This Lullaby(31)

He looked surprised at this, but not necessarily in a bad way. In fact, he looked kind of intrigued, as if I’d just admitted I wore leather panties or was double-jointed. “Now, who told you that?”

“Everyone,” I said.

“I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up,” he said.

“I bet you do.”

“No, really.” He raised his eyebrows at me, then pantomimed holding a joint between two fingers. “Out in the car. Come with me and I’ll show you.”

I shook my head. Like I was that stupid. Anymore. “Nope. I’m waiting for a ride.”

He leaned closer to me: he smelled like aftershave, something strong. “I’ll make sure you get home. Come on.” And then he put his hand on my arm, curling his fingers around my elbow.

“Let go,” I said, trying to tug my arm back.

“Don’t be like that,” he said, almost affectionately.

“I’m serious,” I told him, jerking my elbow. He held on. “Let go.”

“Oh come on, Emmy,” he said, finishing his drink. He couldn’t even get my stupid name right. “I don’t bite.”

Then he started to tug me off my stool, which normally I would have made more difficult, but again, my balance wasn’t exactly right on just then. Before I knew it I was on my feet, then getting yanked through the crowd.

“I said let go, you f*cking *!” I pulled my arm loose, hard, and it flew up, smacking him in the face and sending him stumbling, just slightly, backward. Now people were looking at us, in that mildly-interesting-at-least-until-the-music-starts-again kind of way. How had I let this happen? One nasty remark from Chris and I’m bar trash, fighting in public with some guy named Sherman? I could feel the shame rising up in me, flushing my face. Everyone was looking at me.

“Okay, okay, what’s going on here?” That was Adrian, the bouncer, too late as usual for the real commotion but always up for a chance to throw his little bit of power around.

“We’re just talking at the bar and we go to go outside and she freaks,” Sherman said, pulling at his collar. “Crazy bitch. She hit me.”

I was standing there, rubbing my arm, hating myself. I knew if I turned around I’d see that girl again, so weak and screwed up. She’d go to the parking lot, no problem. After that night at the party, she’d gotten a reputation for it. I hated her for that. So much I could feel a lump rising in my throat, which I pressed down because I was better than that, much better. I wasn’t Lissa: I didn’t trot my pain out to show around. I kept it better hidden than anyone. I did.

“God, this is swelling,” Sherman whined, rubbing his eye. What a wuss. If I’d hit him on purpose, well, then that would have been different. But it was an accident. I didn’t even really have my arm in it.

“You want me to call the police?” Adrian asked.

I was suddenly so hot, and I could feel my shirt sticking to my back with sweat. The room tilted, just a bit, and I closed my eyes.

“Oh, man,” I heard someone say, and suddenly there was a hand enclosing mine, squeezing slightly. “There you are! I’m only fifteen minutes late, honey, no need to cause a commotion.”

I opened my eyes to see Dexter standing beside me. Holding my hand. I would have yanked it away, but honestly I thought better of it, after what had just happened.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Adrian said to Dexter.

“It’s my fault, though,” Dexter replied in that quick, cheery way of his, as if we were all friends who met coincidentally on a street corner. “It is. See, I was late. And that makes my sweetums so foul tempered.”

“God,” I said under my breath.

“Sweetums?” Sherman repeated.

“She clocked him,” Adrian told Dexter. “Might have to call the cops.”

Dexter looked at me, then at Sherman. “She hit you?”

Now Sherman didn’t seem so sure, instead pulling at his collar and glancing around. “Well, not exactly.”

“Honey!” Dexter looked at me. “Did you really? But she’s just a little thing.”

“Watch it,” I said under my breath.

“You want to get arrested?” he said back, just as low. Then, back in cheery mode, he added, “I mean, I’ve seen her get mad before, but hit somebody? My Remy? She’s not even ninety pounds soaking wet.”

“Either I call the cops or I don’t,” Adrian said. “But I got to get back to the door.”

“Forget it,” Sherman told him. “I’m out of here.” And then he slunk off, but not before I noticed that yes, his eye was swelling. Wimp.

“You.” Adrian pointed at me. “Go home. Now.”

“Done,” Dexter said. “And thank you so much for your cordial, professional handling of this situation.”

We left Adrian there, mulling over whether he’d been insulted. As soon as we were outside, I yanked my hand loose from Dexter’s and started down the stairs, toward the pay phone.

“What, no thank-you?” he asked me.

“I can take care of myself,” I told him. “I’m not some weak woman who needs to be saved.”

“Obviously,” he said. “You just almost got arrested for assault.”