2/19/01: Weekend #2:
Maddie’s, Saturday, Just Before Midnight
While the band takes a break, we go back to our table and rest. We stare at the stage, me sipping my coke, Jenny sipping her Corona. I’m looking for the boy in the red shirt. The lead guitarist. When you’re talking the yes/no/maybe game, he’s a hell yes. He was a yes+ when we first noticed him just sitting at the table, but when he went up on stage and put on his guitar he got an extra point.
“He’s not on stage anymore,” I say. “How did he get away?”
“You look away for a second…” says Jenny. “Boys!”
“Well, I’m going to go walk around the room and see if I can ‘bump into him’… want to come with? me?
“Sure,” says Jenny.
We push our way through the crowd. “There he is!” I shout over the dance floor music. “He’s at the bar!”
Jenny shouts something.
“What?”
“CO-RO-NA!” Jenny shouts, pointing.
The boy in the red shirt is indeed getting a Corona. What exquisite taste he embodies! What fine sculpted arms he has! And what a darling butt ! Wait, he’s getting away again! Dammit!
“Dammit!” I shout, pointing.
“Dammit!” Jenny agrees, at the top of her lungs.
We make our way back out towards the dance floor, not following him because that would be too obvious. We pretend to dance, moving in a circle back towards his table. We pause at the edge of the dance floor, a scant few meters from his table. Oh, he’s cute. We lean on the stage, resting. I wonder if he noticed that I was staring at him for two hours earlier this evening. Wonder, yes, but worry, no. I think I caught him looking back at me. And smiling. Hard to tell when you’re blind as I am from a distance, but it makes it easier to be optimistic. Yes, he was probably smiling at me. Yeah, and um, what’s that red thing coming up in the corner of my eyes?
“You guys look like you’re about ready to go home,” says the cute boy in the red shirt. Up close he looks a little older, and he has a piercing, that one between his lower lip and chin, but it doesn’t look bad on him.
“Oh no, we’re just resting,” I say, and take a deep breath.
***
At this point, I would love to report to you all some of what I said to him for twenty minutes, but I don’t remember much of it. At some point there was some of this: “Oh, I live in New York City, actually. No, I’m just down here for the weekend for the hell of it.” Also I think I explained why I was staring at his guitar blankly during the first set -- he had caught me and waved his hands in front my eyes. I told him, “Before, I was just watching you play and trying to figure out the chords.” And then there was much talk of guitars and of the playing of guitars. And he told me how to play that stupid song, “Superman Kryptonite” by 3 Doors Down. Also he mentioned his girlfriend. “There’s a higher level of trust involved, I think,” he said, regarding the problem of band people cheating on their girlfriends. I said, “Yeah, I have a lot of friends in bands. They cheat on their girlfriends all the time. I just solve the problem by not dating people in bands.” Why did I say that? It’s true but why am I such a dork? Gawd.
***
Then he leaves. I’m feeling a little giddy.
“Wow,” says Jenny. “I remember when you never used to say a word.” She is very kind and doesn’t make fun of me for babbling.
“Yeah,” I say. “But I can’t believe he came over and talked to us!”
“I know! After we’d been following him!”
“We followed him and we lost him and he came up to us!”
“I know! He just came over!”
“And he’s so cute!”
“So very cute.”
***
The last set ends. I know my duty.
“Hi, Rob,” I say to the cute boy, climbing up onto the stage.
“Hey, thanks for sticking around!” he says, as I approach.
“Yeah, it was fun. I had a good time.”
“Good, good!” he says.
“Be nice to your girlfriend. She’s lucky to have you,” I say, kissing him on the cheek. “You are adorable.”
“Oh, thanks,” he says.
“Take care,” I say, over my shoulder.
“What did he say?” Jenny asks. “Wait, he’s following you.”
“Hey, Loretta,” says the cute boy. “Um, I don’t expect you to drive down all the way from New York, but if you’re around. Um.” And he hands me one of their gig schedules. “And go to the website, and e-mail us. Say hi.”
“Thanks,” I say. “I will.”
“I can’t believe you did that,” says Jenny, as soon as he’s out of earshot.
“I can,” I say. “Tee hee!”