“So what do you guys do now?” she asks, taking a picture of me wiping my face of the leftover beads of sweat.
“I’m sure you have your own ideas of how the rest of our night plays out; you want to tag along?” I challenge. Other than Royce, our evenings are extremely tame unless Jen considers a few beers, videos games, movie marathons, and camping trips out of hand. Provoking her is a little more fun than telling her the truth, at least for a while.
I open the door to the dressing room, now sans-food, and leaning against the back wall is the perfect person to assist me in my Jen provocation. Stacy has been an uninvited fixture with the band for the past few months. She’s a sweet girl, it’s just too bad she doesn’t value herself more than a musician’s evening companion. She’s offered the goods repeatedly to everyone, but Royce is the only one who has cashed in the offer—repeatedly.
“Casen, there you are!” she exclaims, her voice reminiscent of one of those chicks from Clueless. My IQ plummets each time she speaks to me. She’s jumping up and down and her tits flail about like they are fighting each other to escape the garment prison she’s trapped them in. I use the term garment loosely. Her double Ds aren’t held in place by a bra, although her tiny shirt looks similar to one. She’s paired it with cutoff jean shorts. The pockets hang down out the front, which suggests if she turns around, we’ll be greeted by Stacy’s butt folds. She runs to me, hopping into my arms and landing a kiss on my cheek. I turn with her in my arms to face Jen and, judging from her expression, I was dead-on with my butt cheek assessment. She’s caught so off guard, it takes her a moment to remember her camera.
“Hello, Stacy,” I respond unenthusiastically. “Did you enjoy the show?” I drop her to the ground as Jen clears her throat.
“Are you going to introduce me to your little friend?” Jen inquires. I can tell she thinks she’s nailed it, that I’m a groupie hound and Stacy’s presence proves it. I sense a bit of jealousy as well, though. This is the perfect situation to sour her mood.
“Sorry. This is—”
“Stacy,” she interrupts, stepping in front of me to shake Jen’s hand. “I hang out with the band sometimes.” Then she rounds on me. “By the way, Mr. Guitar Man, you know I don’t mind sharing, but the least you could do is ask.”
Jen’s expression is priceless, she could catch flies with the way her mouth hangs open. To her credit, she recovers quickly. “I’m not here to sleep with anyone,” she says, holding up her camera.
“Fuck, Casen, you know I have rules about photography,” Stacy huffs, placing hands on her curvy hips. “You always ask a girl first, but I guess for you I can make an exception.” She begins to stride toward me, a smile lighting up her face. Before I can correct any part of the situation, Jen takes the room’s climate from slight breeze to hurricane status.
“So your primary role here is to service the band, roadies, bartenders, and anyone in need of a vagina?” Jen snips as she clicks away on her camera. “Is this a new business/social venture or have you always been into trying to land wealthy men with your physical assets?”
Stacy may not be the brightest, but she understands immediately that Jen is calling her out. The claws come out and I’ll begin to fear for my life if I don’t intervene or get Royce in here to help separate the ladies into their opposing corners.
“Are you kidding me? Who the hell do you think you are?” Stacy asks. I’m waiting for fire to begin shooting out of her mouth, like one of the dragons from Harry Potter.
“Make no mistake, I didn’t mean to offend.” Click goes Jen’s camera. “I’m actually intrigued.” Click, click.
“Would you please put that camera down before I shove it up your ass?”
Oh, damn, I’m about to be responsible for a chick fight. I need to de-escalate! “Royce!” I shout into the hallway. “There is someone here to see you.”
Hearing he has possible company for the evening, even if it’s just Stacy, he rushes into the room. He abruptly stops when he sees the estrogen-overdosed scene before him.
“Actually, I’m doing a photo shoot for the CDC in the next few weeks for their new VD posters. I think you would be a perfect model for it,” Jen says as politely and sweetly as possible. The true meaning of what she’s implying flies entirely over Stacy’s head and her demeanor changes immediately.
“Really, a model? You think so?” she asks, her tone full of hope, her eyes brightening up with the possibility of a modeling career. Royce doubles over with laughter and I know as soon as he catches his breath, he will crush her hopes.
“All right, Jen, it’s time to go, we have that reservation to get to.” I grab her by the arm and pull her out of the room before she can resist.
“Casen has my number,” Stacy shouts after us as we exit. “Call me!”
I quickly close the door, averting the crisis.
“Is that the dramatics you were after?” Jen asks as we walk down the hallway toward the parking lot.
“Not exactly.” I pin her with my eyes. “Come on, it’s still early, I’m taking you out.”
“I’m good, thanks,” she shoots back, pulling out of my grip.
“Get over yourself, sparkplug. It’s not a date; we’re going to go blow off some steam.” I hold open the backdoor to the venue for Jen and the warm spring air slams into us. There was a storm the evening before, so the humidity is high. A perfect night for what I have in mind for us.
Jen
“You have got to be shittin’ me,” I say as we pull into the gravel parking lot. “You realize we aren’t thirteen, right? We’re adults.”
Casen puts the pickup in park; a truck I think he has the strangest, almost unhealthy, relationship with, and he looks to me with a shit-eating grin. “Just because we’re almost thirty, doesn’t mean we need to act like it all the time. I know you’re not the boring type, sparky. Get out of the truck, we’re having some fun tonight.”
I’m always a girl up for a good time, but I haven’t been to a carnival since I was a freshman in high school. The lights of the death traps for rides brighten the night sky as waves of teenagers fill the fairgrounds, racing from one electronic adventure to the next. None of it makes me want to hop out and run to the Tilt-a-Whirl. Standing in a crowded line with a bunch of horny, zit-faced teenagers is not my idea of a rip-roaring good time
Casen runs around the front of the truck and opens my door. What a gentleman, too bad I’d have just as much chance of needing a tetanus shot whether I went near a carnival ride or his man parts. He swings open the passenger door, and the smell of cotton candy, popcorn, and roasted peanuts fill my nostrils, tickling me with temptation.
“Get your ass out of the truck, sparkplug,” he says, holding his hand out for me to take. “We’re going to have us some fun.”
Smacking his hand away, I jump down out of the truck. “No twisty, spinning rides which may end my life and you’re buying me as much junk food as I can hold down.” I turn to him, looking for agreement.
“You got it, but you owe me one round on the bumper cars,” he says, shutting the truck door behind me.
The bumper cars sound like the perfect way to let out some of the pent-up frustration I have for this man. Instead of admitting my friends are right and I like Casen, I find it easier to pretend he brings out my homicidal tendencies. The bumper cars sound ideal; where else can I act out my road rage fantasies and legally rear-end someone?
Walking side by side, we slowly approach the chaos. I giggle at Casen as the jittery excitement I’m containing spills out. The sirens and screams from the rides mix with the buzzers of the games area and the overwhelming noise begins to crowd my senses. My eyes widen at the sight, which includes carnies ready to swindle me out of a dollar, funnel cakes, and ring toss for a gold fish prize. All I need now is a margarita stand and I would squeal.