Almost Perfect - Brian Katcher [45]
We were almost at the door, but Sage wasn’t moving forward. “I … forgot my ID in the car.”
There were still, like, twenty people behind us. I wasn’t sure if they’d let Tim save seats. At this rate, we’d be sitting in the men’s room.
“How far are you parked?” It was our turn, and the people behind us were pushing.
“I … Logan …” Her faltering voice brought me back to reality. Of course. It didn’t matter if she had her license with her or not. She wouldn’t dare show it to a stranger because it would list her sex as male.
“Hey, move it!” hollered the guy behind us. I stepped out of line.
“Fine time to remember this detail,” I snapped at her.
Sage bit her lip and shook her head. I’d never seen her look so ashamed, not even on the day she’d told me her secret.
“Just go without me, Logan.”
“I can’t. Tim wants to be alone with Dawn later, and they don’t need me sitting in the backseat looking at my watch. I was counting on you to drive me back.”
“Then I’ll go wait in that coffee shop until you’re done. I can take you home after.”
It annoyed me that she was being so accommodating. That meant there was no reason for me to be angry.
“I’m not going to have you sit alone for two hours. Let me tell Tim we’re not coming, and we’ll get some food or something. We can meet up with them later.” I sounded bitchy; I wanted to make sure she knew I was annoyed. Not so much about missing the comedian, but that she’d messed up our plans.
“Wait, Logan, you don’t have to—”
I turned and glared at her. “It’s okay, Sage. I just wish you’d thought of this first.”
They were just closing the doors when I arrived at the ticket counter. The heat wave from the crowded club nearly knocked me over after the cold parking lot.
“I’ve just got to go in and tell a friend something.”
The doorman was as unimpressed as Tim at a vegetarian restaurant. “If you want in, you buy a ticket. Fifteen bucks.”
“I just got to …”
“Fifteen bucks. We’re closing the doors here. You coming or not?”
I was tempted to tell Sage just to go on home, but Tim wanted to be alone with his date later, and his plans didn’t include me. I forked over some of my snow-shoveling cash, had my hand stamped with the UNDER 21 seal of shame, and hunted down my friends.
They’d managed to get a great table by the stage and had saved two empty seats. Tim had ordered the house specialty: a platter of hot wings surrounded by White Castle hamburgers. I really wanted to join them.
“Guys,” I loud-whispered, “Sage forgot her ID. We can’t get in.”
Dawn, whose pallid skin almost glowed in the dark, started to get up. “We can do something else, if you like.” Tim began eyeballing the food, probably wondering if he could shove it all in his pockets.
“Nah, just call Sage’s cell phone if you want to do something after.” I wrote her number on a napkin. I didn’t even know if Sage had her phone with her, but I knew Tim wouldn’t be calling.
Chip Durham took the stage. Before he said a word, I could tell he was the I’m a redneck and that’s funny type of comedian (as opposed to the I’m black/Hispanic/female/ overweight/homosexual/loud and that’s funny type). I briefly considered just sitting down and watching the show. After ten minutes, Sage would figure I wasn’t coming back, right?
No, she’d wait for me for an hour in the cold parking lot. I grabbed a burger, wished Tim a happy eighteenth, and left.
Sage half smiled when I returned. “You don’t have to do this, Logan.”
Actually, I did. The doors were closed and the security guy was gone. “C’mon. What do you want to do?” My voice was flat. She’d ruined the evening, and I wanted her to know it.
“Um, I’m cold. Let’s go back to the truck.”
We walked past the crowded bars and clubs on Ninth Street.
“Logan, I’m sorry. I should have known they’d ask for identification.” She didn’t say Please tell me you’re not mad, but her tone betrayed her thoughts.
I shrugged, walking quickly so she’d have to jog. “You’d think you’d remember something like that.