Authors: Candice Dow
Tappin' On Thirty (3 page)
Courtney said, “Actually, Magnus, since we're celebrating our class reunion, I think I'll have something with Crown Royal in it.”
“Crown Royal?” I snapped.
“Don't act like we didn't used to sneak my father's Crown Royal and ginger ale.”
“I guess you're right, but that's not exactly what I had in mind,” I said, half-heartedly.
She slightly rocked side to side to the beat of the music. Her head nodded in unison as she said, “I don't know about you, but I'm taking it back to the roots.”
Magnus monitored our spat, and impatiently offered a solution. “I make a drink that I call the Royal Red Apple Martini.”
Both of our necks snapped in his direction and he explained, “It's Crown Royal, Sour Apple Schnapps, and Cranberry Juice.” His eyes shifted from me to Courtney and back again. “Does that sound like something you'd like?”
I winked at Magnus. “You know what, maybe going back to my roots will help me out tonight. Hook me up.”
Courtney shrugged in agreement and Magnus' shoulders relaxed making him appear a little less agitated. Maybe he was just thankful that we'd come to a decision. Before we could change our minds, Magnus was mixing, shifting from hand to hand, shaking, and pouring. In a matter of seconds, he handed us our much-anticipated drinks in disposable martini glasses. I took a sip and looked at Courtney as she put it up to her lips. Our smiles became all-out grins as there was no doubt that we'd discovered our signature drink for the night. Courtney's bob-haircut swung around as she shouted, “This is slammin!”
I reached in my gold clutch purse and put five bucks in the tip jar. Magnus swirled the remainder in the shaker. Assuming that he was offering to put it in my glass, I gulped down enough to make room for more. He poured the rest and it nearly hit the rim. “Thanks Magnus,” I said.
I raised my thumb at Magnus, deeming him my best friend for the evening. After a few more sips, I was convinced that the Royal Red Apple was clearly my new drink of choice. When it was gone, I turned to Magnus and told him to shake me up another one. Courtney said, “See, I told you Crown Royal is what we needed.”
Magnus said, “I'm glad you like it.”
“Well, I love Crown Royal. It's my father's drink. He swears that black people need to drink dark liquor, because white liquor makes you crazy,” Courtney said and Magnus' eyes wandered aimlessly, as she continued to invite him in on my dilemma. “And I need her to be as sane as possible.”
“Courtney, please leave Magnus alone so he can hurry up and make the drinks.”
Courtney shook her head at me. She wasn't feeling what I felt, and not to mention she was the designated driver, so I ignored her insinuation that I should slow down. My desperation for the drinks to soak up my emotions was successfully relayed, because this time Magnus handed me two glasses and I rewarded him with another five-dollar tip. My eyes toured the room to check if anyone else noticed my rapid consumption of alcohol. No one cared.
We played the whole happy-to-see-you game with everyone that came to the bar. After standing around and noticing everyone else wearing rings and introducing their husbands, I peeped over and found Courtney slipping her band on. What happened to the damn single-and-satisfied attitude she instructed me to adopt? Maybe she was tired of the questions that I'd become tired of hearing?
Married? Any kids? No and no. I ordered another drink and decided to keep count of how many times I was asked. Okay, I'm on number eighteen. Finally, I slapped my left hand on my forehead. Would that stop them from asking? Nope. Then, they began to ask, “Do you have a headache?”
Even the single men brought dates. Did pairing up somehow mean you succeeded in life? Luckily, I had yet to see Scooter's date as I observed him congregating with his friends. Hearty laughter escaped their circle. Were we the only two without a date? My neck turned back and forth scrutinizing my graduating class.
People seemed sincerely happy to see me. Wishing I had more to talk about than my prestigious job, I made general statements about my life thus far. Although I didn't mention it, they still asked. I was on number twenty-seven. Why do people ask stupid questions?
As I contemplated how I could kidnap Scooter from his friends, in walks this tall brown-skinned woman. She had high cheekbones and small Asian-shaped eyes. Her hair was in a short, boy cut. I was immediately jealous. Maybe it was my intuition. She headed toward Scooter's crew and she kissed my man directly on the mouth. As if my brain was no longer in control of my motor skills, I needed someone to pull the plug. My bottom lip hung loosely. My shoulders sagged. If not for pride, I would have stormed out of the reunion.
I pinched Courtney, who was having a perfectly fulfilling conversation with an ugly duckling turned hunk.
She screeched, “Ouch!”
“Come on. We have to go in this room.”
She frowned. “Why?” she asked.
My eyes begged her. Reluctantly, she followed. “Did you see that?”
“What?” She paused and put her hands on her hips. “First of all, calm down.”
“I think Scooter has a date.”
Irritated at my naiveté, she huffed, “Did you think he wouldn't?”
“You're right. I guess I got excited when it looked like he didn't have one.”
We stepped onto the dance floor and camouflaged my disappointment with our rendition of Salt 'n' Pepa. The DJ was spinning all the high school hits. As we bobbed and weaved, did the cabbage patch and raised the roof, I almost forgot that I had no date. That is, until he mixed the slow jams. My head hung. Courtney laughed, “Whatever, remember we used to slow dance like this.”
She wrapped her arms around herself and turned her back to me. Her hands sensually touched her shoulders to simulate they belonged to her dance partner. I followed her lead. We giggled and slow danced solo. She gave doses of encouragement, saying, “Don't feel bad about being here alone. Half of the married assholes are miserable. At least you're happy.”
“You got that right.”
Mary J. Blige's “I Never Wanna Live Without You” pumped through the speakers. Scooter tapped my shoulder, and asked, “Excuse me. Can I cut in?”
I pouted. “Your girlfriend doesn't mind?”
“Well, she's not here. And I won't tell, if you won't tell.”
“Why are you lying? I just saw you kiss her.”
“You just saw me kiss Phil's wife. She went to medical school with me.”
I unfolded my arm barrier. He laughed, and said, “You are so crazy.”
When he wrapped his arm around me, he asked, “Where's your date? I'm not trying to get into a scuffle.”
“I didn't bring a date,” I huffed.
“You're still a player.”
No! I mean let me correct that. “I didn't have anyone to bring,” I said.
“You expect me to believe that.” I nodded, and he continued. “You probably didn't have anyone you wanted to bring, but I'm sure someone would have loved to come with you.”
How could I explain that the market wasn't that good anymore? I just shrugged my shoulders. He held me close. We grinded to the song. I could feel the beat of his heart. Hoping to interpret each beat, I leaned closer. When the song ended, he grabbed my hand and we walked into the lounge area. We both grabbed a shot from one of the hostesses' trays. I gulped down the shot of vodka and grabbed a lemon. My lips puckered and I made a sour face. Scooter shook his head. “You haven't changed.”
I silently yelled,
No! I really have changed. Now, I know how to appreciate a good guy.
No! I really have changed. Now, I know how to appreciate a good guy.
I placed the shot glass back on the tray and repeated the process, hoping that two shots would give me the courage to say all the things that I'd waited nine years to say.
He was first to sit. Slightly stumbling, I immediately followed. I scooted my hips close to him and he wrapped his arm around me.
“Scooter, do you remember how close we used to be?” I asked.
He laughed, not like he was laughing with me, but rather at my dumb-ass recollection. “Yep. I remember. We were way too young to be that serious.”
“I know, but do you think it was real?”
“Taylor, I know it was real. At least it was for me.”
“Do you ever think about how things would have been if we'd stayed together?”
“Not really.”
He lifted his arm, disconnecting our closeness. He readjusted and folded his hands on his lap. “I used to,” he added.
“When did you stop?”
Taking a deep breath, he said, “When I realized that it just wasn't meant to be.”
I sighed. “Scooter, I think it was.”
“Trust me, it wasn't. If we didn't break up when we did, it would have happened sooner or later. We were five hundred miles apart.”
We sat in silence for a moment. I asked, “Scooter, how many times have you been in love since we broke up?”
Without hesitation, he responded. “Once.”
Before I could ask my next question, he cut in, “And you?”
My answer wasn't so simple. “Scooter, I never stopped loving you. I haven't been in love since. I've been practically single since the moment I told you it was over. And I . . .”
He interrupted my confession, “Taylor, you still got game.”
I waved my hand. “I'm not saying I haven't been in relationships.” Laughing at myself. “Too many to count, but I haven't been in love. Hell, I haven't been in a relationship longer than sixty days.”
He laughed, saying, “Sixty days?”
Embarrassed, I nodded.
“Damn, Tay-Bae.”
I blushed. “Yeah. It's rough.”
He put his hand on my knee. “Are your expectations too high?”
“Maybe.” I paused. “No one has measured up to you.”
“Taylor, don't play games with me.”
“I'm serious.”
“You must be kidding me.”
I looked at him. “No, I'm not. I think about us all the time. I feel like if I could rewind the hands of time, we would be together. Or . . . if . . . you . . .” My words slowly exited my mouth, because I didn't know what I really wanted to say. “Still feel the way Iâ”
He placed his index finger over my lip, “But it's too late.”
I pleaded, “Why?”
“Because I don't move backward and I really don't want to think about something that happened so long ago.” He placed his hand on my entangled fingers. “Let's go have a drink for old-time sake.”
“Scooter, I have waited nine years to let you know how I feel.”
He stood up, clearly acknowledging that he wasn't interested. “It couldn't have been that serious if you could wait nine years to say it,” he said.
He took a few steps and I shuffled behind him, “Scooter, I was afraid.”
His smirk dismissed my sincere plea, “Are you trying to have fun or are you trying to sit here and reminisce all night?”
He swiftly walked away from me. Feelings of regret fluttered in my tummy. I needed to vomit. I felt like a fool trying to resolve issues from a high school relationship. I rushed to the bar to search for Courtney. After practically snatching her away from Dexter again, I recruited her to the dance floor.
As we two-stepped to the old-school hits, she laughed at me. “I don't believe you played yourself like that.”
“I figure he's here alone. I'm here alone. I was thinking maybe it was a sign.”
“I knew it. I know you like a book.”
I curled my lips. “He's the only guy I ever loved.”
“And.”
“And I figured we could probably hook up again.”
She shook her head. I shrugged my shoulders. Though I fronted for my girl, my feelings were hurt. After pretending that I was exhausted, I convinced Courtney that we should go. My reunion wasn't what I dreamed it would be. My confession made me feel worse. I should have just shut the hell up. But, no! I go in for the kill. Of all songs to be playing as we headed to the door was Biz Markie's “You Caught the Vapors.”
Courtney looked at me and we burst into laughter. Just as I pulled the doorknob, Scooter pulled my arm. “Tay-Bae, where you going?”
“Home.”
Courtney stepped out the door. “See you outside.” She smiled at Scooter. “Good seeing you again. Keep doing your thing.”
He smiled. “Okay, Courtney. Take care.”
“What's wrong, Tay-Bae?”
Abandoning all dignity, I confessed, “I must look stupid.”
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