Harriett and I were drunk by the time we reached the bar. Drunk, but not so drunk I didn't notice the anguished stares and odd expressions cast in our direction.  Somberly clad people waiting for the show glowered at us.

We stood impatiently, pointedly not discussing the negative effect our bright colors seemed to have on the crowd. Our fellow line members wore layers of black and expressions to match. Feeling nervous, I craned my neck to get a peek into the shabbily lit underground club. "I blame you. We are too old for this," I whispered harshly to Harriett.  And with that, we entered the hazy location of Lulu's big debut.

​It didn't take long to spot her, even through the fog of smoke. Lulu sat in a sea of light, straddling center stage. She banged recklessly on her drums, obviously committed to her role of rock god. She wore a ripped wife-beater bearing what I assumed was the name of her band (Brine), black fishnet stockings, (also ripped), tight satin shorts, that were honestly unperceivable to the naked eye, and her crazy boots.

Harriett and I exchanged a look, feeling better regarding our own wardrobe choices, but co-concerned about our friend. Lulu felt manic when she donned her crazy boots. And Lulu owned a multitude of crazy boots.

"You came!" She flung herself from her perch on stage, wrapping us in greeting hugs. "You two have no idea what you're in store for," she yelled over the noise of the bar. She bounced as she spoke, all wild hair and excitement. "We're going to rock your faces off! Go grab a drink. It's on me. But come right back! I need you." She turned, air-drumming her way back onstage.

A second later she was back, using a loud stage whisper. "I don't mean to be rude, but what's with y'alls outfits? This isn't a disco, you know." Again, she left Harriett and me to fend for ourselves.  A lone neon couple in a sea of dismal black.

"I blame Lulu," I whispered to Harriett, before shoving her through the crowd to the front of the bar. Once our comfort drinks, hers a vodka cranberry and mine a club special, were gripped firmly in our palms, we took deep breaths and collectively merged into the sea of dark people.

I hoped to find an appropriate place to sit down. Normally Harriett's and my versions of what qualified as a desirable location differed quite severely. But due to my current wardrobe constraints , I allowed her to lead me humbly to the corner.

"Ahhh," Harriett sighed, nestling into her chosen seat. "Isn't this better?"

I had to agree. The spot not only included a perch for us to sit, but it also afforded a great view of Lulu's impending performance.

"Good work, Harriett."

"Thanks, Annie. What's up with these people?"

"What do you mean?" I asked in return, half-knowing, but wanting it said aloud.

"You know," she leaned in conspicuously. "They're all so deep. Deep and dark and artsy." She took a long drink from her vodka and suspiciously looked around.

"I think they're emos."

"Emos?" she said, much too loudly. "What's an Emo?"

Grateful now for our semi-secluded spot, I scooted closer to Harriett. I think it's short for emotional."

"So we're emos then?"

"No, Harriett," I said taking in her sequined top and long, honey-blonde curls, "we are most defiantly not emos."

Brine took to the stage l, and to my surprise, they sounded good. As with any concert, I scanned the band for hotties. I easily deciphered which member of the group Lulu set her sights on, as she attempted to play the drums from his lap.

That left the bass guitarist and lead singer. As I watched them play, two points became crystal clear.

One: the singer was undoubtedly the star, with his strong pale jaw and trembling pouty lips.  Two: he was mentally undressing me.

Against my will, I found myself turned on. Is he looking at Harriett? I thought, desperately thinking that made more sense. But no. He was not looking at Harriett, who jumped up and down screaming hysterically in a show of support for Lulu's drumming skills. He was looking at me. Not only was he looking at me, he was decidedly cocky in his stare. Boldly, silently, he dared me to break his heated gaze.

"I love this." My body flushed warm red. Accepting his challenge I did not look away. And so this game continued, we two locked in a passionate eye-fucking embrace. He played his music and I found myself lost in his voice, wanting more and more of this singing emo.

When the first set ended, I made my move. Aggressively, I shoved through the crowd. I pretended not to notice the angry protests, followed shortly after by Harriett's drunken apologies.  I dragged her along in my wake. "I'm mowin' down emos left and right," I called loudly back to Harriett, in an attempt to make her laugh.

"What did you say?" Came a deep and unfamiliar voice in reply.

I knew without looking that it was him. Silently cursing my loud mouth and quite unfairly, Harriett, I slowly raised my once brazen eyeballs to meet his handsome face. And what a handsome face it is, I thought, pleased at his up-close perfection.

"What did you say?" His full puffed mouth repeated, loud enough this time to force me to tune in.

"Oh, nothing at all," I assured him. I assumed he'd let it go. Much to my dismay he did not.

"What exactly do you mean by emos?" he asked, his large, liquid-brown eyes inches from mine, looking awfully unamused and wanting my reply.

"I'm sorry," I heard myself say lamely, unable to focus on anything but his sexy, swollen lips. "We, er, I don't come to these places often. But you sounded amazing. Fantastic, so, maybe I'll come back." I finished, smiling in a way I hoped he found both seductive and intriguing.

Did he not remember that a mere minute ago we were locked in a passionate eye-raping embrace?

Lulu chose that moment to insert herself into my problem. "Annie! What did you think? Huh, huh, tell me? I'm awesome, right--" she stopped mid-rant. "Wait a minute. What are you guys talking about? Why do you look so pissed, you big baby diaper Bryan?" She asked, making a cry face with her fists and using her biggest baby voice.

"Uh, Lulu," I started. But the singing angry emo had disappeared, lost in the den of darkness. "Thanks a lot, Lulu. Big baby diaper, Bryan?" I screeched, searching for him in the crowded mesh of people.

"Annie, slow down. What happened? Is Harriett wasted? And why do you look like you just got laid?" Lulu questioned, causing me to want a mirror and a re-fill.

"Let's go to the bathroom," I said, authoritatively grabbing my friends and rushing them toward the cramped ladies room. I needed to re-group. On the way Harriett rained drunkenly enthusiastic compliments upon Lulu's "super fantastic show," filling her head with images of drumming fame. I was glad, not only because my friends were supportive, but also because I didn't have the mental capacity to plump Lulu's ego and focus on having my way with Bryan.

Reviewing my reflection, I did look like I just got laid. I mentally chalked it up to the intoxicating combination of Bryan's soulful voice, our eyeball-foreplay, and the bottle of wine plus three cocktails swishing around in my belly. Feverishly, I stroked my disheveled hair.

I want him.  I adjusted my bodysuit and attempted to pop my ringing ears. A sucker for the hard to get game, Bryan's resistance served only to fuel my lusty urges.

"Okay, what's going on with you and that guy, Annie?" Harriett slurred all drunken caution and concern.

"Bryan," I corrected her shortly. "The band's named for him, Brine. And, oh my God Lulu, why didn't you tell me about him? He's so hot!" I said, unable to curtail my alcohol greased lips.

"Yeah," Lulu said looking uncharacteristically thoughtfully at me. "Bryan's totally brilliant. But he's a drifter and totally not your type."

Mine, said my brain. I want him. I love him. He's mine.  My heart raced with the thrill of the chase. "He was staring straight at me. No, not at me. He starred inside of me, y'all, the entire time he sang. Harriett, you witnessed the seduction, right?"  I looked expectantly in her direction.

"Yup," she agreed, eagerly bobbing her tipsy head.

"But he heard me call him an emo, and got mad I think."

"False," Lulu told me certainly. "That's how emos flirt."

"Really?" I asked, full of hope.

"Really," she promised, applying a shocking shade of blood-red lipstick to her already rouged lips.

Silently, I hoped Lulu was right, but it would've been easier to believe had she not been re-applying her crazy lips. Julian Spargus the VIIIth (our hairdresser) once told me that when normal people wear make-up, they look prettier. But when crazy people wear make-up, they look crazier. Lulu's rock reflection stared back at me in the mirror, case in point.

"All right!" she screamed, apparently satisfied with her look, "Wish me luck!" With that, she ran from the bathroom and reclaimed her rightful position on stage.

Fifteen minutes later, Harriett and I managed to re-fill our drinks (for the third, fourth time?) and figure out that our spot had been stolen by a pretentious looking group of starving artist types. Desperate to regain my line of sight with Bryan, and not one to give up without a fight, I approached the hipsters carefully planning my words. Before I had a chance to open my mouth, the artsy group swung their heads no, slowly and in unison, left to right.

"Our spot." one of the gentlemen yelled.

Creepy.  I turned on my heel, determined to find a new spot and fast. But much to Harriett's and my dismay, the bar was packed. Unacceptable, I decided, still not losing hope.  Emos are awful.

I crashed through the mob of Brine fans, finding a tiny pocket of standing room in which to hover. As we stood, the band played on, mocking me in its talent as I struggled to balance my purse and my drink.

Forced to operate within the constraints of our tiny spot, I stretched and jumped and even climbed (I was drunk and he was tall).  But no matter how I tried, I could not see Bryan. Giving up, I consoled myself in the sound of his voice, but without the eye-banter it wasn't the same.

As the night drew closer to the impending one a.m. last call my old friend the man clamp reared his ugly head. Then, when I needed a good squirt of vaccine, I discovered Harriett gone from my side. Highly unusual.  I wondered if the clamp had her in its mighty grasp as well.

I stood defenselessly alone in my sad little space, listening to Bryan's sexy voice and Lulu's pounding beats. Without any fight at all, I surrendered to the clamp, and thought of Jaime.

I smiled at what he'd say about Brine.  He preferred his music more rock, less whine.  He'd know what an emo was exactly, but would never tell me so. I pictured him here with me, holding me in his arms, surrounding me with his touch, whispering in my ear how truly special I am. His memories colored every future relationship, from a first butterfly inducing glance to a long overdue break-up with a once-promising match. I worried that my heart was irrefragably altered, infused with his DNA.  That any man I ever loved would only be because in some small way, he reminded me of Jaime.

I did this a lot. A daydreaming, fantasizing, masochistic dance in which I played out long-winded, heady conversations between myself and imaginary Jaime. My agitated soul felt comforted by the familiar routine. I was so caught up in my reverie that I failed to notice Lulu make her move (quite predictably) for the microphone. Her musical voice flooded the underground club, and I braced myself, knowing this could be bad.

"Helloooooo!" she boomed, oddly captivating with her smudged red lips, wild hair, and boots. The swarm of admirers she'd managed to amass cheered louder, and I feared for what was to come.

Where is Harriett when you need her?  I searched the over-crowded room for my missing back-up.

"Heelllooooo Dallas!" Lulu roared louder, plunging into the swing of things. "Okay, here's the deal," she giggled loudly into the mic. "I'm going to need my two bosom friends to join me on stage, stat!"

Manic cheers erupted from the mostly male crowd following the word bosom.

I ducked to the floor thinking, no fucking way.  Panic in my eyes, I high-tailed my way to a darkened corner.  As I lit a cigarette, hoping to calm my nerves, a second, and less sober sounding voice crackled through the mic.  Harriett?

Losing all interest in self-preservation, I ran from my hiding place, mad to see the stage. There they were, my two best friends. Lulu stood proud in her crazy boots and Harriett in all her sequined shining glory. I pushed to the front of the stage, compelled by booze, jealousy, and love screaming, "Wait, someone's missing!"  And when I reached them, the three of us rejoiced in one another's arms, egged on by cheers from the horny emos. I should have felt embarrassed, but did not.

As I hugged and danced on stage with my friends, Bryan made his approach. I saw him coming and admired the way he strode with the confidence of a lion. He was all man and I felt my knees tremble in anticipation (or the high-heel liquor combo?) Then he was at my side, in my space, his strong manly scent filling my air and fogging my already drunken senses. We fuck-stared. Apparently he did remember.

I want you. I want you. I want you, my eyes told him.

I know, his cocky eyes said back.

He leaned in. "I'm not an emo."  His words tickled my ears, sending goosebumps down my spine.

"No," I said, delighted. "You are not. You're all man." I decided to take a chance. "You should give me your number," I said, trying to sound cool and confident and nonchalant.

Cocking his adorable head, he pulled out a pen and a stick of gum and handed me the minty contents. He jotted down his number on the silver liner. "Here you go, gorgeous."

My world was perfect there on stage, with Bryan and my friends by my side. Until an extraordinarily drunk Harriett delivered the following speech into the microphone.

"Hello! Excuse me," she said, tapping the mic." May I have your attention please?" Her voice squeaked loudly and she showed no signs of her usually sweetly reserved nature. "My friend and I have a question," she said, pointing to me proudly.

I grimaced, because I knew what was coming. I tried to stop her, but it was too late. So I simply closed my eyes and bowed my head as Harriett yelled into the mic.

"What is an emo?"

Lulu and I acted quickly, before the crowed could turn on us and bee-lined toward the door. "I'll come back and help clean up," Lulu lied to her bandmates as we hustled a confused Harriett outside.

"Wait, why are we leaving?" she wailed. "I love the emos!"

"Shut up, Harriett," I said meanly, immediately feeling badly.

Once settled inside a God-sent taxi I relaxed and allowed myself a small smile. Thinking of Bryan and his talent and lips, his manly demeanor, and what might come next, I unwrapped the gum wrapper eager to enter his number into my cell.

867-5309, I typed.

867-5309? What the fuck!

As the cab pulled away from the bar, I caught a glimpse of Bryan, standing on the corner waiving a cigarette coolly and looking smoking hot. Our eyes locked again, mine now filled with confusion. This time he looked away, a trace of a smile beguiling his pouty lips.

I never should have left, Alex, I thought as our cab drove mercifully toward my home. I didn't tell Lulu or Harriett about my loss. Honestly, I didn't have the heart.

*** for those too young to know it, 867-5309 is a song. . . Not a real number.

Please show your support and push my star! Stars make me smile :)

Also, I am taking part in the Brigade Watty Awards, and I'll be in love with you forever for voting for Fag Hag in the contest. Fag Hag is chapter 83 and here is the link:

http://my.w.tt/UiNb/io0KGX0lkv
Thank you so very much!!