The bartender continues to run around like mad trying to get everyone their drinks. Aaron leans forward on the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention by waving a five-dollar bill, but the bartender is just too busy. Finally, he comes over, offering us a friendly smile.
“Do you think I could actually get a drink around here?” Aaron asks.
I bristle. I’ve been a server, and I can’t stand it when people get rude for no reason. We’ve only been sitting here a couple of minutes, and the place is clearly busy.
“Sorry, dude. We’re a bit busy tonight.” The bartender retains his smile.
“Not really my problem.” Aaron huffs out a long sigh and orders his beer.
The bartender turns to me. I’d love to ask him if there are any specialty drinks—a trick I learned from a bartender in Atlantic City—but I don’t want to put him out when he’s already so busy, so I just order a vodka martini. Simple enough.
Aaron leans over, his face very close to mine. I lean back instinctively, and I swear I hear him inhale deeply. I tense, trying to remember if I’d put on deodorant and knowing that I had. What is he up to?
Before I can ask, he starts yapping.
“What the hell does ‘accidental99’ mean anyway?” Aaron asks. “Did your parent’s call you a mistake?”
That laugh again. The comment alone was enough to give me a bad taste in the back of my throat. One thing I did not want to get into tonight was a discussion about my parents.
“It’s just a regional joke,” I say. I open my mouth to explain more, but he interrupts.
“And you just moved here?”
“Yes. I’ve been in town about a week.”
“Where ya working?” He leans close again, and I shift in my seat to put a little more distance between us. He’s sniffing at me again; I’m sure of it this time.
“I’m still looking.”
“Got a daddy paying your bills?” More laughter as he orders another beer.
I have to look away for a minute, trying to keep myself from tearing up. Part of me wants to come out and tell him that my parents are dead just to see his reaction, but I’m afraid he’d just turn it into another joke.
I’ve only taken two sips of my martini. By the time I get through half my drink, Aaron has gone through five bottles of beer and doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. He’s blathering about long trucking hours, his ex, and his landlord. He asks me a lot of vague questions without actually waiting for an answer before he goes on about something else, and I’m starting to get a headache.
Why, why, why did I do this? Why did I jump at the first person who asked me out? Am I really that pathetic and lost? Yes, I’m a small-town girl in a relatively big place, but I have higher standards than this.
I need to just excuse myself to the ladies’ room and sneak out.
Plenty of times I’ve been in uncomfortable situations with people I didn’t care for. A few of Aunt Ginny’s friends were gossipy and annoying, but I still had to be there, playing the attentive host when they gathered to drink tea and play bridge. She taught me from an early age that it was better to smile and nod politely than to create conflict that wasn’t needed.
I turn around slightly, looking out over the club. The dance floor is nearly full now, and all the couches are occupied. One semi-circular couch is set up near the middle of the crowd on an elevated platform. A dark-haired, square-jawed man sits there with two women and a bottle of expensive bourbon. Clearly, he’s a VIP of some sort.
“Are you safe?” Aaron abruptly asks as he turns to me, the tip of the beer bottle barely moving from his lips.
“Am I what?”
“Safe.”
“Um…” I narrow my eyes, not really sure what he’s asking. “Can I get some context?”
“Are. You. Safe.” He says the words slowly as if that makes any difference.
“I still need some context.”
“I want to know if you’re safe.” He continues to look at me, apparently refusing to qualify the question.
I wonder if he’s been reading some kind of self-help book on how to get to know people, and he’s just repeating random questions.
“Without context, the question is meaningless,” I reply. This is starting to piss me off. “I always wear my seatbelt. I’d also like to try skydiving sometime. You’ll have to clarify the question for me to give you a valid answer.”
He shakes his head, clearly unsatisfied with my answer. He yells at the bartender to bring him another beer as I look around for a sign pointing out the restrooms. Of course, if I sneak out, I’m leaving him responsible for my drink. If I ask for a check, he’ll figure out I’m leaving even in his current state, and that would hurt his feelings. Maybe he’s had a rough day, and I’m just being too hard on him.
“You never know what someone else is going through,” Aunt Ginny would tell me. “Sometimes people are unfriendly because they’ve been treated poorly, and you should be the person who always treats everyone with kindness and understanding.”
I take a deep breath and order another drink. If I’m not stepping out, I should at least enjoy myself. Maybe I’ll get enough alcohol in me to join the dancing college students. Hopefully, Aaron has too much beer in him to join me.
What if he wants to dance?
I’m not sure I can handle that. The very thought makes my stomach churn. As Aaron grabs yet another bottle of beer, I wonder why I
