Like Dizzy Gillespie's Cheeks

Thirty

The Third Coast was as packed as the subway in Honk Kong at rush hour. Except they don't serve coffee there. Max, Tracy, Kate, and I were smashed together in a corner near the door. Kate and I were sitting closer than we had ever allowed ourselves to be before. It felt like a date.

I couldn't decide whether to keep my coat on or take it off. When the door opened, the night air sent a chill through my body like I was being dunked in Lake Michigan, and when the door was shut, the heat was unbearable. I will never understand what some people will put up with to be seen drinking an overpriced, oversized mug of coffee.

"You've really polished your show, Sam."

"Did you like the new addition? He's really good, isn't he?" I said.

"I bet the auditions were murderous," said Tracy.

"My only question," Kate added, "is why you weren't in a Speedo as well?" With that she winked and gave me the crooked smile I'd become accustomed to.

Of course Max had to keep pushing the level of assholeness.

"Kate, has Sam begun to cooperate with you yet?"

"Not really. He's still playing hard to get."

I had a quick flash of anxiety until I realized they were talking about the "Ben" project, and not the "amorphous" relationship project.

"Thanks, Max, but as always, you're not helping."

"Yeah, lay off Max," Tracy said.

"Just trying to help out Kate."

"I think she's doing just fine on her own," I said.

At that point, the only thing that could possibly make things more uncomfortable would be Liz showing up out of the blue.

"Isn't this a cozy little foursome?" Liz shouted over the din of trivial conversations and a variety of coffee sipping.

"Liz," we all said in unison.

Guilt overwhelmed me as I looked at Liz standing above us all. But why?

"Sam, can we talk?" Liz asked in a disapproving tone.

"What?" I said, postponing the inevitable confrontation and in some way actually hoping that she might forget she wanted to talk to me.

"Come with me." She grabbed my arm and yanked me out into the bitter cold. Liz pulled out a couple cigarettes, offered me one, and lit another for herself.

"What's going on, Liz?"

"I was hoping you'd tell me, Casanova."

"Liz, I don't know what to tell you. I'm a little messed up."

"When haven't I known you to be messed up?"

"Good point." Where do I go from here, I thought. Of course, a long dramatic drag on my cigarette. "Listen, Liz, the other night was nice, but it was wrong."

"You know why it was nice, Sam? Because it wasn't wrong." With that, Liz flicked her cigarette into the street and left me standing in a cryogenic pose.