Tonight was no different. It was too early for peak partying, but Dom’s was still packed. There was a bouncer outside checking IDs as always, and there was a short line of people waiting for the place to clear out.
Gibson didn’t bother getting in line. He walked right up to the bouncer and they shook hands like they were old friends.
“This your girl?” the bouncer asked.
“Avery, this is Jesse,” Gibson said, “best bouncer on campus.”
“Damn right I am.” He laughed. “Go on in. Your table is in the back.”
“Thanks, man.”
Jesse let us both in and I shook my head. “What was that?” I asked him as we stepped inside.
“They know me here,” Gibson said. “They save a table for me every once in a while.”
I went to make a hilarious and biting joke, but the noise inside completely swallowed it up.
Dom’s was packed. Groups of people were all over the place, carrying beers and pitchers from table to table. Music was playing, but I could barely hear it over the low roar of the crowd. The bar itself was dimly lit and more of a dive than anything else. Sports memorabilia from MD’s glory days was plastered all over the walls. Gibson moved confidently through the crowd, and more than a few people called his name as he passed.
I felt so completely out of place. I was used to parties and hanging out, but I wasn’t used to going out with Gibson Evans. Everyone knew him, and we barely got ten feet into the place before some guy stopped him and started talking his ear off.
Gibson had to extract himself from no less than four conversations before we made it to the table. It was a little two-person table in the very back corner of the place with a little “Reserved” sign on it.
We sat down, and the noise wasn’t so bad in the back of the building. Gibson grinned at me.
“So, what do you think?”
I shrugged. “It’s a college bar.”
“Pretty much. Sorry about the crowd back there.”
“It’s okay. You’re kind of famous at this school.”
He shrugged. “Guess so.”
Just then the waitress came over. She was tall, blond, and smiled hugely when she saw Gibson.
“Hey, Gibs!” she said. “How are you?”
“Kelly, hey. I’m good. Can we get a pitcher of Miller and two menus?”
“Of course. Be right back, Gibs!”
She turned and left. I smiled at Gibson. “Gibs?”
“People like to say they know me.”
“She seemed very familiar.”
“Yeah, well, maybe she was once.” He shook his head. “Look, you seem to know a lot about me, but I know nothing about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Where are you from?”
“Philadelphia,” I said. “Well, the suburbs of Philly.”
“What was growing up there like?”
“Good, I guess,” I said. “My parents are nice, super Catholic.”
“You’re Catholic?”
“Sure am. Went to Catholic school all my life.”
“And here you are at MD. I bet your parents are proud.”
“Very proud,” I said, laughing.
“Do they know?”
That stopped my laughter. “No, not yet.”
“Shit. Didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”
“It’s okay. They’re just, you know, really religious. I’m afraid to tell them.”
He nodded. “I get that. I’m sure they’ll be there for you no matter what. They’re your parents.”
“I guess so.”
He smiled as Kelly returned with a pitcher of beer and two menus. She left and Gibson poured himself a glass. He went to pour me one but then stopped himself.
“Fuck,” he said. “You can’t drink this, can you?”
I smiled at him. “Nope. Sure can’t.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.”
“It’s okay. Have one if you want.”
He made a face and then shook his head. “Nah. No fucking fun when you’re drinking alone.” He poured his beer back into the pitcher. “Hold on.”
I watched as he stood and carried the pitcher over to a group of kids sitting nearby. He said something, and then they laughed and he placed the pitcher on their table. He came back a second later and sat back down.
“There. Problem solved.”
“You just gave it away?”
“Can’t waste good beer.”
I laughed. He seemed to be so easy around people and had no trouble walking up to a table of strangers like that. I had to admit, I envied that skill.
“One time, my dad came home so drunk that he could barely stand,” Gibson said suddenly. “I was maybe ten years old at the time, but I had figured out what being drunk meant long before that. Anyway, this was normal for Dad, you know? So he looks me right in the eye and he says, ‘Son, if you don’t grow up to be rich and famous, you’re dead to me.’ I kid you not; he said that.”