She began to sing. “At first I was afraid…I was petrified…Kept thinking I could never live without you my side…”
The bar patrons booed. Loudly. A group of them threw straws and crumpled napkins at her.
“And so you’re back! From outer space! I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face!” she was yodeling now. “I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key! If I had known for just one second you’d be back to bother me!”
“Please make it stop!” the bartender yelled from across the room.
I stepped onstage—dodging another barrage of crumpled napkins, and turned her around. “Selena?”
“Oh no, not I! I will survive! I've got all my life to live, I’ve got all my love to give, and I’ll survive! I will survive! Hey! Hey!”
“I think it’s time for me to take you home now,” I took the mic away from her.
“What! I’m not ready to go!” she tried to snatch the mic back and fell onstage.
“Okay,” I tossed the mic to a patron sitting at a table and pulled Selena to her feet. “You want to do this the easy way or the hard way?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you! I don’t know you!”
“Interesting choice,” I picked her up and threw her over my shoulder, ignoring the pounding of her fists on my back.
The patrons clapped and cheered as I carried her outside: “Thanks man!” “You’re my hero!” “Get her out of here!”
Once we were halfway down the block, I set her down on a bench. “Are you okay Selena?”
“I was perfectly fine until you ruined my night! Everyone in there loved me! They were all clapping! Didn’t you hear them? You just had to come and ruin it didn’t you? You just had to—” she bent over and vomited.
“Shhh. Try not to talk,” I pushed her hair away from her face.
“You can’t tell me what to do! I’m Selena Ross! I’m a goddamn celebrity! I’m supposed to be telling you what to do! And I’m supposed to…I’m supposed to have room temperature water right now! Right now!”
Why does she sound so Southern all of a sudden?
“Do you really need some water, Selena?”
“Are you going back to the bar? I’ll come with you!” she tried to stand up and fell into the street.
“Umm no, that’s okay,” I put her back on the bench. “I’ll be right back.”
I rushed back to the bar, got some water from the bartender, and found Selena slumped over when I came outside. I slowly positioned her body upright and handed her a cup.
She took a sip and blinked. Then she vomited. Again and again.
“How many drinks did you have tonight?” I rubbed her back. “Do you even remember?”
“Of course I remember!” she showed me her arm. There were twelve black slash marks.
“I had seven…seven drinks!” she pulled her arm back.
“Wow,” I handed her another cup of water. “Try to drink some more.”
She was silent for a while, looking up at me every now and then, reaching out whenever she needed another cup of water. She looked like she was about to drift into a deep sleep, but she began to cry.
“I was the new Reese Witherspoon. Did you know that?” she wailed. “Have you ever seen Sweet Home Alabama?”
“Is it a TV show or something?”
“It’s a romantic comedy…They were going to re-make it, but they were going to change a few things and call it Sweet Tennessee. I didn’t even have to audition for it! They handpicked me! But then…they replaced me because they wanted to start filming next month and I told them I couldn’t come.”
“Maybe it’s for the best.”
“It’s karma! And I deserve every last drop!” she slumped off the bench. “I’ve done some really horrible things. Some really really horrible things.”
They can’t be that bad…
I pulled her back up. “Like what?”
“I slept with a married man, a married man! He had kids…and a wife! I didn’t know he was married at first though, I swear. He left that part out!”
She bent over and let out more puke. “I got left at the altar and twisted the publicity in my favor…I cut my own mother off for four years, my own mom…I was a bitch to all my fans—I showed up to perfume signings and refused to sign anything, even though they’d been waiting outside for hours…And this one time, at a movie premiere, this girl won a contest to meet me. She told me she drove like eleven hours from her college just to come, and I didn’t even let her take a picture with me…because her shoes were scuffed…And on top of all that, everyone in America hates me right now because they think I’m a home-wrecker!”
“I just wanted somebody to love me back,” she cried. “Is that too much to ask for? Is it too much for someone to actually want me? For someone to actually give a damn?”
Why am I still sitting here? Why haven’t I run away yet? This is A LOT of emotional baggage…
“Um no…It’s not,” I took off my shirt and wiped her face with it. “You should probably try to—”
“Do you know I have to buy my own flowers? That’s how pathetic I am…I’m a celebrity and I have to buy my own flowers whenever I date someone…”