The Rusty Anchor was not exactly the most romantic place, and Dorothy already regretted letting Blanche talk her into going. She hated bars, she sucked at this kind of socializing and if it hadn't been for her best friend's adorable puppy eyes, she'd be at home with a good book and a cup of tea. Instead, here she was, in a crowded, run-down shack full of men and alcohol, neon lights and noise. Then, breaking through it all, Blanche took her hand and led her to what seemed to be her usual table, and introduced her to all the men by name – not that Dorothy understood a single one of them. The only thing she could focus on was the soft, warm hand in hers, and so she was taken aback when suddenly it was gone.
Blanche was off ensnaring the guys at the bar, and all the men from the table were following her. Fantastic, Dorothy thought, fighting the bitter feeling rising in her chest.
As she looked around, she was surprised to find a piano in the middle of the room. After hearing all kinds of stories about Blanche's favorite pick-up spot, the most she would've expected was a juke box. If later there'd be some decent music, maybe the evening wouldn't be a total loss. For now, there was nothing to do, nobody approached her, so Dorothy decided to sit down on a nearby chair. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could observe Blanche laughing, flirting, seducing. She seemed to be having the time of her life.
Dorothy sighed. This was really the last thing she needed right now. Or ever. Not that she wasn't happy for her friend, oh no. She'd envied Blanche for her joie de vivre, her confidence and her devil-may-care-attitude. It was everything Dorothy had never been, and at fifty-six she knew she'd never be. She was happy that the Southern Belle kept living her best life, it just hurt so much for all the wrong reasons. The weight of a life of reproaches a bookish, introvert, tall and big-nosed girl never ceased to push down her broad shoulders, the nausea of years of suppressing your true feelings to please others, to do the right thing; the burden of the knowledge that deep down, you knew. You'd known all along. The anger and regret of a life unfulfilled, the never-ending spiral of what ifs keeping her up at night. Living with Blanche for the last few years had left a serious crack in the wall around her heart.
She was happy for Blanche, sure, but she would've liked to be happy at some point in her life, too.
Dorothy didn't know how long she'd been lost in thought, sipping on something slightly too strong, when a man next to hear brought her back to reality. He'd sat down at the piano and started playing a few notes. She looked up at him, and for the first time that night, someone looked back at her.
"Hi," he said, "Never seen you here before."
"I usually don't come to places like this," Dorothy admitted.
The piano man nodded, and kept playing a slow tune. After a while, he turned back to Dorothy, who'd started quietly humming.
"You don't happen to sing, do you?"
Dorothy hesitated. Actually she did, she enjoyed singing despite or maybe to a certain extent because of her low, unique voice, but the thought of doing it in a bar, and such a cheap one at that, intimidated her.
"I mean, some people might enjoy making a fool of themselves in public, but me, singing? I don't think so."
He wasn'thaving any of it. "You sing, don't you?"
"A little."
A big smile crossed his face, and Dorothy started regretting her admission.
"How about some Irving Berlin? Blue skies? Always?"
Dorothy couldn't even bear the thought of something so cheerful, so she looked down at her drink, stirring the straw.
"Maybe some other time."
But the pianist wasn't giving up easily, and as if he'd perceived her mood, he suggested a different song.
"What'll I do?"
"D flat is good for me."
What the hell, Dorothy thought. It was a song that seemed to have been written for her, and singing it in front of her best friend made her heart race. But before she could change her mind, the man in the purple suit started hitting the keys.
At first quietly, then louder Dorothy sang. When everyone's attention switched to her, she was so lost in the song she hardly noticed it. All that was on her mind was the beautiful woman in the blue dress, sitting on a barstool on the other side of the room.
What'll I do?
When I am wond'ring who
Is kissing you
What'll I do?
What'll I do with just a photograph
To tell my troubles to?
When I'm alone
With only dreams of you
That won't come true
What'll I do?
Even though her feelings threatened to overwhelm her, Dorothy sang the verse a second time, and when she got to the part about dreams of you, she couldn't help but lift her eyes from the piano to look at Blanche, who was still sitting at the bar, and who was in turn gazing at her. With her cheeks burning and tears on the verge of spilling over, she maintained that eye contact during the last part of the song, desperate but unable to avert her eyes.
The soft notes of the piano subsided but the tears in Dorothy's eyes didn't. She hardly even heard the applause through the unbearable tension that seemed to be suffocating her. At the other side of the room, Blanche's expression was unreadable. Regret started rising like bile from Dorothy's guts, and she wished she'd just drop dead.
"Please excuse me," she managed to get out, before abandoning her place beside the piano and her chance at becoming popular for once in her life.
Somehow she got past the crowd and into the restroom, where she locked herself away from the world, and tried not to drown in the sea of misery that was her heart. What had she been thinking? Hadn't she sworn never to let it show, especially to Blanche? Why did she have to ruin the one good thing about her life? The questions in her head were coming so fast they were tumbling all over the place and making her dizzy.
Dorothy buried her face in her hands and tried to come to her senses. This wasn't helping. She was here, she'd sung a stupid song, and now she had to go back and keep faking it. 40 years of practice wouldn't let her down tonight.
Dorothy wiped off her tears and got up, avoiding the mirror on her way out. After a last deep breath, she opened the door. After a last deep breath, she opened the door.
The room seemed normal enough at first sight, chatting, drinking, music in the background. Lucky for her, everybody was back to minding their own business, trying to get lucky, or drunk, and she decided maybe that wasn't such a bad idea. She sat down in the corner, far away from Blanche and those nasty old guys trying to get in her pants.
A few whiskeys later, Dorothy was still there, gloomy and alone. She should've listened to her guts, she thought, and never left the house that night. The longer she waited, the more anxious she got about seeing Blanche, about finding out just how much she'd ruined their friendship. Would they even be able to keep living under the same roof? Dorothy downed the rest of the liquor and enjoyed the sharp burning sensation it left. It would probably never be the same again. Blanche hadn't approached her even once all night, but then again, why would she, with the men swarming around her like flies around honey.
Shaking her head, she paid, got up, and walked straight to the door, without as much as a glance at her best friend. For a moment, she thought maybe Blanche would stop her, or ask her where she was going, but she stepped outside, let the door fall shut, and walked away without any interruption. Dorothy tried to swallow the heavy lump in her throat, as she stopped in the parking lot. Where was she going to go? For a while, she stood there, trying to come up with a decision, until through the mist in her brain the soft roaring of waves made its way to her, and she started walking towards the ocean. This dump was called Rusty Anchor, so how far could it be?
Actually, it turned out to be quite a bit, or at least it seemed to take forever until she could throw off her shoes and step on the sandy beach. She felt strangely free out here, alone and barefoot. Above her, stars were glowing softly, the moon was nothing but a thin curve, like a closing bracket. The waves were the only thing she could hear now, the city obliterated by nature.
When she finally got to the shore, she stood still. The water around her feet didn't feel real, her eyes were lost at the horizon, looking over the endless darkness.