Center of the Universe

                                                                                                                                      

    “Why do we have to go there again?” whined Brenda. Bob’s was not what she had in mind tonight. She was dressed for some clubbing in a mini-skirt, fishnets and a tight, brown sleeveless sweater. It accentuated her curves nicely, but it wasn’t going to help her fit in with the crowd at Bob’s.

     “I like it there. I don’t want to go somewhere with a bunch of divorced fathers drooling all over us. I just want to sit, put some money in the jukebox and drink a few beers. We could talk, you know? Is that so terrible? For us to talk without some stupid booty bass music turned up so loud that we have to scream at each other?” 

     This conversation was a dance, really; Brenda knew that we’d wind up at Bob’s, and she knew the real reason that I wanted to be there. 

 

     “Play some Built to Spill.”

     I was agonizing over what to punch up with my last selection when this request came from behind the bar. I looked over my shoulder to see Bill grinning at me, washing glasses in the sink. I blushed.

     “Okay. What song should I play?” God. I was acting like a fucking schoolgirl instead of a twenty-eight year-old grownup. 

     “It doesn’t really matter, they’re all good songs,” he said before he headed down the bar to take a drink order.

     I’d never even heard of Built To Spill, and I didn’t know which song to pick. I chose “Center of the Universe,” which seemed somehow appropriate given the object of my affection. I walked back to the booth where Brenda was peeling the label off of her bottle of Budweiser. 

     “What is this you played here?” asked Brenda. She was clearly bored, and the music that was neither familiar nor heavy with dance beats was helping her with that. I felt a little guilty for dragging Brenda here, but keeping her out of the clubs for one night isn’t going to kill her.

     “They’re called Built To Spill. I like it.” 

     Brenda rolled her eyes at me. “Built To Suck is more like it.”

     “Ha-ha. Thanks for coming with me. I know you’d rather be dancing and getting some free drinks, but this is more my speed lately. Maybe I’m getting old,” I said with a shrug. I really wasn’t fishing for a compliment by saying that.

     “If you’re getting old, then I’m getting old, and I’m not getting old. So that’s that,” said Brenda, then finished her Bud with a gulp followed by a small belch.

     “Nice manners,” I gently chided.

     “Like it matters in this place. We don’t belong here, Deena. These people are not like us. I’m going to get another beer. Do you want something?” She started to get up, but I reached for her forearm.

     “What do you mean, ‘not like us?’”

     “I’ll bet we’re the only two people in this bar without college degrees, for starters. They all sit around philosophizing, drinking a bunch of beers I’ve never heard of. Do you think there is one person here who went to GAS-C?”

     “Going to technical school and not to college doesn’t mean we can’t fit in with these people, Brenda. Maybe if you didn’t come here dressed like that…”

     Brenda interrupted me. “I’m dressed like this because we made plans to go to a club, if you remember. I wouldn’t have dressed like this for these slackers, that’s for sure. I’m going to get a beer. Maybe I’ll just tell that bartender that you want to fuck him tonight, so that I don’t have to come here and play these fucking games with you anymore.”

     “Brenda, don’t say anything to him, alright?” 

     “I won’t, Jesus. Calm down. Do you want a beer?”

     “Yes, please. Another of these,” I said as I waved my bottle of Bell’s Amber Ale. “And not a word to Bill besides the order.”

 

     I heard about Bob’s a couple of months before from Rocco, my cousin’s boyfriend that delivers beer for one of the local distributors. He was talking about this weird bar downtown that carried all these crazy beers that he didn’t really deliver anywhere else. It sounded interesting to me, not like the sort of place that would be in downtown Flint. I’d been getting tired of the club scene for a while. Really, I’m not sure that I ever liked it, but I needed some way to unwind after Scott and I broke up.

     I took my first trip over there later that week, and I felt like a fish out of water.  Bob’s was like a bar you’d go to in a big city or something, with a bunch of people in smart glasses, torn jeans and thrift-store shirts and a jukebox with a lot of music I’d never even heard of. It was like there was a whole world right under my nose that I didn’t know anything about. I was so overwhelmed that I almost turned around and walked right out. I’ll bet I wouldn’t have been the first person to do that. But then I saw the bartender.

     He was tall and thin, with greasy brown hair and a five o’clock shadow covering a just prominent enough jaw line. He also had the darkest brown eyes sinking into deep sockets with such huge bags under both that it aged him five years. I wanted to take care of him. 

     I sat in the stool that was closest to the taps, figuring that was a strategic location. He walked over and spun a cocktail napkin down on to the bar in front of me. “What can I get you?”

     I was a ball of nervous energy, the tips of my ears so hot you could light a cigarette off of them. “Uhhhh, what do you recommend?” Brilliant.

     He looked me up and down, and I could tell that he knew I felt out of place. 

     “I’ve really been enjoying the beers that Bell’s Brewery in K-zoo makes.”

     “Okay, I’ll try one of those.”

     “Well, they make like five. What sort of beer do you normally drink? That might help decide which one you’ll like.”

     “Uhhhh, I guess I usually just drink Bud.” I felt like I was really starting to dig a hole. I was afraid he thought I was some white trash idiot.

     “I’ll start you off with an Amber Ale. It’s got a lot more flavor than a Bud, though, so be ready for that,” he said, as he turned toward the huge floor-sitting beer cooler. He reached into one of the doors and pulled out my beer. I can’t imagine how someone could memorize where that beer was, there must have been fifty kinds in that cooler, judging by the size of it.

     “Can I get you a glass?” he asked as he returned with the Bell’s.

     “No, thanks, I’m fine with the bottle,” I said as I took a drink. “Wow, that’s really good.”

     “Yeah, they’re doing a great job over at that brewery. It’s three dollars.”

     “Oh, right, keep the change,” I said as I handed him a five.

     “Thanks,” he replied, and then turned toward the cash register. He put the money in without ringing any keys, then put his tip inside a jar on the back bar.

     “I haven’t seen you in here before. I’m Bill. What’s your name?”

     “I’m Deena. You’re right; this is my first time here. My cousin’s boyfriend Rocco told me about the place.”

     “Rocco that drives a truck for Allied Distribution? That guy’s pretty awesome. He hasn’t been in here for beers for a little while, though. At least not when I’m working.”

     “Yeah, he’s getting pretty serious with my cousin Margaret. They’ve only been seeing each other for a few months, but already they’re acting like an old married couple. But I agree, he’s a super nice guy.”

     “It’s nice meeting you. I’m glad Rocco recommended us,” he said before heading down the bar to take an order from a cute girl with black-framed glasses and a t-shirt that said “I Want to Die.” 

     “Me too,” I whispered to his back.

 

 

     “Scott, I asked you not to call. There isn’t anything left to discuss.” I wanted to hang up the phone, but I knew he’d only call right back and I’d have to unplug it. It would probably be less of an ordeal to just hear him out.

     “It’s just that I was talking with Brenda about things, and she pointed out that you cheating might have been a way for you to try and get my attention.” 

     “You talked to Brenda? She’s my best friend, Scott. There isn’t any reason to put her in the middle of things like that.” This was really out of line for both of them. Why was Brenda talking to Scott at all?

     “Yeah, I knew you’d be mad. But the past six months haven’t been easy for me, Deena. I’m just trying to get through this.”

     “Then why don’t you go to a shrink like I suggested? Your benefits will cover it.”

     “It’s hard to get an appointment when you’re on afternoons. I have trouble getting up before ten on weekdays, you know that.”

     I did know that. I knew a lot about Scott after being with him for almost five years. But I wasn’t sure that I knew much about me.

     “I’m sure it’s hard to believe, but this hasn’t been an easy time for me, either. But it is the right thing for both of us, no matter how hard it might be.”

     “That’s easy for you to say, you’ve been the one to make all the decisions for us. You decided to cheat on me, you decided we weren’t in love anymore, you decided to move out. Now you’ve decided it’s the best thing for us.” I could hear that he was starting to cry.

     “Scott, this isn’t good for you. You have to find a way to move on. I have to get off the phone now.”

     “Why, so you can go see Andre?”

     “Scott, you know I’m not seeing him. Please stop. I have to go.”

     “Fine, Deena. Fine. I’ll let you get off the phone. But I’d like to know how you’re ever going to find someone better than me. Someday you’ll realize you gave up on the best thing that ever happened to you.”

     “Alright, Scott. Goodbye.” I clicked the phone off and hoped real hard that he wasn’t right.

 

 

     I was out back of the salon, taking a break from a coloring appointment with Mrs. Enright when Brenda decided to join me for a smoke.

     “Ladies night at Gentle Jim’s tonight, and you’ve said ‘no’ to me three weeks straight. You’re going tonight, no excuses,” she said as I handed her one of my cigarettes. We were both forever quitting, but Brenda at least didn’t buy them.

     “Brenda, I’m just not in the mood for clubs these days. It was fun to go with you for a while, just dance and drink and forget my troubles. I guess I don’t need that as much right now.”

     “Well, I’m glad of that, really. We can do something else, if you’d rather,” she said as she picked at her aging French manicure.

     “I’ve been going to this dive bar downtown. Would you want to go there with me for a few beers tonight?”

     “A dive bar? For real? I’ll try anything once, you know that. At least I won’t have to rush around to get these fixed,” she said, holding her hands up.

     “Ha-ha, yeah, not a manicure crowd.”

     “Seriously, though, how did you even find out about some dive bar downtown?”

     “From Rocco, Maggie’s boyfriend. He made it sound like a cool place, so I tried it out a few weeks ago. I really like it,” I said as I stamped out my cigarette with a grind of my left flat.

     “Okay, I’ll take your word for it. You want me to drive so you can have a couple of extra drinks?” she asked with a wink.

      “Actually, that sounds perfect.”

 

     Brenda was looking over the exposed brick walls that were covered in mirrors and signs of all sorts of imported and craft beers.

     “I feel like this is all written in a foreign language. They do have Budweiser, right?”

     “I think so. I’ll go ask Bill. Do you want to sit in that booth over there?”

     “Bill, huh? You’re on a first-name basis with the bartenders? How long have you been coming here?” she asked as she sat.

    “I only know Bill. I’ve only been here a couple of times. It just always seems to be when he’s working,” I said with a slight blush.

     “Oh, what a coincidence. Go get us some drinks, and then I want to know what’s going on here.”

     “There’s nothing going on, Brenda. I’ll be right back,” I said, and headed for the bar.

     “Hey, Deena. Brought a friend tonight. That’s cool,” said Bill with an encouraging smile.

     “Yeah, that’s Brenda. We’ve been friends since we were in cosmetology at GAS-C together. Are you staying busy tonight?”

     “Nah, it’s pretty slow. I didn’t know you did hair. I might have you see what you can do with this mop,” he said as he ran his right hand through his unkempt yet perfect brown hair.

     “Sure, I work at Prewitt Salon in Burton. I have a card here in my purse,” I said as I started rummaging through my oversized bag. After searching for what seemed like an embarrassing length of time, I handed one over to Bill.

     “Senior stylist, nice,” he said, looking at the card and then me with an arched brow. “I’ll call later this week. What can I get for you and Brenda?”

     “Brenda wants a Bud, and I’ll have a Bell’s Amber, please,” I said as I reached back into the mess on my shoulder for a ten dollar bill.

     “I got this round for you Deena,” announced Bill as he returned with our beers.

     “Really? That’s so nice, you don’t have to do that.”

     “You’re like my best customer these days, it’s the least I can do.”

      I headed back to Brenda at the booth feeling like I’d won the lottery instead of five dollars worth of free beer. My friend had been watching the entire exchange with Bill, and was ready to pounce.

     “Alright, I get it now,” she said as she took her bottle of Budweiser. “You and that bartender have quite the flirtation going. He’s cute, a little greasy for my taste, but I see what you like about him.”

     “Do you think he’s flirting with me? He’s hard to read. I figure a lot of girls throw themselves at him, working in this place.” This comment made less sense seeing as how the bar was pretty dead that night.

     “Oh, whatever. He just bought us beers. That’s bartender code for ‘I want to get in your pants,’” she said as she reached across the table for one of my cigarettes.

     “Maybe you’re right. Hopefully you’re right,” I smiled.

 

     “Thanks for calling the Prewitt Salon, this is Deena, how may I help you?”

     “Deena, hi, this is Bill from the bar. I’m glad you answered.”

     “I’m just covering the phone while the receptionist is at lunch. How are you?” I asked, nervously twirling a pen between the fingers of my right hand, trying not to sound as wound-up as I felt.

     “I’m good, thanks. A little tired. The bar got pretty busy last night after you and your friend left.”

     “Mo’ money, mo’ problems, I guess.” Jesus. Where the hell that did come from?

     Bill laughed more generously than I expected. “That might be true if I had any decent tippers, but that wasn’t really the case. Hey, like we were talking about, I’d like to come in and have you work some magic on my hair. Do you have any open appointments this afternoon?”

     I flipped to my page of the appointment book, but was disappointed when it revealed that I was completely booked until I was scheduled to leave at five.

     “I’m sorry, Bill, I’ve got nothing this afternoon.” I had a thought, and lowered my voice to a whisper so that my boss Bertha couldn’t hear. “I’m off at five, though. If you want, why don’t you come to my place this evening and then you won’t have to pay the salon?”

     “Really? You would do that? That’s great. Yeah, sure, when and where?”

     I gave him the time and my address. This was the most the most duplicitous date I’d ever arranged.

     

 

     I flipped on WHNN, figuring classic hits radio was inoffensive and also a way to avoid hearing “Livin’ La Vida Loca” for the thousandth time that day. I changed out of the all-black outfit that we wore as a uniform at the salon, choosing my favorite jeans and a clingy, but not obvious, red t-shirt. 

    I opened the linen closet to remove the grooming set that I kept in the apartment. I found the aqua-blue plastic container that held the older pair of scissors that were retired from the salon, as well as my collection of combs, Wahl clippers and other necessities. I removed the clippers and placed them on the bathroom sink. I hadn’t used them in a while, and they were full of sandy brown hair. This was the only sign of Scott that I had neglected to remove from my apartment over the last six months.

     I would cut Scott’s hair every week. He liked to keep it very close-cropped, which worked for how fine it was. I often tried to talk him into letting it grow out a bit more, to maybe change up his style a little bit. His response was usually that he liked it this way because it helped the protective helmet that he was required to wear at the plant fit much better. Eventually, it was just one more thing that bored me about Scott.

     I pulled out the Hoover that Scott gave me as a twenty-sixth birthday gift from the closet and vacuumed up the remaining hairs of my ex. Until his next inevitable phone call, this was hopefully the last bit of him in this place.

     Bill was scheduled to arrive at six, and it was now a quarter past. I quickly ate a small yogurt and then lit a cigarette in nervous anticipation. Twenty minutes past. WHNN cued up Hall and Oates’ “Maneater,” which brought a momentary sly smile to my face. I stubbed out the cigarette just as the DJ did a time and temperature. Twenty-six minutes past.

     There was finally a weak knock at my door a few minutes later. 

     “Hey Deena, I’m sorry I’m late,” said Bill with the slightest hint of a smile. He was carrying a six-pack of Bell’s Amber. “I brought this for you,” he said, handing the beer to me.

     “It’s no problem, it gave me a chance to pick up around here a little bit so that you wouldn’t think I was a slob. Thanks for the beer.”

     “Thanks for inviting me. I’m at your mercy.”

     “Hehehe,” I said in a conspiratorial tone, rubbing my hands together. “We should start with a shampoo. That’ll probably be easiest in the kitchen,” I said, and beckoned him to follow me.

     I turned the water on to let it warm up a bit. “It might be best for you to take your shirt off so that we don’t get it all wet. I’ve got an old cape to keep the trimmings off.”

     “Right,” said Bill as he removed his battered blue Michigan tee with crossed arms, unveiling a thin but still muscular torso. I tried not to make it obvious that I was watching him, but it probably was.

     “The water’s ready,” I said. He came to the sink and I began to wet his hair with the sink’s hose attachment. “I noticed your t-shirt. Did you go to Michigan?”

     “No, I didn’t get in. I was sort of a lazy student in high school, so I didn’t have the grades. I did a couple of years at UM-Flint, which is how I ended up here.”

     “You didn’t grow up in Flint?” 

     “No, my folks are in Bay City. I just stayed here after I dropped out of school.”

     “Huh. I always just assume that everyone who’s still here grew up in Flint. I don’t think I know anyone who didn’t grow up here,” I said as I massaged some mint salon shampoo into his scalp.

     “I’m the exception to the rule, I guess,” he said as I began to rinse the suds out.

     “Alright, let’s go to living room,” I said as I led him to a gray metal folding chair I’d set up in the center of the room. “What sort of cut were you thinking about?”

     “I figured you’d have some suggestions. I have pretty thick, unmanageable hair, really. Lots of cowlicks that always give me trouble,” he explained as he sat in the chair.

     “Well, there are some pretty suitable styles for that hair type that are popular right now. Let’s start with trimming the back and sides. I’m going to go pretty short there with the clippers, if you don’t have any objection.”

     “Not at all, I trust you,” he said, closing his eyes.

     I grabbed the Wahls from the dining room table and set the attachment for one-quarter inch. As I worked the clippers through the sides and back, Bill’s dark brown hair fell onto the cape and floor around our feet. He kept his eyes closed.

     I worked my way around his ears, taking far more care and time necessary. I’d done this a million times, and could do it in my sleep and with little thought. I brought my face close to his, and as I put the clippers to his temple I pressed my breasts against his left arm in a purposeful manner.

     Bill opened his eyes. “There can be a sensual quality to getting a haircut. It’s pretty intimate,” he said, his hand reaching for my leg.

     “Yes,” I said in agreement with his words and hand. I turned off the clippers and unsnapped the cape from his neck and let it fall to the floor. Bill moved his hand from my leg to my hip, pulled me in close and put his face in my chest. I put my hands under his elbows, nudging him to his feet and then toward my bedroom.

 

     “He still hasn’t called,” said Brenda. It was more a statement than a question, because the answer was probably already obvious from looking at my face.

     “No. It hasn’t been a week yet, it’s no big deal.” I peaked in through the back door of the salon to make sure that my next appointment hadn’t arrived yet. Seeing that she hadn’t, I lit another cigarette and offered one to Brenda.

     “Deena, don’t be stupid. It is a big deal. If you really like this guy, it might be time for some drastic measures,” she said as she lit the smoke.

     “I’m not a drastic measures type of person. If it was just a one-time thing, I’m alright with that.”

     “I don’t believe you. You’ve been moping around here since the afterglow wore off. Is he working at the bar tonight?”

     “Yes, It’s Thursday. But I don’t want to bother him at work,” I said as I took a deep drag.

     “Then I’ll go and talk to him for you.”

     “You do and I’ll tell that guy from the club that you’re the one that gave him Chlamydia,” I said with a stare.

     “Not funny. You win. But you need to do something.”

     The receptionist peaked through the back door. “Deena, your two-thirty is here.”

 

     “Will you just wait here in the car?” I said to Brenda. “I can handle this on my own.”

     “Just hurry up. It’s almost two; he’s probably going to be locking the door in a minute. Get in there.”

     “Okay, okay,” I said, fumbling for the door handle. I opened it and poured onto the sidewalk with an exaggerated stumble.

     I really hadn’t planned on what to do once I was in the bar. I suppose if Bill had smiled and been sweet, then I would have been sweet, too. If he would have been mean, I would have been mean right back. Because I had no plan, I didn’t plan on what to do if he was alone in the bar with some big-chested redhead, and that when I opened the door they’d both look at me as if I’d interrupted something. Even if I’d had a plan, I’m not sure that it would have involved vomiting all over the floor mat. Mortified, I turned around and left Bob’s without a word, as was my impulse the first time I entered the place.

     Sometimes your gut reaction is the right one.

 

 

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