Saturdays

Saturdays – Cut Copy(listen in new tab)

Gregory Tours knows when K needs to get out and let off steam. He can see around his corners, over his horizons, or however you put it. K won’t ask for it, but G.T. always knows when to bring up this kind of night. Whatever he feels about Shannon being back, he knows whose side he’s on. He has never been against them as a couple. He has just always been for K as a person. And sometimes, he needs to be G.T.’s wingman and get a little (a lot) drunk somewhere.

G.T. takes K to an old favourite. Called, utterly pretentiously, OOOOO, everyone just calls it the 5-0. It’s a dark whole in the ground, a green and red-lit basement. But, it has three things going for it: a good DJ, cheap (decent?) drinks, girls. When it gets busy, it gets hot, the air thick with sweat, spilt beer, and later the spoilt smell of vomit. An atmosphere of tepid indiscretion. The music is loud. The beat buries itself in their chests.

G.T.’s not decked out, not showing effort, but he would describe himself as “having it going on.” K’s wearing his library clothes, which pass for nerd chic in this place. Cords and short sleeve collared shirts are fine. He’s not here to pick up anyways. No. His head bobbing slightly to the music, K has chosen tonight to bitch. It’s what he needs.

G. T. listens as best he can through the music. He’s looking over K’s shoulder, keeping his eye out. Normally he’d be hunting for a prospect, but tonight he’s waiting for someone specific. He casually checks the time on his cell phone.

G.T.: “Listen. Listen.” His tongue is loosening from the rums and cokes. It’s been two weeks since Shannon came back. From what he’s been able to gather from K and Claire, there were a few good days. “K. If she’s that unhappy she should talk to someone. Like someone who can really help her… Whoa.”

K looks to see. “Yeah. Well. Yeah. I’d say 7 at best. But look at the hair. It’ll drag her down to a 6 or a 5 by morning. All hair-do, man.”

G.T. “You wouldn’t need her by the morning.”

K: “You wouldn’t need her after 30 second, but you’d still have to pay to have the front of her dress cleaned, quick draw.” His speech is getting lazy, too. His vowels start to sound the same. His consonants round out. He looks like he’s on a good mixture; its starting to pulls him up.

G.T. smiles. He holds his drink to his face and then looks at K’s. “I think we’re due for another.”

The bar has a chain link fence around it. The bar staff hand drinks trough large holes cut in the woven metal wire, giving it the appearance of some of a distopic bank wicket. It’s crowded. They squeeze in to get the bartenders attention.

G.T.: “I can’t believe Shannon stopped drinking. She could really pack ‘em away.” He holds up his empty glass, rocking it back in forth.

K: “She said it was to save money. Anyways, she’s been sick all week, so I don’t think she’d come out anyways. Claire said she’d come later. After she closes.”

G.T., dismissively: “Whatever.” He checks his cell phone again. Should be around now. He waves a twenty at the sweaty man behind the fence. “Two rum and cokes, my good man.” He watches K. He knows from experience when he’s trying to look like he’s not looking. Tonight, it’s more than just checking out women as. From the way his head jerks at the movement, he’s either looking for someone or to avoid someone, maybe both.

It not long after they wade away from the bar, that G. T. finds who he’s looking for.

K doesn’t realize and continues his diatribe. : “G.T., I knows she’s been back only a short time, but I just have no idea how to handle this. She demands space, and then yells at me for ignoring her. And she sick, like most of the time. And she’s too embarrassed to be back to go out. Hey. Hey! Where are you going?”

G.T. looks back. “Be cool. Remember how it goes; help, don’t hinder.”

He walks up to a short curvy blonde. Her hair is cropped short in the back, long bangs frame her face. She hugs him excitedly. But she’s drunk and pushes him off balance. K puts out a hand to steady him. Her drunkenness manifests as unbridled, adorable excitement. “Gregs! 5-0! Wooo!”

K: “Gregs?”

G.T. “Shut up. K, this is Brae.”

Brae: “Hey. He’s cute. I bet my friend would like him. She’s at the bar.” She stumbles a little, falling into G.T. She wraps her arm around his waist to steady herself.

G.T. winks as K. “Yeah. No doubt.”

K: “Well. I don’t know.”

Brae: “No, she’s cool. Seriously. There she is. Hey! Maury! Over here!” She’s waving frantically.

K: “Oh Jesus.” He looks like he wants to sink into the floor. Maura is standing there with two beer bottles in one hand, and two shots in the other. She smoothly, miraculously dodges the elbows and flailing arms that strike from all sides. She looks good, casual, put together. She makes K feel all the frayed edges in his life.

Maury: “Hey Brae. This the guy you were waiting for?” She looks K over as she hands Brae her share of the drinks. Does the shot. K doesn’t look her in the eye. “Wassa matter K, don’t own a phone anymore?”

K looks up finally. He’s a little drunk, so maybe he looks at her breasts longer then he normally would. “Well.” He scratches the back of his head awkwardly, unable to keep his eyes from stumbling into hers.

G.T.: “Hey, you know each other? Don’t you go to Ulysses’s sometimes?”

K and Maury reply together, their eyes knotted. “Yeah.”

And then just Maury, her words bite facetiously and scathe: “But he’s a jerk that can’t use a phone.”

G.T.: “What?”