The Irish Car Bomb
Whenever someone orders an Irish Car Bomb (ICB), I feel like bowing down to them. That is, if they actually have balls enough to take the drink like a shot – in one big ass gulp. Anyone can drink a beer, but few can drink an ICB.
Not a lot of people request an ICB. The crowd that is most likely to be an ICB is the frat-boy crowd, men celebrating a bachelor party, or the athletes at the university after a win.
I’ve gotten pretty good at gauging if it’s going to be an ICB night. If there are a lot of pretty boys channeling Jersey Shore with the popped collars and spiked hair on a Thursday night, the cheap beer will turn into Guinness and shots of whiskey dumped into the cups and then chugged. I hate to admit it, but frat boys can drink. They may be first-class tools, but they keep the coffers full.
Bachelor parties are easy to spot. There’s normally a group of guys (some do pop their collars) all sitting together and girls dressed in really skanky clothes. Sometimes I do wonder if the girls are just random slutty chicks that someone knows or if they are strippers. They all gather around a single man (the groom-to-be) and begin to force alcohol down the single man’s throat. Not many bachelor parties end without an ICB being consumed.
The athletes, they are by far the easiest to spot. Before I start serving ICBs, I’ll get a handful of fake IDs. I make sure those individuals are escorted out before we can get hit with fines. You’d think the rest of the team would leave, but no. The Strauss is a legend. College athletes have come into this bar to have a drink for over a century. Under-age friends will not keep the rest of the team from enjoying a beer to celebrate a victory in the bar. Before they know it, a few beers have turned into shots and soon enough, the guys will make their way over to the bar and begin to order ICBs.
I have imbibed an ICB a total of five times. Each time, I was completely drunk out of my mind. I had to be in order to drink Guinness. It took me years drinking the hard stuff and paying more until I finally forced myself to down a brew. I chugged it and gagged and since then, I’ve been a big fan. I’ve just never been able to drink the dark stuff. I’m a light girl all the way.
After those five times drinking an ICB, I can say that my morning wasn’t exactly storybook. I did my first ICB on a dare from Jazz. I did the other four also on dares from Jazz. Those five morning-afters, I awoke in a strange bed with a badass headache that only intensified when I opened my eyes to the extremely brilliant sunlight streaming through the windows. It always took me a good five minutes to distinguish the room as Jazz’s.
As if that wasn’t enough, it seemed like something completely random and out of left field always happened. One morning, I even had gum in my hair. Another morning, my bra was wrapped around my midsection. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was the morning that I awoke with my underwear only around one leg. Jazz swears no men accompanied us home on both of these nights. On another morning, I even awoke to the DVD title screen of My Little Pony, a DVD set that I gave to Jazz for Christmas one year as a gag gift. The last time I drank an ICB, I awoke with a big bruise down my spine and my t-shirt was ripped. We’re still trying to figure out if we were playing WWE and I was channeling Hulk Hogan.
The point I’m trying to make is that when ICBs get involved, things happen that wouldn’t normally happen. If my headache wasn’t enough to make me regret the night’s binge-drinking fest, then the roiling, queasy feeling in my stomach certainly was. Every morning after I grieved my decision to drink. And yet I answered Jazz’s dare a total of four more times knowing exactly what was in store for me. Glutton for punishment? I most definitely was.
“So you’re going to do it,” Jazz asked me on Thursday night, the night before I was to go on a very important date with Levi.
“Yes, Jazz. I called him Tuesday and told him I had Friday off for him to impress me.”
“I think he certainly has earned it,” Jazz replied. “The boy did watch Bring It On for you. I’ve never been able to get a male to do that for me. Ever. I’m a bit jealous.”
I laughed at Jazz and then laughed even harder as a male co-ed elbowed his way through a throng of college kids to order a fifty-cent draft. She gave the kid a dirty look. The look was clearly lost on the kid. His eyes roved over my friend from top to bottom, taking in her cleavage and finally settling on her face.
“Need a drink?” he asked.
“Do I look like someone who drinks cheap-ass beer?” she snipped.
The boy shrugged his shoulders. “Who doesn’t like beer?”
I flashed her a look. The boy was right, who didn’t like beer. Jazz certainly liked beer. Jazz just didn’t like fifty-cent draft night. Unfortunately, fifty-cent draft night was the only night Jazz could get to the bar to go over the details of the date and the night that Levi’s benefits would finally kick in.
“Do I look like a fucking cougar to you?” Jazz asked letting her first f-bomb of the night fly. She waited thirty minutes; I was impressed. The boy stared at her, shocked into silence. “Mature men are like fine wines,” she said turning back to me and ignoring the college kid. He stared daggers at her. “Hard to fine and rich as hell. This one, he’s a dime a dozen, a Natty Ice.”
“Hey!” he shouted clearly not happy with being called common and poor. The common part was probably true, but I doubted the poor part. College students at our local Jamestown University were anything but poor. Locals got in on scholarships, but a good number of kids were from out of state and paid big money to get into the private school.
“Walk on, kid,” Eddie said materializing from the kitchen. He looked at me and then looked at Jazz. “F-bomb disposal unit reporting for duty,” he kidded.
“Thanks, Eddie,” I said.
“Pain in the ass little frat boy,” Jazz muttered. “Why don’t you go iron your shirt collar, there’s a part that’s starting to fall.”
“Jazz,” Eddie remonstrated when the boy turned around and glared at her.
“What?” she asked, the complete picture of innocence.
Eddie rolled his eyes. “I didn’t sign on for this tonight,” he huffed. “I’m going back to the kitchen. Don’t worry, I’ll listen for more f-bombs.”
“Thanks, Eddie,” I said and waved at him. I turned back to Jazz. “Behave yourself.”
“Behave myself? Please. It’s college fucktard night. It is completely impossible for me to behave myself.”
I laughed. “You know, I love how when we were in middle school, we laughed at the fifth-graders. And then when we were in high school, we laughed at the middle schoolers. In college, we couldn’t stand high schoolers, and now that’s we’ve graduated and are working we-“
“Hate everyone else. Fifth graders, middle and high schoolers, college students, and parents.”
“Parents? Really, Jazz? You hate parents.”
“Yes, I do. With a passion. More than I hate Mr. Jersey Shore back there who tried to pick me up.”
“Pray tell, why do you hate parents?”
“Simple, they think they’re better than me. Like having a kid suddenly makes you a worthwhile member of society. Well, you suck, and your a kids douche and will be a drain on society. Looks like I’m the one winning, bitches.”
“That’s only you’re second martini for the night. How have you gone off the deep end already?”
Jazz gave me a dirty look. “All I’m saying is that I pay my taxes, I own my own condo, I pay for my pretty little Maxima out there. I may not have a kid, but I have an amazing wardrobe.”
“If Daddy accountant could you hear now.”
“I’m ignoring that because I’d much rather discuss wardrobes. Your wardrobe in fact. What are you wearing tomorrow night? Evaluation night always means you need to look stunning.”
“Do you no longer trust my judgment?” I asked her.
She narrowed her eyes at me. I knew that look well enough, and it meant she did not trust my judgment. “You do own a pair of Seven jeans, do you not?”
“Aren’t those a bit…pretentious?”
Jazz shuddered. “You’ve been hanging in this bar too long. No, they are not pretentious. Wear the Seven jeans. They’re dark and I like that top you got from Express last spring. The hot pink cotton tube top with the fitted bodice and three long ruffles. Gold shoes. Do I need to bring by a pair of my shoes? I have some gold Kenneth Coles you can wear.”
“I think I can manage, Jazz.”
“Well, where are you going?”
“He has reservations at Lakeside at seven. Then he said something about that new chocolate and wine shop that opened. I don’t know though. I’ve never been able to do chocolate and alcohol without getting sick.”
“And tonight is not a night to get sick.”
“Exactly. I think it would be fun to play putt-putt golf or something. I haven’t done that in awhile. Or go to Los Pesos for margaritas.”
Jazz smiled. “Margaritas do mean good nights.”
I nodded my head and filled another fifty-cent draft. “Good nights, but bad mornings.”
Jazz waved my words away. “It doesn’t take alcohol to make a good night a bad morning. You do realize that I’m going to want details.”
“Sunday afternoon?” I asked her.
“You know I will definitely be here for this!”
I nodded my head and began to wonder about Levi and these past four weeks. This, whatever it is that this is becoming, I forgot about how the nerves could wrack me. I was nervous, excited, and fearful all the same time. I wanted to get the night over with, and yet I wanted to savor it too. Evaluation night is one great big oxymoron of feelings.
That night, dressed to the nines in the outfit Jazz handpicked, my hair blown out to perfection, and my make-up hiding my imperfections, I excitedly and nervously awaited Levi. He was picking me up at my house. When my doorbell rang, I nearly ran into my bedroom and hid under my big goose down comforter.
But I was a big girl. I was a big girl letting someone else into my life, something I use to be able to do with no problem. Yet as my hand turned the doorknob, I paused halfway between an open and a locked door. I breathed in deeply. This could be a wrong decision. It could very well be a bad decision, and yet, I would survive. I had Jazz and my aunt and Eddie said I even had him.
I opened the door. Levi stood there in a pair of chinos and a thin blue merino sweater, his sleeves rolled up onto his forearms. I hadn’t bothered to notice before, even when we were cuddled up on his couch together watching movies, but Levi did work out.
“Hi?” he said nervously and his dark hair flopped across his head. My nerves seemed to match his. “I never thought I’d get you to consent to this. For a minute, I actually believed you had changed your mind and decided to work.” He smiled though to show he was joking. Probably half joking, anyway.
“Nah,” I said stepping out into the spring air. “Besides, Jazz would kill me if I did.” He looked at me quizzically, but I didn’t elaborate. He led me to his car, a Jeep Cherokee and even opened the door for me. “Wow,” I said thoroughly shocked by his actions.
He looked over at me from the driver’s side seat. “And my momma said I’d never learn my manners.”
“Well, if she starts harping on you, I’ll tell her otherwise,” I said as he put the car into gear.
The drive over was nice. We both talked about our week and various things that we had in the works for the future. It was a little different making small talk with Levi. In fact, thinking about it, we had never really made idle chit chat like this before. Majority of the time, our conversations were heavy with sarcasm as we debated different things like Ilsa’s motives and that a libertarian was a real political affiliation and not me rebelling against societal constraints.
We arrived at Lakeside and Levi grabbed my hand. Holding hands, we walked into the restaurant together, very nearly a real couple. I found out that he had a table reserved on the veranda. It was late spring and the rays of the setting sun were touching the lake, the namesake of the restaurant, and before long it would be dark. Once it was dark, a piano player would begin playing old school classics that everyone would know.
The piano would be later. Now I was focused on the menu. Lakeside was known for its fish. I don’t know where the first comes from, but its never bad. And as long as it doesn’t come from the lake or the river right outside city limits, I don’t quite care where it does come from.
When the waitress came I ordered lemon pepper tilapia with butternut squash. It was my favorite dish, the light, flaky tilapia covered in lemony goodness and then that pepper! Oh it was always a pleaser. Levi ordered salmon in teriyaki and steamed vegetables. To cap off the evening, he also ordered a bottle of Chardonnay for us to enjoy with the meal.
Dinner was great. The wine was the perfect compliment and by the time the bill was brought, I had a nice happy buzz. I quickly added the numbers together and realized that Levi was probably paying a hundred for this meal.
With a one hundred-dollar dinner, watching movies I like no matter emasculating they may be, visiting me at work, and being patient for our first date, Levi’s evaluation was going along quite nicely. Not that I had expected him to fail. But still, a scorecard is a scorecard, and I really wanted him to score high.
After dinner, he tried to persuade me to visit the chocolate bar, but I stood by my decision to not mix chocolate and alcohol. When he heard my reasons why, he quickly saw my point of view and swept me off to Los Pesos.
Los Pesos was a popular Mexican restaurant and bar with the Americanized favorites and wonderfully strong margaritas. Once upon a time, Jazz and I were regulars here. Such regulars, in fact, that a good number of the servers knew our exact order and within one minute of sitting down, a litter of strawberry and lime margarita would be sat down at our table before they did confirm the dinners we always ordered.
Around 9 p.m., Los Pesos was still crowded, but starting to thin out. A booth in the back was open, and Levi and I decided to go ahead and sit there. He surprised me by going against the grain and sitting on my side of the booth with me. As soon as our drinks were ordered, I felt an arm landed around my shoulders. I turned and looked at him.
“Sorry, but I’ve been wanting to do this all evening.” I smiled and cuddled into his shoulder. “Actually, for longer than that.
When you’re behind a bar tending to everyone’s needs, it makes it hard to cuddle you.”
“Because I’m so cuddle-able.”
Levi laughed. “Oh get over it. The girls with hard shells are the mushiest on the inside. It’s just a matter of cracking them.”
I stared up at him and raised my eyebrows. “A nut, I am?”
“Nuts make life interesting,” he said. “Anyway, I think my sanity is clearly up for debate after watching Bring It On.”
I started to laugh, but stopped once I felt Levi’s lips crush my own. I knew we were in a restaurant, but it was a back booth and the waitress had just left. Knowing that, I tangled my hands in his silky hair and didn’t mind indulging myself in his kisses.
Levi was a good kisser too. I thought it the first time he kissed me outside in the parking lot beside my car with the streetlight illuminating the empty, darkened lot. It was a brief kiss, caught in between a peck and some tongue, but it was nice. I was ready to make the kiss last longer, but Levi pulled away. I believe he knew exactly what he was doing, knew that leaving me wanting more from him gave him the leverage. Well, it gave him leverage for the moment anyway. It was after the kiss that I persuaded him to watch Bring It On.
Later, our kisses consisted of heavy make out sessions on his couch. Those were nice. We’d started cuddled together, both with a beer in our hands as we watched TV, a re-run of the The Office or perhaps Millionaire Matchmaker if I didn’t feel like expanding his filming-industry horizons. Then we’d finish our beers and cuddle closer. At some point, we’d forget what was going on and lose ourselves in each other, kissing and squirming on the couch until my body began to tell me to screw the month-long wait. Once that point came, I’d pull away and remind him we still were strangers getting to know one another.
I pulled away and thirty seconds later, as if our waitress knew what was going, the margaritas were deposited on our table. They were as good as I remembered. After two drinks, Levi paid the bill and suggested a stop at the movie store. I picked out Dazed and Confused. It was a movie we had both seen which meant it wouldn’t matter that we weren’t going to watch it.
And we didn’t watch it. Levi went through the pretenses of putting the movie in, but as soon as we sat down together on his couch, the movie was completely forgotten, clothing was discarded, and I was carried to his bedroom, my legs wrapped around his waist.
The next morning, feeling fuzzy headed and a little queasy, I opened my eyes and nearly had a heart attack. I was lying naked in a bed that was not my bed. I looked around trying to get my bearings. This bedroom did not belong to Jazz either. I was…I was…I wracked my brain trying for the life of me to remember last night. I didn’t have to remember for too long because Levi’s hand landed across my body and tugged me against him.
The entire evening suddenly unfolded in my brain and I had brief moment of panic. I had finally done it, finally succumbed and let another person into my world. At the moment I was still alive, unhurt and unscathed. It didn’t matter; the future was a blank slate. The happy endings that the movies show you are fake, completely fake. Because those happy endings that the movies show, they are just stories that haven’t yet been written. In real life, things just end. They run their natural progression and that’s it. It’s more sad than happy to see something die like that.
“Sunshine,” Levi asked using his new nickname for me. He decided to call me it after I told him that Aurora meant dawn.
“You’re so tense. Are you okay?”
I didn’t know how to tell someone that I was having second thoughts. Especially when those second thoughts were because I was a neurotic head case. Levi would never believe me; he’d think it was something he did last night when everything he did was so completely right.
That meant I had to lie. “I’m not on anything,” I blurted out. Well, it wasn’t why I was so tense, but it was a truth.
“I wore protection, Sunny,” he said and I could see the smile gracing his lips, lips that kissed me senseless last night.
“I know but I just…I can’t get pregnant,” I said well aware how crazy and bumbling I looked. “I’ve got to go…go get that…yeah, that stuff….the morning after,” I babbled and threw the covers back. I just have-“
Levi grabbed my arm and drew me back onto the covers. “Rory, I picked you up.”
“Right, I’ll call a cab.”
“Sunny,” he said in a slow, patient voice and as pulled me closer to him. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on is I can’t get pregnant. I’m not ready; I’m sure you’re not ready. I just need to get that stuff, Levi, I need it and the sooner, the more effective it is,” I said struggling to move back to a sit.
Levi held me reassuringly close. “Okay, okay,” he said and glided his fingers through my hair. “I’ll get dressed. But you have to look at me in the eye and promise me that you’re only worked up because you’re not on any birth control.”
“Yes,” I said in a rush and then bit my lip.
Levi regarded me for a moment and then brought himself to a sit. “Let me get some clothes on,” he said and swung his legs over the bed.
I watched him stand up, hunting around the floor for his clothes and suddenly wanted to pat myself on the back for my excellent choice in men. Levi did have a body. It was all lines and contours and all of my doubt suddenly fled.
So what if it was a mistake? In the grand scheme of things, nearly every action we took led to an ending of some sort. I knew that things with Levi would end. I just hoped that this particular mistake might hang around longer than I had anticipat
No comments:
Post a Comment