by Hazel Parker
I hit call. It got answered on the first dial tone.
“Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise.”
“Hi, Tucker.”
* * *
Despite how hungover I was, I agreed to meet Tucker that night for dinner. He pressed me to have drinks, but despite my apparent willingness to throw my life to the wolves and just do whatever the hell I wanted, I found myself not craving a drink. Maybe that was my body’s way of telling my mind that it needed to get back on track.
Or maybe I was just hungover, and anyone who drank as much as I did the night before wouldn’t want a drink the following night.
I put on a nice, bright-red cocktail dress and black high heels. I dabbed on a little bit of makeup. In many ways, this wasn’t me meeting a former coworker for drinks so much as it was a job interview. Tucker was the easiest way back to my old life; maybe it required some sacrificing of standards on my part, but I’d take some short-term pain if it meant that I could get back to my old life.
As I got on the subway to Manhattan, I decided to consider the likelihood of the inevitable—sleeping with Tucker. Sure, he was a sleaze ball, but would one night kill me? Or, perhaps more accurately stated, were a couple of rounds of sex going to be that bad?
Are you listening to yourself, Christine? Saying you’re going to sleep with him and it’s not going to be so bad? What the hell happened to you, girl? You don’t need to lower yourself to these standards. Get it together.
Have dinner with him. Press on the job situation. Don’t let him be a creep. If he’s actually a gentleman, then sure, let things go however you want. But don’t… don’t degrade yourself.
Forgive yourself; remember?
The train ride made me a little more resolute that I wasn’t going to just spread my legs so easily. But I still was feeling down about last night and my life in general. I wasn’t about to turn around and run back to Brooklyn.
I did, however, promise myself not to drink, although that was easier to say when my body just wouldn’t accept an intake of alcohol. I guess my sobriety streak was officially on its first day.
I found The Beekman Pub, our meetup spot, with ease. I moved in to see Tucker sitting there, in a suit, with his shirt unbuttoned about two buttons down too far, drinking what looked like a Long Island Iced Tea. Somehow, he looked even worse than when I had seen him on Monday.
I paused in the doorway, considering if this was a good idea. Did I need to go through with this? Was a job worth debasing myself? If he looked like this, did he even have a job?
Fuck it. I’d come this far. I’d ruined myself this weekend, and I might as well push myself a little further off the cliff.
“Tucker,” I said.
He turned to me. His eyes were glossy. His mouth hung half-open. He looked way worse than I did the night before.
“Christina,” he said.
“That’s not my name,” I said.
Boy, I was going to sacrifice quite a bit to make this work, huh?
“Christine, Christine, sorry, it’s been, it’s been a crazy period,” he said with a laugh. “Come, sit, won’t you?”
I begrudgingly took a seat next to him, swatting his hand away as he tried to rub my thigh.
“What drink do you want?”
“I don’t want any alcohol,” I said quickly and decisively.
See, you can stand up for what you know is right. You can say no. You just need to be firm about it.
“I’ll take some food, though. Start with the stuffed baked clams.”
“Oh, you want some meat in you, huh?”
I rolled my eyes.
“How’s work going, Tucker?”
Tucker laughed, but the laugh almost sounded like it had some tragic undertones.
“What? What’s so funny?”
“Don’t you know? Didn’t I tell you on Monday?” he said as he took a gulp of his liquor. “I got fired! Those assholes couldn’t handle how good I was, so they fucking let me go! Ridiculous, right?”
You came here to deal with an old colleague who got fired. Might as well…
No.
No, this is not going to be like last night. You are going to stand up for yourself. You are going to be a strong woman, Christine. You are not going to let this turn into perfection or complete failure. You are going to get it together.
“Ridiculous, indeed,” I said. “Listen, I need to run to the bathroom; I’ll be right back.”
“Babe—”
“Don’t,” I said. “I’ll be back.”
I only said that so he wouldn’t follow me to the bathroom. Otherwise, I knew that he was going to stand outside like a creep, sipping on his drink.
I made a beeline for the restroom, locked the door behind me, and stared at the mirror.
“Christine,” I said to myself. “What do you want to be? Do you want to be someone strong who occasionally falters, or do you want to be someone weak who occasionally can be strong? Do you want to just crumble at the first sign of defeat, or do you want to take it as a chance to get better?”
I nodded at my reflection. This whole exercise felt a little ridiculous to some degree, but I was feeling stronger with every passing second. I didn’t need Tucker to get out of Egg. I could find a way to get a job on Wall Street and not drink. There were enough divisions that I didn’t have to assume all of them were the heavy party lifestyle.
I’ll admit, I felt a little silly not realizing this earlier. I guess with the way my life was, I just got tunnel vision. But no more. No more was I going to fall into this trap.
I wasn’t going to let the circumstances of anything dictate my actions. I was going to dictate my circumstances.
And that started by leaving Tucker where he was.
I walked out of the bathroom. Tucker had never taken his eyes off the bathroom door, because that’s what perverts did. I looked at him—in all his sloppy, ugly glory—and walked right by him.
He grabbed my arm just before I got out of range.
“Where do you think you’re going, pretty?” he said with a sickening smile.
“Home,” I said. “I thought you’d be in better control of yourself, but in some ways, I’m glad you are this way. You’re reminding me what I need to avoid becoming if I want to be a better person. So thanks for that, but I’m on my way.”
“Ah-ah,” Tucker said.
And then he did something that truly frightened me. He quickly moved in front of me and very subtly brandished a knife he had taken from one of the tables.
“Sit and chat, won’t you?” he said. “I need something to go right this week. And I’m for damn sure not going to let this fall through. Not the way you looked at me on Monday.”
Fuck! I thought of hitting him in the groin, but I worried about him still having the wherewithal to strike me. And it wasn’t like I had a football field’s worth of width to move around in; he was blocking the exit well, and even if I got him on his knees, getting around him would still prove painful.
“Now, take a seat,” he said. “And let’s talk.”
I bit my lip. I had one option for getting out of here.
I just had to hope that option still wanted to help me after last night.
Chapter 19: Marcel
I couldn’t exactly say breakfast was perfect.
Sarah and I still had our differences. She had started to see someone else, and with me having seen someone else, there was some element of both of us not wanting to get too deep into conversation. But Lilly either didn’t notice or she didn’t care, and she kept talking about how she was happy to have Mommy and Daddy back together.
We both said that while this wouldn’t happen all the time, it was probably something that we could make happen again in the future. Sarah was amenable to it. I was amenable to it. Anything to make our little girl happy.
The breakfast was “perfect,” though, in the regard that it made me feel much better even after what had happened in the prior half day. Even if we couldn’t beat Kyl
e, he couldn’t take away my relationship with my daughter. Nothing could.
That didn’t mean I was going to roll over and take whatever happened, though. In fact, with Uncle’s words still in my head, I went to his apartment that evening in Manhattan. I knew what I wanted to do.
* * *
“Whatever it takes.”
It was just after seven in the evening. The sun had all but set in Manhattan, and it was only a few minutes away from turning into night completely. Uncle’s apartment, about forty stories up, overlooked much of the city.
“You’re sure?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “I thought about Lilly a lot this morning. And you know what I realized? There’s no downside to this coming back around. She knows I love her. It’s not like if I wind up in prison again, I stop loving her. But you’re saying that the Savage Saints can make more money than just a mechanical shop?”
“If you’re willing to go into some of the more, shall we say, questionable industries, you can make way more money than just a shop. Hell, you’d be approaching banker money in some cases.”
“Then let’s do that,” I said. “Let’s be honest, Uncle. I can support myself as a mechanic. I just need a bike and time. I don’t give a shit about anything else. But the way I want to support Lilly, I have to do a little more. Do I expect her to go to Harvard and travel the world with me as her father? No. But I want her to have options. I don’t have any fucking options. I’m just a man who has a very specific skillset and very specific desire.”
Uncle nodded and smiled.
“You’re getting better, kid,” he said. “Marcel, you may yet be a man.”
“Well, let’s see if your network can prevent this first,” I said. “I may not exactly be happy with you if it doesn’t work.”
Uncle just snorted.
“Do you think I worked on Wall Street and dealt with politicians all this time just so that I would not be able to follow through on favors when I need them?” he said with a laugh. “We don’t normally work with the Brooklyn guys, but trust me. I will not struggle to make this work. Kyle Stone is going to be crying like a little bitch once I pull the strings I need to.”
“Perfect,” I said, taking a beat. “You know, Uncle, I know I’ve been an ass to you and the rest of the club. I know that things got tense, and I’ll admit, I still think you shouldn’t have gone for Christine as you did. But you know what? You’re family. And you’re helping me now, even after all of this. I’m sorry for what happened.”
“Bah,” Uncle said with a wave of his hand, though I could tell by his face that it meant something to him. “You’re a Stone. Our family has some crazy fuckups and some dark stories, but as long as we look out for each other, you don’t have to worry about the club. I got your back as much as you need me to.”
“Ditto,” I said.
I extended my hand. Uncle looked at it and waved it away.
“We don’t do handshakes,” he said.
Instead, he came forward and embraced me tightly. I patted his back and thanked him.
“It’s been an adjustment out of prison,” I said. “Lilly, the club, Christine… I’m learning. I’ll get better.”
“That was her name,” Uncle said, snapping his fingers. “What the hell happened to her? I know you went through some shit this morning, but I didn’t see her.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said with a sigh. “I guess you could say I just made a bad choice with that one. She turned into an ugly mess last night. Threw up on the cop when I got pulled over.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, so at this point, I’m just…”
“What?”
I shook my head.
“I let her drink when I knew she was a fucking mess.”
“So? She’s a big girl.”
“Yeah, but I encouraged it.”
“And? She made a mistake. You’re gonna let that shit slide?”
What the fuck was Uncle talking about?
“You wanna know why your aunt left me, Marcel?”
Where is this going? But OK, go on.
“It’s because I don’t have a faithful bone in my body. I tried like hell, believe me. I know it doesn’t seem like I was faithful, and, well, I wasn’t. But it’s not like I got married and relished cheating. I just have no self-control around women, and in my job, with the traveling I did, it was almost too easy. I’m flawed. But you, Marcel?
“I saw the way you smiled with her. I saw how you reacted when I was an ass to her. You care for her. She’s someone who makes you happy and excites you. Yeah, you’re young and just got started. Who gives a fuck? Pursue it and chase it. You’re flawed. She’s flawed. It’s called forgiveness. Fuck, your aunt forgave me. We’re good; she just was smart enough to know I can’t keep my dick in my pants.
“So you know what? Fuck spending time with me. Go get her. Go find her.”
“Well, that would be easier said than done if I knew where she was—”
As if on cue, my phone vibrated. I reached into my pocket, looked down at my phone, and read the text.
“She’s about eight blocks south,” I said. “And she’s in danger.”
I didn’t wait for Uncle to say anything else. I was already walking out the door and calling the elevator. As soon as my feet hit the ground level, I was in a full-out sprint.
Everything Uncle said was true, but nothing mattered until I knew Christine was safe.
Chapter 20: Christine
I managed to sneak the text off when Tucker was haranguing the bartender for another drink.
But I didn’t dare try and do anything else while Tucker was paying attention to me.
It amazed me how much the man had unraveled in the time since I’d known him. It made me even more certain that I could be stronger than my weaknesses, if for no other reason than that seeing him right now was life’s way of telling me what I would become if I kept on drinking. If I chose to indulge in the alcohol like I had last night on a regular basis, my future was that of the female Tucker.
In some ways, it had already gotten there, since I’d lost my job well before Tucker. But I’d gotten help. He… he needed help but didn’t seem like he was in too much of a rush to get it.
“So now that we’ve had our fun here,” he said, placing his right hand on the inside of my thighs. “I think it’s time that you and I go back to my place and have some physical fun.”
“Oh, but why rush such a thing?”
Of course, there wasn’t anything to rush to. I was not going to let him get me to his place. But the longer I could hold out, the better my chances were of Marcel coming to help me than of me having to defend myself and possibly getting hurt.
“Don’t you want to have a few more drinks here?”
“Fuck no!” he said, loud enough that almost everyone in the restaurant had to have heard us. “I’ve wanted you for a very long time, Christine. I finally have you in my grasp. You are not going to stop me now.”
He stifled a burp in his mouth, then laughed.
“Come on, don’t make me wait; something has to go right in my life.”
“No!” I said.
If he had reached the breaking point, so be it. He went to his pocket and started to pull out the knife.
“I really don’t think that would be a good idea, Christine.”
“Neither would what you’re about to do be.”
I looked over my shoulder and saw Marcel, clad in a t-shirt and jeans, staring at Tucker and me. I tried to move, but Tucker had one hand firmly on my leg, preventing me from moving without also tripping on myself and making a fool out of me.
“And who the hell are you, baldy?”
“I’m the man that she actually wants,” Marcel said, moving forward. “Unlike you.”
“Oh, oh, oh, don’t you know I saw this girl on Monday, and she was practically begging for me? Don’t you know it was her who called this morning to set up tonight? Don’t you—”
“I don’t reall
y care what she did before,” Marcel interrupted, now wedging himself between the two of us. I took the opportunity to move back a few feet.
“Careful, Marcel,” I whispered as I went by.
“I only care that she’s a good person who can learn from her mistakes. God knows I’ve made plenty of my own, and I’m not about to let a few get in the way.”
“Listen, man, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, but you’re preventing me from getting that pussy, so if you could just move aside so I can get my dick wet, that—”
Marcel grabbed Tucker by the collar, aggressively lifting him out of his chair.
“Hey!” the bartender shouted. “Outside! Both of you! Sir, you’re cut off!”
“Fuck you,” Tucker growled.
He tried to reach for his knife, but Marcel moved swiftly, almost without even looking at the knife. He had Tucker’s wrist in his hand, and with a strong enough squeeze, Marcel forced Tucker to drop it.
“Come with me,” Marcel growled.
Tucker tried to resist, but no one in the restaurant helped him, not with the way Tucker had acted. Marcel dragged him outside, found a side alley, and then walloped him with a hard punch to the stomach.
“The fuck, man?” Tucker said.
“Get your shit together,” Marcel said. “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I know you treated this woman poorly, to say nothing of you looking like a massive fuckup. Leave her alone, or next time, I won’t be so kind.”
“Who, this whore? This alcoholic bitch—”
And with that, Marcel landed a swift punch to his jaw, knocking him out cold. Marcel dusted his hands off and turned to me.
“You OK? Did he do anything else to you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m fine.”
The two of us stared at each other, unsure of what to do. The last time we’d seen each other, I was so drunk, I threw up over a cop.
“I’m… sorry about what happened last night,” I said. “The truth is, and I should have told you this long ago, I’m in Alcoholics Anonymous. Drinking has cost me so much in my life. But this past week, I got weak. I said that I could handle my liquor. I wanted to get back to Wall Street and make more money, feel more comfortable in my life. But I started making excuses for how I’d get back into that life. I let circumstances dictate my actions.”