by TB Markinson
That was Roger’s way of telling a future employee it was time to shit or get off the pot.
I whistled. “That’ll help her make up her mind for sure. I think that’s about what she makes in a year.”
“It’s depressing. She’s teaching the youth of America and not even making enough to live on. Sports betting pays better.”
“Please don’t encourage her. Not all bets pay off. The last thing I need is to beat up a loan shark.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Trust me; you wouldn’t have a chance. Only jump into a fight you can win. Life is too short.”
With Roger’s check in hand, I arranged to meet Annie at the bar. Arriving early, I claimed my usual barstool. “What are you doing here on a Sunday?”
Sheila’s eyes scanned the rowdy crowd behind me. “I looked at the calendar. In less than a year, I’ll be done with law school.” She snapped a wet towel on the bar. “That means the school loan sharks will be circling around, sniffing for blood.”
I shook my head. “Am I allowed to ask how much?”
“A little under a quarter of a million, including undergrad. Serves me right for insisting on the best schools, I guess.”
“I…” No words of comfort came to me.
Sheila put a hand up, not wanting pity. “It’ll work out. I’m a smart chick.” She painted a confident expression. “So, what brings you here on a Sunday night? Isn’t this Cori family time?”
“We finished early.”
“Or you bailed.”
I sipped my PBR. “Something like that.”
Sheila looked over my head, smiling. “Hey, Annie.” Without waiting for the order, Sheila pulled a pint of PBR. “Here ya go.” She sidled to the side to confer with a waiter I didn’t recognize.
Annie rubbed her mitts together. “Gimmie.”
I pulled the check out of my back pocket and slid it facedown on the bar in front of her.
“That’s a bit dramatic for you.” She closed one eye, slanting her head to the side.
“Flip it over. You’ll see why.”
Annie hesitated. “What’s going on?”
“I think Roger wants a decision.”
She blew out a breath tinged with stale beer. Clearly, she’d enjoyed a few drinks while watching the Yankees light up the Sox’s backup pitcher.
I nudged her side. “Go on. I think you’ll be happy.”
Annie closed her eyes and maybe said a silent prayer before flipping the paper over. “Holy shit!”
Sheila, busy filling a pitcher, glanced over, quickly taking measure of Annie’s mood, before returning her eyes to the task at hand.
“That’s your winnings and signing bonus, if you accept,” I explained.
“Are you mad at me?” She chewed on her bottom lip.
“For?”
She sighed way too dramatically. “Betting against the Sox.”
“That’s a matter to be discussed at a later date,” I said in all seriousness.
“Whatever.” Her tone tried to convey my words didn’t bother her, but it failed.
I put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s a great opportunity, Annie. Grab hold while you can.”
She rested her head on my shoulder. “You think so?”
It was the closest I wanted her to come to opening up the what about us? line of questioning my family had planted in my head. Were they right? Or reading too much into Annie’s actions of late? I didn’t want to touch on her feelings. “I do.” I laid my head on hers. “It’s a two-year contract, with the option to renew if you want. Do you know how fast twenty-four months will fly by?” I snapped my fingers. “And it gets your foot in the door. Not just with Roger’s company but with all the big dogs.”
“What about my mom?” I could tell she wasn’t really concerned about her mom, who’d moved to the US when she was Annie’s age because she had seized a golden opportunity.
“She’d never hold you back. Besides, your dad is over there. Haven’t you always said you wanted to get to know him better? Here’s your chance on that front as well.”
Annie clutched the front of my Sox T-shirt. “I’ll miss you.”
I stared into her eyes. “Me too, Annie. Me too.”
“When do I have to leave?”
“Not for a few more months. Once you sign the contract, the immigration lawyers will begin the process for your work permit. I hear it’ll involve a lot of paperwork. Lucky you.” I smiled.
Her expression turned dark. “Does Roger pay off all your friends?”
Sheila overheard, and she darted her arm in the air. “If that’s the case, where do I get in line?” A customer leaned over the bar and shouted for a gin and tonic. Sheila turned to us so the customer wouldn’t see and huffed. This wasn’t the typical gin and tonic joint, but she dutifully prepped the drink, woefully short on gin. It was hard enough for her to keep up with the beer orders, let alone other drinks that involved more than one step.
I felt Annie’s eyes on me, and I whipped my head to meet hers. “What?”
“Is it her?” She jerked her chin in Sheila’s direction.
At a loss, I said, “Come again?”
“Sheila? Is she the one?”
I waved both hands back and forth. “No! Annie, no.” I sighed. “It’s not like that. You and I are the best of friends. Ever since you punched Jimmie in the nose in the first grade for calling me a freak. We’ll always—”
She put a finger on my lips. “Don’t say it, please.”
I mimed zipping my lips shut, utterly destroyed inside that everyone, including the local bartender, had guessed Annie’s feelings while I ignored all the signs from my tough-as-nails bestie.
“Will you ever fall in love?” she asked, her shoulders slumped.
I tucked a strand of her red hair behind her ear. “I don’t have a timeline in mind.”
“Such a typical Cori answer. You can be a shitty friend, sometimes.”
“What do you want me to say?”
She fluttered her eyes. “That you love me. I shouldn’t move to Ireland. You can’t imagine life without me,” she said, laughing, although that was the only sign that she didn’t mean every word. Or, was Roger right? Was all of this her fear speaking?
“Annie—”
She leaned over and kissed me to shut me up. Afterward, she put four fingers on my lips. “Please, don’t explain. I should have known never to get my hopes up with you.”
When I crumpled my brow and attempted to speak through her fingers, the cold anger in her eyes stopped me dead.
“Listen, I have plans. Thanks for dropping off the check, saving me from having to file for bankruptcy. I’ll call Roger and tell him yes. But I have to go.” She ran out of the bar before I had a chance to blink.
Sheila set down a fresh beer. “That went well.”
I rubbed both eyes with my knuckles. “I’m not in the mood.”
“My relief just came in. Let’s go downstairs, and we can talk.”
“I think I’ve had enough talking for one night.” I made quote marks in the air. “Or do you mean you want me to sit so you can give me another lecture?”
Sheila swooped up my beer, and she had another in her left hand. Jerking her head to the stairway, she led us to the creepy bunker-like basement of the bar that only the desperate patrons used when the upstairs was full. Considering how I felt, I definitely fell into that category.
A handful of students, the type that wore mostly black and were probably arguing about constitutional law or existentialism, depending on their majors, sat around a round table near the bar that was only manned during BC home games.
We occupied the table as far away from the group as possible, not that any of them noticed our presence.
Sheila sat on the uncomfortable high-backed chair, with one leg bent on the cushion, holding her knee. “What was that about?”
“Roger asked me to give Annie her sign-on bonus for the j
ob in Ireland.”
“Ah, that was your way out.”
“What do you mean way out?”
“Surely, even you have figured out sleeping with a friend wasn’t wise. I know you said you were fine with it, but Annie clearly isn’t.”
“We’ve slept together. A couple of times.” I pointed to her and back to me.
Her leg dropped to the ground, and she stiffened in her chair. “One: I’m not your best friend. Two: I’ve known since I landed in Boston that I’m only here temporarily. Three: I never wanted a relationship. Four: I’m not in love with you.” She’d ticked each one off with a finger, followed by a swallow of beer.
“What do you mean you aren’t in love with me?” I said in hope of turning the conversation playful.
The Hindenburg had a smoother landing.
If her eyes could literally shoot daggers, I’d have more holes poked in my face than the twenty-year-old dartboard above her head.
“It’s not nice to play with people,” she said.
I moaned and laid my head on my arms on the table. “I didn’t know she was in love with me. Honest.”
She waited for me to say more.
“I thought we were on the same page: have fun, take care of certain cravings, and not get attached. Jesus, she said as much the morning after the first time. How was I supposed to know? We’re talking about Annie. She’s tougher than anyone I’ve met. Not once have I seen her cry. Not even when she broke her ankle diving into the Black Hole, ruining her shot at playing tennis professionally.”
“Sometimes, I wonder about you. I really do. And, how do you not remember the mouse story? I wasn’t even there, but I remember her telling me.”
I ran a hand over my face. “What mouse?”
“When you were kids, one of your friends invited you two over to help feed his snake—”
I put a hand up. “I… forgot about that.” I didn’t become a vegetarian that day, but I never forgot the poor creature’s panic. Bulging eyes… “Is this the part when you tell me I’m the worst person in the world?”
Sheila shook her head. “You aren’t the worst, although you’re doing a pretty good job of getting me to feel sorry for you, moaning and making sad eyes.”
I laughed, and some snot came out. Wiping my nose with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, I said, “I never wanted to hurt her. Never.” I rested my head against the table top, clutching my stomach with my arms.
“I know. I should have talked to you earlier about it.”
I popped up. “You knew!”
“That she was in love with you?”
I nodded.
“I suspected. It’d take a fucking moron not to see the clues as of late. The puppy eyes. Laughing at everything you say. Let’s face it; you’re not Amy Schumer. Annie worships the ground you walk on. And more than likely, even if you did try the whole relationship thing, it would have crashed and burned. At least you ended it now.”
“Am I really not relationship material?” Did that mean I should walk away from Kat? If I hurt her…
Sheila was about to take a sip of beer but paused with her glass halfway to her lips. “I never said that. Clean your ears out once in a while.” She took a sip and set her beer down methodically, maybe gathering her thoughts. It was moments like these I glimpsed her calculating lawyer skills. “Here’s the way I see it. You aren’t the type to fall for someone like Annie.” She waved me off when I tried to butt in. “I know, Annie’s smart, beautiful, funny—most would kill to have a girl like her. You aren’t most people. You need a woman who’s all those things and more. I don’t know in what ways, but you’ve always been different.”
“How so?” Before Kat, I would have thought she was talking out of her asshole, but now I understood. Not that I would admit that. Not when Annie had fled because I’d hurt her.
Sheila chewed on the side of her thumbnail. “I dunno. Quite frankly, I’m not sure the woman you need actually exists, but if she does, you’re the only bastard I know who’ll be able to find her. You’re a stubborn shithead.”
“And if I do find this person?”
Sheila eyeballed me in her bartender way. I wondered if every law student should also tend bar to learn everything Sheila had over the past couple of years. “If you do, fucking hold on to her.” She shook my arms. “Don’t ever let go, or you’ll never be happy.”
“So, you’re saying I couldn’t be happy either with Annie or alone?”
“Are you kidding me? I know you’re an only child and you have the most amazing, albeit effed up, family, but alone? No. And we already crossed Annie’s name off the list, so stop wallowing about that. She doesn’t see it now, but you did the best thing you could by letting her go.”
“Are you trying to cheer me up or still stick pins in me?”
“A little of both.” She placed her hand on my knee. “Give her time. She’ll come around.”
Chapter Ten
Navigating the cracked cement lined with red and pink geraniums leading to Kat’s basement apartment in Allston, I wondered what the inside would be like. If I had to take a guess based on her outfits, I thought it would be along the lines of a lesbian version of the Playboy Mansion. But there was so much more to the woman than her sexuality. So, when I knocked on her door, I emptied my mind of preexisting notions, remembering Kat’s words not to judge a book by its cover.
Her apartment was the smallest habitable space I’d ever ventured into, making me feel like Alice in Wonderland after drinking a potion that caused her to shrink. I glanced around, not spying a television, but a small radio sat on the kitchen counter. Like Barb, Kat apparently liked big band music, if the Glenn Miller and his orchestra version of “At Last” filtering through the speakers was evidence.
A clothes rack was crammed into the far corner, with shopping bags taking up the floor space. That struck me as odd. The size of the apartment suggested she didn’t have money, but the bags looked new. Did her parents help her out?
The smell of fresh bread and herbs hung in the air, bringing me out of my head. “It smells wonderful.”
“I popped dinner in the oven a few minutes ago. Would you like a beer, wine, or cocktail?” Kat asked after showing me around the studio apartment, which took less than one minute.
“I would love a beer.”
She turned her back and walked the three steps to the kitchen, giving me time to admire some of the artwork on the exposed brick wall. One piece, reminiscent of Miro, was about three feet long and almost twice as high. I cocked my head, analyzing the swirls of primary colors.
Kat thrust a beer in my hand and asked, “What do you think?”
“Are they outlines of naked women?” I squinted at the brushstrokes.
“Is that what you think they are?” she asked in a playful tone.
“I can’t be sure.” I stepped closer. “If they are, not one is the same and all of them are different sizes, heights, and…” I rubbed my chin. “I’m sorry. Pontificating about art isn’t my thing. My aunt could go on for hours.” I flipped around and said, “All I can say is I like it. Is it one of yours?”
She tapped her martini glass against the lip of my beer bottle ever so gently. “Yes. Are you interested?”
Her sensually hooded eyelids, the jutting of her right hip, and the way she angled her chest so I could see straight down confused me.
“In the p-painting?” I stuttered.
She laughed. “You’re too easy, sometimes. Of course, in the painting. That’s for sale. Not me.”
I backpedaled. “I didn’t mean to—”
She stepped closer to me, leaning to whisper in my ear, and I could smell the gin on her breath. “What would you pay?” She waited a moment before adding, “For the painting?”
“Whatever you want?” I foolishly responded.
“For you, one hundred. And you have to move it yourself.” She sat on the arm of a battered recliner, sipping from her elegant gla
ss.
“Deal. I can borrow my uncle’s Grand Cherokee.” I breathed in deeply, wishing I could still smell her. She wasn’t wearing any perfume that I could detect, and I couldn’t put my finger on the scent she emitted. Desire, maybe? “One hundred isn’t enough.” I rounded and slanted my head again, taking in her work.
She was by my side again, silent.
“It’s really amazing. I can stare at it all day and never tire of it. Would you accept three hundred?”
Kat threaded her arm around my waist, laying her head against my shoulder. “No. The deal was one hundred.”
I glanced down at her inquisitive face. “You’re selling yourself short, but deal. On second thought…” Confusion flickered through her eyes, so I continued. “One hundred and you give me permission to show it to Barb. She owns a gallery.”
Her arm dropped from my waist, and she whirled away from me. With her back to me, she said, “Uh… okay.” She sipped her drink.
“Does it make you nervous? Me showing it to an art critic?”
She straightened, rearranging her short lace skirt, and flipped around. “Not at all.”
I rolled my head back and laughed. “I think that’s the first time you’ve lied to me. Every artist is terrified to show their work.”
She took another sip from her glass, her full lips wet. “Okay, maybe. Is your aunt nice?”
I put a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. “The nicest. She’s the one I seek out whenever I need advice. I’m fortunate. It’s like I have two mothers.”
A look of envy flickered in her expression. “You’re lucky.” She pulled away and motioned to the table with appetizers on paper plates. “You hungry?”
I noted that was the second time Kat had shut down at the mere mention of family, hers or mine. I wanted to ask why but didn’t know how to proceed without making her uncomfortable or sad. I never wanted her to feel that way. Not around me. Or ever. My father didn’t have a great childhood, and I knew he hated talking about it.
I patted my belly. “I’m always starving.”
She eyed my thin runner’s body. “Prove it, Tisdale.”
I flinched.