George Hutton’s Zapotec
Find out why so many are reading
The name of the place was Rosarito’s. A place for people to hit up their way home from work. A
place to have a couple of margaritas and unwind for most. Mary, Lisa, and Allison were sharing a
table in the back, doing just that. “So have you heard from Mike lately?” asked Lisa offhandedly,
surveying the crowd. Mary made a sound that wasn’t quite ready to be classified as a word. “And
how long has it been?” teased Allison.
“Week and half,” she responded coolly. “You could always call him,” Allison suggested. Both of
her friends looked at her like as if she had just channeled that idea from Jupiter.
“OK, guy at the bar, red shirt, kind of plaid,” she asked, changing the subject.
“Job?”
“Blue collar.”
“Pay?”
“Umm, midforties,” guessed Allison. Mary and Lisa raised their eyebrows in
slight surprise.
“Union, or something, but not a mechanic.” Maybe, both Mary’s and Lisa’s faces said.
“Numbers?” asked Mary. Meaning age and number of sexual partners.
“Thirty-two, four.”
“Only four?” asked Allison.
“Yeah. He’s cute, kind of, but I dunno, something weird about him.”
“Thirty-three, seven,” responded Allison.
“Raised by nuns?” joked Lisa. “Twenty-nine, fourteen,” she added.
“Fourteen?” Mary and Allison both said in unison. “I think he’s just shy around white girls. I’ll bet
with Latinas he really clicks. A regular Don Juan,” she said jokingly.
“We’re too skinny for him,” mocked Allison.
“Shhh!” said Mary with a “How could you say something like that” look on
her face.
“I’m just sayin’ . . . ,” responded Allison. That got a good laugh. Lisa snuck a peak to reevaluate.
“OK, twenty-nine, twenty.”
“Twenty! No way!”
“Twenty?” Mary said, taking another quick glance. One more glance. Smiling.
“Twenty? Hmm.”
“How you doin? OK?” the bartender asked Malcolm. Malcolm was surprised,
looked up briefly, not quite making eye contact. “Yeah, I’m, uh, OK,” he said sheepishly. Malcolm
was at the bar. He was sitting half facing the entrance to the restaurant portion, with his left side to
the “happy hour” section. He kept stealing glances of this area, which was filled with happy
drinkers jostling to fill up from the already-demolished buffet. It was taquitos and nachos. The
taquitos went quick, and the jalapeos were the least favorite nacho topping. The reason Malcolm
was turned to partially face the restaurant, and not the big mirror behind the bar, was that the
hostess was kind of cute, and Malcolm was pretty sure he recognized her from church. If she would
only look at him. Maybe if she did, she
could recognize him from church and realize he was a decent person. Then maybe he’d have
something to talk to her about if he saw her in church again. Meeting girls was so hard. They were
all over the place, but why was it so hard to talk to them? She had a cute face, maybe a little too
chubby, but that was OK. Maybe he should come and have dinner here. Then she’d notice him.
Should he wear a tie? Did he have a tie? He never wore one to mass, but maybe if he wore one to
dinner, she would think he was a businessman or something. But what would happen if they started
dating and she found out he wasn’t a businessman? Would she think that he lied to her? Malcolm
sighed, turning back to face the mirror, giving up on his “girl.” That was when he noticed those
three girls in the corner laughing. They were cute. He liked their laugh. What were they laughing
about? Maybe something funny happened at work. Malcolm became uneasy. That blonde sure had a
cute smile.
Whoa . . . was he imagining things? Did she just look over here? Did they know him? Why were
they looking at him? He felt uncomfortable. He always did when pretty girls looked at him. He
sighed to himself. Why were women so confusing? He didn’t think he was that ugly. Sometimes he
wished the weekend would just hurry it over with so he could get back to work. Work was OK. He
liked work. He was respected at work. He was good at his job. He didn’t have to worry about what
people thought of him or what he said or how he acted. He just did a good job, and people liked
that. Simple. His heart rate jumped. He was sure they were looking at him. Were they talking about
him? Maybe one of their boyfriends had the same shirt he was wearing or something. If they had
boyfriends, what were they doing here? Did their boyfriends know they were at a pickup place? He
was positive that those girls were talking about him, and it really didn’t look like they were
laughing at him, not really. Maybe he should go talk to them. What would he say? Why are you
girls laughing at me? What do you think is so funny? That one was really cute, though. What if she
became his girlfriend? Would she go to church with him? Would she stop laughing at him? What if
they were laughing about something else altogether? Then why were they looking at him? Maybe
they weren’t. Sure, they were. Maybe they had friends who had seen Malcolm in church. This was
why he didn’t come to places like this. Other people were so messed up.
Why did they do the foolish things that they did? Malcolm sighed in frustration. What the hell? OK,
that girl just smiled right at him! And it wasn’t a mean smile or anything, it was, like, an approving
smile, like when—well, whatever. That smile made him feel something. Maybe it wasn’t quite time
to go home yet. He needed to do something. But what? He sighed again.
“Oops!” whispered Mary, covering a grin.
“What?” asked Allison, still smiling.
“Mirror.”
“Busted!” both Allison and Lisa said, knowing exactly what she meant.
“Plans for the weekend?” asked Allison, changing the subject.
“Let’s see, wash my car, return last week’s videos . . .”
“Last week’s?” interjected Mary. “Are they documentaries from the library?” joked Mary.
“I’m not that bad! At least hooked up this decade!” Lisa exclaimed, smiling.
Mary scowled in mock offense. Allison burst out laughing.
“So what about Peter?” asked Lisa. “Him?” Mary said with a brief look of subtle
distaste before shaking her head, surveying the rest of the bar for about the fifteenth
time. “Damn,” said Lisa. “What does it take?”
“Give him time,” said Allison. “These things can take a while. I once gave out my number to this
totally cute guy, and he didn’t call for, like, three weeks.”
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“Three weeks?” Mary asked incredulously. “And?” she added.
“It took another three weeks to get together, and . . . well . . .”
“Details, details!” Lisa hadn’t heard this particular story, at least she didn’t
think so.
“Well, he called a couple times, left voice mails and stuff. When we finally talked, he asked me to
go ice skating.” Both Mary and Lisa looked at each other with a “What’s wrong with that?” look.
“Well,” Allison continued, “he didn’t know anything about ice skating. He couldn’t remember how
to get to the rink, and when we got there, I had to practically hold him up the whole time.”
“Wait,” interjected Mary. “He took you ice skating, and he’s never actually been ice skating
before?” she asked, her mouth smiling in amazement.
“Mmm hmm,” replied Allison.
“And so what happened after that?” continued Mary.
“Never heard from again. I guess he was too embarrassed after what happened.”
“Why ice skating?” asked Lisa. “God,” she thought out loud. “I hope he wasn’t waiting all that time
trying to plan the perfect date.”
“So where are the normal guys?”
“I know!”
“So how’s Mike?” Allison asked Mary teasingly.
“Whatever,” she said in mock exasperation.
What were they talking about now? Malcolm found it a little bit more difficult to look over since
that rare smile had been shot his direction. First, they were looking at him, talking about him,
laughing at him, then she smiled at him. Smiled at him. Now they were totally ignoring him. He
didn’t understand women at all. Not even his sister. Sometimes she would be nice to him, call him
to check up on him; sometimes he never heard from her. She was too busy with her boyfriends.
What did she see in those guys, anyway? Malcolm didn’t have many hobbies. He worked a lot of
hours, a lot of Saturdays, which didn’t allow for many, which was OK with him. He didn’t really
enjoy going out, which was why he rarely did. And when he did get up the courage, it was always
alone. A few of the guys at work tried to get him to come to weekend parties, barbecues, but he
usually came up with a believable excuse not to go. Most of the guys his age at work had wives and
little kids. Malcolm really didn’t feel comfortable around those kinds of people. He didn’t really
belong. Mass was his only regular activity outside of work. Even then, he didn’t really feel like he
fit in. Maybe he was being punished. Maybe God was testing him. Maybe God was preparing him
for something. Some kind of holy secret mission. He wasn’t sure. None of the girls at Mass seemed
to ever notice him. Maybe God didn’t want them to notice him. He didn’t know. He did know that
when that girl flashed that smile his way, he felt really good. Like all of a sudden anything was
possible, like he really could get a girl like that. But those thoughts quickly evaporated. Now they
were totally ignoring him. Did they catch him looking? Did they think he looked scary? Was he not
supposed to look at girls in bars? How did people ever get together if you’re not supposed to look at
girls in bars? Maybe he should go talk to them. What would he say? Hi, I’m Malcolm. Do you want
to go to Mass with me? No,
that wouldn’t work. They’d think he was a weirdo. Hi, I’m Malcolm. What’s your
name? Then what? Hi, I’m Malcolm, can I buy you ladies a drink? Maybe that would work. Then
they might ask him to sit down. Then they could talk about church or something. No,
that wouldn’t work. What girls would want to talk about church? This was stupid. Damn, he hated
this. He hated coming to these stupid places and sitting by himself and wishing something would
happen that never did. Why was life so hard? Why were women so mean? They had all this power,
and they just tossed it around like it was some game, laughing and smiling one minute, then
pointing and gossiping the next. This just wasn’t fair!
“Dammit!” he said, just a little bit too loudly.
“OK, buddy?” the bartender said casually, looking up briefly. “Nah, no, nothing,
I just . . . sorry.” Malcolm chuckled, trying to downplay his small outburst.
“No worries, pardner,” the bartender smiled, turning back into his conversation.
What the hell. Malcolm suddenly realized, almost talking out loud to himself. If I go home, I’ll be
angry that I didn’t say anything. Maybe I should try something. Not that they’re gonna like me or
anything. But I should do something. I hate this. She sure is cute, though. What would they talk
about? Would she like his apartment? God, the guys at work would think he was pretty cool if he
could bring her to one of those barbecues. Damn. What the hell was he thinking? She’d never go for
him. She probably only dates white guys. A girl like that, so cute, probably has lots of guys lined
up. This is probably ladies’ night out. If I go over there now, they’ll just get mad that I’m
interrupting them. Why did she smile at me, then? Malcolm looked at himself in the mirror, shook
his head. He kept changing his focus: her, him, her,
him.
Why not? Why the hell not?
“So Mike never mentions any, uh, women in his life?” Allison teased
“Shut up!” Mary smiled.
“But you totally would, though, right!” Lisa asked.
“Yeah!” she said, as if answering if 2 plus 2 really was 4.
“So just start showing up to work all, ya know, all hoochie!” Lisa joked.
Mary just rolled her eyes.
“He’s actually going back east in two weeks, and yesterday, he gave me a ton of stuff I need to do to
help him get ready. They’re trying to hook up this big client, and if they do—bonus!”
“Enough to get new boobs to hook him up?” Allison said, and both Allison and Lisa burst out
laughing.
“WHAT! EVER!” Mary said, shaking her head.
“So, Lisa,” Mary said, quickly changing the subject. “Are you still waiting for Mark to come
around?” Mary asked, only slightly teasingly.
“I am so over him!” both Allison and Mary just rolled their eyes.
“I’m serious. If I saw him, I’d be totally like, whatever.”
“Yeah right!” Allison said. “I’ll bet”—she looked at both Lisa and Mary—“that if you get home
tonight and he left a booty-call voice mail, you would so go right over to his apartment.” Lisa shook
her head in disgust. Mary nodded her head, smiling knowingly.
“Whatever, you guys are so . . . I am so over him!” Mary and Allison just laughed. Just then,
Allison looked over toward the bar.
“Uh-oh,” she said, with a slight, curious smile. “Hmm,” Mary said to herself, with a barely
perceptible smile. Lisa just kept quiet, watching the nervous stranger turn and begin to walk
toward them.
