by Amelia Stone
Teno nodded. “Sure am. But this traitor has a lunch date.” He gave Ellie a stern frown. “So I must leave you now, but I want the details when I get back. If she won’t tell me, you have to.”
She nodded like the dirty rotten traitor she was, waving a hand in farewell as Teno left the room. When the door closed behind him, she pounced.
“What’s going on?” She sat on the edge of my desk, ignoring our lunch spread. “Did something happen at the reunion?”
I blinked, surprised to realize I hadn’t spoken to her since then. Gods. The reunion felt like a million years ago, though in reality it had only been a week. So much had happened since then that I hardly knew where to start.
“Did you see Seth?” she prompted.
I nodded, but I couldn’t speak around the lump in my throat.
“Krista!” she chided, when I didn’t answer. “I’m dying here. I’ve been waiting for you to call me, but I knew you were busy, what with the wedding and the convention coming up and… Krista?”
But I really couldn’t answer now, because the lump had turned into a sob.
“Oh, kiddo.” Ellie hopped off the desk, wrapping me in her arms. She was so much smaller than me that she was practically sitting in my lap, but neither of us cared.
“He hates me, Ell,” I moaned into her shoulder. “I messed it all up.”
“I’m sure if you just talk to him, it’ll be okay.” She stroked my hair, though her fingers got caught in the tangled strands.
I shook my head. “He said-” I hiccupped. “He said he never wanted to see me again.”
And then I lost it. It felt like my tears had been building all day, all week – all of my life. So I sat in my office and cried every single tear I’d ever held back, until Ellie’s shirt was soaked and my breath came in great, gulping sobs. And through it all, my best friend simply squeezed me in a fierce hug, rocking me gently and murmuring in my ear.
“Hush,” she soothed. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”
And her voice was so calm, so sure, that in that moment I almost believed her.
Almost.
Little goddamn victories.
“You are cut off,” Mindy warned me when I walked into Wrestler’s at three o’clock on Friday afternoon. “I mean it, Holt. I don’t care if you’re a celebrity. No one causes a scene in my bar.”
I limped over to the counter, pulling myself onto a stool with a groan that could probably be heard all the way across the causeway and into Lindenhurst. Then I leveled her with a glare.
“Just give me a Diet Coke.”
She frowned. “You dragged your gimpy ass in here just for a soda?” She poured me a glass, plopping it onto a fresh bar napkin that somehow already looked dingy.
I made no reply, because it was fucking obvious that yes. Yes I had dragged my ‘gimpy ass’ across town and into an establishment that was likely to give me scabies, just so I could get a soda that always managed to taste slightly off. I needed to get out of my house, and not just because my contractor kicked me out of my own home for trying to ‘help.’
“Christ.” Mindy gave me a once-over. “The redhead must’ve really done a number on you, huh?”
And there it was, the reason I’d escaped from my house like a bat out of hell: it was infested with her. My pillows smelled like her coconut shampoo, and the sheets smelled like our sex. The TV screen was still paused on a freeze frame of Kingdom Hearts, because we’d gotten too handsy with each other while playing it the other night, and had ended up fucking on the floor. Her hair was in my shower drain and her beach towel was hanging over the lounge chair on my patio and the leftover pizza from the other night’s dinner was still in the fridge and she was just fucking everywhere.
Was it any wonder I’d sought an escape?
Mindy cleared her throat, reminding me I hadn’t answered her question.
“Something like that,” I mumbled as I sipped my Coke – which was flat.
Story of my fucking life, lately.
“Want to talk about it?” Mindy asked.
“No.”
She raised an eyebrow, which was not dyed purple to match her hair. I never understood why people did that – dyed their hair bright colors, but kept their eyebrows natural. That is, until one day, when I was living in San Francisco, and I ran across an old lady with green eyebrows. I was doing a charity thing in the Mission district when this woman walked up to me and asked me to sign her dog.
I shit you not, her dog.
Anyway, this old biddy was green from head to toe. Literally. Green shoes, green dress, green crocheted shawl, green pocketbook, green eyeglasses, and green hair. And of course, green eyebrows. That was when I discovered that dyed eyebrows tended to look even more like caterpillars than normal eyebrows.
I didn’t sign her dog, by the way. It didn’t feel right to use permanent marker on a Pomeranian.
And yes, the dog’s leash and collar were green. I know you were wondering.
Mindy’s eyebrows were a normal dark color, though. I didn’t think they were completely natural, since she obviously had makeup on. I knew some women used those eyebrow crayons, or whatever they were called.
And this was what my life had been reduced to: ruminating on the fascinating subject of women’s eyebrows.
Anything to keep my mind off her.
“What the hell are you staring at?” Mindy raised a not-purple brow at me.
I shook my head. “Nothing.”
She peered at me like she was trying to gauge the truth. “Did you come to my bar already drunk at three o’clock in the afternoon, Holt?”
I shook my head again. “Nope.”
“Because I know you know I have a wife,” she added. “So if you’re trying to hit on me, it won’t work.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Aren’t you supposed to flirt with the customers to get bigger tips?”
“Here’s a tip,” she shot back. “If you don’t give me a gratuity, I’m emailing TMZ to tell them what a cheapskate you are.” She wiped the bar down, glaring at me. “I don’t want to hear any sob stories about your manager embezzling from you or blowing your obscenely inflated salary on Lamborghinis. I am putting my wife through culinary school on the measly tips that I make here. So you will pony up or so help me, Holt, your bad name will get splashed all over the tabloids faster than you can yell ‘strike.’”
She was out of breath by the time she’d finished her threats, and we both stared at each other for a beat.
“Now that’s what I come to this dump for,” the same crusty old fart from last night shouted from the other end of the bar. “The friendly staff and pleasant atmosphere.”
“Zip it, George,” Mindy called.
He tipped his glass and gave me a cheeky wink, and I huffed a laugh in spite of myself.
“Sorry,” Mindy muttered. “I don’t know what came over me.” She moved a flat of glasses from one end of the bar to the other. “Actually, that’s a lie. The owner told me this morning he wanted to sell. Last night’s Jukebox Zero incident was the last straw for him.”
“But I offered to pay for that,” I replied. “You know I’m good for it.”
“I don’t think he cares. He said this place was like an albatross, and he didn’t want to carry it around anymore.” Her face crumpled, and I reached across the bar and tentatively patted her hand. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if I lose this job. It sucks, but it’s all I got, you know.”
I frowned. “You could get a job on Long Island somewhere,” I suggested. “Or in the city maybe. Bars are a dime a dozen there.”
“Can’t do the commute.” She shook her head. “My wife’s dad lives with us, and one of us needs to be home with him at all times because of his disability.”
“You can’t get a nurse?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Insurance won’t pay for it. And we’re barely keeping our heads above water.” She refilled the already-full pretzel baskets. “I know I could make more
money somewhere else, but Dad won’t move. Says he wants to die where he was born.”
I nodded in understanding. “I can relate.”
She gave me the side eye. “This is my pity party, Holt. You need to wait your turn.”
I held up my hands. “Be my guest.”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I thought maybe I could keep the job, even under new management, but let’s be honest.”
She gestured to the space around us. Describing Wrestler’s as a dump was generous.
“Whoever buys this place will either bulldoze it or gut it,” she continued. “Grand Avenue is turning into the damn Magic Kingdom, and this dive is the last holdout.”
I frowned as I followed her gaze around the room. The place was nearly condemnable, that was for sure. But it wasn’t quite there yet. It actually had a lot of potential. The space was large, the ceilings were high, and the parking lot was big enough to accommodate a full house. It even had a full commercial kitchen in the back, though Wrestler’s hadn’t offered any food besides pretzels for years.
Plus, there wasn’t a lot of competition in town. Most of the restaurants had liquor licenses, sure. And there was a wine room on the other end of the street, just before it looped around the north end of the island and ended at the Hotel LeGrand. But there weren’t any bars like this one, where the working folks of South Bay could unwind with their friends and watch the game.
“What if you bought it?” I asked. “It needs some sprucing up-”
“Some sprucing up?” She raised a not-purple brow again. “It needs to be killed with fire.”
I chuckled. “Maybe. But with time and some money, you could make it ship shape.”
She shook her head. “It’s the ‘some money’ part that I’m getting stuck on,” she said. “It’s a nice idea, but I’ve got just enough money left over at the end of every month to touch up my roots.” She patted her violet mane. “There’s no way I could even buy the owner out. Forget about investing a ton of money into fixing it up.”
I was quiet for a second, as a half-formed and completely insane idea started to take shape in my brain.
“What if I stake you?” I asked.
She snorted. “Yeah, sure. That should go well. A washed-up ball player and a misanthropic bartender going into business.” She gave me the side eye again. “We’d have to beat them off with a stick.”
“I’d patronize such an establishment,” George piped up.
“You’d patronize someone making gin out of the bed of a truck if it would get you away from your wife,” Mindy quipped.
George shrugged as if to say, she’s got me there.
“I’m serious, though,” I replied, after a minute. “You said the other night you’re pretty much running this place by yourself anyway. Might as well cut out the middle man, and keep a bigger chunk of the profits while you’re at it.” Another thought occurred to me as I took a sip of my soda. “And when the missus finishes school, she could be your chef.”
Mindy’s eyes lit with hope at that. “We could probably afford to hire a nurse for Dad, with two paychecks.”
I tapped my temple. “Exactly.” I leaned back on my stool, though I had to dig my feet into the rail to do it. My knee screamed in protest as I gave Mindy a speculative look. “I think it could work,” I said.
She eyed me for a moment, mulling it over. Then she rolled her eyes. “Yeah right. The building probably should be bulldozed.” She pointed an accusing finger at me. “And I am still not entirely convinced you didn’t walk in here already three sheets to the wind, Holt.” She busied herself with taking inventory of the stock behind the bar. “Coming in here, trying to get my hopes up like that. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
I shrugged as I leaned forward again. “Well, someone around here should have hopes.”
She raised a brow. “Christ, that was cheerful.”
“He’s earned a little melancholy,” another voice piped up.
A voice that raised my hackles rise and made my fists clench.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I barked without bothering to turn around.
A good man uses his wits, I reminded myself, over and over again.
But I didn’t feel like a particularly good man right now. No, I felt like a man who considered stabbing a lifelong friend to be a good solution to a problem.
“Tell you what,” Ward said as he settled into the seat next to mine. “You can beat the shit out of me, on one condition.”
He nodded to Mindy, asking for some hipster microbrew. She snorted and handed him a Blue Moon, because that was the fanciest beer Wrestler’s offered.
I raised my brow at her as if to say, see, there’s a market there. She gave me the finger in reply as she shuffled off to the stock room.
“Don’t you want to hear my condition?” Ward asked, a bite of impatience in his tone.
“No.”
I could feel him frowning at me. “It’s really simple.”
“So is leaving,” I growled.
He huffed. “Look, man, all I’m asking is that you hear me out.” He took a sip of his beer. “You can kick my ass after, or cut me out of your life, or whatever you want. Just listen to what I have to say first.”
“How about we just skip the heart-to-heart and I kick your ass anyway?” I countered.
“I’m not leaving until I’ve said what I came to say.”
I rolled my eyes. “God, you’re a fucking drama queen.”
“And you’re a fucking gimp who couldn’t kick my ass anyway,” he shot back. “So will you just fucking shut up and let me talk?”
I huffed, because he was right. But I also gave him my stabby eyes, because he needed to know how much I hated him.
“What are you even doing here?” I asked. “Don’t you have a pretend job, or some shit?”
He scowled at me. “Why the fuck does everyone think I don’t actually work?”
I shrugged. “Because you’re an idiot who got handed a successful company by your rich daddy.”
“Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving.” He took another sip of his beer. “And as a matter of fact, I did go into work today. But I left at noon.”
I glanced at the beer clock. “It’s fucking three-thirty. How are you just getting home now?”
“The LIE was a parking lot. A semi flipped over near Valley Stream, and shit was backed up all the way to Queens.”
“Are you insane?” I turned to him. “Why would you even drive into the city?”
He rolled his eyes. “Gee, I dunno. Maybe because the Long Island Railroad doesn’t run across the Bay.”
“So you drive to the Lindenhurst station and take the train from there,” I countered. “It takes less time and it’s cheaper than driving.”
“Why the fuck should I take advice from someone who’s been in California for the last decade?”
“Everyone knows you don’t drive into the city unless you can help it,” I argued. “It’s common sense.”
“Well, I like my car,” he retorted. “And anyway, I can get there almost as fast-”
“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Mindy poked her head out of the back room. “Can you two please either fight or make out already? I can’t listen to this any longer.”
I frowned. “Make out?”
“What?” She shrugged. “You’re both hot. And I’m serious about that TMZ thing. Tabloid money could solve so many of my problems right now.”
I glared at her, but somehow I knew she’d never sell me out to the gossip rags. My new BFF was good people, if a little crankier than necessary.
“See!” Ward turned to me, a triumphant grin on his face. “Lesbians are not real.”
Mindy disappeared back into the stock room with a final roll of her eyes. “Right. Because it’s not a thing to simply appreciate a good-looking human. I must secretly want the D.”
I stared at Ward for a beat after she’d left. “You are an idiot.”
He smirked. “At least I didn’t fa
il trigonometry two years in a row.”
I shook my head. “Fuck you, Hopkins.”
He chuckled. “Right back at you, Holt.”
We were both silent for a bit. Predictably, Ward was the first to speak again. He squirmed in his seat, no doubt uncomfortable that no one was paying attention to him.
“So, aren’t you going to ask me what I want to talk about?”
“Nope.”
But that didn’t deter him. “I went to see Krista today.”
I inhaled sharply, trying my hardest to keep my rage in check.
A good man uses his wits. A good man uses his motherfucking wits.
But it was really hard to remember that when my ‘problems’ deserved to be pummeled into oblivion.
“Well,” I said, when I’d regulated my blood pressure enough not to stab him with the little knife Mindy used to cut orange wedges. “I hope you’ll be very happy together.”
Ward chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”
“Fuck you,” I bit out.
“Krista and I are not together,” he replied, completely ignoring me. “We never were, and we never will be.”
I shook my head stubbornly. “I saw you.”
The image was burned on the back of my eyelids, so that every time I closed my eyes, every time I so much as blinked, I saw the two of them locked in a passionate embrace.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill him or throw up. So I sat there, unmoving, trying to keep my breathing under control while I figured it out.
“What you saw,” Ward sighed, “was me being a drunken fool, and her trying to push me away.”
I shook my head. “No.”
No, that was not what had happened. Not at all.
“Yes,” he said, patiently, like he was talking to a toddler. “Believe me, she did not want to be kiss-mugged.”
My eyes fell closed as I let out a groan. If he’d used that phrase, he’d probably heard it from her. Which meant he was probably telling the truth about her not wanting to be kissed.
But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing that right now.