Page 80 of Intoxicated
“The unipiper,” she repeats. Her fingers remain wrapped around the handles of her mighty plush tiger. Way down at the other end of the walkway is a four-year-old riding around on an elephant. You know, the target audience for these things? “Do I know him?”
“That’s what I asked, yes.” I scoot my bull forward, its butt tapping her tiger’s butt. Cher jerks in her seat, cheeks puffing and foot sliding off its rest. Yeah, that was a serious impact. Whoops. “Do you know the unpiper?”
She looks like I’ve put the spotlight on her. Naturally, she doesn’t know that I’m really the police and this whole mall is our interrogation chamber. I want to know her affiliations. Her hobbies. Her haunts. Who has she bribed, and for how much?
This all started because we had a friendly “who is more Oregonian?” fight that began at the frozen yogurt shop and ended by the ice rink, where I spotted these beautiful specimens of the animal kingdom. Speaking of bribes, I basically had to bribe the guy selling the rides to let our adult-asses go for a ride.“You see that babe there, my dude?”I asked the young man who had been eyeing Cher ever since she walked over exactly one step behind me.“I’m trying to show her a nice time today. If you know what I mean.”My hearty wink came with a very nice untaxable tip for him. He definitely spoke my language after that.
Cher and I have gone from talking about who used to call potato wedges at the deli “jojos” to who remembers when the Pearl was a shady,shadyplace. I’ve definitely been here longer than she has, but I continue to be surprised by her knowledge of the area and her memories of going to school not too far away from me. Color me surprised that she went to a private, all-girls’ school downtown. I spent ten minutes listening to her talk about the MAX’s Green Line construction back in the day. Since that line doesn’t run anywhere near my stomping grounds, new or old, I learned a few things fromher.
Now we’re discussing some of the human staples that Keep Portland Weird. She started with the guy who styles herself in blue from head to toe and hangs around Pioneer Square. I countered with the “guru” who sold stolen shoes down by the waterfront. Would you believe me if I said he used to be my dad’s classmate in his private school in Beaverton? ‘Cauuuuse he totally was.
The conversation has come back to the unipiper. That’s when you know I’m getting desperate.
“Do you meanpersonallyknow him?” Cher is nothing but knowing smirks as she turns her tiger in slow, tight circles. “Because I definitely knowofhim. Saw him up in Northwest only a few days ago. Spooked quite a few people out having their cocktails on the sidewalk.”
“Duh, I mean personally. Why would I be asking if I didn’t mean personally? You’re not real Portland unless you know the unipiper by his first name and occasionally get brewskies together. Could tell you his favorite IPA.”
I begin a sloooow pursuit of her tiger past two boarded up windows. Geez, more stores are gone now? This place is turning into a veritable ghost town. Pretty soon, it will be nothing but ice skaters, janitors, and security guards.
“So what’s his name?” Cher sweetly asks.
My eyes are transfixed on her ass when she asks that. Is it inappropriate to think about fucking while riding around on a child’s toy? I mean, I’m pretty much an overgrown child, so it pans out, but I don’t think most of the children feeling like bosses on a bull three times their own size are thinking about what I’m contemplating right now. Mm-mmm.Cher has a great ass.
“Are you alive back there?” she asks. “Or is that hat on your head the only thing keeping you from keeling over?”
Just for this ride, I’ve turned my cap backward. More aerodynamic that way. “D… Drew. His name is Drew.”
She cocks one finely trimmed eyebrow. “Are you saying that you’re the unipiper?”
“Idoown a Darth Vader mask.” We come to a stop in front of Hot Topic. I sit up straight in my bully seat, while Cher continues to lean against the tiger’s head. “Although, you’ve caught me. I don’t have a set of bagpipes. Or a unicycle, for that matter.”
Her little bouts of laughter make me grin like an idiot. “That’s silly.” She pulls away on her tiger. “You’re silly.”
“Not as silly as Darth Vader riding around on a unicycle and playing the bagpipes!” As I said before, though, at least he keeps Portland the fun kind of weird.
We play this whole date by ear, never knowing what’s coming next or where we might like to go. Us coming to this mall nowhere near where either of us lives was the first of many surprises. I took Cher out for brunch at what I consider to betheplace to get authentic crepes. She told me she wanted to stroll the nearby mall, so that’s what we did, until we ended up in our pissing contest that lasted our allotted time on the animals. As sad as I am to say goodbye to my new favorite bull in the world, I’m more excited to take Cher’s hand and let the whole mall, from the teenagers hanging out to the fifty-somethings likewise passing the time, that she’s my gal from now until she decides she’s done with me.
I’m not going to press her to give me an answer about our status. The fact she showed up at my grandmother’s house – let alone that my grandmotherlikedher – says enough. For now. It may be a matter of time before she completely breaks up with me. Until then, I’ll appreciate these halcyon days full of flirting, hand-holding, and pretending that we’re actually compatible.
Doesn’t she have the best smile? You know you’re doing good when she turns to you and smiles like that. It’s not her fakefall-into-my-websmile that so many guys see before they lose their minds or wallets. It’s a smile that tells me she’s having a good time, and that I’m this much closer to having her love me.
If that’s what I want. I might not get a choice.
We stare at window displays, discuss what kind of style I would have if I were a woman, and promptly decide that I would either be a massive tomboy or the girliest girl to every outgirly Cher. “You’d look great in a romper.” Cher points to the outfit hanging on a mannequin. All I can think about is that mannequin having to pee. Seriously, how do you go to the bathroom in those things? What reallyisthe price of fashion? Because my bladder isn’t one I’m willing to pay. “Maybe a little denim one with daisies stitched on the front pocket. Get you a cute straw hat or a cross-body bag for you to hold your tampons.”
“I like how this hypothetical female version of myself is already on her period.”
“There’s nothing sacred left between us, Drew. You’ve already seen my blood. It’s only right that I’d see yours.”
“On your sheets, I should hope.”
She nudges me. I deserve that.
We can’t stay at the mall forever. Since it’s later in the afternoon, I’m thinking cocktails downtown. I convince her to come with me to one of the top-floor lounges that give us a fantastic view of both rivers dividing Portland into its traditional five “quadrants.” Cher quips that she can see her quadrant of Northwest from where we’re sitting. I point out that I canliterallysee my building down at the South Waterfront. Our server is a guy who also happens to be named Drew. The moment we see his nametag and I out myself as a fellow Drew, we’re already having laughs and asking each other if Nancy is our favorite Drew. From the way we both laugh like it’s the funniest joke we’ve heard, you’d think we’ve never told it to anyone else before. Cher merely rolls her eyes and says she’d love to meet “the” Cher for once.
“Which one?” I ask, as our waiter goes to get our drinks. “The queen of retirement, or the queen of plaid?”
“I’ll have you know that Cher Horowitz is a fashion icon,” she informs me. “Also, she got to have a really weird relationship with Paul Rudd, so we can’t fault her for that. Actual queen and living legend.”
