by Jude Hardin
“You got your shoes on the foot rail of a barstool at Jake’s Key West Saloon.”
She thought about it, and then started laughing. “All right, you got me,” she said. “I feel like such a sucker. And my daddy always told me to never take any bets in a bar.”
“You daddy’s a smart man.”
She pulled a five out of her purse. “Here you go,” she said.
Mark waved it off. “I’m not going to take your money, but I’ll let you buy me a drink.”
And that was how it started. Two days later, Mark and Danielle were screwing each other’s brains out and telling each other their love would last forever.
And it would. Mark was going to make sure of that. All he had to do was convince her to give him another chance.
He pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building, got out, walked to the stairwell and climbed to the second floor. Someone was doing laundry, and the air was filled with the scent of their dryer sheet fabric softener. The chemical perfume aggravated Mark’s allergies and exacerbated his hangover. Now he had a headache and a runny nose to go with the bloodshot eyes and sour stomach. It didn’t matter. He had diamonds and roses, and a smile Danielle couldn’t resist.
He knocked on the door. A guy wearing gym shorts answered. No shirt, no shoes. Full sleeve tats on both arms.
“Can I help you?”
“Who are you?” Mark asked. Maybe his tone was just a tad too aggressive, he decided, after the fact.
“Who am I?” the guy said. “I live here. Who are you? You selling something? There’s a sign posted over by the—”
“I’m not selling anything,” Mark said. He wondered if this asshole was Danielle’s new boyfriend. If so, this asshole was about to have his skull cracked open. “Where’s Danielle?”
“Who?”
“Danielle Wise.”
“Oh, Miss Wise. She don’t live here anymore.”
“Any idea where she might be?” Mark asked.
“Nope.”
Mark peeked over the guy’s shoulder. “Where is she, dude?”
“Look, I told you—wait, are you her ex-boyfriend? She said to call the cops if her ex ever showed up here. Said she was getting a restraining order against him. You’re not her ex, are you?”
The guy glanced at the white cardboard flower box under Mark’s arm.
“I’m just trying to make a delivery,” Mark said. “I don’t know anything about any boyfriend. If she’s not here, she’s not here. Have a nice day, sir.”
Mark turned and walked away. The apartment door slammed shut as he descended the stairs. He hadn’t heard anything about a restraining order, but he definitely didn’t need any run-ins with the police. Especially with a loaded handgun in his glove box. He was on probation for a marijuana bust, so any sort of trouble would land him in the county lockup for sure. No amount of money would buy him out of it this time. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t go to jail. That’s why he hadn’t come around Danielle’s apartment before. She’d threatened to call the cops on him for physical abuse.
So where the hell was she? She’d obviously subleased her apartment, but where did she go?
Before leaving the parking lot, Mark tried her phone again. Got voice mail again.
He left a message.
Danielle
Sunday Morning, St. Augustine
Danielle Wise had just climbed out of the shower and was toweling off when she heard her phone trill. Could it be Jason, the guy she’d met at the beach the other day? She hurried into her robe and darted to the coffee table in the living room, but the call had already gone to voice mail by the time she picked up the phone. She listened to the message:
“Hey, baby, it’s me. I just wanted to tell you again how sorry I am for everything that happened. It was all my fault. I realize that now. All I need is one more chance. Please. I love you, Danielle. I love you more than anything in the whole world. Please call me, baby. Talk to you soon.”
She disconnected, set the phone back on the coffee table, buried her face in her hands.
The call wasn’t from Jason Powers, as she’d hoped, but from her ex-boyfriend down in Key West.
Mark Taylor.
Supreme asshole.
Why was he still calling her? Couldn’t he take a hint?
Now she wished she really had filed for a restraining order. At least he was down there in Key West, and she was up here in St. Augustine. At least there were several hundred miles between them. Distance was a good thing.
She thought about it. She didn’t want to talk to Mark, but maybe it was time to nip this thing in the bud. She picked up the phone and tapped the button to call him back.
“Hey, baby!” he said. “Where are you? I went by your apartment and—”
“Listen, Mark. I’m going to make this short and sweet. I don’t want you calling this number anymore. Understand? We’re through. Period. End of story. You need to move on and leave me alone.”
“Look, babe, I know you’re mad, but you don’t mean that. You and me are soul mates. We were meant to be together.”
“I do mean it,” Danielle shouted. “What do I have to do to get through to you? Did you really think you could rough me up like you did and get away with it?”
“I’ll go to counseling for anger management,” Mark said. “I’ll start going to AA meetings again. Whatever it takes. I miss you, baby. I need you. I love you.”
Danielle felt like tearing her hair out. “Mark, it’s over. It. Is. Over! I’m seeing someone else, okay? Now leave me alone, or I’m going to—”
“Seeing who?” Mark said. “That guy at the apartment?”
“What?”
“Yeah, I saw him. That’s your man now? The guy with the horror comics stamped all over his arms? I’ll beat his inked-up ass to death. I’ll kill him.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Goodbye, Mark. Don’t call this number again. Ever.”
Danielle disconnected, dropped the phone into one of the front pockets of her bathrobe. She was rattled. Her fingers were trembling. She talked tough, but the truth was she hated confrontations. She avoided them like the plague. That was one reason she quit her job in Key West and took the traveling gig. Sure, she wanted to see the country, but she also wanted to avoid even the possibility of any future conflicts with the psycho drunken idiot she’d been stupid enough to get involved with in the first place.
Mark Taylor was a first-rate loser. Oh, he was good looking, and he could be very charming sometimes, and he had a nice car and a nice house and he bought her lots of nice things. And the sex, she had to admit, was fantastic. But all the guy did was drink. He hung out at Jake’s until four every night, grabbed some fast food on the way home, had sex and passed out. That was his life, seven days a week.
Danielle could party with the best of them, but she didn’t want to do it every day. She had to work, for one thing. She had to show up on time, and when she got there she literally had people’s lives in her hands. She had a lot of responsibility. And, as a medical professional, she knew it wasn’t even healthy to go out and get wasted every day. It was a one-way ticket to a short life.
It had been fun at first, but after a while it became obvious that Mark had a real problem. He was addicted to alcohol and cigarettes. He liked to smoke weed as well, although Danielle had always insisted he didn’t do that when she was around. All she needed was to inhale some secondhand marijuana smoke and pop positive on a drug test at work. She could lose her nursing license over something like that.
She grabbed a tissue from the dispenser on the coffee table, and wiped her eyes on the way back to the bathroom. She’d started putting some makeup on when her phone rang again. She didn’t recognize the number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, is this Danielle?”
“Yes.”
“Hey, it’s Jason. We met at the beach the other day.”
“Oh, hi,” Danielle said, trying hard not to let her voice betray the excite
ment she felt. “How are you?”
“Great. I was just wondering if you had any plans for lunch.”
“Today?”
“Sure. You know, if you want to. If you’re not busy or whatever.”
Damn. Danielle had promised to meet Jill Bennett, one of her co-workers at the hospital, for lunch and then shopping. Jill was taking a Jamaican cruise, and she wanted Danielle to help her pick out some clothes.
“I want to,” Danielle said. “But I can’t today.”
“Tomorrow?”
Danielle was scheduled to work 7P-7A at the hospital tomorrow night, which meant she would need to sleep some tomorrow afternoon. Lunch was doable, but she didn’t want her first date with Jason to seem rushed.
“This is going to sound awfully forward,” she said. “But would you like to come over to my place for dinner tonight? I cook a mean lasagna.”
“I love Italian food,” Jason said. “Sounds wonderful.”
“Around eight?”
“Sure.”
She gave him directions.
Mark
Sunday Afternoon, Key West
Mark couldn’t believe Danielle had hung up on him like that. Apparently this was going to take a little more time than he had counted on, and a little more effort. But he would prevail. He would get her back. No question about it.
The digital clock on his dashboard said 1:07. Still a little early for a drink, but he was going to be driving by Jake’s anyway so he might as well stop there for lunch. He had to eat somewhere.
He took a seat at the bar and ordered a Heineken draft. The beer was ice cold. It tasted great, and it took the edge off his hangover.
“You want something to eat?”
The bartender was a twenty-two-year-old blonde name Kris. She wore short shorts and a tank top and a gold chain with a tiny gold skull on it. Matching earrings.
“Cheeseburger and fries,” Mark said. “Go ahead and start me a tab.”
She punched some keys on the register. “So how you been? I haven’t seen you around in a while.”
“I was here last night. I’m here almost every night.”
“Ah. I’ve been working days for a few weeks,” Kris said. “Guess that’s why I haven’t seen you. How’s Danielle?”
“Don’t ask.”
“Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?”
“You could say that.” Mark sucked down the last few ounces from his glass. “Let me get another one of these.”
Kris poured the beer and set it on the bar in front of him. “So you guys break up, or what?”
“Just a temporary setback. Why you so curious?”
“Just asking?”
“Admit it, Kris. You’ve always wanted to jump my bones, and you’re thinking this might be your chance.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
She walked to the other side of the bar to serve a young couple who’d strolled in.
Kris was hot, no doubt about it. And single. Mark wondered what time she got off work. Maybe a roll in the hay was just what the doctor ordered. Maybe it would help take his mind off Danielle for a while.
But no, he needed to be true. Word would get around, and that would give her even more ammunition against him. Mark Taylor didn’t want another woman. Mark Taylor wanted Danielle Wise, and Mark Taylor always got what he wanted. Always.
His food came. He bit into the burger, washed it down with a swig of beer.
“Hey Kris, you got some ketchup back there?”
She reached under the bar and handed him a plastic dispenser. “You need mustard?”
“No, I’m good. Hey, you ever see a guy around here with all kinds of scary stuff tattooed on his arms? Vampires and shit like that?”
“Smitty?”
“That his name?”
“Yeah, he’s all right. A little weird, maybe. But, you know, everybody in Key West is a little weird, right?”
“What do you mean by a little weird?” Mark asked.
“Be right back.”
Three guys had sauntered in, and had taken a seat at a table against the wall. Kris abandoned her post at the bar, walked over to see what they wanted.
Mark dragged a French fry through the ketchup he’d squirted on his plate. Jake’s had the best fries. They were cut from real potatoes and fried in a skillet, in peanut oil. Not taken out of the freezer and dumped into a vat of dirty grease, like most places. And the hamburger meat was made from choice grain-fed beef. Nothing but the best. A cheeseburger and fries at Jake’s Key West Saloon would set you back twenty bucks, but it was worth it. It was worth every penny.
Kris took a pitcher of beer and some menus to the three guys at the table, returned to the back bar and asked Mark if he wanted another beer.
“What do you mean by a little weird?” Mark asked again.
“Oh, Smitty? You know, just a little weird. That’s all.”
“In what way?”
“I guess I really shouldn’t talk about one customer in front of another, but, you know, just some of the things he says sometimes.”
“Like what?” Mark asked.
“Like he was in here a few weeks ago, and out of the blue he said he sure wouldn’t mind nailing his new landlady. Those were his words. Nailing her. Like I really wanted to hear that crap. Then he started talking about the basketball game on TV, as if one thing had something to do with the other. I guess you had to be there. Anyway, he’s just weird.”
“It takes all kinds,” Mark said.
“Yeah. You never know who’s going to come through that door and sit at this bar. You want another beer?”
“Yeah. And a shot of Cuervo.”
Mark slammed the shot, and then ordered another. The longer he sat there, and the more he drank, the angrier he got about the guy living in Danielle’s apartment. About the guy who wanted to nail the love of his life.
Danielle
Sunday Night, St. Augustine
Danielle pulled the pan of lasagna out of the oven at 7:46. Shopping all afternoon had left her tired and hungry. She hadn’t eaten any breakfast that morning, and all she’d had for lunch was half an order of potato skins at T.G.I. Friday’s. The lasagna smelled delicious, and she was tempted to take a couple of early bites. But she didn’t. She pulled some vegetables out of the refrigerator and started building a big bowl of salad. At 7:57 the doorbell rang.
She looked through the peephole. It was Jason. He was wearing khaki pants and a white polo. He looked nice. Danielle opened the door.
“Hey,” she said. “Come on in.”
Jason stepped inside, and Danielle closed the door. She latched the security chain.
“Expecting intruders?” Jason asked.
She laughed. “Force of habit.”
“I brought this. Hope it’s okay.”
He handed her a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.
“Perfect,” she said. “Thanks. Actually, I forgot to buy any wine. If you hadn’t brought this, we would have had diet Dr. Pepper with dinner.”
Jason grinned. “Well, there’s a liquor store right down the street. I can always go back for more.”
“This should be fine. Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
“Smells wonderful.”
Jason offered to help, but Danielle insisted he sit at the table while she finished up in the kitchen. She handed him a corkscrew to open the wine.
“You know what you’re doing?” she asked.
“I think I’ll manage,” he said, flashing that killer smile of his.
Danielle walked to the kitchen, cut the lasagna with a spatula, put two of the steaming squares on plates. She loaded a pair of salad bowls with romaine lettuce and cherry tomatoes and cucumber slices, and then drizzled on some homemade olive oil and vinegar dressing.
“You like black pepper on your salad?” she shouted.
“Love it,” Jason said.
She ground some peppercorns over the veggies and then started carrying everything to the dining room. Jason had pour
ed two glasses of wine and was sipping from one of them as she set the salad bowls on the table.
“Looks delicious,” he said.
“Wait till you see the lasagna.”
She went back and grabbed the plated entrees. When everything was finally situated, she sat across from Jason and tasted the wine.
“Very good,” she said.
“I don’t really know anything about wine, but the guy at the liquor store said this should be good with lasagna.”
“You could have lied, you know. You could have led me to believe you were some kind of connoisseur.”
“I could have, I guess. Not really my style. I believe honesty is the best policy.”
“Always?”
“Pretty much. Yeah. In most circumstances.”
“Sometimes patients ask me things,” Danielle said. “Questions I’m not sure how to answer. For example, the other day a sixty-two-year-old woman asked me if she was going to die. I mean, those were her exact words. ‘Am I going to die, Danielle?’ On her chart I saw they’d done some scans and biopsies, saw that she’d been diagnosed with stage-four breast cancer. The original tumor had spread to her lungs and her brain. What was I supposed to say? ‘Yes, ma’am. You have a terminal illness and you’ll only be with us a few more months at the most. You should start getting your affairs in order immediately.’ That would have been the honest answer. But was it the right answer?”
Jason took a bite of lasagna. “Damn. This is good.” He washed it down with a sip of wine. “I don’t know. If it was me, I think I would want to be told the truth. But shouldn’t the doctors be the ones to tell her those things?”
“They should be, but apparently nobody had discussed her diagnosis with her yet. That’s the thing. I was put on the spot. I had the information she wanted, but I didn’t want to be the one to tell her. It really wasn’t even my responsibility to tell her.”
“So what did you say?”
“I played it safe. I passed the buck. I told her the doctors would make rounds in the morning, and that she should discuss her prognosis and treatment options with them. She didn’t press me on it, but she had a hard time letting go of my hand. I think she knew.”