Chapter 85 – Dancing with friends

It takes a good twenty minutes for Trixie to get an Uber and both of us to pile in… much to the appreciation of several young gentlemen standing by who took a long look at our very short dresses as we were lowering down into the car. When we start moving Trixie turns to me takes my hands and begins talking, though more to herself than to me, “We’re like going to have to get you someone who’s just right. I think they should be a little older. You and Mal make such a good-looking couple and it comes across so natural for you even though he’s, like, old.”

I giggle and roll my eyes. I of course knew that Mal was a good ten or fifteen years older than me, maybe a bit more, but I’d never really thought of him as O L D old. Before I can explain it though, Trixie has already moved on, “And big. When I saw you and Darnell in the closet, you two looked perfect for each other. I should know, as we’re about the same size and I KNOW that Darnell and I make a hot couple.”

I hadn’t considered that before. At least not closely. But Trixie was absolutely right in that Darnell and she made a striking physical couple that had nothing to do with the color of their skin. Darnell’s height and wide build was enhanced by Trixie’s comparatively tiny, diminutive body. And Trixie’s curves, especially from her waist to her breasts, were amplified when next to Darnell’s size.

Trixie gave my hands a squeeze as her face scrunched up a bit, “The next part is like hard and stuff. You always glow when you’re next to Mal. His attitude just snaps something inside of you and I know you’ve said that rubs you the wrong way, but I think underneath everything you’re responding to it. Like, in a good way. But your man can’t be that way all the time. I think Arty attracts you because he’s the opposite. He’s small and meek and deferential to you. So, you need someone who’s kind and nice, but at the drop of a feather can just toss you on the bed and dick you down hard!”

I can only sit next to Trixie with wide eyes, hearing what she’s saying but unable to process anything past ‘I always glow when I’m next to Mal.’ Is she just seeing me upset and confusing that with contentment? Or is she seeing the smile I **** on all the time near Mal and assuming it’s real? But she’s noted my fake smiles before. She calls them my big O smiles. My big Office smiles. So it can’t be that. Could she… could my best friend who knows me, knows Paris, best actually be seeing something that I can’t see? Can I… “Oh Trixie, where the fuck did you take us?”

My thoughts come to a streaking halt when I feel the car pull off the road and tap the curb. When I look out, I can’t help but scream out my question to Trixie as I see The Barrell. The bar directly across the street from my apartment. More immediate of concern though is the fact that this is also the bar where I can almost guarantee Sam, Ben and Jack will be. Outside of my own family, these are the only people who might be able to see any of ‘Jamie’ past the makeup and curves of ‘Paris’. And while Trixie already knows about my past I have absolutely NO desire for my three close friends to know anything about my present.

But Trixie doesn’t even try to answer before thanking the driver and getting out of the car. I sit still for a long moment. I really don’t want to leave Trixie here alone as I above all others should know that this isn’t a good neighborhood. Especially for girls dressed like us. Only the driver clearing his throat makes up my mind as I see him look from me to the couple standing just outside of the car door. His next fare.

I put my smile back on and climb out of the car, mumbling a non-apology to the couple before stepping over to Trixie and taking a tight hold of her arm. “Hey, you know what? I actually know this area and… uh… there’s a really killer bar just a few blocks over. I bet we could walk there in, like, five minutes. It was way better than this hole-in-the-wall.”

Trixie’s wrinkled nose tells me all I need to know, “Walk for five minutes? I don’t know about you, but I didn’t bring my sneakers, and I don’t feel like a marathon.”

I try my best to keep smiling and let the idea go. That was honestly the closest bar and saying we could walk there in five minutes is a stretch even if we were in sneakers. In heels? Yeah, it’s another Uber ride.

Without another idea of how to sneakily get out of going into The Barrell, I reluctantly let Trixie guide us inside.

As much as it feels like I’ve been missing for dozens of years, The Barrell hasn’t changed a bit in my six-month absence. I see the collection of regulars plus the few random people who always seemed to find their way here for a good time. Andy is behind the bar chatting up a couple new girls who, for this neighborhood, seem all dressed up. Tight jeans, new sneakers, and t-shirts that could might still have the tags on them. Jenny’s making her rounds picking up empties and dropping off full bottles of beer or glasses of generous pours. And over in the far corner, at our normal table, sits my three friends. An empty chair still holding my place.

I spin quickly away so that even if they do see me, it will only be a quick look. The spin puts me face to face with Trixie who looks excited, “See, isn’t this place great? Like a real dive bar! I’ve heard some girls in the pool say they found boyfriend material here. And it has to be safe, since I also heard that a manager lives nearby.”

At that moment the song changes and a cheer goes up. There’s never been a lot of dancing at The Barrell but there’s a few songs that will pull the couples out to the makeshift empty area that serves as a dancing area. It’s almost always one of those big 80s songs. I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston is one of them. Quite a few people start making their way to the floor when a guy comes over and snakes his arm around Trixie’s waist and lays out his best cheesy line, “Hey, I wanna dance with somebody… somebody just like you darlin!”

Trixie’s hips have already started gyrating to the music as she turns to the dance floor. Just before she’s out of earshot Trixie looks over her shoulder at me and says loud enough for nearly everybody around us to hear, “Hey Paris, just go with it. Take the first dance offer and have fun!”

As Trixie and her temporary beau start dancing together, I start to slowly back up, hoping I can make it to the door and maybe sneak out for a breath of fresh air or something. I don’t even get four steps back though when someone’s hand lands on my shoulder and turns me around to face them. Or rather to turn me so that I can face their chest. For a moment I can’t help myself and compare him to Darnell. Darnell is a complete athlete. Almost all muscle, hardly any fat. This guy isn’t nearly that. He’s what I’d expect to find in this neighborhood… only bigger. He’s a good two inches taller than Darnell and while he’d lose to him in a fight, the guy would still outweigh Darnell by a good forty pounds.

I slowly tilt my head to look up at him, and my smile just appears on my face. The guy seems nice enough. Certainly not as sophisticated as the people I’ve been associating with lately but that doesn’t mean he’s a hick. In fact, his face is earnestly showing his attraction toward me. Or at least his lust. I give a shake of my head that should easily indicate that I don’t want to dance with him, but when I turn to head directly for the door, I spot Ben. He, along with like four other guys, are all standing between me and the door, evidently all of them waiting their turn to take their spin with the two hot girls dressed to the nines.

Someone that looks like me, saying no to someone that looks like the jolly green giant here wouldn’t cause any kind of a stir. Me saying no to four or five guys in a row, including someone who might just recognize that I’m not the sexy, club dressed, flirty woman that I seem to be? That would cause a scene. Taking what I can to avoid my friends, I smile back up at the giant, take his big hand, and lead him to the dance floor. I even mimic Trixie’s hip shake which I’m sure would feel natural if I wasn’t scared to ****. Soon enough the big guy has his arms wrapped around me, his hands resting politely on my waist, while he grins down at me and I put my hands up on his chest.

For the next thirty or forty minutes, I never leave the dance floor. The big guy gets three songs before someone politely asks if he can cut in. After that, the guys seem to realize that they can get a dance with either Trixie or me by simply asking as the song changes.

I spend the three Whitney Houston songs with the big guy, including a slow dance to I Will Always Love You. When the song changes over to Salt N Peppa’s Push It, the giant gets replaced by the next guy. He’s just as tall as the giant, but he looks like a stiff breeze might blow him away. As nervous as I am, since I keep losing Ben, Jack, and Sam in the crowd, I can’t help but laugh with my newest dance partner. He might not dance well but he doesn’t let that stop him from giving it his all.

When Love Shack comes pouring out the speakers my dance partner changes to this cute Latino guy with slicked back black hair. He seems really proud of his clothes and shoes but at a glance I’d guess that his entire ensemble costs less than my heels alone. I spend Pump Up The Jam just trying to keep up with a guy that may well be a professional dancer as he has me spinning and twirling as I’ve never done before. He’s traded out for a short guy that simply holds me tight and buries his face in my cleavage when The Glory of Love played.

As I look down at the funny short guy’s bald spot, I’m reminded of the width and breadth of the people in this area of town. These were my neighbors and friends. I went to street fairs and worked the grill with them. I played street hockey with them. They are so far removed from the uptight stressful over styled group of people that I now associate with that it’s no wonder that I’m dealing with a lot of stress. And as strange and out of place as it is to be dancing with these guys, as being seen as a sexy curvy woman is, I can’t help but feel nostalgic and grow comfortable with dance after dance.

That is until the fun Situation by Yazoo comes on. I don’t even look at the guy that wraps his arms around me, I simply close my eyes, clasp my hands around his neck, and start dancing to the infectious beat. My dance partner and I seem to mesh well together, and I let him take the lead. I even lip sync some of the lines as we shuffle and hustle our way across the floor.

When I feel the guy starting to get a little more handsy, one hand lowering to my ass and the other sliding up my back toward my neck, I open my eyes and smile up at him. My thought of holding off Ben and my other friends by maybe making out with my current dance partner is immediately tossed out the window as my eyes open wider and wider. I can’t seem to stop what’s happening even as I know each step before it happens.

His hand lays limply on my ass for a moment before he grips and cups it tentatively. When he realizes I’m not going to openly object, he uses his grip on my butt pulling us closer together, his thigh pressing between mine. His other hand makes it up to my neck where he holds me still and starts leaning in. He can barely pucker his lips as he can’t seem to stop grinning. And I know perfectly well what’s going on behind that giddy grin. He can’t believe he’s going to kiss a bombshell like me. And to be honest, I’m not sure how he built up the courage to do it.

Because the always shy, naïve, and scared of his own shadow guy that was pulling me in for a kiss was none other than my shy, naïve, scared of his own shadow friend Ben.

To be fair, Ben is a gentle and affectionate kisser. Yes, he’s holding me tight and not giving me a chance to assent or agree to the kiss. Yes, he’s gripping and kneading my ass in an almost overeager way. And yes, he’s rubbing his thigh hard enough between my legs that he’s pushing my skirt up and rubbing right against my panties, but he’s certainly not the most aggressive man I’ve had kiss me.

And evidently my shocked silence, my lack of pushing away, is taken as not only consent to the kiss, but consent to simply stop dancing and continue making out in the middle of the dance floor. When the music changes over to Starship’s Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now, Ben simply keeps making out with me as he starts to sway us a bit side to side. Dancing in a way.

While Ben and I continue to kiss, our tongues dancing in each other’s mouths, his hands openly exploring my body while I hold on tight to him, I can’t think of a way to stop this. Why didn’t someone ask to cut in? Ben obviously didn’t recognize me, but how long will that last? What if he takes a closer look and realizes he’s been kissing his photographer friend Jamie? I’d politely ask him to stop, Ben of all people wouldn’t refuse a woman’s request, but would he recognize my voice? It’s so different from before but it’s still mine. Still similar. I mean, would my nails be enough to disguise my hands if I push him away?

I don’t have any good answers to those swirling questions, so for over five minutes I simply sway side to side and make out with one of my best friends.

When the song fades away and Robert Palmer starts singing about being Addicted to Love, I let out a sigh of relief as I hear a slight cough behind Ben and a voice asking if he can cut in. When Ben stops kissing me, I make sure to smile but look down and let my hair fall over my eyes, giving me at least something to hide behind while he steps away and my new dance partner steps in and grips my waist.

My heart drops though when I look up and see Sam smiling at me. And when he speaks over the music, my knees almost lose the ability to hold me up, “So, Paris… Trixie tells me you’re looking for boyfriend material!”

Before I know it, I’m being pulled in for a make out session with another one of my best friends.