Aborigen

Inspired by an offhand comment by Njord, esq.

Two women marched up the sidewalk on a dark Saturday evening, passing a block of parked cars. Ahead, two food trucks each had several people in line. “Busy night,” muttered Dakota.

Rylee bunched her coat collar around her neck and shrieked playfully. “Can’t believe it’s November already! And the darkness? I didn’t sign up for this!” Dakota smirked and shouldered her friend, then looked up. The old brick building they’d passed gave way to a glossy storefront of black beams and huge windows. Inset to this was a too-subtle doorway; fortunately, a few people were fishing out their IDs and waiting to get inside. They did likewise.

Dakota frowned, peering into Småkraft Brewing: they were half an hour early, yet the room was approaching capacity. Warm filament lighting glowed over long, polished tables crammed with angular iron barstools, and on one side of the room, three bartenders hustled pints and payment systems with ruthless efficiency.

Rylee reorganized her purse once they were inside, then dragged Dakota to a sign-up table by her sleeve. Before the attendant could begin her spiel, Dakota cut in and said they were just observing.

“You still get to choose your color of nametag,” said the young woman behind the table. Dakota studied her: round face, long straight brown hair parted down the middle, and a festive cardigan. Probably with the event rather than the brewery. “Red if anyone can come up to you and get your number, email, whatever, and blue if you need to get to know them first. Like if you’re shy or whatever.” Rylee grabbed two red nametags but Dakota scrawled her name on a blue one and pasted it to her sweater.

“Omigod, there’s nowhere …” Rylee hopped on her toes, scanning the room frantically for a spot. Everywhere, people were shoulder-to-shoulder, chattering away, checking their phones. Occasionally, among the sea of bobbing heads, a very large man or woman rose like a mountain, sitting on the floor and hunched over in conversation with their party. The only way to tell whether anyone was in a group was who they were talking to. Rylee winced at her friend. “What’re we gonna do? I don’t want to stand all night.”

Setting her jaw, Dakota laced her arm through her friend’s and guided them through some bros playing darts to the end of the bar closest to the door. Miraculously, there was an unnoticed two-top with three seats. They draped their coats over their stools and perched. “You’re incredible!” Rylee squealed. “It’s like you conjured seats for us!” Dakota nodded tightly while perusing the drink menu. An ebullient server took their orders, slapped down coasters reading Småkraft Brewing in retro typeface, and soon they had their beers.

Abruptly, a piercing whine cut through the dull roar of the crowd. Curses and cries were raised and Dakota looked to the stage, where a young woman stood in a hoodie that said RIGHT FIT and holding a microphone. “All right, everybody, y’all having a good time?”

Dakota winced: the woman clearly didn’t want the spotlight, and she spoke a little too quietly and flat to be picked up by the microphone. The crowd, however, did not quiet to hear her. “Thank you for coming, everyone, and welcome to The Right Fit!” Cheers went up and fans fluttered above most people’s heads, colored blue or yellow.

“We didn’t get a fan!” whined Rylee.

“We’re not on the market.”

“Speak for yourself!”

The speaker continued. “Who hasn’t been to The Right Fit before?” A dozen fans went up, and the speaker cackled about virgins in attendance.

Not for the last time tonight, Dakota pictured the other way the night could’ve gone: alone, in fleece pajamas, listening to her favorite infosec podcast and enjoying a selection of fine cheeses in front of a video of a large fireplace. Rylee insisted that she needed to see tonight’s event, however, and finally lured her friend by hinting at the heckling that could be had.

The premise of the event turned out to be somewhat elaborate: a month previous, volunteers began building presentations promoting a single friend, extolling their virtues, &c. “And if any of you end up married after tonight, you’re inviting me to the wedding,” chirped the host. Dakota longed for a knife or fork to jam into the side of her head. Instead, she studied Småkraft Brewing’s logo on her coaster: a stylized image of a gigantic hand holding a frothing pint of beverage, with a tiny man climbing his fingers. It was a new coaster, unwarped by previous beverages; she stuffed it in her coat pocket and folded her napkin under her pint.

Rylee was practically bouncing in her seat, straining to see over the bar crowd. “What’s going on? I can’t see-ee-ee!”

Dakota scanned for herself. “That’s unfortunate. There’s a titan right in front. I don’t think they should have to hide in the back of every event, but come on, man.” Evidently some other people felt the same way, because the mountainous man in a strained, heather gray tee slowly slid through the parting crowd to press against the wall, his group following him.

The screen behind the stage was lit up with the first presentation. A template of brushed steel and elegant, streamlined fonts announced Bautista. Two guys climbed the steps at one end of the stage and accepted a microphone from the sound technician. A tall, slender man with tousled, curly hair stepped forward, wearing a baggy workman’s jacket. “You guys hear me all right?” he said with a shy smile.

“We can’t hear you,” screeched someone in the back, but the man couldn’t hear that either. He glanced at his friend and smiled bigger. “My name’s Noel, and I’m here to tell you about my bud Bautista.” He raised his other arm and clicked a clicker, and a bold image of a dapper, tough-looking man filled the screen. He had a severe fade cut running up to sculpted temples, and he sported a thick pencil mustache and just a tuft of hair on his chin. He looked as though his folded arms would make his muscles burst out of his tailored blazer, and he leaned against the door of a gleaming black Escalade.

Rylee screwed her eyes and strained to make out the image, sipping her radler. “Something doesn’t look right in that. Do you see that? Is that AI or something?”

Dakota tilted her head. “I think he’s standing in front of a diecast 1:18 model. If there’s any Photoshop involved, it’s to make him look like he could fit in it.”

“Bautista’s just an awesome bud,” Noel went on. “He’s smart and funny, totally ripped, and you can see how good-looking he is.” A couple whistles spiraled through the crowd. “He comes from a good family, he’s good to his madre, and he’s a successful businessman.”

Click. Bautista now stood in front of a large smartphone resting in a bracket. The apps were all to do with investments and crypto. Two were blurred out, but not well enough to hide that one was a dating app and one was a porn site. “Last month, Bautista earned about as much as men and Fabian combined.” He pointed back at his friend, who shrugged and looked away. “Right now, Bautista’s looking for that special someone to share his good fortune with: world travel, fine dining, fast cars, and bottle service.”

Click. Noel stepped back and Fabian took the mic and clicker. “Hi, I’m Fabian,” he said.

“Hello-oo-oo, Fabian!” Rylee leered at Dakota, her tongue lolling. “Stop the competition, we have a winner!” Dakota didn’t bother correcting her, just sipped her stout and wiped her mouth and checked the path to the door.

“I’ve known Bautista for, like, forever, we go way back to college. Got our MBAs together. But he’s, like, a math genius and can’t stop making money.” Fabian’s voice was a little lower than Noel’s and a little clearer. Any initial hesitance was a ruse, and he warmed up quickly. He was tall and lean, gift-wrapped in a bespoke dress shirt and a long, thin tie draped around his shoulders. His dark, striking eyes were framed by a waterfall of mocha hair in loose waves, and his grin broke like a sunbeam in an overcast day. He spoke slowly, taking his time, pacing the front of the stage. A large, towering woman in an industrial-grade utility-yellow rain jacket hooted up at him, then smiled bashfully at the crowd when they cheered.

Click. The screen showed Bautista clad only in what looked like black Speedos, an effect that could be replicated on tinies with a couple coats of latex paint. His spine, butt, and legs were a rolling hillside as he parted the water, swimming in a small tank of water. People in the audience audibly debated the merits of this well-developed little nugget of love, and the smoldering man of mystery presenting him.

“He’s athletic,” Fabian went on, “relentless. He has incredible stamina, and he can last for hours. If you know what I mean, ladies.” His smile pierced the clouds again. Dakota noticed him losing his spell over sections of the crowd as the presentation went on, Noel and Fabian tag-teaming as they talked about his wealth and physical prowess. His interests weren’t covered, and none of the adjectives they used gave a sense of what Bautista might be like to talk to.

Noel wrapped the presentation up. “Anyway, there’s his Instagram, and you can hit him up for his WhatsApp. Can we …” He looked over to the sound tech, who waved at someone offstage. A man in black trotted up the steps with a camera, and the presentation changed to its feed, wheeling dizzily as the video tech oriented himself. Noel dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the little bachelor, opening his palm for the camera. The screen was filled with an angry little man, impeccably attired, craning behind himself to yell up at Noel.

The hostess came gliding in from nowhere. “Let’s hear it for Bautista!” Weak applause rolled around the room as Noel held Bautista up, walking into the crowd, but a line of men and women were waiting for Fabian to find his way down. “There it is, there’s his contact info, and feel free to talk to Bautista at any point in the evening. We’re all here, all night! Thank you, Noel and Fabian.”

Dakota drew a long breath through her nostrils. “Was that it? Should I settle up at the bar?”

Rylee laughed and punched her arm. “You’re so funny! There’s, like, six more to go. Get yourself another beer and get comfortable! Aren’t you having fun?”

Dakota only pronounced a long f-f-f-f-f-f through her upper teeth and started to question their friendship.

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