Equal Opportunity

"Oh yeah?" Ms. Coombs glanced at me, and then back to the road.

"Yeah," I answered, "There're plenty of women in the world besides Asians. There's Latin women, Philippino women, and lots of white women. No need to be biased towards one nationality, right?"

She laughed, "Sounds pretty equal-opportunity to me."

"Of course, Ms. Coombs."

She winced, "Oh god, please..."

I jumped, "What?"

"I can't believe you just called me that?"

I thought I'd called her Ms. Coombs. Had I called her something else instead?

She laughed, "It makes me sound so...old. I'm thirty, for chrissake! Please, just call me Dina."

"That's cool," I shrugged. Of course, I'd have to concentrate on calling her Dina instead of Ms. Coombs. The military still had a hold on many of my actions and behaviors, that after eight years, I guess I've been pretty effectively programmed. Maybe if I thought of Ms.- (shit!), um, Dina as just a friend instead of my boss, I could deal with it easier.

That'd be cool, two friends going out to have a drink. Right?

She was quiet again, but not because the mood had broken again, not quite, anyway.

Then, out of nowhere, she confessed, "Yes, I kinda liked watching the lesbian porn."

I almost laughed out loud, but controlled myself, appearing nonchalant.

"It beats the hell out of guy-on-guy porn any day of the week," I replied.

"Why is that?"

Explaining a long-held belief of mine, I said, "There's something so...natural, so right about two women. I mean...a woman's body is a work of art in my eyes. All the curves, the femininity, it's just so pleasing to the eye."

Fascinated by my words, she asked, "And a guy's body isn't?"

"Not in the least. Even the most effeminate guy is basically the same as a masculine guy. All angles, maybe pleasing as an abstract, but even that's stretching it. I can find nothing whatsoever attractive about a guy's body. But a woman's body...and then you put the women together, and it's like a work of art come to life!"

"So a woman's body is like a work of art to you..." Dina mused, "When you put it that way, it's pretty easy to explain the art in your apartment. There's much to be appreciated in the curves, the great attention to detail when it comes to the women, while any males in the art are displayed...crudely, almost ugly in appearance. The only halfway pleasing aspect of the men in the pictures is that they're pleasing the women."

I had to stop and stare in awe of Dina. She had accepted my view and applied it to my taste in art so completely!

"Does that make sense?" she asked, unaware as of yet.

"Make sense? I think you pretty much nailed it on the head with the biggest hammer in the world."

She laughed, "Really? I was just speculating. I don't know if that was the reason I enjoyed the movie, but I like your reasoning."

"So...why did you enjoy the movie?"

"Oh, god...this is so embarrassing, I hope you know that."

I grinned, "I know. It's so cute. So, you were saying?"

"I...thought it was gross at first, but the two women in the porn seemed to enjoy doing it so much, and it looked real, not all fake and phony. I even got curious, almost enough to try it. I was afraid though, that if I asked any of my friends they would think I was stupid and start making fun of me, so I kept my mouth shut."

"That puts a whole new spin on you," I couldn't keep a straight face at this point even if I tried.

"Shut up, you. I was fourteen, and hadn't even kissed a guy. So of course, watching the movie, I was curious. I never once tried it, and that's probably a good thing."

I smirked, but didn't reply, and she looked at me, her eyes narrowed a little.

"I see you. Keep on smirking."

"So...would you be the butch, or the bitch?"

"You Neanderthal!"

"I try to imagine you with a she-mullet, but it doesn't seem to fit."

She tried to act angry, but it dissolved in laughter, and I enjoyed hearing her laugh. It seemed hearty, not a little snicker, or a girly giggle, nor did she guffaw like a donkey. It was pleasant, musical.

We arrived at a steakhouse, a place I'd only heard about, but it looked expensive as hell, and we were only in the parking lot. After Dina parked, we got out, and could smell the appealing fragrance of steak on an open flame. I felt out of my league, suddenly. I rarely ate at places such as these, and never with such a beautiful woman. Suffice it to say, my social life was sort of sad. Dina must've sensed my hesitation.

"What is it?"

I shook my head as though to clear it, and said, "Oh, nothing. I just don't get out much, I guess. Do you think it'll be okay?"

She frowned, puzzled, "Will what be okay?"

"You being seen with me."

"For all they know, we could be cousins. Don't worry about it."

I laughed a little, "Okay, fine. Let's go in, then."

As redolent as the smells outside were, they were magnified enough to start me salivating helplessly. Dina caught more than a few eyes, guys even checking her out twice. I felt their eyes on me, and wondered if they were asking themselves if she was slumming it this evening. The hostess found us a small table near a window, and I did the gentlemanly thing, pulling the chair out for her. As I sat down, the waiter, a twenty-something guy with an earring and goatee, handed us our menus, looking Dina up and down, and I had that feeling again, that not only was this restaurant out of my league, but Dina, too. Hell, she was probably worlds out of my league, which brought wonders of what my league was, exactly, and if I was the only one there...

Dina saw me staring at my closed menu, and smiled sweetly, "It does wonders when you open the menu. Unless you have X-ray eyes...in which case, I might have to start wearing lead-lined underwear."

Despite my worry of not being able to measure up, I had to laugh at her comment.

I opened my menu and my stomach clamped up when I saw the prices. I mentally counted the money in my wallet. After paying rent and utilities for the month, the remainder of the ending check from my last job was only a quarter of what it had started as. I had maybe fifty dollars in my wallet at this point, and I hadn't even bought groceries yet. I scanned the menu, searching for the least expensive selection. Okay, the soup and salad, not too bad, I thought. I think Dina would probably catch on pretty quickly, though, so I worked my way up. Good lord, the New York Strip steak was about twenty bucks, plus maybe a Coke, for about two.

"I know what you're doing," Dina's words cut into my thoughts, and I started.

"What are you talking about?" I tried to deny it, even though she hadn't revealed what she thought she knew.

She saw right through me though, and I knew she could.

"You're looking for the least expensive thing on the menu. Jeez, do you even know how to relax? Always worrying about everything! Well cut it out."

"I didn't bring a whole lot of money with me," I sighed miserably.

"So?"

"Well, I have to make it last as long as possible."

"Very frugal of you."

I closed my eyes, humiliated.

"Now that you're done explaining your thriftiness, you might want to know that you're not paying for dinner."

Oh, now that was comforting!

"I can't let you pay my way."

"Do you think I would invite myself out to dinner with you, and then expect you to pay for it? Surely, I'm not that pathetic that I would do such a thing. Besides, this can be considered a business dinner, so the company can fund it."

The waiter returned, getting another eye full.

"What can we start you two off with to drink?"

Dina ordered a tea for her, and before I could order a Coke, she said, "And get my friend a beer. What sounds good?"

The waiter shrugged, "I'm partial to Heineken, myself."

"Good enough for me. Get my friend a Heineken, then."

I'm not sure if it was just habit, or if he really thought I might be underage, but he asked to see my ID. I fished my driver's license from my wallet and he inspected it for the date of birth, nodded, and handed it back to me.

"I'll have your drinks right out," he nodded, smiled, and left.

"Wasn't that cute," Dina teased playfully, "He thought you were underage."

I rolled my eyes. I guess, if I really took the time to, I could perhaps pass for twenty-two or around that, though I was actually twenty-nine.

I wondered, was this a business dinner, binding our actions to ensure they remain professional, or was there a personal interest in this? I didn't dare ask, in case the answer might be one I didn't like. Besides that, if this wasn't something more personal, she might see my question as a hint towards a more intimate nature and I'd shoot down the whole evening. I kept my mouth shut and rolled with it.

The waiter brought our drinks, and we clinked bottle and glass.

"What should we toast to?" she asked.

"How about to the lesbians of the world?"

"You won't let me live this down, will you?"

"Okay, I'll be nice. We'll toast to the cow, whose absence would force us to eat more chicken."

She laughed, and we toasted to the cow.

I stuck with the New York Strip, and breathed a little easier knowing that I would keep my fifty dollars to buy groceries with. At Dina's urging, I agreed to add an order of their coconut shrimp, and when the waiter showed up moments later to take our order, we ordered our food. I was surprised when Dina ordered her steak medium-rare. I ordered mine the same way, and the waiter left with our menus.

"Imagine that," I said, "You like it pink in the middle."

She started to affirm that, when she caught on to the sexual innuendo, and she sputtered, "I knew it!"

"What, I was talking about the steak," I played innocent.

She muttered, "Yeah right." She was blushing again.

We talked about ourselves while we waited for dinner, and I purposefully steered the subject to her as much as possible. My life just didn't seem to be as interesting as hers. She explained that she was the second youngest of two girls and three boys, and that her family was a tight-knit structure. I on the other hand, was one of two brothers and one sister, and our family was so dysfunctional that we rarely visited each other.

"That's sad," she said of my siblings, "To grow up together like that, but be so distant."

I shrugged, "It's life."

She revealed more about her life, and I contented myself to keep quiet, only nodding and making short observations about what I learned. Our food was brought to us about twenty minutes later, and we thanked the waiter. I cut my steak open, and happily found that it had been cooked just right. Dina's was almost identical, and we fell to eating. I made sure not to wolf my food down, even politely using my silverware, but this was the best meal I'd had in months. I went through three beers during dinner, and was finally able to relax.

She glanced up at me and asked, "Are you feeling better, yet?"

I smiled, "Better than I have in a long time, actually."

"Good...it's about time, you know?"

I finished off my beer, and she asked if I wanted another.

"No, that's alright. Too much more and I might think I'm somebody."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means my personality changes, and I believe I can do things that in all reality I can't."

"Like what?"

"Like dancing, for one. It's mortifying when I look back on a previous night and think about me on the dance floor."

"Do you dance like a white guy?"

"Absolutely, because I am a white guy."

"What else?"

"Well," I shrugged, "Don't even get me near a karaoke bar when I've been drinking."

"Can you sing?"

"I don't know. I guess I can carry a tune alright, but I'm no rock star."

Dina grinned, "I know a few good karaoke bars here. We could go check a few out if you'd like."

I shook my head, "Please, no. I make a fool of myself just fine without places like that."

"Come on, it might be fun. I'll tell you what...if you sing, then I'll sing, too."

I thought about this, trying to sense some motive. What if she really had a talent for singing, while I resembled a gargling cat? Still, it might be worth it if she was good.

"Okay, you're on. I think I'll have a few more beers, but I'm waiting until we get there first."

The waiter took his time coming back around, but neither Dina nor I seemed to notice. When he did manage to make it back to our table, he asked if we wanted anything else, perhaps some dessert.

"No, I think we're done."

"Okay, well here's your check," the waiter produced a small leather folder, "I'll be back in a few minutes to pick it up."

Dina took the little folder, slid her business credit card into the small slot reserved for it, and set the folder back onto the table.

"So, can you sing?" I asked Dina.

"A little, I guess."

"This isn't a trick, is it?"

"A trick? How would it be a trick?"

"You might sing like Beyonce, and I wouldn't know it until you get up on stage and sing."

"Wow, that would be nice, but I'm fairly sure I'm nowhere near that good."

The waiter picked the little folder up and disappeared with it for a few more moments.

"Besides," Dina continued, "How do I know that your little 'I guess I can carry a tune' thing was an understatement? For all I know, you sing like Barry White."

I laughed, "Honestly, can you actually expect that I could ever sing like Barry White?"

She laughed with me, "I guess not, but you get my meaning, right?"

"I get your meaning, but believe me, if I could actually sing that good, do you think I'd need to get my buzz on before I could even get up on stage?"

"Okay, you might have a point. I guess we'll both have to find out for ourselves."

Once the waiter had returned with the folder, Dina signed the receipt, added the tip, and we left.

About ten minutes later, we were at the door of this neon-lit bar, The Flow, which could mean different things depending on what your mindset was. I followed her inside, encouraged when nobody was calling her name and urging her to sing. We made our way through the crowd there, while some tall girl belted out a rendition of Shakira's 'Underneath Your Clothes.' She wasn't doing too badly, but she couldn't hit that tone that Shakira did, the switch from high and girly to smoky-silky-sexy. Still, you had to give her some respect. Near the small stage was a big red binder, and as Dina opened it, I saw that it was full of songs and numbers. Dina perused the binder for a few minutes, picked her song, and closed it.

"Which song are you gonna sing?" I asked.

"You'll just have to wait and see," she grinned slyly at me.

She handed me the binder, and I looked through it, seeing a few songs I knew, but nothing yet that I would chance singing. I wasn't lying; I could carry a tune. The only real problem was my lack of range.

I reached the N's, and my breath stopped for a second. Yes! They had seven songs by Nine Inch Nails, one of which I happened to have on one of several shirts at home. I picked two of them, even though I only intended to sing one. I just couldn't choose which one. I remembered the four-digit codes for each one, and closed the binder. Only then did we sign the sheet. There were about eight people in front of me, which, according to Dina wasn't really a lot since it was early in the evening. Apparently I wasn't the only one who needed liquid courage to get up on stage. Speaking of, I went to the bar and ordered a beer for me. Dina asked for a Coke, since she'd be the one driving.

"I'm a bit surprised," I confessed.

"About what?"

"Well, about the fact that you're doing this, and you haven't had anything to drink."

"Sure, I'm nervous as hell, but a deal is a deal."

"Maybe I should be fair then. I won't have any more to drink, okay?"

"Okay, if you insist. I can't wait to hear you sing."

"Once you do, I'm sure you'll wish you'd waited a very long time to hear me sing."

Some of the people who sang before me did a decent job of it, and one of them was exceptionally talented guy who sang 'King Nothing,' by Metallica. Another butchered 'Mother,' by Danzig, and his timing was off. I finished my beer and, true to my word, did not order another one. I was nowhere near drunk enough to believe I could sing. The seventh guy got up on stage and did a fairly good job of 'Is She Really Going Out with Him?' by Goldfinger, even getting the attitude of the song right. The eighth guy got up next, and promptly chickened out. Shit.

"Okay, Barry," Dina nudged me, "You're up. Good luck."

I picked one of the two songs I'd chosen and recited the code to the deejay, and he nodded, also wishing me good luck, though he probably said the same thing to anyone who was going up on stage. My heart was up in my throat, and I had the shakes as I ascended the three steps up onto the stage. I stopped in front of the microphone, adjusted it, and waited for the music to start, my heart pounding. I was nowhere near drunk enough to be doing this, but as I looked down at where Dina sat at one of the tables, she winked and smiled, giving me a thumbs up.

The music started, fading in as it was supposed to, and I didn't have to look at the screen to know the words. Oh yeah, I knew the words to one of my favorite songs. Feeling the beat pulsing through me, I began to sing 'The Hand That Feeds.'

"You're keeping in step, in the line, got your chin held high and you feel just fine,

Cause you do what you're told, but inside your heart it is black and it's hollow and it's cold!"

I'd sung this song so many times in my car, in the shower, whenever it played on the radio, and any time it came into my head. I did so this time, as well. I could see Dina staring at me in surprise, and I kept my eyes on her since I had no need to see the lyrics scrolling across the small screen near my feet or on the large projection screen on the wall. Then the song was over, and I was breathing hard, breaking out in a light sweat from all of the lights that shone at the stage. I heard and saw Dina clapping and jumping, and then heard a lot of the other patrons cheering as well.

Dina yelled out, "Encore! Sing another one!"

Encouraged, I looked over at the deejay, and he gave me a thumbs up. I leaned his way and called out the second code, and he nodded. The song started, and my skin broke out in chills even though I was sweating. This song was slower, and the piano in it always affected me this way.

Dina watched expectantly, smiling as 'Something I Can Never Have' played, and again I began to sing.

"I still recall the taste of your tears, echoing your voice just like the ringing in my ears.

My favorite dreams of you still wash ashore, scraping through my head 'til I don't wanna sleep anymore..."

The song was a bit melancholy, but still another of my favorites. I sang it as if I'd written it, from start to finish, and then when it ended, I had to take a deep breath, I felt so lightheaded.

Again she stood and clapped, and a lot of others joined her. I nodded, stepping down from the stage, and plopped down in my seat.

"I knew it!" Dina grinned, "You're no Barry White, but you can too sing!"

"Yeah, well, you're next. Don't worry, you'll do just fine."

She got up and headed over to the deejay, giving him the code, and was quickly up on stage. She had to drop the microphone down about four inches to suit her, and when the song began, I recognized it as 'Don't Speak,' by No Doubt.

When she started singing, my jaw dropped. She sounded almost exactly like Gwen Stefani! I listened in awe as she sang, noticing that she didn't bother to look at the screen either. She got into it, stamping her foot on the stage and enjoying herself. Once the song was over, I had to stand up; I was so impressed!

"Encore!" I yelled, cheering wildly, and to my surprise, several of the other patrons in the bar echoed my insistence. Dina blinked, equally surprised. I got her the binder, but she apparently had another song picked out as well. She called out the code to the deejay, who pointed at her and nodded, grinning.