by Kathy Love
CHAPTER 3
“Damn it,” Jolee muttered as she dropped another glass. Her third of the night. At least this one didn’t break.
She couldn’t afford new barware.
“What’s got you so preoccupied tonight?” Jed asked.
She smiled at the old man who had sort of come with the bar. He lived in a building, which was no better than a shack, really, out behind the bar. Jolee had agreed that for his rent, he could handle the janitorial duties for the bar.
“Nothing. Just a clumsy night, I guess.”
He nodded, but she didn’t think he believed her. He was right not to, because everything was on her mind tonight. Vance’s attack. Money. Her arrogant, rude neighbor with his snooty airs.
Money was certainly the biggest concern. After all, she’d spent years worrying about her degenerate siblings, and that had never done any good. She needed to expend her energies on her bar. And making it work.
The bar was relatively busy for a Wednesday night, which meant about twenty patrons. And twenty patrons a night wasn’t going to keep her in business. But even with that very real worry, it was her condescending neighbor who’d been eating at her. Popping back into her mind over and over. Making her clumsy.
She didn’t understand why. Maybe because she’d really hoped they might become friends. But he’d made it clear that wasn’t happening. And as disappointed as she was to discover her neighbor was not friend material, she was even more bothered by his insult. So he thought she wasn’t pretty. She could handle that. It was what else he’d implied that had cut her to the quick. His mocking comment had also implied she wasn’t classy enough to have some fancy French name.
And that bothered her, because it was the same crap she’d heard her whole life. Her family was no good. She was no good. But she was more than her last name— or her first name, for that matter. She knew that, and she intended to prove it.
Her confrontation with Vance and her neighbor’s comment just had her resolve a little shaken. But both men had shown her she just had to work harder to prove she could be a success.
She looked around the bar she’d owned for almost three months. She could do this. Other people’s opinions didn’t mean squat. She sighed. How many times had she given herself the same pep talk while growing up? But this time she meant it. Two jerks weren’t going to stop her.
She got a new glass and filled the bottom with two fingers of rum, then she topped that off with ice and cola. She repeated the process two more times, setting each drink on a round tray. She picked up the tray and went out to deliver the drinks. Then she cleared some of the glasses from other tables, still chanting to herself that she could make this bar into a successful business. She had to.
“Hey, sweet cheeks, another pitcher over here.”
Jolee nodded in acknowledgement without looking toward the table. She set down her tray of empty beer mugs, then turned her back to the long, dark wood counter. Bracing her hands on the edge, she levered herself up onto the nicked wooden surface and swung her legs around to jump down on the other side. She heard a whistle as she performed her little feat of acrobatics, but she ignored it. Whistles and cat calls seemed to come with the territory of being a bar owner. Well, a female bar owner anyway.
She quickly placed the dirty mugs into the sink filled with hot, soapy water, then she turned to grab a clean pitcher. Patsy Cline’s “Walking After Midnight” played on the ancient jukebox against the far wall between the doorways of the ladies’ and men’s rooms.
As she filled the pitcher, she lined up three more glasses and poured shots of Jack Daniels into each. Not only was it busy, but the patrons were drinking. Always good in a bar.
Well, sort of good. As she loaded another tray, she cast a glance toward the table of men who insisted on using that lovely little nickname for her. The five men actually looked a bit more respectable than some of her other patrons in their tucked-in shirts, loosened ties, and chinos. But as they drank, they’d gotten louder and ruder. Several times they had attempted to touch her as she delivered drinks to them.
Patrons did that, but it was usually meant in good fun. A laugh and a flip comment would make things cool again. She hoped the same would be true with these men. They seemed a little more forward, and cockier. And they seemed interested in her.
Even now, one of them in a blue button-down shirt and pressed dark blue pants stared at her as she finished loading her tray. And she knew he wasn’t checking on the status of his beer.
“Good night,” Jed commented in his gravelly voice, jerking a head toward the very full tray.
Jolee wiped the back of her hand across her brow to push her sweaty hair away from her face, and smiled. “Not bad.”
“I’d watch them boys, though,” he rasped around the cigarette he was lighting. Again he gestured with his head to the table she was already well aware of.
“Yeah, I am.” This was the first night she actually felt like she might have a real problem with her customers. On the whole, her patrons just wanted some cold beer and a little conversation. But those men, they seemed like trouble.
She glanced back at the table. The same guy and one of his pals watched her.
Dale Timmons, a regular since she’d reopened the place, waved to her that he’d like another beer. She smiled to let him know that she saw him. She reached down to the shelf beside her and grabbed a mug, filling it. Before she headed back to the floor, she walked down the bar to give Dale his beer.
“Busy, eh?” Dale, a man in his fifties in his ever-present John Deere baseball cap, smiled at her. As usual, Jolee had the inclination to give the older man a hug— his gray eyes always seemed filled with such sadness, like a lost hound dog.
“Yeah, not too bad, but it could always be busier,” she said with an easy smile.
Dale nodded. “It will be. Just give it time.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.” Jolee only had so much time to give. Money had to start coming in.
“When are you getting the karaoke going?” Dale asked, as he had every now and then since Leo’s Brew Pub and Karaoke Saloon reopened under her management.
Jolee had specifically bought the bar because the place was equipped with a karaoke sound system, the monitors to show the lyrics, and thousands of songs, just waiting to be sung by talented and untalented patrons alike.
“Well, if I can keep business steady, I should be able to start again soon.” Lord, she hoped. “I’d have to hire another person to tend bar while I ran the sound system. And right now, finances are just a little too tight for me to hire anyone.”
Dale nodded again. “It’ll come.”
“Hey, sweet cheeks,” one of the men from the questionable table called to her. “Are you going to bring us our beer or what?”
She jerked her head in response, then offered Dale a quick smile. “Just keep coming, Dale, and I’ll get this place going again.”
Dale smiled, the smile not meeting his sad gray eyes. “Will do.”
Jolee picked up the heavy tray and walked the length of the bar to exit out onto the floor. She delivered all the other drinks, leaving the pitcher for last. As she approached, all the men watched her with eager expressions, and she knew the anticipation wasn’t for the beer.
“Thanks, babe,” the blue-shirted man said as she leaned forward to place the pitcher in the center of the table.
She forced a polite smile, then turned to leave, but the man snagged her wrist, pulling her to a halt.
“Where are you going so fast?”
“I have work to do,” she stated, yanking her wrist out of the man’s tight hold.
The man held up his hands in a pose of surrender. “No need to get so touchy. We’d just like to chat with you awhile.”
A couple of the other men snickered, but Jolee ignored them.
“Well, as I said” — she forced another smile— “I don’t have time.” Nor the inclination, but she didn’t add that. Best to play it polite. Money was money
— even from overbearing jerks.
“Oh, come on, it’s not too busy. Have a seat.” He gestured with his thumb for the man next to him to stand, which he did. The blue-shirted guy nudged the chair back farther with his foot.
“Come on, sit.”
Jolee shook her head. “No. Sorry.” She started away from the table, furious with herself that these jerks were making her nervous. She’d have to learn to deal with more than this. She knew that.
“Playing hard to get, huh?” The comment was followed by loud chuckles.
Jolee stopped, spinning back to them. “Maybe I am hard to get.”
One of the men whistled and nudged the blue-shirted guy. She started back to the bar.
“Well, playing hard to get is fine as long as I get some eventually.”
Jolee spun around again, even as her better judgment told her to just go back to the bar. Check on her other patrons. Something.
“What did you say?” she demanded from the blue-shirted guy. He seemed to be the ringleader of the group.
The man looked untroubled by her sharp question. “Nothing to get all het up about.”
She glared at them. Just stay calm. Blow it off. They’ve been drinking. But her thoughts didn’t calm her.
“I think maybe you gentlemen should leave.”
The man smiled, unfazed by her suggestion. She noted that his teeth were white and straight and utterly wasted on him. “That’s not very hospitable of you. But you could make it up to me.”
He stood up. He wasn’t overly tall, about eye level with Jolee, but he was wide with muscled shoulders and a barrel chest.
She stepped back from him, her bottom bumping a chair behind her.
“What do you say? Want to meet me later?”
“Not a chance,” she stated, keeping her voice calm even as she gripped the edge of the tray she still held, preparing to hit the jerk with it if necessary.
“And I’d had you pegged as a woman who knows a good opportunity when you see it.” The man’s eyes raked down her body, making her T-shirt and jeans feel downright indecent.
“Rick, leave her alone,” one of his buddies said.
Rick glanced at the other man as if he wanted to argue.
But then, to Jolee’s relief, he did sit down, although he still watched her with hungry eyes.
“I think you better leave,” she repeated, this time to the man who’d called off Rick. She pushed away from the chair and walked away, keeping her pace steady, refusing to let Rick know how much he’d shaken her. She knew they were watching her, but she didn’t glance in their direction as she put the bar between herself and the men.
*
The ache that had been in her chest all night intensified. The jerk had frightened her, but more than that, he’d just been the last straw. Vance, snotty neighbor, and now this guy. Another guy treating her like dirt.
Tears threatened to choke her, but she bit the inside of her lip and swallowed them back. She wouldn’t cry. Not about this. Not about anything. Tears didn’t solve a thing.
“Have you ever had the feeling that you are the butt of some colossal joke?” she managed to ask Jed after a few moments.
“All the time.” He reached for his pack of cigarettes and tamped one out. “All the time,” he repeated as he lit the tip.
“Me, too,” she said, mostly to herself.
The men left shortly after that, much to Jolee’s relief. They even left money enough for their bill and a decent tip, probably thanks to the guy who’d spoken up for her. But Jolee was too distressed by the whole incident to feel any satisfaction over the slight victory. Even the fact that the night turned out to be the best she’d had since she opened didn’t lift her spirits.
As she finished washing up the glasses, she couldn’t think about anything but that man’s behavior toward her. And her neighbor’s. Both of them made her feel so small. So much lower than themselves. And no matter how many times she told herself they were both jerks, she still felt depressed.
“The bathrooms are all cleaned,” Jed said, coming out of the men’s room with a bucket and mop. “And I’m heading to bed.”
“Thanks, Jed,” she said, still preoccupied with her own thoughts as she placed the last of the dried mugs on the shelf under the bar.
“Jolee girl.”
She glanced up, surprised by the old man’s nickname for her. He leaned on the mop, his wispy white hair and beard looking a little like a mane. He reminded her a bit of Santa’s skinny, chain-smoking brother— if Santa had one of those.
“It was a good night,” he said with an encouraging grin that showed the many craggy lines around his blue eyes.
She nodded. She didn’t feel good. She felt lousy— and alone. At this point, Jed was about the only person she could call a real friend. But she wouldn’t talk to him about her problems. The old guy had his own issues, aging and alone and living in squalor behind a bar.
“Night.” He stopped in the doorway to light a cigarette before stepping out into the warm night.
“Jed,” she called before he disappeared into the night. “You want a snack to take home with you? I have some extra pretzels and nuts in the storeroom.”
“I’m good,” he said with a nod. “But I appreciate the offer.” He waved and disappeared into the dark.
She wished she had more to offer the old man, but at this point, she didn’t have much else herself. Even with this relatively good night, she was going to be lucky to make her mortgage payment this month.
There’s always someone with less, she reminded herself.
She crossed the bar to flip the lock on the back door and slide the heavy bolt above the handle closed. She finished turning down the lights in the main room, then she headed to her small office to double-check her safe, an ancient gray block beside her equally ancient desk. Everything was locked tight.
She picked up her tote bag, and fumbled with her few keys to get the right one for the door out of her office. She stepped out the door and then inserted the key in the lock. She needed an alarm system, another thing to add to the list of improvements she hoped to make at Leo’s. Another thing that would have to wait a while.
The night was warm, and thankfully clear. A half moon hung in the indigo sky, and she could easily see her way to the black strip of paved road.
All the same, she rooted through her bag for her small flashlight. Twisting the top of the narrow black cylinder, the small bulb lit, although it barely cast a beam two feet in front of her. The batteries weren’t going to last much longer, and normally she wouldn’t have wasted them on a clear night like tonight. But she needed the reassurance of the faint glow. It made her feel better. A little anyway.
Usually, she didn’t mind the walk home. But tonight, after that man’s come-on and Vance’s threatening visit the night before, well, she’d just as soon get home as fast as possible.
CHAPTER 4
Sometimes I don’t know if this plan of mine is really about becoming someone different or just trying to erase the past. Do you think it’s even possible to erase the past? I don’t know.
I know I’m not hurting anyone anymore. But I’m not making any real amends to those I hurt before. A very important step to recovery. Number Nine on the list, actually. Forgiveness.
How do you ever make up for the worst thing you can possibly do to another? You can’t. Maybe this plan is doomed from the start. I’m sorry Rhys, Sebastian, Elizabeth, and Jane. I wish I had understood sooner.
On an upnote, I did get my Popeil Solid Food Injector. So if I want to make a roast with chunks of garlic inside it, then I’m all set.
Christian slammed the stick shift into gear, then pressed the pedal farther to the floor. The engine of his Porsche revved and accepted the push for speed readily.
The shadowy trees tunneled around him, a blur of black on either side of him. He barely registered them, instead staring at the road in front of him. The tires spun faster and faster as more and more road disappeared unde
r his car.
He’d allowed himself to drive tonight. To run away for just a while. But the driving, always a reliable source of escape, wasn’t working. No, now racing through the dark didn’t give him even the slightest measure of contentment.
He told himself that he’d rise tonight and his reaction to Jolee would be gone. A good day of unnatural slumber was the cure for most ailments. But nothing had changed. He still couldn’t stop thinking about her.
He gripped the steering wheel, trying to concentrate on the vibration of the vehicle around him. But instead of feeling the purr of the engine, he could only remember the sensation of her softly accented voice caressing his skin.
He pushed the buttons on the armrest, and the windows glided open, allowing the warm spring air to gust through the car. The earthy, rich scents of new foliage mingled with the scent of leather. He breathed in deeply, only to have that smell replaced by the memory of sweet cinnamon and honey.
He growled, the sound lost in the whip of the wind. Why couldn’t he get this mortal out of his head? He couldn’t satisfy his hunger, not with her. Not with any mortal. So why did he ache for her? He’d even fed more than usual tonight. He could feel the warmth of the extra blood in his body. But that warmth didn’t soothe the need deep inside him.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Jolee. Even now, he wondered if she was home. Was she okay? Did she hate him? Again he saw her face as he’d last seen it, her lovely, dark eyes widened with surprise, then pain.
He punched his foot down until he felt the pedal connect with the floorboard. The trees and road were a dizzying blur all around him. Suddenly her face was in front of him, small in the distance, blindingly pale, eyes wide and stricken. That face would haunt him.
Almost too late, he realized the image wasn’t his memory, a tormenting figment of his imagination. She was real. In front of him.
He slammed on the brakes, jerking the wheel. The tires skidded on the tar, rubber melting and burning as he slid closer and closer toward that face. Toward Jolee.
He wasn’t going to make it. A wave of panic and helplessness choked him. He was going to hit her. But at the last moment, it was Jolee who reacted, jumping away from the careening vehicle. The car spun, and he lost sight of where she might have gone. Finally the wheels caught and the car rocked to a halt in the center of the now empty road.