Letâs switch things up. Say hi to Viv.
Alabama is one of the most biodiverse states in the country, but this venueâs demographics have yet to reflect that.
Vivian plops down and rests her arms on the bar. Manages to catch the bartenderâs attention for two shots of tequila and downs them before they touch the sticky counter. She knows she shouldnât, but what else can she do?
Ana Rosa spins in her white babydoll dress and gaudy âbride-to-beâ sash to endless reggaeton. All the other bridesmaids float around her, worshiping the grimy laminate floor she dances on. The actual bachelorette party was over a month ago, but she craved one last good night out before next week.
Vivian loves her cousin. She really does. But thereâs only so much she can handle.
Ana Rosa had promised Vivian that there would be plenty of men to assess and try out during their aimless, bar-hopping escapade. Disappointingly, itâs been the same mix of people everywhere she goesâwomen with the same idea and those already coupled up. So much for getting laid tonight.
Vivian whips her head around to find a gaggle of drunk girls falling on each other through the door. Cheap, matching corsets bought online in varying colors. Mini-skirts and ripped jeans reminiscent of a bygone club era. But there would not be any true clubbing. Not in a sea of smartphones with the flash on.
They must all see the same hairstylist. Vivianâs reminded of dead grass off the side of Highway 31 and wonders if the strands break off just as easily.
âIâm so glad Iâm too grown for this.â
Sophiya stands at her side, dressed in one of her jewel-toned monochrome outfits, with emerald strands in her braids, stacked in a half-up bun. She stands out against all the college kids happy to be here for two-dollar jello shots. Vivianâs stuck in work clothesâa satin shirt tucked into one-size-too-small jeans. Thatâs what she gets for locking in a little too hard on the new batch of blueprints the Birmingham Historical Society sent over.
They have a way of speaking that led them to becoming friends in that English 101 class, and they mastered it within a few minutes as they bonded over the obnoxious, mansplaining freshman in the front row, questioning every damn thing the professor said. She tilts her head in Vivianâs direction and widens her eyes briefly.
This is white girl hell, she seems to say.
Vivianâs lips press into a firm line as she fights the corners of her mouth turning up into a smile. The song comes to an end, and she closes her eyes with pure relief.
Only a few more songs are left before Ana Rosa wants to go to karaoke. Vivian makes a sharp nod towards the exit door, and Sophiya seems to mull it over for a minute, her nose scrunching, before relenting.
In the alley, Vivian leans against the brick wall of the bar.
âI told you this was a bad idea.â Sophiya takes out her phone. âI told you the only places popping off tonight were the undergrad bars.â
Vivian pinches the bridge of her nose and tries to remember her plan for avoiding any potential run-ins with her students.
âCanât believe sheâs marrying Chris.â She scoffs. âIâll never forget when he gave himself a concussion by banging his head on the whack-a-mole.â
Vivian rests her head on the wall, sliding her hands behind her back. âWerenât you the one who set them up?â
âDidnât think she would actually stay with him.â That widening smile betrays her, and laughter tumbles out, echoing off the concrete.
âNo way weâre going to karaoke after this. Did you see the bathroom? Itâs like there was a baking contest,â Vivian determines before asking Sophiya for her vape.
âI thought you didnât do nicotine.â She pulls out the vape from her back pocket with no hesitation.
âYeah, but I think I might start tonight.â Vivian holds out her hand, but Sophiya reels it out of her reachâbaiting her like some goddamn fish.
âNuh-uh, Iâm not encouraging any destructive behavior tonight.â She sneaks a hit, and Vivian whines pathetically as it returns to its home in her pocket.
âYou donât love me,â she wails.
Vivian was correct in assuming they wouldnât make it to karaoke. Ana Rosaâs sweaty head hangs over a surprisingly clean toilet bowl.
Listing out dead Western stars distracts her enough to steel herself through the wafts of putrid vomit.
I should watch Gunsmoke when I get home.
Ana Rosaâs loud retching echoing in the tiny stall knocks Vivian out of her sweet dreams of lying in bed watching Matt Dillon and Kitty Russell. For a split second, she envies whatever the fuck the guys were up to, but almost immediately she remembers that it was a group of straight men.
Probably at the strip club.
Possibly some questionably dangerous stunts would be involved after several rounds of beer and tequila.
She would rather take her chances with tugging bridesmaids off tabletops and having her bag of hair ties ready for the incoming flights to the toilet bowlâlike right now.
âI donât want to go home,â Ana Rosa slurs as Sophiya grabs one of her damp arms to place around her neck.
âYou donât have a choice,â Vivian mocks as she grabs her other arm. They deal with the moaning and groaning on the way to her apartment, just two blocks away.
Ana Rosa lives smack dab in the middle of downtownâthe convenient center of weekend nightlife. It was always so much easier to stay at her place when they were having a girlsâ night, but Vivianâs been trying her best to avoid the place lately. She canât do it. Not with Chris and all his friends constantly there. Especially Connor. Hopefully, the boys are still out.
Tumbling into the apartment, Vivianâs aware she just jinxed herself.
Drunk men holler in Spanish at each other over a tense game of pool, and the space stinks heavily of weed. More reggaeton plays through vibrating speakers, rattling the array of liquor bottles underneath the massive flatscreen. One of Chrisâs friendsâRafael?âcomes around the corner with a Corona in hand.
âAy, someone get Chris,â he bellows at the sight of them.
The groom pops in, assesses how fucked up his fiancĂŠe is, and immediately takes her from their arms. Heâs irritated at their interruption but makes sure Ana Rosa is okay in the bathroom. Vivian scans the room anxiously.
âIf youâre looking for Connor, heâs not here,â Rafael says before taking a sip of his beer. âLeft like an hour ago.â
Sophiya double-checks on Ana Rosa and Chris, but it becomes clear there would be hell to pay if they stay. Vivian gladly leaves.
Sophiya drives them back to Vivianâs house. Itâs a nice townhouse, just perfectly too big for her. Nestled between parks, it offers her an escape to process her thoughts and quiet her mind. Tonight might need one of those escape walks.
She unlocks her door and breathes in the comfort of bergamot and lavender. Her shoes fly across the entryway, haphazardly blocking their path into the living room. Like it would have made a difference with the stacks of books and overflowing rolling carts of DVDs and VHS tapes. Vivian gave up on buying more bookcases as her space became packed with her obsessions. Old Western film posters cover every square inch of available wall space; she canât remember the wallâs original color. Her mom had gotten her an old horseshoe to hang up as an additional indicator of her weird hobbies. Two massive bookcases stood on either side of the decently sized television screen and cluttered entertainment center. The worldâs comfiest couch sat awkwardly in the middle of the room, as the entryway was relatively small and was the main path to the kitchen towards the back of the first floor. Despite its shit-brown color with discernible stains, it was easy to sink back into its re-stuffed cushions after a long day of hunching over a computer or delicate documents that needed scanning.
Most of her furniture was secondhand, whether from thrift stores, salvaging questionable pieces from the side of the road, or receiving items from friends and family. It was easier to do that when she first got the townhouse as a broke grad student. A former professor of hers still owned it, technically, but he let her live in it at a reduced rent while he went off to Europe to focus on his research. Dr. Foster had been Vivianâs advisor and mentor throughout school, so when she got the job at the lab, it was no great surprise. As open and warm as he was with her, he kept the information about his research to himselfâsomething about religious and cultural depictions and understandings of something. She didnât probe. Despite it being several years now, she has always lived with the anxiety looming over her for the day when he comes back to reclaim his home. Dr. Foster once requested pictures to see what she had done with the place, and after a reluctant photoshoot, he admired the âglorious stockpile of knowledgeâ she had built. It was the loveliest description of her hoarding she had ever heard.
Carpeted stairs lead up to her refuge, and she yearns for the comfort of a hot shower and the newly cleaned comforter on her bed.
âHey, Soph. You want a drink?â Vivian offers as she shuffles towards the kitchen.
Sophiya sets her purse down on the rickety, latticed catch-all table. It has a countryside painted on the little pullout drawer. âNah. You got any good snacks?â
Vivianâs already pulling out the thick, dark chocolate ganache she made the night before out of the fridge and snatching two spoons from the silverware drawer. âYou know I do.â
âOh my God, youâre amazing.â Soph gushes once she sees the container and spoons in her hands. The cushions sigh as she flops down on the couch.
They curl up on the couch together with their decadent treat. Vivian digs around the cushions for her remote and finds it deep in the middle. Her finger automatically hits play, and the TV comes to life. Soph groans.
âI really donât get your obsession with this man,â she says incredulously, bringing a heaping spoonful of ganache to her mouth.
The film picks back up on a dramatic conversation between cavalrymen trying to decide on what to do about invaders closing in on the fort. It was a classic Western, but not just any Western. The young officer challenging his commander was none other than Walter Mallory.
Walter Mallory was no ordinary actor. For a brief moment, he was among the most sought-after Western actors to grace the silver screen, and because of how he looked, he was called one of the âpretty boysâ of Hollywood, and his roles typically leaned into that image of the boyish hero, still dry behind the ears. He had a smile so carefree and beaming that one couldnât possibly think the man had ever experienced the hardships of life or the true ruggedness of the world he only starred in clean, sanitized versions of. His soft, tousled hair and sweet eyes gleamed in the cameraâs view even in black and white.
âLeave me alone. Itâs a guilty pleasure,â Vivian mumbles around the gooey chocolate.
âI bet he wasnât this pretty when he got old as fuck.â
âIâm glad Iâll never have to know.â
âWhat do you mean?â She took another spoonful.
âHe died in like, a really bad accident when he was on set in â57. He was about thirty-five, I wanna say?â Vivian explains. âDonât quote me on that.â
âThis was actually one of the first movies he made.â She continues to list out facts sheâs uncovered over the years. How he started off as an assistant to a stunt coordinator, working with rented company horses. His fascination with space exploration. The critical bullet wound that forced him off the front lines in â44.
âYouâve got the new batch of grad students walking around looking older than him,â Soph comments.
The âpretty boyâ of Westerns was good at what he did best. Vivian sometimes wonders about his opinion on the typecasting he fell into, but she squeezes her eyes shut at the idea sheâs entertained.
âHave you ever considered having dates with someone besides your TV and me?â Soph suggests.
âI didnât take Eden for the jealous type.â
Edenâs her primary research assistant at the archives lab. She felt so proud when she accidentally set them up after getting sick over bad quiches at Sophâs textile installation opening last year. They bonded over Vivianâs vomiting and then over the usage of antique fabrics in Sophâs work.
âViv.â She gives her a pointed look. âYou know what Iâm talking about. You canât stay holed up in this house watching whatâs-his-face all the time.â
âI donât stay holed up in this house watching movies all the time. IâŚgo to the park and the library. And you invite me to things.â Vivianâs too tired nowadays to do anything else outside of work. Soph and Eden get her out and about, but the idea of doing anything outside of necessity drains her.
Soph rolls her eyes at her ridiculousness. âOkay, Iâm going home on that one.â
âNoooo,â Vivian whines as Soph hoists herself out of the couch thatâs desperately trying to pull her back in.
âIâm going to give you and your little white boy some alone time.â She walks towards the door and grabs her purse off the wobbling table. âSeriously, though. Donât make me drag Ana Rosa into this.â
âHeard,â Vivian grumbles as the door shuts quietly behind her best friend.
She doesnât like it when Soph threatens to sic Ana Rosaâs matchmaking skills on her. Sheâs been trying to set her up on numerous dates since the break-up, and each one has been absolute hell.
What Vivian doesnât understand is why everyoneâs so invested in her love life. It was one thing when it was her family and the dreaded expectations that sheâd be married by now and popping out a kid or twoâŚor threeâŚor four. But her friends, too?
Sheâll never forget when she first allowed herself to brag about getting her doctorate, and the tĂas gave minimal praise, but then they went all out for her engagement. Clearly, there was no party for the break-up.
In this townhouse, itâs the only place she can hunker down and freely be herself. No family. No friends. No one to judge her. No one to make fun of her. This is her safe havenâno dangerous risks or intruders allowed.
