prove he could. Fuck the rent.
They went back to talking about Kevin, Stewart, and Jean, although Charles was looking for ways to broaden the scope of the conversation and refocus it on himself and Marissa, so as not to get irretrievably trapped in this gossipy ghetto. Hoping it might prove to be a useful, smooth transition, he said, “I feel like I knew guys like that back home.”
“Where are you from?” asked Marissa, as he’d hoped she would.
“Spokane.”
She evinced interest. They talked about Spokane a while, about how it wasn’t near Seattle, about how he might love it but he didn’t like it. He asked where she was from.
“D.C.,” she said.
“The halls of power,” he intoned. She made a face like that wasn’t necessarily funny, but like she was finding him cute anyway.
They got refills on their beers, and continued to evolve the conversation. Before their nachos were done they’d ordered a third round of drinks. Charles didn’t know how he was going to eat for the next week after he paid for all of this, and was telling himself that he better get a lay out of it, if not tonight then eventually.
She asked what it was like getting his MFA from Sarah Lawrence.
“Meh,” said Charles. “I mainly did it as an excuse to move to New York like I’d always wanted. In retrospect I wish I’d just moved here and written. Would’ve been cheaper.”
“But now you’ll always have that diploma,” Marissa pointed out.
Charles was on the verge of saying, Yeah, right, and I’m putting it to good use working for minimum wage , but reminded himself not to harp on his low economic status when flirting. Why undo with one dumb remark whatever he might accomplish by paying for dinner?
She asked if he still did any writing. “Yeah,” he said, “I go up to the Hungarian Pastry Shop and work on stuff.”
“The Hungarian Pastry Shop? What’s that?”
“You don’t know the Hungarian Pastry Shop?!”
Marissa drew herself up in mock offense. “Do I look like a woman who spends much time in pastry shops?”
“It’s a coffee shop, mainly. Up by Columbia. It’s famous for, uh … well, there’s a lot of graffiti in the bathroom, from Columbia students mostly, like this super-witty pretentious graffiti.”
“You’re really selling this place.”
“No, come on, you should go. It’s just good coffee, and no radio playing, and people writing and reading and talking. I take it back about the pretentiousness, it’s actually really authentic. Like, you know those sorts of places that were part of your original daydreamy reasons for moving to New York? It’s one of the last places like that, that hasn’t closed yet.”
They ordered more beers to wash down the last of their nachos. From the front of the bar came crashing the noise of yet another drunken chorus, this time howling their way through “Born to Run.” Marissa leaned forward and fixed upon Charles her manically gleaming eyes, and laughed. Charles laughed, too.
“Can I make a confession?” she said.
“Uh-oh.”
“I love karaoke.”
“So go up there. You couldn’t possibly be worse than these guys.”
“You wanna do it together?”
Shit. “It might take another beer or two.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be a wimp.”
“Oh ho, is this a challenge?”
“Yeah, it’s a challenge. It’s a dare.”
“Okay, so I accept this dare, but you’ll have to accept another dare in the future, of equal or greater value.”
“What dare is that?”
“To be determined.”
“So basically just a blank check.”
“In exchange for singing karaoke in this crowded Irish bar? Yup, that’s what I want.”
They drained the last of their mugs and Marissa insisted they go sign up right away—no reprieves. Oh well, if they were singing instead of drinking, he’d save some money at least. There was a harmlessly malicious edge to the grin and wink Marissa gave him. Who knew if anything would come of it, even a make-out session; for the moment
They went back to talking about Kevin, Stewart, and Jean, although Charles was looking for ways to broaden the scope of the conversation and refocus it on himself and Marissa, so as not to get irretrievably trapped in this gossipy ghetto. Hoping it might prove to be a useful, smooth transition, he said, “I feel like I knew guys like that back home.”
“Where are you from?” asked Marissa, as he’d hoped she would.
“Spokane.”
She evinced interest. They talked about Spokane a while, about how it wasn’t near Seattle, about how he might love it but he didn’t like it. He asked where she was from.
“D.C.,” she said.
“The halls of power,” he intoned. She made a face like that wasn’t necessarily funny, but like she was finding him cute anyway.
They got refills on their beers, and continued to evolve the conversation. Before their nachos were done they’d ordered a third round of drinks. Charles didn’t know how he was going to eat for the next week after he paid for all of this, and was telling himself that he better get a lay out of it, if not tonight then eventually.
She asked what it was like getting his MFA from Sarah Lawrence.
“Meh,” said Charles. “I mainly did it as an excuse to move to New York like I’d always wanted. In retrospect I wish I’d just moved here and written. Would’ve been cheaper.”
“But now you’ll always have that diploma,” Marissa pointed out.
Charles was on the verge of saying, Yeah, right, and I’m putting it to good use working for minimum wage , but reminded himself not to harp on his low economic status when flirting. Why undo with one dumb remark whatever he might accomplish by paying for dinner?
She asked if he still did any writing. “Yeah,” he said, “I go up to the Hungarian Pastry Shop and work on stuff.”
“The Hungarian Pastry Shop? What’s that?”
“You don’t know the Hungarian Pastry Shop?!”
Marissa drew herself up in mock offense. “Do I look like a woman who spends much time in pastry shops?”
“It’s a coffee shop, mainly. Up by Columbia. It’s famous for, uh … well, there’s a lot of graffiti in the bathroom, from Columbia students mostly, like this super-witty pretentious graffiti.”
“You’re really selling this place.”
“No, come on, you should go. It’s just good coffee, and no radio playing, and people writing and reading and talking. I take it back about the pretentiousness, it’s actually really authentic. Like, you know those sorts of places that were part of your original daydreamy reasons for moving to New York? It’s one of the last places like that, that hasn’t closed yet.”
They ordered more beers to wash down the last of their nachos. From the front of the bar came crashing the noise of yet another drunken chorus, this time howling their way through “Born to Run.” Marissa leaned forward and fixed upon Charles her manically gleaming eyes, and laughed. Charles laughed, too.
“Can I make a confession?” she said.
“Uh-oh.”
“I love karaoke.”
“So go up there. You couldn’t possibly be worse than these guys.”
“You wanna do it together?”
Shit. “It might take another beer or two.”
“Oh, come on, don’t be a wimp.”
“Oh ho, is this a challenge?”
“Yeah, it’s a challenge. It’s a dare.”
“Okay, so I accept this dare, but you’ll have to accept another dare in the future, of equal or greater value.”
“What dare is that?”
“To be determined.”
“So basically just a blank check.”
“In exchange for singing karaoke in this crowded Irish bar? Yup, that’s what I want.”
They drained the last of their mugs and Marissa insisted they go sign up right away—no reprieves. Oh well, if they were singing instead of drinking, he’d save some money at least. There was a harmlessly malicious edge to the grin and wink Marissa gave him. Who knew if anything would come of it, even a make-out session; for the moment
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