Drop Off The Key

We descended a narrow set of wooden stairs, the steps barely visible under the flashing rainbow lights and the mixed haze of fog and deep, pumping bass. The girl who’d let us past had raised an eyebrow at the group of us, her black-stained lips twisting judgmentally as she stamped each of our wrists.

“Mandatory coat check,” she grunted, and tilted her head toward the cut-out in the wall.

My friends giggled and peeled off their coats and sweaters. Krista’s midriff peeked out above low-slung jeans, Jacquie made sure her cropped sweater revealed just enough tanned skin to be enticing, and Anne-Marie shivered and rubbed her bare arms as her mini-skirt sashayed around her thighs.

Who they thought they’d be attracting at a place like this, dressed like that, was beyond me.

“Um, mine’s not really a coat,” I mumbled to the pale, black-haired girl. I rolled up the sleeve of my flannel plaid shirt to let her stamp my wrist.

“You’re fine. Tell your straight friends not to ogle at the queens, will you?”

“Oh, we’re all—”

But she had already turned to the next people in line.

“Mario! Sean! How are you boys doing? Where’s that cute red-head of yours?”

I rubbed my own red hair unconsciously and waited restlessly as the other girls paid the bored-looking girl in the coat check window.

“All right ladies, let’s go!”

Jacquie’s voice was sing-song, almost mocking as she pushed past me and began descending the narrow staircase. I made to follow her, but Anne-Marie rushed past, giggling as she held Krista’s hand.

“Don’t do that, they’ll think we’re… well, you know.”

Yes, because appearing to be gay at the gay bar would be such a scandal.

I sighed and began my descent down the narrow staircase. As far as I knew, none of the four of us identified as anything besides straight. I certainly didn’t. The girls knew that; I had met all of them through my boyfriend, Wyatt. I’d certainly heard enough about all of their conquests to know that none of them had even dipped a toe in the lady pond, unless someone was really keeping a secret well.

The novelty of the gay bar had enticed them. I tried not to cringe as they giggled and whispered—well, shout-whispered—about all the things they saw.

“Ohmigod, that guy is wearing a mesh shirt!”

“Jacquie, look! Is he… oh my God, he’s wearing a jockstrap, never mind.”

“Leigh, that girl is wearing the same shirt as you. You fit right in!”

Krista nudged me and pointed at a girl with short hair, indeed wearing the exact same flannel plaid shirt I had on.

“Let’s get a drink!” shouted Jacquie.

She looped one arm through Krista’s, took Anne-Marie’s hand, and began sauntering off through the bar. I had to scurry to catch up with them.

The bartender wore a sheer tank top, muscles flexing beneath the gauzy fabric as he shook a pink fruity beverage into a cocktail glass for Jacquie, a tropical blue fruity beverage into a hurricane glass for Anne-Marie, and an orange fruity beverage into a martini glass for Krista. They each paid and turned to scout out a table while I stepped up to the bar.

“Can I just have a beer?”

He popped the cap off a bottle of Heineken and slid it across the bar to me.

“Hey, just FYI,” he shouted. “Like, I know you haven’t paid yet so not so much for you, but for your friends. Tipping is customary.”

I swallowed and jerked my head forward into a nod, handed him a twenty, and dashed after my friends before he could get me the change.

They had found a table not too far from the bar and were leaning into each other, giggling.

“Leigh, did you see the guy with the beard and the long skirt?”

I shrugged and sipped my beer.

“Oh my God, are you going to be a complete downer all night?” Jacquie’s usually-nasal voice was harsh as she shouted over the music. “Lighten up, Leigh.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You look like we dragged you into a funeral instead of a club.”

I bit my lip, my hand itching toward the phone in my pocket.

“I’m just worried about Wyatt.”

“Ugh!” groaned Krista. “Wyatt, Wyatt, Wyatt. Can we go one night without you complaining about Wyatt?”

“I don’t complain about him,” I mumbled, but no one heard me.

“She’s got a point!” Anne-Marie shouted. “You always seem so unhappy about our dear Wyatt.”

“I’m not unhappy!” I protested. “He just seems distant right now.”

“Maybe if you stopped being so damn clingy,” Krista said snidely.

“I’m not clingy! I just—”

“Guys, for my birthday, I have a request,” interrupted Jacquie. “Can we puh-lease stop talking about Wyatt?”

I swallowed and nodded.

“That’s my girl,” she said, nudging me. “Forget Wyatt, loosen up, put a goddamn smile on that face, and drink up, bitch!”

I hated when she called me one of her bitches, but I forced a smile anyway and took another sip of beer.

The three of them had finished their drinks before I even got through half of my Heineken.

“Watch the table for us, Leigh,” demanded Jacquie. “We’re going to get a refill.”

“Don’t forget to tip,” I said, but she had already turned on her heel to lead Anne-Marie and Krista back to the bar.

My friends, for lack of the existence of anything else in my life that could be described as a friend, were friends of circumstance. They were better than nothing, I reasoned, and if it weren’t for them, I would have no friends. Making friends in a city where you know no one is hard enough. Me making friends period was next to impossible.

I had met the three of them through Wyatt, my boyfriend. He was the only organic friend I’d made after moving to the city for school. I’d met him at the convenience store near my apartment the first night I’d moved in. He had worked there—still worked there—and had been kind enough to walk me back to the apartment after seeing me pass the store three times.

“You lost or something?” he’d asked when I came in.

“Um…”

“Keep seeing you walk by.”

“Yeah,” I had whispered. “I can’t find my building.”

He had smiled, charming and sweet, and slid the bottle of water I’d stopped to buy across the counter without charging me.

“I get off in ten minutes. Let me help you.”

So I had waited outside the store, and ten minutes later he came strolling out, backpack in one hand and cigarettes in the other.

“You smoke?”

I didn’t, but I took one from him anyway.

I told him my address and he led me down the street, pointing out the side road I’d kept missing when I’d been wandering back and forth by the convenience store, and walked me up to the front door of my apartment.

“Thanks,” I said.

“No problem. Cute girl like you shouldn’t be wandering around all alone.”

My face had turned red and he’d laughed.

“You know, it’s pretty hot out here. Maybe I could grab some water from you before I walk home?”

So I invited him up to my apartment and he left the next morning.

It wasn’t the most meet-cute story out there, but it didn’t have to be. A few months later, I asked if we were boyfriend and girlfriend. He shrugged and said we might as well be, and a couple of weeks after that, introduced me to his friends. I became “one of the girls” with Jacquie, Anne-Marie, and Krista. Somehow, I still managed to feel like a fifth-wheel even though there were only four of us.