“Don’t play stupid, stupids!”
11:21 PM
You sneak another glance at the boxers in the corner. They seem oblivious to the rest of you, talking, laughing, and eating their cheeseburger specials like everyone else in the place. If they gave any show of appreciation for the free meal, you missed it. The one in the dark pink polo says something to the girl next to him. Her eyes go wide, but then she laughs and play-hits him on the chest with her open palm. Blue Polo notices you staring, and you quickly shift your gaze past him and out into the parking lot in time to see Ruth’s boyfriend Tony, followed by Joanne and her jock, walking toward the entrance.
“Heads up,” says someone from the rooter-bus table. Ruth’s knee is no longer pressing against yours, so you suspect she’s already seen them.
Tony shoves through the door, spots Ruth, and moves immediately toward your table. “What the fuck, Ruthie?” he demands, and you half expect him to grab her and throw her over his shoulder. “You just disappeared. I was looking everywhere.”
Joanne and her boyfriend remain near the entrance, her hand on his wrist.
Ruth drops her half-eaten fry into its tray. “I told you I wanted to go home.”
“Oh, and this is home?”
She twists her head around to face him. “I had to get out of there, Tony. I was trying to—”
“So, what?” His gaze sweeps over you and your friends. “You’re choosing this little shit over me? Really?”
The place has gone silent, everyone enjoying the show. Even the owner, with his usual threats to order or leave, has yet to show himself.
“This isn’t about Matthew, Tony, and it isn’t about you.”
“What do you mean it’s not about me?” he nearly shouts. “I’m your boyfriend, how can it not be about me?”
“You’re not listening.”
“This is about that fucking dog, isn’t it?” His hands are on his head. He rakes his fingers roughly through the dark waves of his hair then drops his arms helplessly to his sides. “Shit, I told you, it was an accident.”
“It’s not about—”
“You’re right, okay.” He takes a step closer, lowers his voice. “I’m sorry. I should have been paying more attention. I should have gone back to check on it. That wasn’t cool. I’m sorry. You were right. I’m sorry that happened. Ruth, please. Just let me take you home and we can forget this ever happened.”
Ruth pushes her chair away from the table and turns in her seat to face him. Now her back is completely to you. There is a sudden twisting in your chest, your stomach threatening to change places with your heart. Don’t, you pray. Don’t go with him. But a part of you almost wishes she would, to get this over with, to put you out of your misery, to stop this pain and this feeling of overwhelming loss for something you never really had, for someone you hardly even know.
But she doesn’t get up, not yet. “It’s not about the dog, Tony. It’s not about you. It’s not about Matthew. It’s about me, okay? Not you, me. I need this, understand?”
“No, I don’t understand. What the fuck, Ruthie? You need what?” He gestures toward you with the dismissive wave of one hand. “Him?”
“What the fuck?” grumbles Gus—under his breath—but still, you appreciate it.
Tony indicates the rest of your friends with a wave of his other hand. “This?”
“Yeah,” says Eric, not much louder than Gus. “Fuck you, man.”
“Look,” he says, leaning toward her with both fists pressed to his chest. “Ruthie, I know you have a big heart, but you’re not responsible for every sad fucking thing that comes into your life.”
“Stop it, Tony.”
He steps back and lowers his hands. “Aw, come on, like everyone here doesn’t know what happened to his brother?”
“I said, stop it.”
He straightens up. “So, that’s it then, it’s over, just like that?”
“Tony, I didn’t say—”
“After everything, Ruthie?” The anger in his voice wavers and for a moment there is only his pain, honest and raw, and you almost have to look away. “Even after we… our families…”
“Tony, I—”
“You know what?” He steps back, breathes. “Fuck this shit. I got bigger things to worry about, you know, better things, like my future. But then you already know that, don’t you. That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? Because you know I’m not going to have time for you and your bullshit anyway, so why not just get it over with, right? Dump me before I dump you?”
Ruth shakes her head but doesn’t speak.
“That’s what I thought,” says Tony, just as the bouncers arrive.
And so they found you, all three of them, the two from out front and the one in charge of the keg. You wonder who’s keeping the peace at the party now. Maybe it’s over. Or maybe there are more of them and you only miscounted. It’s hard to tell one from the other with their same short haircuts, thick necks, and swollen arms. Jaws locked, fists clenched, they quickly take in the scene.
“What’s up, T-Rod?” says the first bouncer.
Tony turns and acknowledges him with a lift of his chin. “Not much, Griz.”
“These friends of yours?” he asks, not taking his eyes off your table.
“No, man,” says Tony. “They’re not.”
“Okay, because, see…” The bouncer rubs at his chin with the back of his hand. “We’ve got a little problem here.”
“Well, it’s not my problem,” says Tony, patting him on the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll work it out.”
There is a loud slurping sound and you turn to see Rudy set his empty milkshake on the table. When you look back, Tony is heading for the exit. Joanne’s boyfriend follows him out the door, but Joanne hesitates long enough to give Ruth a pouty-lipped look of genuine sympathy and to mouth, “Call me,” with the thumb and pinky of one hand extended and held up to her ear.
As soon as Joanne is gone, the beer monitor points a meaty finger in your direction and growls, “Where is it?”
You look around the table as if you don’t know who he’s talking to.
“Dude,” says Rudy, eyeing the remains of Gus’s cheeseburger. “You gonna finish that?”
Gus looks offended. “Of course I’m going—”
“Don’t play stupid, stupids!” shouts the one Tony called Griz. “We know one of you little fuckers has it.”
“Has what?” demands Ruth.
“Our money.” Griz points at Rudy. “I must’a dropped it tossing this motherfucker onto the front lawn.”
“Yeah,” says the third bouncer. “And one of these faggoty-assed punks jacked it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” says Ruth. “No one here took your money.”
“What kind of security are you, anyway?” Luz twists in her seat. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Enough!” barks Griz, just as the owner comes rushing over.
“No trouble, there’s no trouble,” he says, waving a finger at Griz. “Okay? Any trouble and I’m calling the police. Sit down and eat or you have to leave, understand?”
“Listen, Mister,” says Griz. “We’ll leave as soon as we get what we came for.”
Rabbit appears with a tray of burgers and fries. “See?” says the owner, taking it from Rabbit. “Your friends here already paid for everyone, okay?” He holds it out to Griz. “On the house.”
“What the fuck?” exclaims the third bouncer. “With our money!”
“Naw, man,” someone says, and you discover the boxer in the dark pink polo standing next to your table. “These guys are with me.”
“You?” scoffs Griz.
“Yeah, we’re hanging out. Stop bothering us.”
The owner, Rabbit, and the tray of food, have all disappeared.
“What the hell?” The keg monitor steps up from behind Griz. “We don’t have time for this bullshit.”
“Then leave,” says Blue Polo, walking over. “We were all having a good time until you got here.”
“Yeah,” his brother says, smiling over at Ruth. “This one and her boyfriend were about to get back together until you assholes came in and fucked everything up.”
Griz reaches out to shove pink polo aside but the little boxer dips beneath his arm and comes up swinging, hitting the bouncer in the chest and throat. Griz staggers back, regains his footing, and then comes roaring forward like the linebacker he most likely was. The boxer dodges out of his way and lands a blow to the back of Griz’s head that sends him crashing down onto your joined table tops, throwing food and milkshake in all directions and knocking Gus and Eric out of their chairs and onto the floor.
You grab Ruth by the arm and pull her with you out of the way as the tables topple inward and crumble to the floor beneath Griz’s weight. Rudy, CC, and Luz fall back into the rooter-bus crowd, sending more tables and chairs sliding, and more milkshakes flying, as people attempt to escape the full-on boxer-bouncer brawl taking place in the center of the restaurant. Griz remains facedown and unmoving.
“Police! Police! Leave now!” the owner is shouting, “I called the police!”
But no police yet, and out on the floor it’s a battle of speed and skill versus size and brute strength. Even though the brothers continue to land punch after punch, the bouncers are easily still on their feet, and it’s unclear who will win, that is, until the chairs start flying.
One of the boxer’s girls starts it, trying to defend her man no doubt, but the metal chair falls short of its target, landing on a nearby table and exploding ketchup over the back of her boyfriend’s once pristine, pink shirt. Oblivious, he continues to bob, weave, and otherwise pummel his opponent.
Now people are throwing everything they can get their hands on, including ketchup and mustard bottles, salt and pepper shakers, napkins and napkin holders—and not at the brutes slugging it out in the middle of the restaurant, at each other.
You and Ruth seem to be the only two not participating in the surrounding madness. Her hand is still holding your arm, just like this morning, only tighter.
She turns to look at you as if searching for something in your face, in your eyes, and then she slides her hand down the inside of your arm until she finds yours.
As napkins flutter from the ceiling and food bits fly at your face, you look at her.
There is a spot of ketchup just above her lip and two more on her cheek, like birthmarks that weren’t there before.
That twisting in your chest returns and you inhale sharply, remembering to breathe.
A bit of something, a fry perhaps, dangles near her ear. You reach over to remove it just as she raises her face to yours and suddenly you are kissing.
Someone hurls a second chair. You can’t see who. But you hear it smash through the window in a shower of glass and clatter across the parking lot outside.
Now you hear the sirens, see flashes of red and blue light along the side of Ruth’s neck, feel the brush of bodies rushing past you, smell the ketchup and flowery spice of her skin, taste the salty-sweet of her mouth.
“Hey, idiots!”
You stop kissing and open your eyes. Except for the owner standing before the smashed-out windowpane, the demolished restaurant is empty and still. Even Griz is gone. Toppled and upturned tables and chairs are everywhere. Napkins, food trash, and bits of glass cover the floor. The bags have been yanked from their bins, torn open, and the day’s garbage strewn about. In the parking lot people are already finding their vehicles, but there is a police car blocking each of the exits, so no one is going anywhere.
“Hey, you two!” Rabbit is poking his hairnet-covered head out from behind the kitchen door. “Over here!” he whisper-shouts.
Ruth is the first to move, pulling you with her. Rabbit ushers both of you in and leads you past the still hot grill and deep fryers to a narrow door between two overstocked shelves.
“Where does that go?” you ask.
“Uh, no where,” he says, looking over his shoulder. “Hurry, get inside.”
It’s a janitor’s closet, full of cleaning supplies, brooms, mops, and buckets, with not nearly enough room left for the two of you. He pushes you in anyway and shuts the door, leaving you face to face in the pitch dark.
Ruth’s chest is pressing against your stomach and you’re not sure what to do with your hands, or arms, or any part of you for that matter.
“You okay?” you ask.
“I can’t see,” she says, “but besides that, and that awful smell, yeah, I think I am.”
You smell it too, something rank and fishy, barely masked by the overwhelming scent of Ajax and Pine-Sol. “Maybe try not to touch anything.”
“Good advice,” she says, slipping her arms around your waist.
To be continued…
This story is a work in progress — I’m writing it as fast as I can! More episodes in this thread coming soon. While you are waiting, feel free to return to the beginning: if you make different choices you will get a different story.
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THE MISADVENTURES OF MATTHEW VAN DER BOOT is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental … no matter how many times you ask.