SassyGirl in the City: The Sequel

It recently occurred to me that if I put all my stories together and tied it up with a neat little theme and some subtle psychological character analysis, I’d have a damn good book on my hands.
I thought after this weekend, I’d have another excellent chick-lit-esque story for you, involving beautiful shoes, good wine, and mysterious men. While I do have a story that contains all of that, it also contains another rather serious and disturbing portion, which makes it difficult for me to recount with my usual dose of humour. But we’ll see how it goes.

Traveling is never my favourite part of these stories, because it’s hard to recreate the anticipation of an event after the event has already occurred. So I’ll skip over the part where I woke up at six am in order to catch a bus to the train station only to realize the bus was never going to come and then selling an organ and a limb in order to pay the taxi fare to the train station and then being literally one second late for the train I was supposed to go on. Skip all that and fast-forward to when I finally arrive in The City.
I was picked up from the subway station by WAF, WAF‘s boyfriend, who I will now call SubduedRageBoy (this will make sense later), and their friend, PotentiallyGayBoy. and whisked away to lunch. In the car, I changed into my new stilettos and used lunch as an opportunity to practice walking in them.
The food itself was not impressive, but the four of us had a good talk over lunch. PGB and I realized we had a lot in common, and if it wasn’t for the fact that we strongly suspect him of pitching for the other team, we probably would have made a really cute couple. Still, I can always use a gay friend; they’re usually the loveliest anyway.
After lunch we went back to SRB‘s house mansion and I started drinking. We still had a lot of alcohol left over from last weekend and I was determined to at least make a dent in the stash. Meanwhile, SRB and PGB were looking up hotels and planning our getaway to Montreal in two weeks time. Somewhere between my first and second glass of wine, I had donned a pair of rose-tinted glasses and felt as if the world was spinning with me at its center, that everything was right and perfect and everyone was lovely and sweet.
The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass at lightning speed (doesn’t it always when you’re drunk having a good time?). I must have been more buzzed than I thought because I almost sprained my ankle trying on WAF‘s heels and then laid down on the marble floor in SRB‘s foyer and pretended to swim. WAF reminded me that we were supposed to go shopping before meeting the girls for dinner, so I tried to sober up. But it was a long and difficult ordeal.

Finally, finally, when I was sober enough to walk on my own, WAF and I changed into our evening gowns cocktail dresses and headed downtown¹. We went to Forever21 and H&M and only ended up buying accessories, then clicked down the street in our heels toward dinner.
The restaurant we were meeting at was famous for their wine list, which was why I had picked it. The girls I’d invited were all chronically late, always, so I had figured we could just hang out at the bar and drink wine until everyone arrived. Unfortunately, the bar was closed (on a Saturday?!?! Do they not want business?), but fortunately, all my friends arrived relatively on time²! We ordered a bottle of wine, had an excellent dinner, and discussed politics and world issues school and boys and our futures as the most powerful women in the world.
At one point during the dinner, SSS mentioned something about MFL.
“It’s cool that you’re still friends with MFL even though he cheated on you.”
“What? He didn’t cheat on me… Did he?” I added uncertainly.
“Oh, I guess not. They got together after you two broke up, right?” She knew she was treading on dangerous ground.
I tried to pry some information out of her without being too obvious. “Do you know what happened at Costa Rica? I heard some things after they came back from the trip but…”
“They just crushed on each other. Nothing happened.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. The Other Girl told me in confidence.” SSS nodded knowingly and that was the end of that. I didn’t want to press further because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to maintain my composure if I did, but I did not take this as well as I wanted them to believe. So there had been developments between them during Costa Rica. He lied to me about more than one thing then!

After dinner, we headed to a nearby lounge where the boys were waiting for us. We started off with fruity summer cocktails (which I did not enjoy so much; I think I am just too manly for fruity cocktails, even though I love the glasses they come in and the colours and the little garnishes), and then ordered a bottle of ridiculously overpriced champagne because what the heck, I was turning the big two-oh, and if that wasn’t worthy of celebrating with a little bubbly, what is?
The champagne seemed to disappear incredibly quickly, and I was well on my way to Embarrassing Drunkard by the third “A toast! To SassyGirl! The most awesome person in the whole wide world!³”
When the champagne was done, three of the girls left, and I was officially drunk. The next part of the evening is kind of blur, except I remember wobbling around in my stilettos feeling very sexy and being checked out by the older men at the bar every time I went to the washroom. Although I didn’t enjoy their appreciative glances, I did kind of enjoy feeling young and much more alive than they were. Apparently most of the rest of the night, I was talking almost exclusively to HB, and he had his arm around me the entire time. Since HB has a girlfriend, WAF was quite alerted by his flirty behaviour, and told me so the next morning. But the truth is, HB has always been dead set in AmbiguityLand. It seems like when he met me, he decided to buy real estate in AmbiguityLand and became a permanent resident. I can’t say I like it, but when you’re drunk and a cute boy is offering to buy you any drink you want, these little details don’t seem to matter anymore. By the way, I ended up asking for Grey Goose. What? If he’s going put his hand around my waist and breathe against my ear, knowing full well he has a girlfriend and has been leading me on for years, then asking me to order anything I want, I might as well order the most expensive thing on the menu.
The other boys were not helping my drunken state either. WittyIrelandBoy and GrammarPoliceBoy both kept asking if I wanted more, if they should order another round of drinks. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to get me drunk (yes), but after we finished the Grey Goose, they ended up ordering another round of shots.
I don’t remember what our tab came out to but with the Grey Goose and the champagne and the shots and the other individual drinks we ordered, I’m sure it was an impressive figure. However, the boys insisted on picking up the tab (I love having rich friends – remind me to invite them to more events), and refused to take my money on account of the fact that I was the birthday girl (I ended up slipping in a $50 just because I felt bad and because I was too drunk to remember how broke I actually am).
Eventually, SRB arrived and we left the lounge. They asked me what I wanted to do next. I looked around and shrugged, “What do you guys want to do?” I asked back. “Anything you want,” they said. I don’t know if it was the booze or what but right there and then, on the street in front of the lounge, in my sexy black stilettos and Victory Ford dress, I felt like a princess. A real life verifiable princess.
How many times have I heard that in my life? “Anything I want.” Probably about three times, and once was in first year when a guy wanted to get in my pants.
And today, today I’d heard it at least five times. FIVE.
I suddenly realized how the entire day was about me. Nay, the entire weekend, was about me and my happiness and nothing else. As if, for July 19, 20, and 21, the rest of the world did not exist. And these people, my friends, were gathered here to celebrate with me and cater to my every whim.
“Korean food,” I finally said. “I want dukkbokki.”
So, off we went to find the finest Korean food The City had to offer at 2am. SRB drove us to Korea town, which was surprisingly busy considering the hour.
Three of us got out of the car first, then SRB and WAF drove off to find parking.
And that’s when it all went wrong.

Minutes later, WAF was running down the street swearing and holding her mouth with both hands. It was dark, rainy, and I was drunk, and even when she neared, it didn’t register – she was bleeding. A lot.
“What happened?” HB immediately asked her as she got closer.
In between bursts of tears she started saying something about how the fucking Korean guys outside the car fucking did nothing while she screamed for help as SRB hit her. She swore a lot. She cried a lot. She was also still bleeding a lot. The mascara was running down her face like a black waterfall and mixing with the blood and the rain. It was surreal. I was in shock, and suddenly felt completely sober. As HB continued to ask questions, I held her and navigated her toward a seat in the restaurant.
Once we were inside, we asked for water and napkins and she started to clean up, but then would break down into sobs again.
“Tell us exactly what happened,” HB said again. We all perched on the edge of our seats, watching her with confusion and shock.
“He hit me,” she finally said. “He hit me and I was screaming for help and the fucking Korean guys outside the car did fucking nothing. Aren’t you supposed to fucking do something if you see a girl screaming for help?” Again with the Korean guys.
“Wait, SRB hit you? Why?”
“I don’t know! I don’t know. He wouldn’t let me out of the car. He just kept hitting me. And I was screaming for help and the Korean guys -”
“He hit you for no reason? He just started hitting you?”
“-I couldn’t get out of the car. He wouldn’t let me out. And I was screaming for help, and then he noticed the blood, and he said ‘WAF, you’re bleeding,’ and that’s when he stopped and then I ran out of the car and the fucking Koreans -”
“Why did he hit you? Why wasn’t he letting you out of the car?”
“I don’t know! When we were leaving the lounge I noticed him check out these two girls so I just made a comment like ‘Oh, I saw you checking out those two girls,’ and then I don’t know…” She broke into sobs again.
We fell silent, unable to digest what she’d told us. Our mouths were agape and we looked at each other frantically.
“Do you want me to call the police?” HB finally said. He really seemed like he was going to, he even pulled his phone out. But WAF stopped him. I wasn’t surprised.
“Has this happened before?” HB asked after a pause. I stared at him incredulously. How could he ask such a thing! Of course not! Of course he wouldn’t – but my thoughts were cut short as I saw her nod.
“Once.” WAF blew her nose into a bloody napkin and picked up another one. “But it was a year ago and he promised he’d never do it again.” There were about a dozen scrunched up napkins on the table now. Our stock was running low, so I asked the waitress for some more.
Then, GPB nodded toward the door and said in a low voice, “He’s here.”
I didn’t even turn around to look at the door. I just put my arms around WAF and held her while she cried. “Is he gone?” She asked a moment later. GPB nodded, “He seemed to make a motion to ask whether he should come in, and then he walked away.”
We sat in silence for a long time. WAF continued to cry quietly. None of us knew what to say. I was still in utter and complete shock. HB and I made comments about how we couldn’t believe it, because SRB seemed like a very normal guy, and from what I saw of their interaction, he seemed to really care for her. How could he do such a thing? How could he do such a thing?!
Eventually, WAF stopped crying. I went to the washroom with her and helped her clean up.
“I’m sorry about this,” she said to me as I wiped streaks of mascara off her face. “I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined your birthday.”
I set my napkin down and gave her a hard look. “WAF, that is the last thing you should be worried about right now. Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“No, but I do. I’m sorry. Everything was fine and look what happened. I’ve ruined your night.”
“Stop. Stop talking like that. You have nothing to be sorry about. We’re all just very concerned about you right now.”
She fell silent and let me finish cleaning her up. When we came out, I suggested we order to lighten the mood. But she said she didn’t feel like eating.
We ended up ordering a full table of Korean dishes (which tasted absolutely amazing despite the somber situation) and a bottle of soju. WAF worked on drinking the soju and we all pretended not to notice. I was still far from sober and suddenly felt ravenous. I ended up burning my mouth quite badly as I stuffed my face (the fact that the dishes were a little too hot to eat never crossed my mind at that moment). HB and GPB did the same.
When we had finished eating, we sat back and were reminded of the situation we were in. What now? WAF and I were supposed to go back to SRB‘s house for the night. My stuff was still there.
“Can we stay with you tonight HB?” WAF asked. HB agreed immediately. What else could he do? “We can get your stuff tomorrow,” WAF said to me. I nodded. What else could I do?

Just as I paid the bill, SRB appeared beside our table. He was soaked through from the rain and had an anguished look on his face. HB, GPB, and I silently shuffled out of the restaurant and waited outside.
We saw WAF get up to leave too but SRB had dropped down on both knees.
“It looks like he’s proposing,” HB joked as we watched discreetly through the front door. SRB was saying something but WAF was looking away.
After some agonizing minutes, they came outside. It seemed WAF still wasn’t acknowledging him. We milled about awkwardly on the front steps of the restaurant. Once again, SRB dropped to his knees. He apologized in hushed tones, and we pretended not to listen. We were there for what seemed like an eternity. SRB looked pathetic, he was kneeling on cement and being drenched in the rain. I might have felt sorry for him but every fiber in my body was still bristling in shock and indignation at what he did to my friend. I couldn’t get the image of her bleeding mouth out of my head.

Finally, WAF spoke to us as if he wasn’t there at all. “SG, is it ok if you stay with HB tonight? Would that be okay?” She asked lightheartedly. HB and I darted nervous glances at each other, and then at the dripping form of SRB on the floor. “Of course,” I said. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Are you sure?” She kept asking and apologizing.
“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine,” I reassured her. “Are you going to be okay?”
“I think we’re just going to go… talk.”
“Ok,” I nodded. SRB didn’t seem like he was going to hit her again, at least not tonight.

So, in the pouring rain, I limped in my stilettos the three and a half blocks to HB‘s apartment. When we arrived, he found some clothes for me to change into and we both collapsed onto the sofa. It had been an exhausting night, both physically and emotionally. We discussed what had transpired, analyzing the incomprehensible.
“Do you think she’s going to stay with him? I think she’s going to stay with him,” I said, chewing on the end of a finger nail.
“Yeah, she didn’t seem like she was going to break up with him.” He sighed. “But this isn’t the first time this has happened, what if it happens again?”
“Exactly. I don’t trust him,” I said, and I felt a swell of animosity against SRB in my chest that appeared out of nowhere. All of a sudden, I saw SRB as a raging, violent brute, and why hadn’t I noticed this before? But of course, how could I? He’d always been quiet and reasonable, responsible and sensible. He’d put up with WAF‘s antics with unending patience, and seemed to be quite protective of her. How could he be the one who hurt her?
“I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe it!” I said, over and over again, staring into a blank space on the floor.
HB nodded silently.
“But she’s going to stay with him. I know she is. Did you notice how the whole time she was screaming and swearing, it was about those Korean boys and not him? She said nothing about him.”
HB agreed. I continued, “The worst part is, there’s nothing I can do! I mean, what can I say? It’s not my place to interfere with the ins and outs of their relationship. There was obviously stuff she wasn’t telling us. It’s not my place to tell her to leave him. If she really loves him, I don’t think she’ll leave him even if her logical side tells her to.”
“Maybe you can talk to her, coax her.”
“What if she says ‘I love him.’ What if she says, ‘SG, I love him.’ I can’t argue with that.”
“True,” HB conceded. “This is a terrible situation. But he seemed so -”
“Exactly. I can’t believe it. I just cannot believe it.”

We chewed over the details again and again, but concluded that there was little we could do, and interfering would not necessarily help. We waited until 4am for her to call (she had said she would when she got home) but eventually gave up waiting and drifted into a restless sleep.

At 8am, I woke up. Immediately, I sat up on the sofa and peered around the unfamiliar living room. I was disoriented, and had temporarily forgotten where I was or what I was doing here. Then, the night’s events came flooding back like a horrible nightmare.
“Ughhh,” I groaned, as I fell back into the sofa. But I couldn’t fall back asleep. I felt gross. I was wearing an oversized t-shirt and boyshorts, I hadn’t showered, I hadn’t removed my make-up, I hadn’t even brushed my teeth before passing out the previous night. And I didn’t have any of my toiletries, which made cleaning up a bit of a problem.
I got up and walked around the tiny apartment, examining pictures and figurines here and there. I found a keyboard and played Fur Elise for a while, until I got stuck at one point in the song and I couldn’t remember what came after.
Eventually, HB came to.

“Hullo!” He greeted me sleepily, as if he too had forgotten the previous night’s events.
“Hi,” I replied, watching him from across the room. He was beautiful. Even with the rumpled hair and the improptu pajamas, he looked gorgeous.
He rubbed his eyes, sat up and looked at me, as if he might be thinking the same thing. I hoped. He walked over and sat down frighteningly close behind me, and put his arm on the back of the couch, as if inviting me to lean into him. Was he asking for a cuddle? My heart lept. I wanted to lean back into his arms but I was at the same time afraid. He was a permanent resident of AmbiguityLand after all. He had a girlfriend. He’d been touchy and cuddly with me years before, after I broke up with MFL and he still had a girlfriend. I’d been naive and hopeful at the time that he might break up with her and choose me, but it never happened. When he finally did break up with her, it wasn’t me he chose either, so I wrote him off as another impossible.
But now, what was this? HB doing another ambiguous move. Why? Why me? I cried to the gods above.

I decided to risk it. If he was going to flirt with me all night and take advantage of the fact that I was drunk, why not when I’m sober? Besides, I was upset about my friend! I needed comforting.
…
I’m terrible, aren’t I? My friend was probably living through hell (either that or having make-up sex) and I was flirting shamelessly with a taken boy. Bad SG, bad!

We cuddled for a while, flirted back and forth like a courtship ritual of butterflies, and I really felt the bliss of waking up and spending a lazy Sunday morning with a boy who could make you smile with just a glance. Of course, it was all wrong, it was all a horrible illusion that would disappear if I so much as breathed too loudly, but still, it was blissful all the same.
He found me some clothes that almost fit, so I wouldn’t look like a hooker walking down the street at 10am in stilettos, a cocktail dress, messy hair and smeared make-up. So we walked, arm in arm, to a brunch place, me wearing a pair of his jeans that were slipping down my waist and obviously too long for me, a shirt that said “I’d fcuk me,” and a pair of flip flops that were twice the size of my feet. Yeah, we really pulled off the not-a-hooker thing well. I got more than a few stares walking down Bloor St.
None of this mattered though, when I saw the breakfast platter that could feed a few hundred men arrive at our table. We devoured it in minutes, as well as a stack of crepes and a basket of toast. After brunch, the pants fit better, and we walked around downtown while I tried calling WAF every half hour. She was not picking up her phone and still hadn’t called me back. I started getting worried. My train was leaving at four and all my stuff, including the train tickets, were at SRB‘s house. I felt distressed and displaced. What was I going to do if she didn’t call me in time? I had nothing, not even the clothes on my back, and I was stuck in downtown with an ambiguous boy who threatened to steal my heart.

Eventually, finally, she called, said she was sending SRB with my stuff, that he’d be there within the hour, and that she was sorry. Again with the apologies. I tried to ask her about what happened last night, but she was tight-lipped. Said they didn’t talk much, said she hadn’t decided what she was going to do. She also admitted that this wasn’t only the second time it’s happened. It was the fifth. She had decided after the last time that this was a deal-breaker, and now that it’s happened again she can’t forgive him so quickly. I was relieved to hear they weren’t already having make-up sex, but nonetheless, I felt like she’d end up giving him another chance. I told her so. “If you keep thinking it’s the last time every time it happens, you’re going to spend your entire life waiting for the last time and it will probably never come.” She grunted something unintelligible and vaguely agreed with me. In my heart, I had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to leave him.

SRB did arrive within the hour, just as she’d promised, in front of the apartment in a BMW convertible and clean new clothes. I envied him and his clothes, while everything I was wearing belonged to someone else, and was relieved to finally get my stuff back (especially my running shoes! I could not take wearing the stilettos or the oversized flip flops for another minute!). As he handed me my backpack and my bag of presents (I had left them in his car the night before, just moments before The Incident), he looked at me the same way he’d looked when he came into the restaurant dripping wet the night before and said, “I’m so sorry I ruined your birthday, SG. I know you guys think I’m horrible. I have no excuse. I’m really sorry. I’m… really sorry I ruined your weekend.”
It was literally the most awkward moment OF MY LIFE. There he was, dressed like he stepped out of Harry Rosen, having driven across the city in his sports car with European engineering to return to me my backpack and running shoes. I seriously thought he was going to get down on his knees and propose to me, too. To my relief, he didn’t. But he did put his hands together as if in prayer and bowed his head as he continued to apologize. I was speechless. What could I say? He had beat up our friend practically in front of us.
Without thinking, I opened my big fat mouth. “It’s ok,” I said, “It’s fine.” Seeing as how he still didn’t stop apologizing, I tried again, louder. “It’s ok! Don’t worry about it! My weekend was fine. I just hope you and WAF can work it out.”
Eventually, he stopped apologizing and left, and we walked back into the apartment. HB and I started laughing out of awkwardness. “Did you see his expression? Oh my God. I felt terrible!” HB exclaimed.
“Yeah, I thought I was going to cry. I really thought I was going to cry,” I said, unsure myself if I was joking or not.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” I finally commented, as we waited for the elevator. “It’s not ok. It’s not fine. Why did I say that? Why did I have to say anything?”
“There was nothing you could do, the poor guy looked like he was going to get down and propose again. You had to make him stop. It was the standard response.”
I shrugged. “But, I don’t wish they’d work out! I wish she’d leave him because he’s dangerous and has suppressed rage!”
“Well, you can’t say that. He might turn into the Hulk⁴ again and beat you up!” We laughed awkwardly, then HB said, “It’s too soon, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it’s too soon. Maybe in a few years we’ll be able to joke about this but… it’s too soon.”
We stepped into the elevator in silence.

Several hours later, I got onto the train and returned home. Home, sweet home. And now, as I type this, I still can’t believe what happened in the last 24 hours. It feels completely surreal, and I want to pinch myself or ask someone if they saw the same things I saw at 2am this morning. Did my friend’s boyfriend really beat her up? Did she really come screaming out of the car in tears?

I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.

1. We got a lot of stares on the subway and on the streets. Clearly we were over-dressed for shopping. Maybe they thought we were escorts? [↩]
2. Except SSS who arrived dripping and cursing because she got lost and it was pouring outside and she didn’t have an umbrella, the poor thing. [↩]
3. I am not sure that they actually said this because quite frankly, I can’t remember. But I’m sure it was something to this effect. [↩]
4. We’d started referring to him as the Incredible Hulk. [↩]