For You(25)
Author: Mimi Strong

He leaned back and laughed so loud, it distracted the band and caused them to lose a beat or two.

“Drinks!” he said, pointing to the server making her way to our table. “Race you back. Loser buys the round.”

He covered the distance quickly with his long legs, but then he did that thing again, where he made me pay using money from his pocket.

After a few more cover songs, the band did play an original. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the song. Unlike the others, it was my first time hearing it, and I couldn’t say I had any strong feelings, good or bad.

Sawyer leaned in and said, “This song is about his mean girlfriend. Notice how he punches the word cruel. That was a bad scene, but it’s been an endless source of creative inspiration.”

“What did she do? That was so cruel?”

“She lied.”

I took a sip of my drink—a rye and Diet Coke.

“What did she lie about?” I asked.

He fixed me with his green eyes that looked so dark and bottomless in the low light. “Does it matter what she lied about?”

“Of course it matters.”

“A shorter list would be, what things did she not lie about?”

I nodded along with the music. “Great song.”

He stared at me, his face having the look of someone figuring out a puzzle. Self-conscious, I looked down at my lap and rotated my chair around, so I was partly facing the band and could watch them without craning my neck.

The band took a break, with half of them going outside to smoke and half of them joining us at our table. Every bar in the city was smoking-free, because it was a law for the whole province. Some places had covered patios outside just for smoking, with huge signs imploring the patrons to not yell too much, please.

The guys from the band who joined us at our table were really cool, neither ignoring me completely, nor being too interested and inquisitive. They kept calling the guitarist a word I’d never heard of before.

Finally, curiosity got the better of me and I asked, “What’s a keener?”

The stringy-haired lead singer explained, “One who is keen. A real go-getter.”

Sawyer said, “Same as a brown-noser.”

“No,” the singer said, shaking his head. “Words are specific. They have specific meaning and are not interchangeable. The meaning is slightly different. A keener might brown-nose their superiors, but they get ahead in life on their own merits. On their own hard work.”

The other guys laughed. To me, Sawyer said, “Beware a lyricist. They really care about words.”

The singer turned to me. “We’re trying to encourage Tommy here to be less cool. To care more about art, without apology.”

“Tommy?”

“They call me Tom Sawyer. Tommy. It’s not my name, though. I mean, come on, do I look like a Tommy?”

“Why are you named Sawyer?”

“Why are you named Aubrey?”

The singer waved his hand between us to interrupt. “May I write a song about you, beautiful, mysterious Aubrey?”

Sawyer shook his head, playfully mouthing the word no.

“Sure,” I said.

“You won’t be sorry,” the singer said, giving me a double eyebrow raise.

And then they were off, back up on the stage.

We watched them play for a while, and I tried to remember the last time I’d been out to see a band with friends. It was something most girls my age took for granted—being able to have fun, thinking only of themselves. I pretended to be watching the band, but I was mostly looking at the other young women in the bar. One group in particular was hard to ignore.

Over the sound of the girls squealing and downing tequila shots the next table over, I said to Sawyer, “Is that a normal bachelorette party around here?”

The girl at the center of the action wore an oversized white T-shirt that had multi-colored hard candies stuck all over it. Crudely written in felt marker on the front, back, and sleeves, was BUCK A SUCK. I watched as a few guys gamely offered her a dollar or two, then sucked the candies off her shirt as everyone watched and squealed. The girl wore a tiara with a small veil, which was the main thing tipping me off that she was the bride-to-be.

“You mean the stagette,” he said. “That’s what we call it. Most of us. My mother’s from New Zealand, and she’d call it a hen party.”

“But is this typical? With the costumes?”

“Didn’t you do this when you got married?”

I shook my head, no.

He looked pointedly at my stomach, and I knew what he was thinking—that I’d been a knocked-up bride.

One of the entourage came by our table, teetering on her high heel boots. She wore a tight bodysuit and cat ears, like several of the other girls. “Only a buck,” she squealed.

Sawyer answered politely, “Thanks, but I’m trying to cut back on my sugar.”

The girl glared at me, as though I was the one holding an invisible leash, keeping him from fondling her best friend.

“What’s the money for?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes and walked away.

I leaned in and said to Sawyer, “Was I rude to ask that? It’s just that with a kissing booth or something, it’s usually for charity. That takes away some of the… you know.”

He gave her another look, then turned back to me, his eyebrows high with excitement. “She could make a hundred bucks if she sells all the candies on her shirt for a buck each. And I’m sure she’s got more that she could re-load with.” He nodded down at my purse, on my lap. “Hey, let’s make some cash. Get out some of those suckers I know you have in your purse, then we’ll dip them in water to stick on your shirt.”

“Very funny.”

“You say that now, but it could be very lucrative.” He laughed harder and harder. “And tax-free, too.”

The girls pushed past us and formed a circle on the dance floor. The atmosphere and the booze in my system was making me introspective. Part of me wished I had a group of friends my age to do that stuff with—I’d already missed out on so much, and who knew what the future held for me. Time was slipping away.

The band started to play a familiar-sounding song I couldn’t quite pin down. I closed my eyes and listened to the music, focusing on the lyrics.

When I opened my eyes again, Sawyer looked sad, like he wished the bass player wasn’t there that night, and he could be up on the little stage instead.

When he caught me staring, he flashed me a grin, revealing those perfect teeth of his. Now that my tooth didn’t hurt, I wasn’t thinking about teeth as much, but his were really nice.

“You’re having fun,” he said.