It was ten years since the Four Horses assembled. Almost eleven, actually, since none of them were talking to each other by the end of their senior year. The individual members reconciled individually but the gang was gone, never to return. From force of habit they came together in the gym, under the banner pronouncing their class reunion, and climbed up into the concrete bleachers overlooking the ball court.
Mike and John were wearing jeans and boots and leather jackets, having ridden their bikes to the event. They had big expensive Indians now and couldn't let anyone forget it. Eva left her Kawasaki at home so she could wear her new dress. It was black and had a white lace bodice and she could detach the sleeves if she felt like showing her ink.
Mickey wore jeans but they were crisply pressed, as was his red chambray shirt. He had shiny brown shoes on and a black corduroy jacket with brass buttons. The badge of his bolo tie was colorful, pretty.
"You look like a pansy," said Mike.
"My girl likes me to dress up," Mickey replied, unperturbed.
"Your girl?" Scoffed Mike. "More like your grandma."
"Yeah, man," John piled on. "Couldn't you hire a hooker your own age?"
"How old's your date?" Mickey asked him. He held his hand in front of his face and examined it stupidly. He showed his palm to John with fingers outstretched. "This many?"
Mike sneered. "I think your date's going to knit you a sock and later you're gonna come in it."
"You don't need to worry where I'll be coming." Mickey stood and turned to survey the room below. "I better get back to her. See you later at Kerry's, maybe."
And that was it, the last meeting of the Four Horses for maybe another ten years, maybe forever. Eva didn't know what drove a wedge between the boys but she knew what divided them from her. They had been the fastest friends, unbreakable, since elementary school. Then puberty came around and, one by one, each of them tried to be her boyfriend. She let one of them succeed. But even that wasn't enough to save their friendship.
Eva sat with the tough girls for dinner. Life had tenderized them but seeing their old friends and rivals rolled back the years and they were happily talking shit about this and that bitch. Eva was the calm in the storm and watched her old friend across the room, sitting with his lady friend. He introduced her as "Mindy". She was old enough to be someone's grandmother, but not the sock-knitting kind. More like a cocktail waitress in a Dolly Parton wig... ain't she cool?
She did act like she was into him, leaning on his shoulder and chattering away at him. He just sat there with his arm around her, scanning the room like he wanted to see who saw her with him, occasionally inclining his head to her and laughing at something she said.
Dinner was chicken Cordon-Bleu and a green salad with pecan pie for dessert. The wine was flowing at her table and the trash talk got louder as the evening wore on, eventually quieted by the music for the dance portion of the event. Eva nursed a single glass of wine and periodically checked in on Mickey and his date. She hoped they would get up and dance. She wanted to see how the woman danced.
The music sucked, of course. The same lame forty songs that were popular in the day, without even the twenty years separation necessary to make them classics. Still her table-mates howled and leaped to their feet as each song began, dragging their suit-wearing would-be boyfriends onto the gym floor. Mickey and the woman didn't dance, just sat and sipped and watched the dancers. Eva noticed that the woman wasn't chattering any more. Instead she looked about the room nervously. 'What was she looking for?' Eva wondered, and consciously avoided looking directly at them.
There was something odd about the way she leaned on him, the way he had his hand around her. Both her arms were in front of her, in front of him, moving rhythmically. 'If I didn't know better...' Eva thought. Mickey's head eased back slightly and he looked up into the rafters. His smug smile told a story. Eva didn't know better after all. Out of the corner of her eye she watched them, wishing she could look directly at them, wishing she was sitting right there at the table with them.
Mickey said something to the woman and she said something back. He picked up a program from the table and unfolded it, holding it up in front of him and partially concealing them from view. Eva bored into the program with her eyes, trying to perceive what might be happening behind it. Mickey's eyes suddenly met hers across the room and Eva was too startled to look away. Slowly, deliberately, he raised the program just a bit, just for a moment, to show her a glimpse of blond curls moving between the table and the tips of his bolo.
Mickey closed his eyes and his mouth briefly opened. Then he laughed and the woman's smiling face reappeared and Eva let out the breath she didn't realize she was holding. Both of them were laughing now and as the woman leaned over him again, evidently to put him back in order, Mickey made eye contact with Eva and gave her a shit-eating grin.
*****
Eva followed them to Kerry's and bumped into them at the door so she could join their party. Kerry's was a social staple in the small brick-paved downtown, restaurant by day and tavern by night. Once past the bar, patrons found two rows of half-circle booths that faced each other across the aisle. Beyond that were a cluster of sweetheart tables and an art deco jukebox. After the dinner service, the staff would move the tables and chairs against the wall to free up the dance floor.
It was still relatively early so one of the booths right by the dance floor was free. Mike and John were already seated in the other and between them was Roger, who owned the parlor where Eva worked, and his wife Giselle. Mickey helped the woman into the booth and got in behind her. Eva got in from the other side and slid over so that the woman was between them. Eva gave her a bright smile and she smiled brightly back.
The woman's body was thick, but firm and shaped the way a woman's body should be shaped. A seam was faintly visible under her curly blond bangs, wig confirmed. Her heavy makeup couldn't cover the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth. But when she smiled, those lines fit her face like the pattern of wear on platinum. And between those red lips, teeth too even and white to be natural. 'The whitest teeth he had ever come across,' Eva thought, recalling a vulgar joke guys used to tell.
Mickey ordered a draft beer and the woman a whisky sour. Eva requested a glass of wine and Mickey paid for it, which pleased her. She could afford her own drinks, of course. But it made her feel like she was a part of things. She sat quietly and sipped her wine and pretended not to watch the woman's every move.
"You have nice skin," Eva said to her while Mickey was busy talking to their friends across the way. She pushed her sleeve up just enough to show her the garland of red poppies tattooed across her wrist. "I'd love to get you in my studio some time."
The woman touched the wrist and stroked the petals. "Pretty. But my husband would murder me."
"You're married?"
"It's okay. He knows where I am."
Eva found this shocking, but surprised herself by finding it exciting too. "Is Mindy your real name?"
"Is Eva yours?"
"It's my middle name," she replied, chastened.
The woman put her arm around her and their foreheads touched. Eva wondered if the wine on her own breath was as strong as the whiskey on the woman's. "Listen Eva. I don't want to sound rude. But I don't get many chances like this to act up. Tomorrow we can have coffee if you want and I'll be glad to answer your questions. But tonight I'm Mindy and I'm here to party. So could you help me out?"
"Sorry." Eva kicked herself mentally and drained her glass.
