Oil City:
The Mediterranean Bistro was a pearl of an establishment nestled among the numerous pizza and fast food joints in the small, industrial town. Its look of refinement was a welcome change of pace from the greasy-spoons that came before her to fulfill the appetites of the factory workers that the town used to employ. Her walls were graced with large, potted ferns, silk belladonnas and pictures of the Greek Isles; her floors were laid out in gray marble. Large, rectangular tables that seated families greeted you beyond the entranceway. These gave way to cozier, round tables in the back for the more romantically inclined.
The eatery was split 70/30 between restaurant and bar. Though the bar had an entranceway of its own, it also had two double-hinged doors that led into the dining room so the waitresses could retrieve any meals ordered by the bar patrons. From within, the soft lights hanging down at each of ten booths along the far wall cast a vague light onto the harsh, almost empty room. Here, shadows vastly outnumbered people.
The only hard light came from the liquor shelf and the Miller Genuine Draft sign that splattered a rainbow of neon colors across a young couple sitting just below one of two windows. They conversed and laughed with growing inebriation, while between them they shared a plate of Greek fries.
Beyond them and the colorful sign, the night was black.
It was 8:15 and not yet late enough for the usual crowd to swell into the lounge; that would happen like clockwork around 9:30. So, Bill and John were the cornerstone of a small crowd of lonely silhouettes spread amongst the shadows of the large room. They were sitting at a booth next to the bar, each clasping a long-neck bottle of Coors Light. A half-eaten Italian sub sat next to John in a green and red, plastic basket. He had been there only a half-hour, but judging by the amount of empty bottles on the table when he’s arrived, Bill had been there for an hour before that.
They had shares some quiet contemplation for a while after having talked somberly of Amos’ death and funeral, but Bill was not one to let an entire evening escape under the grip of melancholy. Having had his moment of silence, he smiled wryly and said, "So you're by yourself now, huh? Back out into the big, bad world of dating." He rubbed his hands together excitedly then took a long swig of beer. "Guess I better get back to work then."
John furrowed his brow suspiciously. "No, no I'm not back out in the big, bad world of dating, and what do you mean, 'get back to work'?"
"Oh, nothing. I mean, now that you're practically single and all . . ."
"Listen, don't go getting any ideas about trying to fix me up with any blind dates while I'm back in town, okay?"
Bill threw his hands up in the air. "What? Can't I find someone suitable for my best friend? Maybe my taste isn't as good as his? Is that it?" He paused to take a drink of beer. "Besides, would I do something as shallow, yet utterly good-intentioned as that?"
"Yes. As a matter of fact you're more capable of that than any other person I know. You were forever trying to fix me up all through highschool, and I doubt your way of thinking has changed much since then."
Bill scoffed at John. "You've probably got a little sorority nymph with a belly button ring waiting in the shadows, anyway. Don't you, you old fool?"
If thirty-three is old, then I'd hate to hear what you think of forty."
"No, I don't think you're old, the college nymph you got hiding under your desk at school does. You know, the distinguished look of a older gentleman. Probably has some fetish about her dad or something."
"I'm not old," John demanded, still stuck on Bill's first point.
"I don't know, buddy. That hairline's creeping back a bit. Makes you pass for forty, easy."
"Yeah but a damned good-looking forty. Anyway, there is no college nymph."
"I bet I made you wish there was, though. You can tell me. The belly button ring turned you on, didn't it? Did me. There's just something sexy about those things. Had a girlfriend once who had her belly button pierced. I found out later that that wasn't the only thing she had pierced."
John shook his head. "Why is it that whenever we try to have a decent conversation, we end up talking about your sex life.?"
Bill smiled. "Because I have one!"
"You're impossible."
"Look, don't think I'm gay or anything, but really, you're a"-- he lowered his voice to a whisper--"a good looking guy. Too bad your personality didn't match."
"Hey!" John blurted as he took a bite of his sub.
"No, no, no, I didn't mean it that way," Bill replied. "I mean you're too shy. If you had my animal magnetism, god the girls would flock to you."
John threw up his nose in mock disagreement as he continued to eat.
"Face it, bud; you'd have never found the girlfriend you had if it weren't for me."
"Pleural, friends. That's girlfriends."
"You had more than one," he teased.
"You think you're so smart," John replied, chasing a bite down with a swallow of beer. "I found Laura--on my. . . "
He stopped before ever completing the thought, for he saw right where that line of thinking was heading. "Uh, stirke that last comment."
"See," Bill said, pointing a long, bony finger at him. "You ventured out on your own and look where it got you."
Sandy rarely drank, given her history with those who did, but she felt more confident of her own tolerence to liquor than any previous boyfriend. With that in mind, she sipped at her rum and Coke, spooned lasagna onto a piece of garlic bread and ate blissfully.
Four booths up from her two men yukked and gaffawed. They sounded like they were having a good time. One would occasionally belch, to which the other would offer a reprimand. The voices seemed familiar, but she couldn't place them at that distance. She had been too wrapped up in her salad and the bar too dimly lit to have notice them when they entered.
It was to be expected; without much notice more people would soon be entering and taking their places at the tables and bellying up to the bar, laughing and drinking and eating and maybe dancing, while she sat unnoticed watching them like a re-run of Cheers on TV. It was okay to watch, but on a deeper level she wanted to be a part of the group. Any group. She thought she had a lot to offer. She was bright, witty, cheerful, for the most part. But being self-conscience of her scars made it extremely hard for her to relax enough to let her good nature show through. She always took precautions to hide the scars, wearing clothing that at least partially hid her deformity. And what her shirts didn't cover, her hair did. No one ever asked about it, so she knew she hid it well. But she knew. That was enough to keep her socializing to a minimum outside of work. For now, she would have to be content with just watching.
Sandy forced a smile so as not to let self-pitty get a firm grasp of her senses. She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out some quarters. She counted out eight then sucked up another straw-full of liquor. "What we need here is some music". She went over to the juke box along the far wall, deposited the quarters and punched in the numbers for some mood music.
"I'll be right back," Bill said with a sudden startle and a queer eagerness in his eye. "Order a couple more beers".
As Bill got up from the booth, John ordered two more beers from the bartender. He fished them out of a cooler and sat them on the bar next to the booth. John got up and handed him the money, but as he turned around he almost dropped them. He watched in dismay as Bill talked to a woman at the juke box. She had mid-back length hair and long slender legs that were bathed in a kaleidoscope of colors from the jukebox. That was all he could see. Shadows covered the rest of her.
"No, no, no," John mumbled under his breath as he quickly sat back in the booth then turned back to the two talking. Although he couldn't make out the conversation, she seemed eager as Bill spoke. At one point, though, she shook her head no and began to walk away. Bill would have none of that. He pointed over at John, and the woman acted surprised.
"Damn you Bill," John fumed from within as he quickly turned back around and slouched down in his seat.
A moment later Bill returned. And with him, the woman.
"John, you remember Squiggy Ayotte, don't you? From highschool. Drama club, or English lit, or some other waste-of-time class. Remember?"
As their eyes met, John instantly remembered her from the funeral home. His eyed widened, and his heart fluttered a little. He sat up in the booth quickly. "O-of course. You were at the funeral today. You work there."
"Oh, yeah. That too, I suppose," Bill deadpanned before she could reply. "Didn't recognize her at first, then POW! Instant memory. I told her if she wasn't with anyone that we'd love to have her sit with us."
"If you'd rather not, that's okay. I understand," she said reticently.
"No, he doesn't mind, do you John?"
John stared up at her. He hadn't seen her in quite this light at the funeral home, being so caught up in sorrow. She was painstakingly beautiful like Barbara but was mysteriously attractive. Something glowed within this woman's sapphire-colored eyes. Something that warmed him and took words from him. A solitary ember of coal, waiting for a spark to light an inferno. Such an intensity for passion that he had never seen before. Inexplicably, that is what he saw. He was not only mesmerized by her eyes but by the way her dark hair rested on her shoulders, the perfect fitting of her blouse, the firmness of her jeans. All this coupled with the backsplash from the jukebox gave her an hauntingly erotic cast. Not like the obvious package you got from Barbara; she left little for the imagination. With this woman, he couldn't put a finger on precisely why he found her so attractive, but that was the best part--he didn't know why. He just sat there dumbfounded in her presence.
"Uh, John? Hello. You don't mind do you?" Bill was waiving his hand in front of John's face.
"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry," he said with a flush of embarrassment. "Sure, why not."
"I'll just grab my coat and let the bar maid know to bring my bill over here," she said equally flushed. "I'll be right back."
Bill rubbed his hands anxiously and sat down across from John, smiling from ear to ear.
John gave him a stern look.
"What?" Bill implored. "And don't expect any fireworks if all you're going to do is gawk at her all night."
"Was I that bad?"
"I almost had to put a napkin on your lap to catch the drool."
John sighed in frustration. "All that aside, I'm not ready for this. Hell, I'm not even divorced yet. I've got kids to think about."
"I'm not asking you to wisk her away to Las Vegas to get married. But I'm not blind, either. I saw the way you were looking at her today at the funeral. You couldn't keep your eyes off of her."
"She was being polite and sympathetic," John assured him. "I was just being cordial. I couldn't just ignore her."
Bill finally said, "Look, Squiggy's an old friend from highschool. Just think of this as a little reunion. Nothing has to happen. Just relax and enjoy yourself, for crying out loud. Is that so much to ask?"
Sandy returned and, after a slight hesitation, slid into the booth next to John. For a moment they each looked at each other nervously, saying nothing. Sandy played with the napkin under her drink. John figited uneasily in his seat, then, while trying to rest his elbow on the table and look at Sandy, he almost knocked over his bottle of beer. He caught it just in time but knocked over a salt shaker in the save. Sandy stifled a laugh while John brushed salt crystals from his pants.
Bill, watching all of this, could do nothing but roll his eyes.
Finally, Sandy broke the silence. "I'm really sorry about your grandfather. I know how close the two of you were."
John gave her a surprised look. "How did you know we were so close?"
She smiled. "I've got a good memory. You talked about him all the time in highschool. He raised you after your mom died, didn't he?"
"Wow," Bill said.
"Diddo," John replied.
Bill spoke up and said, "Hey, I've got a pretty damed good memory too. I remembered you before you remembered me."
"I knew who you were," Sandy said, "I just couldn't remember your name."
"I remembered yours."
"Ah, but you only remembered my nickname, and that was only with a little prompting on my part."
"Well, that should account for something," Bill replied.
"Only if you remember my real name."
No comment.
"Well?"
"Uh. . ."
"Come on. I had a name tag on today. Didn't you see it?"
"John would know more about that than me."
Bill got a shot to the knee from under the table. "Ow!"
Sandy laughed. "While you two brainstorm, I'm going to play some more music. Any requests?"
"What your playing is fine," John said.
After she left, Bill turned to John. "So are you going to help the conversation along or are you just going to be our entertainment for the night? One of these times, while your ogling at her, you won't be so lucky and end up wearing one of those beers."
"I can't help it. I just get nervous around women.”
“You’re a freaking college professor; you talk in front of hundreds of women a day.”
“Not when they’re practically thrust in your lap.”
“Well I thought that was how you liked handing out your grades?”
“I told you there is no nymph.”
“Well, there could be if you don’t spill any beer on her.”
John groaned.
Bill said, “Look, you’re putting too much pressure on yourself. Remember, this is just a little get-together--nothing more. Just be friendly. Can’t you do that?”
“Yes.”
Oh, and one more thing.”
“What?”
“Your chances of bedding this girl hinges on whether you know her real name.”
“You’re impossible,” John declared.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s why I’m still single.”
John thought intently for a moment. “I do kind of remember her. What classes did we have together?”
“Drama, don’t you remember? Mr. McAllister. A bunch of us seniors and juniors were always getting into trouble.”
“I only remember you getting into trouble.”
“C’mon think!”
“So she hung out with us?”
“Yeah, kind of. She was sort of shy. You know, a low-under-the-radar kind of girl.”
John thought a moment longer, playing back old highschool memories. Suddenly, he smiled. A genuine smile. The first one all night. “I’ll be right back,” he said.
“Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.”
Sandy had just put her second set of quarters into the jukebox when John came up behind her unexpectedly and, without stopping, whispered in her ear, “Sandy. Your name is Sandy.”
Startled, Sandy flung herself around as John continued to the bathroom without looking back.
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