Jen Hall had had a bitch of a day. Just the worst, she thought while trying to fashion an origami crane from the least damp of her three drink napkins. Nothing was going well. Her car’s closeness to a fire hydrant on her block had apparently been scrutinized with a level of intensity rivaling Wimbeldon line judges. The ticket was 50 dollars, meaning that the first 4 hours of her shitty day at work were going straight to the city of Chicago. This included a 2-hour conference call where Tara Thomas-Cordova-Stender, head of marketing, had not so subtly implied that Jen wasn’t working enough weekends. Tara was pregnant and getting angrier by the day. Jen’s crane was coming out retarded.
She checked her watch. Eleven-fifteen. Three drinks in an hour and change. She’d already trounced two old men in Cubs caps and suspenders on the trivia machine. They hadn’t known who Rick James was, and had complained bitterly about the lack of sports and politics questions.
Jen let them buy her a black and tan, and even let the skinny one give her a hug. Congratulatory, of course.
“Noblesse oblige,” he’d said.
“Suuuuure”, Jen had deadpanned over his shoulder.
Twenty minutes more had been spent at the Jukebox, which failed to yield either of the Los Lobos songs she was fond of, the one Sheryl Crow song from college, or even Tom Petty. Tom Petty! She was beginning to take this all personally.
Finally, the tiny gears she often imagined were rattling around in her head clicked one notch over, and she began digging into her purse, now on a mission.
From outside the tunnel of irritation that had grown around her, she heard a question. “Another?”
“Yes,” Jen said without looking up. A moment later she pulled out her phone and dialed from memory.
“Hello?” the scratchy voice said after the third ring. Someone coughed loudly in the background, which prompted giggling by a second, third and possibly fourth individual.
“Where are you?”
"Jen."
“Geoff.”
“How are you? How did that thing at work go? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.”
“I am…” Jen looked up to see her drink arriving. The waitress was in her late thirties and her tired eyes seemed to mirror Jen’s mood. “I am feeling impatient.”
“Why?”
Jen set her phone down on the table to free up her hands. She gave the waitress a five, smiled pleasantly and then leaned over the table to bark into the receiver.
“You were supposed to be here two hours ago!”
The waitress raised her fist in ‘give him hell’ solidarity as she disappeared behind the bar.
“Tomorrow!” Geoff said defiantly.
“Two and a half hours ago.”
“At Ten-Speed?”
“Exactly.”
“Twenty one and a half hours from now.”
“No!” Jen said, but there was doubt in her voice. “Fucking…” She took a deep breath and then an even deeper sip. “Three or four hours of my life…”
“…Tomorrow.” Geoff was giggling.
“…Gone!”
“You sound like you’re having a good enough time without me.”
“You have no idea,” Jen declared suggestively. “I’m doing alright for myself.”
“You guys can un-pause.” Geoff’s voice was muffled. “Just a little domestic dispute.”
“Movie?” Jen asked, suddenly hopeful.
“Video game.” Geoff teased. “The one with the girls in bikinis who fight each other.”
“You suck.” She sighed, her anger draining away. “C’mon. Come out. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I’m out in Wicker Park, hon. By the time I’d be comfortable driving up your way, it would be awfully late.”
“Well, shit.” Jen said with finality. “You sure we were getting together tomorrow?”
“You left me a message on my voice mail. I’ll play it for you and all your good looking admirers at Ten Speed when I see you tomorrow.”
“Ten o’clock?” she asked, warmth creeping back into her voice.
“I’ll pick you up at 9:30.”
“Come over tonight. I’ll leave the back door unlocked if I fall asleep before you get there.”
Geoff laughed. “Your drunk ass will be passed out inside of an hour.”
“No, it… I won’t,” Jen argued half-heartedly. “So, is that a ‘no’?”
“No. No, I’ll drop by.”
“Atta boy,” Jen slurred delicately and then lit a cigarette she’d bummed from her trivia buddies.
“Alright, then.”
“Ok…”
Jen lowered her eyes and whispered sheepishly. “I love you, Geoff.”
She could almost hear his grin on the other end. “I’ll see you soon.”
Jennifer Lynn Hall stabbed the Off button on her phone and rolled her eyes generously. The cigarette Gus had given her was kicking her ass, and Jen’s head was swimming pleasantly. From her little table, she could take in the length of Ten-Speed’s mahogany bar. She began absent-mindedly cataloging each knot of customers.
Jack and Gus were in what appeared to be their usual seats, at the far end of the bar. The hanging TV seemed to be their domain, and Jack had mistakenly set the subtitles on ESPN to Espanol. Gus was yelling at him, smiling and throwing up his hands in theatrical exasperation. “Alright!” Jack yelled, half coughing and half laughing as he dug himself deeper into the set’s menu system. “Shut up for a minute for Christ’s sake. This is no walk in the park, here.”
In order, the next three clusters were couples. The first two were chatting quietly and the third was slyly holding hands and staring idly at the black and white monster movie playing at the other end of the bar. Jen wondered at how this last couple had even gotten in. They looked to be all of 19, and yet Jen had been carded by the skinny kid who posed as a bouncer on Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.
She took another shallow drag and decided that the door boy probably had a crush on her. It was the only logical explanation.
Jenny Lynn had two elbows on the table: one hand supporting her chin, the other angling the cigarette away from her eyes. Before she could look any farther down the bar, her view was suddenly blocked by a tight black dress. It’s owner was all but sitting on Jen’s table, talking to someone in Khaki pants and an expensive looking Rugby shirt.
“Pretty packed” the guy observed from above.
“Justin, let’s go someplace else. I don’t want to stand.” The girl in black leaned harder against the table. Jen deftly grabbed her drink as the whole situation began to tip. It was at this same moment that Jen noticed the lack of a panty line on the dress and the vague pressure building under the khakis.
“Watch it!” Rugby shouted, entirely too late. He slipped his arm around the girl’s back, pulled her off the table and then gave her ass a little squeeze for good measure. Jen’s eyes went large and she shook her head. Little black dress giggled.
“Justin!”
“Dana!” He reluctantly released his grip. Jen carefully put her drink down, ashed her cigarette and began gathering her things.
Before Jen could find her wallet to leave a tip, the girl had spun around and was bending down to catch Jen’s eyes.
“Hey, I’m sorry. Did I knock anything over?” She looked wired, her blue eyes dilated and darting. “I’m such a fucking klutz. I hope you’re not leaving on my account.”
“Nope.” Jen said. “No harm, no foul. I was just on my way out.”
Dana put her hands on her unsteady hips while Justin turned to watch Sportscenter. “You’ve barely touched your drink, and you’re leaving already?”
“Well, I was meeting someone, but…”
Jen cringed. Checkmate. She eyed the door, 30 feet away. If she was going to make a run for it, now would be the time.
“You got stood up?” Dana pulled a chair around and put her face, an uneasy combination of ingratiating awkwardness and intensity, directly in front of Jen’s. “That’s terrible.”
“Oh, no. It was my fault.”
The pale face registered concern. “Really?”
“Yeah, I just got off the… Well, I had the wrong day.”
Dana brightened instantly. “Oh, well! That’s good!”
“Yeah,” Jen said, leaning back. “In relative terms.”
Dana smiled, but as the moment passed, the grin itself remained stranded on her lips, suspended as her eyes drifted away. Jen grew worried that they’d wander back to her and looked down at the table. Dana’s hands, nervously deconstructing the origami crane, were pale and tiny. Jen guessed that she was 23, tops. There was also a faint tan line on her wedding finger.
“So.” Jen said, a little too loudly. “If you guys want to sit here, I’m taking off as soon as I finish my drink.”
“Yeah? Are you sure we’re not imposing?”
Jen took a giant gulp. “I’m a quick drinker and a fast learner.” She said, barely suppressing a belch. “I’ll be out of your hair before your boy gets back with your liquor.”
“Hear that, Justin?” He obviously hadn’t. “Can you get me a whiskey sour? Avec une cerise?”
Justin shifted his torso towards the bar, took two steps forward and put his oversized buttoned leather wallet on the bar. All without taking his eyes off of the A-Rod highlight reel.
Dana finished pinning her shoulder length hair back and fished a cigarette from a tiny black purse that seemed designed to carry either one pack of smokes or a tampon, but not both.
“Who stood you up?”
“Geoff, my boyfriend. But I stood myself up. Tomorrow, not tonight.”
“Timing is everything.”
Jen took her opportunity and forced another eighth of a pint down.
“You are fast.” Dana said approvingly.
Jen nodded. “So, how long have you and…”
“Oh, Justin? What?” Dana mimed looking at a watch, though she wasn’t wearing one. “Two hours and seventeen minutes. Or something.”
“First date?”
“I met him earlier tonight at a bar across the street from my place.” Dana blew smoke and fussed with her bangs impatiently. “He’s like, American Aristocracy.”
Jen shook her head, confused. “Really?”
“Well, he was a prep school guy. Expensive car. Had everything in his life handed to him. I’ve never been with someone like that. Seems good at taking what he wants.” She almost wriggled at the thought. “Anyway. He’s a trader. Or a broker. Something like that.”
“Must be nice.”
“We’ll see. This is more of a test drive than a date. Boys can be like cars. It’s not like I won’t be able to find another ride if I total this one.” Dana flashed a self-consciously reckless smile.
“Funny,” Jen sighed. “I heard that exact sentiment on Oprah last week.”
“No you didn’t!”
“No I didn’t.” Jen admitted. It was getting to be time to go. She could feel the conversation, the evening, the bar; all collapsing in on themselves. “Well, Dana. It was a pleasure.”
“Are you sure we can’t buy you a drink? Stick around.”
Jen slapped a five on the table and put her cell phone in her big camouflaged knapsack. “Aristocracy makes me nervous. No thanks.”
“Maybe we should ditch the jackass, then.” Dana said quickly. “He shouldn’t have everything handed to him.”
Jen stood up, steadied herself, took a deep breath and smiled down sadly. “Good luck.”
The cabbie was listening to the Beatles, Revolver. A DJ broke in occasionally to remind them that the album was being played entirely without interruptions. Jenny Lynn sank into the back seat, bummed a Kool from the driver and let the clean lake air in through the window. It took from “And your Bird Can Sing” through “Got to Get You Into My Life” to get to her front door. It was the nicest cab ride she’d ever had, and when Geoff crawled into bed with her an hour later, she wrapped her sleepy sweaty limbs around him and told him how lucky he was. H