by Claire Adams
She rolled her eyes melodramatically.
“Fine. How's Jane?”
“Not good, not good at all. She's running a fever of 105 degrees.”
“Yeah, that's not good.”
At that moment, a doctor came out to speak to us.
“Are you the parents of Jane?” he asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “I'm her father, and this is her mother.”
“Alright. Well, I have some bad news. Jane seems to have picked up a very serious stomach infection. We've given her a strong dose of antibiotics, but this infection is really giving her immune system a rough time. I would recommend that you stay here tonight. We're moving her into a room. There’s a recliner and a bench in there, they're not the most comfortable things to sleep on, unfortunately, but it can be done.”
“Oh man,” whined Susan. “I don't want to sleep on a hospital bench.”
“Are you... are you intoxicated, miss?” asked the doctor.
“We've, uh, we've had a few drinks tonight,” replied Ricky.
“You know what,” I said. “You two just go home and sleep it off. I'll stay here with Jane tonight. Go, just go. I'll call you in the morning.”
“Oh uh, alright, but call me,” mumbled Susan. “Come on, Ricky, let's go.”
“Uh, bye, Everett,” mumbled Ricky as he and Susan stumbled out.
I stared at them in angry silence as they left, and shook my head. Still, I managed to stay relatively calm.
“The child's mother is not particularly responsible, is she?” muttered the doctor.
“No, she's not. But anyway, doc, please take me to Jane. I'd like to be with my daughter now.”
“This way, Mr. James, this way...”
Chapter Eleven
Vivienne
“So what are your names?” I asked the guys as we stood up to follow them to the dance floor. “I'm Vivienne, and this is my friend Angie.”
“I'm Nick,” said one. He had broad shoulders, a strong jaw, deep-set brown eyes and short dark hair that was stylishly cut.
“And I'm Paul,” said the other. He was powerfully-built, with muscles bulging through his dress shirt. He was darkly tanned, and this made his bright blue eyes stand out even more. His blond hair was also fashionably cut and styled.
“And uh, how old are you guys, if you don't mind us asking?” asked Angie, smiling flirtatiously.
“I'm 22,” Nick said.
“And I'm 23,” Paul replied.
I couldn't help but chuckle; these were some young guys.
“So are you guys out cougar hunting or what?” asked Angie with a wink and a smile.
“Cougars?” Nick laughed. “You girls are our age. Don't be ridiculous.”
“Really?” I asked. “You guys think we're the same age as you?”
“No older than 22, I'm certain of that,” replied Paul, his perfect white teeth glowing in the UV light.
“Alright, yeah, we're 22,” said Angie, throwing a wink my way.
“Ha! I knew it!” exclaimed Nick. “Come on, trying to pull that 'cougar' crap on us! Lame joke, ladies, lame joke. Now, let's get downstairs and have some fun on the dance floor.”
“But first,” interjected Paul. “We have to buy you ladies drinks. What are you having?”
“I don't know if I can handle anymore,” I said, leaning over to Angie and whispering in her ear.
She waved a dismissive hand my way.
“Oh come on, it's Friday night! You don't have anywhere to be tomorrow. And do I need to remind you about the jerk who stood you up earlier tonight? Come on, Viv, if you give up and call it quits now, he wins! You'll just go home and end up feeling miserable about the whole thing. I say, let's let these hot young things buy us another drink, and then we'll get down with them on the dance floor.”
“I dunno, Angie, I'm just... I don't like drinking that much, you know, and I'm already tipsy...”
“Yeah, and you're probably feeling like you're some unattractive bag after jerk-face stood you up earlier. There's nothing that'll give your self-esteem a boost like a hot, younger guy drooling all over you and making you feel like you're a goddess. Trust me on this.”
I sighed. She was right, in a way; I was feeling terrible about the fact that Everett had stood me up earlier, and yes, despite how good I knew I looked all dolled up, some reassurance from an attractive guy certainly wouldn't hurt matters.
“Alright,” I said. “Let's do this.”
Angie beamed a broad grin at me.
“Perfect. You're gonna have such a great time, Viv, you really are.”
She then turned to Nick and Paul.
“I'll have another Long Island Iced Tea, please,” she said. “And so will my friend.”
“Coming right up,” Nick said. “Paul will go get the drinks. Now, would you two like to follow me down to the dance floor?”
He took Angie's hand in his and led her downstairs, with me following along behind them.
“The night is only just beginning, ladies!” he said, and with that, we made our way to the dance floor.
The music was loud, and the bass was so deep I could feel it pulsing through my insides. This wasn't the sort of environment I liked being in, to be honest, but it was good to have a distraction like this after what had happened with Everett earlier.
Nick and Angie started dancing together, and it was obvious that Nick had pretty good rhythm and a set of pretty fancy moves in him. He and Angie started moving closer and closer together, and I could see that she was into him.
Suddenly, someone tapped on my shoulder, and I turned around and saw Paul standing there with a couple of drinks. He handed me one of the Long Island Iced Teas and then gave the other to Angie.
“Thanks!” I said with a smile, sipping on it immediately. This one felt particularly strong, and to be honest, I wasn't entirely sure whether I'd actually be able to finish it.
“How is it?” Paul asked as he started to move with the beat of the music across from me.
“Very strong,” I replied with a laugh.
“Just how it should be then,” he replied, grinning suggestively. “And that's not the only strong thing around here,” he continued. He flexed his muscles, which looked as if they were going to rip through his shirt.
“Whoa, don't do that too much,” I commented with a chuckle. “You don't wanna rip that shirt to shreds.”
He grinned lasciviously.
“Or maybe I do. Girls always prefer me without a shirt,” he joked.
“Uh, let's keep your shirt on in here, I think,” I replied. He was very obviously hitting on me, and maybe it shouldn’t have, but it made me a little uncomfortable.
“Sure, I can keep it on in here. But you'll really enjoy taking it off me later; I guarantee that. And you're gonna love what you find under it. But there's something else on my body that you're gonna love even more.”
I laughed uncomfortably. “Oh, I don't think anything like that is gonna happen,” I said, sipping on my drink.
“You say that now,” he countered. “But you haven't even given me a chance yet.”
He moved in closer to me, dancing with slick, sensual rhythm. Admittedly, he was crazy attractive, and his dancing was incredibly fluid and sexy, but I wasn't interested. To tell the truth, as much as Everett had hurt me by standing me up, I still couldn't get him off my mind.
“Come on, girl,” he said, grinding himself against me. “Move with me, feel the rhythm of the music. Feel the rhythm of my body, against your body...”
The song changed and a Latin-infused tune came on, very sensual and sexy with its slow, hypnotic rhythms and beats.
“Mm, this is my kinda jam,” Paul murmured as he pressed himself against me and started grinding on my thighs with his groin. He slipped his hands down to the small of my back and pulled me almost forcefully against him so that my crotch was pressing against his. Then he started grinding and rubbing aggressively against me and moving his hands up toward my breasts.
> This was the last straw. I'd had enough. I pushed him away and shook my head, glaring at him.
“No!” I snapped. “I hardly know you! That's not okay, alright?”
The expression on his face morphed from one of lust into one of anger. “There's no need to be such a stuck-up bitch about it,” he snarled. “Hell, every girl in this club wants to be with me. You should be feeling privileged that I'm giving my attention to you.”
“Then I suggest you go grind on one of them,” I said as politely as I could muster.
I looked across at Angie. She was grinding eagerly with Nick on the dance floor and seemed like she was totally into all of this.
“Angie!” I said in her ear, “I don't like this. I want to go.”
She looked over at me. “Are you crazy? These smokin' hot guys are totally into us!”
“Look, I'm not comfortable. I really want to go; I've had enough clubbing for one night,” I told her.
“Are you okay taking a taxi by yourself?” she asked. “Sorry, it's just that... I really like Nick, and I'm having a great time.”
I started feeling guilty. I didn't want to ruin Angie's night just because I wasn't having a great time. I didn't really feel safe taking a taxi by myself, but again, I would feel terrible wrecking Angie's night, and I didn't want her to resent me for it.
“Sure,” I said. “Yeah, I'll be fine getting a taxi by myself. I'll send you a message when I'm home safe. Please do the same for me, even if you get back at like three in the morning or something, just so I know you're safe.”
“I'll do that, Viv. Thanks for being an awesome friend. I really owe you one.”
“No problem, Angie. I'll see you tomorrow, maybe. Have a great night.”
“Bye, Viv.”
I turned to Paul and handed him the rest of my drink. “Here, you can have this. I'm going home now.”
“What? Don't be ridiculous. Just calm down, finish this drink, and—”
“No. I said I'm going home now, and that's what I intend to do. Have a nice night, Paul.”
Before he could say anything else, I turned around and hurried back up the stairs, heading straight for the entrance. I'd seen a few taxis waiting outside when we had arrived, and hoped some would still be hovering around now. But, no such luck. When I walked out to the front, there wasn’t a taxi in sight.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. I got out my phone, googled the number of a local taxi company, and gave them a call. I was assured a taxi would be there in a few minutes.
I was eyeing a nearby lamppost and about to use it for support since I was feeling a bit weary and tipsy when a somewhat familiar voice spoke in my ear from behind me.
“You can't go home now, Vivienne.”
I turned around and found Paul standing there, glaring at me.
“Uh, yeah, actually I can,” I replied, my tone holding a hint of defiance. “Who are you to tell me what to do? I only just met you a few minutes ago... and to be frank, I don't think I want to have anything more to do with you.”
“Nobody rejects me,” he snarled. “No girl rejects me.”
Flashbacks of Simon blasted through my head, making what would typically be an already scary situation even scarier for me.
“Look, I'm not trying to offend you, it's nothing personal,” I stammered taking a small step away from him. “It's just that I'm really tired and in a bad mood, and I just need to go home and chill out by myself.”
“You didn't even give me a chance,” he replied angrily. “And like I said, no girl says no to me. You're with me now, and we are going to dance now, and you are going to come back to my place later. Trust me, you'll be begging for this body in a few hours, babe, you'll be drooling.”
“Um, I don't think so,” I replied, stepping away from him more blatantly.
He lunged forward and grabbed my wrist, squeezing it tightly with his powerful hand.
“Hey! Let go! That hurts, let go of me!” I demanded.
“I told you,” he growled through clenched teeth. “You and me are going back inside to dance! That's what we're doing now!”
“I think those steroids you're on have taken hold of your brain!” I snapped, my anger now awoken. “And if you don't let go of me this instant, I'm gonna press charges against you!”
Just then a loud horn honked behind us.
“Taxi for a Miss Andrews,” the driver said as he got out. He was a chubby guy with long gray hair, a thick gray goatee, and a bandanna tied around his head. He looked like he was in his 60s.
“Hey,” he said as he saw me struggling against Paul's grip. “What the heck is going on here?”
“This guy won't let me go!” I cried.
“Back off, Son,” the taxi driver commanded. “This lady wants to go, and that's all that counts. She says no, she means it.”
“You best step back, Grandpa,” Paul snarled, his eyes wild with wrath. “I can bench press 300 pounds. I'll snap you like a twig.”
The taxi driver lifted his shirt to reveal a revolver tucked into his belt. He curled his fingers around the hand grip of the revolver, but didn’t pull it out.
“And I'm a veteran of the Vietnam War,” he growled. “I've killed more men than I care to count – and those were battle-hardened soldiers throwing grenades and shooting AK-47 rounds at me, not spoiled trust-fund gym rats like you who'd wet their pants at the first whiff of real danger. Now, get your hands off the lady and get out of here before you piss me off.”
Reluctantly, Paul let go of my wrist and stepped back, scowling and muttering under his breath.
“You just missed out on the greatest night of your life, you dumb cow,” he snarled. “Your loss, not mine. Every girl in that club would have killed for the opportunity I just gave you, but you blew it. Whatever, I don't even give a crap.”
He turned around and stormed back into the bar.
“You alright there, miss?” the taxi driver asked.
“I'm okay, yeah. Thank you so much for helping me,” I said. “I really appreciate that.”
“No problem. Being a taxi driver and working the night shift on weekends, I’m afraid I get to see a lot of behavior like that, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I'm just happy that I was able to step in and help you out there.”
“Thank you. I really, really appreciate it.”
“Don't mention it. Come on, get in. Where am I taking you?” He opened the back door of the taxi for me.
I slid into the car and gave him my address, and we left, chatting along the way. He was a really nice old guy, and I took his card for future occasions in which I might need a taxi driver. I said goodbye and then trudged up onto my porch. He sat and waited until I was safely inside my house before he drove off. I couldn't help but peek through the shade covering the glass of my front door across at Everett's house. The lights were off. I guessed he was passed out drunk or something.
“Why did you do that?” I said to the house. “Why did you stand me up like that, without even a word or a phone call? I thought you were different, Everett, I really thought you were different.”
Shaking my head, I dropped my purse and keys on the entryway table and went straight to bed.
***
I was having my morning coffee, reading the newspaper and feeling slightly hungover when my doorbell rang.
“Just a minute,” I yelled as I got up and headed over to a mirror to make sure I looked alright just in case it was someone aside from Mrs. Dobbins.
A t-shirt and shorts with my tied my hair up in a messy bun wasn’t exactly my best look, but despite how I felt, I did look okay.
I walked over to the front door and resisted peeking through the shade before I opened it. My jaw dropped when I found Everett standing there holding a huge bouquet of flowers in his hands.
“Miss Andrews,” he said, looking slightly embarrassed. “I am deeply, deeply sorry about what happened last night. But trust me, there is a good explanation for it all, if you'll only give me five minut
es of your time to explain everything.”
Chapter Twelve
Everett
“Everett?” Vivienne said, looking quite surprised to see me standing on her porch with a bouquet of flowers in hand. “I uh, well... yeah, yeah you do have a bit of explaining to do.”
I hung my head with shame. “I cannot begin to tell you how deeply sorry I am for standing you up last night.”
“It wasn't the best way to make a good impression, I'm afraid,” she said. “And I ended up having a pretty crappy evening, I'm sorry to say.”
“Damn. That makes me feel even worse about the whole thing. Please take these flowers, and please, please just give me a chance to explain why things went the way they did last night,” I begged as I held the flowers out toward her. “It was a total disaster for me, as well, if that makes it any better.”
“Hmm, I'm not sure if it does, to be honest. But... I'll give you a chance to explain yourself,” she said and reached forward to accept the bouquet of flowers from me.
A sigh of relief escaped my lungs as she did; at least I hadn't blown the whole thing entirely.
“Come on in,” she said. “Would you like a cup a coffee? I've just finished brewing a fresh pot.”
“Yes, please, that'd be great,” I said.
“How do you like it?”
“Black, actually. No sugar.”
She smiled, and a rush of joy rippled through me at the sight of that lovely smile.
“Just how I like it, myself.”
“It's the only way to have coffee,” I replied. “None of this milk and sugar crap... that's for amateurs!”
She laughed: an even better sign. Maybe I did have a decent chance of sorting all of this out.
“Go on and have a seat over on the sofa,” she said. “I just want to put these flowers in a vase, and then I'll join you with the coffee.”
“Sure thing,” I said.
She walked off into the kitchen, and I couldn't help but stare at the seductive sway of her hips as she walked. She looked unbelievably good in those short shorts and that t-shirt. I wanted to tell her such, although, considering what I'd done the night before, I didn't think now was at all the appropriate time to compliment her on such things. Instead, I simply sat on the sofa and gently rubbed my still-aching gunshot wound. I was definitely going to leave that part out of the story, though. I didn't want her to freak out.