The Next Best Thing

Chapter 14 (Part 2)

Burt's other friends started filing in, most of whom Mitch had met at least once before. They took up another booth reserved for the party and all were waited on by the lovely, attentive Shanice and another of her cute co-workers. Where all the Eddies' girls were flirtatious in that friendly way that led to bigger tips, Shanice was giving Mitch the eye all night, even when she was serving other tables.

Not bad for a washed up geezer, Mitch thought, giving it back a couple of times. When he won around at the dartboard, he cupped his ear in her direction for congratulations and she pretended to sigh and swoon dramatically.

Overall the night was a good time, enough to make Mitch forget the last few shitty weeks for most of it, but it was distraction without satisfaction. He had a craving for something better than good, and maybe had for a while. Shanice made it pretty clear that she wanted Mitch to take her home when she slipped him her number and the time her shift ended. He thought about it. She was a little young but, again, not fresh-out-of-high-school-young. He couldn't take her home; soundproofing in the building was already questionable without a big hole in the wall. He didn't feel up to the awkwardness of going to her place. The city was expensive. Waitresses always had roommates. The more he considered it, the more it felt like too much of an effort. Hating Howard and going viral had sucked the life out of him, and though he wasn't drunk, he was low on energy. How would that be fair to the fair Shanice, or his reputation? No, the point of a one-night-stand, which this would surely be, was to be effortless fun and more distraction. If he wasn't going to make the effort, he had far better company to not do it with at home.

When he felt it was time to make his exit, Mitch left a huge tip for Shanice at the table and sought her out to tell her how beautiful she was but that it was bad timing. She seemed disappointed, which was a nice boost for his ego. He headed out into the street and walked up to the nearest intersection to hail a cab. Someone about to pass him stopped and said loudly, "Yo, are you Mitch Garner?"

"Yeah, it's me," Mitch said, always grateful for fans.

"Wow. Then why don't you stick to what you know and stay the fuck out of politics."

"Excuse me?"

"Excuse you. You heard. No one wants to hear your dumb-ass opinions." His heckler, in oversized trousers and a baggy hoodie, started pacing and bouncing like he was about to start break-dancing.

Mitch had no idea which interpretation of whatever he'd said was pissing him off, so he just said, "Alright, goodnight."

"Fuck you!"

"Fuck me? Fuck you!"

The next thing Mitch new, the stranger shoved him. It wasn't very strong and he leapt back quickly, bouncing around still, challenging rather than attacking. In that instant Mitch knew he could take him if he had to. Make that, he could take him if he wanted to. Maybe a fight would take the edge off, get his juices flowing.

Mitch said, "If I'm late to your mother's again, I'm blaming you."

The stranger lunged forward, taking a swing that only grazed Mitch's jaw and landed on his shoulder.

This punk doesn't know what he's doing, Mitch thought. The notion of fighting for the sport of it left him. Still, lessons needed to be taught. He jabbed the guy quickly in his unguarded gut. Not Houdini hard, but enough to make him look like he was going to vomit. He stepped to Mitch to take another swing, leaving his face completely unprotected. Mitch only raised his fists to block his shot, but took the guy's punch right in the elbow. It hurt like a mother. The stranger shook his hand and howled that his fingers were broken.

"We done here?" Mitch asked.

"Eat a bag of dicks, bitch!" the punk yelled with tears streaming down his face as he turned and ran away.