervous. My palms feel sweaty and I take my hands out of my pockets to air off. It’s getting hot. She urges me to turn around. “Go on, he’s not looking.”

          I take advantage of the moment and turn my head just over my left shoulder. I see he’s oblivious to me and shyly, I turn a little more to make out his face. It doesn’t seem to be him. He turns and our eyes meet. I focus my attention back onto my buddy breaking our gazes. I give her a look that says, “that’s definitely not him.” I move into her hearing zone and say, “he’s way cuter than that guy!”

          The air is brimming with cigarette smoke and testosterone. We are, in fact, among a very small group of females. I’m not bothered. Most of the girls in the crowded bar aren’t that attractive and my friend is too busy pondering how horrible she looks in her leather jacket and oversized pants, and how she doesn’t fit in, to be much of a threat. I feel comfortable in my olive green military hat that compliments my underlying olive hoodie, my stolen (from a friend!) neutral toned blazer, and tight denim jeans. I know I’m not the belle of the night but I’m not looking too shabby either!

          An hour passes and everyone is huddled in a circle watching the b-boys do their thing. I’m amazed at their flexibility and the meticulousness with which they execute their moves. Grinning, I tell my buddy, “yeah, I’m way better than these guys.” She rolls her eyes so hard I think she may sprain a ligament. What does she know? I just might bust a move and show everybody... yeah right.

          My eye is drawn to a new guy in the room. He’s wearing a baseball cap turned backwards and his light brown facial hair is well trimmed. He appears to be pretty well known. I observe quietly as he approaches some of the other guys and acknowledges them with handshakes and hugs. Ahh! I nudge my buddy. “That’s him.”

          “Which one?”

          We’re the short straws of the bunch and everyone six feet and over is blocking our view. She bobs her head in and out of bodies and I do some gentle shoving. “There,” I say motioning with my head to a particular guy when I‘ve cleared a space, “the one with the basketball-lookin’ man on his shirt.”

          She nods her head in approval and I laugh to myself. I want to go over and say ‘hello’, but I know I run a high risk of getting pounded in the head by a spinning foot if I venture into the dancing circle. Yeah, I’ll just wait a little bit. Besides, it looks like he’s about to get on the floor himself.

          I wait a few moments to see what he’ll do and he chases another guy off of the floor to do his own thing. I was right. I squeeze my head between two strangers so that I can get a better view. I nod my head within a few seconds. I don’t really know what the hell I’m looking at but I’m pretty damn sure that I can’t do it. There’s no way I can get on my head like that without breaking my neck in the process. He manages to pull it off though, acrobatically twisting his body into positions that would surely send a weaker man howling in pain - all while managing to keep his hat glued to his head. That’s hot.

          We watch a few more performances and then I nod over to the vacant black leather couch. Like little old women, we scurry over to sink our buns into the plush material and lean back. It feels nice. We chat for a little bit and I see him at the bar about to get a drink. I leave my white coat on the chair, and walk over to him. He’s chatting with someone and I interrupt as inconspicuously as I can by tapping him lightly on the arm. He turns his attention to me and I smile and say “hi”.

          He leans in close to give me a hug and calls me “the vixen”. I smile and we exchange real names while shaking hands. His hands are soft. I look over to my friend on the couch and his gaze follows my own. “Did you bring a friend?” He asks.
          I lead him over to my buddy and I introduce the two of them. He shakes her hand and then promises to return in a second after he’s had a drink. I sit down next to my buddy. “Well?”

          “Very clean cut,” she replies.

          It’s not long before he returns and my friend goes to move to make space for us on the two-seat couch. I grab her leg, perhaps a little too domineeringly, and pull her back down. He laughs and says it’s not necessary and plops down on the arm next to me. His facial hair is really nice. While we’re talking, I want to see what color his eyes are but we’re in such close proximity that it’s too much of an effort to crane my neck so far. He is cute though. I compliment him on his routine but put him in his place by telling him that I’m the girl to beat. He knows I’m full of it and motions with his hand to the dance floor. I’ll show him...just not yet. I need some time...maybe an eternity and perhaps even that is not enough.

          He disappears again after awhile because he’s going to light up the floor again. My friend and I have to go and they’re battling it out on the black and white tiled floor now. To venture across to say goodbye is suicidal at this point. We time one more couple in the bathroom adjacent to the couch, and we leave when they emerge three minutes later. A guy touches my arm to speak with me on the way out of ‘Liquid Charm’, but I ignore him. I say goodnight to the man who checked our IDs, and my friend and I disappear into the night.