by J. L. Fynn
“It’s great. You just have to feel the ambiance. It hasn’t been open that long, but it’s already a lot of people’s favorite. I figured you would’ve heard about it because of the Stones.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Rolling Stones said it’s their favorite bar.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I am not. I would never lie to you about something as important as the Stones.”
“What’s so fucking great about it?” I asked, looking around at the dilapidated bar.
“I think it’s the crowd. The people who show up here are always more than an interesting group.” Jim took a long pull from his bottle, drinking nearly half his beer in one go.
I looked around again feeling like someone was playing a weird trick on me. “But no one’s here.”
“I thought getting here early would give us time to catch up. It’s a late night bar. No one’s here yet.”
“It’s 11:30. Don’t you think people would be here by now if they were coming?”
“Don’t be an idiot.” That made me instantly think of Maggie and the peculiar way she pronounced the word, but I forced my thoughts away from her. “11:30 isn’t late for New Orleans. This bar doesn’t get going until well after midnight.”
“If you say so.”
We finished our beers and ordered two more. A young couple walked in and sat down at the bar. The girl’s laughter floated over to us from time-to-time. Most people would’ve found the airy sound charming, but something about it grated on my nerves, which made me drink faster.
“So how are things going?” I asked, both needing to know and not really wanting to. It’d been almost a month since Maggie and I last spoke, and I had no idea what was going on with her and Jim. We’d be going out on the road in a couple of days, though, as soon as we got our assignments, so Jim and I needed to catch up.
“Fine. She seems to have finally set everything up in the new trailer.” I couldn’t help but notice he avoided using her name. “It’s nice living on my own finally, but I wish we could’ve moved directly into a house. Pop and I can’t seem to agree on what it should look like. I want something a little bigger than what he wants to build.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Let’s do some shots.”
We walked over to the bar, the girl’s giggles still like cat’s claws running down a plaster wall, and each ordered a shot of whiskey and another beer. We walked the drinks back to the table and held up our shot glasses.
Jim cleared his throat to deliver the toast. “May your heart be light and happy, and your smile big and wide. And your pockets always full with a coin or two inside.” We tapped our shot glasses on the table and then put them to our lips.
“So what did you think?” Jim asked after we’d both swallowed.
“Of what?”
“The whiskey.”
“It wasn’t bad,” I said, trying to suppress the shudder making its way up my spine.
“I told you this place was all right.”
“That you did.” The alcohol was beginning to cloud my head. “So how are things going with Maggie?”
“Fine, I guess.”
“She seems nice.”
“You really want to talk about my old lady while we’re in New Orleans? We should be finding you a girl. That one at the bar keeps looking over at us.”
“She’s with her boyfriend.”
“I don’t think they’re together like that. She’s looking at you right now. Smile at her. She’s cute.”
I looked over at the girl, and she was, in fact, smiling at me. Something about her didn’t do it for me, though. I knew what that something was, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself. She was pretty, and flirty, and she seemed fun. But she wasn’t Maggie. The ultimate disqualifier. I looked back to Jim. “What do you know about women?” I snapped.
“Shut the fuck up, Tommy. I know a pretty girl when I see one. Actually, I’m pretty sure her friend’s not into her either, if you know what I mean. Maybe we could both have some fun tonight.”
Anger welled in my chest. The things Jim had done before he married Maggie had never bothered me. It was his business—why should I care? But now? Thinking of Maggie home by herself, lonely with no one to turn to? It pissed me off that he’d be here, having fun messing around with some asshole at a dive bar in New Orleans. “You’re married now,” I said a little too loudly. “Maybe you oughta lay off all that. Maggie’s a nice woman. You should be happy with her.”
“How do you know how nice she is? You only met her all of one time. Twice if you count the wedding.”
“We’ve talked plenty since the wedding. She’s really…sweet.” I probably shouldn’t have admitted that, but even if the alcohol hadn’t loosened my tongue, I’d been feeling guilty about it for weeks. Sure Jim and I had grown apart somewhat this winter, but he was still my best friend, and my partner. I never meant to keep anything from him.
“Oh really?” Jim said, his tone unreadable. “When have you talked to her?”
“I’ve run into her when she was out picking herbs. More than a few times.” I looked at him, and he stared me down for a long moment. For a second I thought he was really pissed and dropped my head. It snapped back up when he burst out laughing.
“You think I’m going to be mad because you talked to my wife?”
“Well, I didn’t know.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “Whatever keeps her busy and out of the house. Honestly, she’s not a bad girl, and it’s not like I want her to be unhappy. I just don’t know what to do with her. I’m not the husband type. Sometimes I wish we could trade lives, don’t you? If I were in your position, no one would question why I wasn’t married.”
And if I were in your position, I thought, I’d get to be with Maggie.
The pain that shot through me was so intense I feared it would show on my face. I excused myself and went to the bathroom to splash cold water on my cheeks. I needed to get Maggie out of my mind for good, but the question was how?
One thing I knew for sure, though. If I didn’t stop thinking about her, not only would it be my downfall, it could be Maggie and Jim’s as well.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GODDAMN STUPID SCREW.
I lay under my kitchen table, finally getting around to fixing what I’d broken, but the last screw just didn’t want to go in all the way. I was wearing what I usually wore when home alone in my trailer: a pair of jeans and no shirt. I’d already shoved an air-conditioner into one of the trailer’s small windows and it was only the end of March, but the air inside was still stifling. A sheen of sweat covered my chest, and I could feel it run down my back as I wrestled with the screw.
The heat made me think about where we’d be traveling this summer. Pop usually handed out our territories the week before we left, but there were only two days until April 1, the start of the season, and he hadn’t given us our assignments yet.
Part of me was worried that the next seven months would be awkward. I wasn’t used to keeping anything from Jim. Sure nothing had happened, but my feelings for Maggie were so huge they created a space between us.
But we’d had a nice weekend in New Orleans, I reminded myself. Or at least the old me would’ve thought it was nice.
Old me. What a silly thing to think. I was only 25 years old.
That was how it felt, though. Like there was a me before Maggie and a me after Maggie. Two very different people. The person I was before Maggie was preferable in nearly all ways. I’d been happier. I worried less. I punched the walls in my trailer at a near zero rate. I messed around with country girls from time-to-time and had fun while I was at it. Now I just moped around my trailer and got pissed off at everything.
Anyone would think I’d wish to go back to life before Maggie, but somehow I didn’t. I couldn’t imagine a world without her in it and, frankly, I didn’t want to. She was the sort of woman who’d make you rethink everything you’d ever done up to that point and make yo
u second-guess every decision you’d ever make again.
Even if she couldn’t be my wife. Even if I could never talk to her again. Just knowing she was out there. That somewhere she laughed, or even cried. That some day she might have children and pass her spark on to them. That was enough for me.
Sure all of that knowledge hurt. But it hurt in a way that let me know I was alive. It hurt in a way that made me happy to be alive.
“Fuck it,” I said to myself. The screw still didn’t want to go in, but mostly I needed to stop myself from going any further down that line of thought. This was what bothered me most. Tommy post-Maggie was a sap.
I shimmied out from under the table and opened my refrigerator. The cool air hit me and felt nice on my bare chest. I took out a bottle of water and guzzled down a few big gulps.
When someone pounded on my door I jumped and half the bottle spilled down my chin and chest. They sounded impatient for me to answer, so I swiped at my face with my arm and headed for the door. I swung it open, and the late dusk light made it initially difficult to make out who was standing before me. I turned on the outer light, and Maggie was lit up like an angel. She was wearing a long, cream cotton dress and her hair hung messily past her shoulders. Her face was red and puffy and tears were still running down her cheeks.
I looked around and didn’t see anyone nearby who could spot us, so I reached for her arm and pulled her into the trailer. I closed the door and settled her on one of the benches at the table. Without a word I put my kettle on. I only had some store-brand teabags, but bad tea was better than no tea at all.
When I’d poured us each a mug, I set them down on the table and took a seat on the bench across from her. The table was very small and as my legs slid under it, my knees brushed hers causing a spark of electricity to shoot to my stomach and other areas further south.
I knew I shouldn’t have allowed her to be in here. I was risking the inevitable, but I couldn’t turn her away. Not when she was upset. Not with tears running down her face.
I let her take a few sips from her tea, and then I couldn’t stand waiting any longer. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”
The look she gave me nearly wrenched my heart out of my chest. “Nothing,” she choked out, sobs overcoming her. “That’s the problem. Nothing’s happening.”
I reached my hand out and placed it over one of hers sitting on the table. “It can’t be all that bad, can it?”
“Why does everyone hate me?” She sniffed.
“What do you mean? No one hates you.”
“What village are you living in? Bridget Sheedy can barely stand me—”
“Bridget Sheedy can barely stand herself. She’s an old goat, and she’s not even old yet. Forget her and whatever she thinks.”
“But it’s not just Bridget. Jim hates me.”
“Jim doesn’t hate you. He just told me the other night—”
“He does hate me. He barely talks to me. He doesn’t want me going out on the road with him. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. It’s not like I wanted to come to the States. It wasn’t my idea for us to get married, but I’ve done everything I can to be a good wife. I keep the trailer clean. I do his laundry. Make him meals. But no matter what I do, he ignores me.”
“It’s not—” I started, but then cut myself off. Maggie was hurting and I wanted to console her, but I couldn’t betray Jim. I was the only one holding his secret, and I needed to keep it that way. It was safer for Jim, and really, safer for Maggie too.
“And then,” she continued, but was halted by a fresh wave of sobs. She buried her head in her hands and let out deeply pained sounds that I vowed I would never hear from her again. “And then,” she started again, when she’d composed herself a bit, “I thought we were friends. I thought you were the one person in this Village who liked me, but you started hating me too. Am I really so horrible? Am I really so disgusting that no one wants to talk to me? Or even look at me?”
I ran a hand through my hair. I looked down and realized I was still bare-chested. I wondered what Maggie thought of that. What she thought of seeing the muscles of my torso and arms. It was a stupid, insignificant thing to think at that moment, but that’s what I thought. I took her hands in mine. “You’re not disgusting. I can assure you of that.”
“Then why won’t Jim touch me? Every day Bridget Sheedy asks me when I’m going to be pregnant. When am I going to give Jim a child? But you know what? He hasn’t touched me since we’ve been married. Not a single time. I don’t know what to do. What sort of marriage is this?”
I thought she might start crying again, but her eyes stayed dry now. It was like she’d cried as much as she had it in her and she was done.
“It’s not at all what you—”
She pulled her hand from mine and placed both of them over my empty fists. “Then tell me what’s going on, Tommy.”
The sound of my name on her lips was too much. I grabbed our mostly full mugs and stood up, putting them in the sink. The tight space only allowed me to move a few feet away from her, but I needed the distance. I needed it because I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I ached to hold her in my arms. Ached to tell her everything was going to be okay. I ached to do a hell of a lot more than that, and if she kept touching my hands—or any part of me, really—I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from going farther than was good for either of us.
I worried with the mugs in the sink for a moment until I felt her hands on my bare waist. Her breath feathered my neck in quick bursts and it took every ounce of strength I had not to turn around and kiss her with the full force of my body.
“Tell me, Tommy. Am I really so terrible?” Her lips pressed to the crook of my neck, and she kissed me softly. She moved to the other side and kissed me there too. Chills ran down to my toes. She kissed my neck again, but this time she opened her mouth and grabbed my skin lightly between her teeth. And every bit of resolve I had drained away.
I knew it was wrong. Knew that I was betraying my best friend—even if the betrayal was taking something that he’d never wanted. At that moment, I didn’t care. Or more precisely, I couldn’t think enough to care. Maggie’s touch shoved any possibility of rational thought right out of my head.
I spun around with such force I almost knocked her back against the table. I caught her around the waist and pulled her to me. I wanted to kiss her more than anything I’d ever wanted before, but I didn’t, not right away. Our faces were centimeters apart, and it was a feat of self-control that I held myself back, but there was something I had to tell her in words before I’d allow myself to show it with my body. “Maggie, I’ve wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. The only reason I’ve been distant is because I knew that if I wasn’t, this, right here, was going to happen. Jim…has his own issues, but I see every single thing that’s special about you.”
Maggie let out a small sigh, and that was the thing that finally pushed me over the edge. I wrapped my fingers around the back of her neck and pulled her face to mine. Our lips touched, and as soon as I opened my mouth, her tongue met mine. Our mouths moved together in a perfect rhythm, her hands trailing up and down my back, mine tangled in her lavender-scented hair. I felt the tears still on her cheek melt into my face, which only made me kiss her harder. I couldn’t allow her to be unhappy. We could worry about the consequences of what we were doing tomorrow, but right now I needed her to feel special, beautiful, wanted.
I pulled my hands from her hair and wrapped both arms around her waist. I tugged at the fabric covering her hips to pull her even closer to me, causing her skirt to hitch up a bit. An excited moan escaped her lips that told me she wanted this as much as I did and maybe for just as long as I had.
The idea that she wanted me too quickened my pulse and sent the blood rushing from my head to my groin. I knew I had to be inside her. I cupped my hand under her bottom, my mouth still covering hers, and hoisted her up so her legs were wrapped around my waist. I should’ve c
arried her to my bed, but with her pale thighs exposed and pressed against my hips, I was too impatient. I set her down on the table and laid her back against it. I stood back for a moment and took in her full body. She was beautiful. Her cheeks were flushed pink with her own excitement, and she breathed quickly, causing her breasts to rise and fall below her dress. I had to see more. I pulled her skirt up, revealing simple cotton panties. I’d been with country girls wearing lacy lingerie before, but nothing could’ve turned me on more than those white cotton panties. She fumbled with my belt buckle, and I helped her along. Soon my jeans dropped to the floor, exposing my grey boxers.
I moved my hand under her dress and grazed one of her nipples with my fingers. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which made me go rock hard instantly. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were pert and her nipples were so firm, my only thought was that I needed them to be between my teeth. I pulled her up so she was sitting upright on the table, and before I had a chance to grab at her dress, she’d already pulled it over her head and tossed it to the floor. I began to pull my own boxers down when the table made a horrible creaking sound. I immediately knew what was happening. I lifted Maggie and pulled her to me before she could fall to the floor. Unfortunately, the table wasn’t so lucky. She looked behind her and laughed with a fullness that enveloped me. “Things seem to always be falling down around you,” she said with a smile.
“You’re the one who does it to me, Maggie.” And it was true.
I picked her up, this time scooping her up from the floor like a newlywed about to carry his bride over the threshold. She giggled, her head tipping back and her legs kicking playfully, then slipped her arms around my neck. I carried her to my bed, giddy with the knowledge I’d finally get what I’d wanted since the day we’d met. Even if it was just for the night, Maggie would be mine.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I THREW MY arm over my eyes to block out the light shining in through my window. I felt peaceful. Content. I wanted to stay in the cocoon of my bed forever.
Then an image of the night before hit me. Maggie’s mouth on mine. Her hand running through my hair and down my back. Her back arched and her body pressed against mine. Had I dreamed it all?