“What the fuck are you doing?” My face scrunched with anger.
She couldn’t keep her head still and it swirled as she spoke. “Bra, I’m fucking drunk. I need some coke to wake me up so I can drive, kid.”
“You are not doing drugs on our date!” I didn’t know what else to say.
She tucked her wild hair behind her ear and leaned in to try to whisper to me, but it was just as loud as if she had shouted it. “I just need one bump, so I can ride. I’ll do it in the bathroom, then we can go; it will wake me up.” She meant to sit back in the chair, but the booze in her system forced her to throw herself at the back of the seat. She bounced awkwardly before her whole body leaned to the left.
“I would rather walk home from here. If you do it, I’ll walk. Just sit here for a while and sober the fuck up. I can’t believe you want to snort coke so you can drive! That’s your fucking answer?” I held my hand out to receive her keys, completely prepared to walk if I had to, but she handed them to me along with her wallet in good faith. Then she reluctantly drank water for the rest of the night. It was maybe an hour and a half later when I hesitantly mounted the back of her motorcycle to head for the gay bar.
It was karaoke night there, and I insisted she get something to eat before we drove the rest of the way. My apartment was over fourteen miles from the strip club, but so help me, God, I would have walked home. At least if the night got any worse, the walk from the gay bar was less than six.
When we arrived, Monica ordered a pizza and chilled out in a booth while I sang. A gay couple was so impressed they offered to pay me twenty bucks to sing another song as we were preparing to leave. I looked to Monica, she looked to me, and we waited to go up again. After the second song, I chatted with the gay couple for about fifteen minutes until my scans of the club for Monica were beyond futile.
After returning from the bar, I asked the boys, “Have you seen the girl I was with?”
“Sure, she was talking to someone in the back while you were singing. She is probably in the bathroom.”
I waited nearly half an hour before scouring the place to look for her. My gut told me what must have happened, but my heart desperately ached for my hunch to be wrong.
Back at the table with the boys, I didn’t quite know how to express the gravity of the situation. Staring at the swirling disco ball on the dance floor, I said, “I think she left.”
I stared at it a little too long before one of the boys spoke up after whispering to his boyfriend. “Oh, honey, she is probably in the bathroom.”
“Nope, I looked.” My voice was monotone as I let disco sparkles dance in my eyes.
“Well, she couldn’t have gone far,” he reassured, but his partner reminded him that the pizza was gone.
My eyes left the glittery ball and broken reflected lights to see the grease spot on the table where the box had been. The shining oils picked up the reflected lights from the disco ball. Without moving my eyes from the grease, I mumbled, “How will I get home? I didn’t bring any money.”
A tender hand warmed the top of my shoulder. “Honey, she is probably sleeping it off in the car.”
“She has a motorcycle and, if it is gone, she left me here on our date.” On autopilot I got up to check the first parking space to the left of the entrance. Just as I suspected, it was empty.
Frozen in disbelief, and then reanimated by a slow-burning anger, I returned to the booth. One of the boys knew what had happened by the look on my face, but he asked anyway, “She left you?”
With direct eye contact I said, “With no money, on a date, and she took the fucking pizza.” Through my anger I smiled just before my eyes began to water; then I lost it, buried my face in my hands, and cried.
The boys were kind enough to hand me a twenty-dollar bill, all they had left, to help me out. They were staying in the casino up the street but had walked. They were worried that the money they gifted wasn’t enough to get me home.
“I have no idea. I’ve never taken a taxi home before. I always drive everywhere. Thank you, I’ll just walk from wherever he stops if it isn’t enough.” I wiped my face and sat with the couple smoking their cigarettes until my taxi arrived to take me as far as twenty bucks would pay for. I cursed Monica all the way home but cursed myself more for letting it happen.
The next morning I explained the events of my evening to Douglas. He was seriously upset that I did not call him, but the bulky phone wouldn’t have been practical in my tight pants on her motorcycle. I explained this to him as he stood over the dining table to pack his book bag in preparation for his afternoon classes. “Jesus, how do you meet these fucking women? I told you, date up, never down. The next one should always be better than the last.” He pulled a notebook out from the bag and began picking off tiny loose paper edges from the metal binding. His face was scowling.
“Why are you getting mad at me? It isn’t my fault she’s a twat and left me. And you date some dingy bitches too.” I was trying to deflect.
He stopped picking at the paper to stare intensely at me. “Because she left my wife in a bar alone! Don’t talk to her again,” he ordered before he began to tweeze at the torn edges for a second time. “Ditzy college girls are different from drug trash, and you know it.” He made his point.
“You’re right.” He was always right. I yawned and crossed my arms over my chest as I shook my head and mumbled, “And…she took the fucking pizza.” I waited for him to see the tragic comedy in it before we cackled together.
His high-pitched laugh drowned mine out as he pointed at me to mock me with grand gesture. “A bitch got left!” When his laughing fit finally subsided, we shared a few leftover giggles before he scooped the pile of discarded paper into his hand and kissed my forehead. “I love you.” We hugged and that was that.
So how do you find decent lesbians in Las Vegas, without a drug problem, who won’t leave you at a bar, who will date a married woman? I turned to the chat rooms, where there were quite a few gems.
Joy was one of them. She had recently moved to Las Vegas and didn’t know too many people, hence the online networking. One night while chatting, we cut the conversation short to get ready for the National Coming Out Day Festival. We skipped the parade they had earlier in the day, but the evening events were sure to be a blast! This is how the conversation was typed:
NelliBean: so you would rather stay on the computer than meet me there?
CaddiesRCrazy: are you going?
NelliBean: yes. listen, get your ass off of the computer and meet me in person. *wink* ill be the one dancing on the pole
CaddiesRCrazy: i have to shower and get ready
NelliBean: well I am leaving in like 20 minutes to get a parking spot. I hope to see you there!
CaddiesRCrazy: bye sexy
NelliBean: not goodbye… see you in a few
I logged off, freshened up, and gave Doug a kiss goodbye. Then I drove to my favorite club where the street was closed off for the festivities.
The Gay Lesbian Bisexual Transgender (GLBT) community was out in full force, complete with sparkling outfits and rainbows galore. It felt like home. Even the smell of it was welcoming.
At the club, three dances into my night, I finally stood at the bar for my first drink. Just as the tequila finished burning my throat, my favorite songs began to play. As I walked back to the packed dance floor, a hand reached out from the crowd and grabbed my arm. There was Joy standing in all of her big girl glory with a smile from ear to ear.