Gazelle (2 page)

              His heart slumps as he rolls to a red light.  Her face flitters and he shoves it away, watching her skitter across his mind and fall back into place beneath the immediate tasks and unknown he has meticulously mounded over her for the past year. He sighs and scratches his forehead, wincing at the ache of her memory, as he spots a dive bar. 

“
Time to celebrate
.
”

              The music is blaring, drunken karaoke that carries out into the street and greets him at the red, cushioned doors.  The crooner stands in the corner, beneath a blue spotlight, swaying and belting a string of mumbled notes t
o‘
Tears of A Clown
.
’
 
Surrounding him are tall, metal tables with locals watching him, glassy eyed as they hum along, waiting for their turn.  A wood backdrop carved with dust-covered filigree surrounding huge mirrors behind the bar reflects the sad debris of a beaten, exhausted crowd.  Curved bottles lining its shelves glitter like seductive fortunetellers, promising their mysteries for the right price.  Julian tugs his cap down and hunches up to the bar. 

“
Jack and coke
,
” he calls to the bartender, and then adds
,“
Make it diet coke
.
”

              The bartender, a robust, balding man in a Hawaiian shirt and khakis, frowns into the drink he begins to prepare.   His cheeks, a deep, sun burnt red from his daytime construction job, puff around his bulbous nose for a second as he swallows his retort.  No
real
man orders diet coke, Julian imagines him saying.  The bartender places the drink in front of Julian, mockingly tossing in a few maraschino cherries.
 “
Four bucks
.
”

              Julian places money on the bar, scoops out the cherries and sips the drink, watching the bartender glance at his own reflection in the backdrop and quickly smooth his fledgling hairs over a non-existent hair line. He feels his phone vibrate and takes it from his back pocket.  His brother and th
e‘
Sunday Check-I
n
’ call.  He hit
s‘
ignor
e
’ and runs an idle finger over one of the cherries before squishing it into the bar top.  To his left, a short man a little older than himself, Latino with a pompadour and thin moustache, is running game on an aging Latina in a tight tube top and skinny jeans.  She wears heavy, cat-like eyeliner over sagging, hooded eyes that stare back at her in the mirror.  Her hair stands high on her forehead and sprouts out on the sides in a red halo of ratted, teased tangles.  She ignores his advances and drinks her Bud Light, as if he were indistinguishable from the loud, obnoxious singing.  He watches the little man smile and laugh, carrying a conversation of two by himself.  His teeth flash much too often, both desperate and menacing.  Yet there is nothing truly unkind, nothing threatening in his wide eyes, hungrily devouring the woman even as she pays him no more attention than a fly.  He hops around her, ordering a drink from the bartender whose simple nod acknowledges h
e’
s a minor character in this script.  Julian envies them, like he does with every person he sees acting out their lives without an audience.

“
Hey!  Uh, excuse me!
?
”

              He thinks, immediately, the call is for him.  He hunches lower and sips his drink, fighting the resentment of being recognized just as he was beginning to relax. 

              The bartender turns an annoyed eye in his direction and lumbers towards him.
 “
Yeah
?
”
“
Can I borrow your phone?  My car is dead
.
”

              The girl is suddenly pressing into his right side as she leans over the bar.  He sneaks a glance up at her.  He sees the nose ring and glasses first, followed by the arms covered in tattoos.  Her lashes are long behind the thick frames, her plush lips dark red against her brown skin.  Her hair is a thick mass of black held in a loose bun at the base of her neck.  She glances down at him for a second without any real regard before turning her imploring look back at the bartender.

“
Do
n’
t you have a cell
?
”
“
Of course I do
,
” she says, annoyed.
 “
But the battery is gone.  I
t’
s been dying fast lately.  Look, I just need to call roadside service and the
y’
ll help me.  Can you let me use your phone
?
”
“
No, sorry
,
” the bartender says.

              She stares back at him in disbelief.
 “
Are you serious
?
”
“
Yeah, man, I ca
n’
t do it.  I
t’
s a business phone
.
”
“
This is an
emergency
!  Please, I just need to call one place.  Look, see
?
”
 
She rummages through an engorged, overfilled satchel and pulls out a roadside card from a glittering wallet covered in stickers and random collage.
 “
You can dial the number for me and everything, I promise i
t’
s not long distance.  I
t’
s an 800 number
.
”

“
I ca
n’
t!  Sorry
!
” The bartender shakes his head.
“
Why?
!
”

“
Because, then what?  I have to do it for everyone?  No way, man
.
”

“
Jesus, are you for reals
?
”

“
Yeah, sorry
.
”
 
He turns his back and waddles away before she can say anything else.

“
Hey
,
” Julian says, reaching for his own phone.
 “
You can use mine
.
”
              The girl turns her gaze to him fully for the first time.  Her initial instinct is to refuse assistance from a stranger, especially given the crowd.  She frowns for a second, scrutinizing his possibilities of being a threat.  His eyes are hard to see beneath the cap but she can see his skin is clear, healthy, and his teeth gleam with excellent care.  Her eye catches his large, blue pools, seeing them clear and bright.  Her own eyes widen and his heart sinks, thinking she recognizes him.
 “
Really?  Are you sure?  I swear i
t’
s not long distance
.
”

“
Yeah, i
t’
s cool.  Go ahead
.
”

“
Thanks
!
”
 
She pounds in the number and presses the phone to her ear.
 “
That gu
y’
s a dick.  Like, who does
n’
t have a cellphone these days?  Nobody needs to use his stupid phone, nobod
y’
s gonnabother him for it!  Wel
l…
except me..
.
”

“
Yeah, he seems kind of like a prick
,
” Julian says.

“
I just got off work and I stopped at the liquor store across the street for two seconds and my fucking car wo
n’
t start up again.  And i
t’
s my frien
d’
s bachelorette party tonight. 
I’
m so late as it is
,
” she grumbles.
 “
Yeah-hello?  Alice Alvarez.  1998 Toyota Corrolla, pale blu
e…
I do
n’
t know.  It wo
n’
t start.  Yeah. How long?  Oka
y…
I do
n’
t have a phone, thoug
h…
hold on
.
”

              She puts her hand over the receiver and looks at Julian with the same imploring look she gave the bartender.  There is nothing flirtatious or helpless about the gaze but Julian immediately feels a desire to help her, and cannot understand how the bartender refused her so easily.

“
They need to have a number to call once they get here.  Are you going to stick around for like, a half hour or so? 
I’
ll buy you a drink
.
”
“
Sure
,
” he smiles.

              She flashes him a quick grin, her red lips stretching thin over large teeth.
 “
Okay, hello?  Yeah, use this number.  Thank you
!
”

              She rubs the screen furiously on her shirt and hands him the phone.
 “
Thank you so much!  I totally appreciate this
.
”
“
I
t’
s not a big deal
.
”
“
Apparently it is
.
”
 
She knocks on the bar and leans forward towards the bull of a bartender.
 “
Hey, man!  Can I at least get some drinks
?
”
              He saunters towards her, a look of both triumph and submission, rolling a toothpick in his mouth.
 “
What you want
?
”
“
Gimme a gin and tonic.  What do you want
?
” She asks Julian, nudging him playfully.

“
Jack and coke
.
”
“
Diet
?
” The bartender snickers.

“
Yeah
.
”
              The bartender moves to make the drinks and Alice shakes her head, laughing as she turns to Julian.
 “
What a miserable fuc
k
…”

“
Yep
,
” Julian smiles.

“
My name is Alice
,
” she says, holding her Healthy Grocery nametag up to show him with one hand and extending the other.

              Julian takes her hand and hesitates.
 “
Dennis
.
”
“
Dennis
?
”
“
Yea
h…
why?  Do
n’
t I look like
a‘
Denni
s’?
”

“
I-honestly have no idea.  The onl
y‘
Denni
s
’ I know was
a‘
menace
.
’ You kind of have a menace about you, I guess. What do you do
?
”
              He sipped on his empty drink to buy time.
 “I’
m a dentist
.
”

              Her laugh was a sharp bark that startled him.  She covered her mouth and took her drink. 

“
Eight bucks
.
”
              She tosses a ten on the bar.
 “
Keep it, friend-o
.
”

“
Wha
t’
s so funny
?
” Julian asks, leaning towards her.

              She shakes her head and sips her drink.
 “
Dennis the dentis
t…
reall
y
…”

“
Yea
h…
wh
y’
s that weird
?
”
“
Do you know that dentists have the highest rate of suicide
?
” 

“
I know.  I
t’
s why I chose to become one. 
I’
m very ambitious
.
”

              She laughs again, this time in a more melodic, joyous manner that resonates. 

“
Yo
u’
re pretty sharp for a dentist.  I guess I should have guessed, though, from those pearliesyou have.  That smile could light up Antarctica
!
”