by Claire Adams
“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 minutes 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?”
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.
She came into the living room a few minutes later with a steaming hot cup of coffee, which she handed to me.
“Thanks, this smells great,” I remarked.
“It's good coffee – I’m a bit of a coffee snob. Life is too short to drink cheap coffee.”
I chuckled. “I agree fully.”
She sat down in an easy chair across from me and stared at me intently with those beautiful eyes of hers.
“So, Mr. James,” she said. “Are you going to tell me why you stood me up last night?”
I breathed in deeply before I began. I obviously didn't want to just unload all of the details of what had transpired on her. All morning I had been thinking of a condensed version of events to tell her. One that would let her know that I was involved with some serious stuff, but not give too much away, and also not make her too worried about the prospect of going out with me again…for the first time.
“Alright, well, let me start with a bit of background information.”
“Sure, background info is good.”
“As you know, I've just started as principal of JFK High. And at the school, there's a pretty serious drug problem. Have you heard of this new drug called Rocket?”
She nodded. “I heard about it on the radio the other day. It sounds like scary stuff.”
“It is scary stuff, and it's getting into JFK in a pretty bad way. Myself and the deputy principal, we're on a mission to get Rocket out of the school. Targeting the kids who use it, however, doesn't fix the problem, it only treats the symptoms. We want to go after the root – the guys who distribute it and sell it at high schools.”
“A noble endeavor, but isn't that something the cops should be doing?” she asked.
“They're on it, but they're not making any headway. That's why the deputy principal and myself have taken matters into our own hands. Anyway, we managed to get an inside source, someone who is working for these scumbag drug dealers. And last night, at 7:15, just as I was getting ready to come over and pick you up, I got a call from this source, an urgent call. He said I needed to be at a certain place in less than 10 minutes to catch one of the major kingpin dealers. Of course, I raced off to do this, figuring I'd call you on my way to meet him to let you know I'd be late. However, in my haste – and I fully acknowledge that this is my fault and that I should have known better – I left my phone on my dresser. So, I got halfway to the apartment building where the dealers were meeting, looked for my phone to call you, and found that I had left it at home. That's why when you tried to call me, I didn't answer. And then, by the time it was all over, I got back and tried to call you, but your phone was off.”
“Did you at least catch the guys?” she asked.
I sighed heavily and slumped back into the cushion of the sofa. “No... they got away.”
“That's a pity.”
“Yeah, it is, it really is. But there's more. Jane came down with a bad stomach infection and was running a high fever last night. I had to rush her to the hospital at two o' clock in the morning.”
Vivienne’s face changed completely. I could see that she had been a little skeptical about my drug bust story, but when she heard this, a look of genuine concern came across her face.
“Oh no! Is she alright?”
I sighed and looked away.
“I don't know, Vivienne, I don't know. I stayed by her side all night. She was crying a lot, in and out with the meds, sweating like crazy. They managed to finally bring the fever down a little this morning, but she's still not doing so great. She’s sleeping right now and the babysitter is sitting with her at the hospital in case she wakes up before I get back.”
“I'm so, so sorry to hear that,” she said softly. “And... I'm sorry that I totally misjudged you, and thought you stood me up for no good reason. One question though: I went out to meet a friend last night, and on the way out, I saw a man driving you back to your place. You looked kind of... well, you looked like you'd had a few beers. Would you mind putting my mind at ease and explaining that?”
Shit. I hadn't counted on her seeing that. I literally had three seconds to decide on the best course of action to take here. Should I come clean and show her the gunshot wound?
The truth was always the best policy, and I figured that sooner or later she would probably find out about it anyway – it had created a decent wound and there was no doubt going to be a scar – so I went ahead and told her.
“Yeah, uh, that guy was an old buddy of mine. A doctor, kinda. You see, there's something about the drug bust thing that I kind of left out.”
“Well, go on, let me hear it,” she urged.
“I, uh, I got shot last night.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “Shot?! You mean, with a gun?! A real, you know, a gun?!”
I nodded.
“What?! Why didn't you say anything earlier? Are you alright, are you hurt? What are you even doing here, shouldn't you be in the hospital or something?!”
“It's alright, seriously. It’s just a flesh wound. Luckily the bullet didn't hit anything that mattered much. It went straight through. My buddy cleaned the wound and stitched it up. I'll be right as rain in a few days.”
“But... but... it's a freakin' gunshot wound!”
I chuckled. “They're not always fatal, and sometimes they're not even that serious. Last night, I was lucky. Well, unlucky to have gotten shot, but lucky that it wasn't a much more serious injury.”
“Uh, yeah I guess you could look at it like that,” she muttered, looking uncertain. “But seriously... are you okay?”
I could see she was genuinely concerned for my well-being, and I had to admit it felt pretty good to have someone actually care. “I really am, trust me.”
I wanted to tell her this wasn’t new territory for me and certainly wasn't the first gunshot wound I'd ever received, but that would be opening up a whole new can of worms, and I wasn't quite ready for that yet. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was nine o' clock.
“I need to get going. I need to head over to the hospital to check on Jane. Um, thanks so much for allowing me to explain all of this, Vivienne,” I said. “If it's alright with you, perhaps you would allow me to take you out tomorrow night if Jane is feeling better? I promise I'll make everything up to you.”
She smiled subtly. “Perhaps I'll allow you to do just that,” she said. “But there's something I want to ask you first.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
“Could I come to the hospital with you to visit Jane? Maybe I can help cheer her up. She and I got along so well the other night.”
I smiled. “Sure thing. You ready to go?”
“Yep. Let me just change and get my handbag.”
***
I sat on the hospital bench exhausted and worried. The doctors still hadn't been able to get Jane's condition to improve much. She had been happy to see Vivienne, but the strength and intensity of her fever had soon
overwhelmed her.
“I hate to see her like this,” Vivienne remarked. “I can't imagine how worrying and stressful it must be for you, as her father.”
“It is,” I replied. “Believe me, it really is.”
“Can I... can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, go ahead.”
“Where is Jane's mother?” she asked.
I figured she would have eventually asked about this subject. It was alright; as touchy as it was for me, I was prepared to talk to her about it.
“She was here last night... briefly.”
“Oh.” Vivienne sounded surprised. I imagined, perhaps, that she likely thought that Jane's mother was dead.
“Yeah. Susan – that's her name – she and her boyfriend, Ricky, they stopped by. They were both a little drunk, probably just got out of some damn nightclub.”
“Ah... I see. So, you two are uh, you're divorced?”
“Yeah, we are. Susan walked out of our marriage when Jane was only a few months old. She never could accept that she needed to grow up and be responsible, and not even having a child seemed to be able to change her perspective. That jerk she's with, Ricky, he's a promoter for various nightclubs, so they always get in for free and get drinks cheap or free, too. They're both booze hounds; she always did love her drinking, but it got worse after she had Jane. And before you ask, she did somehow manage to stay sober during the pregnancy. I think those were the toughest nine months of her life, though; no bottle to down every night for that long. I think that's what drove her over the edge and made her leave. I wanted her to stay sober. I mean, not be a teetotaler or anything, have a drink once in a while, but not hammering it every night like she was used to doing. She just couldn't do it, though. Just couldn't do it. Having a carefree, party-girl lifestyle was more important to her than me or her own child... so that's what she chose.”
As I had been speaking, Vivienne had slipped her fingers through mine, and now she was squeezing my hand tightly. I looked up and saw her staring at me with tears in her eyes and genuine empathy and compassion written raw across her face.