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“It’s off as a bachelor weekend, but I definitely still want to go to Vegas. Need to go. After everything that’s happened, I gotta get out of here, and what better place than Vegas to forget everything,” I tell them.
In unison, they both say, “I’m down.”
“Nothing like Vegas women to make you forget,” Benny chimes in.
“You’re friends with the manager at the Boston Harbor Hotel, aren’t you?” I ask Benny.
“Yeah, why?”
“I need to cancel the wedding. We paid a pretty fucking penny for the down payment. Maybe he can do something to get some of the money back,” I tell him.
“I’ll call him, see what I can do for you. No promises,” he responds.
“Story of my life. Nothing is promised,” I say, and shoot back another whiskey.
CHAPTER 11
Apathy
MARIALENA
August 2004
THURSDAY NIGHTS AT THE LAST DROPare busy because it’s the first night of the week with live music. Red Brick City, a local band that plays every Thursday night, has had the gig since before I started working here. They have a following that shows up for them every week. They’re set to take the stage at 9:30 p.m. after the dinner rush ends, and most families have gone for the night.
“Hey, Lena, here comes your man,” Stevie quips from the other end of the bar.
“He’s not my man!”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she says. “You’ve been sleeping with him for months, and he’s like a dog, follows your every move. I’d say he’s your man.”
“Whatever!” Annoyed at her, I walk away, pulling slips from the printer to make some drinks for the service bar. I pour two beers and a gin and tonic and set them onto the service area with their tickets. When I look up, Nate is standing to my right, smiling.
Nate is the drummer for Red Brick City. We officially met a few weeks after I started working here when he sat at the bar during their break and asked for a Sam Adams. Stevie, always trying to be cute, said to him, “How funny, you love Sam Adams and the Red Sox. Did you know Lena is a Boston gal? Bet you’ll love her too.” That’s how things started between us.
Initially, we talked when he was here to play their show. After a couple of months, he started coming in early to sit at the bar, eat, and chat with me. Nate’s not the type of guy I’m typically attracted to, so I didn’t think about hooking up with him initially. He’s got dark blond hair, a shaggy look to it with the long pieces on top that stick up all over the place, which accentuates his piercing blue eyes. He’s fair-skinned with a small, slightly crooked nose and thin lips.
Each week he came in, I got to know him a little more. He grew on me. I thought it was cute that when we talked, he related most everything to a song. He would always sing a random lyric. He’s a nice guy, sweet, and showers me with attention. In most circumstances, that would be a good thing, except when I met him, my heart was shattered, and I was not in a good place. It was easy to avoid talking about myself because I was usually working during our conversations.
The first few times he asked me to go out with him, I turned him down. I had told him I wasn’t looking for a relationship. Eventually, I said “yes” because I thought it would help me fill a void. I thought hanging out with him would help me get over Massimo. I was wrong. Other than having great sex with him on the regular, it hasn’t helped. On the contrary, it makes me feel like a terrible person because I’m basically using him for sex, and he doesn’t deserve that. Not to mention, I still think of Massimo every day. Each time I have sex with Nate, it’s Massimo I see. I’m such a jerk.
We’ve been spending time together a few days a week, although I don’t ever spend the night at his place. It’s been a little over six months since we’ve started dating, but I won’t commit, can’t commit. My heart isn’t in it, which is awful of me because he’s a great guy, deserves someone who will give themselves completely to the relationship. I know Nate wants that from me. Each time he brings it up, I avoid the conversation in some way.
“Hey, beautiful,” Nate says, taking a seat on the stool next to the service bar.
“Hi.” I place a bottle of Sam Adams onto the bar and lean into my right hip. “You know what you want to eat, or do you want a menu?”
Nate orders food, and we chat for a while between my serving customers until it’s time for him to get ready for their set tonight.
“Want to hang out later?” he asks before leaving the bar, resting his hand over mine while he’s waiting for my response.
“Sure.” I pull my hand away and turn my back to him, feeling Nate’s stare as I do.
“I want more,” Nate says. We’re lying in my bed, naked and uncovered, still breathing heavy from the sex we just had. I already know where this conversation is headed.
“More what?”
“Us. I want more.” He sits up to remove the condom, ties the top in a knot, and places it on the floor.
