Ain't No Make Believe
The ice made a satisfying crunching sound as he jabbed his straw through it. The music was just a little too loud, the lights just a little too pulsing, and the ache in his heart felt just a little too fresh as he surveyed the scene in front of him. He raised a hand at the bartender as he threw the straw aside and upended the glass. One last taste of vodka before the next in a long line was set in front of him.
"Hey Johnny boy," the voice was irritatingly familiar, "Not like you to sit on the sidelines like a wallflower."
John swiveled his head and looked into the eyes of his partner. Mike wouldn't know fashion sense if it bit him in the ass. He reached for the new vodka tonic and shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe I wanted some time to myself." He turned away, put the view of the bar behind him.
Mike hopped up on the stool, "Yo, barkeep! Slide me down a cold one." He spun on the stool and faced John again. "It's 'Mania weekend bro, no one has time to themselves unless," he leaned closer and made a motion with his hand, "Unless it's quality time if you catch my drift."
With a sound of disgust John plucked the lime wedge out of his drink and squeezed it. "You're pathetic Miz," he said. He took a healthy swallow and hunched his shoulders. "Perhaps you didn't catch Imy/I drift."
"I caught it," Mike said as he picked up his beer. "I just ain't gonna allow you to sit here and mope in your drink. Hell, if anything I'm the one should be moping. I got, what? A chance to shine among twenty four other losers in a battle royal that's only gonna be shown on .com until the dvd package comes out. You got a plum match."
"The only reason it's a step up from curtain-jerking is because Jericho's in it," John said.
"You're just a ball of sunshine," Mike said. He turned and leaned back; elbows propped up on the bar behind him.
"I told you I wanted alone time," John said.
Across the room a noisy bunch clustered around a table in the corner. As the waitress approached bearing the next bottle of champagne the outer edge of the group parted. There, at the table, smack-dab in the center, Dave Batista held forth. John sighed and turned away again, downed the rest of his drink.
Mike watched as someone slithered away from the table and took up a position in the center of the dance floor. When the music started she began to move through an intricate pattern of dance moves. Her hips undulated, her arms above her head. Bare midriff, bulging cleavage, shapely legs. The crowd did not close in around the table again, and it appeared as though the sexy dance was targeted mostly at Dave, and yet she didn't seem to mind that everyone else watched too.
"I don't get it," Mike murmured.
John accepted another drink and fished for the lime, "Don't get what?" He turned his head to follow Mike's line of sight, and he flinched as he watched the dance continue unabated.
"How you let her slip through your fingers," Mike said. He finished the beer and set the empty back behind him on the bar. "Doesn't leave much to the imagination," he said.
"Yeah, it does," John said. "Looks are deceiving you know."
"That?" Mike turned a look of incredulity on his face. "You telling me that those gyrations don't transfer over into bed? The fuck man, a guy could die happy with that in his bed."
John turned just enough to watch the dance continue. The crowd parted further back as Melina inched closer to Dave's table. She spun, and turned, and at the climax of the music she dropped into splits right in front of his table. John closed her eyes as she slunk closer, and the crowd whooped as she disappeared under the table.
A low whistle emitted from Mike and he turned and signaled for another beer. "You gonna tell me or leave me wondering?"
"Tell you what?" John said with a hint of disgust, he turned away from the spectacle.
"What happened between you that you let her get away? I don't mean to pry, but I've always wondered. You two were, fuck me for sounding corny, but you two were in love, straight up for real. Anyone looked at you knew it."
"What came between us?" John said. He turned back, watched as Melina slunk up from under the table and sat in Dave's lap. She laid her head against his neck, and his hands disappeared down below the edge of the table to hold her close. "Dave Batista."
"Huh?" Mike swung back again. "He said…that you two…"
"He's a lying sack of shit," John said. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in pain. "The whole time he was smiling in my face, standing firmly behind me back in Louisville, telling me through his lying teeth that he cared about me he was two-timing me with my girl."
"You're shittin' me!" Mike said. "How come you never told me this before?"
"I tell you what," John said, "Why don't you say it a little louder, get the whole fuckin' bar over here so everyone can hear it."
Mike spun on his stool again and hunched over the bar beside John, "Sorry bro. It's just I thought he said, they both said that it was over between you before they hooked up."
"He said it was over between him and his wife, she said it was over between me and her." He sighed, "But the truth was…that they were both lying. I keep trying to tell myself it was, is, all for the best. But you know, that's cold comfort on long nights."
"Dude, John," Mike said, "She's not the only fish in the sea."
"Thank you Einstein," John said, "Why don't you tell me something I don't know."
The music changed behind them, became slower and more subdued, and with the change the crowd also subsided to a dull roar.
"Look John," Mike said, "I know I'm an asshole, and I know half the time you can't stand me. Fuck man, I can't stand me half the time. But don't bottle this shit up, talk to me."
"There really isn't much more to say," John said. He jabbed the straw into his drink again. "I don't even know why I said anything now aside from the fact that you goaded me."
"Well, it woulda been nice, you know, the two of you on the card. Woulda been a hell of a celebration," Mike said.
"You are an asshole Miz," John said with a lopsided smile.
Mike smiled, and reached over to tousle John's hair. "Ah gee Johnny, you really like me."
"Yeah Mikey, sometimes I do," John said as he stared moodily into his drink. "You're probably right. We both worked so fucking hard for this day. Guess I just got nostalgic because…shit."
"If you wanted, we could head out, break through the perimeter the E has us under. I'm sure there's bars crawling with chicks ready to right all the wrongs."
"I don't hang with rats Mike," John said.
"Hell bro, I bet there's some good girls out there who wouldn't mind puttin' the smile back on your face. Come on, it's not like we have to go that far."
Empty glass shoved aside John said, "Maybe you're right."
"Fuckin' A I'm right, hoo-rah."
John knew, as they pushed themselves off the stools and headed for the door, that they were being watched. He could feel the eyes on him, but he didn't turn back, didn't give her the satisfaction.