Our promising stay here at the ever unpredictable Triads is cut short, however, before we’ve even really begun, this despite a capacity clientele, plenty of attractive options roaming the room, and even the joke slinging talents of Jeff behind the bar. All because, according to Shoniqua, this place “smells bad” tonight, and therefore she wants to relocate. While she heads off to the restroom, the rest of us begin closing our tabs out, standing around finishing off our drinks, with Sticks next door as our agreed upon destination. This is when Joe, Dylan and I find ourselves gathered in a loose circle, near the entrance, final beers in hand. Dylan I know told Joe a number of days ago about our escapade with Debbie, and I figured it was only a matter of time before that topic reared its head tonight.

“So…tell me about this chick you guys tag teamed. She any good looking?”

“Eh, she looks alright,” Dylan says.

“Yeah, she’s pretty decent,” I agree.

Joe nods and questions, “what’s the body like? She at least have a nice body?”

To this, Dylan turns to me and says, “I would say I was kind of surprised to see she had a really nice body, wouldn’t you?”

And I agree with this point also. Either she hides it well — or I guess you should say she hides it unwisely — but I too had not really noticed until her clothes came off, that she possesses a killer, perfectly sized pair of tits, a decent ass. Not to mention other features you would have no way of comprehending, at least not fully, until naked, like the tan covering just about every square inch of skin, and a very nice looking pussy, I must add, with a well-trimmed, dark brown bush. This more than makes up for what I would say, despite some pretty blue-green eyes and a warm smile, is otherwise just an average face, paired with her almost butch, shortish brown hair.

Style points go a long way, also, and her personality makes up for any slight deficits. We’ve said for years that older chicks are where it’s at, for which again this provides ample evidence, a situation even better in that we’re only eight years younger than her, i.e. she isn’t going to wither away and dry up on us overnight. The only complication, really, is where this might go from here, because it’s completely unmapped territory: what is the protocol moving forward, when you and a friend both nailed a chick for the first time, at the same time?

These are the thoughts swimming freely through my head, venturing wherever they might, while Dylan gives Joe the equally unfiltered play by play description of every twist, turn, and crevice exploration that memorable night provided, as I only fill in the occasional counterpoint or wisecrack. This roundtable discussion is cut abruptly short, though, when we realize that Shoniqua has exited the ladies’ room and is heading our way.

As she draws within earshot, and we other two guys clam up, Joe clears his throat and says, “…so that’s how a bill becomes a law.”

Shoniqua gives him, then Dylan and me, puzzled, suspicion drenched glances, but we hold our stoic faces and betray nothing. Then the others fall into formation around us, and our party shuffles out the door as one amorphous mass, though Dylan, Pete and I soon fall slightly behind the others. This is mainly because Pete too wants details on that tag team operation, although, considering the blustery wind whipping around us and how ridiculous he thinks this relocation is, he is all but certain to cut us short with some invective laden rants. And he does.

“We have to move because Triads smells bad,” he scoffs, shooting visual daggers at those ahead of us, “waaaaah. My pussy hurts.”

A funny comment on its own, certainly, but even funnier when I consider that Pete has recently claimed his jacket smells from being at our house too much. Even if, true, that hasn’t stopped him from coming over.

Somewhat unusually for Sticks, they have a live musician performing tonight, this young dude singing and strumming covers on electric guitar in the corner of the second pool room. He’s at least tolerable from a quality and song selection standpoint, and owing to the larger square footage within, it’s somewhat less crowded here. This backup plan also features some warm amber lighting and a soothing wooden décor, screens mounted everywhere which are only half in use by those infernal trivia gadgets, and just as much eye candy or more as the delectable treats left in the case next door.

Just one readily observable complication threatens our sunny outlook over here, which occurs shortly after we’ve ordered drinks and are settling into yet another centrally located table, in the middle of the first room. Some of us have not even sat down, in fact, for Marvin and I are instead contemplating possibly renting a pool table for an hour, Joe and Dylan and Pete are huddled in some other conference next to us. It’s right at this moment that Millie unexpectedly enters the room, accompanied by Miranda and…some tall, really goofy looking, possibly Latino guy.

As murmurs ripple among us guys, for we are the only ones present who even know who some of these people are, our glances inevitably turn Dylan’s way. And he is clearly not pleased by this development. Marvin and I have by this point met Miranda a second occasion ourselves, a night over at Millie’s where she certainly appeared to drape herself in doting fashion all over Robby. I decided to withhold this information from Dylan, because it would only get him riled up, and it doesn’t concern me. I don’t want to come anywhere near the gossip-monger or pot-stirrer label. Even though it’s one of these situations where you’re kind of wondering, should he know, considering that he is a close friend of mine? Silence eventually won that battle, but yes, I believe she did wind up sleeping with Robby.

When they enter, though, Joe, who only knows Millie and has no clue even to Miranda’s identity yet, takes one look at that gangly possible Latino walking through the door, and chokes on, spews out his mouthful of beer in a fine buckshot mist. “Who the fuck is that!?” he chortles.

None of which is improving Dylan’s spirits any. For he has remained smitten with Miranda, despite the drugs and then lately some blowoffs and other vaguely asshole behavior. I know they’ve been on a few conventional dates, which were pleasant and drama free, though she remains noncommittal. We have various friends who would put up with just about anything if a chick were good looking enough, and though part of my “problem” is that I can’t bring myself to plant a stake in that campground, I’ve always admired Dylan for mostly hanging in there with me, too, in that regard. But this Miranda situation makes me wonder, might represent his own breaking point with that whole tenet. I believe he is not only mesmerized by her beauty, but her lifestyle as well, the strangeness of it, plus he’s enjoying this good old fashioned challenge of someone who alternates between occasionally digging him before hanging a sharp right angle toward somebody else.

Following Millie’s sheepish grin and head nods in our direction, that trio approaches the bar, then disappears inside a mammoth distant booth, without even stopping by to say hello. Marvin and I take one look at each other, decide to high tail it ourselves, to the equally remote sanctuary of those billiard tables. Leaving the other guys standing and the four girls seated nearby, he and I grab a rack and some sticks and get to work on this passive entertainment.

We’ve got plans to hatch out anyway, considering that he has announced a small New Year’s gathering at his house. While we shoot and converse, I keep my eyes on those other scenes, about which one can gather plenty even from across the room. Dylan’s animated storytelling foisted upon Pete and Joe, where he is surely recapping his adventures with Miranda thus far, and in the other direction, Miranda’s dimple laden smirks, discussing various matters with Millie, with only a couple brief, smarmy glances Dylan’s way. As for me, I’m admittedly relieved that at least Millie’s sister isn’t here, which would only complicate matters who knows how many degrees, considering Joe and Shoniqua and everyone else are present. I’ve heard Lily is moving back to town, though, which isn’t a shocker considering she’s lost her job. And is confirmed as a fact when Millie swings by to chat with us on a couple occasions, coming and going from the restroom: Lily landed here days ago and has reclaimed her former bedroom upstairs.

After she has long vacated our presence and we have a spare moment to converse, Marvin’s face expands into a broad grin and says, “what’s this I hear about you n’ Dylan teamin up on a chick? Y’all been holdin out on me!”

I offer a slighter smile in response and admit, “yeah, I guess I never had a chance to mention that one.”

“Dig it,” he says, and offers me a fist bump, which I accept.

He does press me for details, however, and much like my roommate just had, I too become somewhat enraptured by the storytelling, to the extent I must somewhat forget my surroundings. We’re both cracking up as I physically reenact certain key developments. These aren’t broad, comedic, Jim Carrey type moves, meant to pull in the entire room or anything, but still, I am using my hands and other body parts to draw a visual map. And lose myself to the extent that I’m startled when, absently glancing away from Marvin for a moment…I happen to see that Maggie and Alice are standing maybe a dozen feet away, watching this entire scene.

They aren’t close enough to hear it, thankfully — or maybe this would work to my advantage, who knows — but are distantly riveted by and vaguely smirking at my performance. Which turns to outright laughter now that I have noticed them, we share this long distance eye contact. Although it turns out that the whole reason they drifted over this way was to see if we wished to play them in doubles, before drawing up short to take in the mime show.

We readily agree to starting over the current game, in favor of a new one, guys against girls. From the outset I could see that Alice was obviously an attractive, short, skinny brunette, her hair mid-shoulder long and silky straight, but didn’t pay her much mind beyond that. And even in getting to know her slightly better now, my initial impression still holds, that this seems like a quiet, conservative, classy chick, i.e. the kind I typically have very little success with. Which is but one of the many incongruities in my dating history, in that it seems like this archetype should have more interest in me, it should be the one with which I fare the best. But it’s as though they don’t quite know what they’re dealing with, here, and collectively almost always pass. Were Pete single, he would be attempting to chat her ear off, regardless of her personality, because she’s physically squared away in the middle of his wheelhouse. As for me, I don’t really expect to get anywhere with her — which is itself somewhat of an exaggeration, because the truth is I don’t even really think about it.

Mostly it still seems like Maggie’s trying to make something happen between us, though she won’t come out and say so. But if true, that stunt earlier trying to flip the tables and paint me as the pursuer has backfired, because I could now not possibly gallop any farther away from this woman. And she’s even revved back up with some of her trademark shenanigans right here, as Marvin and I are discussing his New Year’s party. At one point she stands off to the side yet in the middle of him and me — kind of like a line judge in a volleyball match or something — with her hands pressed together before her, vaguely leaning forward, smiling and with her head moving back and forth depending upon which person is speaking. He and I are counting off who’s been invited and who is coming, and it’s clear that Maggie, with this silent, puppy dog campaigning effort, expects us to look her way and toss an invite as well.

But neither of us ever do, we glide right on past this topic and move onto something else, without ever drawing Maggie into it. Which is admittedly somewhat surprising coming from Marvin, when one considers that I never even mentioned this chick to him, and he’s normally about as gregarious as they come. So either he picks up on my vibe, or else it’s just another of these no-man-behind-the-curtain moments of which he’s occasionally capable.

I am somewhat intrigued by Alice, though again we can’t seem to enjoy a single conversation without Maggie gliding over and wedging herself into it. More recon work is required before I would even consider moving in that direction. They appear solidly welded at the hip, whether Alice wishes to be in this Siamese twin predicament or not. When I ask Joe about her, he says, “she’s only 21, but she’s very, very intelligent. She just got out of a serious relationship, though, so see, she only moved down here last week.”

“So what, she’s living with Maggie?”

“Affirmative,” he nods.

None of which is really assuaging my doubts any, regarding whatever faint glimmer of a spark I might have detected between us. A case all but nailed shut when those two and Shoniqua announce they are leaving, at the conclusion of our second pool game. As a parting shot, I toss off a casual Hail Mary to Alice, asking, “so you got a phone number?” from a considerable distance, with Marvin and I standing beside the table, those three near the room’s entrance. Rubbing her hands together and smiling weakly, Alice opens her mouth, but Maggie cuts this off as well.

“Yeah, you can just call mine! You got the number. Give us a call sometime!” she shouts.

Alice’s smile ever so slightly widens, over at me, as she waves and Maggie cackles, Shoniqua offers her typical smug smirk and they leave. An altogether cryptic encounter, to be sure, but there are plenty other rabbits hopping around in this wide open field. In fact, a readily available failsafe option has been present all along, in the form of Cassie, whom I’ve barely even spoken to thus far tonight.

By now, Millie and Miranda and the possibly Latino goofball have left, without Dylan ever speaking to his current target. This he has counterattacked in the form of getting thoroughly smashed, to the extent we’re already questioning how much he’ll remember about tonight. Although then again this is probably the point. As for Cassie, I always feel bad in that it seems plainly obvious she is a backup plan, and is surely aware of her status. I often wonder how she deals with this, internally. Then again, I tell myself, on plenty of nights I was someone’s backup plan, maybe even third or fourth in line, and was ultimately totally okay with that. The trick is, I think, that nobody come right out and verbalize such. We all know where we stand, or should, anyway, but as long as this remains unsaid, this status can never be termed an insult.

Whether coincidence or an active plot, Joe has remained here at the bar, as a new strategy emerges. He will drive Dylan’s truck home, with its owner then sleeping off this bender in Joe and Shoniqua’s spare bedroom. Pete and Marvin are still presumably going their separate ways and heading home. Which means when the house lights go up, that I might be “stuck” giving Cassie a lift. Nobody is quite ready for this to happen yet, however, meaning that while the other guys remain huddled over by the bar, drinking, ogling, and guffawing away what remains of the night, she and I drift over to watch this lone musician play. There’s no seating to speak of directly in front of him, only a wide cleared out space, where presumably he or the bar owners envisioned people dancing. This isn’t happening, however, for us or anyone else, and so after a few minutes spent standing, she and I decide to climb atop this stable looking piece of equipment. A speaker facing outward, wide enough to support both of us.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you earlier…,” Cassie says, following a few mostly silent minutes, once we clamber aboard.

“Yeah?”

“What is this?” she questions, dragging a finger along that mark on my neck.

“Oh. That happened at the barber shop yesterday. I don’t really know how.”

“Mmm hmm,” she says, a verbatim reiteration of Marvin’s response, with a smirk and suspicious sideways glance.

Following another pause, while we’re watching this guy attempt a somewhat clunky yet nonetheless entertaining medley of Good Riddance and Ring Of Fire, Cassie eventually pipes up again and asks, “so…are you seeing anyone seriously now?”

“Still a major no on that front,” I tell her with a laugh, “what about you?”

“Not exactly,” she sighs, “nothing ever seems to work out.”

“Must be an epidemic,” I joke, “that’s all I’m hearing lately.”

“Yeah, I keep trying, but…nobody ever pans out. It always goes up in flames…actually, the last time I saw you, it was still kinda going on with my ex, but pretty much over,” she contemplates, tapping a finger on her top lip. Possibly trying to recall what she told me then, which doesn’t match at all what she’s saying now. Not that I’m surprised, dealing with a female of the species. Then she turns to me and asks again, “but no, seriously, I mean, you’re not seeing anybody?”

“Eh, you know me,” I shrug, “a little bit of this n’ that. But I’m not all that interested, so they come and go. Or else I am interested, but they still come and go. Something goes haywire. I don’t know.”

She laughs with belly shaking force and declares, “face it, Mason, you and I were meant to be together. Nobody else will put up with your shit.”

I rub my forehead and tell her, “actually, I think I’m just meant to be alone.” It occurs to me now, too, that the whole FM radio analogy I offered Joe and Shoniqua was possibly totally backwards. Because I realize it might be me in the middle of the FM dial, broadcasting loud and clear. But nobody’s picking up the signal anyway.

In response, she offers a sidelong glance and knowing smirk, quips, “not tonight you don’t have to be.”

“Hmm! Please go on!” I reply, reinvigorated by this suddenly revealed pathway before us.

She laughs again, with only half as much magnitude but considerably more mischief, and says, “I was gonna say…it might be a fun challenge to try and sneak you in, past my roommates…”

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