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“Why?” comes out in an airy croak.
“Why what?”
“Why are you taking a creative writing class?!”
The one shoulder shrug is followed by a second attempt to drink the liquor I’ve been nursing since the party began.
“Don’t.” Her quick swatting at my wrist damn near has me spilling the beverage. “Don’t brush off this shit like it’s not a big deal.”
“It isn’t.”
“It. Fucking. Is!”
Shrugging again receives me a slug in the arm this time. “You been drinkin’ Torrez?” Humor manages to hop onto my expression. “Tequila always makes you feisty and Dive very fucking thankful.”
“I will throw you into the water.”
“See.”
Post another jab to my arm, she huffs, “Seriously, Dock. Why a creative writing class?”
“Idono.” Adjusting my grip on the glass occurs to bide me time. “I…I guess…I get tired of feeling dumb.”
“Aw,” escapes in an untrustworthy nature, “but you are dumb.”
Prime example of why people don’t like her.
“Straight shit, no chaser.” She folds her arms firmly across her chest. “You are dumb if you think or have ever thought that anyone around here thinks you’re some beach bum, Big Lebowski wannabe, moron that can’t add the money in the till together without the help of his fingers, toes, and two senior position assistants.”
Smiling is considered but not done.
“This past month alone your ‘Lake It Til You Make It’ campaign to drive tourists to book at least two excursions – encouraging them to try more than one type of water experience to discover which one is best for them versus what their friends or fam have said – tripled projected sales in that department.” Her open palm condescendingly presses to my chest. “That’s three times, which is math not writing, I know.”
Light laughs appear alongside a headshake.
And here’s the reason why I do like her.
She gives shit.
She takes shit.
She’s not afraid of shit.
She’s what a Misfit Old Lady should be.
What I’m not sure Emaline could be.
Maybe there’s more than one type of Old Lady that’s okay for club life?
Fuck, we’re not all the same.
Why should they be?
“You are also dumb,” she returns her hand to her frame, “cause you’re here without her, pouting like a petulant child in need of a nappy instead of being wherever she is, proving whatever it is she needs proved to her, that she’s yours.”
“She’s not mine,” leaves just above a whisper.
“Not with that attitude,” grunts Dive at the same time he drops a possessive arm around Lady. “And you’re lucky I know your ass ain’t out here, alone, in the dark, by the water, under the fucking stars, trying to spit shit to snake my Old Lady, Dock.”
