“I need to get out of here. Right now. But if that’s not an option, I’d settle for the earth swallowing me whole this very instant.” Now that I’ve declared my needs, I search for a way to make it all happen. See? I can still be logical. I’m not totally panicking. My eyes lock in on the window on the other end of the room. It’s a rectangle, just below ceiling height.
Jeez, it looks small.
Maybe it looks tiny because I’m so far away. I walk closer, hoping that in reality, it’s the size of a sliding glass door.
There’s no appreciable change in its dimensions.
Shit.
Maybe I’m just not a good judge of this. Maybe the girl in the sparkly dress has an eye for this. “Be honest, do you think I’ll fit through there?”
I grasp my ample hips and then swing my hands up, trying to gauge how wide they are as compared to the window. It’s a maneuver I once saw Marilyn Monroe do in an old movie.
She got stuck in that window.
My companion puts her hand on my arm. “It can’t be that bad. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad. And trust me, I’ve done tons of embarrassing stuff in my life. This moment will pass, and trying to squeeze out of an opening the size of a vagina is not necessary.”
I blink, looking at her. She’s probably right, but still, maybe I should try rebirth. I mean, at least I have experience succeeding at that. It’s how I came into this world.
She continues, “I mean, hell, I just married a man I barely know. But that’s me, the good little wifey. Anything to support his career.”
Her admission is enough to pull me out of my own head, my own tailspin screeching to a halt. I didnotexpect to hear that. Did she say she barely knew him? Hell, that’s definitely worse than the man you pined after for years showing up. A wedding does explain her white dress. It looks out of place compared to the sea of skimpy black body-cons this crowd normally wears.
“You got married?”
“Yeah, like literally a few hours ago. I’m not saying it was wrong or I’d take it back, but you know, like, we all do questionable things sometimes. You’ll live.”
Her nonchalance about being a screwup brings me back to the situation at hand. Wait a minute, what if she marriedhim? I mean, it’s not like I have any claim on him or anything, but if she married him, I am totally diving out the window.
I don’t even care that it’s on the second floor. The trip in the ambulance would be worth it.
It wouldn’t be the first time I fled from Callaghan Entay and ended up in the hospital.
I have to know. “Did you marry one of these guys? One of the Buzzards?” Because of course, I know Callaghan Entay plays for the Boston Buzzards. Because of course, I’ve followed his career.
I’m a masochist like that.
In my defense, I follow all sports, not just his. Occupational—if I’d ever followed through on my career plans—hazard.
She shrugs. “It’s complicated, but sort of. Why? Does your escape plan have anything to do with someone on the Buzzards?”
This will be totally awkward if I have to tell her I slept with her husband, but then again, she said she barely knew him, so it’s not like she can hold it against me. It was a long time ago.
I’ll leave out the part about being in love with him back in college.
I’d better fess up. She’s been nice. “Yeah, it does. I haven’t seen him in a few years, but of all the banquet venues in all of Boston, he has to walk into mine.”
Seriously, why didn’t I pay attention to what the event was tonight? Oh right, because it doesn’t matter. I need the money and working at a catering facility is good pay these days. They’re desperate for help, especially good staff, so they make it worth our while.
Since the odds of me becoming a professional sportscaster are only slightly better than of me being a professional athlete, I’ve got to do something to pay the bills. And this is about as good of a thing as any.
“Did you dump a drink on him? Spit in his food? Accidentally lick him?”
My eyes grow wide. How did she know? About the licking? Although to be honest, he did much more of the licking. And it was no accident. I mean, it was, because I should never have been with him in the first place because he didn’t feel about me the way I felt about him, but it wasn’t like I tripped and accidentally trailed my mouth down to his nether regions out in the middle of the dance floor.
“No, nothing like that. Just, well, I ... he ... well, we hooked up. Like way back in college. So yes, there was licking.” My face flames at the memory of him between my thighs. “It was a long time ago, but the licking was quite purposeful. And consensual. I was a soccer player too, at least I tried to be, and now he’s one of the best in the USSL, and I’m serving canapés.”
There it is. My villain origin story. Not that I’m a villain. I think I’m a pretty decent person. Maybe a bit boring, but super reliable. But that night is where my downward spiral started. I don’t need to get into those gory details with a complete stranger.
