ICE BREAKER — Excerpt

The two apartment buildings had no party room or communal space, so the residents crammed into the alleyway between them. Those who lived with alley-facing windows leaned over the sills with glasses of wine and beer cans, chatting with friends below or across the alley. Some had set up pulley systems to pass drinks, snacks, and other things across the alley, and sometimes a beer can would slip out of the basket to smack into the alley below and spray white foam on the shrieking party guests. Mark was shocked no one got angry or cussed out the perpetrators—in Toronto that kind of assault would be met with instant rage—but the locals laughed it off with a few Ya-HOO!s and kept vibing. 

"This is fucking ridiculous," Mark whispered to Kayla, who was snuggled up to him as close as possible without their flesh melding into one person. She didn't answer, just chewed on the rim of her Solo cup. Mark, catching the nervous chewing out of the corner of his eye, smirked and squeezed her close but said nothing. The two of them were sequestered in the northeast corner of the alley, as far from the DJ and the dancefloor as possible, with the black wrought iron gate providing some freedom from the crowd. With Mark's non-crease Oxford shirt tucked into his business casual chinos and Kayla with her System of a Down hoodie and Chuck Taylors, they looked exactly as they were: 2 Ontarians drowning in a river of cowpokes. 

"We should get in there," he suggested, "Meet some people."

"I could dance..." Kayla offered.

Neither moved. Mark crunched his Boneshaker can and reached down for another. On the way back up he caught a glimpse of a stranger's hazel eyes rimmed in green eyeshadow and held her gaze all the way to standing. She was talking to someone at the edge of the crowd. She looked away to smile at her friend and touched them on the arm, then strutted right over to Mark and Kayla with a practiced click-clack cowboy boot bounce. 

"Hey!" A gummy smile framed by blonde pigtails that flowed from a cheap-looking pink cowboy hat. 

"Hi!" Mark answered, too cheerful.

"You two look freaked out."

"What gave it away?" Kayla kept her cup close to her lips.

The girl squinted in exaggerated pity, "Everything." She smiled again and thrust out her hand, the tassels on her jacket whipped back and forth. "I'm Courtnay." She really hammered the "EH" at the end there.

He shook her soft hand, "I'm Mark," then Kayla did too, "Kayla."

"First Stampede?" Her jacket had enormous shoulder pads.

"Yeah. We're from Toronto." Kayla, like an apology.

Mark felt a flash of annoyance, "Don't hold that against us!"

"I won't." 

"We're cool!" He insisted and Courtnay raised her eyebrows and smacked her cinnamon gum.

"Prove it."

She grabbed Kayla's hand and pulled her forward. Kayla squeaked and reached back for Mark but missed. Mark stumbled as the two women disappeared into the crowd.

—

For a girl with soft hands Courtnay sure had a grip, and she yanked on Kayla's arm like a bridle, pulling her through the crowd of cowboys. They emerged at the makeshift bar, a salt-encrusted mass of sticky spills, drink rings, and crushed up lime wedges. The bartender was almost handsome and refreshingly un-cowboy'd, but his messy beard and shapeless t-shirt weren't doing him any favours. 

"Drink for a drink, okay?" Courtnay declared, yelling over the pounding music.

"What?"

Courtnay put her sparkly lips right up to Kayla's ear and shouted, "I get you a drink you never had, you get me a drink I never had." She left behind the smell of cinnamon and citrus and mouthed OKAY? With two thumbs up. 

Kayla nodded and turned to the bartender, "Two gin gimlets," but he didn't hear her.

She repeated herself louder to another shaken head and the bartender leaned over the table. She yelled in his ear: two gin, one lime, half sugar. He yelled back, "Gimlet?" and she nodded. He flashed two fingers. She nodded again, face red and stomach churning, so embarrassed. He turned to Courtnay who yelled with impressive white girl confidence, "BLOODY ABORTION. " He grinned and went to work.

While Courtnay and Kayla waited, a steady procession of neighbours hugged, kissed, fist bumped, and high fived Courtnay. She explained each one to Kayla, who quickly lost track of all the Chrises and Jackies as Courtnay was interrupted by more Chrises and Jackies. Kayla nodded at each one and shook some hands—and ignored a few up-and-down looks. 

"Do they all live here?" She shouted into Courtnay's ear.

"Some, yeah, some are just from around," She got conspiratorially close, "Some of them are here for me." She winked.

"What do you mean?" 

"I bartend at the Whiskey Rose."

"What's that?"
Courtnay looked at her like she just admitted to being a virgin, "Oh, honey."

"Court!" The bartender. 

Courtnay whipped around, Kayla dodged her pigtails and turned to two plastic shot glasses. Inside, a fleshy mass floated in clear booze around gobs of red syrup.

"What the fuck is this?" Kayla laughed.

Courtnay threw her head back to the sky and screamed, "MY BODY MY CHOIIIIIICE!" then slammed the goopy mass in one gulp and cheered. When she saw Kayla was hesitating, she screamed in her face, "Do it, SLUT!" and it made Kayla laugh so hard she doubled over and almost dumped the abomination onto her shoes. Courtnay put one hand on her shoulder and laughed with her, yelling "COME ONNNN!" in her face until Kayla pleaded for space. She held the shot up to her face—the "fetus" was starting to settle—and grimaced.

"Think of it like a cumshot," Courtnay slurred, "Just close your eyes and swallow."

Kayla snorted, "Stop making me laugh!", then let out a chorus of "Okay. Okay okay." 

She threw back the shot. The slimy, sickly sweet mass hit in three waves: sharp, sweet, then bitter. She gagged, "Is that Bailey's?" as Courtnay wrapped her in a big hug, jacket tassels smacking her in the face.

Courtnay kept her arm around Kayla as they turned back to the bar, where three ounces of milky grey gin gimlet waited for them at the bottom of clear plastic cups. They tapped their rims together and Kayla explained, "So this is—" but Courtnay slammed the whole drink in one go.  

"What?" She asked, and Kayla answered by slamming her own drink back, a little slower and with a finger under her lips to catch any spill. With the threat of a brain freeze pressing on her temples, Courtnay grabbed her by the arm again and they plunged into the dancefloor.