On the Rocks(93)

“Yeah, Ryan never told me I looked like J Lo for starters.”

“And that should be the standard against which all future guys are measured. I’m glad I was there to witness that. You really do attract some gems, don’t you?”

“It’s a unique talent.”

“At least he didn’t light anything on fire.”

“No, but there’s no saying he wouldn’t have hacked me to bits on his boat.”

“Good point.”

“Thanks.”

We turned away from the band and surveyed the crowd. The music was blaring, and people were dancing frenetically—singly, in pairs, in groups. It was a mob scene. My head started to throb, and I realized I was turning into one of those people who hate really loud music, no doubt yet another sign that I was getting old. Next I’d be clipping coupons from the PennySaver and chasing kids away with baseball bats for making too much noise at 8:00 P.M.. There was something to look forward to. Like my first colonoscopy.

When I opened my mouth to speak again, Bobby was waving to someone on the dance floor. Bobby’s latest target was easily in her midforties and sucking on her straw in a way that no lady should ever suck a cocktail straw. Then again, no lady would ever be gyrating alone on a dance floor in a Lycra dress, flirting with a strange guy at least a decade younger than she was. So clearly, this lady was a tramp.

“What do you think of her?” Bobby asked under his breath.

“What do I think of her? I think she looks like a very nice old lady. She probably makes really delicious chocolate chip cookies and tells good bedtime stories. What do you mean, what do I think of her?”

“Do you think she’s hot?” he asked without taking his eyes off her.

“I think she’s having hot flashes, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m going to go dance with her,” he said as he cracked the knuckles on his left hand.

“She’s old enough to be your mother!” I squealed in shock.

“She’s eyeing me, and she looks like she’s a good time. You chill here. I’m going to go test the waters.”

“You must be joking.”

“No, I’m not.” He looked at me with a straight face. “See, Abs, older women can be a great time. They don’t want anything from you. They’re not thinking that maybe you’re the future father of their children, or if you can afford to buy them a nice house in the ’burbs, or even if you’re going to call them tomorrow. They just want to have fun.”

It was an interesting point. It must be a lot easier to have fun with guys when the pressure is gone. I wondered if I could find some way to make that possible at my age, like electroshock therapy or hypnosis or something.

“Why aren’t you ever worried about being rejected? I could never do what you do because I’d be too afraid of being snubbed. It’d kill my confidence.”

“That’s the difference between guys are girls. Girls, if rejected, will wonder what’s wrong with them. Guys, if rejected, will wonder what’s wrong with the girl who isn’t interested. You need to think more like a guy.”

“It must be so nice to be that delusional.”

“Sweetheart, you have no idea.”

“Fine, go ahead. Leave me here to fend for myself.”

“You’ll be fine. You wait here for Mr. Right, or even Mr. Kind-of-Acceptable-if-You-Only-Hang-with-Him-in-Rooms-Where-the-Bulbs-Are-on-Dimmers, and watch me show that there lady how it’s done.”

“You are the whitest white man I’ve ever met. What makes you think you can dance?”

“I watch Dancing with the Stars.”

“Part of your being well rounded again?”

“I repeat: Renaissance man.”

I watched Bobby weave his way through the crowd and start dancing with the woman in the red Lycra dress. Bobby couldn’t dance, but that wasn’t really what I noticed. I noticed that he didn’t care. He was out there having fun, not concerned with who was watching, or what he looked like, or where the night was going. And it made me feel like dancin’.

I wove through the crowd on the dance floor and saw Grace in her bright yellow sundress out of the corner of my eye, still talking to a bunch of Navy guys who were more than happy to supply her with an endless stream of cocktails. She smiled when she saw me and immediately reached into her clutch and pulled out her cell phone.

“Here,” she screamed so I could hear her over the music, already so buzzed her eyes were starting to glaze over. “Take this.”

I took the phone from her and threw it in my bag. “Okay. Why?”

“Because I don’t trust myself to not drunk-dial Johnny later, and if I do that I’ll have to kill myself. I’m being proactive here. Don’t give it back to me no matter what I say, promise?”

I was impressed she had the foresight to keep herself from doing something stupid in her drunken stupor. Why hadn’t I thought of that back in the day? It would have cut the number of death threats I had sent Ben by at least half. “You got it. I won’t return this to you tonight under any circumstances.”

“Perfect. Come on, let’s dance!”

I joined Grace and the Navy guys on the dance floor and happily accepted a tequila shot from one of the sailors. I made eye contact with Bobby as I held my shot glass up in the air, and he smiled as he nodded approvingly. For the next two hours, I danced like the whitest white girl on the planet, one who had never seen a single episode of Dancing with the Stars and couldn’t have cared less. I may have looked like a complete idiot, but fast music and alcohol will make you worry about that, well, not at all. We stayed on the dance floor until last call, swaying and jumping and sliding and covered with sweat, and when the lights came on, Grace was nowhere to be found.