Lizzy: You're welcome. Busy day?
Ben: Mal's walked in. Can't talk.
Lizzy: Ok. Later.
Ben: Feel shit going behind his back.
Lizzy: Let's talk later.
Lizzy: Hi! How'd ur day go?
Ben: Busy right now.
Lizzy: Ok
Lizzy: I'm going to assume by radio silence that you're not comfortable with us being text buddies. Didn't mean to put u in a bad position with Mal. I'll delete ur number.
Ben: Don't.
Lizzy: ?
Ben: I want to know if u need something u can call me.
Lizzy: Thanks. But I don't want to complicate things for u.
Ben: Problem is I like talking to u. Maybe if we keep it on the down low?
Lizzy: Ok. I'd like that.
Ben: Me too.
Ben: Attached pic is sunset out at Red Rock.
Lizzy: Amazing. What are you doing out there?
Ben: Filling in on keyboard for a friend. His guy broke hand.
Lizzy: Crap. Didn't know you played piano.
Ben: Grandma taught me. But Dave wanted bass so I learned.
Lizzy: Wow. Play for me sometime?
Ben: How about now?
Lizzy: Over the phone? That would be awesome.
Ben: Calling.
Ben: In the studio in LA for a few. How u going?
Lizzy: Studying for a test. Wish me luck.
Ben: You got this, sweetheart. Won't distract u. Later.
Lizzy: :) Later
Lizzy: Roses are red, violets are blue, I like u Ben, do u like me to?
Ben: Ur a terrible poet.
Lizzy: True. I think I might stick w psychology. How's ur day going?
Ben: Slow. Had a business meeting. Boring as shit.
Lizzy: U just want to play music?
Ben: Got me on that. How u doing?
Lizzy: Had an awesome prac. Off to work at book store next. Then got an assignment due.
Ben: Work all u do?
Lizzy: Pretty much. But I enjoy it. Texting u just made my day, tho.
Ben: Fuck ur sweet. Tell me something bad about u. Make it easier for me to stay away.
Lizzy: I see no benefit to me in doing this ...
Ben: Go on. I'm waiting.
Lizzy: I suck at sports and I'm messy.
Ben: Can't imagine you messy.
Lizzy: My apartment looks like a war zone. Anne always tidied. Gave me bad habits. What about u?
Ben: I flirt with girl's I'm not supposed to. Otherwise I'm perfect.
Lizzy: All that fame and fortune and not an ego in sight.
Ben: Exactly.
Lizzy: :)
Ben: Gotta go, Jim's waiting. Later sweetheart.
Lizzy: Later Ben
Ben: WTF is that pic?
Lizzy: U tell me.
Ben: A mash up of a lion, a beer, & a girl's eyes (yours?) Lizzy: Right on all counts!
Ben: What's it mean?
Lizzy: I am using my psych studies to mess with your mind. Studies show association with fear encourages romantic thoughts.
Ben: Sly. U uncovered my fear of beer?
Lizzy: Haha. The fear is the lion.
Ben: Ok. So what's the beer?
Lizzy: You know the phenomenon of beer-goggles?
Ben: Chicks look hot when you're drunk?
Lizzy: Right. But turns out the beer-goggler doesn't need to be drunk. Just an association with beer will do. Even a picture.
Ben: Me looking at a pic of beer will make u seem hotter?
Lizzy: You can't argue with science. You poor hapless male. You never stood a chance.
Ben: Liz, I think ur gorgeous. Save the beer pics for someone who needs em.
Lizzy: Damn ur smooth
Ben: U like that?
Lizzy: Very much
Ben: Good. U poor hapless female. U never stood a chance.
Lizzy: :)
Ben: What do you think?
Lizzy: I think that's a pic of a banjo. Yours?
Ben: Deering Black Diamond. Thinking of buying it.
Lizzy: U play banjo too? Whoa.
Ben: Want to learn.
Lizzy: And I want to hear you play. You're a musical virtuoso. Do you sing?
Ben: Ha. U do not want to hear me sing. Trust me. Think I should buy it?
Lizzy: Do it. :)
Ben: Done. :)
Lizzy: ===v=^=={@}
Ben: This another psych test?
Lizzy: No. It's a rose. I worked on it all morning.
Lizzy: Well ... a couple of minutes between classes.
Ben: Beautiful.
Lizzy: :) Why don't we have coffee?
Lizzy: Is the lack of a response a no or are u shy?
Ben: Shy of Mal shooting me. We better just stick 2 text.
Lizzy: Fair enough.
Ben: Been thinking about u. Talk to me.
Lizzy: I'd love to. Calling.
Ben: U ok? Haven't heard from u lately.
Lizzy: I didn't want to seem too obvious. The stalker handbook said play it cool.
Ben: I know ur not a stalker. Ur dangerous in another way.
Lizzy: I love that u said that.
Lizzy: So do u actually have real stalkers?
Lizzy: Apart from me, I mean.
Ben: You're not a real stalker. They camp across the street with binoculars.
Lizzy: That's crazy. U get a much better resolution with a telescope.
Ben: You're a goose.
Lizzy: Our honesty is beautiful.
Lizzy: Psychologically speaking, most relationships fail due to lack of constructive criticism. Obvious we're made for each other.
Ben: You're a total goose. Seriously.
Lizzy: See what I mean?
Lizzy: But we were talking about stalkers.
Ben: Not really for me. I'm lucky. The other guys can't walk down the street without getting hassled. I'm less in the limelight. Not so recognizable.
Lizzy: U kidding? You're built like King Kong.
Ben: Ha. Jimmy had stalkers that got creepy. One broke into his place a few years back stole some shit.
Ben: Mal had one that ended in a restraining order.
Lizzy: Wow. What did the stalker do?
Ben: No, the stalker had to get a restraining order against Mal. He kept showing up at the guys work, trying to hug him and leaving weird phone messages etc.
Lizzy: Lol.
Ben: Gotta go. Music breaks over.
Lizzy: I make killer cheesy cornbread.
Ben: Do u?
Lizzy: I do. & I just so happen 2 be making some right now. My plans tonight r cheesy cornbread & bad zombie films. Tempted?
Ben: Like u wouldn't believe.
Lizzy: But ur busy w the guys?
Ben: No. Guys with their girlfriends. I'm busy killing people.
Lizzy: Online I trust?
Ben: Ha. Yes.
Lizzy: I'd better leave u 2 it then.
Ben: I can torpedo & talk to u. How was ur day?
Lizzy: Not bad. Classes mostly. How about u?
Ben: Recording. Fucking frustrating. Jim was in a mood. This is just between us, yeah?
Lizzy: Absolutely.
Ben: Good. Boring night. Portland is no LA.
Lizzy: Come over. We can throw cornbread at the undead on tv. I'll judge you on your aim.
Ben: Fuck I wish I could.
Lizzy: Me too
Ben: One day
Lizzy: U awake? I can't sleep.
Ben: Count sheep like a good girl.
Lizzy: Can't. Too busy thinking about u.
Ben: Shit, Liz. No.
Lizzy: No, what?
Ben: Don't tell me ur in bed at 2 in the morning thinking about me. OK? U cannot tell me that. Too fucking tempting.
Ben: What are you wearing?
Lizzy: U really want me to answer that?
Ben: Yes.
Ben: No.
Ben: Shit. You're killing me. You know that right?
/> Lizzy: You say the nicest things. Night, Ben.
Ben: Night, sweetheart.
Lizzy: Sorry I missed your call earlier. Good luck with ur date with Lena tonight.
Lizzy: Actually, that was a lie. I didn't mean that at all.
Lizzy: About ur date. Not about missing ur call.
Lizzy: Now I feel guilty because Lena is so damn nice. I'm going to stop acting crazy & go meet a friend at Steel. Over & out.
Ben: The dive bar downtown? It's a fucking meat market.
Lizzy: Just arrived. Guess I'll see for myself.
Ben: That place is a pit. Get ur ass in a cab & go home. Ur not old enough to b drinking.
Lizzy: I have fake ID. Don't worry. I'll be fine.
Ben: I'm fucking serious. U are not going in there. Full of fucking creeps.
Lizzy: Have a nice night w Lena. U deserve someone great like her. Really.
*
Still no answer from Ben on my last text.
Emo indie music wailed out of the speakers, as Christy, my ex-roommate, bopped as best she could on the spot beside me.
"Great place, huh?" she yelled.
"Yeah. Great."
The place sucked. I mean literally--my shoes stuck to the floor. The bar was grossly lacking in hygiene. Also, it was overcrowded and reeked of decades of spilled drinks, questionable hookups, and broken hearts. Pretty much in that order. My clothes were going to stink for days. And if one more person trod on my toes, exposed care of my sweet '50s-style black heels, I'd scream. When I'd chosen them I'd needed a pick-me-up, I'd wanted to feel pretty. But now all around us people pressed in. Sweat raced down my spine, dampening the back of my black T-shirt and the band of my jeans.
Yuck.
I pretty much wanted to call in one of those toxic hazard teams to hose me down, decontaminate me from this pit of beer and despair. Ben might have had a point about the place being shit. Damned if I'd ever admit it to him, though. Nope, I was going to have fun if it killed me. I slid my cell out of my pocket just for fun, taking a peek at the glowing green screen. Nothing. What a surprise. Time to saddle up ye olde horse of hopelessness and move on.
"He answer yet?" asked Christy, leaning in and yelling to be heard over the music.
I shook my head.
My former dorm roommate sucked back some beer. "Fuck him."
"I'm trying."
"What?"
"Yes," I hollered, giving her a brave smile. "Fuck him."
"You can do better." Little lines appeared between her brows. "You can."
"Thank you." I highly doubted that. Nice of her to say so, though. I drank a hefty mouthful of my third Moscow Mule. Vodka was the only way I'd get through this. My feelings for Ben were just a weird obsessive-compulsive disorder or something. Or no, posttraumatic stress from meeting manic Mal. I'd inadvertently attached my affections to the first sane and single hot bearded man in the room. A totally plausible analysis. Freud with his own hairy face would be impressed.
Not that I'd be volunteering that analysis for my finals.
Actually, my psych books had been less than helpful in working out exactly what this love thing was about. To be fair, I did learn some fun facts. Turns out a boy rat and a girl rat, both virgins meeting for the first time, can fornicate immediately in a proficient fashion. No messing around working out the mechanics, they're just into it. But not so with the higher primates like monkeys. They bumble and fumble their way through initial attempts, working out the relationship and requirements. So it was a relief to know it wasn't just me. Or even just humans. Apes screw up first dates too. And they don't even have condoms or bra straps to deal with.
Anyhoo, the point is, the books were big on weird facts about animals getting it on but short on the particulars regarding the type of love or lust at first sight that was plaguing my every waking moment--and a good majority of my nonwaking moments too.
Christy's new roommate, Imelda, glared at me over the edge of her bright blue drink. Lord knows what was in there to make it that color. I'd only moved into Anne's old apartment two weeks ago. Apparently, however, these two had already bonded to the point of creepy possessiveness.
The bar had been Imelda's choice.
"Chris says you know the guys from Stage Dive," she said.
My ex-roommate shifted nervously.
I just shrugged. Photos of Anne and Mal together had done the rounds of the Internet a couple of times. It was pretty much an open secret in Portland these days. Though me talking about my sister's business didn't need to happen. Ever. And Christy was well aware of that policy.
"I think it's bullshit," the girl continued, standing so close her hot breath hit my ear.
I resisted the urge to recoil. "Think what you like."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Why don't we dance?" Christy suggested, sounding as fake peppy as could be. "Quick, drink up!"
We did as told. Then, all of a sudden, Imelda was all hands up in the air waving them about without a care. She snagged Christy's hand and started dragging her through the crowd. Christy in turn caught my wrist, towing me along. Alrighty then. Our progression through the throng was not gentle. Elbows and assorted other body bits bumped into me, sending me reeling this way and that. A hand grabbed my ass.
"Hey!" I growled, spinning around. In the dark sea of people surrounding us it could have been anyone. "Asshole."
When I turned back, Christy and her new BF had disappeared. Strobe lights blinded me. I could barely see for shit. Crowds have always made me nervy, and this place was a crush. It wasn't a phobia, exactly, just a distinct dislike I'd been working hard on overcoming.
Surely Christy would realize she'd lost me and come back. Surely. Waiting. Still waiting. Some chick trod good and hard on my toe, bringing actual tears to my eyes. I tried to hop on one foot to give the other a rub and almost landed on my butt in the process. Yeah, Christy wasn't coming back. Furthermore, I might have never loved crowds, but right now I was deep in the land of hate.
God, screw this.
It was ridiculous. I was a hairsbreadth away from being twenty-one and over the whole scene already. Guess I'd just go back to my lonely girl apartment. As nice as it was to have some space, I'd never actually lived on my own before. I wasn't lonely, exactly, it was just that the absence of other people made for a definite adjustment. Bet Ben and Lena were getting on like a house on fire. How could they not, what with Lena being all funny and gorgeous and Ben being Ben.
Another body in the near-dark knocked into me, sending me staggering sideways. Since when did you need to wear full body armor to be in a bar? Perhaps I should head back to the bar, where we'd been standing before. But surely I was better staying here, where Christy last saw me. I looked back and forth in indecision. Neither option appealed. Hell, being here no longer appealed.
I blinked furiously. Not crying, just ... you know, my toe stung.
It might be time to go catch a cab. I'm pretty sure at home I had all of the ingredients required for emergency mood-enhancing nachos. The bonus being not having to share it with anyone. Call me greedy, I don't care, and bring on the melted cheese, baby.
Suddenly, two huge hands descended upon my shoulders and I was forcibly turned around. Some sort of mountain stood before me. A man mountain.
"Ben!" I cried happily, throwing myself at him (which of course didn't move the man an inch). His big hot body felt divine, heavenly. I wrapped my arms tight around his waist and clung ever so slightly. "I'm so glad to see you."
His hands tensed on my shoulders, fingers rubbing. "I told you not to come in here."
"I know." I sniffed, then set my chin on his chest and gazed up adoringly at him. "But have you noticed how I actually make my own choices like a real live adult?"
"You don't say?" He gave me a dour look and tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear. Such a simple, sweet move; it worked for me big-time. Of course, anything involving him touching me would.
"How was your date with Lena?" r />
No reply.
"That good, huh? Oh well."
"I can see you're real cut up about it," he said with a smile.
"Yeah. The pain goes deep. It's really good to see you."
He looked at me for a long moment. "Yeah, you too. Still, kinda pissed you came in here, though."
What a silly statement. I gave him both brows up and Oh really in the eyes. Start out as you mean to go on and all that. Because at no stage would I be answering to the man for where I went and what I did. Trust and respect, etcetera.
He shrugged, unimpressed. "You didn't like me going out with Lena. I didn't like you coming here."
"Both of these things are true," I said, relenting just a little. "What are we going to do about them, though? That's the question."
"Hmm." He grabbed hold of my hand, giving it a squeeze. "C'mon, I'll drive you home."
"I'd like that."
Without another word he led me through the crowd, clearing the way with his body. In his plain jeans and plaid shirt, no one seemed to recognize him. In Portland, he was just one more bearded, tattooed dude among many. Attached to Ben, no one messed with me. I was neither bumped nor groped, thank god. Ah, togetherness. What a rare and beautiful thing. No wonder Anne was so wacky about Mal if this was how he made her feel. Walking beside Ben, my heart seemed so light I might hit my head on the ceiling.
"Later," the very pierced bouncer said, opening the door to let us through.
"Thanks, Marc."
Outside, the air was crisp, decidedly cool. I bundled myself up in my coat. Ben didn't seem to have brought one. He just shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. A beaten-up Chevy truck, from the '80s at best, sat at the corner. It might once have been pale blue. With all the fading and the couple of spots of rust, it was hard to say.
"This is your ride?" I asked, surprised.
In lieu of a response, Ben unlocked the passenger side door, holding it open.
"Huh."
I climbed up and in, sitting carefully on the cold, cracked vinyl seating. Cassettes spilled out of the glove box. Actual cassettes. "Stunned" kind of fit the situation. The man had money, lots of it.
He swung the door shut, then strode around to the driver's side. Soon enough the engine was roaring to life with minimal splutter. Clearly the car was kept in good condition.
"Expecting a Porsche?" he asked.
"No. Just something slightly less older than me."
He snorted.
We pulled out into the traffic, the low hum of some old Pearl Jam song playing. Cassettes. Christ.
"It belonged to my grandfather," he said. "He taught me how to fix it, handed over the keys when I got my license."
"Nice."
He gave me side eyes.
"I mean it, Ben. I didn't have much in the way of family myself. So I get that's nice."