Chapter Nine
El Psicológico
It was going to be one of those days; he knew it the minute he opened his eyes. It was one of those days when he felt like just taking off on his bike and starting all over in a different city. It would be a lot easier considering the current state of things. He was screwing a married broad, and the other broad he was screwing was messing with his head. If he just left, he could put this all behind him. To hell with them. Who needed either one of them, especially Ororo?
So, why wasn’t he making tracks already? What was the holdup? Why was he still munching on soggy cereal instead of hauling ass? All he had to do was throw some stuff in a bag. Forget the rest of that worthless crap in his apartment. He could buy more stuff once he was settled wherever he went. How was he supposed to show his face at the club, anyway? How was he supposed to look Ororo in the eye after she basically rejected him? He didn’t want to admit how much that burned, but the thought of her not caring if he showed up at the club burned worse. Why did he even give a fuck?
Oh, he cared. He didn’t want to, but he did. And it sickened him. All this time, he thought he was in total control of what was going on. He was obviously not in control anymore “ if he ever had been in the first place. Maybe she was the one who was really in control this whole time. Sure, he liked to think that he had a lot of control over what happened between them, but look at the way she tossed him aside like yesterday’s newspaper.
Okay, he would admit he was a little down about the whole situation, but he hid it behind his usual surly demeanor. Men shouldn’t let the world know when they were down about women “ not if they were real men. And he wouldn’t let her see that she was getting to him. It would be like a slap in the face if he did.
He only handcuffed her physically; she handcuffed him mentally. He didn’t like the constant back and forth, the constant hot and cold. It was annoying as hell, and if he wanted something that confusing in his life, he’d take up something ridiculous like astrophysics. She was the reason for all this turmoil. She lured him; she cast him away. She made life more complicated than it should be. So, why this one? God, of all the women in the world, why couldn’t he let this one go?
And it just killed him to think about her with that bastard. Now, he was the one who was jealous. Maybe, she really liked the guy, and maybe, he was going to lose his lunch at the thought. He didn’t want to see her wasting her time with someone like Joaquín, but he felt that he had nothing offer her. Why should he be concerned about her? He couldn’t help it. Fuck her for making him feel like that.
Why didn’t she just peel his psychological band-aid slower?
He decided he might be a little obsessive. Even after she rejected him at the club, even after he told himself she was just one of many, he went to her house. He was going to talk some sense into her. That’s what he told himself, anyway. She didn’t want to be with him. Fine. She didn’t have to uproot her whole life because of this. If she didn’t want him to ever speak to her again, he wouldn’t. It was simple as that.
However, when he got to her place, she was dancing. She wasn’t being secretive with it either. She was in the living room. Her shades were up, and she was dancing up a storm. He guessed she didn’t care who saw her; her neighbors probably thought she was having some kind of attack.
“I love myself today, not like yesterday. I’m cool. I’m calm. I’m gonna be okay. Uh-huh. I love myself today, not like yesterday. Take another look at me now. Cause it’s your last look, your last look forever.” He heard her yelling with the music while she danced wildly. It was like some weird ritualistic dance of closure, and he couldn’t disrupt that.
So, he left. He didn’t want to admit that it might’ve been because he was scared. He wasn’t scared of anyone, least of all her. He got up from his seat at the kitchen table and dumped his half-eaten cereal. He had a meeting to go to, and he would look her in the damn eye without any regret.
They arrived a few hours before the club opened. Logan expected the meeting to be about work morale or something. Jean usually called them all together to give them a pep talk, she liked doing that type of thing, but it wasn’t about work ethic. This was far more serious in nature “ in his opinion.
Jean walked around handing them bright pieces of paper. Day-glo green, the kind of color that could leave you permanently blind if you looked too long. After his eyesight came back him, he read the flier. At the top of the flier, the words “The Phoenix Presents” stared back at him boldly. He could have ripped his hair out when he realized what it was.
“Not another one of these,” he grumbled under his breath. It was already time for another one. Already? He hated those things, hated them with every ounce of breath he had in his body. He didn’t even read any further.
“What was that, Logan?” Jean said, a sickly-sweet smile plastered on her face.
“Nothin’.” He answered. Jean liked to host “themed parties”. She said they were fun. Logan thought they were acts of cruelty against mankind, sick shit that should be legally banned. He still refused to read any further. He was almost afraid of what this month’s theme was going to be. He could almost see the words “On the Farm” jumping up at him. He was not dressing up like Farmer-Fucking-Brown. That’s where he was going to draw the line.
Two months ago, it was “Disco Fever”. Jean had to physically force him to wear a fake afro and a vintage fringe vest. Victor had come to work in some sort of Shaft getup, Jean and Ororo had dressed alike with their fringed hair, mini-skirts, and platforms. He saw so many polyester suits, glittery bodies, and flashy shirts that he had a headache for days after.
The guest DJ had played Crying at the Discothèque, Bring Me the Disco King (that wasn’t even a 70’s song) and I Will Survive so many times that Logan had contemplated putting a broken bottle to his wrist. In fact, he still heard, “I saw you crying at the discothèque. The DJ takes you high. Let tears of joy baptize the crowd…” in his nightmares. That event made him a firm believer that the 70’s should stay in the 70’s.
Last month, it was “Angels and Demons”, which had been a vast improvement over “Disco Fever”. Kurt had dressed up as some demon priest hybrid that had been popular with the crowd. Two of Jean’s friends”Warren and Emma”dressed up as angels and danced in the cages surrounding the DJ booth. When he asked Jean what they were supposed to be, she said something about caged angels. His reaction: What the hell?
He spent the rest of the night looking at weirdoes dressed up like demons, angels, priests, nuns, witches, elves, motherfucking fairies while he wondered what half of those things had to do with the theme. It was a damn free-for-all.
These parties brought a big crowd, though, which meant lots of tips. The club was usually packed to capacity the minute the doors opened, and you couldn’t get in on those nights unless you were dressed in costume. Logan didn’t understand the appeal behind dressing up like an asshole. Apparently, he was the only one. He remembered one clubber said it was like Halloween for grown folks.
He finally let his eyes slip past the header, past the preamble she always put on those fliers, and to the actual theme itself. Well, it wasn’t “On the Farm”. Big relief. This one was really going to bring out the freaks, though. The theme was “Heroes and Villains”. The club goers were going to eat that one up.
“Participation is mandatory, and could we please keep the griping to a minimum this time?” Jean trilled over his thoughts. He looked up and everyone was looking straight at him, even the damn new kid who hadn’t been there long enough to know what kind of torture this was.
“What?” he shrugged. He complained, but he participated most of the time. Begrudgingly, but he did participate. Okay, it was only because Jean made him. They were stupid, and he couldn’t believe he let her force him into participating. He didn’t complain that much. Did he?
After that, things just went downhill, he left his apartment key and couldn’t find the damn super. He ended up literally having to rip the door off the hinges and leaving it that way. Good thing he didn’t have shit worth stealing, but the super was going to piss a baby when he saw it. Someone stole the plates off his bike. Who the hell steals license plates? The phone company turned off his phone. Did he remember to pay them? Why the hell was his goddamn bill so high anyway?
All this in the little time he had between the meeting and work. He should’ve known all these signs were leading up to something; and that something wasn’t going to be very good. It was worse than he expected. He was preparing for the night crowd when he heard Jean giggle. He looked up to see her and him together, hand in hand like a loving couple. “Slim!” Ororo said, rushing from behind the bar to greet the Scott. Scott opened his arms wide and hugged Ororo. He didn’t know how she tolerated him.
Shit, he knew it was going to be a bad day, but he didn’t think it was going to be that bad. He knew he had done many shady things in his life, but what did he ever do to deserve putting up with Scott’s shit”even for one night? He knew Scott was Jean’s husband, but some people just be allowed to step foot in that club. Ever. He was a firm believer that Scott was one of those people.
Scott always waltzed into the club wearing his slacks with a razor sharp crease and his crisp white Polo shirt that looked as if it would crunch under your fingers. He flashed that too perfect smile that betrayed a hint of haughtiness and looked at you over the top of those ridiculous ruby-tinted glasses he always wore. He had little interest in the club, but when he did grace them with his presence, he was always demanding they do things differently, as if he really had any idea how a club should be ran.
Jean said that Scott was just used to being in charge of things and that they could humor him on the rare occasions he came to the club. Logan was convinced the man was on a massive power trip, and he would be more than happy to show Scott that he wasn’t too good to tote a good, old-fashion ass kicking.
Scott walked over to the bar, deliberately taking a seat in front of him. Of all the places to sit, it figures he would sit in the seat right in front of Logan. Logan didn’t like the way Scott was studying him, as if he had some burning secret he was waiting to get out. He made it his business to polish shot glasses while Scott bore a whole in his head with his eyes. God how he wanted to knock those ridiculous sunglasses from his face. Did there look like there was sunlight in the club?
“Hello, Logan,” he heard Scott say to him, as if he were only an afterthought. That was another thing he disliked about Scott “ his ability to say his name like a cobra spitting venom. He clenched his fists tightly against the bar, refusing to give Scott the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of him. Logan barely looked at Scott as he acknowledged the man with a terse nod.
“Hey Killer,” Scott said to Victor when he approached them. Victor paused in mid-stride and didn’t say anything as he glared down at Scott. Scott was always calling Victor “Killer”. Logan didn’t know if he did it because he was trying to be funny or taking a sneaky jab at Victor. It was probably a combination of both knowing Scott. Scott chuckled nervously as Victor continued to stare him down. Finally, Scott excused himself. It was about time he got the picture.
“Dipshit,” he heard Victor say behind Scott’s back.
“First smart thing you’ve ever said.” Logan said.
“Know somethin’, runt? Scott’s the only person in the world I hate more than you. I’d much rather break his fuckin’ face before yours.”
“Feelin’s mutual.”
Then, Victor left again, but Logan could tell by the smirk on his face that he was up to no good. He was probably going to scare Scott shitless. Jean wouldn’t be happy, but it would almost be worth being yelled at to scare Scott. While he contemplated that, Ororo whispered by him and he caught her scent, the one that made him feel protected. How was he going to survive without that? He just wanted to wrap her in his arms and tell her that he needed her, that she needed him, that they needed each other.
Goddammit, shit was getting ridiculous. He was getting all mushy over her.
Ororo was all wrong for him. He knew that. He shouldn’t be pining away over her. It wasn’t like he couldn’t get women. He seemed to attract wannabe bad girls. They were really mostly just middle class women who wanted to be with a bad boy. Their boring lives just didn’t thrill them, anymore. He still remembered this one woman trying to impress him by saying she just got a tattoo on her thigh. That made her “so bad”. How pathetic was that?
He had been content with that at one time, though “ as sad as that may sound. He didn’t really care about any of them, so he could care less what they were into as long as they offered a warm body. Needed to get laid. No problem. One of his many adoring “bad girls” was always more than willing to give it up. Most times, he couldn’t place the name to the face the next day, and there sure as hell was no strings attached (at least not any on his part).
So, he had these feelings for Ororo. She was a hell of a woman, but she was sick of the way he treated her. He was cool with that. He wouldn’t put up with his shit either if he was a woman. He wasn’t cool with who she was dating, but she was an adult she could make her own decisions. No matter how much he wanted to tell her they were wrong for her. What right did he have to tell someone a person was “wrong” for them?
So, he couldn’t have Ororo. Fine. He probably didn’t deserve her anyway. He only ran away the people that were close to him, or they hated him like his own parents.
He should be satisfied with bartending and having the ability to get a girl every now and again. But Ororo was making everything more complex than it needed to be. So he cared about her, and he always knew she cared for him somewhat. He could see it in her eyes. He knew he was infuriating, didn’t appreciate the hand God dealt him. Maybe, he was just using her as a means of licking his wounds because of all that was going on with Jean.
He did know one thing: things were confusing for her as well. He could tell from the way she was acting. He felt better knowing that at least. The only question left to ask was, what happens now?
Song mentioned: I Love Myself Today by Bif Naked
Thanks everyone for all your reviews and stuff. I meant to take time out to answer some questions, but I have so much going on between writing. I will answer them, though. No worries.
