Wrong girl

I grabbed my cocktail off the windowsill as I stepped back into the bar. The door guy nodded at me as I bounced down the steps past him. The place was filling up quickly, and the security at the front had shifted from their casual, chummy leaning laughter into stalwart pillars of severity. It was about time to get out before the fight or fuck boys started making a mess of the joint. I slurped at my pint glass, slipping towards the back of the bar to say goodnight to the handful of afternoon regulars still lingering.

The girl latched onto me in the middle of the bar, as casually as if we’d walked in together. I glanced down at my new accessory. She smiled drowsily at me. “Hi,” I said. Because it seemed polite at the time. She nodded. She was attractive, in a sort of well-made-up out-on-the-town sort of way. She was the sort of girl that had no business hanging out with a guy in blue jeans and a hoodie that smelled faintly of stale smoke and marinara sauce. She said her name was Mara. She was swaying, and huggy, but it was pretty clear that she needed someone to hang on to, and I was doing my best to keep the conversation casual. I asked her what she did. She was an executive headhunter. She asked me what I did. I said that I was a cook. I asked her if she was okay. She somberly shook her head. I asked her if I could help her find a cab. She liked that very much. I helped her find her purse, and then I helped her find her friend. I asked the couple she was with if they knew her, but the girl said that she didn’t know her. The guy reached out and grabbed Mara’s ass like he was ready to shred her skin. She screamed. Not a comfortable scream. In a crowded bar, nobody hears a woman scream. I pulled her away from him and glared. I took her back to find her friend, to tell her that they were leaving. The friend agreed. As I walked Mara back towards the front, I caught the glare of the guy who had grabbed her ass. I gave him the finger as I passed. 

Even before I could get her out through the front door the old dude grabbed my hoodie and punched me in the back of the head. The door guy looked down at me as I got hit. “What are you doing?” he asked, as if I was attempting to show him a bad magic trick. Dude punched the back of my head. I raised my hands in submission. “I’m getting the fuck out.” I pushed the drunk girl ahead of me. “This girl is done.” I got punched again. “She needs to go home.” The door guy nodded. I ducked under the blows. The door guy ushered the girl past the velvet rope and through the clot of fresh-pressed bodies trying to get into the bar. Dude had me by the hood, riding me like he was trying to break a horse; he kept punching me in the back of the head. After the door guy got the girl out the door, he swept over the top of me like a wave, his whitewater forearm crushing the angry guy against the chest in full force, toppling him backwards. I slid through the wash to a serene late evening sidewalk scene, a few people waiting in line, and a taxicab idling at the curb. I caught the guy leaning on the fender, pulled a twenty from my pocket and handed it to him. “Can you get this girl home safe?”

He nodded.

“I mean, walk her to the door for me, wouldja?”

He glanced at the twenty and shrugged.

“Thanks, dude.”

He opened the back door to let her in. She poured herself into the backseat and started scootching across to make room. I closed the door. She leaned towards the window. “You’re not coming?” Long legs, short skirt, long dark hair, and I’ll be goddamned if she weren’t drunk as hell I would have loved to follow her home, but she was the wrong girl. I was there for someone fairly specific. “Not this time, Mara. Be safe.” The cabbie walked around, took his seat and backed out into sparse late-night bar traffic on Highway 101. An offshore breeze gently sighed through the palm trees lining the thin, neatly trimmed section of a Southern California tourist town.

I wasn’t even supposed to be there. I stopped in looking for a girl. She never showed. Instead I rescued a random drunk chick from a bad fight or fuck rapist scenario.  Maybe I didn’t find the girl that I was looking for, but I found a girl in need of rescue and I got that one right. She was safe. I watched her drive away. I pulled a cigarette from my pocket and lit it, fairly satisfied with the world, in general. Deep breath in, and exhale. Barfly yoga. Girl was getting grabbed, I rescued her, I got her home safe. I am vastly heroic and all that crap. Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.

The first punch came to the back of my head. The next was a sort of reach around for my face. Before I knew what was happening, I was on all fours with a steroid cranked fifty year old man on my back trying to make an indelicate point about the fact that his aggressive ass grab was actually just flirting, and he didn’t appreciate me removing his prey. Straight out of the door he had me around the neck, swinging a barrage of face punches. I was laid out on my hands and knees. I heard movement behind me, but I was watching the blood spatter the concrete, looking at a charm and necklace in the gutter. It was a simple ball chain, and a little crow medallion. My kid sister gave me that. I reached for it. There was a lot of blood. What the hell was I doing there? I should be at home, writing. I should be drinking in my own garage. Instead, I ended up face first on the concrete. I smiled. I stood between he and his prey. She made it to the car, at least. She made it home safe. That was all that mattered. She was safe, now.

I stood up to find the audience of waiting customers laughing.

“You just got your ass kicked by a sixty year old man!”

Got my ass kicked by a chemical testosterone swilling geriatric with the fight or fuck philosophy. Got my ass kicked by a guy that made her scream in a dark bar. Got my ass kicked for trying to do something right. I got my ass kicked looking after a girl I didn’t even know, in a situation, that I hope, any human would try to intercede in. I just got my ass kicked trying to do it right. And this girl wanted to remind me that I just got my ass kicked. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand, smearing more blood across my cheek.

Whoever that guy was, he was long gone, already shuffled down the street by one of the doorguys. Another door guy offered me a damp bar rag. It was warm and smelled of sanitizer. He steadied me against the bike rack out front so that I could wipe up some of the blood. My right eye was closing already, the clean white towel turned bloody rag. The door guy looked me over with the expertise of a boxing trainer. “You got a good cut above your right eye, but most of it is the nosebleed. Is it broken?”

I gingerly wiggled my nose and nodded. “Not bad, though.”

“That guy was so fuckin’ old!” The girl yells at me.

The door guy put a hand on my shoulder to keep me levelled and glanced back at her. “Ignore it, bud. That guy was huge.”

I glanced down the street in the direction he walked. He was still at the end of the block, yelling at the crosswalk. All these fresh pressed assholes waiting in line just got themselves a free floor show. I made to stand up straight, but the door guy kept his hand on my shoulder and shook his head knowingly. “That guy is jacked up on hormones, bud, and fifty pounds outside of your weight class”. I swayed slightly as he held me in place. If he hadn’t stopped the guy, there was a good chance that the silverback would have curb stomped me and kicked out most of my teeth.  “He tried to take a piece of her.” I swayed gently. As the adrenaline kicked in full throttle, may hands started shaking, holding the rag to my face. The good drunk was gone leaving me a smoking crater of pain and disorientation. I smiled at the girl yelling from line. “He tried to rip a chunk off of her and you think it’s funny.” The door guy kept his hand on me. “I hope he comes back for you…” I staggered a little left, a little right, and then held my pose in the center of the sidewalk, glancing down at the charm and the busted chain in my palm, “…and I’m not here.” I tucked the necklace into my pocket. The big, blonde guy steadied me. “Come on, bud. Let’s get you one for the road.” He ushered me past the line of clean, perfect people waiting to get in. The door guys slapped me on the shoulder as I slipped back into the cacophony of the crowded bar.