happily. “Cézanne. You know, all the French guys.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for an art lover,” says Emily.
Rank allows himself to sulk slightly. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m not surprised. A lot of people pre-judge me that way.”
He is gratified by the startled look this provokes in Emily. Of all the things she thinks about herself, he’s betting she never for the world would have believed herself closed-minded, a pre-judger of her fellow beings.
“No, no, no!” she exclaims. “It’s just that, you know, I thought you were a hockey player.”
“Sports and art aren’t mutually exclusive,” Rank hears himself saying. Oh, Rank is on fire. Rank is at that ideal point of inebriation, a kind of golden mean where the percentage of alcohol in the bloodstream produces just the right balance of confidence and eloquence. No doubt after one more swig the whole thing will go pear-shaped and Rank will default into slurring and grunting obscenities. Meanwhile, however, he cups Emily in his very palm.
“Hemingway, after all,” he adds, “was a boxer.”
He glances over and notices Adam is watching him with a wide, incredulous smile. Rank hasn’t seen Adam wear a smile like that for at least a couple of months, it seems. It makes him happy. Maybe all is forgiven — whatever it was that needed to be forgiven between them. He shoots his friend a grave, professorial nod, which causes Adam to cover his face abruptly, as if in a sneeze.
In a matter of seconds, Emily is leaning toward him, the drawn-on smile gone completely. Now, her pale lips are nicely parted and Rank understands that with her wild hair and shimmery face she is actually pretty hot. Conversation continues and Long Island ice tea is shared until a waitress comes to offer them a pitcher. Who knows how long they’ve been there at this point. The crowd roils on all sides, sometimes crushing against the backs of their chairs begrudgingly. Rank feels himself growing hoarse as the conversation wears on and he realizes he’s had to shout progressively louder with practically every sentence in order to penetrate the crowd-sound and music. Emily is cupping one ear to catch his pearls of wisdom as they drop. Adam meanwhile seems to be holding his end of the table up quite nicely, a girl on either side, bending toward him. Way to go, Grix, Rank tries to transmit psychically. We should thank Wade later on.
It’s at about this point when Kyle appears wearing a face like one of those Easter Island statues.
“Hi Kyle!” burbles Emily, who is deep into the Long Island ice tea at this point and has been magically endowed with personality and charisma as a result.
“Let’s go, you two,” says Kyle, ignoring her. “I got us a table.”
“We already have a table,” says Adam, and he gestures to the two empty chairs that he and Rank have dutifully slung their coats over to reserve them for Kyle and Wade.
Wade, Rank sees, stands behind Kyle with arms crossed: a full-bodied pout.
“I got us four chairs up at the bar,” says Kyle. “Lorna’s watching them for us.”
“Who wants to sit at the fucking bar?” says Rank. “It’s a zoo up there.”
“Come on,” says Kyle.
Rank has seen Kyle like this only a couple times before — all his politician’s polish and cultivated courtesy thrown completely to the wayside as a result of not getting his way. It’s always an amazing transformation when it happens — all the animation leaves his face, his eyes go so dull it’s as if they have filmed over like a zombie’s, and you find yourself seized by the conviction that at any moment he might fling himself to the ground and start squalling like a 155-pound two-year-old.
“Kyle,” says Adam. “We’ve got a great table right here.”
“I’ve got us four seats up at the bar,” repeats Kyle. “Come on. We’re going.”
“We’re going,” Rank mimics, fake-sullen, causing Kyle’s Easter Island expression to contort into an actual scowl. “Wow,” remarks Rank at the sight of it. He glances over at Adam, who sits there looking as astonished as Rank feels. Their eyes meet. Psychic transmission: Holy shit. Kyle is beyond even being razzed.
But, press pause. They are drunk. They are peevish. They have been having fun with the ladies and have no desire to leave. They usually tolerate being pushed around by Kyle because that’s just Kyle, and most of time it’s friendly and well-meaning, if completely self-interested. But that kind of shit can pile up after a while. Both