Victory is mine.
Soon our brusque cabbie drops us off on Van Ness Ave and we briefly stand in the small line outside. The air is chilled now but I’m still warm in my cargo jacket and I don’t mind waiting. In the past I would have bribed the doorman or played some foreigner’s angle, really jack up my accent, in order to slide past the line but now I don’t feel the hurry. I’m content to just wait.
Maybe I really am getting older.
Once we reach the door, the bouncer wishes me happy birthday. Inside I see James and Steph at the bar. They turn to me, raise their drinks in the air with raucous smiles and suddenly all is right with the world.
Those two people. They’re all I really need.
“It’s about time!” James yells at us. He’s drunk and he’s a funny little bugger when he’s drunk. Gets all ultra-emotional, leans on you, tells you how much he loves you. I expect a lot of that tonight – I’d be insulted if I didn’t get it.
I grab his hand and slap him on the back, but true to his drunken ways, he pulls me into a big bear hug. I can feel the beer from his glass spilling onto my neck.
“You’re finally old like me,” he murmurs.
I pull away and say, “But the beautiful thing is that you’ll always be older.”
He glares at me. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you too, buddy.” But as usual, I say it with a grin.
I’m aware that Stephanie is staring at me with those big Bambi eyes of hers. One of the things I love most about her is that she has no idea how fucking special she is. Even now she’s here in the bar and though she’s standing shoulders back and confident, in her acid-wash skinny pants and some crazy halter top that looks like it’s been fastened out of a skinned shark, she’s so much more than she thinks.
“Happy birthday,” she says to me with a quiet smile. Normally she would hug me too but she’s acting shy, showing restraint. I frown and then catch her eyes briefly trailing to Nadine and back. Nadine, who is standing behind me and probably not wearing the most welcoming of expressions.
“Thanks,” I tell her warmly and it feels weird to just leave it at that.
I put my arm around Nadine and push her in toward them, forcing her to act nice. She says hello to them, gives them a smile, but it’s still apparent that she doesn’t want to be there. She likes to let people know when she’s been inconvenienced, especially when it comes to me. It’s like she expects to get a “Girlfriend of the Year” award just for letting me out of the house.
“Have you met Penny?!” James suddenly yells, like an afterthought.
Actually no and I’ve been waiting to for a few weeks now, ever since James told me he was finally seeing someone. He would remember that but he’s drunk and from the way he’s looking at Steph, I feel like he’s asking her more than me.
Before anyone can say anything, James cups his hands over his mouth and hollers, “Penny!” loudly across the bar. The boy may not be able to sing, but he sure can yell. I think every head in the bar looked at us for one second before they carried on.
And out of the darkness of the porno magazine floors and shady-VW vans comes a chick that couldn’t be better suited for James.
For one, she’s covered in tattoos, her dark blood red lips sport a ring, she’s got orangey Bettie Page “fuck me” hair and a feminine sway to her toughened leather look. She’s also wearing sexy secretary glasses that show off her winged liner. The lenses look thick too, so she must legitimately need them, unlike all the hipsters in the city.
For two, she goes right up to James and slaps him on the butt, hard, with a loud, “Hey sex god, you miss me?”
James looks torn between being proud and embarrassed. I think he’s a little of both.
He gives us a quick, flustered look. “Linden, Steph, Nadine, this is Penny.”
She’s chewing gum now, her mouth wide and that gum just snapping away inside. But she’s smiling, even though she’s appraising us all. She’s already keeping me on my toes. I approve.
“Nice to meet you,” she says and I realize she’s got a Jersey accent. Even more fitting now. I have faith this rockabilly chick can pummel some sense into James when I’m not around.
“Likewise,” I tell her.
‘You’re the birthday boy,” she notes.
I nod. “I am.”
Suddenly she yells. “Shots are on me!” and then slams her hands down on the bar, demanding the attention of the bartender. He looks at her warily as she yells something about Jaegermeister.
I shiver. I think that drink should be outlawed past your twenties.
“She’s darling,” I say to James with a faux-upper crust accent.