The Informers (Page 18)
“I’m not too sure.” He starts to bite his nails.
“You think the Raiders will make it?”
“Raiders have a chance.” He shrugs, looks around the room.
“How’s school?” I ask.
“It’s great. School’s great,” he says, slowly losing his patience.
“How’s Graham?” I ask.
“Graham?” He stares at me.
“Yeah. Graham.”
“Who is Graham?”
“Don’t you have a friend named Graham?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Oh. I thought you did.” I take a large swallow of Mai Tai.
“Graham?” he asks, looking directly at me. “I don’t know anybody named Graham.”
“How’s your mother?” I ask.
“She’s great,” he says, his foot beginning to shake up and down so fast it’s blurry.
“And Darcy and Melanie?” I ask, grasping at anything. I’ve almost finished the Mai Tai.
“They get kind of irritating,” he says, looking behind me, in a monotone, his face a mask. “All they seem to do is drive down to Häagen-Dazs and flirt with this total geek who works there.”
I chuckle for a moment, unsure if I was supposed to. I get the waiter’s attention and order a third Mai Tai. The waiter brings it quickly and once he lays it down, our silence ends.
“Remember when we used to come here, during the summer?” I ask, trying to ingratiate myself with him.
“Kind of,” he says plainly.
“When was the last time we were all here together?” I wonder out loud.
“I don’t really remember,” he says without thinking.
“I think it was two years ago. In August?” I’m guessing.
“July,” he says.
“That’s right,” I say. “That’s right. It was the weekend of the Fourth.” I laugh. “Remember the time we all went scuba diving and your mother dropped the camera overboard?” I ask, still chuckling.
“All I remember are the fights,” he says dispassionately, staring at me. I stare back for as long as I can, then I have to turn away.
One of the fags whispers something to another fag and they both look over at Tim and laugh.
“Let’s go to the bar,” I suggest, signing the check the waiter must have set down when he brought the third Mai Tai.
“Whatever,” he says, getting up quickly.
I’m pretty drunk now and I’m weaving through a courtyard unevenly, Tim at my side. In the bar, an old Hawaiian woman dressed in a flowered robe, her neck thick with leis, plays “Hawaiian Wedding Song” on a ukelele. There are a few couples sitting at some of the tables and two well-dressed women, maybe in their early thirties, sitting alone at the bar. I motion for Tim to follow me. We take the two stools next to the women in their early thirties. I lean toward Tim.
“Whaddya think?” I whisper, nudging him.
“About what?” he asks.
“Whaddya think I mean?” I ask.
“About what?” He looks at me irritably.
“Next to us. Them.”
Tim looks over at the two women, flinches.
“What about them?”
Pausing, I stare at him, dumbfounded.
“Don’t you go out with girls? What is this?” I’m still whispering.
“Shhh. Don’t you date? Go dating?” I ask.
“Sorority girls and stuff, but …” He shudders. “What are you asking me?”
The bartender comes over to us.
“I’ll have a Mai Tai,” I say, hoping I’m not slurring words. “What about you, Tim?” I ask, slapping him on the back.
“What about me?” Tim asks back.
“What-do-you-want-to-drink?”
“I don’t know. A Mai Tai, I guess. Whatever,” he says, confused.
One of the women, the taller one, with auburn hair, smiles at us.
“Odds look good,” I say, nudging him. “The odds look pretty good.”
“What odds? What are you talking about?” Tim asks.
“Watch this.” Leaning against the bar, I turn toward the two women.
“Well, ladies—what are you drinking tonight?” I ask.