Allison put down her champagne flute and grabbed her dress at the waist—it was too expensive for those bayonet heels of hers to step on—and fluttered to the dance floor. She grabbed Jarad by one hand and led him out to the dance floor. He turned it into a dancer's turn, a swirl movement where one pulls the partner's hand above and around their head, and the partner's dress flows out in the open space.
(Like in the movies)
Bob took another drink and smiled.
Jarad pulled her close and whispered something close to Allison's ear. She looked at him with a lover's look and kissed him. And they kept dancing.
Bob looked over at Sarah, and she was already on her feet.
Didn't know what time it was the lights were low oh ho
I leaned back on my radio oh oh
Some cat was layin' down some rock 'n' roll 'lotta soul, he said
Then they were next to Jarad and Allison, doing their own dancer's swirl, their eyes locked on each other, Sarah's lips curled into a modest and unhinting Mona Lisa.
Then the loud sound did seem to fade a ade
Then Sarah's head was on Bob's shoulder.
Came back like a slow voice on a wave of phase ha hase
That weren't no D.J. that was hazy cosmic jive
Harry the Pianist was joined by someone playing a LesPaul, and Sarah suddenly felt very much at ease.
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie
And it was a matter of being at ease around Bob. Totally. The kind of ease that comes from that rarity of rarities, waking up and feeling quite refreshed after a great night's sleep, which she hadn't had since the Fulbright days. Looking out the window and seeing the sunrise and seeing it in a whole new light. Because how many times did people watch the same thing over and over again and because of that lose the ability to see the miraculous? She herself was feeling miraculous right about now. Her lips creased into a thin smile, supremely confident.
I had to phone someone so I picked on you ho ho
Hey, that's far out so you heard him too! o o
Switch on the TV we may pick him up on channel two
Look out your window I can see his light a ight
If we can sparkle he may land tonight a ight
Don't tell your poppa or he'll get us locked up in fright
She'd wasted so much time on Bryan. On LA. On that stupid little asshole who strung her along for so long. And for what? So he could dump her: throw her under the bus as it were and then add insult to injury by kicking her out.
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
She was so stupid. And what was the point? What the hell was she doing out there, in that damn bassackwards hellhole of city, in a hellhole of a state? She had no place there.
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
She should have stayed in Minnesota. Lived with David for a while, and put up with that damn wife of his, that lame-ass weakling Judy and her boring old family of friggin Viking immigrants.
Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie
Even from the outset, she'd wasted a lot of time in Minnesota trying to find someplace that she felt comfortable. Not even some place to fit in—she'd never had troubles with that. Just some place to go and to be herself. That's what Bryan was for.
Starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
He was supposed to make her feel better. That's all Bryan was ever good for. Validation. And then, one fine night on the Sunset Strip, they both had a little too much of just about everything. They'd ended up at his place, a Condo, poorly decorated. There was the booze, and the drugs. And there was her. And there was Bryan, standing like a damn proud pirate, naked at the top of the stairs, the night air washing over every part of him and pissed off neighbors complaining about his glorious lack of decency. Commanding her in his stupid pirate way to come aboard. And she'd thought it was precious. Then.
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
When they woke up the next morning, Bryan in a pool of his own vomit, face-down on that horrendous herring-bone patterned sofa, his bare ass shining to the world, He rolled over and fell onto the floor, next to her. She'd been curled up in a lame fetal position, woke up hungover. When he rubbed his eyes and scratched his crotch and asked her what she was still doing here, she slapped him across his puke-crusted face and left.
But that was ancient history—she'd tried very hard to let go of that especially rottenest of rotten eggs. Her stupid boyfriend, wrapped up in his own myth. The last gleaming of Sarah Ingqvist's poor life choices. The last sign that the end was near. That she couldn't take it anymore. She'd gotten tired of the jackasses and their parlor tricks. She'd never liked it to begin with. All the jackasses. Her life had been a parade of Homeric suitors courting Penelope, and there was Sarah, waiting for some nameless Odysseus to traipse through the door and kill them all and give her life a little bit of meaning. That's all she'd wanted.
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie
Was that so much?
The bearded fellow playing the LesPaul at Harry Watson's side got to the descending chorus at the end of the song. Sarah lifted her head from Bob's shoulder, and when she looked in his eyes, she swore they were yellow. Glowing. And she wasn't scared of that.
Her eyes danced to the left. Jarad and Allison were doing the high school prom dance, and Jarad was trying, failing, to lead. She smiled thinly and looked back at Bob.
He'd given her meaning. Simple as that. No other explanation needed.
She kissed Bob, a surprisingly animalistic kiss, where her hands grabbed the side of his face and the tendons on the top of her hands stuck out as she flexed and enjoyed the moment. To his credit, he fought back. That was Bob. Never shied away from a fight. Or so she suspected.
When she pulled back, she said it and didn't even wait. And didn't even care.
"I love you."
And Bob Reynolds, those probing baby-blues, his bronze skin and his hair, perfect and unkempt all at once, looked at her. Deer in the headlights.
Across the bar, Harry the Pianist started in on another Bowie tune, and a slim lady in denims and a crossbar tee-shirt started playing the tenor sax. It was slow and melodic, and she belted out the small solo before Harry's chorus.
He kept saying it was a drive-in Saturday.
Bob wrapped his arms around Sarah and held her close. And they weren't really dancing anymore, after awhile. They were just there, swaying meagerly to the music. Nothing else existed. Bob looked out of the corner of one eye for an instant, long enough to see Jarad give him a mock-salute.
And Bob closed his eyes, squeezing out a tear.
And he could only think of Lindy.
Jarad tapped Bob on the shoulder at the end of 'Drive-In Saturday', wanting to cut in as Harry the Pianist started in on some song he said was, "Loving Cup, recently exiled on Main Street." Bob was happy to let Jarad dance with Sarah.
He slunk away, back toward the table, and wiped a thin layer of grimy sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He grabbed his champagne flute from the spot in which he'd left it, and polished it off in a single swig. Sat—sunk—back into his seat and unbuttoned his dinner jacket.
Watched Jarad and Sarah laugh their way through 'Loving Cup.' Watched Jarad's perfect teeth shine as his lips slid back when he laughed. The blonde hair shone, reflecting brightly the track lighting on the ceiling. Watched Sarah's dress flow rhythmically as she went. Watched her begrudgingly allow Jarad to lead. Watched Allison disappear in the general direction of the bathroom, which was incidentally close to the bar.
Bob emptied the last of the champagne into his flute, and was drinking it more evenly now.
He felt Reed Richards slide into the open seat behind him. He could smell the plasticity, if it could be called that. He sensed instantly the antiseptic…cleanliness that pervaded Richards, and portended his entrance. The smell and manner of a man who spends his days in a lab and doesn't look like Bill Gates or some string-bean accountant despite that. Bob's head lifted, his eyes narrowed, and he drank as 'Loving Cup' hit the combined piano-guitar solo, and as Jarad dipped Sarah and seemed terribly good at it.
Bob felt Reed Richards lean forward slowly. Cautiously. He took a deep breath.
"She's beautiful," Reed said, simply enough.
"I know." Bob kept watching her dance, and Jarad laughing along with her. They were like brother and sister. Bob smiled thinly at that. And he didn't bother looking back at Reed, who for his part kept talking over Bob's shoulder anyway.
"I'm not going to try to convince you to come back."
"Good," Bob said.
"It's not even that we're getting along fine without you—"
"I expected you would."
"It's that we…Nick and Dr Xavier…Tony and I…we're not going to interfere anymore."
Bob raised an eyebrow at that, and didn't believe it. "I somehow doubt that."
"You're a smart man, Bob," Reed said. "Intelligent. We've…we respect your privacy. That's all I came here to say."
"Then you wasted a bus ticket." Bob was only halfly listening. "What about Johnny?" Bob added, somewhat more sardonic. "Is he still going to be blocking my neighbor's driveway?"
"No. He's coming home with me. Tonight."
"Good."
When the song was over Sarah leaned forward and gave Jarad a polite kiss on the cheek, and his eyes lit up, his face reddened. Embarrased, he only smiled back at her. Sarah turned towards Bob and a waiter gravitated in behind her. The waiter was carrying a tray filled with champagne flutes on it.
Bob stood as Sarah approached them, primping the curls in her hair as she did. He felt Reed behind him following suit.
Bob kissed her and said, "you were great out there."
"Think so?" she said and handed him one flute. "That kid really knows his stuff, I'll tell you that."
"Yep." Bob cast a glance at the bar, and time seemed to slow: Jarad was buying Allison a drink and all she could do was gawk at the bartender, a tall slim number with an almost symmetrical five o'clock shadow. Probably Latino in descent, Bob thought.
He deserves better, that Jarad. Feel like ruining some souls, Sentry?
(I thought I told you to leave)
Yes, because simply wishing things away always works, doesn't it?
When Bob looked behind him, Reed Richards was gone.
And he didn't even care.
Bob glanced at the clock on the wall, a Roman numeral/Art Deco fusion affair with hideous green neon arms. 11:59. Near the bar, the owner Rene and Harry the Pianist were drunk and counting down from thirty.
Bob grabbed Sarah by the arm and locked eyes with her. Gave a thin and amorous Bob smile, and said quietly, "Happy New Year." And kissed her.
Rene the Owner and Harry the Pianist weren't there. Jarad and Allison, at the bar, aggressively exploring the depths of each others mouths, weren't there. For a moment, no one was there.
Through a recorded version of Auld Lang Syne played over the loudspeakers, time seemed to slow. The voices went away.
Bob opened his eyes when the song hit the refrain, at the same time Sarah opened hers.
"I love you," she said. "And I can't think of what I'd be like if you weren't here."
(Her eyes are brown)
Christ, Sentry. You have the perception of a blind hawk.
He kissed her back. A quick and passionate one. More Nicholas Sparks. Pulled away.
He looked her up and down, and regretted only for an instant. Regretted not saying it sooner.
"There's something you should know, Sarah. About me."
Continued...