Lizzy: You can’t argue with science. You poor hapless male. You never stood a chance.
Ben: Liz, I think ur gorgeous. Save the beer pics for someone who needs em.
Lizzy: Damn ur smooth
Ben: U like that?
Lizzy: Very much
Ben: Good. U poor hapless female. U never stood a chance.
Lizzy: :)
Ben: What do you think?
Lizzy: I think that’s a pic of a banjo. Yours?
Ben: Deering Black Diamond. Thinking of buying it.
Lizzy: U play banjo too? Whoa.
Ben: Want to learn.
Lizzy: And I want to hear you play. You’re a musical virtuoso. Do you sing?
Ben: Ha. U do not want to hear me sing. Trust me. Think I should buy it?
Lizzy: Do it. :)
Ben: Done. :)
Lizzy: ===v=^=={@}
Ben: This another psych test?
Lizzy: No. It’s a rose. I worked on it all morning.
Lizzy: Well … a couple of minutes between classes.
Ben: Beautiful.
Lizzy: :) Why don’t we have coffee?
Lizzy: Is the lack of a response a no or are u shy?
Ben: Shy of Mal shooting me. We better just stick 2 text.
Lizzy: Fair enough.
Ben: Been thinking about u. Talk to me.
Lizzy: I’d love to. Calling.
Ben: U ok? Haven’t heard from u lately.
Lizzy: I didn’t want to seem too obvious. The stalker handbook said play it cool.
Ben: I know ur not a stalker. Ur dangerous in another way.
Lizzy: I love that u said that.
Lizzy: So do u actually have real stalkers?
Lizzy: Apart from me, I mean.
Ben: You’re not a real stalker. They camp across the street with binoculars.
Lizzy: That’s crazy. U get a much better resolution with a telescope.
Ben: You’re a goose.
Lizzy: Our honesty is beautiful.
Lizzy: Psychologically speaking, most relationships fail due to lack of constructive criticism. Obvious we’re made for each other.
Ben: You’re a total goose. Seriously.
Lizzy: See what I mean?
Lizzy: But we were talking about stalkers.
Ben: Not really for me. I’m lucky. The other guys can’t walk down the street without getting hassled. I’m less in the limelight. Not so recognizable.
Lizzy: U kidding? You’re built like King Kong.
Ben: Ha. Jimmy had stalkers that got creepy. One broke into his place a few years back stole some shit.
Ben: Mal had one that ended in a restraining order.
Lizzy: Wow. What did the stalker do?
Ben: No, the stalker had to get a restraining order against Mal. He kept showing up at the guys work, trying to hug him and leaving weird phone messages etc.
Lizzy: Lol.
Ben: Gotta go. Music breaks over.
Lizzy: I make killer cheesy cornbread.
Ben: Do u?
Lizzy: I do. & I just so happen 2 be making some right now. My plans tonight r cheesy cornbread & bad zombie films. Tempted?
Ben: Like u wouldn’t believe.
Lizzy: But ur busy w the guys?
Ben: No. Guys with their girlfriends. I’m busy killing people.
Lizzy: Online I trust?
Ben: Ha. Yes.
Lizzy: I’d better leave u 2 it then.
Ben: I can torpedo & talk to u. How was ur day?
Lizzy: Not bad. Classes mostly. How about u?
Ben: Recording. Fucking frustrating. Jim was in a mood. This is just between us, yeah?
Lizzy: Absolutely.
Ben: Good. Boring night. Portland is no LA.
Lizzy: Come over. We can throw cornbread at the undead on tv. I’ll judge you on your aim.
Ben: Fuck I wish I could.
Lizzy: Me too
Ben: One day
Lizzy: U awake? I can’t sleep.
Ben: Count sheep like a good girl.
Lizzy: Can’t. Too busy thinking about u.
Ben: Shit, Liz. No.
Lizzy: No, what?
Ben: Don’t tell me ur in bed at 2 in the morning thinking about me. OK? U cannot tell me that. Too fucking tempting.
Ben: What are you wearing?
Lizzy: U really want me to answer that?
Ben: Yes.
Ben: No.
Ben: Shit. You’re killing me. You know that right?
Lizzy: You say the nicest things. Night, Ben.
Ben: Night, sweetheart.
Lizzy: Sorry I missed your call earlier. Good luck with ur date with Lena tonight.
Lizzy: Actually, that was a lie. I didn’t mean that at all.
Lizzy: About ur date. Not about missing ur call.
Lizzy: Now I feel guilty because Lena is so damn nice. I’m going to stop acting crazy & go meet a friend at Steel. Over & out.
Ben: The dive bar downtown? It’s a fucking meat market.
Lizzy: Just arrived. Guess I’ll see for myself.
Ben: That place is a pit. Get ur ass in a cab & go home. Ur not old enough to b drinking.
Lizzy: I have fake ID. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.
Ben: I’m fucking serious. U are not going in there. Full of fucking creeps.
Lizzy: Have a nice night w Lena. U deserve someone great like her. Really.
* * *
Still no answer from Ben on my last text.
Emo indie music wailed out of the speakers, as Christy, my ex-roommate, bopped as best she could on the spot beside me.
“Great place, huh?” she yelled.
“Yeah. Great.”
The place sucked. I mean literally—my shoes stuck to the floor. The bar was grossly lacking in hygiene. Also, it was overcrowded and reeked of decades of spilled drinks, questionable hookups, and broken hearts. Pretty much in that order. My clothes were going to stink for days. And if one more person trod on my toes, exposed care of my sweet ’50s-style black heels, I’d scream. When I’d chosen them I’d needed a pick-me-up, I’d wanted to feel pretty. But now all around us people pressed in. Sweat raced down my spine, dampening the back of my black T-shirt and the band of my jeans.
Yuck.
I pretty much wanted to call in one of those toxic hazard teams to hose me down, decontaminate me from this pit of beer and despair. Ben might have had a point about the place being shit. Damned if I’d ever admit it to him, though. Nope, I was going to have fun if it killed me. I slid my cell out of my pocket just for fun, taking a peek at the glowing green screen. Nothing. What a surprise. Time to saddle up ye olde horse of hopelessness and move on.
“He answer yet?” asked Christy, leaning in and yelling to be heard over the music.
I shook my head.
My former dorm roommate sucked back some beer. “Fuck him.”
“I’m trying.”
“What?”
“Yes,” I hollered, giving her a brave smile. “Fuck him.”
“You can do better.” Little lines appeared between her brows. “You can.”
“Thank you.” I highly doubted that. Nice of her to say so, though. I drank a hefty mouthful of my third Moscow Mule. Vodka was the only way I’d get through this. My feelings for Ben were just a weird obsessive-compulsive disorder or something. Or no, posttraumatic stress from meeting manic Mal. I’d inadvertently attached my affections to the first sane and single hot bearded man in the room. A totally plausible analysis. Freud with his own hairy face would be impressed.