I wonder. If I knew then what I know now, would I still walk into the bodega that night? Would I make the decision to go through all that one more time? Was it worth the pain?
Borrowed yellow dress. Artificially blonde hair. I felt like a daffodil. A plastic one. In addition, here I was pretending to have a good time at one of Manhattan's most humid dance clubs . Pretending. Story of my life: pretending to be happy; pretending to be someone I'm not. Pretending I wasn't in fear for my life every minute of every day…
One of the girls passed me a second shot of tequila. I accepted it with a false smile that I knew their alcohol-addled brains believed was genuine. Syl, to my right, raised her glass and the other two raised theirs. I did so as well. "Mazel tov," she announced as a toast, and we all threw our drinks back. I slammed my shot glass down on the table next to theirs and barely added a lackluster harmony to their exaggerated whoop. To them, this was 'fun'. Friday night fun.
How unperilous their lives must be that they had to go out and create their own trouble.
Having scanned the room the entire time we'd been there, I'd detected no less than a half a dozen males I would characterize as predatory. And that was a cautious estimate. All night, I'd been doing my best to make sure we stayed together as a group… went to the ladies' room in twos…it wasn't unlike herding antelope. The lonely straggler becomes the victim. Which was why I'd made sure I'd only just had my second shot while they had downed their fourth or fifth. Maybe that sounds a little sad, that I couldn't enjoy the evening; that I was intentionally being over-cautious, untrusting… suspicious, even. But when you've learned that you can't even trust the people closest to you …had it beaten into you… you don't think about how broken you are anymore. You just learn to look for where it's going to come from next.
The most menacing was the man I'd been monitoring in the large mirror over the bar. The four of us were at a table about eight feet from the bar, and I could see his reflection, back against the far wall, to my right, against the only brightly colored wall in the room. He'd been chain-smoking all night, and trying to catch my eyes in the mirror. I imagined a small pyramid of ash at his feet. His eyes looked black from this distance. He wore an unbuttoned blue plaid flannel over a gray tee shirt. His hair was longish and wild, but his beard and mustache seemed well kept.
At least he hadn't come over to us. For the last hour and a half we'd had to ward off the advances of many an intoxicated man. And some not so intoxicated. As their drinking progressed, the girls started complaining that I was spoiling their fun by sending the men away. But I was just doing what I needed to do to make sure we all got home safely. I was starting to get ready to corral them all and head out the door to snag a cab.
That's when I saw them. Out of the corner of my eye I caught uniform movement coming down the hall from the bathroom and the office further back. In spite of myself, I looked. Cops.
The female officer was flipping a page on her notebook, pen still in hand. I was directly in the male officer's line of vision. Instantly, my hands felt clammy, and I felt about to break into a sweat with the inevitable cheek burn. What if he recognized me? I hadn't seen any of the posters until just recently, but it was plain they'd been created just after I'd left Chicago three years ago. You can change the clothes and the hair, but not the face. I quickly looked down at my hands, which were nervously crumpling a napkin. Damn. Napkins don't demand the kind of scrutiny I was giving.
I chanced a glance up. The officers had stopped to talk to the bartender. She was leaning on the bar making notes, while the guy was leaning next to her, his back to us. I breathed deep, several times, calming myself. They weren't here for me. How could they be? I was disappointed in myself for not having noticed them when they came in. How could I have missed that? There must have been some kind of complaint that required them to talk to the manager, obviously in the office. Something less than a bar fight.
I kept breathing and rationalizing and pretty soon I was close to normal, even though I still had stomach butterflies. I would get out of here free and clear tonight. No problem, I kept telling myself.
I chanced a glance at the bar, and saw the female officer fully engaged in conversation with the bartender. He, however, was leaning back, elbows on the bar, looking at our table, and he caught my eye. I quickly looked over at Syl, who was talking to Julia. I leaned back and scanned the room, looking nonchalant. Looking anywhere but back at the bar. I even looked over my shoulder at the predator with the hair. His black, beady eyes were still on us as he took a deep drag off his cigarette. I knew without looking that the officer was still watching us, and it flustered me so much that I grabbed my purse and headed off to the left, down the hall to the bathroom, alone. Breaking my own rule.
I ran cold water over my wrists, and patted a little on the back of my neck, wiping it away with a paper towel. That worked. I felt better, less panicked. I sighed deeply, and opened the bathroom door, stepping into the hall.
He was waiting for me.
The predator.
Cigarette free for the first time this evening. I glanced away and started to walk past him. He grabbed my arm and started to say something. I felt the old fear, panic rushing through me. I spun to face him, wrenching my arm loose. And I backed into something solid.
"Is there a problem here?" came a low voice next to my ear. The cop. Had to be, from the look on the guy's face.
"Not anymore," I replied, glaring at my predator.
"Hey. Jim Morrison. Get the hell out of here. Way out."
The man quickly complied, ducking past us out to the club and, hopefully, out the front door. I turned to face my rescuer, willing my breathing to return to normal. He was glaring after the man, eyes almost black with menace.
"Remind me not to get on your bad side," I eyes were regularly an incredible shade of blue, intense and mesmerizing. I think I just stared stupidly.
"You really should take a buddy with you in a place like this," he advised. "He's been watching you."
"I know," I nodded, tearing my eyes away with great effort and looking beyond him into the club. "I usually do. Take a buddy." That was a lie. There was no 'usually', and there were no 'buddies'. . I didn't want to, but knew I had to: I brought my eyes back to his face, with another false smile. I just wanted out of there.
"Be more careful next time."I nodded squinted at me for a second, scrutinizing my face.
"Do I know you? You look familiar." Crap.
I shook my head. "I get that a lot. I guess I just have one of those faces. Everybody thinks I look like somebody they know." I shrugged. He seemed satisfied with that.
I gestured toward the club. "I'd better get back to my friends. Thank you for your help." He stepped aside and let me pass. I practically ran back to the table, hoping to gather them all together and get them out the door before the cop realized where he'd seen me before.
I was just about to suggest we leave when the obligatory Def Leppard tune "Pour Some Sugar on Me" began, and the girls at my table squealed way too loudly. So much for getting out quickly. I sighed, smacked my hand to my forehead, closed my eyes and shook my head. Why had I said 'yes' when they'd asked me to join them tonight? When I looked up again the cop was back at the bar with a half-smirk on his face, in commiseration. Killer smiles, sure, but who's ever heard of a killer smirk? This was do you achieve something like that? I unintentionally gave him a half-smile, hoping he didn't think I was flirting. Even so, I had a hard time tearing my eyes away.
Syl noticed and followed my gaze."Oooh, look what Jen found!" she oozed, and, before I knew it, she'd peeled away around Julia and Amber and was headed toward the bar. The other two followed like a gaggle of geese. I hesitated. I didn't exactly want more face time with a cop. Especially that cop. It was only when Amber ran her hands down his left arm and drunkenly asked if he was the stripper that I decided I'd better take action.
"Back off, ladies. Nothing to see here. Move along." I did my best police officer imitation, turning my companions back toward our table. "I don't know the penalty for assault on a police officer but I do know you wouldn't last ten seconds in jail." I called after them.
I turned back to him. "I'm sorry about my friends," I began, then adding quickly, "They're actually not friends, just co-workers looking to blow off steam on a Friday night." I didn't want to be making the eye contact I was making, but it was hard to look away.
"He craves the attention," his partner said, never looking up from her note-taking. I looked at her, grateful for the momentary out. Reluctantly, I swung my eyes back to him.
"Well, hey, Romeo! I can send them all back over here if you want." I said jauntily.
"Nah, I'm good. I try to steer clear of intoxicated women."
His partner snorted.
"I said I try." He said testily, then looked back at me.
"You obviously haven't been drinking as much as your friends," his partner said, still scribbling in her notebook.
"No," I agreed, "I've been trying to keep track of everyone, trying to herd them toward the door, like cattle. That last song derailed me."
"You driving?" he asked. I glanced at his name tag. "M. Boscorelli" I wondered what the 'M' stood for. Mark. Matt. Mike. Something terse, curt…like him.
"No," I paused.
"You're a hell of a lot more sober than they are," said his partner, finally looking at me. I read her tag quickly. F. Yokus.
"I just want to make sure they get into the cab and get home safely." I shrugged.
"But what about you?" asked M. Boscorelli.
I shrugged again. "I live a couple of blocks from here."
He glared at me intensely and enunciated: "Get in the cab. I don't want to get called back here because some homeless guy found you lying in an alley."
"Yeah. You don't wanna be the one who wrecks his dinner break," added F. Yokas, with a smirk at her partner.
He turned to her impatiently. "Can we go?"
"Just a minute," she replied turning back to the bartender, "One more thing."
"Well, I'd better start steering them to the door. I'm really sorry about their behavior, I-"
He cut me off. "Don't worry about it."
"Okay. Well, thanks again."
He nodded curtly and I turned back toward my companions with a whoosh of relief.
"What did Hot Cop say to you?" Syl asked when I returned to my place next to her. Julia and Amber riveted their attention on me.
"He said I needed to get you all in a cab and safely home. So let's get going." I picked up my purse and scanned the room for predator Jim Morrison. He was nowhere to be seen. Relief. I glanced back at the bar and saw the two officers leaving. M. Boscorelli gave me an extremely effective glare and mouthed the words "Get . In. The. Cab."
"O.K." I gave him a thumbs-up, having no intention of doing so.
"That's a first," Faith commented as we headed toward the door. I could tell by her tone she was baiting me.
"What's a first?"
"She liked you."
"How is that a first?" I blustered.
She smiled, teasing. "She's a Nice Girl."
"Nice Girl just lied to a cop." I pointed out. "She's not going to take a cab."
Faith shrugged.
I pushed the door open for her.
"Maybe it's time for a nice girl." I muttered. She just laughed.
With the distractions of the music, lights and men, it's amazing that it only took me ten minutes to gather the girls together and make it out the door. Julia gave out her number twice on the twenty-five foot journey. I stood them together near the curb and hailed the first cab I saw. It pulled up and I loaded the three of them in the back seat. I opened the front door to tell the driver where to take them, leaning in a little, then happened to glance back toward the club. In the alley next to it, deep in the darkness, I saw the ember of a cigarette.
I got in the cab.
I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I exhaled when she got in the cab.
"She almost didn't! Did you see that? She almost didn't get in the cab."
"Can we go now? I'm starving." Faith complained.
"I can't believe it," I muttered, starting the car.
"You know, it's not like you to be so consumed with one person's bad decisions," she mocked. "What would you have done if she didn't get in?"
I thought for a minute, ran my hand over my face. "I don't know," I admitted. "Lately I've been having trouble with what to do when things aren't as they ought to be."
"Thanks for the warning."
"I'm fine on the job." I put the car in gear. "Let's go get that guy out of the alley."