The Spinster's Club

Cece: Two

I was not supposed to be a depressed person.

Actually, I wasn't a depressed person before we began this ridiculous challenge. Bored maybe, but not depressed. But - lining up a date from an internet site, staring at him in shock across a restaurant dinner table when he told me, in a stunned voice, that I reminded him of a matchstick (okay, my online picture was pre-haircut so he might have reason to be shocked), then accidently-on-purpose knocking over my drink aiming for his lap and, at the same time not-accidently-on-purpose knocking over the candle onto the menu ... well, now I was depressed. And I never got one bite of food, either, only a face full of water. So, I was depressed and hungry and Jarod, aka the date from hell, was history.

Okay, maybe it wasn't completely his fault. I had done a number on my hair and, trying to continue my success in the 'change the looks' department (that was sarcasm), I had channeled the eighties by donning a brown jumpsuit which should have gone really well with my hair, if I had any hair, that is. The top half crossed under my breasts to emphasize cleavage; the bottom half was supposed to be tight, clinging to the butt in an effort to generate hopefully lustful images in the male imagination. It was the first time I'd worn a jumpsuit; it was the first time I'd ever seen a jumpsuit, except in those old videos of the aging Elvis.

Needless to say, it was a complete failure. There were no definite curves to be seen. I admit it. But, what I say, is that there was no need to point out any of my flaws at all and I think he did it to be hurtful, or why else laugh? Actually, I know he did it to be hurtful because he said "your matchhead's on fire" before he drenched me with his drink. Still ... perhaps I ought to consider wearing a head scarf until my hair grew out.

I was getting used to my hair. I suppose one can get used to anything, really. After I'd done the dastardly deed, I'd called my local hair salon and begged to be allowed to visit them that very instant! To which they replied 'come on down, we'll fit you in'. What was left of my hair was evened out – as much as it could be – and they sold me some very expensive goop with which I was to style it. I couldn't stop sniggering at that, but she showed me what to do and I'll be damned if it didn't look all right. If you didn't know it was me, it would look damn good. The sides were all swept back off my face and the top was spiked, like I'd seen some singers do.

But it was me and so I felt very conspicuous and vowed I'd never wear that brown outfit again. Maybe a moo moo instead; that should widen me out!

I was sulking on the couch, randomly turning the pages of a catalogue I would never order anything from because the clothes would never fit me - and just exactly why, if the BBWs have a catalogue, do the BSWs (Beautiful Skinny Women) not have one? – when the doorbell rang. Peeking out the window I saw it was Jodie, my next door neighbor. I don't see much of Jody, but we aren't on bad terms or anything. I just couldn't think why she'd be at my door at 7:30 on a Friday night.

Open it and find out, idiot. I always give myself great advice.

"Hey Jodie, what's up?"

"I need to talk to you, Cece. It's an emergency."

"Come on in and have a seat. Want something to drink?"

"No, no. Cece, I need a big favor. A big favor! Oh my God, what have you done to your hair!?"

"I got a little carried away ... it's okay though, it'll grow back and in the meantime I'll get lots of scarves."

"But I love it Cece, it looks so cool. And you'll look so cool at Barron's tonight."

"Barron's? What's Barron's?"

"It's a karaoke club. No, no, just wait a minute, Cece." Jodie spoke quickly when she realized I was not as cool as she thought. "Honey, it's a big competition tonight, the semi-finals and I promised Jim I wouldn't go by myself. Adele was supposed to go with me, but her mom got sick and I can't find anyone else who'll do it ... I mean who's free to come. Please, Cece, I don't want to cheat on Jim, but I'm going, damn it. I've got to see if Carlos gets through."

"Jodie – karaoke?" Good Lord!

"Listen, this isn't amateur night, there's some damn good singers there. Don't be a snob, Cece, please come with me. Please."

"God." But what else was I going to do tonight? Sit on the couch and brood? "Alright, fine, but Jim owes me, dammit. I'll probably be bored out of my skull. What's with Jim, anyway?"

"Thank you, thank you," Jodie squealed. "Oh Jim, he just thinks a girl shouldn't be on her own at these clubs. He says I need someone to take my back. And really, I love him, so if it makes him happy, eases his mind, I don't mind doing it."

I sighed. "Let me get changed ..."

"No need." She grabbed my wrist. "You're fine as you are. We gotta go, I don't want to miss anything. You'll like it, Cece, I promise you will." She dragged me toward the door.

"Wait, my purse ..."

"Don't worry, it's my treat. Come on!"

"Fine!" I stumbled after her, pausing to lock the door and set the alarm.

"Oh, it's going to be so much fun. I'm so glad I thought of you," Jodie gushed as she pulled me down the walk to her car.

"Yeah. Bless your little pea picking heart," I muttered.

Yeah.


*****


Barron's was a cross between country western and disco. It didn't have a bucking bull, but it did have the disco balls twirling over the dance floor, and a fairly large stage filled with several microphones and all sorts of mysterious electrical equipment. Tables were crammed in every which-away and every single one of them was filled. The air hummed with background noise, voices talking, laughing and every now and then shouting, for whatever reason. Jodie led me to the long, curving bar and managed to snag a stool. I stood behind her and hoped I didn't look as unhappy as I felt.

"Oh good, they haven't started yet." Jodie waved at the bartender, then turned to me. "What'll ya have?"

"Ginger ale." I'd already noticed several people rudely staring at me and I had no intention of getting tipsy and making a fool of myself. Again.

"Cece, let's get closer to the stage."

"What're you gonna do, Jodie, sit on a stranger's lap?"

Jodie evidently didn't recognize sarcasm. "No, silly, we'll line up against the wall with the others. Oh, this is so exciting!"

"Yeah. Exciting. You go along, Jodie. I'll grab your stool, my feet hurt. Stupid new shoes."

I sat and watched Jodie thread her way between the tables. I truly didn't mean to be such a wet blanket (also known as being bitchy), but I couldn't help it. I wanted to be at home in my fuzzy sock slippers and Eeyore pajamas, sitting in front of my computer with words and sentences gushing out of my fingers and onto the screen. Of course, they would be wonderful, dramatic, comedic and lustful words, all put together with brilliant talent, worthy of a Pulitzer.

Oh my goodness, Amy would laugh her ass off. So would Cass and Romy, for that matter. And Jodie didn't really need or want me here. I was here so she could tell Jim she had someone with her, without lying.

I found this depressing. I took a sip of my ginger ale and tried not to feel hard done by.

A man squeezed in beside me and called out to the barman. "Ramon, a diet Coke, por favor." His voice, deep and velvety, sent a shiver down my spine.

"You got it, Carlos, coming right up."

His shoulder pressed against my arm. I stole a look and almost spilled my drink. My lord, he was handsome! Dark headed, with an arrogant nose and a determined chin and he smelled so damn good I felt a quiver at the bottom of my stomach. The very bottom.

He reached out and caught my drink then turned to me and grinned. He had white teeth and a damn 'almost dimple' and his hazel eyes flared green as he looked at me. I'm almost positive mine flared right back.

"Hola, Senorita, I have not seen you here before."

"Oh, you come here often?" I grimaced and then laughed. "That's supposed to be your line." Heaven help me, I think I giggled.

He shook his head, smiling. "No, I know you have not been here before, I would have noticed." Self-consciously, I raised a hand to my hair. "But, for myself, I am in the contest. I have the thinking that it will be fun and maybe be good for my career."

"Looks like they're ready to start." I nodded to the stage where a man with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail was fiddling with the mic. "I'm looking forward to hearing you sing."

"I will sing to you, yes?" He took my hand and raised it to his lips. I tried to say something, but my lungs weren't working right and all I got out was a sort of moan. Oh, alright, it was a definite moan, but a quiet one. "Querida, may I have your name?"

"Cecelia," I whispered.

"Ah such a beautiful name. I have the hope I will see you after I have finished." He pressed my hand to his chest. "You see how my heart beats from the meeting of you. Will you wait?"

Oh hell yes!

"I'll see if it's okay with my friend," I said primly.