“That is a classic. If you can’t see that, it’s on you,” she said, pointing at him and narrowing her eyes. Rory took her movies very seriously.
“I mean, I briefly flirted with the idea of being a lawyer just because of that movie,” Rory said. I remembered that. We were in college and she was caving under the pressure of parental expectations. It only lasted less than a day, but it was one of my favorite Rory moments.
Ryder made a face. “Be that as it may, it’s still a shitty movie,” he said as I started plating the chicken and rice with the sauce. We all headed for the dining room and sat down.
“Well, I’ll personally never get the two hours of my life back that I wasted on From Justin to Kelly,” Lucah said, and Rory choked on a mouthful of chicken.
“You seriously watched that?” I asked as Rory gulped some water to clear her windpipe and Lucah smacked her on the back.
“Yeah. I can’t remember why, exactly. But I did, and I will regret it to this day. On my deathbed, I will regret watching that movie.”
Rory shook her head at him. “I think I know you and then you drop a bomb like that, Mr. Blythe. You can’t say things like that when I have a mouthful of food.”
“Sorry, sunshine,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll try to do better.”
“Whipped,” Ryder said with a cough.
“Whipped and proud,” Lucah said, putting his arm around Rory. “Whipped and proud and lucky as hell.”
Ryder pretended to gag, but then he gave me a look and I begged my face not to go red.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m never going to get the time back that I spent with Pulp Fiction,” Rory said, and both Ryder and Lucah freaked out and started ranting about how Tarantino was a genius. Personally, I couldn’t see it, so I joined Rory, and it was boys against girls.
Both redheads got super touchy about movies. Noted.
“Okay, calm down. You’re going to give yourself a heart attack,” Rory said, brushing back Lucah’s hair. Both brothers were significantly red-faced.
“I’m calm,” he said, and then started laughing. We all joined in and the argument was over. Not sure who won, but it didn’t matter.
~*~*~
By Friday night I was ready to go out. I definitely needed it.
“You look great!” Rory said as we met downstairs to take a cab to the bar we frequented. It was also open mic night, which was a bonus.
“Thanks. So do you.” She’d shed a little of her corporate gloss and had donned a floaty top with jeans, and a pair of high-heeled boots. Her hair was out of its typical chignon and falling over her shoulders. Complete with toned-down makeup she didn’t look like the vice president of a tech company.
I’d gone for warmth and fashion with a cute skirt, leggings, and a sweater.
We hopped in the cab and gave the guy directions. I spotted Chloe from her bright red bobbed hair and Marisol in a purple coat. We got out of the car and hugged like we hadn’t seen each other in years. It kind of felt that way. I adored my friends and missed seeing them. We all started talking at once and headed inside.
I was the designated drink-fetcher, since it was much easier for me to wade through the crowd and carry a tray with my extra height.
After I got the drinks, I headed back to the table, but not before I caught the eye of a guy that was quite attractive. Well, I would have found him attractive with his dark hair, dark eyes, and clean look. But after a moment, I was sort of meh. He was too . . . polished. I wanted something a little more rugged. A little beat up. Scarred.
A little bit more Ryder.
Giving the guy a quick smile, I went back to the table and distributed the drinks.
“Oh good, they’re starting,” Chloe said as the first performer took the stage. One of the reasons we came to these things was that it was like a live reality show. You had the good and the bad and the in-between.
“You know, it says a lot about us that we get a kick out of people getting up on a stage and humiliating themselves,” Marisol said, sipping her gin and tonic.
“Hey, they don’t have to get up. No one’s holding a gun to their head,” Chloe said. “Although, that might change the quality of the songs. Like the Hunger Games, only with singing. Hunger Games, the musical.” Her eyes lit up. “Now there’s an idea.”
We had to quiet down as the first song started. It was a young girl who didn’t even look old enough to be in a bar and definitely wasn’t old enough to drink. Her guitar was also much too big for her to hold.
“Aw, she’s so cute,” Rory said. “I bet she’s amazing.” I didn’t have much faith and prepared myself for an awful acoustic version of whatever pop shit was currently clogging up most radio stations.