“Certainly Ellie has character to spare,” Hafsah replies, and Delia breaks down into giggles.
Rebecca gently elbows her roommate. “Do not encourage her. The last thing we need is to get thrown out of another bar.”
“You know, technically—” Susanna starts, and the others groan. “Technically,” she continues unabashed, “we’ve never been thrown out of a bar. Only Ellie has. We just leave with her because we’re nice.”
Rebecca cants her head. “I thought it was to keep her from shanking people on the street.”
“Only catcallers,” Ellie says with a shrug.
Delia shakes her head. “Have you seen your ass in those pants? I’m pretty sure the pope would rip a whistle at the sight.”
Closing her eyes, Hafsah mutters under her breath. Rebecca can’t actually make it out, but knowing Hafsah as she does, she’s pretty sure it’s a plea for forgiveness. It’s Hafsah’s usual response to all their little blasphemies.
Glancing back at the target of Ellie’s ire, Rebecca sees that the man has an arm slung around his companion, trying to pull her back onto the chair and closer to him. The woman is unenthused, eyes darting around the bar. “I’ve got it,” Rebecca says.
“You sure?”
“There’s this thing you may or may not have heard of: It’s called discretion?”
“You mean cowardice? Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
Rebecca rolls her eyes and slides out of the corner. “I’ll be back.”
She doesn’t head straight to the other table, though. Instead, she eases into the shadows along the wall toward the bathrooms. When she reaches the hallway, she walks normally to the table, squinting slightly to convey a mild sense of panic. She taps a nervous knock on the table, near the woman’s hand, to get their attention. “I’m sorry, but by any chance do you have a tampon I could have? I’m early, and I don’t have my purse, but the machine in the bathroom is out.”
The man—and up close she can see that he’s older than she thought, too old for the girl he’s hitting on—looks grossed out, but the girl looks relieved at the interruption. “Do you have a pocket?” she asks.
Rebecca holds out her hands, showing the front of her flimsy skirt. There are actually pockets there, but they’re almost impossible to see if they’re empty. “Sorry.”
“No worries; I’ll just come with you,” the girl says, yanking away from the man’s grasping hands. “That way you don’t have to wave a tampon around.”
“Thanks so much. I could kick myself for not having something.”
“We’ve all been there, right?” Hiking her purse over one shoulder, the young woman manages to kick the chair, jostling the man a little farther away. “Just through there?”
Together they walk to the bathroom, stepping around the long line. There are a few protests, but as long as they don’t skip into a stall, it’s not like they’re actually cutting in line. At the sinks, the other girl props her purse on the counter and starts to dig through it.
“That’s okay,” Rebecca tells her. “I don’t actually need anything.”
“Oh, God.” The girl wilts against the counter, brown eyes filled with chagrin. “Was I that obvious?”
“You looked like you were counting exit signs.”
“Oh, God,” she says again.
“Hey, if I overstepped, I apologize. You just looked like you needed the out.”
“I did.” She straightens, taking advantage of the mirror to fluff partially curled blonde hair. She wears a lumpy cardigan over a slinky dress and knee-high Doc Martens. “My fucking friends. They were supposed to meet me here more than half an hour ago, but the only one who’s showed up so far ditched me to give a guy a blow job by the dumpster.” She pulls out her phone, checking it for texts, then shakes her head. “I didn’t even want to come out tonight. I have a test tomorrow morning.”
“So why not go home? They’re not here. They can’t complain.”
“There’s a thought.” She opens a rideshare app but hesitates. “What if he follows me outside?”
“We’ll wait in here until your ride is closer. With any luck you won’t even see him on your way out.”
“Okay.” She clicks through her request and sends her phone to sleep but doesn’t tuck it back into her purse. “Thanks for the save.”
“Anytime. Maybe some century we won’t need to rescue each other anymore.”
“God, wouldn’t that be nice.”
Nice, yes, but regrettably unlikely. Not if past experiences hold true.
Rebecca and the girl, who belatedly introduces herself as Ashton, stay near the sinks, chatting comfortably about nothing in particular. Ashton helps a few girls fix their makeup if they need it while she waits for the text from her driver. Fortunately, rideshare drivers tend to hang near the bars downtown if they aren’t already driving. The girls don’t see the guy as they walk back through the bar—or outside—and Rebecca waves goodbye as Ashton settles into the back seat of the car.
She stays outside for a couple of minutes, breathing in air that doesn’t reek of cheap beer and too many bodies. It isn’t fresh, exactly, heavy and thick with humidity and the fetid swampiness that clings to the city after a rain. Half the city is marshy from the amount of rain the spring has brought.
She walks back inside to a sudden sharp increase in volume, the sound of breaking wood, and the sight of a tall redhead kicking a man in the junk.
Oh, Ellie. Must be Tuesday.
3
At least, Rebecca thinks ruefully, this isn’t one of their usual places. It would suck more to be barred from someplace they like. She sticks Delia’s clutch into Susanna’s purse and shrugs into the cross-body strap, following it with her own purse. Hafsah has her purse and Ellie’s card case. Hafsah doesn’t drink ever, and Rebecca only drinks in safety, so somehow they’re always the only responsible ones when they go out.
Hafsah is blushing fiercely, mortified by getting thrown out. It’s amazing she isn’t used to that already. Or maybe she is, and she’s just that optimistic. Her hand keeps twitching to the edges of her hijab the way it does when she’s embarrassed and wants to hide her burning cheeks with the excess fabric.
They help Susanna and Delia stumble out in the wake of their friend, who’s ranting and punching the air from over the bartender’s shoulder. Despite his earlier dickishness, he’s careful about where he touches her, one arm banded about the middle of her back, the other hooked around her knees to keep her legs in place. It’s a good call on his part; she will absolutely kick him if given the chance and not care that she’d fall six feet to the floor.
Rebecca ignores the laughter and drunken insults that surround them. It happens too often to really faze her anymore, and it’s not like Ellie is the only one to ever get thrown out of a Gainesville bar. If she were the type to get embarrassed by what her friends do, she wouldn’t be friends with Ellie. Though that was admittedly easier when Kacey was there to be a calming influence.
Outside, the bartender sets Ellie down hard on her feet, giving her a small shove so she’s leaning against the wall rather than him in order to regain her balance. “One month,” he tells her, his finger up in her face. Perilously close to her mouth, really. “You don’t come back for one month, and don’t think we won’t have your picture up.”