Just Lying to Myself
THE FLAMINGO/POE BATHROOM IS A hit with Jeannette and I win a bunch of points with her. She pats my cheek and tells me that she’d fuck me if she liked dick. I stand with my mouth agape as she walks down the stairs. Betsy is laughing.
“I thought she was married to Bert?” I ask. She had mentioned Bert a few times during lunch and I assumed it was her late husband.
“She was, they got married about ten years ago and then Bert or Bertha, a name she apparently hated and never used, got breast cancer about five years later and died. Hasn’t slowed Jeannette down at all. She is a bigger ‘ho than you and me combined. She’s got a new lady friend every week.”
“I can see that, she’s pretty hot for a 72-year-old,” I say seriously.
“She told me after Bert she just wanted to fuck around and not settle down again. No one gets that more than me.” I look at her now. Really look to see if she’s 100% believing this bullshit. I can see the vulnerability in her eyes and even though she shuts it down quickly, I see her wistful look.
I decide to push her on it. “Why do you get it?”
She shrugs. “I guess it’s because I’ve been on my own emotionally for so long, it’s something I’ve closed myself off from. The possibility that I could have that kind of relationship seems out of reach.” Her eyes flash to me and she laughs but it feels hollow. “We’ve gone over this Joe, I’m not built for monogamy and intimacy.”
“How do you know if you’ve never tried?” I ask. “I could argue that you’ve experienced intimacy with me and Jack. Maybe not romantic,” I say when her eyes look terrified at the mention of Jack, “but you can’t deny that we have a closeness with you. You are my best friend and Jack sees you like the older sister he’s always wanted.”
She looks like she wants to say something but instead hugs me. We stand in that embrace for a few minutes and I wrack my brain for what to do to get past this. I want more than this from her, but she’s so stubborn.
“Come to my show tonight, Joe,” she says as she pulls from the hug, resting her head on my chest where my heart is beating wildly.
I clear my throat. I want to say yes, but something is stopping me. “I can’t tonight, I promised Frank I’d listen to his crying about Mikey while I grill him a steak.” It’s a total lie, I have one plan, to go see her for the third night in a row. Not sure why I can’t just nut up and admit that’s where I’m going.
She looks disappointed and I’m about to tell her I’ll ditch him. “Oh, that’s good of you, Joe. I guess coming to see a sexy burlesque show wouldn’t cheer him up much?”
“Nah, it would get him all sad and horny and then I’d have to fight him off,” I joke and she huffs out a laugh. “I promise I’ll come see you soon, I can’t wait.” Neither of those statements is a lie.
“Don’t wait too long, I am working on something new,” she says as she passes me to leave the bathroom. Her tangerine scent lingers and I close my eyes, take a deep breath and follow her out.
* * *
Betsy holes up in her room, music blasting when we get back. I don’t see her again until she comes to tell me she’s leaving to go to work hours later. I’m in my room reading a biography of Robin Williams fully reclined on my chair. She walks through the open door and sits on the ottoman. She looks gorgeous in her purple dress. Her hair and makeup are done for the show and it’s wild to see it up close. Stage makeup is thick and exaggerated, so she looks like Betsy, but not.
“When does Frank get here?” she asks and I look at the time. Shit, it’s eight.
“I think he had a late session today so in a half an hour or so. I lost track of time,” I say and it’s true, not that it matters since he’s not coming over. “I’ll text him in a minute.”
She picks up my phone from the floor where it fell earlier and hands it to me. “Here, now you can text him,” I take the phone as she sits on the edge of the ottoman waiting.
I open my text app and select Fucking Frank’s name.
Me: Hey best friend, what are you up to tonight?
I ask because I have no idea. He told me to go fuck myself yesterday when I asked him if he needed a shoulder to cry on. He hasn’t answered my texts or calls since. Normal Frank shit.
FF: Why are you the way you are?
Me: Awesome?
FF: No, the opposite.
Me: Hurtful.
FF: You’ll get over it.
Me: I told Betsy I’d check in on you.
FF: You just saw me yesterday and I’m fucking fine.
Me: Whatever you say, buddy.
FF: Are you angling for me to come there and throw you down the stairs?
Me: I’m just trying to be there for you.
FF: Fine then, be there. . . . and stay THERE, where you are.
Me: I love you, Frank.
FF: Joe, shut up.
I lock my screen after the exchange so Betsy doesn’t get curious. “He’ll be here soon. He was just stopping to get some beers and a bottle of tequila. You know, man drinks.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, don’t let him get too drunk and sad, and make sure to hide his phone first.”
I nod and she sighs. I’m not liking this, lying to her about stupid shit. All I want is to pull her onto my lap and just be with her. She’s right here but out of reach. She stands and runs to go.
“Break a boob,” I say and she snorts giving me a look. “What? It’s a saying, I’m sure.”
“Goodnight, Joe, don’t wait up.” I close my eyes and lean my head back. Not sure what she means. I rarely wait up because I suck at staying up. Maybe she’s letting me know she’ll be out all night getting some. I don’t like that at all so I pretend that’s not it. Definitely not.
I get up and put on my black jeans and a dark gray sweater. I’m going inconspicuous tonight.
* * *
The club is packed as I take my seat at my table I paid for for the month. I know, I’m ridiculous, but I can’t stay away. I’m addicted to watching Betsy dance.
My usual waitress brings me a gin and tonic without asking and I’m officially a fucking regular—a regular creep. I take a minute to look around and people watch a little. Most of the crowd are in groups and are celebrating something. There are a few couples here and there and even a few other lonely pervs like me flying solo. The floor is packed with tables in the center of the floor and then flanked by two long bars along the side where people can sit or just loiter near the booze source.
Up here in the balcony, there’s a bar in the way back and along the railing, there are several different size tables. The atmosphere is fun and light, with a dash of sexual tension. Perfect for a burlesque show. I make eye contact with a few ladies and gentlemen who are staring at me. I know, it’s a hardship being this handsome. I smile at everyone, because I like to spread the goodwill—I’m a philanthropist. One young lady boldly comes to my table after I smile at her.
“Hi, I noticed you here by yourself,” she says gesturing to my table for one. “You waiting for somebody?”
I nod toward the stage. “My best friend is a dancer here and I’m waiting for her.”
“Wow, that’s fun having a stripper for a friend.”
I frown at her.
“She’s not a stripper, she’s a professional dancer.” I take offense for all of the performers here. I feel like I know them now that I’ve been here like some stalker three nights in a row. “There’s a difference.”
She rolls her eyes and shrugs. “You seem like you’re the expert. Enjoy the show,” she says and walks away. Did I just pull a Fucking Frank? Or was I too nice? Probably. Frank would have told her to go away before she even got to the table. He wouldn’t be making eye contact with anything but his whiskey either.
I send him a quick text, feeling like our last convo was unfinished.
Me: I feel like you are crying out for help.
FF: I’m crying out for you to fuck off.
Me: I know you’re lashing out at me because of the pain, but just know you can push all you want but I’m not going anywhere.
FF: Even if I push you off a cliff?
Me: Don’t be silly, I’m a good swimmer.
FF: Why are you bothering me?
Me: I’m at Betsy’s burlesque show and I’m waiting for it to start.
FF: Alone?
Me: Yeah. . . . it’s weird, isn’t it?
FF: No, not weird if you’re a creepy creeper. Please tell me she knows you’re there.
Me: . . .
FF: Joe . . . no.
Me: Don’t tell on me. She’s amazing, life-altering. I’m addicted.
FF: Jesus, Joe. Beware the restraining order.
Me: No, it’s not like that. Well, maybe it is a little like that.
FF: I have to go put my head through the window, brb.
Me: Haha. I’m going to talk to her tonight, I promise.
FF: Ugh, I hate myself that I let you think I give a crap.
Me: Of course you do, you’re my best bud.
FF: GN, Joe.
Me: Nighty-night, Franklemintz
As I put my phone down, the lights go down and I let myself enjoy the experience.