I glanced over my shoulder, wondering what had happened to Ben and Dane. They were still at the counter talking to a guy in a white t-shirt with greased back hair. I had a little John Travolta flash, but then the music hit me. Okay, actually the hem of the poodle skirt of the girl who was roller skating by hit me. Either way, I glanced around suddenly afraid that we had been sucked into a fate even worse than Disco Bowling.
60’s Themed Disco Bowling.
Which, let’s stop and just consider the oddity of anything that has “60’s” and “Disco” in the same phrase…
Not needing any more mocking than strictly necessary, I covered my new yellow socks with those foot-slut shoes.
As the guys joined us, the music ended with a staticky click and the gates at the end of all the lanes dropped. Before I could look for the red emergency exit lights, Elvis’s
I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You
filled the silence, and a spotlight lit the end of our alley. The greased-back hair guy stood there, multi-color mod-skirt girls surrounding him with a swish of over starched crinoline.
Bowling Theater. Who would have guessed.
As I sat back to enjoy the show, Greaser Guy raised the mic and belted out the first bars of the song, little 60’s girls swooning about him until he strolled down the alley in our direction. There was no way this could go well for me. With a spotlight and a mic heading my way, I figured I’d probably accidentally maim someone or bring the building down around us.
When the group got to the end of the lane, Greaser Guy gave each girl a good looking over before brushing them off one-by-one. Then, with frightening precision, he turned our way, his grin widening as he studied our group.
Lisbeth perked up, doing that shoulder roll thing again to drop her dress down one arm before flipping her hair back in a move I swear she was considering patenting. I tried to slide my feet under the bench, praying I wouldn’t trip him as he threw himself at Lisbeth’s feet.
Greaser Guy slid around the little score-keeping desk and moved our way, the song still flowing as every eye in the house followed him into our safely-out-of-the-spotlight area.
And then, everything happened in slow motion.
Greaser Guy passed the mic to his other hand and reached our way. Lisbeth, her glossy lips slipping into a pouty smile, lifted her own to allow him to take it…or kiss it…or something. Only, he reached right past her. To me.
He swept my hand from my lap and, with a gentle tug, pulled me to my feet and toward the spotlight. With an over-dramatized sigh, he collapsed to his knees, singing for my eternal love, if not my eternal mortification. And then, as he crooned the last promise of love, the lights went dead.
SEVEN
As the music ended and the light dimmed, I turned to escape back to our group. Before I made it more than two steps, the singer’s hand wrapped around my upper arm and tugged me back into the lane and the center of attention.
“Not so fast, miss.” He raised the mic and spoke to the crowd. “I may look like a flashback to a kinder, gentler time, but I believe women should be as giving with their gifts as men. And so, I’m going to hand the microphone over to my lovely partner for the next song.”
With a thud, the mic ended up in my hand, the cord twisting between my feet as he gave me a gentle shove toward the center of the spotlight. My gaze rose, shooting though the light and into the darkness beyond to lock onto Ben, the forever Mocking Guy. His lips curled in a slight grin, a challenge issued with the mere cocking of his eyebrow.
Beside him, Lisbeth laid a hand on his arm and leaned in to whisper who-knew-what in his ear. His light grin grew, his brow dropping as he turned toward her and said nothing. Probably stunned anew by her shabby-chic beauty. Without replying, he settled back on his plastic chair-bench seat and crossed his arms over his chest.
He was really looking forward to watching me fail.
My gaze slid toward Lis, looking for support, looking for my friend. Only I looked too soon. Well, too soon for what I wanted to see.
You know those moments in life when you walk down the street and you glance up and see someone you haven’t run into for ages and their expression before their polite-person mask falls into place is not so welcoming? Well, that’s what I got. I got that moment. And I saw the ugly side of friendship.
I saw dislike and a hope that I’d fail.
There I was, dragged out of my nice little apartment to pretend to hit on men I had no interest in for her sad version of “research,” and now stuck at this warehouse of a bowling alley in a horrible neighborhood that smelled of over boiled hot dogs and stale beer. Trapped in this place because of yet another guy who wanted her and would do stupid things to have her. Not only would she let him, but she’d love every minute of it. And there was no way she’d share the spotlight in a good way… no way unless it was to watch me fail.
I didn’t
think
so.
We all have a past, things we’ve put away. And not all of those things are bad. Some are wonderful, wonderful things that just aren’t the core that moves our heart as strongly as something else.
But that doesn’t mean they aren’t part of you any more.
College had robbed me of something. It had robbed me of part of myself. Okay, that wasn’t fair. I had given part of myself away to be the girl my high-school-slash-college sweetheart wanted me to be.
As he pledged his fraternity and became one of the Big-Man-On-Campus-In-Trainings, the idea of me being the nerdy girl I’d been in high school was unacceptable. He never said
I
was unacceptable, but I was
more
acceptable not being in choir. Or drama club. Or Latin debate. Yeah, I debated in Latin, you have a problem with that?
And so, those things got put away for the boy who eventually threw me away. But that didn’t mean my heart didn’t remember them, didn’t long for them, didn’t long to sing.
My gaze slid back to Ben, looking to see that smirk of his so I could watch it fall from his face when the words slid from my lips in a clear, perfectly pitched melody. The music started – a perky oldies tune – and that’s when my confidence slid away instead. Ok, it landslided away, but who was really counting? All I could think was,
It figured
.
I totally blanked on the song.
I knew I should have known it. It was vaguely familiar in the way that kid who moved away in kindergarten was when you saw him again as an adult. But, tune? Not really. Words? Not at all.
I must have shown the panic on my face, because Lisbeth’s hand came up to hide what I could only presume was a smirk and Ben leaned forward for what I could only presume was a better view of my humiliation.
The singer must have also seen my panic, because he stepped back into the sphere of shame – I mean the spotlight – and gently turned me toward the place where the scores were typically projected. The words were there in all their glorious 60s-ness. Throwing an arm around me, he whispered in my ear.
“Almost there. 3…2…1…”
And then it all came together. It was like getting halfway through a book and realizing I’d read it before.
The words and the tune were so simple, so easy to grasp, that I was belting it out before I knew what I was saying. What the words were saying. There was no way Ben could have done this to me on purpose, but the coincidence was too great to discount him being in league with Lucifer. I didn’t even see it coming until the moment before the chorus flashed on the screen. By then, my memory had caught up with the words. The very ironic words.
“If you want to know
If he loves you so
It’s in his
kiss.”
At this rate, I was going to have a justifiable reason to kill him. Even his mother wouldn’t be able to blame me for retaliating against this very public mocking.
There was no way after making me sing about kisses that he was going to keep me from writing about them. As soon as the crowd stopped clapping – ok, they were cheering, so I hammed it up a bit – I was going to demand my notebook back and storm out of this bowling alley like a modern day Scarlett O’Hara. Never to be mocked again.
Handing the mic back to the guy, I stepped off the brightly lacquered wood. As my eyes adjusted, I saw Lisbeth had put her happy face back on, clapping along with the rest of the group. Smiling as if there hadn’t been that moment where she wanted me to fail. I couldn’t help but wonder if it had been more than a moment.
Ben stepped forward, his grin a little wider than before, but he was brushed aside as Lisbeth rushed toward me.
“That was awesome,” she gushed. “I didn’t know you could sing. Why didn’t you ever tell me. You… you… hidden talents girl. I never know what you’re going to come out with next,
JJ.
”
The last word, the initials, were spoken in that sly way someone might say something when they want people to ask about it. When they know the answer and can’t wait to share it. When they have bad news or gossip.
“Nice job.” Dane reached past Ben to high five me. “What’s the JJ stand for?”
I knew it was coming, knew I couldn’t escape it, so I figured I might as well just get it over with. The smaller the production made of something, the smaller the deal people thought it was. Usually. I kept my gaze on Dane, not wanting to see the mocking attack coming when I spit it out.
“Jenna Jameson.”
Dane’s eyes rounded, but he had the good grace not to say anything. My gaze slid toward Lisbeth and there it was again. That pre-mask look of triumph.
But it was Ben who couldn’t keep his mouth shout.
“You’re named after a porn star?”
EIGHT
“I am
not
named after a porn star.”
Honestly, you’d think people would get tired of asking that. Ok, so the same people didn’t keep asking it, but
everyone
did.
“Not that I’m a porn expert or anything,” Ben said. “But I believe Jenna Jameson is not only a porn star, but the most famous one ever. I mean, even my mom’s probably heard of her.”
I must have given him a look, because he rushed on before I could point out just how weird that was.
“You know what I mean. You know who Heidi Fleiss is too, but that doesn’t make you a prostitute.”
And I’d thought the conversation couldn’t get weirder. Next to me, Dane cleared his throat, his brows raised over the hand covering his mouth. Apparently I wasn’t the only one wondering what was going on with Mocking Guy – who was quickly becoming Weirdo Guy. Before things could veer more, I jumped in.
“And, anyway, it’s Jenna Drake. Jameson is my middle name,” I rushed on when Ben started to turn to Lisbeth for verification. “It was my mom’s maiden name.”
Ben nodded. Dane nodded. Ben looked at Lisbeth, who began nodding. Yeah, this was an exciting night out alrighty.
“So, are we going to bowl, or what?” I almost added that the sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could have my notebook back and escape. But that seemed rude even for someone as desperate to leave and socially manipulated into staying as I was.
“Of course.” Lisbeth stepped into the center of our small circle. “Why else would we be here?”
She slid a sly grin toward Ben. Yeah, we all knew why we were really here: So she could add another guy to her Ken Doll Collection. Did anyone remember my notebook?
I glanced at my watch. How could it possibly only be 11:09?
“So,” Lisbeth continued, stepping up on the edge of the alley. “I’m not much of a bowler. I take it there’s some type of form you need to do things right?”
She ran her hand over the ultra-pink ball she’d chosen before hefting it. Turning sideways, she glanced toward us, that grin teasing more than just her lips.
“Are they all this heavy?” she asked as she set it back down and checked her manicure. “That seems a little unfair for the girls.”
Dane spun the balls, looking at the numbers carved into them. “Try this one. It should be a little lighter. Sorry it’s not pink.”
Good Lord he was gorgeous. When he was being his normal charming self he was lovely, but when he focused that smile on a girl he was absolutely stunning. My heart stopped from collateral shivers. No wonder Lisbeth was working so hard to keep both guys in the game.
“Why don’t you guys give me some pointers before we get started?” she asked, and just like that, Lisbeth was back where she liked to be: the center of attention.
She did a replay of that shoulder roll thing that had her sack-dress dropping elegantly off one shoulder. Then, batting her eyelashes with a giggle, Lisbeth gracefully eased her hand back and swung it forward is if to throw an imaginary ball down the alley that was – of course – nowhere near her since she had strategically turned sideways for the greatest viewing angle.
One guy’s gaze went right, one left. Well, I guess we now knew who liked legs in the group.
Lisbeth held her pose for a moment before straightening and flipping her hair in her signature move.
Oh for crying out loud. First the guys ask me if I’m named after a porn star and now Lisbeth is acting like a stripper.
“Actually,” Ben said, making me wonder what he was replying to. “A stripper takes her clothes off while she makes a spectacle of herself.”
Exactly how many ‘Did I say that out loud’ moment could I squeeze in tonight?
I turned to face him, not even considering letting him off the hook. “Same difference, right? She had your full and undivided attention in a manner that isn’t what someone might consider modest. It must be hard to be so easily lead astray.”
I peeked in her direction to see what she was up to now. At the head of the alley, Lisbeth grasped the bowling ball between her two tiny hands, Dane rearranging her stance. But he wasn’t who had her attention. Ben was.
I’ll give Ben this – he was one smart cookie. He’d gotten her game from the beginning and now he gave her just enough attention to keep her working the flirt instead of looking at him like he wasn’t good enough to polish her rented shoes. He hovered at my elbow, that cocky grin and lifted eyebrow mocking me…a state of affairs I was depressingly used to in only one hour.