If seeing her at the bar had been weird, the next time I saw her was downright bizarre.
It was nine o'clock in Toronto on a Friday night, and I was a lonely guy who didn't know anyone that I felt like seeing. What was I to do? Visit a strip joint, of course.
I shuffled in, head down, and nearly lost my lunch when I saw Mr. Raditch sitting in the corner with a goofy smile on his face. I would have run back out had it not been for the intriguing and half-naked girl on stage, dressed in leather underwear and twirling around a pole with an expert touch.
Oh. My. God.
There really was no other reaction to seeing your high school ex-girlfriend dancing and showing off her body for the world to see.
I bribed a few people and ended up in her changing room, waiting until she returned. I sat in the corner, and I guess she didn't notice me at first, because she took a position in front of the mirror and began painstakingly scrubbing at the over-abundance of eyeliner--more than she'd ever worn, even in her gothiest days.
"Hi." It wasn't a flowery greeting, but I'm not one to waste words.
She jumped, and I immediately felt sorry for her. "Jeezus, give me a heart attack, will you?"
"Sorry. Um, Ellie. How are you?"
"I go by Cherry," she said, her voice bitter. "Wait, how do you know my real name? You stalking me or something?"
"El, it's me. Sean."
It was stupid, but I think I expected her to launch herself into my arms, or something. Instead, she gave me a "what the hell?" look and placed a cigarette between her lips, fumbling with her lighter. It took her a few minutes to get the thing lit, struggling against her shaking hands, and I waited in silence until she took a long first drag.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded. Not only was she bitter, but she was downright cold.
I was still hoping she'd be happy to see me. I was hoping that it would be easy to save her and that we could have what we did in high school before I messed up everything.
"Um, business." Ellie had always been able to leave me speechless. She was so goddamn beautiful. She swallowed me whole, even covered in fifty layers of makeup and the stench of booze and drugs and too much hairspray in her hair.
She nodded and she seemed to think that would be enough for me. It was almost a dismissal but I wasn't willing to accept it.
"How are you?" I asked again.
"Fine," she said, not quite meeting my eyes. For the first time, I notice the raspiness to her voice--the rasp that was usually reserved for sixty-year-old chronic smokers. I hoped it was just the atmosphere of the place. God knows it was affecting my voice. She seemed to suddenly remember her manners, as if the sound of new music in the main area jolted her memory toward an earlier age. "Um, fine," she repeated. "Thanks. How are you?"
She peeled off her shirt before I could even look away. Who was this Ellie Nash--this girl with no pride? I dropped my gaze as quickly as I could.
"I'm doing good," I said. "Real good. I think. Thanks."
I don't know if she nodded or responded because I didn't look up again until she pulled on a beaten-up pair of combat boots. It was nice to see she hadn't completely changed.
She was still punk-ish, but she was more slutty-punk than goth-punk, and I found it more than a little disturbing. She had cleavage. Not much cleavage, but damnit, she had it, and it was on display. And those legs... Okay, okay.
I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, since minutes before she'd been stripping for a room full of strangers, but working for money was one thing, and sacrificing modesty for, well, I'm not sure what, was another.
"So, um, you been working here for long?" I managed finally.
She pulled her fake-leather coat on and I was relieved that at least a few things hadn't changed. With much of her makeup shucked off, she was a little more like the Ellie I knew.
"Yeah," she said, blowing out a long last breath of smoke. "Well, sort of. About three months."
I nodded, trying to make conversation. I'd never been good at it, and I'd never bother trying very much. People didn't interest me all that much. Cars? Cars were easy. You put the right pieces in the right spots and they do what they're supposed to. But people? People were complicated.
"Can I take you out for coffee or something?" I offered.
I wasn't expecting overwhelming gratitude--hell, I wasn't even expecting an acceptance. But what she said next left me stunned.
"Sorry. I have to get home to my husband."