The Art of Hero Worship (9 page)

“I thought I’d treat you to a burger
tonight. Tommy said there’s a great little pub just up the street;
we might catch the Red Sox game. They’re playing Toronto, I
think.”

We watched a lot of baseball in the
(un)safe house.
I just think it.

“Come on. We can go for the happy hour
dinner special. Man cannot live on bread—or in our case,
toast—alone.” He gets up and then offers me his hand. I take it and
we run into the cottage to rinse off the sand.

***

The Beachcomber Bar and Grille is not only a
lively pub that serves fine seafood, it’s also a pick-up joint. At
least it is at happy hour. Liam’s friend Tommy forgot to mention
this minor detail. Based on the steady hum of hormones flying
through the air, I have a sneaking suspicion that Liam is going to
learn the lesson of not asking Tommy the right questions about
local eating establishments the hard way. And because I’m only
twenty and I don’t have a fake ID, and therefore I’m not drinking,
Liam has decided to toss back virgin lemonades right along beside
me. In any case, our heads are clear, which turns out to be a good
thing.

“Go ahead and have a beer. I don’t mind.”
There’s no need for both of us to stay sober. “You can get toasted
and I can drive the Charger back to the cottage tonight.”

“I had too much ‘toast’ this morning.” Liam
smiles and his teeth look even whiter thanks to all the sun he got
on his face today. “And besides, last night left me kinda thirsty
for
non-alcoholic
beverages.”

We
did
wake up quite hung over.
“Point taken.” Nonetheless, we sit at the bar so we can watch the
Sox game on the widescreen television.

“I don’t think I’ve see you two hunky spunk
wankers in here before.” I
think
this dark-haired girl is
trying
to be flirtatious but I can’t be sure. Maybe it’s
because I’m totally out of practice with the ladies.

“I don’t know about you, but
I’d
remember these guys.” The girl’s blonde friend says, right before
she begins to purr. And her purring is loud enough to be heard
above the sound of the game, which is on surround sound.
Auditorily, she resembles an extremely horny tigress.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I hadn’t even
noticed that there were girls in the bar, but they apparently have
taken notice of us. The gorgeous, shiny-lipped blue-eyed blonde and
her sultry, dark-haired friend are suddenly standing beside us. And
they have the same look in their eyes as Mom does when she’s
shopping for clothing.
Which one do I prefer?
And which
would look better on me?
But instead of sizing up sweaters,
these girls are sizing up Liam and me.

Liam is a complete gentleman. He stands up
and offers his stool and I follow suit. The two girls switch places
as they seemingly—and silently—have decided that the dark-haired
one is to be mine and the blonde is for Liam. They sit down as the
bartender approaches.

“Can we buy you a couple of drinks?” Liam
asks smoothly.

I feel a stinging sensation in my heart,
wondering if Liam is a ladies’ man, and I lift my hand to pat my
chest, but nothing’s there, except for my cotton T-shirt.

“Why thank you. I could go for a Long Island
Iced Tea,” says blondie, as she further unbuttons her already
very
unbuttoned, snug purple blouse. My gaze, along with
that of Liam and the bartender, slides into the deep crevice.

“Make that two Long Islands. And Missy, it
looks like you got yourself a
bearded boob inspector
,” my
dark-haired girl chimes in with a husky chuckle, and then winks at
Liam.

Liam, the bearded boob inspector.
It
has a certain ring… and I don’t like it.

“You boys aren’t drinking!” Liam’s girl
observes, placing one delicate hand on top of her shiny O-shaped
lips, indicating what appears to be sheer surprise.

“Missy Rose, they must go to AA, or
something?” She pokes a pointy jet-black nail into my face. “Well,
are you guys alcoholics, or what?” My girl is slightly
less-than-tactful. Okay, more than slightly… she is large red wagon
and a five-gallon bucket less than tactful.

I’m tongue-tied. Unaccustomed to the bar
scene, I can think of no direct or indirect way of answering
her.

Liam is quick with a comeback. “No. We just
had too much to drink last night and so we’re taking it easy
tonight.”

“You alien ball sacks got yourself
girlfriends?” My girl is also obviously much more comfortable with
the creative use of crude language, than Liam’s. She looks right at
into my eyes. “Don’t you understand plain English—I asked if you’re
seeing somebody?” And that’s when I see Ginny in my mind’s eye.
Tonight’s vision of my dear departed is more detailed than in any
of my previous visions, of which there have been many. Her long
dreads are tucked up under a black beanie and her exotic face is
flushed with what she used to refer to as “major pissed-off-ness at
the world’s fucking ignorance.” Yup, my image of Ginny is rolling
her eyes and shaking her head. And I know exactly what she’s
thinking,
Are you for real, Jase? You’re gonna go and get
horizontal with this foul-mouthed piece of trash who thinks she’s a
smart ass?

Liam steps up beside me and one of his
dependable arms encircles my shoulders. “He’s recently lost an
important relationship in his life.” I think you could call this a
big-time-bail-out. “So what we’re having here is a
guys’
night out.”

“Well, that sounds like fun!!” Liam’s girl
reminds me of a cheerleader. She pumps her arms, as if shouting,
“Go team, go!”

“Hmmm…” Lola is deep in thought. “I
think
we
know how to make a couple of jizz kings’ night out even more
fun….” Ginny is right. This girl’s mind might be in the gutter but
she definitely needs a new urban-language thesaurus. Her word
choice is nauseating. “I’m Lola and she’s Missy Rose, some call us
Bourne Sperm Riders.”

Ewwww
. Still, I reach out to shake
Lola’s hand. She apparently has a different idea. Lola pops off of
the bar stool and next thing I know, I’m wearing her like an
overcoat.

Liam steps back and shakes Missy Rose’s
perfect little pale fingers that happen to be decorated with
bubblegum pink nail polish, complete with tiny, stuck-on
sparkle-roses. “I’m Liam, and this is my buddy, Jason. And like I
said… it’s a
guys’
night out.” He says the last part slowly
and firmly.

“
Jason
… hmmm? I like that name… oh,
yeah…. Jayzee! Jay Zee! Jay Zeeeeeee!” Lola, who already seems too
well in her cups, or in other words, drunk off her fine ass, lifts
her Long Island Iced Tea from the bar and swigs down at least half
in a single gulp. If she didn’t belch so loudly afterward, it would
have been impressive. “It’s such a frigging shaft bender when they
put too much ice in these things!” She swirls the remaining liquid
around in the glass, and then looks past it at me. “Want a
sip?”

I shake my head. “Uh… no, thank you.”

Where Lola is Miss Merriam Webster of Foul
Language, Missy Rose is highly skilled at playing the sexy card.
“So, Mr. Muscles… you have
got
to be the biggest and
strongest guy in here!” She flashes her baby blues and then reaches
up to pinch Liam’s biceps. “How much can you bench press? Don’t be
shy, and tell sweet little Missy Rose….”

Little… maybe. Sweet? I don’t think so.

Liam and I are by now wide-eyed, slightly
disgusted, and I can’t speak for him, but I’m honestly intimidated
by their feminine fierceness. These two girls are like a bad comedy
act—they can’t be for real. Surreptitiously, I glance around the
pub for Ashton Kutcher, or at a minimum for a hidden video camera,
thinking we have to be getting punked. But when I look into Lola’s
sly dark eyes, there’s no sign of trickery.

And when Liam and I catch eyes, we can’t
help but burst into nervous laughter.

“What’s so funny, tit-torch?” Lola doesn’t
like being laughed at. “College guys just think they’re God’s gift
to classy young ladies like me and Missy here! Well, we’re in
college too, ya know!”

“Lola, calm down, they’re just trying to
have a good time.” Missy Rose strokes Liam’s arms for real this
time. And soon her pink fingernails are sliding his cool black
suspenders right off his bulky shoulders! “I can show you a
better
time, Liam… if you give me half a chance.”

And all of a sudden this isn’t fun any more.
Liam is looking down into Missy Rose’s face and
is freaking
smiling
, which twists my guts. So maybe his smile is nervous
and uncomfortable as pig in a bacon bits packaging plant, but it’s
a smile nonetheless. And Lola looks pissed off and at the same time
horny as hell, and she actually has the gall to grab for
my
alien ball sack, which were her exact words.

Liam is in her face in a split second.
“Hands off, lady.” He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t lay a finger on
her, although he looks like he wants to. He steps up between us,
which is a challenge because, as I said before, I’m pretty much
wearing Lola like outerwear, and informs her that I’m unavailable.
“He’s with me.”

I’ve been claimed.

By a guy.

And how do I feel about this?

I feel confused, combined with surprise.

And a lot relieved. Especially when Lola
screams, “You guys are nothing but puke stains!”

But is
relieved
enough to do what
we’re apparently now doing—leaving this pub together,
arm-in-arm?

Sitting in Liam’s car in the Beachcomber Bar
and Grille parking lot, both of us are staring out open windows in
opposite directions.

“I’m sorry. I was totally out of line back
there.” As usual, Liam speaks first. He is definitely the
icebreaker in this relationship.

“How do you mean,
out of line
?”

“Maybe you wanted to get busy with Lady Lola
of Trash-Mouth Mountain, and I blew it for you.”

I laugh. “You didn’t blow anything for me,
Liam. Lady Lola actually scares me. But hot little Missy Rose… she
sure has a thing for you. I think you were destined for an evening
of wild fun and games… but you had to step in and save my pearly
white ass.” I lean toward him so that I can nudge him with my
elbow. “Not that I’m counting, but now you’ve saved me three times,
huh?”

“Missy Rose isn’t my type.” Liam doesn’t
laugh, and he’s more uncomfortable than I’ve ever seen him. “Let’s
get outta here.”

He starts up the car and speeds south on
Shore Road.

“I had a vision of Ginny when we were in the
pub,” I tell him as he drives.

“You did?”

“Yeah. And she wasn’t pleased with the
quality of the girl who was trying to hook up with me.” Liam cracks
a smile, and I’m relieved. “Ginny thought she was the only one
allowed to get away with excessive profanity.”

He is starting to relax. “I thought
I
ruined your chance of getting laid.”

“Really, Liam? You know me by now. Does Lola
really
seem like my kind of girl?” I’m truly interested in
his answer.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Not at all.” He’s
blushing. “She’s pretty much the polar opposite of how I see
you.”

“And how
do
you see me?” I can’t
believe I ask him this, and from his stunned expression, neither
can he.

He doesn’t say anything until he pulls into
the first casual restaurant we come across. “Let’s see if there’s a
long wait for dinner.”

I can’t believe he ignored my question
because he’s not a mean-spirited man, and I want to know why. But
I’m not one to push an issue, so I decide to bide my time. “Sounds
good to me.”

Once we’re settled on the bar stools, I wait
for him to start explaining. Why did he
need
to go on this
trip with me, like he said on the day he invited me to come along?
And what does he see when he looks at me? These questions fit
together well, and the answers would clue me in on Liam’s strong
motivation to help me. But Liam voluntarily explains nothing and we
end up talking about the big problems that the Red Sox must
overcome if they want to be contenders next year.

I’m an avoider of all things painful and
Liam is a secret-keeper. Neither of us seems particularly willing
to change this status.

***

Back at the cottage, we grab a six-pack of
beer, snap on the television, and again retreat to the oversized
floral couch, tonight sitting shoulder-to-shoulder rather than on
opposite ends
. Is this an instant replay of last night?
I’m
not sure if that’s what I want.

After forty-five minutes of small talk and
beer-drinking—favorite pro sports teams, bands we’ve seen live,
dorm room assignments for next year—we’re both buzzed and starting
to relax. And I feel daring.