Mood Swing

“What’s the atmosphere?” Monica asked. “Is it up-scale?”

“Haven’t got a clue,” Tonya said, stuffing her lipstick back into her purse, “but I’m betting if you pay them six bucks, they’ll put a martini in front of you. So are you coming?”

“Sure,” Monica said. “I could use a martini. Or, after that class, three.” She turned to Susan. “How about you?”

“I don’t know. My daughter’s home alone.”

“She’s fourteen,” Tonya said. “By the time I was fourteen, I was drinking martinis myself.”

Susan decided it would be okay if she stayed for just a few minutes. Have one drink, then head home. She pulled out her cell phone and called Lani, who told her that of course she could stay home by herself, all night long if she had to, and to please stop treating her like a kid. Susan told her to make sure the doors were all locked, to finish her homework and to stay off the Internet.

By the time Susan clicked her phone shut, she could already taste that martini.

Fireside Bar & Grill was one of those places with lots of dark wood and brass, the kind of decor that made you feel as if you were in your father’s study—back when fathers had studies. The crowd was older and the music dull, but all in all it was a cozy place with generous martinis, and after a few minutes Susan felt a pleasant little buzz that took the edge off the irritation she’d felt in class.

Tonya lit a cigarette and took a hard drag. “You know, I’ve had it with Danforth. And it’s not anything in particular. It’s everything in general. The way he walks. The way he talks. The words he uses. The clothes he wears. That great big nose.”

“There isn’t anything you like about the guy?” Monica asked.

Tonya paused, looking contemplative. Finally she shook her head. “Nope.”

“Did you hear that comment he made about how men generally express anger more directly than women?” Susan asked.

“Guess we’re the exceptions,” Monica said.

“He said that when men murder, they usually shoot or stab. Women haul out the poison.”

“I have to think there’s something wrong with a man who feels superior about the way his gender kills people,” Monica said.

“Or maybe he’s trying to tell us to be more insidious,” Susan said. “That way we might not end up in jail.”

“I think the man/woman violence thing is all bullshit,” Tonya said. “Personally, I like the direct approach. If I’d had a few dishes with me tonight, Danforth would have found out exactly how direct.”

“Tonya, dear,” Monica said. “It’s an anger management class. Hurling things at the instructor is discouraged.”

“Oh, yeah? Anger management? I’ve got news for you. I already know how to manage my anger. I’m CEO over my anger. I tell it to jump, it asks how high.” She took a haughty drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke. “My anger deserves to be freakin’ employee of the year.”

Susan had always wondered about women who seemed to have no fear. It generally meant they had even more fear than everybody else, but they were just good at hiding it. Susan had a feeling that Tonya was hiding more than most.

“So your own husband actually filed charges against you for assault?” Susan asked.

“Yep. I told him it was a really wussy thing to do, considering he’s six-three, two-twenty and a firefighter to boot.”

“And even he’s afraid to mess with you?”

“Honey,” Tonya said with a smug smile, “everybody’s afraid to mess with me.”