“So I cracked onto his bridesmaid.”
“No surprises there.”
“Yeah, I offered her ten cents to fuck her.”
Jake’s mates laugh; he’s the good looking one, so he has all
the stories. They always laugh.
“What? She was Polish. That’s a lot of money in Poland.”
More laughter ensues and he continues unabashed, although a
nearby woman waiting for her drink is clearly listening. She looks like she’s
trying to decide whether she thinks he’s a complete jerk, or whether she would
have taken the ten cents. He’s beautiful, really.
“I woke up on the couch, like, horizontal.”
The woman smirks. Horizontal on a couch? Who would have
thought! The barman finishes making her cocktail with a flourish and she pays,
then moves to a booth at the other side of the room. It offers her a good view.
She has a laptop with her. He sees her out of the corner of his eye – she isn’t
dressed up and isn’t the right kind of attractive for him to really notice her.
The bar is one of those places that’s never empty, but never
full. There’s a comfortable number of people there, a healthy ratio of hipsters
(90%), trendy worker types (5%), bogans (3%) and hippies (2% - it’s too
expensive for them). The décor is industrial chic – so popular right now. Exposed light bulbs hang from the ceiling, giving off that perfect glow that hides
all the flaws. Faux windows in the walls show off the cloud-like form of
insulation batts. It looks like wool. The bar is backed up by hundreds of bottles, all there to service the small cocktail list that changes every week.
The real selling point of this place is the music. It’s old. Like 50s old, but never the usual boring overplayed classics.
Jake finishes his story and his friends practically applaud,
even though he didn’t actually get the girl in the end. Well, ten cents, what
do you expect? He takes a sip of his beer, the mild adrenaline rush from
being the centre of attention subsiding as the beer hits his nerves and calms
him just a touch. He isn’t sure where the story even came from. The truth is,
he never offered the Polish girl ten cents. He barely spoke to her, she was so
beautiful and he was intimidated by her poise. He isn’t even sure if she was
really Polish or whether he just made that up because she looked so blonde and
sad and exotic. He had tried to speak to her about a million times but there
had always been some other guy around. First the groomsmen (only fair they
should get first dibs) and then the old uncles, the cousins, and finally the
pre-tween brats. By that point he was far too drunk and was, indeed, horizontal
on the couch.
Jake’s parents had taken him to Poland once, when he was
eight or nine. His mother had distant relatives there, and she wanted to
explore her heritage or whatever. So he and his dad had been subjected to
endless rides on tour buses in city after same-same city. His only real memory
of the place was when they went to Auschwitz. He’d had nightmares about the
Jewish children and when they arrived at their relatives' house he hid behind
his mother because he thought they were going to murder him. Poland was a
horrible place as far as Jake was concerned. But that bridesmaid had been
beautiful.
“Another beer mate?” One of his buddies was elbowing him out
of his reverie. He looked down and noticed his glass was empty. He shrugged and
was about to say yes when he caught a glimpse of a woman in the mirror. He
gulped. Was it her? The maybe-Polish girl? She was tall, had long blonde hair
that reached halfway down her back, black winged eyes like Amy Winehouse, and
red, red lips. She was skinny too – maybe too skinny. But lots of girls were
these days, you couldn’t be fussy. She walked to the bar and stopped right
beside him.
“We should get that punch bowl thing” she said to her friend
in a lilting, delicate voice. Her friend giggled and nodded.
“One berry and lemon bowl please” the maybe-Polish girl
said.
Jake was dumbfounded. It was definitely her. The Polish
bridesmaid girl he hadn’t offered ten cents to, standing right next to him.
Would he talk to her? What would he say?
She glanced at him, paused, looked him up and down, then
spoke.
“Jake? From the wedding last weekend?”
Jake nodded, mouth dry.
“Oh wow! I felt so rude that night, I didn’t even speak to
you! But there were just too many people around you know, and I got distracted,
like, every time I tried to say hi.” She did a little giggle thing and tossed
her long hair over her shoulder. He felt a shiver go through him along with a
vague sense of annoyance because she clearly knew what she was doing to him.
His mates were sniggering together behind him. God, he hoped they didn’t make
the connection.
“I don’t know if we got introduced properly, but my name is
Caprice.” She took his limp hand in hers and shook it.
Caprice? Wasn’t that Latin for evil, or something? This was
not a good sign.
