Harper Donovan and I stand in the front room of my American Foursquare. “She’s yours now,” I say, handing her the house keys.
“Thanks, Hank.”
Hatch and I moved out of the Broad Ripple house after Beth accepted my proposal. To save up for the wedding, I’m living with my mother in Empire Ridge and commuting to my job at College Avenue Press. Hatch didn’t seem to care. He just packed up his shit and moved into a small loft apartment with Mack along the Broad Ripple canal that Mack has already nicknamed “Crack House” after the vagrants who mill around the canal looking for a score. My landowner waived the penalty for breaking our rental contract because I convinced Harper to take over the lease.
Whether by accident or fate, Harper and I have continued to keep in touch—the occasional run-in at a bar, a phone call every now and again to check in on each other—but our relationship, or whatever you want to call it, is long over. Though we didn’t know it at the time, it ended that moment two years ago as Batman and Robin watched Harper’s conical breasts and shaved snatch bounce up and down on me.
I actually tried to hook up with her one more time later that summer, right before Beth and I started dating. It was Skinemax night at Sanford & Son. I was watching soft-core porn and got struck by a fit of nostalgia. I called Harper, invited myself over to her place on Pennsylvania Avenue. She let me in, but she didn’t let me in. While she had long since broken up with her high school sweetheart from Michigan, she was now in a long-distance relationship with some guy from New Jersey. We watched a movie. She went to bed. I showed myself out of Harper’s apartment, and out of her life.
“You getting some roommates?”
“Yeah,” Harper says, swinging the keys around her index finger. “Peter’s going to move in with me. Maybe Lila, too.”
Peter was a high school classmate of ours. A little on the odd side. Bad hair. Glasses that didn’t go with his face. Not the best dresser, just came out of the closet, but a good guy as far as unfashionable homosexuals go. Delilah Prestwich, or “Lila” as we all call her, is Harper’s half-Armenian best friend. Perfect skin, dark hair, big breasts, a gorgeous body hovering between the athletic and the voluptuous. Lila’s parents moved to Empire Ridge right after high school. She went to college up in Indianapolis, so outside of me and Harper, she’s largely steered clear of the Prep and Ridge social circles. She says she’s Mormon, but I’ve seen Lila drunk enough times to know she’s just going through the motions. In an alternate bachelor universe, I’d have hit on her years ago.
I make a motion for the door. “Tell Peter and Lila I said hello.”
Harper looks at her watch. “They’ll be here in about an hour. Why don’t you tell them yourself?”
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m already late meeting a couple friends out in Broad Ripple for dinner. We’re going to hit the bars after that.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Claire Sullivan and Derek Candela.”
“Claire and Beth are pretty good friends, right?”
“Best friends.”
“Speaking of whom, where is your new fiancée?”
“On vacation with her family.”
“Still hard to believe you’re getting married.”
“Most of the time I don’t believe it.”
“When’s the big date again?”
“August twelfth.”
“So you still got a good year and a half to screw things up?”
“No, Harper. August twelfth, nineteen ninety-five.”
“You mean this year?”
“Yep,” I nod. “About four months from now.”
“I suppose I can’t talk you out of it.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your ship sailed to Jersey a long time ago.” I say these words with a shameless, almost expectant flirtatiousness.
Harper leans in and kisses me on the cheek. “That it did, Hank.”
I’m still attracted to Harper. As I open the front door to leave, a tiny rush of hormones courses through my body and reminds me of that attraction. “You guys think you’ll make it out to Broad Ripple tonight?”
Harper shakes her head. “Probably not. I have a lot of unpacking to do. We might sit around and have a few cocktails, nothing too crazy.”
“We’ll be dancing at Mineshaft if you change your mind.”
“I doubt I’ll change my mind, but thanks for the invite.”
“See ya, Harper.”
“See ya, Hank.”
I walk down the steps of my former porch. The front door swings open.
“I forget something?” I say.
“No,” Harper answers. “Just wanted to extend my own personal invite if you get too drunk tonight.”
“Your own personal invite?” I smirk.
“For a place to crash,” Harper says. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”
“I should be okay, but thanks again.” I walk to my car, step on the street, and circle around to the driver’s side door.
Harper follows me part of the way, stopping at the curb. “It’s a long drive back to Empire Ridge. And you are prone to doing stupid-ass stunts, the least of which would be driving drunk. I’ve got photos, you know.”
“That’s not my gig anymore.” I open my door, shouting over the roof of my car. “That’s not me anymore.”
“Nevertheless,” Harper says, “the invitation still stands.”
Claire and Derek are already drinking and halfway into a basket of garlic cheese bread when I show up at Bazbeaux. Turns out Claire and Derek don’t like cheese as much as I do, so we pass on the Pizza Alla Quattro Formaggio and go with the barbecue chicken. We devour the pizza. Claire is the designated driver and drinks only two beers, but Derek and I still make it through the two buckets of Rolling Rock by the time we’re out the door on our way to Mineshaft.
Mineshaft is a confection of loud music, bright lights, smoke machines, drink specials, and wannabe pickup artists. We carve out a spot near the end of the bar, close to the dance floor. I order a round of tequila for me and Derek. We are well on our way to a night of suspect music and even more suspect decisions.
“Come on, Derek,” Claire says, holding out her hand. “Dance with me.”
“Hold up,” Derek says, turning to me. “Cheers, Hank.”
We do our tequila shots. Derek and Claire disappear. I pull up a stool to the bar. Two hands side around my face and cup my eyes.
“Guess who,” a female voice says from behind me.
I play along. “Blonde or brunette?”
“Brunette.”
“Crotchless panties or magic underwear?”
Her hands slide off my face. “There’s no need to be gross, Hank.”
I turn just to catch Lila’s round ass walking away from me, scolding me almost. I reach out and grab her hand. “Come on now, Lila. You know I’m kidding.”
She turns. “Make it up to me, then. Buy me a drink.”
A quick glance over to Claire. She and Derek are already on the opposite end of the dance floor. Already mangling the lyrics to Alanis Morissette’s “You Oughta Know.”
“Sure, why not.” I give Lila the once-over. Her straight dark hair hangs loose over a short white dress that extends just below—and I do mean just below—her hips. “What’s your potion?”
“Two kamikaze shots.”
“Two?”
“One for me, one for you.”
“Look, Lila. I probably shouldn’t be—”
“Drinking with a friend?” Lila grabs another barstool, scoots up next to me.
“A friend who I’m attracted to.”
“You’re attracted to me? Since when?”
“Since Harper introduced us like three years ago.”
“So why have you never hit on me?”
“Blame it on Harper. She’s pretty much posted the ‘No Fishing’ sign around you. She doesn’t want me corrupting you.”
“Corrupting me?” Lila eyes the pack of Marlboro Lights on the bar, points to them. “Yours?”
“Nope,” I say. “I quit a few months ago. I think they’re the bartender’s.”
On cue, the bartender slides toward Lila. He grabs the hard pack, flips open the lid, and offers her a cigarette in one deft motion.
Lila pulls out one cigarette with her long fingers. The bartender immediately reaches out and lights the cigarette with a Zippo and a loaded smile. Lila inhales long and deep, then exhales the smoke through her nose. She leans her elbow on the bar. “Seriously, Hank. I’m a little disappointed here.”
“Disappointed?” I hold two fingers in the air, nodding at the bartender. “Two kamikazes, please.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“That you didn’t try harder.”
“Like I said, Harper didn’t want me corrupt—”
“Oh, don’t give me that bullshit.” Lila exhales a puff of smoke. “You had your chance.”
“When?”
“That night you showed up at the dorms for sex with Harper and she ended up being snowed in at her boyfriend’s house and couldn’t make it.”
“That night you and I watched a movie together?”
“So you do remember?”
“I remember it being pretty innocent.”
“Innocent? We watched the unrated version of Wild Orchid, and I wore a pink negligee.”
“And I didn’t hit on that?”
“No,” Lila says. “You didn’t.”
“Sorry about that.”
“You should be.”
“How can I make it up to you?”
“You can help me set our parents up on a date.”
If I didn’t know Lila, I would think she’s batshit crazy. But really, she’s just a dreamer who believes in impossible things like fate and true love. Her mother was a nurse who fell asleep at the wheel driving home after a twenty-four-hour shift. Ever since Harper told Lila how my father died, Lila believes our parents are destined to be together simply because they were both widowed by automobile accidents. There’s one flaw in Lila’s master plan: her father is Mormon, and my mother is Catholic.
“Yeah, Lila. I’ll get right on that.”
“You just need to give my dad a chance.”
“No I don’t.”
“Two kamikaze shots,” the bartender says, rescuing us from ourselves. He sets down two large glasses of vodka, Triple Sec, and Rose’s Lime Juice that are clearly doubles.
Lila is the first to raise her glass. “To the soon-to-be-married man.”
I nod, raise my glass. “To great friends.”
We drink our shots, slam our glasses down on the bar. I wipe my mouth. “So you’re living with Harper now?”
“Just for the summer,” Lila says. “Heading for New York in the fall.”
“Work?”
“Postgraduate studies at NYU.”
“What are you studying?”
“Getting my MFA in Creative Writing.”
“I’m jealous.”
“You’re jealous of someone drowning in debt for a worthless post-graduate degree just for the privilege of not making any money?”
I shouldn’t grab Lila’s hand, but I do it anyway. I shouldn’t rub my thumb up and down her hand and then give it an affirming squeeze, but I do it anyway. I shouldn’t wink and say, “Something tells me you of all people will find a way to make it work,” but I do it anyway. An attention whore? A guy who likes the smell of a pretty girl? A glutton for punishment? All of the above.
The DJ spins Alanis into Salt-N-Pepa’s “Whatta Man.”
Lila takes my hand. “Dance with me, Hank.”
“No way,” I say, almost too quickly.
“That’s an order, not a request.”
Claire and Derek have disappeared in the crowd, so I let the half-dozen Rolling Rock and two kamikaze shots do my talking for me. “Okay, one dance, but under one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Get your story straight.” I grab Lila by the waist, pulling her off her bar stool and onto the dance floor. “You were wearing a peach negligee.”
One dance led to two. Two dances led to three. We were about halfway into Boyz II Men’s “I’ll Make Love to You” when Lila Prestwich and I started making out. I don’t know if Lila instigated the kiss or if I instigated the kiss. But that’s not important.
The fact Claire was watching me kiss her? Yeah, that’s probably important.