Health Care

My conscience works in overdrive. Do I say hello? Do I ignore him? Do I be a bitch? Or do I be the better person? Whatever conclusion I would draw, there’s one thing I know for sure: I have to find out who that girl is.

“More drinks?” I call to the girls. They shrug and nod in agreement. It was hard tearing Lucy away from the blond boy she was dancing with. For Louise, it was a relief, as his overweight friend had been leering down her top the entire time. Carefully, I stumble across the dancefloor, squeezing my way through the sweaty teenagers. We walk past the row of VIP booths; there are only two to go until I reach Christopher’s. He’s leaning in close to this girl, but they’re still sat opposite each other. He’s having to yell, and he’s getting irritated by it. The girl is smiling politely back at him. One of her tiny doll hands is in her handbag. Perhaps she’s gripping her phone, waiting for the Fake Emergency Phone Call. Please, please let Christopher get dumped, I pray to myself.

One of our favourite songs suddenly blares out across the dancefloor. Us four girls begin to dance, almost subconsciously. We dance and walk at the same time, if that’s really possible. We must look stupid, but a few lads stop to wink at us. They offer out their hands in order to lead us back to the dancefloor, but we shake our heads and point deliberately at the bar. They nod understandingly, and bid us farewell. Christ, drunk people are just so much fun. I half-skip past Christopher’s booth, but my heel gives way slightly. I steady myself before I crash into their velvet rope. The disturbance causes Christopher to stop yelling.

“Alexa,” he says. It’s not even a question. He’s not even surprised to see me.

“Oh my God!” I shriek. “Christopher!” I am undecided as to whether I should sound mad or not. The last time I saw him was our disastrous date. But, I don’t want to seem bitter. “What are you doing here?”

He sheepishly half-nods to the girl sat on the sofa. She crossed her legs, and gives me a half-wave. She looks very awkward. I don’t expect Christopher will introduce us.

“On a date,” he mumbles, jerking his thumb over to the girl again, as though it wasn't already clear who he was on his date with.

“Oh, that’s great!” I cry, grinning at the girl. I lean over the velvet rope and offer out my hand. She shakes it gently, and smiles back. A fake smile, nonetheless. Maybe she is into Christopher after all.

“Are you okay?” she says, eyeing my unsteadying balance. Suddenly, the tone of her voice hits me. I recognise her. The blonde curls, the awkward smile.

“Shit!” I yell, making her jump. “You’re the waitress from TGI Friday’s!” She blushes. Well, this is awkward! The girl I attempted to set Christopher up with, who witnessed our argument and cleaned up after his storm out – is now here, in Ocean, on a date with him. She forces a smile. Christopher runs his hand through the back of his hair. He’s obviously very stressed out.

“Yes,” he begins to explain himself before TGI Friday’s girl has to do it for him. “Melissa.” Ah, she has a name after all. He looks deeply into my eyes as he says her name. I feel naked again. His eyes flicker slightly as I stare back. Is he surveying my reaction? Is he trying to make me jealous?

“Great!” I yell again. “I’m off to the bar! Bye!” With that, I stagger off again. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Christopher settle back down on the sofa, this time a little closer to ‘Melissa’. He’s shaking his head. Boy, I can picture their conversation already: Melissa’s eyes widen as if to say, ‘Thank God that’s over,’ and Christopher sighs as if to say, ‘I know right.’ And then he goes on to explain what a nutcase of an ex-girlfriend I am, and how I’m such high-maintenance. He’ll point out all my negative qualities and highlight how Melissa possesses none of them.

“She’s so demanding; always asking for things and never giving anything in return,” would probably be one example. “She’s nothing like you are, darling. Marry me, please?”

Only tact keeps me from swallowing a mouthful of apple sours and spitting it all over their fancy table. Jesus, I wonder how much he even spent on that goddam ‘booth’. Probably not enough to get her to sleep with him tonight. I picture Christopher driving all the way back to TGI Friday’s after he dropped me home, and seeking out Melissa so he could apologise for his behaviour. That’s right, she gets the fucking apology, not me.

“I just feel so embarrassed,” he’d say. “I never behave like that, I assure you. It’s just that, well, that girl – she brings out my dark side. She’s an absolute banshee. I still feel awful for you, having to witness all that. Can I make it up to you? Can I take you out?” And then he’d give her one of his X-Ray stares so she’d look away, all flustered. Maybe she’s still carrying a tray full of chicken wings and coleslaw. She tears him off a strip of paper and scribbles down her number. He reads her name badge; some excuse to X-Ray her chest. “Thank you for understanding. I’ll call you sometime.” And then on the phone that night his voice turns to sticky syrup and he asks her what she likes doing. “Ooh well I like clubbing,” she says. He scoffs with disgust in his head. Not another one that likes clubbing. But he can’t say no because he just needs her to fuel his damaged ego. “Clubbing? Sounds great, do you like Ocean?” He only knows about Ocean because of me. She squeals with delight at the thought of it. Boy, how old is she. I dread to think. Maybe she’s only eighteen. “I can get us a private booth for the night.” And that’s it, with one flash of his cash she’s like butter in his fingers. Sorted.

The girls sit me on a bar stool and demand to know what just happened.

“We joined the queue for the bar and then you weren’t there!” Lucy cries. I tell them in detail about my conversation with Christopher. I imitate Melissa’s voice like some sick teeny-tiny mouse.

“Did you know he was sat there?” Katherine asks, her eyes are wide. I bite my lip. She’d go mad if she knew I deliberately caused trouble.

“No,” I lie. “I was just following you guys, and then I sort of tripped.”

“Right in front of his booth?” Lucy asks. “God, what shit timing.”

“Mm,” I mumble.

Luckily, we don’t dwell for too long as Lucy’s admirer is wondering aimlessly around the dancefloor, clearly trying to grab Lucy back. She practically runs towards him. Louise groans as his leering friend smiles creepily at her.

I pull out my phone and check it for messages. I squint as Sam’s name appears. I barely even skim-read his message before I’m typing one back. My brain seems to move quicker than my fingers, and before long I’m too far gone to correct any of my mistakes. I stuff my phone back into my bag and follow the girls onto the dancefloor. Casting an eye around club, I see Christopher getting up from the sofa. Is he buying more drinks? He picks up his jacket and shakes it onto his shoulders. He holds out his hand to help Melissa up. No way! They’re leaving!

“What’s the time?” I stumble up to a reasonably attractive guy wearing a sports watch.

“Quarter past two, love,” he tells me.

I slap his bicep and say thank you. He looks at his friends and grins. My eyes follow Melissa and Christopher out to the cloakroom. Maybe Christopher’s sick of shouting; maybe Melissa hasn’t convinced him to enjoy himself. I suspect she’s itching to dance. She seemed reluctant to get up from the sofa. Maybe he wants to take her ‘someplace quiet’. Jesus, I have half a mind to run after him and tell him that this isn’t the boardwalk – nowhere around here is going to be ‘quiet’ at 2am.