I wouldn't listen to her. 'What the fuck do you have to change for?' she said. 'Heshould fucking change, uptight bastard. Why are you doing this? If you need some end-of-adolescence protest, couldn't you like just wreck your dad's Jaguar on the Palisades Parkway or something? Are you really going to put us through you and Tal, the nightmare couple, one more time? And lose out on Brown for it? Norah, you know you'll meet someone else, don't you?' Only I didn't believe her-until tonight.
What good is Caroline now, passed out in Nick's friend's van? I wonder if her cell is turned on. I need to tell her Tal is back! And I fucked up but now I have officially woken the fuck up.
'Norah?' the Playboy Bunny bouncer responds to my pronouncement of oh fuck, which is no small relief because I don't have a fake ID. When your dad is the well-known head of a major record label, it tends not to be necessary at most clubs in Lower Manhattan.
'Toni?' I say. S/he grabs me in a hug. Toni interned for Dad last year while deciding whether s/he wanted to pursue a career in the music industry; s/he was also my biggest advocate in my futile campaign (thus far) to convince Dad to produce an all-punk band tribute album to the Spice Girls. 'Still working on that demo?'
S/he pulls out a CD strapped inside the bushy tail at her back. 'Just finished it! Will you pass it on?'
'Sure,' I say, hoping Nick will not interrogate me about who am I, some eighteen-year-old flannel-shirt- wearing BandT girl, to be passing on demos.
'Go right on over to the VIP area,' Toni says. 'I'll make sure your drinks are on the house.'
'I don't drink,' I remind Toni.
'Oh, live a little,' s/he says, bumping me at the hip. 'Miss Straight Edge, bend 'round the corner for once in your life.' Toni turns to Nick. 'Illinois? Twenty-three years old? Give me a fucking break. But have fun, kids.'
S/he gives Nick a playful slap on the ass as we walk in and Nick doesn't react like Tal, who would have pounced back at a drag queen daring to touch him. Instead, Nick laughs and turns back around to return the gesture on Toni's ass. S/he gives him a butt shimmy dance in return. 'I like this one, Norah!' s/he says. 'Big improvement. Good egg.'
As opposed to what-nasty, fermented egg, the kind one naturally would assume Tris would pass off?
We sit down at a small table that miraculously vacated of bodies as we approached it. For fuck's sake, my heart actually flutters for a moment when Nick pulls out the wooden chair for me. Who does that? And why does that simple gesture for a moment make me forget I am REALLY PISSED OFF and MY LIFE IS OVER. I am distracted from my Tal malaise by the nuns making out to 'Climb Ev'ry Mountain' on the stage, and find myself chuckling, all of a sudden having a mental image of me and Nick in a threeway with E.T. I feel the crack of a smile on my lips and a non-frigid buzz spreading through my body. In the flashing neon lights, and with the distraction of the stage show, I finally have the opportunity to truly appraise Nick. I admire his vintage gas station attendant jacket with the name 'Salvatore' stenciled under the Texaco logo, and I admit to wanting to run my fingers through his mod mess of shag hair. He seems to have an ironic but sweet half-smile stenciled on his face, despite his Tris hangover.
Nick waves thanks in Toni's direction at the door. He says, 'Nice seats your friend hooked us up with. I have to admit, between your drunk girlfriend and your Yugo-insulting ex-boyfriend, it's a relief to see you have some nice friends.' He winks at me and why won't that kind smile leave his face because I know if we are ever going to make it through this night/morning/whatever we have going, eventually I am going to have to tell him about Tris and that smile will be gone and I don't want to be the person responsible for killing it.
I don't owe him an explanation or anything but I do say, 'I'm sorry about Tal.' Only what I'm really sorry about is what I said about Tris, but I can't find it in myself to speak that apology. Yet.
Nick tells the cocktail bunny who approaches our table to please bring us drinks with little umbrellas in them, we don't care what, we're from Jersey, we won't know the difference anyway. He says to please just make sure the drinks are of the virgin variety.
Then he turns to me and says, 'I don't drink. I'm pretty straight edge. I hope that's not a problem for you.'
I'm only 'pretty' straight edge myself. I mean, I don't drink or smoke or do drugs, but I'm not over the top about it like some of the straight-edge breed who also don't eat meat or have sex, either. My straight-edginess is rather like my Judaism: firm, but reform.
I mean to answer Nick with, 'It's not a problem for me. It's a fucking miracle.' But I think I end up just doing some inane yes/no head-bob of shock.
Whoa! Tris dated a straight-edge boy, and one who says please? How did he survive her without being drunk or stoned, like the rest of them? I'm not sure whether to admire or pity Nick for being a fellow straight edge, but I am stoked, too. I'm on a date with a guy who can have a good time without trying to get wasted? The universe is full of surprises. Respect to Tris.
'Want to tell me about it?' Nick asks once the bunny has hopped away.
'About what?'
'The Ex?'
Is this what happens on dates? You kiss before you've met, then talk about why your previous relationship failed? I'm stumped. The only guy I've ever been with is Tal, and his idea of a date was watching Schindler's List in his dorm room at Columbia. Besides the random incident with Nick, I've never even truly kissed anyone besides Tal, unless you count Becca Weiner at summer camp when I was thirteen, which I don't. I have no idea how to do this 'date' thing. This must be the reason I am frigid.
I really don't want to talk about Tal. I want to forget I ever entertained the notion of getting back together with him. I want to forget I've thrown away my future and that now I have to come up with a whole new plan. So I tell Nick, 'I know how to drive a stick shift.' Because I know Tris can't.
'So you're saying you could drive Jessie back to Jersey tonight, assuming she'll start again?'
'Who's Jessie?'
'My Yugo.'
'You have a name for your Yugo? Please don't tell me you're one of those guys who also names his dick.'
'Unfortunately, I've yet to find the perfect name for mine, so it's in this netherworld of nameless identity right now.' Nick glances down at his crotch, then back at me. 'But if you think up a good name, let me know. We'd like something a little exotic, like maybe Julio.'
Frigid can thaw, right?
Nick adds, 'Dev wanted to name our band Dickache. What do you think?'
'Sorry, I'm stuck on The Fuck Offs. Catchy. The sales reps at Wal-Mart will love it.'
Our conversation is interrupted by a new act on the stage. Two of Toni's soul sisters are doing an onstage grind to 'Edelweiss,' making the previous nun performers seem like-well, nuns. Nick stands up and offers his hand to me. I have no idea what he wants, but what the hell, I take his hand anyway, and he pulls me up on my feet then presses against me for a slow dance and it's like we're in a dream where he's Christopher Plummer and I'm Julie Andrews and we're dancing on the marble floor of an Austrian terrace garden. Somehow my head presses Nick's T-shirt and in this moment I am forgetting about time and Tal because maybe my life isn't over. Maybe it's only beginning.
I shiver at that thought and in response, Nick takes his jacket off and places it around my shoulders. I feel safe and not cold and from the vibe the jacket gives off, I also feel fairly confident that the original Texaco Salvatore was a good family man, with perhaps a propensity for wearing his wife's panties and betting his kids' college money at the track, but otherwise a solid dude.
I wake up from the dance dream when the audience applauds the end of the stage performance and Nick feels pressed too close against me without the music going. Nick/Salvatore/ Christopher Plummer/lovely dancing- partner man can't be real. It's not possible. Better to end this dream before it becomes a nightmare.
'Why are you so fucking nice?' I ask, and shove Nick away. I don't bother to acknowledge his shocked expression. Score, Norah. I have killed his smile, and I didn't even have to tell him about Tris. 'I gotta pee.'
I run away, toward the bathroom. A few people are waiting at the door but a single finger snap from Toni and the line disperses.
I don't really have to pee. I need to think. I need to sleep. I need Caroline to be sober so I can talk to her. This morning, my life seemed so clear. Turn down Brown, check. Go into the city to see the band Caroline likes rather than suffer through an evening with Mom and Dad entertaining the dreaded hip-hop people at the house, check. This night was supposed to end like any other night out with Caroline-watch her hook up with a guy, then get
