You Give Love A Bad Name [part VI]

Continued from part V.

Darla has begun to refer to Ashton, when he is out of hearing, as "your sous chef." She concurs that he is adorable but is abiding by the code: I saw him first. And I trust that she'll honour the code, because she wrote one of the codicils. Earlier in the evening she'd been telling me about an incident at The Rivoli in November, which it seems may have been the cause of Punky Nerdster's subsequent disappearance.

"The little one needed to be put in her place," Darla had said.

Steve, the KJ, calls last call and last song, and Sparky gets on stage and does "Ballroom Blitz." There are twenty or so people left in the bar, and everyone is on their feet, moving to the music while putting on their coats. Among my group, karaoke etiquette dictates no coats until the song is over. When your friend is singing, you pay attention.

The song finished, Sparky comes back to the table, where Nadia and Lana are putting on their coats and Darla is giving me a meaningful glance. She and Lana both have cars; no one needs me to drive them home tonight. Sparky pulls my coat from the pile, lays it on the table in front of me, and says, "We'll wait for you outside."

Ashton is leaning against the bar, talking with Scully. He has a half full beer in his hand, and seems in no hurry to leave. So I have a moment to argue with myself.

You can't do this.

I know.

Wait; why not, again?

He's too young.

He's older than my students.

Not by much.

It's not like I'm old enough to be his mother, or anything.

Are you sure about that?

Well, maybe in Tennessee, but we're not in Tennessee.

Still, you shouldn't.

Why not?

Your friends will think you're a slut.

More likely they'll be envious.

The girls, you mean?

Darla, for sure, at least.

Sparky, too.

But come on, who do you think you are, Demi Moore?

No. I would never have divorced Bruce Willis.

You know what I mean, smart ass.

Yeah, I do, and you know what? Demi kicks ass.

Still, you shouldn't. You've never done anything like this before.

Yes, I have.

Oh, right.

But that was a long time ago. You're too old for this, now.

Fuck you.

Fuck you.


"So, do you want to, um, make me a cheesecake?"

* * *
To be concluded tomorrow.