Remember When 2 (21 page)

   It was difficult trying to slip in bits of conversation over the noise of the live band playing so loudly. But they were really great, so we didn’t mind.

   Lisa took a sip of her club soda and yelled over the music, “Thank God we finagled a seat! I couldn’t stay on my feet another minute.”

   She sounded exhausted. “Hey. You okay over there?” I asked.

   Lis gave a sigh and answered, “Yeah. It’s just I can’t get to sleep these days and when I finally do, I wake up at all hours to pee, and then have to start my every single day by throwing up, but yeah. Other than that, everything’s great.”

   I laughed.

   “It’s not funny, bitchface. My hormones are completely off the charts already. If I weren’t so tired twenty-four-seven, I’d be jumping Pick twelve times a day. Poor guy doesn’t know how to deal with me. It’s gonna be a long nine months.”

   “
Eight
months. You’re already a ninth of the way there. Hang in there, sister.”

   The band was really rocking out by this time, so we stopped trying to hold a conversation and just enjoyed the music. Kinda goes to show how awesome they were if it was enough to make Lisa shut her trap.

   Aside from some hair bands and Elvis Costello and only a handful of others, the music of the eighties pretty much sucked. Too much pop with synchronized keyboards and not enough substance. Thank God the Seattle surge in the early nineties finally brought us some decent talent. But it had been a few years since any band made me stop and take notice.

   This one did.

   My bartender friend came over, so I said, “Hey, Will. These guys are great! Who are they?”

   He gave me a knowing smile. “The Strokes. Fucking amazing, right?”

   I nodded my head in agreement.

   “Yeah, they’ve played here a few times. I never switch my shift when they’re on the schedule.”

   “I can see why.”

   Will darted off to take care of his customers, and the boys were fully absorbed with the music, so I took the opportunity to finally tell Lisa about the previous evening’s shenanigans. I leaned over and grabbed her head, saying into her ear, “So… I saw Trip last night.”

   “What?”

   I just gave her the wide-eyes and confirmed with a nod of my head.

   “No, I mean
what
as in, I can’t hear you!”

   I tried telling her again.

   No luck.

   “Layla, it’s too loud in here. Speak up!”

   I didn’t want to yell such news across the bar, and I especially didn’t want Bruce or Pickford to hear. So I asked Will for a pen, which he brought to me eventually, and wrote in big capital letters across a bar napkin: I SAW TRIP EFFING WILEY LAST NIGHT.

   Lisa’s eyes went buggy as Will said, “Hey. I know that guy. He’s an actor, right?”

   “Yeah. And do you always make it a point to read other people’s private notes?”

   “When they’re written with my pen, I do.”

   I rolled my eyes as Lisa asked, “How did he look?”

   Before I could answer, Will piped in with, “Like he coulda used a stiff drink.”

   “Dude. Do you
mind
?”

   “Nope. Not at all.”

   It took the extra second, but I realized what my drink-slinging friend had just divulged. I’d been trying to edge him out of the conversation, but suddenly decided to switch tactics. “Wait. You saw him? How’d you even know who he was? Seen his movies?” I found that pretty unlikely. Will was never much of a film buff.

   “Nope. He came in here with my brother. Remember Mitch? He runs security now. He’s been on the set of some movie they’re filming on the west side.”

   “When was this?”

   “I don’t know. Week or two ago. Sat right there and had a few sodas one Saturday night. You know him?”

  
What’s up with the sodapop, Curtis?

   “Yeah, we went to high school together.”

   Lisa chimed in just then. “He popped Layla’s cherry!”

   I laughed out, “Oh my God! Shut the hell up!” I was so embarrassed, but Will just snorted a chuckle and went back to serving the booze. I gave Lisa a smack on her arm. “What is wrong with you, psycho?”

   She was cracking up. “Hey. I can’t drink. I need to find other ways to entertain myself.” She took a sip and got down to brass tacks. “So, you saw him. How’d it go? You guys, didn’t… you know…?”

   “No, nothing like that. Lots of flirting, but he just went home.”

   The band took a break, so Bruce and Pickford came back over by us. I mimed the cut-throat at Lisa to end the subject. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

   Pick was out of breath, smiling and enthusiastic as he said, “Oh man! Good band, right?”

   We all agreed as he ordered us another round.

   The DJ threw on some filler music, and as soon as I heard The Clash’s “Police on My Back”, I grabbed Lisa and dragged her out to dance. We were screaming the lyrics into each other’s faces, laughing and young and silly, Molly-Ringwalding around like a couple of jazzercising idiots, not caring if anyone was watching. It was exhilarating, and a great way to burn off some of the anxiety I’d been feeling lately. Aside from that, it just felt great to let loose and be goofy with my best friend.

   It felt like life. It felt like
me
.

   We came back to the bar sweaty and out of breath, and the boys relinquished our stools so we could collapse.

   I took a huge swig off my beer. “Hey,” I said. “You guys crashing at my place tonight?”

   Lisa answered for all three of them. “No, thanks. May as well let hubby here take advantage of his designated driver for the next eight months.”

   Pickford piped in, “I plan on it,” giving his wife a lascivious grin.

   “I meant as long as you
have
me, you may as well
use
me… oh forget it. That’s an even worse setup.”

   We started laughing as Pick leaned down to kiss his wife.

   I thought it was sweet how those two managed to still be crazy about each other after so many years. But saying as much would just be sappy. So instead, I went with, “Hey, get a room, you two. You keep kissing her like that and she’s gonna get pregnant a second time, and then you’ll have twins.”

   They laughed, then Bruce talked Pick into playing a game of foosball, leaving Lisa and me alone again. I thought she was going to press me for more details about Trip, but instead she surprised me when she said, “I gotta say, you’ve been like the old you again. You haven’t been you for a long time, you know. But I like how funny you are when you’re happy.”

   It was an unexpected revelation, but the fact was, I
was
happy.

   I mean, God. I had a wonderful fiancé, and I was only a few short hours away from inevitable career success. I was young, I was healthy, I was out with some of my favorite people, and I had just reconnected with an old friend. What was there to be
un
happy about?

   “Thanks. Hey, you sure you want to drive all the way home tonight? You just have to be back here for lunch tomorrow.”

   “Well, that’s kind of why I’m bothering. What are we going to do with Pick and Bruce all day while we’re out? Besides, Pick’s too damn tall for a normal bed, much less that futon. I’ll just come back in. It’s no big deal.”

* * *

   I staggered into my living room and collapsed onto the futon, spent. It was close to four, and I figured it was pretty likely that I had officially messed up my internal clock after two late nights in a row.

   There were no messages on my machine (I’d checked as soon as I got in the door), and I deflated a bit when I realized that Trip hadn’t called. I wasn’t very proud of myself for that.

   My body was exhausted, but my mind was actually feeling pretty wired. I considered cracking open Sheldon’s
Best Laid Plans
, but my eyes wouldn’t focus. I tried watching TV, but infomercials weren’t really cutting it. I grabbed the half-eaten canister of Pringles off the coffee table—
thanks, Bruce
—and dove in, ignoring the crumbs that were gathering in my cleavage as I sacked out, half-drunk and slouched in my seat.

   I finally face-planted into a throw pillow, too lazy to make the trek to my bedroom. I was on the verge of catapulting into a glorious, beer-induced slumber when the phone rang. I opted to ignore it, assuming it was Lisa’s obligatory call letting me know she got the troops home safely. But when my machine clicked on, an achingly familiar voice was suddenly echoing around my small apartment.

   I bolted upright.

   “
Hey, Lay-Lay. Did you know that the blue that accents every TRU hotel is officially called Wilmington Blue? Yeah. My father had the color specifically created just for his hotels.”
Trip snickered casually, as though calling someone in the middle of the night to share some random trivia was a completely normal thing to do.
“Anyway,
I’m just lying here, thinking about last night, kinda outta my head. Why don’t you ever answer the phone?”

   I stared at the cordless handset, right there on the side table, just inches from my grasp. It wouldn’t have taken much. Just a slight shift of my hand and I could’ve picked it up and stopped the recording. But who knows what could happen? What secrets of the heart would I divulge to the man who made it ache? Half-drunk and nostalgic was no way to find yourself on the phone with your ex-boyfriend when your fiancé was clear across the country. What if Trip tried to see me again? In that state, I didn’t think I’d be strong enough to tell him no.

   “
Hey
.
Remember Homecoming night?
When I came to your house after the dance? Do you remember what I told you?”

  
My heart clenched, fracturing just the slightest bit as the long-repressed memory resurfaced.

   “
I told you that you were completely different from any other person I’ve ever met. Remember? The thing of it is… the thing of it is, Lay… is that that’s the truth. It was then, and it’s maybe even more true now.” 

  
My hand flew to my mouth, and then I froze. He was leaving the message for me, yet somehow, listening to it managed to make me feel like I was eavesdropping.

   “I just want to talk to you some more. We can do this, you know. We can be friends. I mean, can’t we? We’ve always been… Jesus, Lay. We’ve always been really good at that. At being friends. I always knew I could count on you. I still know that. Don’t ask me how. I just know.”
He gave a little chuckle and added,
“Unless, of course, you’ve managed to flay me alive with that article of yours. Damn. Maybe I’m speaking too soon.” 

  
Despite my inner turmoil, a smile edged its way across my lips.

   “
Just pick up your phone next time, alright? Please? I went nine whole years without seeing you, and now, here I am, only a day later… and I miss you. I miss you, Lay. Anyways, sleep tight. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

 
My hand shot out involuntarily, quickly grasping for my phone and answering with a frantic, “
Trip!
”

   …but I didn’t make it in time. The machine clicked off, and instead of Trip’s voice, I was met with a dial tone. I ended up sitting there, staring at the receiver, perfectly still, for several minutes.

   Trip had been trying to get in touch with me over the past few weeks, and out of obligation to my fiancé, I had dutifully ignored every one of those calls. After what had happened at the hotel, I wasn’t willing to take the chance that something like that would happen
again. 

   
Yet we’d spent the entire night together, and aside from a little flirting—okay, a
lot
of flirting—we’d managed to keep our heads about us.

   And our hands to ourselves. 

   I reached over and clicked off the lamp, then trudged my way past the blinking light on my answering machine and into my bedroom.  I opened my bottom nightstand drawer and rifled through a few layers of godonlyknowswhat before coming up with a pink, satin-covered cigar box. I flipped the lid and dug around to the bottom, my hand navigating through the stack of papers and postcards before coming up with a pale blue envelope, the likes of which I hadn’t laid eyes on in years. I had already memorized every word long ago, but I pulled out the piece of notebook paper inside and reread it anyway, my eyes zeroing in on one sentence in particular:
I could be in love with you.

   I curled under the comforter and pulled it up to my chin, feeling my heart splinter as my brain raced.

   Trip was lonely. I knew that now. It was there in those pauses in his message, the fact that he’d bothered to call at such an ungodly hour. The spirited boy who loved me had grown into a desolate man. He was all the way across the country from his new life and trying to grasp onto the remaining shreds of his old one.