Pretty Instinct

by S. E. Hall

  He made that song his sultry bitch, never breaking our locked stare, carrying me away from the here and now to a place where only he and I exist, where I’m the “girl” who makes him hiss in a deep breath past a clenched jaw…in awe of the charge between us.

  “I think you’re forgiven,” Jarrett laughs and razzes aloud when it’s over, pulling me from the daze I’d fallen into. “Whaddaya say, Liz?”

  Struck dumb, I bob my head, afraid to move any more than that, frozen stupid by the serenade. If you want my attention, play The Beatles…but newly discovered…if you want me tongue-tied and noticeably humid down south, sing “Girl” to me...like that.

  “All right then, let’s wrap ‘er up. Go crazy for me people, this here’s ‘I Will Wait’ by the almighty Mumford!” Jarrett shouts, fixing all the ladies with a sexy smile.

  My role in this one is merely back-up harmony, a strategic choice by Jarrett since I couldn’t lead a song right now if I tried. So much is changing at once, new feelings, friends and their startling revelations…I’m confused, but alive, excited but…petrified. I’m scared to death of all things over which I have no control. Management I’ve clung to, ensured, in every way I can.

  “Thank you, good night!”

  I vaguely comprehend Jarrett closing the show, I have no idea if we did two or twelve songs, and I robotically wave and smile, rushing off stage. Damn near running down the hallway, I crash open the back door and suck in the cool night air while I dig out my phone.

  This, I must control.

  “Hey, how was the show?” my uncle answers.

  “Good, great, where’s Conner?”

  “Kidnapped by pirates, damndest thing.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?” I screech.

  “He’s right here, perfectly fine. Calm down. We’re in the penthouse at The Hayes, very swanky indeed, watching Pay-Per-View and pigging out on room service like the happy gluttons we are. And you are taking a night to be twenty-three.”

  “Let me talk to Conner, please.”

  “I mean it, Elizabeth Hannah Carmichael.” Eek—scary stern uncle voice and the first name I hate. “We’re having a great time and will see you tomorrow. Now here’s your brother.”

  “Bethy?”

  “Hey, Bubs, you having fun?” My question’s immediately met with indecipherable ramblings of everything they’ve done, are doing, or still have to conquer. I know he’s cared for and deliriously happy, but I had to hear it myself. “Ok, I guess you go ahead and stay and I’ll see you in the morning,” I agree with a trace of glumness, which is selfish, feeling unimportant instead of happy for him.

  “K, bye,” his voice drifts off as he drops the phone, which I hear hit the bed. I go ahead and hang up, looking around now with a snort. I’m worried about him in a hotel with our uncle while I stand alone in the dark back alley of a nightclub. Shit.

  Interesting tidbit, the door doesn’t open from the outside…and now I’m scared. My whole body instinctively trembles as I turn and face the looong walk from where I stand to the street. I have no choice though, better moving toward the goal than standing still like a target. Maybe ten steps out, something cracks under my foot and I scream, turning back abruptly, my eyes growing moist.

  “Lizzie!” The door flies open as Cannon screams my name, searching around desperately. Spotting me, his body visibly jolts, starting to move in my direction.

  “Hold the door!” I yell at him, running that way. I can’t help it, don’t want to, I slam into his chest and bury my face in the balmy smell of his shirt, fisting it in my hands. “Thank you.”

  “What the hell are you doing out here?” He holds the door with one arm, me tightly around the waist with the other. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Rhett may’ve called the police by now.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize, and the door closed and wouldn’t open,” I hiccup as I unhand him and back up. “I needed air, and to check on Conner. I’m,” I look down, “stupid. Sorry.”

  Refusing my retreat, he pulls me back to him in a tight embrace, one I don’t mind at all. It’s actually welcomed by my frightened, frazzled nerves, and when he sighs against my hair, I join him.

  “I’m just glad I found you, stubborn woman. I could’ve told you Conner’s having a great time if you would’ve asked instead of running.”

  I lift my head up and back, my incredulous look calling out his hypocrisy. “You’re gonna talk about running?”

  “Yea, I am, to you. Later, though. For now, we’re gonna go call off the search party and have a good fucking night.” He locks his hand around my own and leads me inside.

  “How’d you know about Conner?” I ask.

  “I went back to the bus, but I’d already missed you guys. Your uncle told me where we were playing and why they weren’t going to be there, so I gave him my credit card and told him and Conner to have fun.”

  “They already had my card,” I laugh. “If they actually use yours, I’ll pay you back.”

  “No,” he stops suddenly, me banging into him, unprepared, “you won’t. I wanted to do it, I did it, and it’s done. Leave it. In fact, leave a lot out of your mind, where it belongs, and come have some fun for a change.”

  “Bossy,” I mumble, but not low enough, since he cocks his head back and winks.

  Rhett and Jarrett rush towards us, relieved at my reappearance yet full of seething questions, but are rebuffed immediately by one demandingly in control Mr. Blackwell. “She’s fine, let’s drop it. And she’s off duty tonight. Think we can show her a good time?”

  “Fuck to the hell yes.” Jarrett beams, clearly onboard.

  “Liz?” Rhett questions, holding out his hand to me.

  To take it, I’d have to leave Cannon’s side. I’m probably making it seem monumental in my mind when it’s not, but something tells me, in my gut, not to choose. Instead, I turn and head to the bar, alone. “Find a private table, first round’s on me!” I call out, bounding away, determined.

  “What can I—hey, you’re the girl from the band!” the handsome bartender gushes, leaning across the bar to me with a huge grin. “Whatever you want, on the house.”

  “Well,” I look up behind him, confused by the lack of menu, “three guys, one girl, all night to kill and most of them harboring a lot of fury and resentment. What would you suggest?”

  “That’s a tall order.” His brow creases. “Is this girl safe with the guys?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He considers me a moment more, finally seeing enough in my resolve that he’s assured of my safety. “Shots and beers then. Anything particular?”

  “Surprise me.” I smile, kinda excited. I’ve never done this, even when Conner’s on “visitation.” Awkwardly balancing a full tray through a rowdy crowd, I search for the boys far too long when a curly, red haired waitress takes pity on me.

  “Hey, band front woman, right?” she yells over the music.

  I nod, watching the teetering tray skeptically.

  “Let me get that for ya.” She takes the waiting disaster from me in stride. “Follow me, your group’s up here.”

  Making a note to tip her well, I follow her up a flight of stairs, illuminated by purple light, into a raised level of much more private tables.

  “I’ll try not to put anyone else up here,” she says, starting to set the drinks on the table.

  “Shit, sorry, Mama.” Jarrett stands, pulling out a chair for me. “I should’ve helped ya. But thank you very much…”

  “Vanessa,” she answers his unspoken question with a full, blushing grin. “I’ll keep you guys hooked up.”

  “Thank you, really,” I tell her. “The bartender said on the house,” I scrounge in my pockets, never leaving myself without some money, and pull out a crumpled hundred, “but this is for you.”

  “Thank you. Enjoy. I’ll be back.”

  The three of us all watch Jarrett track her retreat, hunger and intrigue oozing from his pores. “Nessy, Nessy, Ness
y,” he mutters, licking his lips. “Come into my web, said the spider to the fly.”

  I snap my fingers right in his face. “I dare you to have five lines of innocent, interesting conversation with her, before you find out what color her panties are.”

  “She’s not wearing any,” he quips back, eyes dancing.

  “Wha—how?” I stammer in astonishment.

  “You wanna talk with the boys, you drink with the boys. To breaking in Liz.” Jarrett raises his shot glass, gesturing with his head to mine. “Come on, tough girl.”

  Cannon and Rhett, silent until now, both chuckle, their shots already in the air. Well then. I mentally scratch my pseudo-balls and raise my glass, sit straighter in my chair, and clink the cheers. “Bring it on, penis packers!”

  We toss back in synchrony, me busting out on my own to cough and sputter afterwards.

  “Easy there.” Jarrett claps me on the back. “Here, always be ready to chase it.” He hands me my beer, which tastes even worse than the esophagus-burning concoction I just consumed.

  Now that the preliminaries are over, we’ve hit a block of silence, but the alcohol’s already spreading warmth through my body and loosening my jaw, so I shatter that shit. “Good show tonight, guys. Thanks for making it, Cannon.”

  “Here we go!” Vanessa’s back with a full tray. “We like these or something different next time?” she asks, setting a shot and beer in front of each of us.

  “I think we’re good?” Jarrett gauges the rest of us, all agreeing. “Yep, keep ‘em coming. So, Vanessa…” We all stiffen in preparation for Jarrett to snare his fly. This I gotta see. “What do you do besides work here?”

  Holy shit. That was a totally normal question.

  “Why?” she retorts. Atta girl.

  “Just curious.” He shrugs, tipping his shot down the hatch.

  “I go to school part-time for graphic design. Sometimes I run, read, stuff like that.”

  “And spend time with your boyfriend, of course.” Oh please! Surely he knows that line was smooth as sandpaper.

  “No boyfriend.” She smiles at him and scoots closer! A-maz-ing!

  “You should join us.” He places a hand on her hip. “That doable?”

  She smirks. “It is if the band insists on it to the blond-haired manager in the blue shirt at the north end of the bar.”

  “Be right back,” he says to us and pops up, grabbing her hand and disappearing in a blaze.

  “Did I not say five questions?” I ask them, still shocked how seamless that transaction was. “At most, being overly generous, that was three, tops.”

  “Not my sister, not my problem,” Rhett blows it off, bringing his shot to the center. “To the three of us and clearing the air.”

  By saying so, you actually do the opposite, filling the air with awkwardness. Or so I thought.

  “Amen,” Cannon chimes in, turning to me for the last word.

  “That’d be great,” I manage, barely thinking before pouring the fiery cure down my gullet, grabbing my beer and guzzling immediately after. “Ahhhhh,” I hiss out when quenched. “So now what? Surely there’s more to this ‘let go’ thing than just getting plastered as fast as you can.”

  “Usually, people talk way too much and say shit they’d never voice sober. I’ll go first,” Rhett grins. “Hey, Whistle Britches, I’m sorry I jumped you earlier. I’m glad you’re here, you’re a helluva musician and pretty good guy. That shit earlier was me being an insecure asshole. I hope you’ll overlook it and stay.”

  I smile at Rhett, full of admiration and pride, knowing how hard that was for him.

  “I appreciate that, man, I do. No hard feelings.” They tap beers, the shots long gone, and drink to seal the deal. “And I’m sorry about bailing for a while. I figured everyone could use some space, without me in it, like they’re used to. I’d never quit without telling you,” he says directly to me now.

  I kill rest of my drink, giving him a quick jerk of my head letting him know I appreciate that. “Where’d you go?” I blurt out, forgiving myself of bluntness in the name of alcohol.

  “Funny you should ask, cause there’s stuff I probably need to mention, in case—”

  Cannon’s interrupted by the boisterous return of Jarrett, who slams down a bucket filled with ice and beers in the middle of the table “This is what’s up!” he shouts. Vanessa, right behind him, unloads more shots than I can count, placing them in front of us too. “This should last us a while.” He sits down and pulls her on his lap.

  “Thank you, Vanessa.” I smile, then turn to Cannon. “Continue.”

  “Well,” he reaches back and does his neck rub thing, boring holes through the table with his eyes, “I went to an internet café, sent the family emails letting them know where I was, checked my inbox.”

  And? Surely there’s more story coming, ‘cause even nearing inebriation, that news was boring as hell and far from worthy of dramatic neck rubbing buildup.

  “Let him finish,” Jarrett nudges me with a snort.

  Obviously we need to review the rules. First of all, no nudging me. I’m having balance issues and may very well fall right the fuck out this chair. Secondly, self, quit saying shit out loud! Crazy, I know, but people tend to hear you when you do that.

  So can’t hold my alcohol. Like, almost not even in my hand either, without spilling it.

  “I guess people posted shots of our show on Facebook and tagged me?” Cannon says with a hint of question, clearly unfamiliar with the workings of Erbody’sBusinessBook.

  “How’d they know your last name?” Rhett tilts forward, placing his chair back on all four legs, leaning his elbows on the table. “And why do you have a Facebook?” he goads jovially…like his ass doesn’t have one. Uh huh.

  Cannon lets out a long, frustrated sigh, spinning his beer in his hands. I’ve seen that move before too. “I guess Ruthie made the account, probably some sort of tracking device, which worked. I didn’t even know I had it until I read Sommerlyn’s email; she thought it was pretty funny, the brat.” He grumbles, but the affection for his sister is clear in his slight grin. “Anyway, Ruthie’s been emailing incessantly—she’s sorry, misses me, whatever.”

  Of course she does. You’re incredible.

  Seriously, if I said that one out loud, I will smash this beer bottle and use the shards to slit my wrists. I wait anxiously, ready to claim alcohol poisoning, exhaling in relief when no one laughs or checks my forehead for a fever.

  “Somebody fill me in,” Vanessa chimes in, which oddly, I want to thank her for. Usually I’d hate a new girl buttinsky, but she’s more than welcome to elicit the information I don’t trust myself to ask tactfully. “What are we talking about? Who’s Ruthie, your grandma?”

  LOVE. VANESSA.

  “Did you tell her to say that?” Cannon smirks my way.

  “Nope.” I casually take a drink of beer, hoping I look all Swayze in Roadhouse, ‘don’t give a damn cool.’ “Didn’t have to. I told ya, your chick’s got an old lady name.”

  Sorry to any young, cool Ruthies out there. Just sayin’.

  “Ex-chick,” he corrects me indignantly.

  “Can we get the whole story, bro? Not to be in your business, but last thing we need is crazy ex drama,” Rhett, ever the voice of reason, tells Cannon. “Or worse, you thinking of splittin’ on us?”

  And there it is—my concern, eating away at me since this conversation started, spoken for me. Three hours ago, I thought we had lost him. Then he’s back, singing me songs, and now he might be leaving again. I can’t keep up with the vast array of emotions and uncertainty; I thrive on consistency.

  “Whoa, sailor,” Jarrett grabs my arm, stopping the shot to mouth progression. “We shoot together. Cunts,” he picks one up and directs the rest, “to Cannon’s bullshit drama and the strength to sit through this story.”

  Vanessa huffs, red faced and headed out, when Jarrett starts chuckling and snags her back by the waist. “Our band, gorgeous, See You Next Tues
day? I didn’t mean anyone, especially you, was a c—”

  “Don’t say it again!” she shrieks, playfully slapping him on the arm. “I hate that word. But,” she leans forward and kisses his cheek, “I get it, so you may live.”

  Five tiny glasses clink and we down them through our laughter, still amused at Jarrett’s desperate explanation, then all eyes quickly fix back on Cannon. He’s squirming, visibly uncomfortable, but I want to hear the details more than I want to change the subject and save him. I’m a selfish drunk.

  “Ruthie and I met in college, dated a while, got engaged. We were supposed to get married next spring. Now we’re not.”

  We all wait anxiously, glancing at each other, then back at him. That can’t be it.

  “You are the worst storyteller ever.” I definitely speak aloud this time. “I vote for open Q and A or we’ll be here all fucking night, none the wiser.”

  He laughs, dark eyes alight and pinned on mine as he ushers a hand toward me. “Fire away.”

  “Why did she dump you on the side of the road?” It’s out my mouth before I can stop it, unleashed at long last.

  “We had a fight.”

  “What was the fight about?” Loving this; the liquid courage coursing through me is the exact security blanket I need to ask unabashedly.

  “She got her tubes tied without telling me.”

  And then there’s that.

  I had my mouth open, ready to spout off the next question…’til right about now. Vanessa’s gasp and Rhett’s “dayumm” pretty much summed up the stupefied shock of us all.

  Except Jarrett.

  “Wait, I don’t get it. I mean, I get it, sorta. Why’s that a big deal, though? They’re her tubes, right?” He looks to each of us for an answer, truly lost.

  Vanessa appears disgusted and ready to knock some sense into him via her hand upside the back of his head, so him, I’ll save.

  “Hold your fire, Vanessa, let me give it a shot. Jarrett,” I start, taming the condescension in my voice, “they were engaged, like, going to get married.” He nods like he understands, but I don’t see his light bulb actually come on, so I continue. “Usually, people get married with the assumption it will be forever. No one else, for the rest of your life. I mean, not anyone we grew up around,” I titter facetiously, “but other people do it all the time. So Cannon would have committed to only being with her, but she apparently decided he wouldn’t ever be having kids, without telling him. Kinda a big deal.”