own little White Trash Rockettes. Ruby, however, was now standing by the door, checking her cell phone constantly and looking out onto the street, waiting for Gary. She might as well have been sitting on the windowsill, like her pet cat, Ralph, waiting for her master to arrive. My stomach began to tighten again at the idea that there might be another impending disappointment in store for Ruby.
The longest country song in the world finally came to an end, and Alice and Serena, as drunk but not completely-out-of-their-minds women do, got off the bar. Georgia, however, stayed, not yet ready to leave the spotlight. A large biker man in his fifties, with a bushy gray beard and long gray hair, helped Serena off the bar. I overheard him ask her if he could buy her a drink.
She said, âYes, and some ribs would be nice as well.â I donât quite understand what happened, but somewhere after her first vodka tonic, Serenaâs sleeping carnivore awoke, and she turned into a pretty, little werewolf. The biker man told Serena his name was Frankie and he was an art dealer who had just finished a long round of the galleries of Chelsea and came in for a break.
âWow, that just goes to show you. I would never have guessed you were an art dealer. I know nothing about people, Frank.â As she spoke she drunkenly slung her arm over Frankâs shoulder. âIâve been living a sheltered life. And I know nothing. Nothing .â
Alice had also gotten the attention of a few men. I guess their spotlight dance was like a thirty-second dating advertisement. So, there I was again, worrying about my friends and not having any fun on my own. I started wondering if it would be okay for me to leave. I was tired of being Judge McJudgey, and frankly, I was beginning a downward spiral of worry and fear. What would become of all of us? Would we end up with husbands and children? Would we all stay in New York? What would become of me ? Would I just stay at my hateful job, doing work that doesnât satisfy me, being single, alone, trying to make the best of it for the rest of my life? Is this as good as itâs going to get? A yuppie biker bar on a Saturday night at 2 A.M. ?
But then a guy came up and started talking to me. And thatâs all it took to cheer me up. Because, I believe you recall, we are pathetic creatures. He was cute and he picked me to talk to and I was flattered as if I was at my first school dance. I forgot all morose or possibly deep thoughts and just started flirting my ass off.
âSo what brings you to this place?â he asked. His name was David and he was in town from Houston with his buddy Tom. I pointed to Georgia, who was still dancing up a storm.
âShe just split up with her husband and weâre trying to show her a good time.â
He looked up at Georgia, and he said, âIt looks like you did a good job.â As if the universal symbol for having a good time is dancing on a bar swinging your bra around.
He then said, âI split up with my girlfriend two months ago. It was really rough, so I understand what sheâs going through.â Was he really trying to talk seriously with me while âAchy Breaky Heartâ was playing and women were taking off their bras on the bar? Thatâs kind of sweet. We sat down at a table, and began to have a lovely conversation, the kind you can have anywhere at any time when youâre with someone you really like talking to. I told him about our evening and how worried I was about it, and he immediately began to tease me about being a control freak. I love it when they tease. And he talked about being a little bit bossy since heâs the oldest of four, and how much he worries about all his siblings. Cute.
I believe we were talking for an hour, though it could have been five hours or ten minutes. I couldnât tell you. I had stopped worrying, thinking, and judging, and was just trying to have a goddamn nice time.
I
Mercy Walker, Eva Sloan, Ella Stone