My Best Friend's Girl [redux - fin]
Continued from yesterday.
Lulu shows me the text message on her cell phone: ALL YOUR FRIENDS GET IN FREE. JUST SAY HERE FOR LULU'S PARTY. YOU DON'T PAY FOR DRINKS ALL NIGHT.
It's from the owner of the boozecan, the after-hours club on Dundas. Lulu dated him for a few months and recently dumped him when he started seeing his old girlfriend again.
"You should see this woman, she's such a piece; couldn't be less like me if she were standing on her head. It's baffling." Lulu was describing the old-now-new-again girlfriend. "She's such a skank. Stringy bleached blonde hair. Always doing this when she talks."
Lulu sneers, clicks her tongue, and huffs.
"Huffy?"
"Huffy, sniffy, sneery, always looking down her nose as if she's hot stuff and it's so, so funny because she's such a skank ho slut. Leaves a trail of slime when she walks. At the boozecan she sits in the back at the poker table picking at the scabs on her arm all night."
Lulu is petite, dark haired, wears Tina Fey glasses and has the biggest dimple in her right cheek that sparkles when she talks. She's a trader on Bay Street and typically dresses in black chic. While she was dating Mr. Boozecan she bartended there on Saturday nights, or rather Sunday mornings, from 3:00 until 9:00. I've never been, but I can imagine how out of place she must look in that place.
I'm howling at her description of the skank. "And Boozecan went back to her? What is he, blind? Stupid? Both? What?"
"Ah, I sent him back," Lulu explains. "She was skanking around, and I could see that there was some unfinished business there, so I told him look, you go on ahead and work out your shit that you need to work out. I don't have time for those kinds of problems, I'm 38 years old, I'm too old for that kind of crap. At least I know what my problems are, and I can deal with them."
Actually, Lulu's going to be 38 on Saturday. She seems fixated with the milestone. I totally get that. She's a Leo, just like me. And she's a lulu.
"If you've broken up with Boozecan, why do you want to have your party there?" I ask.
"The party's at 606 — starting around 9:00, by the way — and I'm planning to close the place down, but we'll go to the boozecan afterwards. There's a band playing, Whatziz, and they're great. They weren't supposed to play that night but when they found out from Boozecan that it was my birthday they said they'd come."
"Let me see if I've got this," I pause to review, "You dump the guy, and he not only allows you to hang out at his club but he makes arrangements for the party? I am not worthy!"
"Oh, yeah, well, when I told him to go ahead and play with the skank and it's ok, but I know what I want and blah blah all that, he said after, how can you be so nice when I'm such a prick? You're the best girlfriend!"
"I bow before your greatness."
Benjamin the architect is sitting across from us at the other side of the bar. I frisbee a coaster his way. It brushes the top of his brushcut and succeeds in its mission: he picks up his beer and comes over to our side. Benjamin is another one of the regulars. I know him as well as I know any of them, which is to say, enough to write stories about them. He and I had a long conversation one evening a few months ago, during which he drew me a sketch and explained the architectural design principles behind the T.D. Centre. I still have that sketch; it's on a napkin, and the story is in draft.
When I was here with Denise, my PhD buddy, in June, Benjamin was sitting on our side of the bar, and when he left, Denise said to me, "He was totally checking you out, you know."
He's really quite cute, though he's not very tall. One day, a few weeks back, he was telling me he was in the market for a new car. "I'm thinking about a Porsche," he said. Funny, I think about Porsches all the time. After that I always noticed when Benjamin was in the Banknote.
Benjamin makes a comment about my outfit. I'm wearing a black top and a black and gold skirt, and the gold sandals. It's not my usual Monday night attire. I'm at the Banknote every Monday for the pasta special after my tap class, wearing sweat pants and with my hair in a ponytail, but tap is on break for August, and I've just been out with a man with whom I can wear heels, so I am.
"So where is he?" asks Lulu.
"He's on a rooftop in the Annex with his best friend," I tell her.
"Pauper's?"
"That's it."
"I knew it," she says, "It's the only place up there with a rooftop. So, tell, tell, how was the weekend?"
"It was... better than I had hoped. Really good. He might come down here; I dunno. He might close Pauper's with his friend. Hard to see, the future is."
Lulu tells Benjamin about the party Saturday night, then he leaves us to go chat with some of the other regulars. That's when she's telling me about her party plans and showing me the text message from Boozecan, that's when her eyes drift up, and that's when she leans in and whispers,
"Big!"
I turn around and there's Jack, leaning against the pillar, Bogart style, against the pillar behind me.
"Hey, you," he says. Then he extends his hand to Lulu and says, "I'm Jack."
"You're here," I say, trying to conceal my delight and not doing a very good job of it.
"I wanted to see you in your element," he says.
"This is Lulu," I tell him, "And it's only my element part time. She's the mayor here."
"Hey, Jack!" calls Andrew from inside the bar, "How the hell are you, man? What'll it be, the usual?"
"Andrew, good to see you, man," replies Jack, not missing a beat. "I'm drinking Stella these days."
"Long time, man."
"Yeah, so hey, how'd it go with that... thing?"
"Oh, that, well, it's good, man, it's good. And you?"
"Doing swell."
For a minute they had me believing they'd met before.
"How's Junior?" I ask Andrew. "Is he still home?"
"He's home, and he's doing great, just great," Andrew replies. "Bald as a doorknob, mind you, but he's fucking great."
"That's outstanding, man," says Jack. "Sass told me about your son, and that's just outstanding news. I'm so happy for you, man. Congratulations."
I'm in my local with my guy, and he's the best looking man in the place, and he's here because of me, and I want to pause this moment in time and keep it forever. And it seems like it's been only five minutes when Jack says, "I'm going to go. You'll come fetch me tomorrow?"
"Eight o'clock. I'll be there."
I walk him out front and pull out a cigarette which he lights immediately, instinctively, with his Zippo. "I have to find a cab," he says.
"This is King Street. One comes along every thirty seconds. Have a smoke," I tell him.
He does. It's an American cigarette, so it's done too quickly. A cab comes along and we walk toward it. Lulu, Benjamin, and Mridul are on the patio, and I know they're watching.
Jack has his arm around my waist, when he pulls me in for a semi dip. He can pick me up and swing me around, and I want so much to ask him to do that right now, right here on King Street, I don't care who sees, but I don't. He kisses me, then lets me go.
"See you tomorrow," he says.
When I come back into the bar Benjamin is with Lulu.
"Who was the big guy?" he asks.
"That was Mr. Big!" Lulu squeals.
"He's just a guy I've known for a long, long time," I say. "He lives in California." I want so much to add, he's my boyfriend, but I can't.
"Where's he going?" asks Lulu.
"To the Royal York," I tell her.
Her eyes widen and the dimple crinkles. "Why aren't you going with him?" she exclaims.
"He didn't ask," I say.
I order another beer and Benjamin tells us about the house he bought in the Beaches. He'll be moving at the end of September. I express disappointment at the prospect of him leaving us, but in my heart I don't want Benjamin. I didn't really want Boz. Upon reflection I doubt I truly wanted The Viking, back in February. My subconscious is good at pegging the ones who are unattainable, and when they reject me, I'm secretly relieved.
I'm not used to getting what I want, so I try not to want too much.
* * *
In the next story, Sass receives an unsettling phone call from Jack. And the next time she goes to The Banknote, she has a dream about, of all people, Jack's best friend.
Lulu shows me the text message on her cell phone: ALL YOUR FRIENDS GET IN FREE. JUST SAY HERE FOR LULU'S PARTY. YOU DON'T PAY FOR DRINKS ALL NIGHT.
It's from the owner of the boozecan, the after-hours club on Dundas. Lulu dated him for a few months and recently dumped him when he started seeing his old girlfriend again.
"You should see this woman, she's such a piece; couldn't be less like me if she were standing on her head. It's baffling." Lulu was describing the old-now-new-again girlfriend. "She's such a skank. Stringy bleached blonde hair. Always doing this when she talks."
Lulu sneers, clicks her tongue, and huffs.
"Huffy?"
"Huffy, sniffy, sneery, always looking down her nose as if she's hot stuff and it's so, so funny because she's such a skank ho slut. Leaves a trail of slime when she walks. At the boozecan she sits in the back at the poker table picking at the scabs on her arm all night."
Lulu is petite, dark haired, wears Tina Fey glasses and has the biggest dimple in her right cheek that sparkles when she talks. She's a trader on Bay Street and typically dresses in black chic. While she was dating Mr. Boozecan she bartended there on Saturday nights, or rather Sunday mornings, from 3:00 until 9:00. I've never been, but I can imagine how out of place she must look in that place.
I'm howling at her description of the skank. "And Boozecan went back to her? What is he, blind? Stupid? Both? What?"
"Ah, I sent him back," Lulu explains. "She was skanking around, and I could see that there was some unfinished business there, so I told him look, you go on ahead and work out your shit that you need to work out. I don't have time for those kinds of problems, I'm 38 years old, I'm too old for that kind of crap. At least I know what my problems are, and I can deal with them."
Actually, Lulu's going to be 38 on Saturday. She seems fixated with the milestone. I totally get that. She's a Leo, just like me. And she's a lulu.
"If you've broken up with Boozecan, why do you want to have your party there?" I ask.
"The party's at 606 — starting around 9:00, by the way — and I'm planning to close the place down, but we'll go to the boozecan afterwards. There's a band playing, Whatziz, and they're great. They weren't supposed to play that night but when they found out from Boozecan that it was my birthday they said they'd come."
"Let me see if I've got this," I pause to review, "You dump the guy, and he not only allows you to hang out at his club but he makes arrangements for the party? I am not worthy!"
"Oh, yeah, well, when I told him to go ahead and play with the skank and it's ok, but I know what I want and blah blah all that, he said after, how can you be so nice when I'm such a prick? You're the best girlfriend!"
"I bow before your greatness."
Benjamin the architect is sitting across from us at the other side of the bar. I frisbee a coaster his way. It brushes the top of his brushcut and succeeds in its mission: he picks up his beer and comes over to our side. Benjamin is another one of the regulars. I know him as well as I know any of them, which is to say, enough to write stories about them. He and I had a long conversation one evening a few months ago, during which he drew me a sketch and explained the architectural design principles behind the T.D. Centre. I still have that sketch; it's on a napkin, and the story is in draft.
When I was here with Denise, my PhD buddy, in June, Benjamin was sitting on our side of the bar, and when he left, Denise said to me, "He was totally checking you out, you know."
He's really quite cute, though he's not very tall. One day, a few weeks back, he was telling me he was in the market for a new car. "I'm thinking about a Porsche," he said. Funny, I think about Porsches all the time. After that I always noticed when Benjamin was in the Banknote.
Benjamin makes a comment about my outfit. I'm wearing a black top and a black and gold skirt, and the gold sandals. It's not my usual Monday night attire. I'm at the Banknote every Monday for the pasta special after my tap class, wearing sweat pants and with my hair in a ponytail, but tap is on break for August, and I've just been out with a man with whom I can wear heels, so I am.
"So where is he?" asks Lulu.
"He's on a rooftop in the Annex with his best friend," I tell her.
"Pauper's?"
"That's it."
"I knew it," she says, "It's the only place up there with a rooftop. So, tell, tell, how was the weekend?"
"It was... better than I had hoped. Really good. He might come down here; I dunno. He might close Pauper's with his friend. Hard to see, the future is."
Lulu tells Benjamin about the party Saturday night, then he leaves us to go chat with some of the other regulars. That's when she's telling me about her party plans and showing me the text message from Boozecan, that's when her eyes drift up, and that's when she leans in and whispers,
"Big!"
I turn around and there's Jack, leaning against the pillar, Bogart style, against the pillar behind me.
"Hey, you," he says. Then he extends his hand to Lulu and says, "I'm Jack."
"You're here," I say, trying to conceal my delight and not doing a very good job of it.
"I wanted to see you in your element," he says.
"This is Lulu," I tell him, "And it's only my element part time. She's the mayor here."
"Hey, Jack!" calls Andrew from inside the bar, "How the hell are you, man? What'll it be, the usual?"
"Andrew, good to see you, man," replies Jack, not missing a beat. "I'm drinking Stella these days."
"Long time, man."
"Yeah, so hey, how'd it go with that... thing?"
"Oh, that, well, it's good, man, it's good. And you?"
"Doing swell."
For a minute they had me believing they'd met before.
"How's Junior?" I ask Andrew. "Is he still home?"
"He's home, and he's doing great, just great," Andrew replies. "Bald as a doorknob, mind you, but he's fucking great."
"That's outstanding, man," says Jack. "Sass told me about your son, and that's just outstanding news. I'm so happy for you, man. Congratulations."
I'm in my local with my guy, and he's the best looking man in the place, and he's here because of me, and I want to pause this moment in time and keep it forever. And it seems like it's been only five minutes when Jack says, "I'm going to go. You'll come fetch me tomorrow?"
"Eight o'clock. I'll be there."
I walk him out front and pull out a cigarette which he lights immediately, instinctively, with his Zippo. "I have to find a cab," he says.
"This is King Street. One comes along every thirty seconds. Have a smoke," I tell him.
He does. It's an American cigarette, so it's done too quickly. A cab comes along and we walk toward it. Lulu, Benjamin, and Mridul are on the patio, and I know they're watching.
Jack has his arm around my waist, when he pulls me in for a semi dip. He can pick me up and swing me around, and I want so much to ask him to do that right now, right here on King Street, I don't care who sees, but I don't. He kisses me, then lets me go.
"See you tomorrow," he says.
When I come back into the bar Benjamin is with Lulu.
"Who was the big guy?" he asks.
"That was Mr. Big!" Lulu squeals.
"He's just a guy I've known for a long, long time," I say. "He lives in California." I want so much to add, he's my boyfriend, but I can't.
"Where's he going?" asks Lulu.
"To the Royal York," I tell her.
Her eyes widen and the dimple crinkles. "Why aren't you going with him?" she exclaims.
"He didn't ask," I say.
I order another beer and Benjamin tells us about the house he bought in the Beaches. He'll be moving at the end of September. I express disappointment at the prospect of him leaving us, but in my heart I don't want Benjamin. I didn't really want Boz. Upon reflection I doubt I truly wanted The Viking, back in February. My subconscious is good at pegging the ones who are unattainable, and when they reject me, I'm secretly relieved.
I'm not used to getting what I want, so I try not to want too much.
In the next story, Sass receives an unsettling phone call from Jack. And the next time she goes to The Banknote, she has a dream about, of all people, Jack's best friend.
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