As he approaches, I manage to conjure up his profile picture in my mind. I’m not entirely sure it’s even the same guy though there are similarities. In the picture, he was clearly younger, had more hair, less weight, no acne scars, and had dressed in a nice button-down shirt. Now he’s wearing a wrinkled band T-shirt and jeans with stains on the thighs and looks as if he’s just rolled off the couch. How long had I spent picking out an outfit and doing my hair? And what about the picture? Was it a picture of him from a few years ago, or did he doctor it up? Who would have thought a guy would go through all the effort of getting dressed up and using filters for his picture when half the guys on the app are holding fish?
“Hey there!” He laughs as he approaches me. It’s a nervous, staccato laugh that reminds me of nature shows involving hyenas. He runs his hand over his thin, greasy hair. “I’m Aaron. Wow, you look just like your picture!”
I manage to stop myself from saying, “Well, yeah, I look like my picture because it’s a picture of me.” He moves in with his arms out as if expecting a hug, and I step back quickly, extending my hand and forcing him to stop short. He smiles wryly as he takes my hand and gives it a quick shake.
“I can’t believe it,” Aaron says, laughing loudly, “but I didn’t even ask for your name before we talked about meeting!”
“Oh, um, right! I didn’t even think about it.” I shake my head, try to smile, and wonder if I shouldn’t just tell him he has the wrong person and run away, but I suppose it’s too late for that. “I’m Cherry.”
“Oh, are you now?” He winks, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, and I’ve heard that one before.”
“Which one?”
“Whatever ‘Cherry’ joke you are about to make. I’ve heard them all.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He laughs again, and I cringe at the sound. “Shall we?” He points toward a long line of people waiting to get into the club. “They got good deals on bottled beer.”
Oh. Yum.
“I’m not much of a beer drinker myself.” I can’t stand beer.
“We can get to know each other a bit while we wait in line.” Aaron prattles on as we move to the back of the queue. “I drive a truck during the week, but my weekends are free, so we can get together then.”
Is he already talking about a second date? Really? And didn’t his profile say he was in management? I wish I could find a sneaky method to confirm what his profile said, but there’s no way to do that without making it obvious, and I don’t want to come off like a total bitch.
“This place is really popular!” I lean to the side a bit, trying to count the people ahead of us.
“It is, but the line moves pretty quick, so it won’t take long to get in.”
“That’s good to know.” I lean again, trying to get a look at the bouncer checking IDs at the front of the line. I see a burly man with short dreads eyeing the crowd and wonder if it’s Jessie’s nephew. He scowls at patrons’ driver’s licenses and takes their cash before ushering them inside the door.
My chest tightens a little, and I wonder how much cash I have in my purse. Despite Jessie’s warning, I had been relying on credit cards lately, and I’m not sure I have more than twenty bucks on me. I keep meaning to get my bank account changed to a local one so I don’t have to pay fees to get cash out of the ATMs. How much can it cost to get in?
The line moves quickly, and soon we’re at the front. Aaron places his hand on my back, allowing me to move in front of him, and I hold out my ID for the bouncer. He glances at it briefly before handing it back. As it turns out, the cover charge is ten dollars, and I do have a twenty in my purse.
“Thanks, babe!” Aaron says as the bouncer takes my twenty, and Aaron quickly ushers us both through the door.
Apparently, I’m taking care of the cover charge. Classy.
Inside the club, the DJ has the music up loud enough that conversation is nearly impossible without shouting, but no one seems to care. People writhe on the dance floor to the heavy electronic beat, and the bartenders rush around to get everyone their drinks. The dance floor is only about half full of people, but the bar is busy with a crowd of barely twenty-one-year-old college students. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the atmosphere isn’t ideal for a first date when you’re trying to get to know someone.
Aaron walks ahead of me, immediately going straight to a barstool as if it had his name engraved on it. Around the outside of the dance floor, there are comfortable couches to sit on. I don’t like sitting at the bar, and there are plenty of options, but Aaron has clearly made his choice. At least the bar is away from the speakers, and conversation will be possible. I sigh and plop myself onto the stool next to him.
The bartender continues to run around like mad trying to get everyone their drinks. Aaron leans forward on the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention by waving a five-dollar bill, but the bartender is just too busy. Finally, he comes over, offering us a friendly smile.
“Do you think I could actually get a drink around here?” Aaron asks.
I bristle. I’ve been a server, and I can’t stand it when people get rude for no reason. We’ve only been sitting here a couple of minutes, and the place is clearly busy.
“Sorry, dude. We’re a bit busy tonight.” The bartender retains his smile.
“Not really my problem.” Aaron huffs out a long sigh and orders his beer.
The bartender turns to me. I’d love to ask him if there are any specialty drinks—a trick I learned from a bartender in Atlantic City—but I don’t want to put him out when he’s already so busy, so I just order a vodka martini. Simple enough.
Aaron leans over, his face very close to mine. I lean back instinctively, and I swear I hear him inhale deeply. I tense, trying to remember if I’d put on deodorant and knowing that I had. What is he up to?
Before I can ask, he starts yapping.
“What the hell does ‘accidental99’ mean anyway?” Aaron asks. “Did your parent’s call you a mistake?”
That laugh again. The comment alone was enough to give me a bad taste in the back of my throat. One thing I did not want to get into tonight was a discussion about my parents.
“It’s just a regional joke,” I say. I open my mouth to explain more, but he interrupts.
“And you just moved here?”
“Yes. I’ve been in town about a week.”
“Where ya working?” He leans close again, and I shift in my seat to put a little more distance between us. He’s sniffing at me again; I’m sure of it this time.
“I’m still looking.”
“Got a daddy paying your bills?” More laughter as he orders another beer.
I have to look away for a minute, trying to keep myself from tearing up. Part of me wants to come out and tell him that my parents are dead just to see his reaction, but I’m afraid he’d just turn it into another joke.
I’ve only taken two sips of my martini. By the time I get through half my drink, Aaron has gone through five bottles of beer and doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. He’s blathering about long trucking hours, his ex, and his landlord. He asks me a lot of vague questions without actually waiting for an answer before he goes on about something else, and I’m starting to get a headache.