Still November 20, 2013
Chuck’s was emptier and tackier than Mary Ann would have wanted, but it was dark, there was a dance floor, and she’d hauled enough members of the dinner club along to make her presence look less like a direct attack on Sam and more like a group outing. What her mother was doing there she didn’t know, or care.
She sipped her gin and tonic, and leaned over to Drew, on her right. “Are you almost drunk enough to dance?”
He gripped his glass. “Getting there.”
Mary Ann leaned the other way, placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, I’m counting on you to request ‘I Heard it Through the Grapevine’ now.”
He nodded and laughed in an infectious way that made her laugh along. Why hadn’t she ordered a shot of tequila instead of the gin? Because she would love to have licked some salt off her thumb bone right about then, and sucked a lemon, and lived large. Larger.
In a couple of minutes, she was going to get up and dance by herself, arms above her head. She reached down and adjusted the neckline of her top to reveal more than a bit of her black bra, and tapped her foot in time to the country song playing on the jukebox.
The evening reminded her of a school concert she’d sung in back in fifth grade, in Ann Arbor, before her family had moved to Oakdale.
She’d been chosen from her school to be in a multi-district choir giving a special performance in honour of a politician, on a now-forgotten civic occasion. The children, dressed in uniform tunics, were required to sit quietly on risers between songs while speeches were made — after the choir had sung the “Star-Spangled Banner” and before they stood up to offer “America the Beautiful.”
At the several rehearsals beforehand, Mary Ann had behaved well, like the compliant child she was. On the day of, she’d suffered having Sarah pull her hair back into a tight and shiny ponytail, lined up with the other choristers at the appointed place and time, filed onto the risers, sat down, crossed her ankles, folded her hands in her lap.
And started talking. The choir mistress had made it very clear that there was to be no talking, no moving, and no fidgeting while they were up there behind the podium, on display in front of the large audience. The kids chosen to perform had been selected as much for their ability to comport themselves in a dignified fashion as for their talent in singing, so they all did what they were told, which made it more dramatic and noticeable when Mary Ann went off-script.
She talked to the girl next to her, the ones behind and in front, ignored their better-behaved shushing. She made faces behind the back of the politician. She ignored her mother frowning at her from the audience. She laughed at the pointed finger and angry face of the choir mistress.
Mary Ann shut them all out, slouched down in her seat, talked some more. She knew exactly how naughty she was being, knew she’d get into big trouble later, but she couldn’t help it. She hadn’t been able to stop being bad.
Same thing now.
Jake was wearing black. Nothing showbizzy. A black T-shirt, black jeans, black Converse sneakers. He looked tall and fit and unpretentious, Alice thought. He looked good.
He didn’t appear to see Alice or notice the dinner club table. There were lights shining in his face, in his eyes. The band was tuning up. He adjusted a microphone.
Mary Ann leaned forward, bringing her exposed cleavage dangerously close to Sam’s hand, and half shouted to Alice, three people down, “That can’t be him. The bald one in black. Tell me it isn’t him.”
Alice put a finger to her lips, hoped Jake hadn’t heard Mary Ann above the sound of the guitarist trying out a riff, the keyboard player playing a few chords. “It’s him.”
Mary Ann’s mouth was agape. She took a second look. “I would never have recognized him. Never in a million years.” Mary Ann turned to Drew and started talking to him, probably telling him how much Jake had changed, how good-looking he used to be.
On Alice’s other side, Phoebe gasped. “Will you look at that?”
A young black man stood in front of the center microphone. He wore a tight white T-shirt, black pinstripe dress pants, polished wingtips. What Alice could see of his body — entire upper — was buff.
“That’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” Phoebe said.
“I think his name is Tristan,” Alice said.
“Tristan,” Phoebe repeated, dreamily. And Alice hoped Mary Ann had not done anything insane like spike the soup with an aphrodisiac. Before she could ask, the band played a familiar riff, and in a falsetto voice, Tristan began to sing a Temptations song — “The Way You Do the Things You Do.”
Mary Ann was up dancing within the first eight bars, up and facing Sam, beckoning to him in a way that she must have meant to be sexy but that Alice found ridiculous. What on earth, Alice thought, even while she found herself gazing fondly at Sam. At his finely shaped nose and his juicy, kissable lips —
“Aaagh!” Alice clapped her hand over her mouth.
Beside her, Phoebe said, “What? What’s wrong?”
Alice shook her head. “Nothing.” Except that she hadn’t been mistaken earlier — the damned telepathy was back. She stood up, sat down, moved her chair back, and tried to distance herself from Mary Ann, whose mind was clearly in overdrive, and taking over Alice’s own.
Alice erected a mental barrier in an attempt to shut out Mary Ann’s thoughts, and concentrated instead on Jake, watched him sing backup and adroitly perform some guy-group dance steps. He was enjoying himself.
Mary Ann, meanwhile, had enticed Sam onto the dance floor, and had dropped the Veronica role in favour of a new comic-book super heroine — Sultry Woman, who could bewitch grown men with her come-hither gaze and bend males to her will with a flick of her finger. Sultry Woman danced with Sam a while, got him going — please no, Alice prayed, not the Bump — and when Sam was well-launched into the sort of gyrations Alice had previously associated with recreational drug use, Mary Ann started working on Drew.
Alice read Mary Ann’s thoughts, turned to Phoebe, said, “What’s wrong with Drew? Why does Mary Ann think he needs cheering up?”
Without taking her eyes off Tristan, Phoebe said, “He was recently dumped by someone. And I’m in love.”
Alice tore herself away from staring at Jake, from checking for signs that in the past few days she’d built up some huge sexual fairy tale that had no bearing on any attraction she might feel for the actual person, and spared a moment to study Tristan. Undeniably hot would be her objective assessment. One she might have expressed if her mind hadn’t been seized by an image of a woman in black satin lingerie, table dancing before a group of slavering men.
“Aaagh!” she cried again. She received an irritated look from Phoebe in response, and jumped at the touch of Sarah’s finger tapping her on the shoulder from behind. “I’m leaving, Alice. Goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Let me walk you out to the parking lot.”
“Don’t worry about me. Stay and watch the show.”
“No, I’ll come. If I were leaving alone, I’d want someone to walk me out. And I could use some air.”
Sam loved the band, loved the song, loved dancing. He performed his best moves, steps he hadn’t pulled out in years — okay, decades — and didn’t look half-bad doing them. And Mary Ann was such a good dancer. Loose and rhythmic and coordinated and laughing and happy and sexy.
The song ended, he clapped, and Mary Ann hugged him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his so that he felt the soft mass of her breasts against his chest and a jolt of arousal in his dick and he didn’t care that he was sweaty.
One of the backup singers, a bald guy, said into the mic, “I’d like to dedicate this next tune to all the women in this room who remember when …”
Mary Ann said, “I need water,” took his hand, led him to the bar, and asked the bartender for two glasses, with ice.
“… It’s been more than a few years since high school …”
She grabbed a glass as soon as it was set down on the bar, drank from it, and so did he, and it tasted like standing under a waterfall on a hot day.
“… We all remember some missed opportunities, some people we regret passing up, not getting to know better …”
Mary Ann turned to face Sam, and said, “You’re so gorgeous. So, so gorgeous.”
“… So, tonight, for one night, let’s travel back to the past, back to the way things should have been …”
Sam put his arm around Mary Ann’s shoulders and pulled her close and kissed her, and it was a goddamned movie kiss, with music swelling all around — or was that the band, finally starting the next song? — except more lustful and drunk and heady. He chewed on her neck, and kissed the curve of her breast — the curve he’d been salivating over for the last half hour — and tasted perfume on her skin, a spicy taste completely unlike the floral scent Hallie used. He stopped his gnawing to take a breath (he was feeling a little dizzy), repeated the Hallie thought in his mind, and waited a second to see if conscious acknowledgement of his first stab at infidelity would affect his desire at all.
Nope. Before the betrayal idea could make its way through his sodden brain from the morality quadrant to the penis-control zone, Mary Ann took advantage of the break in the proceedings to climb onto his lap, fan out her skirt around her, and ride his bucking bronco. His fucking bucking bronco, which bounced right along. No qualms there.
The tremors started again in Alice’s head when Jake was introducing his song and — could it be? — speaking directly to her. Though he wasn’t looking at her, because the lights were still in his eyes, and she was moving around the room, trying to find a lead-lined pillar or bulletproof room divider to take refuge behind, to shield herself from Mary Ann’s thoughts.
She settled on a chest-high, vinyl-covered booth back, and from behind it she listened to Jake, at the mic, talk about high school, about regrets and lost opportunities. He had a good speaking voice — soft and deep. The sound of it touched Alice, suffused her with a spreading lightness, a thrill she could feel right down to the rosy tips of her —
NO. That soft-porn thought had not originated in Alice’s mind. That sex yodelling could only be coming from Mary Ann.
Alice turned and looked around the room. Where were they? From the sound of the fevered mind noises Alice was hearing, Mary Ann and Sam must be necking by now, if not all-out fucking. Though not in this room, Alice hoped.
She spotted them, bodies melded together, jammed against the bar. Mary Ann’s top was half-off, and one leg was wrapped around Sam’s ass. She was riffling his hair, while Sam administered a lovebite that Mary Ann seemed especially responsive to, if the escalation in the pace of the panting in Alice’s mind was any indication.
Alice set off toward them, tried to obliterate the mental image of waves crashing on surf that Mary Ann was projecting — how cliché — noticed that Mary Ann still had on at least one shoe, and hoped that underneath Mary Ann’s skirt, everyone’s underwear was still on.
Alice reached the entangled pair, tapped Mary Ann on the shoulder, and said, “You have to stop.”
Between kisses and sighs, Mary Ann said, “Can’t stop. Feels too good.”
Over the music, Alice yelled, “Don’t stop making out. Just stop broadcasting it!”
Mary Ann broke free, said, “What did you say?” and let go of Sam, who slumped over and rested his head on her shoulder.
Alice took hold of Mary Ann’s face with both hands and looked into her dilated pupils. “I’m reading your mind. All of it. In detail. AND I DON’T WANT TO!”
Mary Ann licked her swollen lips. “Are you kidding? The telepathy’s back?”
“Yes. And you’ve got to stop sending out signals. I don’t want to see your crashing waves.”
Mary Ann’s smile was smudged. “They’re pretty spectacular waves, aren’t they?”
Alice elbowed Sam. “Get up, Sam. Grab your purse, Mary Ann. I’m taking you two someplace private. And hurry. I’ve got my own party to attend.”
Kate and Tom danced, arm in arm, to the Four Tops tune the bald singer had introduced. “This whole scene is incredible,” Kate said. “Like a party out of the eighties. Any minute now, someone’s going to lay down lines of coke on the tabletop and hand us a rolled-up hundred dollar bill. What’s come over these people?”
“I don’t know what’s possessed Mary Ann. And Sam. Perhaps it was something they ate.”
“Not just them. That young woman Phoebe is enthralled by the lead singer in the band. See how she’s dancing near him, trying to catch his eye?”
“At least Alice seems unaffected. Look, she’s at the bar with Mary Ann and Sam. Let’s hope she’s trying to talk sense into them.”
“Don’t be so sure. She’s a part of this, too. Check out the guy who’s singing now. Aren’t we here because her friend plays in the band? Did you hear what he said before, about reconnecting? Now we know what kind of friend. You’re looking at public foreplay, all around us.”
Tom snuck a glance back at Sam and Mary Ann, on their way out the door with Alice. “Do you think it’s still considered infidelity if your spouse is likewise engaged?”
Kate felt something like frustration, or irritation, or anger, or all three, boil up inside her. Something that made her reach down and grab Tom by the balls.
He stepped back. “What are you doing?”
“Just checking to see if you’re as aroused as everyone else in the room.”
“I’m not, thank you very much.”
“And why not?”
“So how do I do it again?” Mary Ann said.
Alice was patient. “You construct walls around your thoughts, and I won’t be able to read them. Remember?”
They were in Alice’s car. Alice was driving. Mary Ann and Sam were in the backseat. Sam was humming — too far gone, Alice hoped, to follow the conversation.
Alice said, “I think it’s the sender who has to block off transmission, not the receiver. And having physical distance between us should help. If we do both these things, I might be able to survive the rest of the evening without experiencing your rapture in living colour.”
“To 96 Maple, if you please,” Sam said from the back seat. “And step on it.”
Mary Ann twirled a strand of hair with her finger. “Okay. I’m going to think about what I’d like to do to Sam when we get to his house, then I’ll construct walls around my thoughts. Brick walls, right?”
“Brick, stone, concrete, whatever. Just stay away from the sticks and hay.”
“I’ll huff,” Sam said, “and I’ll puff.”
“Brick walls, then.”
“Make them thick. I don’t want to see that thought. Now, go.”
Alice opened her mind a crack, saw Mary Ann throw together a brick tower that could have belonged to Rapunzel. “Cute,” Alice said, “but you forgot the rose bush.”
Mary Ann dabbed in a rose bush, leaned out the window and waved at Alice, blew a kiss, then bricked up the window behind her, disappeared from view.
“Good so far.”
“And I’ll blow your house down,” Sam said.
“Here goes,” Mary Ann said. “I’m going to get dirty now.”
Alice cringed, waited, still saw only the tower, the rose bush. “Very good. I can’t see anything of what’s going on inside. Unless you’re not actually thinking your lascivious thoughts. Are you?”
“Should I let the walls down so you can see?”
“No, don’t.”
“The only thing is: that takes a lot of concentration. What if my mind gets distracted by what my body’s doing?”
Alice sighed. “You may as well go ahead and test it. Kiss him or something, and I’ll see if the tower stays up.”
“Come here, bubba,” Mary Ann said, and beckoned to Sam. Sam leaned in, and off they went.
Alice averted her eyes from the rearview mirror, listened with distaste to their lip smacking and slurping and vocalized heavy breathing, and watched the tower in her mind’s eye. It shook and it swayed, but it did not fall down.
“Very good,” Alice said, “keep it up.” She pulled into Sam’s driveway.
“Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum,” Sam sang.
“Have fun,” Alice said, and watched them walk up the driveway, arm in arm.
At the front door, Mary Ann turned back for a second, clutched her forehead, and sent Alice a picture of Jake, singing on stage. You, too, said her voice in Alice’s ear.
Tom opened the driver side door of his car and got in.
“Is Drew okay?” Kate said.
“Other than sobbing quietly and repeating Hallie’s name, yes.”
“He’ll thank us tomorrow for driving him and his car home.”
“I’m sure.”
“But can you speed it up? I want to get away from here.”
Tom drove faster. “I’m having trouble understanding you this evening. One minute you complain about debauchery, the next you appear disappointed that I’m not among the debauched.”
Kate gave him the silent treatment for a few minutes, until they were clipping along on the main road. She said, “You’re just not very passionate anymore.”
Tom said, “I’m not twenty-two anymore, either.”
“That’s bullshit and you know it. You could still be passionate at fifty-two if you had something to get excited about. If real estate development and extra-marital sex don’t do it for you, find something that does.”
“What about you? What excites you?”
“Me? I’m not the passionate type. I’m more down-to-earth and practical. You’re the one who’s supposed to have dreams.”
Alice parked her car and ran to the door of Chuck’s, fought down the fear she’d taken too long driving Mary Ann and Sam back to Oakdale, had left it too late, and Jake would be gone. Though it was only 11:15. Bands didn’t stop playing at eleven o’clock, did they? That’s what she’d told herself all the way back. There was lots of time still to make this her night. There had to be.
She swung open the heavy door and heard no loud live music, only the muted tones of the jukebox. The band’s instruments still seemed to be up onstage, on their stands. The table that the dinner club had occupied was empty, littered with dirty glasses and beer bottles. And there were maybe fifteen customers in the room.
She asked the bartender if Rhythm and Blues were finished for the night. “I think they’re coming back for one more set,” he said, with the face of someone who wished they weren’t.
Alice asked for a ginger ale as thanks for this information, and because her mouth felt dry. A ginger ale with lots of ice. The bartender slid the glass over to her, took her money, and said, “They’re sitting in the booth around the corner there.”
“Who are?”
“The band.”
Alice spotted the tops of heads over the edge of the booth in question, heard a gust of male laughter, could think of no good reason to walk over and interrupt the party.
They stood up and became recognizable as the drummer, the bass player, the keyboard guy, and Tristan, with a woman attached to his side who looked an awful lot like Phoebe. And there was Jake, at the back of the group.
“Hey, Alice!” Phoebe called. She turned to Jake. “I told you she’d come back.”
The others wandered off. Jake ducked his head — embarrassed? — and came over to Alice. “I wondered what had happened to you,” he said.
Alice sat on the edge of a bar stool. She was exhausted. “I had to drive someone home, and it took longer than I thought. I’m sorry I missed part of your song, but I liked what I heard. You have a lovely voice.” Shit. Was she coming on too strong? Did it matter anymore?
Jake said, “Wanna dance?”
“Now? To this?” This being early Rolling Stones.
“We’ll pick another song.”
He went to the jukebox and leaned over it. She leaned with him, and they read the list of selections while she worried about having sweaty armpits and dry mouth, and little prickles of excitement ran up and down her arms at the mere thought of touching him, being held by him.
Or were they going to fast dance?
“Pretty slim pickings,” Jake said, and she pointed shyly to a Bad Boys song, the group’s biggest hit. A ballad called “My Baby Tonight,” which Alice had a feeling had been composed expressly for middle school slow dances.
Jake said, “At least a few of those guys can sing.” He dropped in some quarters, selected the song, and took Alice’s hand, led her onto the deserted dance floor.
They stood still, facing each other in dancing position, waiting for the song to start. Jake said, “What happened to your friends?”
Alice released Jake’s hand for a second to cover her yawning mouth. “They’re not exactly night owls. Except Phoebe.”
Jake chuckled. “Tristan scores again. And here comes your song.”
The syrupy string-heavy arrangement began, and they started to dance, a simple step and sway kind of slow dance that incorporated a gradual turn. Jake knew how to lead, but his touch was too light on her back, his hands too cool. Their bodies were nowhere near close enough together.
Time to take control, do a Mary Ann. Alice tightened her grip on Jake’s shoulder, pulled herself closer, and started to sing — a small-voiced, mild kind of singing.
The lyrics of the song were so bland they were almost meaningless, full of rhymes like blue and you, and me and see, and sprinkled liberally with the word baby.
Alice could drop every baby and darlin’ into its rightful spot in the song, but she’d laugh in the face of anyone who tried to address her that way in real life. She wasn’t laughing now, though. Now that Jake had started to sing the chorus, had moved his mouth close to her ear, had picked up the lines that belonged to the Voice, was harmonizing with the Voice’s raspy delivery, was crooning to her with a gentle affection that made her close her eyes and press her forehead into his shoulder, that slowed her pulse to the tempo of the music, that aroused every nerve ending on every inch of her skin, that made her want the song to never end.