confrontation

Paul sat up, his face had started to swell and it was wet. He absently wiped at the wetness on his cheek. If we had been alone, I would have hit her back, he thought sullenly. His bladder chose at that moment to remind him to be elsewhere. He clambered to his feet and began walking towards the men’s restroom.

“She sure knocked the spit out of you.” cheered a man in blue jeans and black shirt that said something like `Hell Yeah!’ on it. His bald head reflecting the light.

Paul glared at them all and flipped him off- but his gesture was lost in the applause. He walked on into the restroom. He stopped inside the door, new thoughts sprang up in his mind as he replayed the scene and imagined what he would have like to have done to her. Paul walked over to the urinal to relieve the pressure on his bladder.

As he zipped up and flushed, he heard footfalls behind him. Before he could react, a man pushed him hard- crouch first into the urinal. Paul squealed in fright then grunted in pain, as there was sudden pressure in the small of his back. Water flowed over his pants and down his legs pooling on the floor and in his shoes. Steven- Paul thought angrily as he turned his head.

“Look manager-man, “ Paul began “I-“ But he never finished as he realized this man was taller than Steven was. The man was so tall that when Paul looked back, he was staring at the suit jacket of the man.

“Shut up, Shit-head!” The deep gruff voice commanded. “If you don’t lay off the Grover case- yer dead.” The thug size man held Paul in place for one more flush, reaching around Paul’s head with a big arm to pull the handle.

 Terror gripped Paul, he didn’t move. The thug let him go, but Paul remained leaning against the urinal until he heard the man exit. Paul stood there dripping until he felt he had regained his composure. He turned and walked over to the mirrored sink. As he approached, he saw the blood trail on his swollen cheek.

The bitch cut me! He touched the gash, his fear fading fast. She must have been wearing a ring; he grabbed a stretch of paper towel and dabbed it until bleeding stopped. He threw the used towel over his shoulder only to notice the blood on his hand. The hand he had just used to- the thought made him so sick that he dry-retched in the sink. He looked back up at the mirror- a sudden feeling that he had forgotten something.

Peggy! What was he going to tell Peggy! He began thinking ferociously. He soon had worked out a quick and convincing lie. He would tell her that he went to the restroom, water had splashed from the sink and he had slipped, hitting his face on the sink. In the dark she would only notice that he was cut and would give him sympathy. His lie was good and solid.

He smiled as it occurred to him that he could sue the theater. He had the evidence after all and the DA was in his back pocket. The truth might never be known.

Truth, Paul thought as he headed towards the door, truth is a funny thing-so easily twisted, so easily pliant. The door opened as he approached, Steven Lowe appeared. Steven stopped and looked at Paul, instantly noticing the big wet spot in Paul’s crotch. His eyes followed the stain down Paul’s pants legs and along to the puddle behind him. He looked back to Paul, who, caught thinking about his latest lawsuit, looked like a possum caught in someone’s headlights; frozen and stupid. He moved up until he almost stood nose to nose with Paul and said menacingly.

“Don’t come back to this theater again.”

            “Oh.” Paul choked. “Or what?”

            “Or I’ll have you arrested for loitering and public indecency.

            This time Steven’s smile was genuine.