Chapter 10: Love, Death, and Lies 2
How can one become so bounded
By choices that somebody else makes?
How come we've both become a version
Of a person we don't even like?
We're in love with the world
But the world just wants to bring us down
By putting ideas in our heads
That corrupt our hearts somehow
When I was a child
Every single thing could blow my mind
Soaking it all up for fun
But now I only soak up wine
-Adele
The laser lights flicker and pulse to the beat of the hip hop music. From his elevated platform, the rotating DJ gazes on the increasingly crowded dance floor below. We snake our way past the bar, and through the crowd, guided in the dark and smoky air by the lasers and neon lights. Beneath us, the floor vibrates with the thumping bass. We are in a single file, all six of us, with me in the rear. The place is starting to fill up, but we manage to find an empty booth.
“Here girls,” Caitlyn, our fearless leader announces as my five companions and I pour into the booth. One by one, we take our sitting positions; Caitlyn, Brittany, Jen, Bethany, and Taylor, all single twenty somethings…and me.
I rarely socialize with my younger nursing staff. As a middle manager, I’m professionally responsible for them. I look out for them while holding them accountable. I’ve learned it’s best to maintain boundaries. This is their usual Friday night ritual - clubbing and dancing. Tonight, I finally accepted their invitation. The stress has been overwhelming. I’ve been sleeping in the guest room until I find an apartment. Tom keeps going over the same lame excuses; he’s sorry, it was a lapse of judgment, he loves me, he was overwhelmed by my sexiness during the Cynthia fight, he begs me to stay, blah, blah, blah. Maybe that’s why I’m here tonight. With no social life at all, maybe I just need to be with girls and have fun for one night, even if the girls are a decade younger.
I haven’t been to a night club in years. I had to dig through the back of the closet to find my favorite party dress, a navy blue satin, spaghetti strap, backless mini dress. Fortunately, my figure hasn’t changed since the last time it hugged my body. The half cup push-up bra complements the low neck line. With my long dark hair flowing down, light makeup and dark red lipstick in place, I added the silver hoop earrings, and strap high heels. I ditched the matching clutch purse for a wrist wallet that holds my cell phone, key, ID and credit card, a little cash, and I was ready.
The young nurses slip into our booth, three on one side, then I join the two opposite them. The waitress takes our drink orders. My friends order those fruity high alcohol content cocktails. Caitlyn orders Sex On The Beach, Brittany wants an Alabama Slammer, Jen orders a Long Island Iced Tea. I order the respectable …White Zinfandel. From the end position of the booth bench I’m facing the crowd of people walking back and forth between the bar and dance floor. A young man, must to be early twenties, eyes me over as he approaches. Clean shaven with a large bulk of hair slicked back in a pompadour hair style, he can’t be older than the minimum drinking age. My friends notice as the guy with the Elvis hair gives me a sly smile as if to let me know he is God’s gift to women.
“Listen up, girls,” Caitlyn announces. “We can’t compete with Kiva in the guy department tonight, so the rest of us will just have to settle for her rejects.” The girls whoop and cheer and offer me high fives.
“No worries,” I assure them. “You can have them all.” Our drinks arrive with our bowl of nachos. We talk loudly over the music blaring from the speakers. At first we laugh at some of the lighter moments at work. All of them are good nurses, if not relatively inexperienced. Away from the workplace, I get to see another side of them. Bethany wants to be in a committed relationship but is frustrated she hasn’t yet found a man who feels the same way. Taylor has a crush on a surgery resident. Jen is considering ending her relationship. Caitlyn already ended hers and is in no hurry to jump into another one. I take on the role of the big sister of the group dishing out advice for whatever it’s worth. Already, I’m relaxed and enjoying this. I sip wine and laugh with them, listen to their stories, tell a few jokes and remember that I was exactly like them at their age. With Tom at a conference and Clarissa at a sleepover party, this is just what I needed. The crowd is growing, the dance floor is filling up. The DJ is on a run of 80s music. The drinks flow and our revelry rises as we chit chat, laugh harder, and rate the guys passing by our booth.
“Alright, ladies,” Caitlyn informs, “time to dance.” With my wrist wallet firmly in place, the six of us rise. Again, I take my place at the rear as we form a six member train winding through narrow passageways, squeezing and pushing through densely crowded bodies in a serpentine formation past the bar, beyond the tables, until we’re under the lights of the dance floor. We claim our own private corner, form ourselves into a circle…and we’re off.
Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” reverberates all around me. Instinctively, I move to the jingle jangle rhythm, stepping, turning, shaking, clapping. It’s a bit awkward. My young party mates smile and give me looks of approval as if to say, “Kiva is actually here…Go girl!” We circle in more tightly as we belt out together,
Some boys take a beautiful girl
And hide her away from the rest o' the world
I wanna be the one to walk in the sun
Oh girls, they wanna have fun
Ok, not bad. Continuing with 80s segment, the DJ segues into Laura Braxxxxn’s “Gloria”, then Whitney Houston’s “I Just Wanna Dance With Somebody”. Now I’m warming up. Next is Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy.” Now I’m really enjoying this. My worries and tension fade. I’m relaxed. My body synchronizes with the rhythm and fast tempo. In my blue dress, my hips sway and shimmy to the beat. I forget I’m still wearing high heels as my feet keep perfect cadence. The six of us pair up, swinging, holding hands clapping, pumping our fists in the air as we belt out the chorus:
Are we gonna let the elevator
Bring us down
Oh, no let's go!
Let's go crazy
Tonight, I’m in a night club and I’m happy. Right now, nothing else matters. We continue on the dance floor for another five or six songs before returning to our booth for a break…and more drinks, as we pack our sweaty bodies together. The girls congratulate me for a successful return to clubbing after a lengthy hiatus with high fives and fist bumps. The waitress brings us another round of drinks. We laugh and chatter but can barely hear each other as I put away my second White Zinfandel.
Brittany asks me a question but I do not hear it. Something straight ahead has caught my attention. I see a line of people sitting and standing at the bar. There is one woman in particular. I can only see her back, but she looks chillingly familiar. About my size, fit, shoulder length light brown hair. She’s talking to another woman. A handbag is strapped over her shoulder. A button is pinned to the bag. It looks like the button of a university logo….HOLY SHIT!…IT CAN’T BE!…Cynthia? Why would she be here? I don’t see Josh. I can’t see her face. Is it her?
“Kiva?” Brittany asks, repeating her question “what’s your favorite restaurant?”
“Uh…Alfredo’s,”…best authentic Mexican food in the city”, I reply without diverting my eyes from their target straight ahead….Cynthia? Really?…Can’t be.
“Come on, ladies,” Caitlyn urges as she springs out of the booth. “Time for round two.” This time, I leave my shoes and I go along with the flock, back to the dance floor which is now a little more crowded than when we left it. We find a relative clearing near a corner of floor and stake our claim. The DJ has now moved on to an eclectic mix. My body is moving but this time, I’m not quite into the spirit of it. My eyes scan the bar. The woman who is possibly Cynthia left her spot. I try looking around the club but the large size of the room and the density of dancers make it very difficult. I notice a guy standing off to the side, next to a male friend, eyeing me. He looks thirtyish, not bad looking. We make eye contact briefly and he gives me a little smile. I do not reciprocate and look away. Now is not the time to be meeting new men. I hoped it wouldn’t happen but he cuts between Bethany and I. He’s in my space and asks with a toothy grin, “Mind if I cut in?” Actually, I do mind but my indifference doesn’t stop him from getting into my space as he begins dancing with me. I respond with the most disinterested uninspired dance in the history of humankind, being careful not to make eye contact. Finally, the song ends and he moves on.
The music selection has now shifted to international styles. Jen, a pretty Latina, takes my arm and we dance the salsa. I’m sure she’s dumbing down to accommodate me as she assumes the male role and I follow her lead. The other girls circle around us and clap. Now I’m having fun again. Really? Cynthia here? What was I thinking? Come on, Kiva, get a grip.
We dance through several more Latin style numbers when the DJ announces it’s time to line dance. My companions and I scramble into formation as The Electric Slide begins. The Electric Slide? I danced to that at weddings and clubs years ago. I didn’t know it was still around. Nevertheless, it’s fun. I’m surprised I still remember how to do it. Right, close, right tap. Left, close, left, tap. Back four steps, tap, step forward, tap, back tap, step forward, kick, turn right, repeat.
You can't see it
It's electric!
You gotta feel it
It's electric!
Ooh, it's shakin'
It's electric!
From my shifting positions in the line, I view the club from changing vantage points. The temptation is too great. I can’t resist the opportunity to look for Cynthia. I survey the bar but I don’t see her. Maybe she left. I look among the tables but there are so many bodies here. Right, close, right, tap and…there she is! Or at least someone who might be her. At a table with her female friend. As I move and other people move in front of me, I only catch fleeting glimpses. Is that Cynthia? Why? It doesn’t make sense.
The Electric Slide is over and the DJ comes up with another line dance, Cotton Eyed Joe. Fuck that. There’s no way I’m dancing to Cotton Eyed Joe. Besides, I have more important things to do. As my party lines up, I break off and head back to the booth alone where I order another wine. I’m a little sweaty in my blue dress and the break feels good. My eyes lock into the table of interest. I watch…and I drink. Right now, I hate the world. I hate My husband. I hate Cynthia.
Once again. I can only see her from behind. Her shape, her hair is just like Cynthia’s. There’s the unmistakeable college logo. How can she not be Cynthia? Easily. A lot of people are from that school. A lot of women have light brown hair like that. I’ve got to find out.
As I finish my current glass of wine, I see a man approach the two women. A big rugged guy. Dark hair. A beard. A button up shirt and Chino pants. Maybe they know each other. No. They’re introducing themselves. The women stay seated while the guy is standing. The three of them are chit chatting. Interesting. He seems to be paying more attention to Cynthia. Where is Josh? This could be juicy….That’s not Cynthia, Kiva. Stop being stupid.
Their conversation goes on for several minutes as I put down another glass of wine. The man motions with his hands that he’s going to the bar and asks what would they like to drink. As he leaves the two women alone, I see my chance. Is that Cynthia? I’m going to find out once and for all.
As I leave my booth and head toward this woman, I feel a twinge of unsteadiness. I know I’ve already had more than enough wine. As I get closer, it is still difficult to tell from behind. Now she is only fifteen feet away, then ten, then five, then one, then….”Excuse me,” I call out. She turns. The moment of truth is here. We are face to face. And she is….definitely NOT Cynthia. What the fuck is wrong with me? There’s nothing else to do now except try to socially salvage this one.
“I noticed your school logo,” I tell her. “Are you a student there?”
“I was,” she answers, “but I’ve graduated.”
“I see,” I reply. “You remind me of a friend who went there.”
“Oh really? What’s her name?”
“Cynthia Garrison. She was a cheerleader. Do you know her?”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell. When did she graduate?”
“About twelve years ago.”
“No,” the woman giggles. “That was wayyyy before my time.”
Well, that was awkward. Looking even more like an ass, I engage in small talk for another minute. As I turn to leave, I literally bump into the man who here a few minutes ago.
“Well hello, ma’am,” he says with a full glass in each hand.
“Hi,” I return.
Up close, I can see that he looks to be about 40 years old, 6 foot and powerfully built but with a protruding beer gut. The hair and beard are brown and later I’d notice a bald spot on his crown. Not really my type.
“Here ya go ladies,” he says as he places their drinks on the table. The two of us are standing as he turns to me.
“My name is Mac.”
“I’m Kiva.”
“Well Kiva, excuse me while I call the cops,” he says as he mock calls on his cell phone. “You know it’s illegal to look as good as you.”
Oh, cringe.
He continues, “I thought this place was a club but now I see it’s a museum because I'm looking at a lovely piece of art.”
Double cringe.
“Would you mind grabbing on to my arm so I can tell my friends I’ve been touched by an angel.? I see your glass is empty. Hey bartender, give this beautiful lady whatever she’s drinking.”
Before I know it, I’m holding another full glass of Zinfandel. The two women invite us to sit with them. Now the situation is really awkward. I’m in a foursome conversation with three strangers. I decide to chat for another minute, then gracefully leave. The wine is really kicking. I’m laughing loudly at bad jokes. Crazy thoughts are running through my head. I think of Tom and how he betrayed me online and his attraction to Cynthia and how he secretly enjoyed seeing me humiliated. I think of Cynthia and what she did to me. As I’m howling it up with my three new friends, I look at the woman resembling Cynthia. Now my alcohol fueled mind imagines she IS Cynthia. Through the smiles and laughter, I fantasize jumping across the table and tearing her apart. Pulling out her hair. Scratching up her face. The bitch.
I notice Mac is directing most of his attention toward me. Of the three women in his company, I can tell I’m the one he prefers. Ha! I’m winning. A guy thinks I’m more attractive than Cynthia. I know it’s not Cynthia but she’ll do as a stand in. If the real Cynthia were here, I’d beat her do.
Mac is starting to look more attractive to me. He said he’s divorced and runs a business selling tractors. I try to avoid giving information about myself but I’m thinking maybe I should meet more people outside of my sphere. He is so focused on me now, the other two chicks may as well disappear. Finally, it happens.
“Kiva, would you like to dance?”
I nod. Ha! Point, set, and match. Take that, Cynthia. I bet I could steal Josh if I wanted.
Mac takes my hand and we carve our way into what is now a throng of people dancing and bouncing, until we find our space on the floor. The song selection seems to be R&B. We face each other and dance to Arethra Franklin’s “Respect”. It’s pretty much standard stuff. Mac’s not a bad dancer. We move in rhythm without any physical contact. Next was Tina Turner’s music. For some reason, I found myself stretching my face just inches to his and mouthing the chorus:
“You Better Be Good To Me”
The DJ calls a break. We head back to my booth where I left my shoes. I try to hide that my gait isn’t normal. The booth is empty. I have no idea where Caitlyn and my group have gone. Mac hands me another drink. I sip about half of it as we talk some more. Finally, I tell him it’s been nice meeting him and wish him a good night. I hadn’t realized the music restarted.
“One more dance?” Mac asks.
The music is now some loud techno/electronica. The atmosphere feels much more frenzied than before as the lights and lasers flash frantically, splashing over the packed surging bodies.
My partner and I clap and sway our hips in front of each other. The music thumps right through my body. I look up and see the the tiny twirling spots of lights on the ceiling. My tensions melt away. My limbs move, my hips gyrate as if under a hypnotic spell. I feel great. Mac and I pick up the pace. Delirious bodies close in from around us. It’s all so dizzying.
Mac has moved behind me, placing his hands on my hips as we sway together. I can feel his beard like prickle on the back of my neck. The beer belly presses onto my lower back. He reeks of sweat and cheap cologne as he whispers something about how beautiful I look. I feel something else as he tries to grind his crotch against my ass. I pull his hands apart from my hips and slip away from his grasp like a wrestler. We continue dancing to the pulsing, throbbing, ear splitting music for another fifteen minutes. Lights relentlessly flash everywhere. It doesn’t feel right. I’m getting this foreboding feeling. My movements are uncoordinated and I’m stumbling everywhere. I’m lightheaded.
“Excuse me, sir,” I tell the man. “I have to leave now.”
The electronica music stops. The DJ announces a slow dance.
“Can you stay for one more, darlin,? My I have the privilege of a last slow dance?”
“Last one,” I tell him. I latch my hands around his neck. I feel one of his big sweaty hands on the upper bare part of my back and the other hand on my lower back over the dress. His hot breath blows on my collarbone as our hips sway in unison. I see now that this guy is actually pretty gross. I think I had six glasses of wine but I’ve lost count. I know I’ll hate myself tomorrow, but right now, I can barely stay awake. He kisses me on the top of my head while he slides his hands onto my ass and kneads it. He pulls my butt closer to him while grinding his cock against my crotch. That does it.
“We’re done,” I tell him as I once again pull away from his arms. I can barely see straight as I wobble back to the booth to retrieve my shoes. The idiot follows.
“One more?” he asks.
“No,” I firmly respond as I put on my heels.
“Just one more?”
“I said, NO!”
I walk past the bar and toward the exit trying my best to not look like the inebriated mess that I am. Finally, out the door and into the night air. I take a deep breath and try to figure out how I’m going to get home while intoxicated. I can handle it, I tell myself. Fuck, who am I kidding? I was an ER nurse. That’s what all the drunk drivers say. I’ll wait for one of my girls.
“Kiva?” A male voice calls. Oh fuck, it’s Mac. He followed me outside. “Look,” he says, “I had a very nice time tonight and would very much like to see you again. If you had enough of dancing, I thought we could go back to my place. You know, we can talk where it’s quiet and get to know one another better.”
“I told you,” I snarled. “I’m leaving. I’m going home.”
“Well sugar, I don’t think you’re in any shape to drive. Here, let me take you home.”
He reaches to grab my arm but I pull it away and try to scurry down the steps to the parking lot. The heels and the alcohol take over as I trip on the last step and fall on my ass, letting out a shriek.
“I got you, honey,” Mac declares. “You’ll be just fine.”
A large pair of hands descends and lifts me up by the arm pits. The next thing I know is that I’m upside down. My hair is hanging straight down toward the asphalt and I see the parking lot beneath me moving. That’s when I realize that I’m hoisted over his shoulder and being…carried.
“My Ford F-250 truck is over here, sweet cakes. I got plenty of room in the cab. I’ll take you back to my place where you can get some rest and freshen up.”
I try to scream but can only get out some weak moans. “No, please put me down,” I beg.
“No worries, honey. We had fun tonight but the night’s still young.”
I’m in a cold panic. I can’t make a sound. I feel like I’ll pass out.
“Kiva?” a woman’s voice calls. “Kiva, is that you? Kiva, ANSWER ME!”
I’m not sure who’s voice it is. I don’t think it’s one of my nurses. I see a pair of long legs and boots. I can’t see further.
It IS Kiva! What the FUCK! Kiva, what’s going on? Do you know this man? KIVA, ANSWER! DO YOU KNOW THIS MAN? SAY SOMETHING.
I suck in air and try to find my vocal cords before gasping out the word, “HEELLLLP”.
“Alright, mister,” the woman scolds. You let her go immediately. I got a picture of your face and license plate. Put her down, NOW!
“What’s your problem, lady? I’ll take good care of her.”
“I’m done talking,” she growls. Next, I hear a smacking sound of a fist crashing into a jaw. Mac’s grip on me loosens and I’m sliding down his back. A long leg with a boot kicks upward and my captor doubled over, letting out an “Oooommph” as I tumble onto the asphalt.
Lying on my side, I’m confused and disoriented. I here a man say, “Holy Shit, did you see that. That chick just kicked some guy in the balls.” Mac is doubled over. Then I see…her. I see, the long legs, the blonde hair, the statuesque figure….It’s Luanne? Luanne? Yes, no doubt about it. She takes a step back, then delivers a roundhouse kick to the head, sending Mac sprawling on his back. She plants her boot on his neck and screams, “YOU SON OF A BITCH! YOU SO MUCH LAY A FINGER ON HER, I’LL TAKE YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF!
She heads over to me. “Kiva, are you ok? Let’s get you up.”
I don’t understand it. This makes no sense. I’m not even sure I know where I am. I’m in some kind of neverland. Now I get it. Luanne wants to fight me. I stagger to my feet. My slurred words are barely intelligible.
“Luanne,” I garble, “if you wanted a rematch, you could’ve just called me. You didn’t need to beat up my man.”
She stares at me and says calmly, “Kiva, you’re drunk. Richard and I will take you home. He’ll be out here in a minute. Clarissa and Madison are at a sleepover party. This was our night out. I’ll pick up Clarissa and bring her to you in the morning. Let’s go. I’ll let your friends know you’re with me.”
“With you? The great Luanne? The perfect mom? My son won this. My daughter was first place in that. Aren’t we just the greatest? Alright Luanne, you want a rematch, you got it. Let’s do it right now.”
I stagger to my feet make a fist, then teeter around. “Get ready, Luanne. I’m coming at you.”
“Kiva, please stop. You need to get home.”
I stumble toward Luanne with my right hand cocked. I see three Luanne’s. I throw a big looping punch that travels aimlessly through the air. Luanne doesn’t even move as my fist misses her by a foot. The momentum of the swing spins me around before I topple back into the asphalt to the laughter of several curious onlookers. I look up to see Luanne with a sad expression shaking her head.
Flat on my back, I tell her, “I don’t know what you hit me with, but I guess we’re even.”
**************
It’s morning. I’m in my bed and I feel like shit. I smell like dirt and sweat. My head is pounding. I’m wearing just panties. My blue party dress is folded over the chair. I vaguely remember Luanne putting me to bed. She’ll be here with Clarissa soon. I force myself out of bed and into the shower. I don’t remember everything from last night. I just know that Luanne saved me and I made a complete horse’s ass of myself. I take a shower, drink some coffee, pop some ibuprofen, and wait. The doorbell rings.
I barely open it when Clarissa gallops in. “Mommy, we had fun. Come on Maddie, I’ll show you my bedroom.” The girls scamper off. The two of us are alone, face to face.
“Look, Luanne,” I say, “Let’s get this over with. I’m a whore. I’m a cheap skank. Go ahead. You can say it.”
She pauses, looks at me and softly replies, “No, I’m not going to say it. I don’t believe it’s true. Something happened. You’re going through a rough spell. I can tell.”
“Well, yeah, but…”
“You don’t have to say anything. If you ever want to talk, you have my number. I’ll buy you lunch.”
This is hardly the same Luanne I fought at the dance studio. I’m genuinely touched by her concern. “Thanks,” I say to her, “I think I’d like that….Luanne? Why did you rescue me like you did last night. I was almost unconscious. God knows what that guy would have done. I mean, you put yourself out there and beat the shit out of him.
Luanne stands expressionless as we look at each other’s eyes. I see her eyes begin to tear. After a few moments, she breaks the silence while keeping her voice low.
“I was date raped once.”
Again, there is silence. My eyes now tear. Slowly, we approach each other. We hug.
