Martinis
Written in Emberville’s class on Hero is Always an Underdog
Her eyes flicked around the room, looking for an answer or an escape. The martini slick with vodka sat on the table cloth between us. I hate the taste but kept taking small sips so that we could go home with a pleasant buzz that might keep us laughing. Maybe.
“Stop that.”
“Stop what?”
“That thing you do.”
I sipped the martini and hid my discomfort. “Which is?”
She rolled her tree bark coloured eyes. “Staring, analysing. Just relax, we’re here together. When was the last time we had any fun?”
“We always have fun. Look at our martini, that’s so fun. Like Sex and the City.”
“They drink cosmopolitans.”
“Fine, I should’ve ordered a cosmopolitan.”
She scratched at her arm with her sharp black fingernails, filed to a point. “No, I love it.”
“No you don’t. I’ll get the cosmopolitan.”
“Don’t bother, we should go home soon. I actually have to work tomorrow.” She said, then picked up her phone and smiled.
The question I shouldn’t ask burned to the edge of my lips. And I was tired. Tired of holding my tongue.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“Don’t.”
“Can’t we just… be together, here, just us.”
“He messaged me. I can’t control when he messages me.”
I clenched my jaw. “So it is him.”
“Yeah. So what?”
“No it’s fine.” I reached out to touch her hand across the table.
“Do you want to read the message?” She smiled and held up her phone.
“No, no. That’s ridiculous.” I said as I quickly read what was on the screen. My insides clenched.
“See? My darling, there’s nothing to worry about. We’re just friends.”
I nodded and took a sip of the martini. Unfortunately, the alcohol had started to take control of my faculties. I swallowed, trying to push down my rampant dread.
“There’s a lot of emojis.” I let out. “Does he have to send so many?”
Something flickered across her features. Something I could see but couldn’t see, like a mirage. What did it mean? My guts pleaded.
“Don’t start, just don’t. We’re supposed to be here having our special night out and you can’t help yourself can you? You have to ruin it.”
“I’m not ruining anything.” Why was I still talking? “He is.” No, damn it, shut up.
She thrust the phone under my nose. “What’s wrong with this? We’re friends. Just friends. I told you that.”
“I just need to hear it again. I want to know what exactly happened between you two that night at Aleishas.”
“That again? You can’t be serious.”
I bit my lip. Almost ready to concede when her phone buzzed with a call. Cookie. The screen flashed. “Go on, answer him.”
But she wasn’t listening. She snatched back the phone and held it to her ear. “Hey!” She said in a voice like liquid gold.
I grabbed the martini and finished the final few gulps. Trying not to grip the glass too tightly. Trying to put it down lightly. It cracked. The stem came loose and the glass toppled onto the table, sending a vivid crack up through the centre.
“Shit! What is wrong with me? We can’t pay for this.”
But her mind was dreamy and out of reach. I could see starkly in her blossoming smile, the dance of her giggles, that I was nowhere.
“Cecilia.” I reached out my fingers for her warm skin. “Honey, I’ve broken the glass.”
“Hold on,” She said to him. “What did you say?”
“Can you call him later? I’ve broken the glass.”
She looked down at the table and then back at me, a flash of irritation flit across her features. “Can you get a waiter?”
She returned to her conversation and again it was like a wall shot up between us and I was alone in the bar. Echoes of the world were frantic on the outside. People at the other tables or at the bar, like ghosts.
“Sometimes I wish we’d never met.” I said aloud. But not loud enough to pass through the wall. “Sometimes I wonder if you know what love is at all.”
But my voice met only my own ears. My little bubble of silence keeping me barred from her.
“Stop that,” she mouthed in my direction.
I stood my chair screeching backwards. “Let’s get another bloody drink.” I announced.
Cecilia nodded eagerly and I thought I might have her back. But she was nodding to him. I waved my hand in front of her eyes. “Hello? Want another drink, honey bun?”
She placed her hand over the mouthpiece. “Sure, get me a cosmo. I want to feel fancy.”
“Only if you hang up.” I said.
“We’re just talking,” She said, teeth clenched.
“Sure, how about you invite him over here and I’ll let you two be. I can even bring you drinks if you like.”
“Oh really? I think he’s free tonight.”
“Yeah, go on. Get Cook over here.”
“You’re the best!” She removed her hand from over the mouthpiece and I watched her lips like slow motion. Inviting him to the bar. Laughing with delight. My body moving like liquid sand I brought drinks to the table. I think she must’ve hung up at some point because as we waited we waited in silence. The lights and conversations of the bar swirling around us in a vortex. Was she trying to talk to me? I couldn’t tell. But I heard the door of the bar push open like the loudest noise on earth. I watched her face light up like the years of joy and wonder we’d shared. And I didn’t have to turn around to know who was here. Ryan Cook.
The snap of my palm against her cheek rang out, on and on in a second that wouldn’t end. And then my palm hurt and her eyes were on my eyes. But they were dead hard and cold like ice. My fist exploded with pain and when I looked down the stem of the broken glass was burning a hole all the way through to the table.
— Anonymous Ember
This fantastically raw story was written in our Emberville class on Hero is Always an Underdog, by an anonymous (m)ember. Tell us, in what ways is the hero the underdog in your story?
