In Stereo Where Available (18 page)

The place was called Club Cabo, and just as I walked in past the bar, a woman in a skintight nurse’s outfit and pigtails walked by me with a caddy full of pink-filled feeding syringes.

“Explain that to me?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s just one of those novelty drink things. You know, you give her five bucks, she gives you a ‘shot.’ Get it?” Lauren stood on her tiptoes and peeked around. “You see Prabath anywhere?”

“Yeah, he’s behind the girl in the green bikini.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, there he is.” She took my hand and I followed her through the crowd to where Prabath was grinning and waving. He
was
pretty cute. He had curly black hair and the deepest dimples I’d ever seen on a guy. I hung back behind Lauren and waved timidly.

“I was wondering where you girls were,” he said. He pulled a chair out from the table beside him and sat down next to some guy in a button-down short-sleeved shirt with a computer-programmer haircut.

“We’re fashionably late. You wouldn’t believe what it takes to get Phoebe ready for a night out.” She sat down and plunked her purse on the table.

I sat beside her. “I was ready before you were,” I reminded her.

She smiled at me and patted my arm. Her perfume circled around me like a tourniquet. “Phoebe, this is Brad.”

“Hi, Phoebe,” said the guy sitting across from me. Saying that he looked like Nicolas Cage was kind of like saying I looked like Madison. In everything but height he reminded me very much of my minister stepbrother. Even his handshake was like Pete’s, a slow, reassuring squeeze that lasted a split second longer than it should have. I glanced over at Lauren, who played with one of her dangly earrings and threw me an innocent smile.

While Lauren and Prabath picked up our drinks from the bar, Brad asked me questions. I could see why Lauren had picked him out for me; he was charming and funny, if not exactly attractive, and he listened attentively to everything I said to him. He did Meaningful Work. He went to church once in a while. He didn’t smoke. After about ten minutes back at the table, Lauren squeezed my fingers and excused us to the ladies’ room.

“So what do you think?” she asked urgently. We were stuck in a corner beside a trash can overflowing with paper towels, while a pack of girls in black stockings and Lycra half shirts crowded around the mirror in a cloud of hairspray and Tommy Girl cologne.

“He’s really nice. I’m pretty impressed with you, actually. There’s practically nothing I don’t like about him.”

Her face bobbed back and forth searchingly. “
Practically
nothing?”

“Yeah. I mean, technically, he’s got just about everything I’m looking for in a guy.”

“Except what?”

I shrugged and folded my arms against my chest. “Except he’s not Jerry.”

“Oh, for God’s sake. Phoebe, you’re not really
dating
Jerry. Jerry’s like a match, okay? It’s got a little tiny bit of chemicals on it, and when you strike it, it flares up like crazy, and then whoosh, it’s gone. Brad’s like a…like a
campfire
. He’s got the logs and the kindling and the little bit of newspaper crumpled up inside. He’s got everything you need, arranged, like,
geometrically.”

“No offense, Laur, but I think Jerry would tell you that’s kind of a dumb analogy.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her hands at me. “
Phoebe
. You can’t just take two random people from the dating pool and throw them in a room together and call it a relationship. Jerry’s a nice guy, okay? But you two have nothing in common except that you’re both kind of desperate. Give Brad a chance. He’s a sweet guy, and he’s funny, and he really cares about his job.”

“Yeah, I noticed all that. He kind of reminds me of Jerry.”

“You see? You’re set. If you want some time alone, just let me know, all right? Prabath and I can go off somewhere for a while. It’s not a problem.”

“Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

We pushed our way back down the hall, through a crowd of shrieking girls who reminded me of Madison’s high-school friends. Dance music throbbed at migraine-inducing levels, and the stage lights cast everyone on the dance floor in a fluorescent pink glow. I followed Lauren through the crowd toward Brad and Prabath.

“Phoebe!”

I spun my head around at the sound of my name. It seemed as though my brain was a moment behind the rest of me, and I swayed slightly on my feet. “Whoa,” I said out loud.

“Phoebe. Hey, over here.”

I blinked, trying to make a familiar face appear in the puzzle of hot-pink people. Finally one came into focus—a smiling guy with gel-spiked brown hair and a shirt with a Chinese dragon on the front.

“Carter?” I asked incredulously. “What are
you
doing here?”

He shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m here with a bunch of friends.”

“Yeah, me, too. Wow.” He looked adorable. The spiky hair and absence of corduroy made all the difference in the world. “I thought you were out of town.”

“I’ve been back and forth. The Danforths keep changing their minds about which shows they want her to be in. I never know where I’m going to be until a couple days before. Hey, you look
great.”

I grinned. “Thanks. So do you. I’m not used to seeing you in…uh…”

“Cool clothes,” he finished, and I blushed. He jerked his thumb to the side, indicating a guy at a table a few feet away. “They’re his. I’m supposed to be making a good impression. They’re trying to set me up.”

I giggled. “Same here. My roommate checked with her Ouija board and found me the perfect guy.”

He smiled tepidly. “Really?”

“No. He’s perfectly boring, though, if that counts.”

Carter laughed and tucked his thumbs into his back pockets. “Mine’s an airhead. She’s fun, though, and she’s cute. I don’t think she likes me. The feeling’s mutual.”

“We should run away together,” I joked in a stage whisper.

He grinned. Someone behind me jostled me forward and Carter took a half step backward to keep me from bumping into him.

“You want to go outside?” he asked. “Seriously. It’s packed to the gills in here. And it smells like the prep room at the AKC Championships.”

I looked over my shoulder at Lauren. She was right under the disco ball, dancing back-to-chest with Prabath. Brad was sitting by himself at our table, a sweaty glass of water in his hand. I felt sorry for him. I could go over and sit with him, but then, what difference would it make? I’d still feel just as sorry for him, except I’d be bored and uncomfortable and filling him with false hope.

I turned back to Carter. “Sure.”

We slipped out through the back door of the club into the cold winter air. The sudden silence rang in my ears, and the long city street seemed dizzyingly empty and open.

“Much better,” said Carter with satisfaction. “You want to go sit in my car?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s kind of messy. I never seem to get a chance to unpack.”

“That’s all right. It won’t bother me.”

We walked to the pay lot across the street from the club. Carter opened the passenger door and held it open politely. His car was messy, all right, but none of the mess was his. The backseat was filled with latex chew toys, doggie sweaters, a blanket, a box of Beggin’ Strips, and a tangle of balled-up plastic grocery bags.

He sat in the driver’s seat and turned on the heater and the radio, playing with the buttons until he settled on a slow, reflective Natalie Merchant song. It was the kind of music that would have made Jerry gag. Light from the security lamps glinted in Carter’s hair, and I remembered the way he had looked on our last date, his hair spiked-up and shiny with sweat. The memory sent a swirl of electricity through me.

“My friends are going to be so ticked at me,” said Carter.

I lolled my head against the headrest and looked at him foggily. “Maybe next time they’ll find you a better date.”

He smiled and leaned back, resting his hands on the bottom of the steering wheel. The shadow of stubble on his cheeks was uneven, adolescent-looking; he wouldn’t be able to grow much of a beard. His arms, too, were nearly as smooth as mine. I thought of the way Jerry had looked that morning, fuzzy-chested and masculine, glaring at me from the doorway. The lonely feeling that had been stalking me since this morning settled into my stomach and made itself comfortable. He hadn’t called all day.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Carter. “I’d rather be with you anyway.”

He reached his hand out and traced a slow semicircle above my knee, questioningly. I didn’t stop him, but I looked lazily down at his hand, watching the way my black stockings darkened with the touch of his finger. He traced a squiggle up my thigh, stopping before he reached the hem of my short skirt, circling into a spiral.

“I have a boyfriend, Carter,” I said quietly.

His finger froze and then lifted. He laid his hand back onthe steering wheel.

“Sorry,” he said. “I thought, you know, since you were out.”

“No, my roommate’s just meddling. I had a fight with him. My boyfriend, I mean.” I laughed unhappily. “And I’m drunk.”

He squinted at me and grinned. “Is that a put-off or an invitation?”

I laughed again. “It’s a put-off.”

“Too bad. What was your fight about?”

“I’m not sure. Dispensing personal information, I think.”

“You mean ‘divulging’?”

“Yeah, that. Sorry. He was all mad when I left this morning.”

There was an awkward silence and through the fog of my consciousness I realized what I’d just admitted—or, at least, what he thought I’d admitted. I started to explain, but thought better of it. Judging by the look on Carter’s face, the clarification wouldn’t help much.

“Well, I hope you work it out,” said Carter.

“Thanks.”

“Actually, I hope you don’t.”

I grinned. “Thanks.”

“If you get fed up with him, though, give me a call. If my friends keep setting me up like they did tonight, I’ll still be available.”

“Maybe, maybe not. There’s someone for everyone.”

He looked at me wryly, his feathery-lashed brown eyes luminous in the reflected streetlight. “Don’t start quoting Hallmark cards at me.”

“Maybe it’s true,” I insisted. “Maybe it’s not a cliché.”

He shrugged. “I guess you’d know. You’re the one who’s got a thing for guys who collect photos of dead people—and bodybuilders in red velvet—”

I smacked him, giggling. I’d told him about my other suitors during our last dinner date, and he’d found the subject hilarious. He curled up against the car door and tried to duck, but he didn’t stop talking. “Hey, baby—wait ‘til you see what I’ve got in my sack—”

“Stop it.
Stop
it.”

“—you wanna guide my sleigh tonight?”

I reached for a copy of
American Toy Breeds
from the floor and swatted him with it. Suddenly my phone rang, and we both went quiet. I unclipped it from my skirt and checked the caller ID.

“Is it him?” asked Carter warily.

I nodded. “Yeah.”

He sighed and popped the door open. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

In half an hour Jerry was at the club, stepping out of his Jetta with a bouquet of roses in his hand. Carter waved to me from the entrance as I got in the car. He still hadn’t gone back inside.

I woke up beside Jerry the next morning, his arm around me and two of the cats curled up by our feet. As soon as I opened my eyes, I could smell the stale cigarette smoke in my hair, and my skin felt sticky with last night’s sweat.

“Oh, yuck,” I said. “I smell
horrible.”

“You smell fine. It’s kind of nostalgic. Memories of my bar-crawling days.”

“Ugh
. I’m getting in a shower
right now
.”

Jerry grabbed my arm as I started to climb out of bed. “Confession,” he said.

“Confession? I didn’t do anything.”

“No, me. You know yesterday morning when I said I wasn’t jealous about your ex calling?”

“Yeah.”

“I lied.”

I laughed and turned toward him, the duvet twisting beneath my legs. “I’m not interested in Bill.”

“What about Brad?”

“Not him, either. Jeez, when did I get so popular? I passed by Bill coming out of Safeway the other day. Maybe that’s what inspired him to call me.”

“Whatever. I’m warning you ahead of time, if you’re ever in the shower or something and your phone rings and his name pops up on your caller ID, I’m going to answer it and tell him I’m boinking your brains out. Sorry.”

I smacked him on the arm. “Don’t be a jerk.”

Jerry laughed. “Go get in your shower. I’ll go make you the breakfast I promised yesterday.”

While Jerry made chocolate-chip pancakes, I sat in the living room playing with Marco and chatting with Jerry’s sister. Her name was Stella, and she looked a lot like Jerry, with those same eyes the color of anciently faded blue jeans and the same neat little angles to her jaw. She was a year older than me and had a friendly, Mom-like look about her. I felt a little shy around her, both because I knew a lot about her marriage troubles and because she knew I had spent the night in her brother’s bed.

“So what do you think of my brother?” she asked.