by Wright,Lulu
just …” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and kisses me on the cheek. I feel that small kiss all the way to my toes. “Please just trust me.”
“Jack …”
He leans in to kiss me on the mouth, but a couple people from visual enter the game room holding hands. Jack jerks away from me so fast I don’t have time to even blink. The visual people ignore us and start making out, and we exchange small, knowing grins as we slip out of the room, leaving them to their privacy.
As we cross the crowded pub once more, Jack takes a deep breath and his eyes catch mine. “I want to touch you,” he whispers. He looks over his shoulder at the room, then spins me around and uses his body to hide a quick kiss on my neck. “Maybe we can try nipple clamps next. Electric prodder?”
I stifle a snort. “What?”
“Just kidding.” He raises both eyebrows. “Or am I?”
I reach my hand into his jacket and rub his back. “You tease.”
“Let’s be out of here in one hour and meet back at my place.”
Best plan ever.
When we reach our table once more, the bar seems louder than before with shouting and laughter. Not to mention, everyone is at least a few shots drunker than before.
I watch Tim step on a small stage and squint at the spotlight. “Ok,” he breathes into the mic and the crowd gets quiet one voice at a time. “Since it was my idea to do the Karaoke, I will begin the show.” He nods to the DJ and the strings of a Josh Groban classic start. He closes his eyes, shakes out his arms and sways to the music. Jack is leaning against the bar cracking up; he sees me looking at him and waves me over.
As I make my way to Jack, Tim opens his mouth and this deep, sexy flawless voice spills out of it. All mouths in the bar drop in surprise and Jack and I exchanged looks of amused shock. All the ladies and the gays in the place are reduced to horny heaps of flesh and there’s a lot of whooping and arm-waving. Tim’s getting laid tonight by someone in the bar. At close of the song, he hops off stage; it looks like that someone might be Adriana, the new accessories manager. She throws her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek.
Next, Betty sings an old Broadway show tune like a weary been-there-done-that cabaret singer. She always looks like she’s about to warble a wizened ballad of regret, so ‘The Man Who Got Away’ is perfect for her. George grabs the mike next. Several IPAs in, he’s forgotten Jesus. He lets the stunned crowd know he likes big butts and he cannot lie.
I get drafted by Tim and Malibu picks the song for me.
I get on the mic and do the worst version of Pink’s “Get the Party Started” ever. I am the epicenter of laughs. But I’m in on the joke and really yodel it up. As I look over the crowd, I see everyone is laughing at me expect one person. Jack leans on the bar and beams at me.
I really don’t know how things could get better.
20
Jack
Tim slams the book of Karaoke songs into my chest. “You are up next, buddy. Sing like Sinatra.”
Easy for my golden-throated friend to say.
I politely decline, but the crowd of my drunken coworkers isn’t accepting my refusal. They are intent on breaking me out of my shell.
“Jack sing! Jack sing!” they chant.
I get it. The employees want to see the arrogant manager embarrass himself in public by singing something off-key. This is to take me to their level, and all my instincts tell me to decline, but then I see Lily. She is beaming at me with the rest of the crowd.
I don’t want her to think I’m a spoil sport, so I turn the pages one by one to look for a song. I will indulge them, but only so far. I don’t want to pick any of my actual favorite songs. This crowd won’t appreciate the nuances of Daughtry or the delicate social commentary of Rush, and I bet the poetry of Dave Matthews leaves them cold.
But goddamn it, this song right here is so perfect.
I point my choice out to the DJ and he laughs. “Oh, dude. You are a player.”
I take off my coat and hand it to Betty because I need my arms free for this number. “Get ’em, tiger,” she says and knocks back what might be her tenth whiskey.
I take the stage and loosen my tie. The cheesy first line pops up on the screen, but I don’t need them because I know this song by heart. Everyone does. I know I am going to do the white guy shuffle through my performance and I won’t be able to stop it. All around the bar smartphones are held above heads in clenched fists, their owners grinning. My rendition of this middle-school slow-dance favorite will live on the internet for eternity for my descendants to cringe at, but I don’t care.
I close my eyes and hear my father’s voice. “If you are going to do something, put everything you got into it.”
No sense being shy now.
The intro swells, and the crowd—my peers and employees—cheer in recognition. With my clenched fists in front of me, I begin my white dude moves and I step side-to–side, almost—but not quite—in synch with the tempo. Rallying my confidence, I grab the mic.
These people want me to karaoke.
These people want a show.
So I’m going to sing the ever living shit out of Savage Garden’s Truly Madly Deeply.
I search for Lily in the crowd. Those eyes, those pleading, loving eyes are giving me everything I need to put into the performance. I focus on her at the phrases in the lyrics that matter. “I’ll be your fantasy …”
She smiles and jumps up and down, clapping her hands to the beat. This karaoke crap might be better than candlelight and a box of chocolates. Hell, maybe I should buy a karaoke machine for my penthouse.
I sing the whole song straight through to fade out.
Surprisingly, I’m not embarrassed at all. As my people clap and cheer, I hop off the stage and make a beeline to Lily. The urge to grab her and kiss her right here, right now, surges through my body. But her eyes widen as I approach, and at the last second, I remember the consequences. Her crazy boss. Our coworkers all around us.
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to veer off-course and head to the bar instead of into her arms.
Later, I will kiss her.
Later, I will sing that song again in private.
Now, I order a beer.
Then I grin as she saddles up beside me at a safe distance. “You are the worst singer of all time.” She’s laughing, but her eyes tell a different story. She’s every inch as turned on as I am.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am a pop god.”
“I don’t think Adam Levine will lose any sleep.”
“So, what I am hearing is that you loved it.”
I can tell by her face she did. “Don’t quit your day job,” she says aloud, though.
“I would never. Love my day job too much. There’s so many people I’d miss without it.” I grin at her, significantly. Then, as my drink arrives and I lean over the bar to take it, I tilt my head close to hers and whisper, “I’ll sing it to you again later. It can be our mating call.”
She punches my arm, but she’s blushing and grinning, too. “You’re crazy.”
“For you? Yes.” Suddenly, her face changes. “What?” I turn around, beer in hand, and freeze.
Crystal has entered the bar. Still in her Blush smock with her name tag pinned to her lapel. But of course, we invited all of Hamilton out. I should have expected her here, too.
She can’t avoid an opportunity to annoy me.
“Just ignore her,” I tell Lily. “Let’s order some bar snacks for the team. I don’t want them getting too drunk.”
Leaning over the bar, I shout my order to the bartender as I slide her my platinum Amex. “Everything on this card tonight for the Hamilton people.” For a second I almost tell her to exclude Crystal, but the way I’m feeling right now, I just don’t care. She’s in the corner talking to one of the Kids Department managers. Maybe she’s grown the fuck up.
Wait.
What is she doing?
What is she handing out to e
veryone?
My abs tighten, then relax. Must be a flyer for some Blush promotion. It would be just like Crystal to hand that out here, always peeing a circle around everything and everyone.
Managing five drinks in my hands, I deliver them to Lily and the others at her table. They need another round like a hole in the head, but it’s a celebration. Besides, the food will be here soon. I nudge Betty her whiskey.
“Watch your back there, kid,” Betty murmurs in my direction, with a significant glance behind me.
I turn to see Crystal catch my eye and walk toward our table. My stomach knots up again. Something is going down.
At our table, she hands everyone a piece of paper, just like she has at every other table in the bar so far. As looks of confusion cross their faces, she hands me one and smiles. I glance at it and my heart sinks.
“Jesus,” George swears, looking up from the paper. “What the hell did you do?”
It’s my mugshot.
Suddenly I am in that place again. I’m the fuck-up all over again, back in the time of my life I wish I could cut out of my past. Bearded with long hair, I’m clearly wearing a Bart Simpson tee shirt, and I’m drunk out of my skull.
It took me five years and a hell of a lot of work to claw my way out of the hole I dug myself into. And now here’s Crystal, with photographic evidence of me at rock bottom.
With a tight smirk on her face, Crystal taps the paper in my hand. “I warned you, handsome.”
Crystal scurries to the stage fast. I dart after her, but she’s faster than me. She climbs the stage and Kanyes the mike away from Adriana, who is in the middle of a Katy Perry song.
I leap onto the stage beside her, but I’m too slow.
“Hey everybody!” She beams at the crowd and waves her hands at the DJ until the music dies. I try to grab the mic back, but she pulls it away from me. So I just stand there on the stage and prepare to ride the tornado. This is it. Everything I’ve dreaded for years.
Everything that kept me trapped in that fake relationship with Crystal for months longer than it ever should’ve lasted. Everything that kept me from firing Beckman until long after I should have.
The room falls silent and Crystal sighs into the microphone. “Don’t you all just love how far our boy Jack here has come?” You could hear a pin drop in the bar. “I assume you’ve all seen his mugshot by now.” She holds one up over the crowd and I hear the titters of laughter and catch a few eyes rolling. Lily does neither. Shrugging her shoulders, she crinkles the paper in her hand and tosses it behind her. With that lovely look in her eyes, she smiles at me. Relief washes all over me like a cool rain.
As long as me and her are OK, that’s all I need.
Drawing back, I give Crystal the space to spill it. I only care what one person in the bar thinks of me and that person, in one glance, has shown me it doesn’t matter.
“Doesn’t he look handsome?” Crystal waves the paper over the crowd again just in case someone didn’t get a chance to see the worst day of my life. “Guess what this arrest was for?”
Tim cups his hands around his mouth. “Being awesome!”
A small bit of laughter erupts, followed by a smattering of applause.
“Sorry, Timbo. Wrong answer.”
Crystal looks back at me and gives me a catty smirk, but I just shrug. “Tell ’em.”
“Whatever you say, handsome.” She holds the paper back up to eye level. “This little snapshot was taken in McAllen, Texas. Handsome here got arrested for possession of a kilo of Mexican weed. He was booked for driving under the influence and for dealing. But look how far he’s come from being a convicted drug dealer.”
Hearing the phrase “convicted drug dealer” makes me wince. I lock my eyes on Lily and keep her gaze because it’s the only place of strength I can find right now. The humiliation, the shame fade and I roll my shoulders back and raise my head. Lily has given me my confidence back.
“Who cares?” Tim shouts.
“We all should care.” Crystal is wearing a milky, sappy smile, like she’s doing me a favor up here. Like they should all be in on this. “I want you all to understand how far Jack has come. How hard he worked to overturn his old image. To crawl out of the hole he fell into. His own family even disowned him—that’s why he changed his name, you know.”
My stomach retches.
Of course she’s going for broke. I’m such an idiot. Why wouldn’t she reveal the rest, now that she’s finally got the chance? And now that the drug conviction has failed to sour my team against me?
I reach for the mic. “That’s enough, Crystal.”
“Oh, come on, Jack, this is your moment. You’ve finally worked your way back into your family. Why not tell everyone what you’ve accomplished?” She’s smirking, and the crowd watches her, enthralled again. She has them by a hook now. Even if I shut her up somehow, the questions will fly. Too many to silence, now.
I’m done for. I grimace.
“Go on, Jack,” she practically purrs. “Why don’t you tell everyone—especially Miss Underpants back there—what your real name is?”
Lily raises her eyebrow at me in a silent question. I turn my face away. I can’t meet her eye, not now. I imagined I would tell her this alone, just the two of us. In a quiet moment where I’d have plenty of time to explain. Where Lily would understand. But that’s being robbed from me.
“Tell her,” Crystal orders, holding the mic in front of my face. But I can’t open my mouth. Can’t clear my throat, or make it work properly. Crystal waits a long moment and sighs. “Fine. If you’re too shy, I’ll have to help you out. Everyone, I would like you all to meet Mr. Jack Hamilton.”
I can’t even look at the crowd. I can’t bear to see their reactions. But I can hear them already. The gasps. The whispers. Beside me, Crystal tightens her grip on the mic. “Stewart is his mother’s maiden name. The name he took when he was arrested, and disgraced his own family. Mr. Hamilton disowned him, you know. His own son. But our boy Jack here, he never stopped working to regain his father’s trust. He applied for a sales position at the very bottom, in our very store. And he worked his way up the ranks, earning back Dear Daddy’s favor. Yesterday, you all watched him finally earn that again. Now, isn’t that worth cheering for?” Crystal mimes raising a glass to toast me.
No one else in the room moves. With a sinking heart, I glance across the dumbfounded, gaping crowd. I watch as Lily’s face loses her soft smile. She covers her face with her hand, and her shoulders hitch. Shit.
I jump off the stage. But she’s already bolting out the door with her friend Ricky, and I find myself weighed down in the crowd.
A girl from Juniors jumps in front of me. “Is this like undercover boss or something?” she asks.
Another guy interrupts. “You’ve been spying on us for dear old dad, haven’t you?”
“What a dick.”
“Hey, Mr. Hamilton.” One of the stock guys paws me. “Can I have a raise, Mr. Hamilton?”
Charlie the dock manager tugs at my sleeve. “Hey, man,” he slurs. “Can we get a new couch in the breakroom?”
Then Tim is there, thank god. He strong-arms me through the crowd and pushes me out the door. “Dude, go get her.”
Outside, I look up and down the street and spot Lily and Ricky a couple blocks away. Thank god she can’t move fast in those heels. I start to sprint toward them. But Ricky glances back, and turns toward me, running to intercept.
“Stop!” Ricky plants himself in front of me, as Lily keeps going, head bent, aimed for the corner. She disappears around it and he’s still blocking me. “Leave her alone, Jack. You’ve done enough damage.”
“I’m trying to explain—” I protest, but Ricky cuts across me.
“You lied to her. Now she’s hurt. Let her go.” He grabs my arm, and he’s surprisingly strong considering his size. I could maybe fight my way past him, but I’m not going to get into a fight with Lily’s best friend.
“I was going to come clean
about the drugs, OK?”
“I don’t care about the goddamn weed,” Ricky spits, crossing his arms. “I am talking about you lying to my girl. She trusted you. And you let her down.”
“Did Lily tell you about us?”
Ricky smirks. “Nope.”
“Then how do you know?” I shake my head.
He rolls his eyes at me. “I know everything that goes on at Hamilton. I knew about you too, dumbass.” He sneers. “I’ve always known. Your grandma stops in to my Dress Department to say hi to me every week. She loves me.”
What he just said hits me and I gape at him in disbelief. “Why did you keep my secret?”
“That’s not my story to tell. I know the difference between fun gossip and painful gossip. I didn’t have a reason to keep you from doing your thing; it would only hurt you. But when I saw you and Lily making eyes at each other lately, that’s when I started to worry.”
“Thanks but …”
“But you fucked up.” He jams his finger into my chest. “You should have told her.”
“I was going to. I swear. I wish …”
“If wishes were horses, motherfucker.”
“I …”
“Stay away from my girl, you rich bastard,” Ricky snarls.
I’m so shocked by his anger that I just stand there, frozen in place, as he struts up Pine street. Then I sink onto the nearest bus stop bench.
Jesus, this is bad. Everything was so perfect this morning, everything going my way. I had Lily. And Crystal is right about one thing—I had my father’s trust again. Or, at least, if not his complete trust, I had a second chance.
My family doesn’t take mistakes kindly. After my arrest, Dad wrote me out of the will. Told me I was no son of his. Told me to change my name, so I wouldn’t humiliate him anymore. I took Mom’s name, because she still cared, still kept in touch with me. Talked me through how to win Dad back, actually.
Now, it’s all come crashing down around me. Total disaster.
I send Lily a series of text messages. No French, just plain English. I don’t expect a response. I punch the phone and call my dad. I need to tell Mr. Hamilton #3 the cat’s out of the bag. Maybe he’ll give me permission to change my name back already.