The Love Sucks Club(20)
“Yet, you’re in a holding pattern because you’re waiting for her.”
“I’m not waiting for her!”
“I still think The Love Sucks Club could be a money maker.” Wanting to lighten the mood, I interrupt their exchange. “We could print t-shirts. There could be a picture of a huge mouth sucking on the word love.”
“Well, technically that would mean that love is the suckee, not the sucker,” Sam points out.
“Fair enough. Maybe love could have a huge mouth and it could be sucking on something.”
Roxanne chuckles. “Like what? A giant lollipop?”
“Plus, how do you make love have a mouth?” Sam asks.
“Well, it could be a graphic of a heart with a gaping mouth in the middle of it.”
Roxanne shakes her head. “Now you’re just getting obscure. I think that’s a little too art noveau. Nobody will get it.”
“Heartsucker.” Sam nods to herself. “That’s what people will think. Heartsucker.”
“That doesn’t even mean anything,” I complain.
“It does to a vampire,” Sam answers.
“That would be bloodsucker.”
Roxanne is laughing. “Forget the t-shirts. I have a plan.” She pauses as our waitress, finally tiring of leaning on the bar swatting at flies, comes over to the table and asks us what we want to eat. We order a veggie supreme pizza to share. The waitress leaves and Sam says, “Well, that gives us another hour until we’re interrupted again.”
Roxanne continues her previous train of thought. “What if The Love Sucks Club was about learning how to love again?” She holds up a hand to our protests. “I’m not ready to even think about dating again. Dana, I think you feel the same. Sam, you date, but you tend to gravitate toward women you barely like. It’s your way of keeping yourself distant.”
“And?”
“What if we used the club as a way of reminding each other that love comes in many forms and we just have to be open to it?”
“I’m not following you, Rox.” I actually kind of get what she’s saying, but I’m not willing to admit it, yet.
She puts her hand on mine. “I’m not saying we should all go out and start a relationship. I’m saying, let’s just do a couple of positive things every week that will help to open us up to love. It can be something as simple as having a conversation with someone we find attractive, or going on a date.”
Scoffing, Sam opens another beer and gulps it. “Please. The name of the club is The Love Sucks Club, not the Love is just around the corner club.”
We all laugh and Roxanne nods. “Yes, you’re right. But maybe we can help each other change our attitude.”
Sam nods toward the door and I turn around to look. Mandy has come in with some guy I don’t recognize. They’re both already obviously drunk. Mandy’s eyes slide over and past our table without a hint of recognition. Raising her eyebrow, Roxanne catches my eye. “Isn’t that you know who’s new girlfriend?”
Sam answers for me. “Yeah, Mandy. She used to be married to a guy until she started dating Voldemort. Looks like she might be missing the old ways.”
We all watch as the couple takes to the dance floor, wrapping themselves around each other in a way that would be obscene anywhere but here. We’re silent for a few moments until the guy slides his hand into Mandy’s shirt and starts squeezing her nipple.
“Oh my,” Roxanne is flummoxed. “Is that appropriate?”
“This is the Pit, Roxanne,” Sam says. “You could walk around naked with safety pins in your nipples and no one would bat an eye unless you knocked over their drink.”
It’s true. Mandy and her guy aren’t the most offensive couple I’ve seen at the Pit. A few months ago, Sam and I saw a woman flat out going down on a guy in a back corner. Tonight, however, they are the only couple on the dance floor. A local drunk is bobbing around them, weaving and dancing beside them. He accidentally bumps into the couple and Mandy gives him a shove, sending him sprawling across the floor. Oblivious, the drunk keeps dancing on his back, arms and legs waving around in the air.
Roxanne shifts and I put a hand on her arm. “Just leave it be, Rox.”
She sniffs and turns her chair a bit so her back is to the dance floor. “I just don’t think I have the hang of this place.”
Smiling, I give her the once over, taking in her beautiful white hair, usually tied into an elegant bun. Her fingers are long and slender and devoid of jewelry. She’s slender and graceful and very fit. She tends to wear long, straight dresses and sandals, even when she’s out working in her garden. I once stopped over to her house in the middle of the day and found her hanging laundry in an ankle length denim skirt and an old button front men’s shirt that I’m sure belonged to Evelyn. Even in that outfit, with clothespins in her mouth, she looked elegant and classy.