Beware of Women In Nightmare Coats

Sometimes when life well and truly fucks you, all you can do is crawl into the nearest bar, order two fingers of the cheapest vodka they have, and wallow in self-pity for however long it takes you to rally and get on with your life.

In Denni’s case, the point of no fucking return was when the bus they were on sat in stopped traffic on the Cross Bronx Expressway, realizing that the longer the bus sat, the more likely it was that they were going to miss their connection to Pittsburgh. Usually Denni would be fairly blasé about this — being a regular bus traveler, they understood that sometimes missed connections happened and you just had to make sure you had enough charge in your phone (and in your backup battery) to keep yourself entertained until the next bus boarded. Except in this case, there was no next bus. The connection Denni was about to miss was the last bus going west until the next morning.

Calling Susan to explain what happened did not actually help. Instead of the hoped-for sympathy at the predicament, she responded with misplaced anger at Denni’s inability to plan effectively. A reasonable person with their shit together would have taken the morning off work in advance so they could take an earlier bus to New York. A reasonable person with their shit together would have anticipated New York’s horrid traffic during the holidays. A reasonable person with their shit together would have maybe managed to save a bit more money or made reservations sooner so they could take Amtrak instead. Denni was clearly not considered a reasonable person with their shit together in that moment, something that the current clusterfuckery only proved. Hanging up mid-harangue probably only further lowered Susan’s opinion of them.

When the bus finally rolled into the basement of the Port Authority bus terminal a whopping 2 hours later than the posted arrival time, Denni was not only annoyed at the whole situation, but quietly blaming themselves for it. Susan was right. If Denni had had their shit together even a little bit this entire situation could have been avoided.

A stop at the Greyhound ticket counter only confirmed the worst when Denni got off the bus. The bored-looking clerk at the counter wearing candy cane earrings informed them that their ticket was not refundable since it had been bought online and heavily discounted, but it could be transferred to a different trip to Pittsburgh. Unfortunately there were no other buses departing for Pittsburgh anywhere in the metro area. The closest they could get was Philadelphia, and then they’d be in the same situation, stuck waiting until morning.

“Forget it,” Denni said, thoroughly frustrated. “I’ll figure something out. Thanks.”

The Greyhound clerk shrugged. “Good luck. Happy holidays.”

“And a holly jolly Christmas to you too,” Denni retorted sotto voce as they and their beat up rolling suitcase slouched away from the ticket counter towards the nearest escalator.

Great, they thought, their brain churning around in their head along with the rhythmic rumbles, clanks and occasional groans emitted by the escalator under their feet. What the fuck do I do now? It’s 4:00, and I’m stuck here for at least 16 hours until the next bus. 

They sighed heavily as they got off the escalator and started halfheartedly shuffling towards the NJtransit ticket booths towards the back of the station, making despairing faces at the corridor of sad little boutique shops huddling around a giant Rite Aid drugstore. The tiny kiosks selling holiday tchotchkes, touristy “I Heart NY” crap, and in some cases holiday-themed touristy “I Heart NY” crap in the middle of the corridor likewise huddled around a Hudson Newsstand like a herd of retail sheep. Safety in numbers.

The wall tile and some of the floor was the most depressing shade of brown M&M, but it was still better than downstairs, where the tiles were a lurid pumpkin orange. It was all very ugly and reminiscent of what must have been hip and modern sixty years ago but now just looked industrial and sad. Denni trudged past a crowded Au Bon Pain, grimacing as they recalled their sister deliberately pronouncing it as if it rhymed with “Cow Phone Lane” purely to annoy them. It usually worked.

A splash of green upstairs caught Denni’s eye, and they looked up to see the comparatively bright awnings of a bar. McAnn’s, it said, in relentlessly cheerful yellow letters. Fuck it, Denni sighed. With the afternoon they’d had, a drink probably couldn’t hurt, and by the look of the place — who sticks a whole ass Irish pub on the second floor of a bus depot? — the beer and vodka on hand were likely to be kind to their wallet and disastrous to their digestion. Well. As kind to the wallet as any place in New York was likely to be.

It being just after four, the pub was reasonably empty, and Denni was able to grab a seat at the bar. A kind looking middle-aged redhead – stereotypical much? — wearing way too much eyeliner winked at them. “What can I get for you, honey?”

“Vodka. Neat. Two fingers.”

She raised an eyebrow playfully. “Promises to keep and miles to go before you sleep?”

Denni smiled tiredly. It was clearly a bit as well worn as the cracked black and white checked floor tile, but it was a good one. “Promises broken already, I’m afraid. Missed my connection.”

“Ah.” The redhead smiled back, sympathetically. “Happens a lot around here. Not a lot of sense putting a bus terminal in the middle of an island the natives can barely get around without getting held up in traffic somewhere for hours.”

Denni swallowed a quip about Lenape opinions on getting around Manhattan, substituting a thank you for the vodka when it arrived. The burn of the booze cleared the worst of Susan’s tirade from their head, and they sighed as the muscles in their jaw and shoulders unclenched. Why the hell am I going anyway, they wondered. Oh right. Susan guilted me into it. Perhaps a reasonable person would just show up to Pittsburgh and dump her ass. Or you know. Not go to Pittsburgh at all. Except they’d already bought the ticket.

And then she walked into McAnn’s.

Denni’s first instinct was to giggle, mostly because the woman who walked into this already ridiculous pub was dressed in an outfit so eye-rendingly festive it almost hurt to look at her. A red accented green plaid quilted trench coat with gold accents for starters. A green beret and scarf to match. Small crystal trees dangling from her ears. Dark red heeled boots that laced up and buckled to at least the knee, with that very slightly unhinged this-was-actually-made-by-underpaid-cobbler-elves look to them that positively screamed Fluevog if you knew what to look for. (Denni unfortunately, did. Susan had a rabid shoe obsession.) Considering the Christmas Elf from Upscale Hell outerwear, her hair and face were low key by comparison; the barest hint of eyeliner brought out her deep green eyes, and a fall of thick dark hair processed pin straight poured from under the beret to nearly her waist.

Very pretty, if you could get past the Christmas-Color Dreamcoat.

The bartender was completely unphased by the new customer or her coat, and Denni smiled slightly. Given the location, they were pretty sure she’d seen lots weirder than this. Without batting an eyelash, she shoveled ice into a glass, added an alarming number of maraschino cherries, poured a couple of fingers of Captain Morgan, then filled the glass the rest of the way with coke before setting it, unbidden, before the new arrival. “Long time no see, Holly. You look very festive.”

“That is… quite a coat,” Denni agreed without thinking; when both women swung their gazes at them, they raised their glass. “Spoke out of turn. Apologies.”

The bartender shook her head and returned to wiping out her glasses. The festive train wreck – Holly, apparently – took a longer look at Denni. “Not from New York, are ya, sweetie?”

Her voice was low and warm, with a quality to it that sounded to Denni that she was constantly holding back a laugh. Not at their expense, but in general. “Fraid not,” they answered, with a half-smile.

Much to Denni’s surprise, Holly picked up her incredibly sweet-looking drink, shoved a couple of singles into the glass tip bowl, and walked to Denni’s end of the bar. “You mind company, or should I fuck on off?”

Denni snorted at the bluntness. “You’re good,” they replied, moving their backpack off the seat next to them. “Appreciate the check-in, though.”

She smiled, wiggling out of the coat to reveal a comparatively sedate but still very festive and subtly sparkly red dress underneath. “Not everyone welcomes company in a strange city while sitting in an admittedly strange bar. I’ve learned to ask.” She sipped at her drink, then placed it down on the bar and stuck out her hand. “Holly.”

Denni grinned, taking her hand and shaking it once, firmly. “Denni.”

“Nice to meet you.” Holly hung the wild coat up on a coat tree at the end of the bar, out of the way, then finally sat on the stool next to Denni. “So Mister Denni—”

“Just Denni,” they murmur. “I’m not a mister.”

She blinked once, then continued after a nod of acknowledgement. “What brings you to New York and to this lovely little watering hole in Port Authority?”

“Missed connection,” Denni shrugs. “Stuck here until tomorrow.”

“Oof. That’s a bummer.”

“Indeed. What about you, no offense but ah… you’re dressed a little fancier than a bus station warrants, no?”

“Perhaps.” Holly paused with a smile. “It’s my birthday.”

“Seriously?”

“Mmmhmm.”

Denni raised an eyebrow over their drink. “Your name is Holly, your birthday is the 21st of December, and you’re wandering around Port Authority dressed like a North Pole fever dream?” Denni looked around the bar as if hunting for hidden cameras. “Am I getting Christmas punk’d?”

Holly laughed. “Yeah, okay, I can see why you would think that. Here.” She fished into the clutch bag in her hand, and slapped a card on the bar for Denni’s inspection. It was a Connecticut driver’s license, with a surprisingly good photo. The name and birthday on it were indeed Holly F. McDowell and December 21st. 

“Okay first of all that wasn’t necessary,” Denni admonished her with a chuckle. “Second of all, what are you doing? You shouldn’t be showing a complete stranger all your identifying information like that. Three…  you know that license expires today, right?”

“Does it, now,” Holly picked the license back up and squinted at it. “Huh. I’d best get all my drinking and contraband purchases done before midnight, yes?”

“I guess so,” Denni mused, shaking their head. This lady was definitely a little kooky, but in a fashion that didn’t quite convince them that they weren’t getting punk’d. 

“Besides,” Holly scoffs, “that info isn’t necessarily identifying. This is three addresses ago.”

“You’re supposed to update that on the other side,” they pointed out.

Holly flipped the card over revealing a narrow label sticker with another address carefully printed on the obverse side. “You always grill people about license maintenance and validity?” she asked, putting the card back in her clutch.

“Generally, no, but then again most people don’t just hand me licenses to inspect.”

“Which answers my next question,” Holly continued, taking another swig of her drink. “You’re not a cop or a DMV agent.”

“Noooooooooo,” Denni laughed. “For one thing, it’s not the DMV where I’m from.”

Holly frowned, clearly processing the meaning of that statement before understanding bloomed on her face. “Poor lamb, you’re from Massachusetts?”

“Yes, ma’am. Born and bred.”

“And you’re stuck deep in Yankees country?”

“Hey now. Them’s fighting words.”

Holly raised an eyebrow.

“Just kidding, I don’t give a shit about the whole Yankees vs Red Sox thing.”

She laughed. “Far as I can tell neither do most New Yorkers. I have it on good authority that they actually hate the Yankees down here as much as the Red Sox fans do. Except if the Sox are in town.”

“So you’re not from here either?”

“Not by birth, no. I did live here for a while in high school and college. Wild times.”

Denni knocked back the rest of their vodka. “So it’s your birthday, you’re clearly not from here, yet you’re dressed for a fancy party while walking around the Port Authority Bus Terminal looking like an extra from Christmastime in Hell?”

“I don’t think I’ve seen that Hallmark movie, and as a matter of fact, I do have a fancy party to go to, but that’s later in my evening.” She sips at her drink. “I have time to kill and I’m all checked into my hotel, and this is one of the better people-watching spots in the city.”

“Really?” Denni says, disbelievingly.

“In the area, on a chilly December night? Definitely. Space to sit and drink, not outdoors in the cold, not horrifically crowded with Christmas season tourists, at a major transportation hub?”

“Couldn’t you go to Grand Central or Penn Station for that?”

“No place to sit in either place.”

Denni couldn’t argue with that.

“The other aspect of being here is that I usually strike up a conversation with someone new while I’m here.”

“Ah, so I’m the latest stop in a pattern of what would be predatory behavior if you weren’t working the manic pixie dream girl stereotype?”

Holly nearly spat the mouthful of rum and coke she’d just taken across the bar. “Eileen, where did you find this one? Less than five minutes and I’ve been given the third degree AND been read for absolute filth.”

The bartender chuckled from across the bar where she had clearly been listening to the conversation. “He’s not wrong.”

“They,” Denni corrected automatically, but in a voice soft enough to ignore.

“They’re a they, Eileen,” Holly called back. “Sorry,” she said to Denni in a quieter voice. “Still unlearning the whole ‘assume a binary gender on sight’ thing.”

“No worries,” Denni waved it off, surprised by even that level of matter-of-fact acknowledgement. “Thanks for the amplification.”

Holly smiled. “So back to where you were calling me out on being predatory in a bar in an infamously seedy bus terminal…”

Denni grinned, holding their glass out for a refill as Eileen passed them. “It’s a little unsavory. I’m going to assume you did not take a bus into town, correct?”

Holly shook her head. “Go on.”

“You don’t have any luggage with you, you’re dressed way too nice for this place even with the Santa’s most exuberant elf getup, and you come here specifically to watch people going about their traveling business. On your birthday. Before you have to leave for a fancy party.”

Holly shrugged. “Still a mostly free country at last check.”

“And you’ve clearly done this before.”

“Every year for the past five.”

Denni shook their head. “It’s still a weird as hell way to spend your birthday.”

“That, I will give you.” Holly smiled wistfully over her glass.

“Don’t you have friends to celebrate with? Family?”

“Sure. But having a birthday so close to Christmas sucks. Everyone’s too crazed from holiday preparations, out of town visiting people, or fed up with the entire season to want to celebrate an additional thing on top of everything else, so I tend to throw my birthday parties in mid-January when nothing else is going on and people have recovered from The Season.” She drained her rum and coke, setting down the glass thoughtfully. “So on the day itself I take a solo trip to the City and spend the longest night of the year doing pretty much whatever I feel like doing, and the day after I take a train home, and that’s my birthday.”

“Sounds nice, if lonely.”

“Eh. I don’t get lonely very much.” She smiled. “I mean, I’m talking to you, that’s not very lonely, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

“As for the so-called predatory behavior…” she laughed. “It’s honestly not like that. Most of the time I end the conversation and occasionally the night with a new friend. Though I suppose you do have a point about not being able to get away with it if I were, say, a six foot bearded lumberjack.”

“Holly, you wouldn’t be able to get away with it if you were me. I’m not a six foot anything, but I am assumed to be male more often than not and I wouldn’t be cruising a bar looking for randos to chat up. I’d be labeled a sex trafficker or something.”

“They’re still not wrong,” Eileen chirped from the other end of the bar. “You get away with it cause you’re a cute girl with more than a screw loose. And I know you’re not a sex trafficker otherwise I’d have you tossed out the terminal by security.”

Holly blushed. “I guess now would not be the time to note which ones of those conversations end in one night stands.”

Denni raised both eyebrows. “Probably not, no.”

There’s a moment of silence before Holly shook off the previous points and smiled brightly at Denni. “Well. All of that said —”

“Here she goes,” Eileen murmured.

Holly rolled her eyes. “That said,” she picked back up, “this has been an unusual but interesting conversation so far, and I’d very much like to continue it. How do you feel about fancy parties?”

“Um… like how fancy?” It occurred to Denni that they were rapidly getting out of their depth.

“Not the Met Gala or anything, but at least a nice dinner with a Christmas themed concert? Maybe some semi-famous people with too much money singing off key by the end of the night?”

“I…” Denni trailed off. They caught Eileen’s eye and she gave them a small encouraging shrug. “I didn’t pack anything appropriate to wear to that sort of party, so…”

Holly lit up. “Easiest thing in the world to fix.”

“If you say so?” Denni felt their throat closing in a mild panic at the rapid and wild turn of events. 

Holly sobered a little. “Listen. I know this is weird, and now that you pointed it out, yeah, it’s probably a little creepy too. But I’m here for a good time tonight, and you’re stuck here and probably in for a rough uncomfortable night until whatever time your bus leaves tomorrow. Why not have a winter solstice adventure with me in the city instead? I promise it’ll beat spending the night here.” She grinned. “My treat, and I’ll put you on Amtrak to wherever you’re going in the morning.”

“Pittsburgh,” Denni sighed. “I’m headed to Pittsburgh.”

Holly pulled a face. “Gods, I’m sorry. Why on earth are you headed there? Family?”

“Nah, don’t really have one of those anymore. Visiting a… friend.”

“Ah.” Holly nodded sagely. “I have family in Cincinatta” — Denni raised an eyebrow at the pronunciation — “so have had the misfortune of visiting Pittsburgh a time or two. Very hilly.”

“That’s…  certainly a word for it, yeah.” Denni sighed.

“So.” Holly fished a cherry out of her glass and pulled it off the stem with her teeth. It was probably not meant to be suggestive, but Denni swallowed hard anyway, feeling a blush rising in their cheeks. “What do you think?”

A reasonable person would decline, Denni thought. There’s nothing reasonable about this proposal. But didn’t Susan already dismiss us as unreasonable?

“Fuck it. Sure,” they said, knocking back the rest of their drink. “Let’s go.”

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