Soon, Chelsea and Katie rose to their feet
and were feeling the music, too, and all three of us started
vector-dancing. Angling our arms to form angles and vectors, we
pumped them back and forth to the pulsating music.
Yes, we were total goobers.
As luck would have it, as we were weaving our
way onto the dance floor, we spotted Tommy.
The
Tommy!
Tommy, as in Chelsea’s ex-boyfriend. On the
dance floor, bumping and grinding with Elena Davenport.
Chelsea’s eye widened like hard-boiled eggs.
“What the fuck is Tommy doing here? And what the fuck is he doing
with Mistress Baby Voice?”
Mistress Baby Voice was the nickname we gave
Elena Davenport back in the day.
She was the reason our entire high school
experience was deemed the prime suffering years. Not only was she
the meanest girl in school, she was also drop-dead gorgeous but in
a plastic sort of way.
And the fact that she wore
hair extensions, fake lashes, liquid eyeliner,
and
six-inch heels to school every
single day simply astounded me.
In short, Elena was that one girl who always
dressed like she was going to a club when her dumbass was at
school. That, and I was pretty much convinced she hired her very
own glam squad to do her hair and makeup every morning.
Next to Elena, every girl in school felt like
a giant slob.
When Elena caught us staring, her arms came
up to snake around Tommy’s neck and her mouth curved into a subtle
smile.
At this point, the two of them weren’t so
much dancing as they were simulating sex in clothing.
“
Humph!” Katie scowled.
“Nothing’s new, really. Elena’s been on more weiner schnitzels and
corn dogs than Heinz ketchup and yellow mustard.”
“
They’re just dancing,” I
said, grasping Chelsea by the elbow to prevent her from causing a
scene.
“
Let me go!” she growled.
Shrugging away from my hold, she stepped into the throng of
gyrating dancers.
Uttering a low curse, I made a beeline for
her as she stalked toward Tommy and Elena. “Let ’em be.” I caught
her arm, turning her so she faced me. “He’s not worth it, Chels.
He’s not a real man.”
“
Yeah.” Katie caught her
other arm. “You deserve a man who understands that loyalty and
honesty is a priority.”
“
A priority,” I repeated.
“
Not
an option.
Once you let a cheater slide, he’ll start figure
skating.”
Chelsea swayed, unsteady on her feet.
“
C’mon,” I said gently.
“Let’s get you home.” Together, Katie and I managed to frog-march
her back to our booth so we could grab our things.
Stubbornly, Chelsea refused to leave. “I need
another drink.” She collapsed into the booth and let out a loud
belch without bothering to stifle the sound.
“
All right,” I said
calmly. “Just one.”
Several drinks later, Chelsea was no longer
making any sense whatsoever. “I dream of a better world,” she
slurred. “Where a chicken can cross the road without having his
motives questioned. And you know what?” she said, hiccupping
through the words. “Being a person is getting too complicated. Time
for me to be a unicorn.”
Katie and I exchanged knowing glances. “Yep,”
I said loud enough so Chelsea could hear it. “She’s wasted.”
“
I’m not drunk!” Chelsea
snapped.
“
Um, Chels…” I stared at
her, incredulous. “You just tried to put your seatbelt on. And
we’re not even in a car.”
“
We’re not?” She blinked
at me as though she were in some sort of fog. “Then where the hell
are we?”
“
We’re still in Luxx. The
nightclub.”
“
I want to move to Utah!”
Chelsea veered off on a completely random tangent. “Someone said
polygamy is legal there! Hell yeah! My dream of having five wives
to clean the house and five husbands to do the other bullshit is
slowly coming true.”
Katie made an exasperated sound. “It’s not
legal. And you’re so wasted.”
“
Hey!” Turning to me,
Chelsea slapped my wrist. “Do you wanna buy a Harley with me? We
can leave everything behind and become road dogs.”
Katie and I stared at each other with twin
expressions of distress before we quickly looked elsewhere.
“
Oh, looky over there,”
Chelsea cooed. “Those freshman boys are checking us out. We must
look like we’re sixty-five to those spring chickens. Rawr! Like
cougars collecting social security!”
Briefly, I glanced over my shoulder in time
to see two guys staring at us. One of them gave a little wave and
mouthed, “Hi, cutie.”
Katie leaned in toward me and whispered, “He
just called you a cutie. Would you rather be called a cutie or a
hottie?”
Chelsea blurted out, “Cutie? Hottie? I don’t
care. Hell, I’ll take what I can get.”
“
Oh, please, Chels.” Katie
dismissed her with a flick of her ring-laden fingers. “You know
you’re hot.”
“
Pssh!” Chelsea blew out a
puff of air. “As if! I’m hot only if you stand far, far,
far
away. Like a hundred
feet away.”
“
Nah!” Katie
pooh-poohed.
“
Um, yeah!” Chelsea
insisted.
“
All right, Chels.” I cut
in. “You wanna know what you are right now? You’re a hot mess,
that’s what you are. And I say it’s time we get you home.
Now.”
Her voice pitched higher. “But I don’t wanna
go home. See that hottie over there? Right there! Right there!” Her
bleary gaze slid toward a guy who could have passed for a
linebacker. “Too bad he’s leaving. I would have totally bought and
bagged him like a delicious Cabernet on sale at Trader Joe’s.”
I shook my head and put my hands on my hips.
“You know what, Chels? We’re taking you home whether you like it or
not. You’re completely trashed.”
“
I’m not trashed.” She
threw me a hassled look. “I just got started.”
I sighed. “Quit arguing, will you.”
“
I’m not arguing.” She
pouted profusely. “I’m simply explaining why I’m not
drunk.”
“
Chels,” I said
reasonably. “If someone asked you to add two plus two right now,
your answer would probably be ‘banana yogurt.’ You’re drunk,
okay?”
“
Two plus two is…” She
paused and blew out an alcohol-infused breath. “Shit. I dunno.
Fourteen?”
Katie, too, tried her best with Chelsea. But
when a sober person attempted to reason with a lush, it was
basically pointless. Chelsea didn’t want to hear what we had to say
and we eventually gave up after realizing this.
“
Well, look at what we
have here,” came a mannish timbered voice.
When I glanced up, my eyebrows almost
collided with my bangs.
Oh, what fresh
hell
? Elena Davenport was standing in
front our booth with her arms crossed, tapping her
diamond-encrusted stilettos.
She looked like a pit bull in a pleated skirt
out for fresh blood.
I smiled, but it felt a bit forced. “Hi,
Elena.”
“
Hello, Vivian. Hello,
Katie.” With complete disregard for Chelsea, Elena looked us up and
down in a very impolite manner and flashed a supercilious smirk.
“You girls working the corner?”
“
Ex-
squeeze
me? Who you calling
hookers?” Chelsea leapt from her seat and got within an inch of
Elena’s face. “If I were a hooker, I’d fuck my dog before I fucked
you. That’s some Kardashian-level plastic surgery you got going on
there. And you’ve got so much makeup on right now, I bet if I sat
on your face I’d have a picture of you imprinted on my
ass.”
Elena stared down her
haughty nose. “That’s priceless coming from someone who
actually
looks
like ass. At least I’m a ten.”
Geez Louise. Even though high school is long
behind us, Elena is still triple dipped in psycho. Who rates
themselves a ten? Who rates themselves—period?
“
You’re a ten?” Chelsea
scoffed. “Maybe you’re a ten on the pH scale ’cause you’re
basic.”
Oh, snap! And burrrrnnnnnn.
Classic nerd comeback. I almost died of a
nerdgasm.
“
Hey, Elena,” Katie said
gleefully. “Let me know if you need some Neosporin for a burn of
that magnitude.”
Elena sent her daggers. “You better check
yourself, Katie!”
Katie just laughed. A
mocking
ha-ha-ha, who are you
kidding
laugh.
Standing toe-to-toe with
Elena, Chelsea said coolly, “You know what? At least our beauty
doesn’t come from a tube of foundation. Our beauty comes from
somewhere deep,
deep
inside us.” She thumped her chest to get that point across.
“Our beauty—it’s real, and it’s pure, and it doesn’t need lip-gloss
to shine.”
Phwoar! Chelsea’s words
made me feel like I stood taller. I found myself squaring my
shoulders and lifting my chin high. Granted, I
was
wearing so much lip-gloss that
my
lips were probably as slick as the BP
Deep Water Horizon oil spill, but that was beside the
point.
Chelsea was standing up for herself and she
was standing up for us.
It was such a beautiful and awe-inspiring
moment.
And though Chelsea was drunk off her ass,
right here and right now, I couldn’t have been prouder of her.
Elena stiffened like she’d just been shot by
a tranquilizer dart. When she finally regained control of her
facial features, Chelsea barreled on. “Oh, and you can have Tommy.
You two bitches deserve each other.”
Elena looked like she’d just sniffed a fart.
“What did you just call me?”
I watched the exchange with nervous eyes.
“All right.” I cut in before the two of them could come to blows.
“Enough already. She didn’t call you anything, Elena.”
Her eyebrows lowered ominously and the look
she gave me nearly singed the hair from my head. “Stay out of
this,” she hissed.
I stood blinking at Elena like she’d sprouted
horns and grown a tail.
Unfazed, Chelsea crossed her arms. In an
attitude of perfect nonchalance, she exclaimed, “Oh, wait! Are you
offended that I called you a bitch? Sorry not sorry. I thought you
already knew.”
Elena flicked her straggly extensions across
her shoulder. “You’re just all butt hurt ’cause I stole your
man.”
“
Real men can’t be
stolen,” Chelsea said smoothly. “You can have that sorry excuse for
a man.”
“
Why, thank you!” Elena
smirked. “I intend to keep him, at least for tonight.”
At this point, all the vivacity seemed to
have leaked out of Chelsea like a punctured tire. “What’s your
problem, Elena? Why have you always been such a prized bitch? You
have daddy issues? Is that it? Daddy missed too many of your dance
recitals, eh?” Chelsea swayed on her feet and I caught her right
before she face-planted. “I actually met your daddy once,” she went
on. “And the apple doesn’t fall far from the lunatic.”
Okay, maybe Chelsea wasn’t giving up on the
fight just yet.
Their eyes locked in mutual distaste.
Elena eyeballed Chelsea. Extra hard.
Chelsea eyeballed
Elena
extra, extra
hard.
The tension was so thick you could almost
hack it with a knife.
“
C’mon, that’s enough
now.” I stepped between the pair of hissing alley cats. “We didn’t
want any trouble, Elena. But then you had to swan over here and
stir the shit pot.” I sighed. Some people—people like Elena
Davenport—created their own storms and then got upset when it
rained.
“
Yeah, Elena!” Katie gave
her a cold, slashing look. “When you decide to stir the shit pot,
guess what? Don’t be surprised if we make you lick the
spoon!”
I rubbed my temples. And just when I thought
the tension couldn’t possibly get worse, it did.
Tommy appeared and sidled up next to Elena.
“What’s going on here?”
“
What’s going on
here?
What’s going on
here?
” Chelsea’s voice dropped to an
eerily low whisper. “Why don’t
you
tell me, Tommy? Huh? What are you doing
with
whatsherface
?”
“
The name is Elena,” the
shit-stirrer singsonged.
“
The name is Elena,”
Chelsea mimicked in a nasally, helium-filled, syrupy voice. “We all
know that’s not your
real
voice,
Eh-leh-nah
. Before Tommy showed up,
you sounded a whole lot like Morgan Freeman. And now you’re
Mistress Baby Voice?
Puh-lease
. Who you trying to
fool?”
At least Tommy had the decency to look
somewhat sheepish. “Chels, you’re the one who ended things with
me.”
“
Yeah!” She glared at him,
her eyes flashing angry sparks. “Because you were lying to
me.”
Tommy squirmed under her cutting glare. “I
was nothing but honest and genuine with you.”
“
Genuine?” Chelsea gave a
loud snort. “A genuine dirt bag!”
“
Can we talk about this
tomorrow?” Tommy’s eyes pleaded. “When you’re sober?”
“
No!” Chelsea snapped. “I
don’t wanna talk to you. Ever! Have a nice life with Morgan
Freeman. And tomorrow…” That devilish glint in her eyes signaled an
imminent attack. Under the flashing neon strobe lights, she cast
Tommy one of her practiced machete smiles. “I’m posting all your
dick pics on Instagram.”