The Gastacular Burpstorm - Chapter 4 (Commission) (Patreon)

Martha plopped on her bed with her work clothes on the moment she got home.

Well, that was different.

She couldn’t figure out if the interaction she had with that guy was weird or not. She wondered over and over for an hour if he knew who she was, and if so, how did he find her? What a wild coincidence that the first person she ever rescued somehow found his way into her bar. Then again, The Old Time Tavern was the city’s most popular, timeless bar. It could have been mere coincidence.

He clearly liked her, that much was obvious. She did find him cute and endearing. The thing that struck out to her the most was his casual nature when the woman he was flirting with belched out loud. Even over the clamor, Martha had heard it. The guy brushed it off as if it were normal.

Normal – that was a feeling Martha had wanted to feel for a long time.

She had to think for a moment to remember the last time she got laid, or even the slightest bit tipsy. The last guy she ever dated was named Henry. He worked in marketing for a living. They actually went pretty far, about six months, until he tried to get her into crypto and that just…killed the mood. He wouldn’t shut up talking about it and how it was going to change the world and it became his whole personality. She wanted to talk about literally anything else but he kept roping A.I. into it and blockchain and how she could take hold of her life besides being “just a bartender”. Then before him was David, a conservative guy who prayed a lot and didn’t really approve of 99% of what she did and also said she ate too much. That only lasted a little over a year, but in retrospect that way much longer than she could have ever imagined but then again that was a different time and a different her. Then before David was college, and college was…well…she didn’t count any relationships she had in college as “real” relationships. She partly blushed and chuckled to herself thinking of all the crazy and weird things she did in college. At the very least she was old enough now to cringe at her younger self.

Martha had to be thankful that none of her exes stopped by her place of work to bother her. Especially David. That guy had a lot of suppressed emotions going on. It took him two years after they broke up to stop texting her. Yikes. But frankly, it could have been worse. Her best friend Jan told her how one of her exes mailed her a flash drive that had a video of him peeling an onion as a metaphor for how deep their love was. Very mild serial killer undertones. Stories like that made her wary about this dude who already stepped into her bar twice.

And yet something about him was disarming. He was different from David and definitely Henry in that he didn’t show anything off. Didn’t have a need to flaunt. The quiet ones typically surprise you. The loud ones just brag and brag and brag.

Maybe the guy would back down and disappear, regret his decision. That’s something that always happened in college. Dudes would be coming up to her and trying to set up a date only to wimp out at the last second. She didn’t have Richard’s number, so she let Fate decide on whether or not they would meet again.

#

Richard popped in a few nights over the course of two weeks, rather than being a nightly occurrence that Martha was afraid he’d become. That further cemented her trust in him; it meant he could bear to be on his own for a bit. She hated to use the word ‘clingy’. Rather, ‘dependent’ and ‘independent’. He did have an air of independence about him. After all, he came alone, most likely to not be embarrassed by his friends like that one time. She still wondered if he was playing some sort of long con and sooner or later try to screw her over knowing her secret identity.

One late night he was quieter than usual, and sat around on his phone almost the whole night at the counter until hardly anyone else was around. She had given him a whiskey sour like he had asked, and she knew something was up by the way he avoided eye contact and twiddled his thumbs.

At last, he spoke. “Hey…so uh…”

“Yeah?”

He shifted in his seat. “Are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

Martha’s ears perked up. Here it came. He was finally asking her out. “Besides work?”

“Oh. I mean uhhh the other night. The night after that. Yeah. When you’re not working.”

She smirked. “Probably sleeping to be honest.”

Richard still kept his gaze low. “Oh. I see.”

“But I mean, I could be free for a bit. Why do you ask?”

Richard tapped his fingers on the counter. She liked the idea of being coy with him and wanting him to just say it. Maybe it was a little fucked up and mean, but she thought it was cute seeing him try.

“You wanna go see a movie or something?”

“What movie?”

The question seemed to ease him. He finally looked up. “I was thinking that Lost City movie. The action-comedy. You know. The one where I think the Harry Potter guy plays a bad guy.”

“Oh yeah, I heard good things about it.”

“Cool. So. Uh. You wanna go see it?”

She let him sit there nervously for a few seconds as she cleaned the last couple glasses from the counter. “Yeah. What time?”

“Eight PM? I was thinking we could eat too at uh that Havana Central place around the corner. It’s really good they got like these fried plantains.”

Martha suppressed a laugh. Being half Dominican and half Cuban herself, she very well knew Havana Central was the commodification of Cuban/Caribbean food like Olive Garden was to Italian food, though still many notches above an Olive Garden. Havana Central was in the touristy, family-friendly section of the city. In other words, Richard’s whiteness was showing. It was funny that he was trying to explain to her what tostones were. But the bottom line was that she was impressed by his initiative in already having a plan, even if it was a simple one.

            “Tostones,” she said. “I’m half Cuban. I’ve been there before.”

            Richard appeared to have blushed briefly. ”Oh. OH shit yeah. Rodriguez. I mean, I didn’t want to assume. Well we could go somewhere else if you’d like.”

            “No,” she smiled. “I’d like to go there.”

            Walking to the restaurant that night felt like stretching and having your joints crack after a long sleep. She hadn’t been on a date in so long that walking down the city streets at night in heels and a black dress felt unreal. The bright lights of the tourist area and families flocking to tourist traps made her a little nervous. She was too used to the grungy parts of town with the dirty bars and underground clubs.

            Havana Central stood in a corner of the street with large neon letters. She took the escalator and was transported into a chic, somewhat fake representation of 1920’s Havana. She stood in the doorway of the restaurant and again felt more out of place the moment she spotted an overweight couple with four kids sitting a booth, all wearing jeans and t-shirts. The father definitely gave her the “up-down” when she entered.

            God, what am I doing here? I feel out of my element. Did I get so rusty at this?

            She scanned the crowd of families and some couples, mostly older. They were playing live music at the end of the bar. That was where Richard sat, looking blithely at the musicians and clapping when they ended a song.

            Seeing Richard dressed in a button-down shirt with designer jeans and a sports jacket eased her. Finally, a guy who dressed up for the occasion. Even that conservative David guy was a bit dull with the polo shirts and slacks. Richard actually looked different this time around, more confident and broad-shouldered. She thought she had the wrong guy for two seconds until he turned around fully to face her and smile.

            “Oh hey!”

            He got up instinctively, almost as if to kiss her, and then seemed to realize that they obviously weren’t there yet so he did this awkward half-hug thing with a handshake that made her laugh.

            He’s the most awkward moron I’ve ever met.

             When she sat down, she noticed there was already a drink at her seat. Richard had already ordered himself a mojito, but had also ordered something for her too. She stared at the dark cocktail in a lowball glass.

            “I figured I would order you a rum and coke,” he said. “Is that okay?”

            Shit…

             She knew she hesitated for a second too long, because he instantly frowned and got all worked up. “Uh. Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed what you wanted.”

            “No, it’s okay…”

            He drew the glass closer to him. “I can take it. I’m not driving anyway, heh.”

            He took a sip, and that told her that it at least wasn’t spiked. His demeanor changed once he realized that he jumped the gun ordering her a drink. He looked and acted defeated, awkwardly looking at the menu.

            Martha sighed to herself. He did seem like a really nice guy. And a part of her sensed something would be different this time. Maybe. Crazily enough, things might turn out differently.

            “No, it’s okay, I’ll have it,” she suddenly said, to even her surprise.

            What am I doing? You know what happens when you have even a sip of soda…

            But her desire to not offend him took over.

            Besides, she could hold it in for a couple hours, right?  She might break something in the bathroom if she let it out there. Worse comes to worst, she could excuse herself through some back door and belt it out in an alleyway.

            Richard lightened up after she took a sip.

            And she immediately regretted it.

            Oh no…

            She hadn’t drunk anything carbonated for so long that her body was not ready for it. Just like getting used to dating again, she had to get used to carbonation again.

            Come on, you can hold it in. It was just a sip.

            An awkward silence strained between them. Martha became aware of the shift in the air after she had taken the sip. Richard kept looking at her as if waiting for something…

            The waiter interrupted them. He took their orders after Richard excitedly ordered two appetizers to go with their meals. The thought of all that food daunted her, but she recalled again how easygoing he was with that one woman who burped at the bar.

            “What IS your favorite drink?” he said.

            “Mai Tai.”

            He shrugged. “Oh. Cool.”

            “I know, very girly of me. Not manly like a beer. Or your whiskey sour.”

            “Hey, alcohol is alcohol. I like mojitos. One of the reasons I like coming here. They actually put a stick of sugar cane in your drink. Is it true that there’s a bartending school?”

            “Oh yeah. Totally. Bartending is really competitive. Nobody is going to hire you if you don’t know anything or are still learning.”

            “Do they teach you tricks?”

            Martha gave him a look. “No, not necessarily. That’s all the flashy stuff.”

            “I know, I know. Just kidding.”

            “But you know, they teach you how to eyeball two milters and teach you over one-hundred recipes that you have to know off the top of your head.”

            “Dang. So, if I threw you the name of a cocktail then you’d know right away?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Moscow Mule.”

            “Oh please. One and a half ounce of vodka – Absolut works best in my opinion – with one-sixth ounce of lemon juice, garnish it with a slice of lime and mint. But make sure the copper mug is stainless steel because drinking from a fully coated copper mug can be, well, toxic over time.”

            “Oh shit. I didn’t think about that.”

            “Mhm. I mean, bars are very, very, unlikely to give you a copper mug that’s going to be toxic to you. But also, like, don’t nurse that drink for too long…”

            Martha had to stop speaking for a moment, feeling her chest swell with an air bubble. She swallowed it down, but knew all-too-well how it would come back up again soon. She crossed her legs nervously and wanted to change the topic.

            “So…what…do…you do?” she asked.

            God. I really am rusty.

            Richard rolled his eyes. He said rather bluntly, “I’d rather not talk about work, if I’m being honest. Let’s talk about something random. I don’t know. Do you play any video games?”

            Martha was glad. He really didn’t like talking about himself and showed interest in getting to know her. That was a breath of fresh air from her previous exes barking away about crypto or some influencer on Instagram who “tells it like it is.”

            “Not much if I’m being honest. The last games I played were Kingdom Hearts and Final Fantasy.”

            “Oh cool.”

            She smirked. “Yeah. Shirtless Sephiroth. Mhm.”

            Richard chuckled. “I see.”

            “Did you have any fictional character crush?”

            “Lara Croft.”

            “Nice. Classic.”

            The waiter came by with their food. When he asked if they wanted anything else to drink, Richard happily asked for a rum and coke. When they both turned to see if Martha would say anything, she felt as though she were being interrogated. This was a simple question but her first thought was coming off as weird if she didn’t have another drink. It was stupid, really stupid. But she really craved that normalcy and dared to dance with the idea of requesting another carbonated beverage. The burp still lingered inside her – she had it under control. She knew she did. It was at the lowest level of concern. Another drink would bump it up but not by much. And honestly, who would have more than two drinks on a first date.

            “I’ll…have a whisky sour,” she said.

            Richard’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh. Copying me, eh?”

            Bourbon, lemon juice, and simple syrup wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t the most carbonated cocktail at all. It was the first thing that popped into her mind where she could still have fun with Richard without looking like a total bore.

            Twenty minutes into their dinner, and Martha’s legs were starting to feel numb, her movements looser and her head lighter as she recounted to Richard a funny story about how she was in a school play for Romeo & Juliet and forgot Juliet’s most famous line. She had instead blurted, “Where you at?”.

            Oh man, have I become a lightweight?

            Back in college, Martha was able to down almost half a handle of rum and still be standing. Now, at almost 30, two drinks were making her feel tipsy. Then again, she hadn’t a sip of alcohol in the years since her newfound identity as Burpstorm. She really did have to get back into the swing of dating. She panicked briefly trying to remember to sober up. The worst thing she could do was slip out something stupid – something that would reveal herself.

            The musicians livened up the beat and openly announced that the dance floor was open. An older couple got up to dance, followed by another. To her surprise, Richard motioned towards the dance floor.

            “Wanna dance with the old people?”

            She was a little full so she didn’t move too crazy, but she had become so swept up in the date that she casually added a mojito to her list of drinks for the night, simply because the occasion just felt natural for it.

            Her face felt tingly and numb. She tried to slow down but the mojito was actually pretty fucking delicious. She hated to admit that he was right about the sugar cane thing, after trying to act cool like she known the ins-and-outs of this place before.

            And then it happened – a ball of gas that grumbled its way up her throat with the power of a locomotive. The rumble was loud enough to make the older couple sitting near them swerve their heads in confusion. It sounded like a bear growling after being woken up. Martha’s eyes widened and, with all the strength she could muster in her esophagus, forced the burp back down, clasping her hands on her mouth.

            The result was the most painful fucking burning sensation in her throat that, for a terrible second, made her feel like choking. The gas was just dying to be let free but she dared not relax even for a second. She swore she could feel her throat burning up, and the first thing that came to mind was acid spit from the Alien movies. Could she actually die if she held in her burps? She never held in her super burps before.

            Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh fuck. That was close. That was SOOOO close!

            Richard leaned forward with a concerned look. “Hey, you okay? You look like you’re about to throw up.”

            Martha had been so focused on holding in her burp that she had blanked out and forgot that Richard was right there. She had dissociated for a good minute, completely engrossed in trying to not accidentally fucking kill her first date with a single burp.

            The gas finally settled back down into her stomach, where she could feel it press up against her dress, making it feel tighter around her waist.

            “I’m…fine,” she said.

            Richard sat back down as she remained still and calm. “You sure? You were really pale for a moment.”

            “I’m sure. . .” She quickly brushed it off with a laugh. “I think I had one too many. What do they put in this stuff? Gosh. Must be some new ingredient I’m not aware of.”

            “That was…” Richard appeared nervous. “a really weird…funny noise you made there.”

            Martha blushed from embarrassment. “Uh. Yeah.”

            “I didn’t know anyone could make a sound like that.”

            Martha cringed. Maybe she was wrong about him. Maybe this would be awkward and he would hate the thought of her being so gassy. But she had misread him, for he smiled and laughed. “I bet you could scare someone off like that. Imagine if you had let it out? That WAS a burp, right?’

            “Aha. Yeah. Felt like it.”

            “Seemed painful. You should just let it out next time.”

            Martha shot him a look. Suspicion arose in her. As she narrowed her eyes at him, he grinned sheepishly. “I mean…quietly of course. It’s not good to hold it in.”

            “I’m just…nervous is all. Been a while since I did this sort of thing.”

            “Me too, really.”

            Richard genuinely seemed to want her to feel comfortable. She could tell by his pleasant expression, not sensing anything forced or belied. He added, “I have some Tums in my pocket if you need any.”

            “Oh. I like a guy who’s prepared.”

            “Well, you never know.”

            She did feel genuinely impressed by his preparedness. At the same time, vaguely suspicious of the notion that he knew who she really was. But even if he did know who she was, he was being awfully gentle about it. The silence that resumed between them so damn awkward because she sensed sexual tension.

They kept glancing at each other, and the look in his eyes appeared dreamy, like he was suddenly put on a spell with infatuation.

            “Um, how about that movie then?” she said. “What time is it?”

            “Oh shit, yeah. We should get the check.”