Turn Me Bad

 Indeed it was hard not too, no matter how many times she tried to recollect the empty feeling she had felt on waking up to find him gone or her conclusion that he was not really good for her anyway. Instead, it almost felt as if she was back in that same evening when they had met and gotten to know each other, with all the time in-between being nothing more than an impromptu interlude.

“I think I must have sensed you were too good to be true last time, Mr Martin,” she reflected, as they waited for their dessert. “Which was why I didn’t even bother asking for your last name. Well, I’m not going to make that mistake this time, so tell me a bit more about yourself.”

”What do you want to know?”

”Everything you know about me but I don’t about you. Where do you live? Where did you grow up? And tell me more about the work you do.”

”That last part’s easy,“ he replied, taking a sip of what was their third round of beers of the evening. ”You’ve been working with me today.”

”Yes, but you don’t fool me,“ she told him. ”You get better paying jobs than this marketing shoot for us. Frankly, I’m a little suspicious about how you ended up on our books.”

”Mostly my work is in L.A.,“ he said. ”I do a lot of shoots for fashion companies, but I’ve also done catwalk stuff – which is the highest paid gig – and occasionally been on TV and film sets.”

”You kidder! Anything I’ve seen?”

”No, nothing good,“ he admitted with a smile. ”And I don’t get any lines anyway. If they want a six pack in the background then my agent might be able to negotiate a better price than the other extras get. But I’m not an actor.”

”Doesn’t stop some guys I can think of,” Violet remarked.

”Ha! Maybe, but I’m far too disengaged with what’s going on in truth. I can take it or leave it.”

Violet thought that was an amazing attitude to have for someone who got to make a living from a profession so many men would kill for. She declined to wind him up about it though, because he didn’t say it arrogantly and so came across as sincere. That was odd, but she hardly knew what to make of it.

”So you live in L.A. then?”

”That’s right, I have an apartment. But I grew up down the coast in San Clemente.”

”You’re a surfer dude,“ Violet declared, pointing a finger suddenly in a way that said, ”I’ve got you figure out.” As usual, Benjamin just smiled.

”I had a surf board growing up for sure, but I can…”

”You can take it or leave it,“ she finished his sentence for him.

”I can take it or leave it. Unlike this dessert on its way.”

The food went down as well as expected, but the evening still felt young. It came as no surprise when Benjamin suggested they seek out another bar and carry on drinking and neither was Violet difficult to persuade. Because they had eaten, the alcohol had been held back a little from having its full effect and, especially because of the heat, they both felt there was a lot more beer to be drunk.

Being Tuesday evening meant that all the fun places in town could hardly be described as happening. They had their pick of whatever bars suited them, though there was enough people about who were also drawn by a cold beer.

There was a lot of unexploited energy about the night. Violet, because she had been keeping everything bottled up all day, and Benjamin, probably because that was just his way. At some point, they ended up dancing in a nightclub, booming dance music vibrating all around them. Violet couldn’t recall how they got there or whose decision it was but, as crazy as she felt, it had probably been hers. She was enjoying the sensation of having her hair bouncing and waving to the music, almost in reminiscence of the mess she had made of it after that first bike journey, when Benjamin stuck a shot of tequila in her hand.

”I’m not sure this is a good idea,“ she said, ”I have to work tomorrow.”

”You’re young and underestimate yourself,“ he replied. ”Seize the moment.”

They were not the only ones dancing and drinking in there. A group of guys nearby also had tequila shots. At first, Violet had thought they were British until Benjamin told her they were definitely Australian (either way they liked their alcohol). Because they were then indulging in the same level of toxicity, before she downed the evil concoction, for some reason Violet felt the need to raise her shot glass to them and shout, ”To Crocodile Dundee.”

It hardly seemed like a major diplomatic faux pas, but one of the guys in particular seemed to be put out about the association. Violet shrugged her shoulders, but Benjamin insisted on nudging the nearest of the group to them and asking, ”What’s your friend’s problem?”

That drew the man in question over to begin a rant about national pride. It turned out that the men were not Australians but New Zealanders and did not like the presumption over their identity. Though it may have been that the mistake had been made numerous times on their trip round the States and they would usually smile and not be offended by it, the combination of too much to drink and being taken for an Australian too many times caused an extended and inebriated complaint. He was saying things like, ”How would they like it if we thought they were Mexican?“ and ”People should know who the best rugby nation on the planet is.”

It was all a bit lost on Violet, and she realized too late it was more of an issue than it should have been. That Benjamin was engaged in the discussion so directly should have given her a clue that he was sticking up for her. Though she hadn’t seen it that way, the comment about Australia’s favorite movie character had been hers and her date – if she could call him that – had taken exception to it being made in that context. Even if it wasn’t being made in her direction.

Suddenly, Violet’s sense of awareness returned on seeing Benjamin push the man. Fists were clenched and there was almost going to be a barroom brawl, were it not that the other New Zealanders present were not so upset about the mistake and held their man back. Violet also did her part in putting a calming hand on Benjamin’s arm, before lightly slapping his cheek to indicate he should look at her not them, then taking him by the hand and dragging him outside.

”What was that all about?“ she demanded, but if she expected some kind of change in demeanor from her cool companion, she would be disappointed.

So quickly he was back to his joking and nonchalant self, merely smiling and saying, ”Those guys can’t handle their beer as much as they think, I guess.”

”What did you push him for?”

”You don’t complain about another guy’s girl without good reason.”

”If they were nasty, you’d be outnumbered six to one, or something.”

”So? Don’t you want me to stand up for you?”