Plucker, Wall, and I seated ourselves in a dingy, hole-in-the-wall type of bar. Just the type we like. A cute waitress attended to us, a baby-doll face with a shy, nerdy kind of smile.
"Hi fellas, what do I--" she stuttered, "I'm sorry, I mean--what can I getcha?"
I stared wordlessly and grinned at her slurred speech.
She noticed me and repeated herself, "I'm sorry, I'm just--I--"
"Hey," I cut her off, "I know we are cute as hell, dear, but you don't have to be nervous around us."
She laughed an awkward, geeky laugh. She was obviously drunk as hell.
"Jeezus," I said, "What have you been drinking tonight?"
"I've been--I've--" she was still stuttering, "I've been drinking with that table--that table over there. With my co-worker, she's--she's off tonight. I think I had a couple gin and tonics, a bull-blaster, I think--I think the last one was an Amaretto sour."
"Of those, which one did you like most?"
"I liked the Amaretto sour," she said, nodding. That was her first confident statement of the night.
"Well, then," I leaned back in my seat, "I will have a... gin and tonic, please."
She gave me a what-the-fuck look, but giggled, brushing me lightly on the shoulder. Wall and Plucker ordered their drinks, and the girl disappeared.
The cocktail waitress -- her name, Bick -- returned moments later with our drinks. I remarked, as if surprised, "Wait, where's yours?"
"Nooo!" she playfully whined, "I--I can't!"
She turned her back to me to empty her tray of drinks to the occupants of an adjacent table, then returned and sat at our table, to my immediate right.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I clamored, "What the hell is this? You can sit at my table, but you can't drink with us?"
"I really can't take another drink," she pleaded.
"This table is a drinking table," I declared, "We are celebrating."
"What are you celebrating?" she sat erect, hands on her hips, skeptical-eyed, drunk-nerd-baby-doll look on her face.
"We are celebrating..." I trailed off to think. Then, I pulled her seat closer and I threw an arm around her, "We are celebrating you and me."
She pushed off, "Honey, I'm not sure there's a lot to celebrate there."
She called me honey. She had been slowly gaining confidence throughout our flirtatious exchange, and all of a sudden, she was pushing me off and calling me honey.
I use words like dear and sweety because they are borderline-condescending terms of endearment. The girl will want me more as I climb higher up on the disparity ladder. And one of the methods of demonstrating value is by debasing her's without directly insulting.
I couldn't let her take the reins by using condescending terms on me. That shit simply will not fly. I had to dethrone her.
I turned to Wall and spoke to him instead. We had a brief conversation that did not involve Bick.
A moment later, Bick tapped me on the arm and leaned in as if to whisper, her chin almost resting on my shoulder. I did a double-look, as if I had just remembered that she were still around.
"Is that your friend?" she indicated at Plucker.
"Yeah," I answered. My eyes narrowed, suddenly insulted. Was this girl sitting next to me and checking out my friend? What was I -- some sort of middle-man stepping stone between her and another dude?
"I think I remember him coming in here before," she whispered, "He was in here with some other guys, and he was trying to ask me to hang out. He asked me if I would like to have lunch with him the next day, and he said that he was going to have lunch with his friend, Luck, and that I would like him."
I chuckled. I didn't understand Plucker's thought process behind trying to use my name to pick up a girl, especially when she had never met me before. I was, however, flattered nonetheless.
"You are that Luck, aren't you," she said.
"I am likeable."
She smiled a shying-away smile.
"Well, now that you've met me," I continued, "And now that you know I'm likeable ... how does lunch sound?"
She hesitated for a moment. As she did, I turned away to continue my talk with Wall, as if to let her know I really couldn't care less about having lunch with her.
She acquiesced, "I will call and let you know. What's your number?"
"Oh, you are in some shit now," I snapped, "You wouldn't have lunch when my homeboy asked, but here you are, playing a whole 'nother tune?"
Her facial expression turned to confusion.
"I'm telling him! I'm telling him!" I playfully cocked my nose toward the air and away, like a child taunting another.
She wrestled me back to attention, "What! Just because I won't have lunch with a guy, you won't have lunch with me?"
"You know the bros befo' rule, sweety, you are asking me to tread it! What makes you think you're that special!" I grinned, my eyes playful. I made sure she knew she still had a great chance if she'd pursue it.
"Oh, what's so great about bros," she sighed, exasperated, "Maybe I'm not different from any other girl that fucks you, but how can another guy be so special!"
"There's a helluva difference," I explained, "What guarantees do I have, that after you fuck me, that you'd still be around later on down the road when I need somebody."
"What makes you think I'd even fuck you," she rolled her eyes, pulled back, crossed her arms, and pouted a geeky pout.
I laughed, "You did! You're the one grouping yourself with girls that fuck me!"
Her facial expression turned to realization, her pout turned up a coy smile, her arms uncrossed and softened to her sides. "You..." she started slowly, "You're good at this."
"Sweety, you have no idea. I am fuckin' great at this." I leaned across our seats, threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, "So, about that lunch..."
This time, she didn't push off.
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