I had never been so cold in all my life. My shoes hurt, and were a little wet from slogging through those spots in the road where I couldn't avoid a puddle of slushy melting snow. I had a decent overcoat, and was relatively dry from the knees up, where it covered. Still, I was cold.
I hadn't dressed to walk. I had dressed to impress. I had dressed to dance. I had dressed to party with the girl I had been crushing on since freshman year. I had my best suit on, with a pair of shoes crafted of fine Italian leather. I sported a new haircut, and wore a fine cologne that had been a gift from my sister.
"When Dave wears this cologne, I melt. Use it sparingly, it's sex in a bottle."
Sex in a bottle. Seems like I was heading for nothing but sex with bottles at the rate I was going. Worse still, right now I wasn't looking at sex with anything, much less anybody, and certainly much, much less that with Claire.
Claire. Oh that girl. She could wrap me around her little finger, tie me in a knot and keep me there. Twisted, forgotten, captured by her clear blue eyes and dazzling smile until she decided I had a purpose to serve.
Somehow, I won her heart. At least I thought I had. Somehow, I had gained her affection, and giddily waved goodbye to the other nine guys who were tied and twisted to her other nine fingers as she slipped me off and replaced me with my ring. More than jewelry, it was a symbol of my devotion and my desire to be together with her forever.
Sadly, my story was one of high hopes. An omniscient narrator would have pointed out that those other nine guys were still twisted around her other fingers. An omniscient narrator would not have missed introducing the path of destruction in Claire's wake. Broken hearts, casual acquaintances, hopeful suitors littered that path behind her . None of them stagnated in that pitiful river of tears. They all floated on their hopes, gently paddling after her, hoping she would suddenly turn, pluck them from their peril, and slide their ring exactly where I thought she had already slid mine.
My ring had been in place exactly a week. She said there had never been another there. I was over the moon. She said "yes." Claire Hall was going to be my wife. I made plans. I had already been offered a great job. We would have her dream wedding. We would find a beautiful house with a pool, and I would use the trust money I had inherited to buy and furnish it. We could have kids, travel, invite her friends over for barbecues, visit her parents every summer, and trim huge Christmas trees that we cut down ourselves ever winter. There would be margaritas and hot chocolate, beaches and ski trails, and, and and.
The omniscient narrator says "Men plan and God laughs." It shouldn't have taken a third party to note all of the guys still wrapped around her finger, or the guys still following her down the boulevard of broken dreams, or the circle of pretty people she still danced with.
The pretty people all went to high school together. Hell, they all went to Kindergarten together. They all lived within a couple of blocks of each other from the time they were born until they went off to college. Of course none of them went far. They all settled at three schools that were no more than fifteen miles apart. That made it easy for them to get together continually.
I thought I was in. I thought her friends were accepting, and that I had gained membership in the circle of pretty people. I thought that ring on her finger earned me at least some influence. I was right, but not according to that omniscient guy. All I saw were plans being made for a big party. Three of the guys were in a fraternity at state, and that fraternity was celebrating its seventy-fifth anniversary on campus. Claire and I were to go as their guests.
Supposedly, they all wanted to get to know me better. It was all about them though. I must have looked funny trying to break into the conversations that were rife with inside jokes. At first they took time to explain. Then eyes started rolling when I asked. When I got that picture, I stopped asking. Things got worse. I started seeing shoulders and backs of heads instead of pretty people making eye contact. The circle closed me out. I did ok through dinner. I survived the speeches by going for a drink, then hitting the head. I even Stepped outside for a smoke. I never smoked. But since I was invisible anyway, I might as well.
It got worse after dinner, when I started getting sent for drinks. Claire was sweet about it. She asked nicely. When I returned with the first round, they didn't even thank me. I guess I sulked. Claire didn't like it and told me so. I reminded her I came to be with her and have some fun.
"Oh stop it! You're acting like a child."
I guess I flushed. Gina, the unofficial leader of the pretty people girls, noticed. In fact her head swiveled to see what was going on.
"I'm glad you brought me tonight, but these are my oldest friends, and we all only get together a couple times a month any more! Tonight is not going to be about you!"
I was stunned. Gina could tell, and that head swiveled back to the other side. Watching the news spread was like watching electricity zip through a line. Yeah that fast. I had to say something.
"Sorry Claire, I guess I misunderstood. Everybody, I apologize for the disturbance. That round is one me."
Did I hear a thank you? Nope. Completely in sync, nine heads turned back to the podium. Then nine heads realized how boring the speeches were and turned to conversations among themselves. Then I got sent for another round. Didn't I already get a round? Why yes I did!
Speeches over, dancing started. Up jump the pretty people, and one of the guys grabs Claire's hand.
"Honey, Greg and I always dance the first dance together. We took ballroom together when we were kids, and it's been a tradition ever since. Be a dear and watch our purses."
Purses on the table, I sat. I stewed. A half hour passed and I was chained to the table on "purse watch." For this I wore Italian shoes and sex-in-a-bottle cologne. She hadn't commented on either. They sure looked like they were having fun dancing. Time ticked on. The pretty people came back to the table winded and sweating from their exertions. I was reading Pride and Prejudice on my phone, homework for my English Lit class.
"Honey, can you get us another round of drinks?"
"Claire, I'm a little busy. I'm right in the middle of a chapter, and it's kind of..."
"You're doing homework!? I took you out to dinner and you're doing homework?"
"Your purses were safe. I never left my seat. Forty five minutes of dancing, you didn't have to worry about your purse or your fiancé. You and your friends were free to enjoy yourself on the floor. I don't see why I shouldn't use my downtime productively."
It went downhill from there. I was cold-shouldered, though she didn't think so. I felt left out, they had gone to extremes to dis-include me. Everyone danced with my fiancée but me. Greg always dances first. That implies I should at least dance, doesn't it? Yada yada, slap.
The slap was the loudest. The pretty people all stopped and stared. At me. Incredulously, it was clear to them that I was entirely at fault. A girl only slaps a guy when he has done something exceptionally insulting, right? The ring came off the finger. My ring came off her finger. She slapped it on the table in front of me.
"Fine. I am your fiancée, not your slave. You will not come between me and my friends. Now sit down, and be a good boy. We will need another round of drinks, and maybe another later, to make up for another childish tantrum tonight. You will sit and watch our things while we dance, and when we get home we will have a long talk about your place in this relationship."
I stood up and gathered myself. The pretty people smirked, and started to say what they wanted to drink. I nodded to each one, acknowledging their smirk. Then I picked up my ring, slipped it in my pocket, and told them to get their drinks themselves. As I turned to walk away, I heard her tell them, "he'll be back. Watch. I'll bet he even brings the drinks."
I didn't.
