“Hmm, what’s her problem?”
“Pretty girls who fling themselves at the guy she’s hitting on I imagine,” he answers wryly with a good-natured grin.
“I didn’t fling myself at you; Alcohol and stilettos aren’t the most intelligent combination. And besides, doesn’t she know that I’m too old for you?” I smirk.
“Funnily enough I neglected to tell her just how ancient you are,” he jokes. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, course. You want me to go after her and explain that I’m just your half-drunk charge who can’t walk in a straight line?”
“Nah, she was funny but I’m not that bothered – I’m working, so even if I was interested it’d be a non-starter.”
“Why are you working? I mean, the original arrangement at Dartmouth was that I’d call if I needed anything, but I don’t need anything and you don’t come with me on nights out to the student union so why…?” I sway pleasantly once more and his hands flex around me to steady me again.
He sighs, “You know why. The arrangement changed after you needed us. On campus, I tend to know where you are and can watch you from a distance.”
I scowl at this.
“Come on, Em. Do you really think I wouldn’t be watching you? I’m always watching you; it’s my job. But I can’t keep tabs on you from a distance when you’re drunk, scantily clad, in a club crammed with bodies where you could wander off and end up anywhere in the city. I need to be able to get to you quickly, so I have to come with,” he shrugs.
I like it when he calls me ‘Em’, he’s the only one who does and only when no one else can hear. I don’t think I’d like it if anyone but him tried to call me it; it’s his nickname for me, no one else’s.
“That’s reasonable, I guess. Though I don’t love that you’ve probably seen more of my shenanigans than I’m comfortable with…I’ll get Dee to hide me the next time I want to misbehave.”
He just chuckles at this. “If you can still say things like ‘shenanigans’ then you obviously need another drink. I’m assuming that’s why you stumbled over here in the first place?”
I grin and he signals the bartender and orders a round of drinks and some shots.
“Shouldn’t you be advising against excessive alcohol consumption?”
“You’ll drink either way, so if you’re going to get wasted, I’d rather you do it when I’m around to carry you home afterward. Where are Dee and Sophia? I’ll carry the drinks; I don’t trust you not fall over or drop them.”
He walks me and the drinks back to my friends before heading back to the bar to keep watch.
Despite the burn in my feet from dancing in heels and the sweaty bodies bumping into me on the dance floor, we party on.
It doesn’t take long for a guy to fall under Dee’s spell – she has serious sex appeal for such a tiny package – and they’re soon lost in their own world of bump and grind.
From the hungry looks coming Sophia’s way, I suspect it won’t take many more drinks for her to overcome her shyness and to allow one lucky guy to monopolize her time. We dance and drink together until the inevitable happens; the world is getting a little too fuzzy, so I don’t pay much attention to the guy who approaches Sophia, but she likes him.
I leave them all on the dance floor and fight my way through the sweaty bodies toward the restrooms. I notice Tristan watching me and signal my intention before disappearing into the ladies’ and finding a mercifully – and unheard of – short queue.
The stall spins around me, so I don’t spend any more time in it than is absolutely necessary. As I wash my hands in a shiny, modern basin as black as coal, I focus on my reflection. Dee did a good job with the make-up; despite the dancing and the sweat, it hasn’t smudged, but that’s not what holds my attention. My eyes are.
Ever since I transferred to Columbia, I’ve not used contact lenses – none of my sorority sisters do. We are taught confidence in our appearance and to not fear how our eyes look. Of course, most of their eyes aren’t as severe as mine; their speckled molteness is still a little extreme by Guardian standards, but I’ve grown to like them all the same. But maybe they’re why I’m always last to find a date or get hit on? Maybe they are just too startling to human boys. I shrug at the thought; who cares.
As I walk unsteadily through the restroom door, I find Tristan leaning against the opposite wall.
“Okay?” he asks.
I nod, “You won’t pick up anyone by stalking the ladies’ restroom,” my words are slurry adding an extra element of comedy to my statement. Tristan just snorts and tries not to laugh as he reaches out to steady me.
“Do my eyes make me less pretty, Tristan?” The words are out of my drunken mouth before I can think better of it. When I’m drunk, I have zero filter.
He looks intently at me, his eyes giving nothing away. “Is this because the others have scored and you haven’t yet?”
“You’ve spent years watching me – you know that’s always how it happens; I’m always last or not at all,” I sound sorrier for myself than I intend; my self-esteem doesn’t crumble just because drunk men don’t want to hit on me. I’m just genuinely curious to know if he thinks my eyes might be the reason why.
Tristan holds my face still in both of his warm hands, which helps my vision to be less blurry.
“Listen closely, Em, because I’m only going to say this once…and I’m counting on you being too drunk to remember it in the morning. You’re beautiful; weird, intense eyes and all.” He says it not in the way a man would if he were hitting on me or flirting with me – he just says it, like it’s a fact that everyone should find obvious. And that makes it all the more powerful. “Let’s go find the others,” he says as he steers me back towards the dance floor.
Dee finds us first and she doesn’t need to say anything, I know that she’s leaving with the guy currently squeezing her ass. I’m starting to think that Avidites don’t have the monopoly on sexual desire.
“Where’s Sophia?” I call above the music.
“Isn’t she with you?” Dee calls back, impatience to be alone with her man clear in her voice.
“I left you both dancing with guys on the dance floor.”
“I didn’t see her, but my attention has been elsewhere,” she smirks.
“Go have fun, I’ll find her.”
Dee’s grin takes over her whole face as she and her date head off.
“Do you need help?” offers Tristan.
“Nah, she’ll be around. If I get really stuck, I’ll come and find you – same spot at the bar?”
He nods and heads back to his favorite vantage point.
I wander around on my own trying to spot Sophia; it takes longer than I’m comfortable with, so my drunken stupor starts to wear off and I get prickly with adrenaline. Where is she?
Then I spot her, ascending a wrought iron staircase in the duskiest corner of the club with the guy she was dancing with earlier. Without the alcohol fuzzing my eyes, I get a better view of him this time; to the casual observer, there’s nothing but an attractive face and muscular physique. But being what I am and given what I’ve seen, I know when something is just…off.