Friday
I drove all night to see her, or more correctly, hoping to see her. I closed my eyes briefly on the highway and I can see her face. I shouldn't feel like this. I don't want to feel like this. But I can't help it, my mind goes flying and I have to wait for it to come back down. Are you beginning to understand any of this? I'm hoping to see her yet I shouldn't feel like this, this ambivalence; I want to not want to as I put it.
The Adult Sports Bar is a twenty-two minute drive away. I find a spot to park and I go inside. I don't see her right away because I am busy paying my cover charge. Then there she is, walking toward me after she sees me come in. She's wearing that same tight red dress that I saw her in the first time, several months ago. She looks beautiful in it, but then again she looks great in every outfit she wears.
She comes up and says hello and gives me a hug. I can tell she's a little drunk because she's never done this before. Then again it's been two months since she saw me last. "Come and sit with me." She commands and I obey.
"Let me get my drink first," I say.
"Shauna!" She cries out over the music, "Get Don his screwdriver!"
"So you're saying I should screw Don?" Shauna replies with a smirk. Shauna is the bartender and could definitely get up on stage herself if she wanted, she had the body for it.
"Yes please, screw Don." Amy says with a big smile. Still holding my hand she guides me to a table. She tells me to sit, her hands on my shoulders as she forcefully pushes me down into the chair. "Stay." She says and I bark at her like a dog. She leaves and gets my screwdriver. I offer to pay but she waves away my handful of money saying that it was on her. "Besides," she says with a smile, "You're going to need that to tip me later after my dance."
Amy takes a sip of her drink already at the table and I take one of mine. I glance at the stage for a brief moment and soak up the sight of the petite dancer swinging on the pole to the amusement of the crowd.
"So why don't you come over anymore?" Amy says.
I still stared at the girl on stage for a moment. "I got the impression the last time I was over that you didn't want me to be there, and after you didn't return my phone call…" I let the sentence hang incomplete as I turn my gaze back on the object of my suppressed affections.
"Coming over is different than taking on the phone." She states flatly.
"Then why didn't you ever come over to my house?"
"Touché." She says and takes another drink. Just like she told me awhile back, everything comes out when she's drunk. Another friend told me too that drink makes you honest, no inhibitions. So you could consider it utter bullshit when someone blames an event that they wouldn't normally do sober on being drunk. Alcohol releases the id in all of us.
"I've missed you," Amy says tilting her head to the side. She must have realized what she just said and begins to fidget with a cigarette before lighting it.
My smile covers my entire face; I almost feel a blush coming on. None of my other blossoming relationships had stated anything like that before. Is that what this was, a blossoming relationship? Maybe it was like the rose I bought her for Valentines Day.
"So you've missed me, eh?" I ask leaning close so she can hear me above the music playing.
"Yes," she says a bit sheepishly. Maybe some of it is the drink. Maybe some of it is honesty.
"Well, I've missed you too," I say honestly. "I think about you all the time." I add.
"You do? What do you think about?" she asks.
"Coming up here to see you, asking you out to dinner and a movie, watching you dance, that sort of thing." I don't add the thoughts about making love to her, or taking long walks on the Old Plank Road Trail with her, or walking along the beach and on towards the lighthouse with her, among countless other thoughts too numerous to mention. "Do you still have that rose I bought you?" I say changing the subject as I feel a bout of nervousness swelling in my belly.
"Yes I do. It's in my bedroom. I hung it upside down to dry."
"That's good."
"Why do you ask?" she says putting out her cigarette.
"Well, if you didn't have it I'd have to get you another one."
I'm nervous. There's a pause in the conversation where neither of us knows what to say. I look at her and she's looking at the stage. I think I'm falling in love, but that can't be, I hardly know her, she hardly knows me, it can't be love, it has to be lust, yes, I'm falling in lust. But it's not the sex that I desire from her, it's her companionship, so I guess I'm just falling.
"I'll be right back; I have to go pick my songs." Amy says and leaves.
My eyes watch her go before bringing my screwdriver to my lips and taking a slow drink. I watch the girl writhe on the stage, taking the occasional dollar from the men seated at the rail. She was pretty, not as pretty as Amy, but still very pretty.
Amy came and sat back down with a fresh drink for herself and I. "I thought you could use a refill." She said.
"Thank you."
Soon she is leaving me to go on stage. "Kill" Bill is the jockey, so to speak, and introduces her as "Belle". Watching her takes my breath away. I still can't believe how beautiful she is. I've only felt like this once before, and that was with a high school crush ten years ago. I smile at her performance, admiring her every curve and gyration. I'm in love. Or is it lust? I'm falling. Her three-song set is done and she leaves the stage to collect tips and to go change outfits. "Kill" Bill introduces the next dancer.
She returns a short while later and takes her seat next to me. Her wardrobe has changed but she is still stunning in whatever she wears; black, white, red, she looks absolutely gorgeous in it all. I lean back in my chair and look at her soaking up every inch of her lovely body, especially her perfect face. If only I could have one wish …
