Once inside and seated like knights at a round table, Jane looked around the crowded bar. She thought she noticed a guy, looking in her direction. In such a case, which was rather rare to begin with, Jane believed that the ogling guy was surely looking at someone else seated or standing directly behind her. She would catch herself turning around to have a look, yet for the sake of keeping her cool and not looking like a complete fool, she usually looked down for a while, then to the side until finally she had worked her way up to meet the eyes of the stranger, double checking if he was still looking or not. When she found that he was not staring at her, Jane said to herself: I told u so. But if he was still looking, Jane would refer back to method number one. The thought of someone of the opposite sex looking at her was unbelievably entertaining!
Snacks aside, Tracy and Kerry desperately tried to make Jane drink a “sex on the beach”. It sounded dirty to her and they argued until the former turned into blue faced Smurfs. Tracy and Kerry were literally rolling on the floor with laughter when Jane innocently said:
“I can’t have sex on the beach, I’m too allergic!” Giving up, the girls opted for another strategy and begged the waitress to make a special fruit only “cocktail” for Jane. If Jane had known what would happen, she would’ve preferably taken an allergy tablet and downed it with a “sex on the beach” in two minutes flat!
It was Tracy who let the secret slip.
“Come on, Jane” she said, “you have to drink something to take the edge off, before…”
Tracy stopped dead in her tracks, realizing what had just come out of her mouth.
“Before what?” Jane asked. Tracy knew that Jane detested it when someone didn’t level with her from the start. She wanted to know what she might be facing beforehand instead of beating around the bush and losing the opportunity to prepare. Tracy and Kerry remained silent. Jane grew tenser by the minute and contemplated catching the bus home.
As she reached for her handbag, Tracy, realizing that they had pushed Jane too far, spilled the beans.
“Jane, we ordered a Frankie Bananaz’ special for you, that’s all!”
To Jane it sounded like some kind of shooter thingy: a mixture of all sorts of alcohol. Her mind was frantically working on contingency plans to avoid getting the special in her system. Plan A was to slip it to a complete stranger, plan B involved accepting the shooter, excusing herself to go to the ladies and finding the nearest pot plant, (which would lead to the slow demise of the poor plant a week later or in an alternate universe to a talking, alcohol guzzling monster plant that ate bar flies for breakfast) or plan C to simply flush it down the toilet, pinch her cheeks profusely and start talking gibberish, maniacal nonsense for about a half an hour, conversely she could just say NO!
Unfortunately for Jane it wasn’t a shooter…it was far, far worse!