Mine: A Love Story (15 page)

My chicken sandwich is even better than I remember—the cook’s spicy Dijon sauce is totally delicious. The chunky fries are tasty, too. Marissa and Gary seem to be enjoying their Buzzburgers as well.

Our waiter begins clearing our plates away almost as soon as we finish eating. I think we’re getting special service, which is nice, because the MC is making his way toward the stage. It’s the same guy as last time.

James materializes at our table, standing behind Gary.

“Have fun, guys,” he says, before heading back toward the door, where his stool is now just inside the doorway.

James seemed to be talking to all three of us, but I have the feeling his comment was really directed at me. And why not? He’s probably seen Gary and Marissa together enough to know they’ll be having a good time regardless of the performers. I’m the one who admitted to not having much fun at the frat party.

The MC’s welcome speech is basically the same as the last time, as is his introduction of the first guest, Anthony Tomaso. The crowd cheers as Tomaso makes his way to the stage with his guitar. Clearly, there are plenty of regulars here who know what song Tomaso is going to sing.

Sure enough, he launches into his traditional opening number, his custom written rendition of “I Love The Joint.” He’s barely into the song before a number of people are singing along with him. I find myself humming to the melody.

Apparently, the Katy Perry guy from last time isn’t here tonight, because when Tomaso finishes to a loud ovation, the MC is back on stage asking who wants to be next. For a moment, nobody moves, but then an older guy—forties maybe—in a black button shirt and dark blue jeans makes his way toward the stage. His curly black hair is flecked with gray and reaches to his shoulders. I wonder if he works on campus—he looks like he could be a professor—or if he’s just someone who lives near campus and has somehow managed to discover The Joint’s open mic night. Either way, he’s prepared, because he’s carrying a large music player up to the stage with him.

He takes a minute to plug in and set up the player before grabbing the old guitar from the back of the stage. He hooks the strap over his shoulder and strums the guitar a few times.

“This old girl isn’t quite enough to do justice to the song I want to play for you,” he says. He takes a moment to twist a couple of the keys, tuning the guitar, and then plays a few more chords. Apparently, he’s satisfied now, because he moves closer to the microphone.

“Back in the day,” he says, “I used to have a band behind me.” He reaches over and pats the top of the music player. “Tonight, this thing will have to do.”

He strums another couple of chords. “Any of you kids ever hear of something called…” he pauses for effect, and then shouts: “rock and roll?”

Some boisterous cheers erupt from the audience. He flips a switch on the music player and launches into a rousing rendition of Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” This guy is totally talented—his old band must have really rocked. By the time he’s done, the crowd is clapping and singing along, and a dozen or so kids are dancing in any open spaces they can find. Rock and roll never dies… or even gets old. Just ask my dad.

The MC is heading toward the stage, but the old guy is not finished.

“You folks want another one?” he screams into the microphone.

The response is immediate and overwhelming. Shouts of “Yeah!” and “Encore” fill the room. The MC backs away. He knows a good thing when he hears it.

The singer leans the guitar back against the wall and fiddles with his music player for a moment. He grabs the microphone out of its stand and begins singing “Satisfaction,” mimicking Mick Jagger’s antic moves as he bounces across the stage. This performance is even better than his “Born to Run.”

He leaves the stage to thunderous applause, a huge smile on his sweat-soaked face. He’s clearly thrilled to have relived some piece of his past. I wonder who’s going to have the guts to go on after him. He’ll be a hard act to follow.

Some groans from the back of the room give me my first clue. I turn and see a familiar sight. It’s the comedian in the loud suit who bombed so badly the last time I was here. The groans grow louder as he nears the stage. Obviously, a lot of people here have heard him before—and are not all that anxious to hear him again.

I’ve got to give the guy credit. He doesn’t seem to let the catcalls and groans bother him at all. He’s either got the thickest skin in the world, or he just figures the derision is in some twisted way an approval of his act. His jokes are all new, but are equally as dumb as the last time. I wonder if he writes this stuff himself or gets it from some website—stupidjokes.com, maybe.

The big guys up front heckle him mercilessly after every punch line. It’s mean and obnoxious and most of their comments are only funny to their table. I notice James is watching them closely from his perch by the door. Finally, the biggest guy, a brute with shoulders as wide as an SUV, yells something really crude, something not fit even for this very liberal college crowd. James strides quickly over to the table. He leans over and says something into the guy’s ear. The guy starts to stand, but James pushes his hand down on the brute’s shoulder, forcing him back into his chair.

Gary is immediately on his feet, ready to go to his frat brother’s aid, and I see two waiters also beginning to converge on the table. I’m afraid we’re about to have an all out brawl and that James is going to get himself pummeled by the giant. But James leans down again, his hand still on the guy’s shoulder, and says something else into his ear. The brute nods vigorously and throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender. I don’t know how James did it, or what he said, but he definitely got that guy’s attention. I watch and see the guy talking to his buddies, who all nod back at him. Finally, James lets go of his shoulder. Everyone at the table gets up and meekly leaves the room.

As soon as they’re gone, the audience erupts into applause almost as loud as the rock and roll guy got. James smiles and waits for the clapping to subside, then nods to the guy on stage to continue his act. The would be comedian picks up where he left off without missing a beat as James melts back into the dimness at the side of the room.

Finally, the guy is done. He smiles as he receives a smattering of polite applause. I’m pretty sure the applause is mostly in sympathy for how he was treated by the now vacant table. Catcalls and groans are apparently fair game, but meanness is not, and those guys had gone way over the line. Whatever the reason, the guy is clearly pleased by the reaction.

Two girls and one guy are heading quickly toward the stage from different directions, each eager to be the one to follow that act. The guy does the gentlemanly thing and backs off when he sees the two girls also making for the stage, leaving them to figure out who goes next. One is tall and dark-haired, with bright red lipstick and a full sleeve of colorful tattoos covering her right arm. The other is much shorter, blond and fair, wearing a pretty blue and orange dress. If they end up fighting for the spot, my money is definitely on tattoo girl.

The two of them converse for a moment, and then the blonde sits at the piano while tattoo girl grabs the guitar. Apparently, they know at least one common song and are going to play together. Good for them. Make love, not war.

I’ve been so busy watching them I don’t notice James making his way to our table. Suddenly, I realize he’s standing behind the empty chair next to me.

“Ten minute break,” he says. “You guys mind if I take a load off for a few?”

“Sure, have a seat,” Gary says.

James is polite enough to look at me to see if it’s okay. He’s been so easygoing about everything, how can I say no? Besides, it’s only ten minutes, and it’s not like he’s hitting on me or anything. He just wants to take his break with some friends, right?

I nod my okay, so he pulls out the chair and sits.

“Good job with those jerks,” Gary says. “Very smooth.”

James shrugs. “It was time for them to leave.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but that’s not how it looked from back here.

“I thought I was going to have to bail your ass out,” Gary says. “But you obviously had things well in hand.”

“What did you say to that guy to make him calm down like that?” I ask. “He was ginormous.”

“I just told him this is a friendly place,” James explains, “and that we don’t tolerate rude behavior.”

“No way,” Marissa says. “He bought that?”

“I don’t get it either,” I say. “He looked like he wanted to kill you.”

James smiles. “It wasn’t so much what I said as how I said it,” he says. “My brother’s in Special Forces. He taught me a few tricks.” He puts his hand lightly on my shoulder.

A tingling sensation shoots through me, like a weak electric current. What the heck is that about? Did I really just feel that? Was it a surge of desire—or of anxiety? I don’t have a clue. I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know, anyhow.

“There’s bundle of nerve endings right here,” James says. “Squeezing them is
very
painful, and I had a tight grip on his. I told him if I wanted to I could break his shoulder, and his coach wouldn’t be very happy about that.” He smiles again and removes his hand. “I couldn’t break it, of course, at least not by squeezing, but I’m sure it hurt enough so he believed I could.”

Well, so much for that desire/anxiety thing. Whatever I felt was just his fingers triggering that bunch of nerve endings—I think.

“Perception is reality,” Gary says.

“Hey, smart boy,” Marissa says, giving Gary’s forearm a playful squeeze. “That’s very deep. Where’d you learn that?”

“Oh, it’s just something I picked up in one of my psych classes,” Gary replies, smiling. “If you study hard, sweetheart, and do all your homework, one day maybe you’ll be as smart as me.”

Marissa laughs and bats her eyelashes at him. “A girl can only dream,” she says.

James and I shake our heads at the two of them and laugh.

The girls on stage have worked out whatever they needed to work out, because the blonde at the piano begins to play. A moment later, tattoo girl joins in with her guitar, and I immediately recognize Lady Antebellum’s “Need You Now.” The blonde starts singing first, so I guess tattoo girl will do the guy part. They both have pretty good voices, but it’s still a bit disconcerting watching two women sing that song. But they really are good, and the crowd gives them a nice round of applause.

“Did anyone else find that a tad strange,” Gary asks. “Or is it just me?”

“What’s the matter?” Marissa asks, grinning. “Aren’t you into the girl-girl thing?”

“I’m not sure how to answer that,” Gary says, returning her grin. “Not in mixed company, anyhow.”

I decide to come to Gary’s defense, not that he needs it. “I thought it was a bit weird at first, too” I say. “But they both have really good voices, so I liked it.”

James slides his chair back and stands up. “I’d love to hear how this discussion ends,” he says, “but I’ve got to get back to work. Have fun, guys.”

“Try not to work too hard,” Gary says as James walks away.

We listen to a bunch more acts, some good, some not so good, before I decide to it’s time to bring the night to an end. I’ve been having fun, but I want Marissa and Gary to have some alone time. They deserve a reward for keeping any romantic stuff between them to a bare minimum for more than two hours.

“This has been great, guys,” I say, “but I think I’m ready to call it a night. I’m getting kind of tired.”

“You sure?” Marissa asks.

I’m pretty sure she knows what I’m thinking. And I’m also pretty sure she can’t wait to be alone with Gary, but she’s putting me above her desires. She’s such a good friend.

“Yeah,” I say. “You guys can stay, though. I’ll be okay.”

“No, we’ll walk you home,” Gary says. He looks at Marissa and grins. “I’m sure Marissa and I will come up with something to do afterwards.”

“Ha! Don’t get your hopes up, frat boy,” Marissa says. But from the smile on her face and the way she’s circled her hands around behind the crook of his elbow, I’m pretty sure Gary doesn’t have to worry about his hopes being unduly high.

We stop for a quick chat with James on the way out.

“Thanks for the passes, bro,” Gary says.

“Yeah, thank you,” I say. “It was a lot of fun.”

“I’m glad you all enjoyed it,” James says. “Come back anytime.”

I’m not sure, but I think he was looking at me when he said that last part.

It’s Wednesday afternoon, and I’m sitting in algebra, my final class of the holiday-shortened week. I’m definitely not enjoying it, but that’s nothing new. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I thought about using the holiday as an excuse to skip out on this class, but math is hard enough without missing any time. Judging by the number of empty seats, though, not all my classmates are as conscientious. Either that, or math is coming easier to them and they’re not worried about missing one class.

So here I am, bored out of my skull but trying to pay attention as the professor scribbles X’s and Y’s and other symbols on the whiteboard. Only twenty more minutes and class will be over. Then it’s back to the dorm to throw some stuff together for the long weekend. Mom’s going to pick me up at four o’clock.

The break from classes will be nice, and it’s always good to see Sam, but four days at home is one or two more than I’d really like. The freedom and the absence of bickering here at school have definitely weakened my tolerance for Mom and Dad’s arguing. I’ve been home for dinner four or five times since I had my friends over, but I only stayed overnight once. Dad drove me back to school on his way to work the next morning. I spent the evening taking Sam for a long walk and studying, so it wasn’t too bad. But that was only one night, not four in a row.

Mom asked if I wanted to bring my boyfriend home for Thanksgiving dinner. I told her he was never really a boyfriend and that we weren’t seeing each other anymore. I don’t discuss a lot of personal stuff with my folks, for obvious reasons, and I’m certainly not going to go into the whole Chris debacle with them, even if I wasn’t working so hard at trying to put it behind me.

Mom was disappointed—she worries about my lack of a social life. I think she’s afraid there’s something wrong with me. Well, guess what, Mom? There is something wrong with your daughter—it’s called poor parental role modeling!

She also told me I could invite any of my friends, which would have been really nice, but they all have family dinners of their own to go to. At least Aunt Barbara and my three cousins will be joining us for Thanksgiving. Cousin Jamie is only a year younger than me, and we get along really well. Plus, Mom and Dad usually behave a little better when we have company.

The rest of the weekend I’ll be on my own, I’m afraid. Geesh, I haven’t even left for home yet, and I’m already looking forward to coming back to school on Sunday. How sad—or how sick—is that?

Finally, the professor puts his marker down and finishes class by giving us our homework assignment. I’m out the door before his “Have a nice Thanksgiving” is done echoing off the walls.

Back at the dorm, I begin packing for my long weekend. Marissa’s last class ended an hour earlier than mine, so she’s already left for home. We said our goodbyes at lunch. I’m going to miss her—a lot. Most of the girls on my floor have gone already, so it’s quieter than usual. I can hear music from the other end of the hall, but it’s too faint for me to recognize the song. I wonder if anyone in the dorm isn’t going home, because it’s too far or too expensive or something. Since it’s a state school, most of the kids live within easy distance, but there are some from other parts of the country. For some reason, I think about James. He told me he hates his home town, so I wonder if that means he doesn’t even go home for the holidays. From what he’s hinted about his father, I wouldn’t be surprised if James remains on campus. Maybe I should have invited
him
to Thanksgiving dinner.

I still have plenty of clothes at my house, especially winter stuff, so I don’t need to bring any with me. I just have to gather my personal stuff, a few other odds and ends, and some of my books. The books will make a great excuse to disappear into my room whenever I feel the need. What parent could argue with a child who wants to study?

I pull my guitar case out of the closet—no way am I going to brave four days at home without my guitar—and I’m ready to roll. With so many kids already gone, I think I’ll be able to make it out of the dorm without seeing anyone I know. One of these days, I’m going to have to let Katie and Beth, at least, know that I play. Maybe I’ll tell them next semester.

Just to be safe, I leave my guitar propped against the wall inside my door while I cross the hall and push the button to summon the elevator. No sense standing there with my guitar case for anyone to see while I wait for the elevator to arrive.

The bell dings and I quickly grab my guitar and lock my door. I have plenty of time to step into the elevator before the door slides closed.

The short trip down to the ground floor is non-stop. Outside, Mom is pulling to the curb in front of my dorm just as I exit the building, so I don’t have to wait at all. Sam is in the back seat, bouncing around with the kind of excitement only a dog can manage. I’m happy to see him, too, even if I’m not bouncing around quite so much. I throw my stuff into the rear cargo area, out of his reach, then open the back door and give Sam a quick kiss and a chest rub. Finally, I climb into the front seat beside Mom.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she says, leaning over to give me a kiss on the cheek. “It’s going to be so nice to have you home for a couple of days. Your father and I have missed you.”

I return her kiss. It is good to see her. Both my folks—especially Mom—are usually okay to be with alone. It’s only when they’re together that they get on my nerves so badly.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice,” I say. “I’ve really been looking forward to getting a break from classes. It’ll be fun to see Aunt Barbara and Jamie, too.”

Mom smiles at me and starts the car. Away we go, to what I hope will be a very uneventful holiday weekend.