Don't Cry for Me

by Rachel Lacey

  “That wouldn’t be enough,” Eve said softly. “You’re captaining a sinking ship here, and you know it as well as I do.”

  Josie squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling over her cheeks. “You made me cry, just like you do on every episode, but the cameras aren’t even here to film it.”

  “A fact my producer will be most upset about.”

  “And you?” She opened her eyes, meeting Eve’s gaze.

  She stared back, unflinching as ever. “I told you I never intend to make anyone cry.”

  “Can I ask you to give me time to think it over?”

  Eve’s jaw clenched. “We’re on an extremely tight schedule to fit you into season two. I can’t postpone renovations, which will begin on Monday, but I could reschedule our interview to take place that morning and give you the weekend to make your decision.”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “Thank you.”

  Eve turned, opening the door briskly. “I’ll see you on Monday, then.”

  10

  Eve needed a drink. Or, more likely, she needed anything but a drink, because the last thing she wanted to think about as she walked into her apartment that night was Josie. Or Swanson’s. Or bars. Or anything to do with any of it.

  She’d pissed off her entire team by rescheduling Josie’s interview. If this segment fell through, she could kiss season three goodbye. And she’d worked hard for this, dammit. She loved Do Over, and she was good at her job. It kept her busy, fulfilled the restlessness inside her, and allowed her to afford this apartment.

  The day she moved in, she felt like she’d made it. She’d arrived. Now, sometimes, especially on nights like these, it felt empty. Maybe that was the problem. She was craving human companionship tonight, the touch of another person. Usually, she preferred to be alone at the end of the day, but she had needs just like any other woman.

  Unfortunately, her needs would have to wait, because there was a box of hungry kittens waiting for her. Heaving a sigh, she went into her bedroom to change, because wiping kitten butts in white pants seemed like a recipe for disaster. She resisted the urge to go straight for her pajamas, though, because she wasn’t entirely sure she was in for the night. That empty, restless feeling lurking inside her would keep her up all night if she didn’t attempt to tame it. Maybe dinner alone at one of her favorite restaurants would do the trick. She put on a pair of jeans and headed for the kitchen.

  She mixed formula and sat on the couch, lifting the gray-and-white kitten into her lap. “Hamilton,” she murmured as she positioned him for his bottle. She would never admit it to Josie, but it was nice to have names for them. Even she had grown weary of calling them by the color of their fur. And she liked their theater-inspired names.

  Hamilton stared up at her through baby-blue eyes after he’d finished his bottle. His gray-striped head reminded her of the silly wigs men had worn back in his namesake’s day, and it made her smile. She took care of his bathroom needs and then rubbed him for a minute, enjoying the feel of his soft fur beneath her fingers. She held him up in front of her face. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but you’re pretty cute.”

  He meowed loudly, wriggling in her hands, so she put him back in the box. Hamilton crawled awkwardly across the blanket toward the stuffed animal that served as their substitute mother. Josie was right, they were going to need a bigger box soon. What would Eve do with them then? She couldn’t keep a fucking playpen in her office.

  She reached for the next kitten, Pippin, since he happened to be awake. She fed and cleaned him and then did the same for Phantom. Blanche, as usual, was last, snoozing away as Eve cared for her brothers.

  “Time to wake up,” Eve said as she reached for the white kitten. Blanche’s meow was shrill as Eve lifted her, paws flailing. She settled the kitten in her lap and offered her the bottle. Blanche was still the smallest, but she was holding her own these days, guzzling hungrily from the bottle, paws kneading Eve’s fingers as she drank.

  She didn’t look so fragile anymore, blinking up at Eve after she’d finished her meal. Now that her ears had lifted and her eyes opened, she looked much more like a tiny cat than the scrawny furball Eve had pulled out of a trash can nine days ago.

  “Hi, Blanche,” she said, giving her belly a rub as the kitten rolled across Eve’s knees. As Blanche crawled over her legs, Eve leaned against the couch, surprised to realize she felt calmer now. Maybe it was good that the kittens kept her so busy. Or, at the very least, it wasn’t all bad.

  Still, she was hungry, and her options here at home were slim. She could run out and get something to eat and be back home before they needed their next feeding. They could go three hours without her now, thank God. Decision made, she placed Blanche in the box with her brothers.

  Standing, Eve grabbed her purse and headed for the door. How was Josie feeling about things tonight? Had she decided to give Eve’s ideas a chance? She had an uncomfortable feeling that, left to her own devices, Josie would talk herself out of it. She would convince herself to take the easy way out and just give the bar a makeover without fully embracing the vision Eve had created for her.

  Surely, that was the reason Eve found herself boarding the F train toward Brooklyn. Maybe now that Josie had had a chance to calm down, she’d listen to reason, because Eve truly did have her best interests at heart.

  Thirty minutes later, she pulled open the bar’s front door and stepped inside. The noise hit her first, raucous voices that set her nerves on edge. Swanson’s was busier than she remembered it being last Friday night, probably because of the buzz around the filming of the show. She’d seen it happen before.

  This is such a bad idea. Leave now before she sees you.

  But it was too late. Josie glanced toward the door, and their eyes locked. Eve walked toward her, stopping at an open space at the bar, hands resting on its smooth surface.

  “I didn’t expect to see you tonight,” Josie said, her expression unreadable.

  “I didn’t expect to be here,” Eve countered, fighting the unsettled feeling in her gut that said she’d made a horrible mistake. “I just thought maybe we should talk a little more about my vision for the bar.”

  “Hmm.” Josie stared at her, lips twisted, fingers drumming against the bar. “I told you I’d think about it, and I’ve been thinking.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Can I ask you a question, though?” Josie leaned closer, the overhead lights bringing out the green tones in her hazel eyes. “Since we’re already breaking the rules. What’s the new name? You know, for the bar?”

  Eve resisted the urge to lean back, to restore an appropriate amount of space between them. “Dragonfly.”

  Josie’s eyes widened, her mouth forming a tiny O of surprise.

  “Like your tattoo, and for similar reasons. It can symbolize a transformation for Swanson’s as well, a new start and a new image while we position you to a new clientele.” She sucked in a breath. “I hope you don’t hate it.” Renaming a client’s business without consulting them could be a tricky business, and it wasn’t something she did lightly…or often.

  “I don’t hate it,” Josie said quietly, her voice almost lost to the din of the bar.

  “Those aren’t your customers, Josie.” Eve inclined her head toward a rowdy group of men, barely old enough to drink. “They drink beer, which earns you a smaller profit than liquor. They make a lot of noise and take up a lot of space. Those are your customers.” She indicated a pair of women at one of the tables along the far wall, sipping martinis and leaning in close. “Dragonfly will have a more upscale vibe than Swanson’s, soft lighting, smooth music, a custom cocktail list.”

  “Oh.” Josie turned her head, looking around the bar as if trying to see the picture Eve was painting for her.

  “We’ll open the rooftop on weekends during the summer. Imagine strings of white lights twinkling against the backdrop of the city, high-topped tables where couples or groups of friends can gather with their favorite cocktails. In f
act, my homework for you is to come up with at least one signature drink for your new menu, something served only here.”

  Josie closed her eyes, breathing deeply, lashes—still heavy with the makeup Eve’s team had applied earlier—fluttering against her cheeks. When she opened them again, her expression was distant. “It’s like an entirely different bar, Eve.”

  “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe.” Josie looked at two middle-aged men in jeans and T-shirts a few stools down. “What about my regulars? Dougie and Sal have been coming here every night after work for as long as I can remember. They’d never step foot in a gay bar.”

  “And how many regulars like them do you have?”

  “I don’t know.” Josie looked down at her hands. “A handful.”

  “You can’t keep Swanson’s open for a handful of people. Sometimes, you have to be willing to lose a few regulars to gain a new crowd.”

  Josie blinked, her eyes glossy. “That’s really sad, and also…scary.”

  “I know, but don’t let your fear hold you back from success.”

  Josie sighed, shaking her head.

  The men at the end of the bar had gotten louder, good-natured banter giving way to an argument. Eve glanced at them, discomfort twisting inside her. This was exactly the problem with bars…too much noise, too much alcohol, drunk men heading out into the night, ramped up on alcohol and testosterone. At least here in the city, they were unlikely to get behind the wheel after they left.

  Josie was watching them too, brow pinched in concern. As Eve’s gaze swept the bar, she realized Josie was the only one behind it. “Where’s Jason?” He usually tended bar with her on Friday and Saturday nights.

  “On his dinner break,” Josie replied. As they watched, one man shoved another, and a barstool went flying. “Dammit. I’ll be back.”

  “Be careful,” Eve warned as Josie headed toward them, intensely uncomfortable with the idea of Josie breaking up a fight between six large, drunk men on her own. The other customers in Swanson’s had all turned to stare, some of them looking annoyed, others fearful. Eve pulled out her cell phone, placing it beneath her palm, ready to dial the police if the need arose.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the man who’d been shoved roared, fists balling for a fight.

  “No?” the man who’d shoved him responded.

  “You guys need to settle down or take this outside,” Josie said calmly, stepping between them, hands outstretched to keep them apart.

  “The hell I will,” the first man yelled, and then he punched the man who’d shoved him. Someone screamed. The rest of the group started yelling, fists flying as everyone seemed to pick sides and join the melee. And there was Josie in the middle of it all, still bravely trying to break it up.

  Eve lifted her phone and dialed 911 to report the bar fight. “There’s only one female bartender on staff at the moment,” she told the dispatcher, feeling somehow as if she was betraying Josie with the admission, “and a half dozen large, drunk men fighting.”

  She hung up and approached the group, hoping to lend Josie a hand if possible. Eve might be small in stature, but she generally made up for it in attitude. As she reached them, one of the men staggered backward, knocking into Josie, who fell to her knees.

  “Enough,” Eve yelled, causing several heads to swivel in her direction. She extended a hand to Josie, helping her to her feet. “You guys need to knock it off. Now.”

  In the pause that followed, a few members of the group seemed to have second thoughts and jumped in to restrain the two men who had initiated the fight. Blood dripped from the first man’s nose, staining the front of his T-shirt.

  “Fucking asshole.” He lunged forward, attempting to get at his opponent.

  “That’s rich, coming from you,” the other man sneered.

  Eve resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the ridiculous display of testosterone. She turned to Josie. “You okay?”

  Josie nodded, but her face was pale, eyes glassy. Eve didn’t think she was hurt, probably just shaken, not that Eve could blame her. Her own pulse was racing, her palms slick. She wasn’t sure whether to mention that she’d called the police. It might encourage them to move outside, or it might escalate things. Eve didn’t have much experience handling disorderly men. This was Josie’s bar, and she should probably follow her lead.

  “That’s enough,” Josie told them. “I’m calling individual cabs for all of you.”

  The first man broke free from the man who’d been restraining him, and fists started flying again. Eve gripped Josie’s wrist, pulling her out of the way. Luckily, two NYPD officers entered Swanson’s at the same time, and within minutes, everyone involved had been rounded up and escorted outside.

  Jason returned from his dinner break and took over behind the bar while Josie wrapped things up with the police. Eve—still not quite sure why she was even here—ordered a beer and sat at the bar, waiting for Josie to come back inside so she could at least say goodbye before she left. But Josie didn’t come back. And by the time Eve had finished her beer, she was starting to worry.

  “Do you know where Josie is?” she asked Jason.

  He shook his head. “I think she needed to clear her head after the commotion. I’m sure she’ll be back in a minute.”

  Eve nodded. She slid off her stool and went down the hall to Josie’s office, but it was empty. On a hunch, she checked the door at the end of the hall—the one leading to the roof—and found it unlocked. She stepped through and pulled it shut behind her, heels echoing against the wood as she climbed to the top.

  Sure enough, Josie stood silhouetted against the skyline, arms wrapped around herself. Eve walked up behind her, grateful for the click of her heels to announce her presence. She came to stand beside Josie, resting her hands on the railing as she glanced over at her. “You okay?”

  Josie nodded, but her mascara was smudged, betraying her answer.

  “Does that happen often?” Eve asked. “Bar fights?”

  “No,” Josie said. “Only a handful of times that I can remember in all my years here.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that.”

  “That was how it started,” Josie said, her voice small. “The night my dad died.”

  Oh hell. She’d completely forgotten that Josie’s dad was killed in a bar fight right here in Swanson’s. No wonder she was so upset. “I’m sorry.”

  “I was sitting at the bar, about where you were sitting tonight. We had just made plans to see a movie together the next day.”

  “You were there?” Eve’s stomach pitched as if the floor had just dropped out from beneath her.

  Josie nodded. “He walked over to break it up, and someone pulled a gun, and…”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Eve tugged at her hand, pulling her in for a hug. “That’s a hell of a thing.”

  Josie wrapped her arms around her, holding tightly to Eve, and she realized in a rush that this was what she’d come to Swanson’s tonight looking for. She’d craved the touch of another human, but not any human, just the one currently wrapped in her arms, breath coming in warm gusts against her neck, hands fisted in the back of her blouse. She closed her eyes, breathing in the feeling, absorbing it, memorizing it.

  “Thanks for having my back down there,” Josie whispered.

  “Of course.” She inhaled the scent of Josie’s shampoo, something light and fruity. “You can’t do this on your own anymore.”

  “I know.” Josie drew back, staring at Eve in the darkness, arms still clasped around her. The glow of the city sparkled in her eyes and reflected the sheen of her lips.

  Eve’s heart was racing, even faster than it had downstairs as she’d attempted to control a half dozen drunk men. She felt just as drunk, just as out of control as her chin tipped forward, breath catching in her throat as Josie’s lips crashed into hers.

  She pressed forward, deepening the kiss, tongue sliding into Josie’s mouth as her hands slid into the
back pockets of her jeans, anchoring them together. Heat flooded her system, pulse pounding, skin tingling, desire bursting to life inside her like a hungry beast after a long hibernation. Josie nipped at her bottom lip, and fuck.

  Eve swayed forward, hips bumping into Josie’s, breasts pressed together as they kissed. Josie’s hands slid up her back and into her hair, tugging gently as her tongue tangled with Eve’s. This woman. God, this woman…

  “You taste like beer,” Josie murmured, breath feathering over Eve’s cheeks, hot and damp, lighting every inch of her on fire. “God, Eve, I’ve been thinking about this since the first moment I met you.”

  “Mm, same.” She rested her forehead against Josie’s as she caught her breath, realizing in some distant, rational part of her brain that she should put a stop to this, but surely she could indulge for just another moment, because God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this good, this alive, this utterly consumed with another person.

  She pressed her lips to Josie’s, and they were kissing again. Her hands slipped beneath Josie’s shirt, sliding over her smooth, warm skin, eliciting a soft moan against her lips. “You feel so good,” she whispered, skimming her fingers up Josie’s spine.

  In response, Josie tugged at Eve’s blouse, untucking it from her jeans so that her hands could do some roaming of their own. She cupped Eve’s breasts over her bra, thumbs brushing against her nipples, intensifying the need pulsing inside her until it was almost overwhelming.

  “Lace under silk?” Josie gasped. “You really are trying to kill me.”

  “Josie…”

  “It’s okay. My heart’s still beating.” Josie gripped one of Eve’s hands and moved it over her left breast so she could feel her heart pounding beneath her palm.

  “We can’t do this.” Eve had to force the words past her lips as her body screamed for more, more, more. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

  “Shh,” Josie whispered, smiling against her lips. “Don’t overthink this. Just kiss me.”