Trigger (6 page)

Except, it wasn’t.

More and more, it was becoming my problem, too. Ever since I decided I was going to take my uncle’s cue and reach out to Nina, I’d found myself thinking about her. A lot. She popped into my mind during meetings. When I was going over long, boring contracts and other documents. While I was talking to co-workers at the water cooler. Every day it was getting worse and it distracted the hell out of me. Today it had been so bad I realized I was thinking about her while talking to a client. Instead of considering the words from the woman who needed my services, trying to come up with the right legal advice, I had been in the midst of reliving how Nina had felt in my arms. How she had tasted on my tongue. How she had smelled to my nose, sounded to my ears. She especially plagued me when I was driving to and from work with nothing to occupy my mind except the radio. My dreams at night consisted mostly of her.

As much as I tried to deny it to myself, every part of me longed to connect with her again. I couldn’t figure out why this was so, only that I felt it strongly. Something about her had stuck with me, resurfaced after I made the decision to contact her, and I needed to explore what it was about. It must be more to her than being sexy as hell, great in the sack, the way she was on my mind.

I rubbed my chin.
What the hell should I do?
How would I convince her to see me again, give me another chance? I supposed I had no choice but to call her after all.

I sighed. It would be so much better if I could talk to her in person. I knew from experience that I was the most convincing face-to-face, not over the phone. Another advantage with this approach was that she couldn’t hang up on me. Yes, I needed to do this in person.

I briefly considered going to the restaurant where she worked, but soon discarded that idea. It seemed inefficient, not to mention stalker-ish. Since I didn’t know which days she worked, I’d have to either call the restaurant to find out if she was there—which she’d probably find out about—or hang in the bar until she was working. It was better if our meeting seemed more “accidental.” Like if I ran into her somewhere out, at a bar or something.

But how would I make that happen?

I thought back to our conversation at Schiller’s. She’d mentioned she practiced parts of her one-woman show at open mikes throughout the city. Open mikes were typically at coffee houses or bars. What if I showed up in conjunction with one of those? It could work—as long as it wasn’t too obvious why I was there.

But how would I found out where she did her open mikes? I remembered that she had a public Facebook page then. That might give me some clues. I pulled up the website on my laptop.
Score.
Nina had posted that she was performing at the Bliss Art House Café the coming Thursday, only three days later. I could always say one of my friends was performing that night, too. Yes, a pretty weird coincidence, but not so weird it was unbelievable, especially considering how big and famous a venue Bliss was. Musicians, comedians, poets, actors, writers, all kinds of performers went there to hone their craft. The more I considered the idea of going there, the better I thought it was.

I picked up my smartphone and called Jack, who was always up for going out.

“Dude,” Jack said by way of greeting.

“Hey, man. Do you know what you’re doing this Thursday?”

“I’m getting laid?”

“Maybe later. But first you’re coming with me to the open mike at Bliss Art House.”

Nina

I was standing close to the stage at the Bliss Art House Cafe, waiting for the guy who was on to finish his set of stand-up comedy. He was talking about his experiences as a dad of four, completely bringing down the house. The crowds couldn’t get enough of him and his material, laughing so hard I was sure I could sense the floor under me moving. Or maybe that was because my legs had turned into overcooked pasta, barely holding me up. I was feeling so sick and weak I had to grab the back of a chair not to fall to the ground. My stomach roiling, I closed my eyes and took long, slow breaths to calm myself, push away the dizziness that threatened to overtake me.
You can do it, Nina. You can do it. It’ll be fine. They’ll
love
you.

The applause thundered through the dark space and the daddy comic walked by me with a big grin on his face and gave me a pat on the back on the way.

“All yours, honey.”

While listening to the MC telling the audience to give it up one more time for Pete Adams—which they happily did—I thought I would faint my stage fright had gotten so bad. There was nothing worse having to go on stage this late in the evening, and especially not when the performer before you had killed. The crowd had likely peaked and was tired. I had long since learned that an audience could only handle so much entertainment. The best time to go on was toward the middle of the evening’s performances, and my spot was the second to the last. In addition to the poor timing, I doubted this audience would be into my material, no matter what I was trying to convince my brain. The material I was trying out was not like Pete Adams’s. It was a
lot
edgier, bound not to do well with more uptight crowds. I had no choice but to go on now, though. Hopefully, if I opened by spinning off of Pete’s act, used my stand-up skills, I’d win them over. Listening to the MC introducing me, I took one last breath and forced my legs to take me forward, out onto the brightly lit stage.

“….let’s give it up for Nina Tyler, folks!”

I shook hands with the rangy black MC, took the mic from his hand and turned toward the audience, a wide smile pasted on my face. Meeting the eyes of the audience members closest to the stage, I fired off:

“God, am
I
happy my pregnancy test this morning came out negative!”

The crowd exploded with laughter. I exhaled and waited till they were done laughing before I added, “After listening to that poor guy, I’m seriously considering having my tubes tied.” More laughter. “Birth control is not cheap and, I swear, it makes me fat. I guess I could always stop having sex, but that’s not an option. Because I’m actually Russian. And we Russians need sex as much as we need our vodka. Preferably every day.”

The audience kept laughing. Confidently, I went on, “Yeah, I know my surname—Tyler—doesn’t sound so Russian. That’s because it’s only my stage name. And it’s a lot easier to say than my real surname: Kapylyushnya Dresyianina.” I took a beat, waiting for the laughter to subside. “When I tell people I was born in Russia, I often hear, ‘is it true that bears walk on the streets there every day?’ to which I usually respond—of course not, silly! Only when the bears are drunk. Otherwise, they stay in the woods.’”

The audience applauded as well as laughed hard.

“Though, it is true that it’s really cold in Russia. And really, really dark. Especially if you wear a fur hat that’s a few sizes too large.”

I waited for the audience to settle down. Then I continued.

“Yes, we Russians like our vodka and sex. So giving up on sex is not an option for a Russian-American girl like myself. I have to say I’ve never quite understood why some American-American women feel the need to fake orgasms. Personally, if a guy can’t make me come, I’ll just kick him out of bed.” The audience broke into an earth-shattering laughter that I took advantage of by making an angry face and screaming to no one special: “Go take some lessons!”

I looked down at the chuckling audience and winked at them, feeling great that my tough-girl stage persona and new material was going over so well with this crowd after all. “Then again, I should be lucky I’m dealing with American men, not Russian. If I did such a thing to a Russian man, I’d end up in a Gulag somewhere in Siberia!
Wishing
that I still had my too-large fur hat…”

More laughter and applause.

“God bless America and American men. But if a single gal like me wants to be asked out on a date, she better be quiet about the fact that she’s Russian. Trust me, I know. The second that fact leaves my mouth, guys grab hold of their wallets and pretend like they have to be somewhere. I swear, it’s as if we Russian chicks will telepathically suck money out of their wallets…. Ah, stereotypes, stereotypes…. I gotta admit that I love the one when people tell me, ‘it’s so hard to believe you’re Russian, Nina. Russians are
so
abrasive. You’re so sweet and nice!’ Upon which I usually respond: ‘What the fuck do you mean I’m so sweet and nice, you fucking asshole!!!??’”

The audience could barely stop laughing. As I was about to open my mouth to add on to my last joke, I looked straight into a pair of beautiful, familiar turquoise eyes.

Dylan

It was only when she spotted me that I was able to stop laughing finally. This girl was
great.
Then again, after having gotten to know her a little, it shouldn’t surprise me. She was definitely something else.

I wished I had remained unnoticed, however. Detecting me in the audience seemed to throw her off, because she began to lose her edge. When her time was over, the audience had turned lukewarm and she left the stage on a mediocre note.
Fuck.
Jack and I should have taken a seat much farther away from the stage. What the hell had I been thinking? Answer: I hadn’t.

“What the fuck happened?” Jack said. “It’s like she became a whole other person. She was pretty damn good there at first.”

“Yeah, she was,” I said through gritted teeth. If I’d worried she’d be unhappy to see me before, I was sure she’d barely talk to me now. Well, I would at least try since I was already there. I finished my vodka soda and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Jack glanced up at me. “There’s one more act.”

“I know. I just really need to go to the john. I’ll be back.”

I turned my back to my buddy and walked toward the bar between the stage and the exit, close to all the tables where the audience sat. I’d seen the other performers walk by there after finishing their sets, some still hanging in that area. I hoped Nina would be there, too.

I sat on one of the barstools, as far away from the girl with the red lips, the heavy eye makeup and skin so pale she looked like a vampire as I could manage. Her face had lit up a little too much at the sight of me approaching.

I had finished my drink by the time Nina finally appeared, wearing a different, much sexier outfit than the black, non-descript top and skirt she’d worn on stage. She stopped mid-step when she discovered me. I stared at her where she stood dressed in that jean mini-skirt, cowboy boots and a sheer blouse.
God, she’s hot.
I swallowed, feeling myself harden despite that she looked anything but happy to see me again.

The vampire-like girl got to her feet, looking straight at Nina. “Hey, girlfriend. You were like
killing
and then everything just changed. What happened?”

“Yeah, I know,” Nina said. “It absolutely effing
sucked
! I got a cramp all of a sudden. That time of the month.”

“Really?” The other girl looked like she didn’t believe Nina. But Nina didn’t pay her any attention any longer. She had turned her attention back to me instead, her eyes dark with an emotion I couldn’t figure out.

“Hi Dylan,” she said, her voice tight. “Fancy seeing you here… Didn’t know you attended open mikes.”

I got to my feet. “Hi Nina. I have a friend who’s singing here tonight, so I came to support him. He was on earlier. And then my buddy and I decided to stay for the rest of the show.”

“Oh,” Nina said, her eye brows lifting, suggesting she doubted my truthfulness. I couldn’t say that I blamed her. My lie had been pretty lame. But not so lame it couldn’t actually be the truth. So I’d stick to it.

“Anyway, I’m glad I stayed since I got to see you,” I added. “You were great.”

“Yeah. Until I wasn’t.” Nina huffed and her dark eyes flashed.

The other girl was looking back and forth between us. “You two know each other?”

“Barely,” Nina said coolly.

Vampire-girl extended a hand in my direction. “Hi! I’m Ricki, Nina’s best friend.”

Smiling, I shook her hand. I was glad she was there, softening the tension with her chattiness. “I’m Dylan.”

“My best friend. Until now,” Nina said, but it didn’t sound like she meant it.
Maybe she isn’t as pissed at me as I feared.
Before I lost the sudden burst of confidence that filled me, I said, “Did you get my email? I’m sorry it took such a long time before I contacted you.”

“Yes, I got it,” Nina said.

“Um, should I leave you two alone?” Ricki said. “I’m getting the feeling I’m in the middle of something I shouldn’t be.”

“No,” Nina said at the same time as I said, “That might be good.”

Looking like she didn’t know what to do at first, Ricki finally said to Nina, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.” She raised her phone in a salutation, nodded to me and left.

And then it was only the two of us.

“Why are you here?” Nina said. She narrowed the distance between us to only a few steps. “I don’t buy that you came here to see a friend.”

I sighed. No point in lying any longer. “Okay, I didn’t. I came because I wanted to talk to you. I found you on Facebook and saw that you were gonna perform here tonight. Why didn’t you respond to my email?”

“I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

“Why not? Why did you leave my apartment like that? What did I do?”

“Nothing.” She glanced down at the floor.

“Nothing? Then why did you leave? I thought we were having a great time. Well, I was.”

She met my eyes. “We were having a great time. And then I wasn’t.”

“Can we talk about it?”

Nina looked away. “What’s the point of that? I somehow doubt you and I have much to say to each other. We’re only good together in bed. Actually, not even that.”

“Well, we’re talking right now, aren’t we? I think we should at least have another date. A real date. You know, with dinner.” I took a step closer to her, sensing that she didn’t altogether disagree with my suggestion. “Nina, please let me take you out for dinner. I’d really like to get to know you a little better.”