Dewey moved off, annoyed at himself. He wasn’t ever going to try and talk to her anyway, so what was that about? He needed to take a piss, then get Shannon and get out of there. No weasels, he was sure.
The men’s room was crowded and noisy. The brew of community urine was intense and a little sickening from five or six feet outside it. On the way there, down a short corridor, young guys who were exiting passed Dewey, laughing and stomping along. They all seemed so much like kids to him. Get them in a big bunch and they’re all excited, trying to impress each other and shit, just like back on the playground. Not that long ago for them.
As Dewey took the door handle, somebody came up from behind and grabbed his arm. “Hey, man,” came a loud voice, “you checkin’ out my bitch?”
He whirled around. It was Shannon, smirking.
“Man, don’t fuckin’ do that. About to take a piss.” They stepped into the restroom. It was more crowded than the rest of the club.
“How’d you like that guy’s Don Eagle, wasn’t that delightful?”
“That was a mohawk,” said Dewey, “not a Don Eagle. A Don Eagle is short.”
“I stand corrected. I think what I’ll do is, I’ll run down to the Hair Happening Salon tomorrow and get me one like it. The babes will get wet at the sight of me.”
Dewey snorted a sort-of laugh. “Not me, I don’t have enough hair left.” He went up to the urinal and started pissing.
“That’s your excuse for everything,” said Shannon. “Anyway, see, I told you the young folk were hangin’ here.”
“Yeah, that kid with the mohawk could get his ass kicked out in the parking lot here, too. For trespassing in headbanger land.” Done, he wagged his dick. “What about the weasels?”
“I can’t find them. They must have split. Anyway, I bet I could—Whoa! What the fuck?!”
Dewey turned his head, saw what Shannon had seen: a girl with long red hair, not orange-red but really fire-engine red hair, petite and foxy, in a black leather jacket over a frilly white mini-dress, black-and-white striped hose, and tan clodhopper shoes, was half-strutting and half-staggering across the restroom. She went into one of the doorless toilet stalls. She yanked the hose down past her knees, pulled up her little dress, no panties and, damn, no pubic hair, and sat. She tossed her wild red locks and looked at nothing, seemingly oblivious to nearly all the eyes in the place turning her way. A burbling came from under her.
Dewey felt a wave of dread pass through him. That hair. The girl in the woods had really red hair too, just like that. Well, pretty close. She had been Asian and this one was white, but the hair…
“All right, baby!” someone called. There was much hooting and laughter, while a couple guys shook their heads and a very few others ignored the spectacle completely. She, in turn, seemed faraway, perhaps lost in thought.
Shannon strode over and stood right in front of her, folding his arms. “Say, I’m not complaining, but I think you’re in the wrong room, honey,” he said.
The girl seemed to wake a bit, smiled up at him, but didn’t laugh. “The other room was crowded.”
“That would be the ladies’ room,” said Shannon.
She shrugged, still smiling, though a bit vaguely. Dewey had finished up and turned around, a bit embarrassed to watch her openly, but everybody else was, so he did too. She was still peeing. Shannon stood there staring and smiling, brazen even for him. She wiggled a bit and reached for the roll of toilet paper.
“Whoa, you had to pee a lot,” he said.
“I know,” said the girl. She tore off some paper, wiped, and pulled her hose up. “Thank you, gentlemen,” she said, not sounding sarcastic at all, and stepped around Shannon, weaving a bit as she went. Obviously stoned, no surprise there. She’d have to be stoned or nuts, or a total slut. Or all three.
“Jesus,” said Dewey to Shannon. “Well, anyway, those guys aren’t here and they’re gonna close—”
“Hold it, man, I’m going to get this chick before somebody else does,” said Shannon, elbowing past him, after her.
“C’mon, she’s probably with somebody,” said Dewey. “Besides, we don’t really have time, man.” But Shannon was already out of the room.
Christ, thought Dewey, hurrying after him. Last time he picked somebody up it didn’t go so well. Doesn’t he even remember? That whole thing in the woods, and Todd and all? With bright red hair, even?
Dewey saw that the redhead chick was already walking across the far side of the club. The band was done, there was no music at all, and a lot of people had left, it looked like. They must be closing, about to announce. Shannon came up behind her, put his hand on her back. She turned, looked up. They were too far away for Dewey to hear, and too many other people milled around for him to even see very clearly. He thought maybe she wouldn’t like Shannon doing that, might even turn around and slap him or something, but instead, wow, she twirled around like a dancer and pushed her face close to his. He grabbed her upper arms, seemed to be holding her up.
A boyfriend might come up any minute, or some other girls that she’s with. Be nice if there was just one other girl, one about like her. Yeah, right.
She laced an arm around Shannon’s neck, looked like she was urging him to dance, though the music was off. He did a couple comic steps, stopped, and at that she let go, waving her arms around and swaying. Maybe swaying a little too much. She tripped and fell backwards against some guy behind her. Shannon caught her and pulled her to him. She threw her arms around him as if she could barely control them, and put her head on his shoulder, like he was her hero, or maybe like she was too exhausted to stand up anymore by herself. Either way, it looked pretty phony to Dewey, like she was putting on a show. You had to watch out for girls like that.
Shannon helped her over to a table that had just been vacated by a couple who were up dancing, though a purse and some drinks were still left on it. Dewey stepped over and sat down with them. The chick put her head down, once again a bit flamboyantly, but after a moment rose up and grabbed the purse. She opened it, rifled inside, took out a pack of cigarettes. Uh-oh, that was somebody else’s purse, wasn’t it? Unless she was there with those people who’d gotten up from the table.
Shannon, fixated on the chick, didn’t even notice Dewey sitting there. “So,” said Dewey, “did you give up on finding those guys?”
“Oh, hey, I almost forgot about you, dude.” He tapped the girl on the shoulder. “Hey, this here’s my main man, Dewey.”
She was beautiful close up, delicate features like a small child, heavy eyelashes but no apparent makeup, dazzling green eyes. She looked at Dewey, smiled as if childishly delighted at the sight of him, raised a hand delicately and twirled her fingers for a moment. “Hi.” Dewey had seen this sort of greeting before, usually from stoner chicks who knew they were cute. Even so, he smiled and nodded a little.
But he leaned over close to Shannon to whisper to him. “C’mon, man, she must be with somebody.”
“Well, I dunno. Hey, girl. You here by yourself?” he asked her, raising his voice to be heard over the music.
“Hmm?” She tossed her hair, looked around. Stunning. Could be a model, a movie star, even.
“You here with anybody? Where are your friends?”
“Friends? Oh, Okay. Let’s see. They, ummm… they were here, but… oh wait, I’m confused. That was, like, the other day.” She was murmuring and hard to hear, and Shannon kept leaning closer and putting his hand to his ear. She laughed, making eye contact first with Shannon, then, only briefly, with Dewey, then back to Shannon.