Just North of Whoville (17 page)

It was Dr. Prince.

“
You know her?” Celia asked.

“
That’s my psychiatrist.”

“
Hey boo!” she said as she marched her fine self and her black fuck-me pumps on over. “What are you doing here?”

“
It’s my birthday,” I nervously explained.

“
Happy Birthday, mama!” she smiled and gave me a hug. “Hi,” she turned to Celia. “I’m Emily.”

“
Celia. Nice to meet you,” she mumbled as she glanced around the room. “I’m so sorry. Excuse me,” she said as she wandered off.

“
She okay?” Dr. Prince asked.

“
Yeah. She’s fine. What are you doing here?” I tried to make conversation.

“
I’m a bartender.”

“
But you’re a psychiatrist.”

“
A psychiatrist who only gets patients with lousy insurance. And apparently my futon isn’t good enough for some people. I’m kidding,” she said as she wiped tequila residue out of her navel.

“
Um… Is this proper? I mean, in public, aren’t we supposed to pretend we don’t know each other?”

“
Excuse me,” she said as the chicken head came out. “Did I say you were a patient? Did you hear me say that? Because I do not recall those words leaving these lips.”

Even dressed in a mistletoe bikini, she was scary.

“
Look,” she explained, “I only get about fifty bucks a session for most of my patients. Barely covers the rent---let alone a receptionist, insurance, student loans. And MY salary? Hello?”

“
I pay an extra fifteen dollar co-pay,” I tried to be helpful.

“
Please. I just got fifty bucks for letting Junior over there suck Cuervo out of my belly. You think I like doing this? What do I look like? Spring Break? I graduated with honors. Life’s hard, boo.”

“
Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” Antoine said into the mike. “There is a lovely young lady here tonight who is celebrating her birthday with us. Her name is Dorrie, so let’s all encourage Dorrie to come up here and sing for us.

Sing? What?

Suddenly the whole place began chanting, “Dor-rie! Dor-rie! Dor-rie! Dor-rie!”

“
Go get ‘em, tiger” she winked.

I took a deep breath and made my way to the garland-draped stage. Antoine handed me a small book of songs. All Christmas tunes. Great. The room got silent as I perused the book. The whole place was staring at me. I paged thru the book quicker and quicker, getting more nervous with every second of silence that passed. Why did they keep staring at me? Can’t a girl have a minute to choose a song?

“
Um…number ninety-seven, please.”

Antoine nodded and started up the machine. A Hawaiian guitar sound started and I took the microphone and made my way to center stage. I think I might have swayed waiting for the song to kick in.

“
Christmas Island” was one of the few Christmas songs I could tolerate. You didn’t hear it very often and it was kinda catchy. The Andrews Sisters did it back in the 40s. Three-part harmony as they sang about hanging your stocking on a “great big coconut tree”.

I can’t say I’m a singer. But I can carry a tune. And the cocktails helped. So I started to swing and sway like Sammy Kaye. It wasn’t much, but it was my birthday so people clapped and were quite kind and generous.

I looked into the crowd and saw Dr. Prince smiling and giving me the thumbs-up. I felt cured. This was going to be my year. I just knew it.

I looked around the room for Celia, but I couldn’t find her anywhere. But just then, walking in the door…

It was Nate.

I know I should have been nervous, but seeing him actually made me happy. He saw me on stage singing and gave me a smile and a wave. So I sent a smile and a wave right back at him.

Because this was going to be my year.

Just then, it all started to go downhill.

Because a few feet away from Nate, I finally spotted Celia. She was at the coat check with her coat already on and leaning against the wall with her arms folded in front of her. Alex stood next to her making gestures that looked like pleading.

And then, at the instrumental break, a couple of the waitresses jumped onstage and began to dance alongside me---a sexy hula with a dirty grind on each other. I stepped off to the side and tried not to look too embarrassed. But my eyes were glued to Alex and Celia. If body language was any indicator, it wasn’t looking good. I could see even thru the glare of the spotlight that she was hurting.

Next thing I knew, Alex leaned in for a kiss. It felt too intimate. Something I shouldn’t be staring at. I turned my head away just in time to see Nate who had seen the whole thing.

He’d seen me turn away from my “boyfriend” attempting to kiss yet another woman.

Shit.

And then it was time for me to sing again. I could barely get the words out about Santa sailing around with presents in a canoe as I saw Nate’s sad, puppy dog face sympathize with me from the crowd.

“
Don’t touch me!” Celia yelled from the back of the room. “I said, ‘Don’t touch me!’” she repeated, threw her bag over her shoulder and stormed out. Alex ran after her.

Hawaiian steel guitar faded out, and now twice-cheated-on girlfriend fades in.

“
Are you okay?” Nate pulled me aside as I got off stage.

“
Sure,” I said coolly. “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“
Antoine invited me. My company owns this building.”

“
Oh, well that’s…super.”

“
Dorrie, you don’t need to pretend. I saw everything,” he said as he reached for my hand. “Are you okay?”

He looked at me carefully, waiting for me to crack. I wasn’t sure what attitude I should take. I figured that a woman in this position might do one of three things: break down and cry, go after the bastard with a steak knife, or try to laugh it off.

A joke seemed to require the least amount of effort.

“
Doesn’t look like things are working out so well,” I said with a vaudevillian flair.

“
No. Doesn’t look that way,” he said in all seriousness.

“
When a man chases after another woman on your birthday, that’s when the fat lady has sung.”

I knew it wasn’t my best material. But I’m not a song-and-dance man.

“
It’s your birthday? Happy Birthday!” Then he switched gears, “Oh—I’m sorry. That’s a pretty lousy birthday.”

“
You know what?” I said trying to brighten the mood. “It’s still my birthday, so I’m just going to have a nice time.”

“
Wow. That’s….a really strong attitude,” he seemed to stand back and admire.

“
Well, you’ve got to take an attitude. I’m just going to pick a positive one.”

He smiled.

“
Do you like pie?”

“
I LOVE pie!”

“
There’s a diner around the corner that has amazing homemade pies. My treat. For your birthday.”

“
Oh…I don’t know. That’s okay.”

Damn. Why did I say that? Apparently I have an automatic reflex that immediately turns down assistance. And pie.

“
Are you sure? It’s right around the corner. Coconut custard?”

I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers offering twice.

A few minutes later, there was a slice of pie and a cinnamon covered cappuccino right before my eyes.

“
Oh---this is great!” I said as I dug in. “I’m not really a cake person.”

“
You prefer pie.”

“
I prefer pie,” I agreed, in what almost seemed like flirting.

In fact, the whole hour we spent together seemed like flirting. It was the best date I’d been on in years. No awkwardness. No lists of our likes and dislikes. No worry that I might say something and he wouldn’t get my reference. It seemed like the perfect date.

“
So, how long have you and Alex been together?”

Until then.

“
Can we talk about something nice?” I suggested, trying to steer clear of all that “unpleasantness”.

“
Like what?”

“
Your plays,” I said. And he blushed. I saw him blush. “I fell asleep reading them the other night.”

“
They put you to sleep?”

“
No! I mean…you should get those out there. You’re really, really talented.”

“
Thanks. I’m working on it. But I got the call from Steve and started thinking about the two-person show thing.”

“
I think it’ll work. Don’t you?”

“
What about this….George Bailey is so distraught he’s about to jump off a bridge. But instead of an angel, a psychiatrist shows up? And the whole thing is these session between them?”

“
I might be able to help you with that.”

As we left the diner, he put on his cute winter hat with ear flaps and offered to walk me home.

“
That is, if you’re going home to Alex’s place. I’m sorry to bring that up,” he apologized.

“
Yeah. I guess I am. They’re still painting over there.”

“
What are they? Union?”

“
Funny you should say that…”

I was going to have to break up with Alex. Again. Why of why wasn’t I more successful instead of being stuck in my crappy illegal sublet with a fake, cheating boyfriend? Why couldn’t Alex have said I was his cousin staying there for awhile? Or his maid? Anything but his girlfriend. At the very least, why couldn’t he have just kept it in his pants?

As it stood, I had to break things off immediately or risk Nate thinking I was a complete doormat with low self-esteem. What kind of a man is interested in a woman with low self-esteem? Serial killer? Wife beater? At the very least, the kind of boob who frequents strip clubs. Certainly not the kind of guy I was looking for. Happily, Nate didn’t seem to fall into any of those categories. But Alex and I had already “gotten back together” once already. How many times could I forgive him and still look stable?

“
So, what are you going to do now?” he asked as we walked.

“
I’ll figure it out,” I said mysteriously. As if I already had it mapped out in my head, but didn’t want to bother him with the messy details. I will take care of it. Don’t worry. Exactly what a strong, independent woman would say.

“
Well, if you need some help moving any stuff to your place, or a friend’s place, just let me know. Oh….” He said as he reached in his pocket. “Here’s my card. You should probably have my number, anyway. For the show. Just give me a call.”

There was an awkward moment. Something was supposed to happen here. He’d given me his card. That put the ball in my park. I had to throw something back. What? I had no business card. Temps don’t have business cards. Shit. The ball was just sitting there. Lying on the ground on the other side of the fence. Throw it back. For godsakes, throw something back. Can’t you just flirt a little? For once in your stupid life can you at least flip your hair or something?

“
Dorrie!” I heard and turned around. Alex stood up from the front stoop as he slipped a flask into his pocket. “I’ve been waiting for you to get home. Guess I lost you in the crowd,” he said in what was perhaps an even worse acting job than his ad-lib performance in Feeling-Up the Down Staircase.

“
Um…I stopped to get some pie and coffee. With Nate,” I made sure to point out.

“
Hey, Alex,” Nate said casually and gave him a little wave.

“
Can we go inside…sugar-pie? I don’t have my keys. And I’m freezing my balls off out here,” Alex said as he stepped up and gave me an awkward kiss on the cheek.

“
Are you going to be okay?” Nate asked.

“
Yeah, I’m fine,” I said as I glanced over at Alex who took the opportunity to warm up with another sip of whatever was in his flask.

“
Well, Happy Birthday,” Nate said absently, then gave a little smile; as if he’d said something completely inappropriate and the only reaction to his faux pas was a stupid grin.

As he walked away, I turned to give Alex my most disapproving look ever.