by D. A. Bale
Since Mom was footing the bill for the forced remodel, I’d realized early on I’d have absolutely no say in the final outcome – and that made me more than a little anxious. She has very traditional tastes. I like eclectic and a bit industrial. Mom is a silk, lace, and florals kind of woman. I was all about solids, darker motifs and leather. You know, something with attitude. Goes great with metal – as in handcuffs.
With Reggie at the helm, I was somewhat confident he’d find ways to keep the decor true to the Vicki standards. After all, between Easter and Christmas decorations – not to mention the home overhaul every few years – he’d been a fixture around the Bohanan mansion since I last toddled out of a diaper. If anyone knew what I’d like better than I did myself, it’d be Reggie.
With everything else going on, I almost expected the apartment redo might have drifted out to the garage unit. Thankfully it appeared untouched as I pulled inside. At least something remained familiar, and there was comfort in that.
“Well, Slinky,” I said to my kitty after turning off the engine. “We’re home again.”
My tabby just looked at me with those bright green eyes and offered a merow in response, then returned to licking his butt. Ugh. I grabbed the crate and lugged it into the building, leaving mounds of clothes behind for later.
I stood at the bottom of the stairwell and took a deep breath of the familiar smells of musty old warehouse scented with a hint of greasy fried food. As I trudged upstairs to the fourth floor, the welcoming scents were joined by a sawdust and paint chaser.
The brand new front door greeted us with a fresh stain of walnut. From the high gloss lacquer appearance I almost hesitated to knock, afraid it had yet to dry.
The thick and heavy wood sent my bare knuckles barking with a single rap. What was this thing made of? Hedge? Reinforced steel? Both? For a second I wondered if anyone on the other side could even hear the deep-throated whack until the slide, thunk, and click sounded and the door creaked open like a bad horror movie to reveal Reggie’s dark chocolate gaze.
“Mein liebchen!” the interior designer cried, throwing his arms around me before shoving the door aside for me to enter. “Come. Come. See vat Reginald accomplished in your absence, yes?”
First I had to tear my eyes away from the glaring suit jacket. Bright purple, green, red, and black swirled in a dizzying array across the designer fabric, topped by an old-fashioned cravat resting under his chin and jutting out like a pincushion on steroids. The black cigarette pants were – not made for middle-aged men.
One thing you could always say about Reggie Brown, I mean Reginald von Braun? You’d never forget him once you met him. Maybe that was all part of his marketing genius. Just don’t judge him by the fake accent and the loud clothes. The guy was a lot of things – or wore a lot of things – but brilliant interior designer topped the list, as evidenced by the fact that every notable family home in the Dallas metro area sported a one-of-a-kind Reginald von Braun design.
Mom came strolling from the bedroom with a worried smile on her face, tucking a stray hair strand into her coif. “Well? What do you think, dear?”
What did I think? The only thing I recognized was the bank of tall windows off the dining area. Reginald had listened and kept the window seat area just for Slinky, where my critter liked to bask in the sunlight. What caught my eye next was the industrial brick wall separating the living area from the bedroom.
“This is beautiful,” I said in awe, touching the red stones and fresh mortar. “How did you get it to match the brick between the windows so perfectly?”
Reggie pursed his lips. “Ah, but Reginald can work miracles, no?”
“It must’ve taken an act of God to get removing this wall past the landlord,” I said.
“No, no,” Reggie said, waving his arms. “Zee brick was already zere. It only took removing zat disgusting plaster to uncover her radiance.”
“Well, I love it,” I said, planting a kiss on Reggie’s stubbly cheek before checking out the kitchen. “And this kitchen.”
Cabinet style had a more traditional feel – definitely Mom’s doing. Stainless steel counters topped gunmetal gray lower cabinets while a polished cement counter covered the island with swirls of rich color like a kaleidoscope beneath the pendant lights. Industrial motif heaven – score one for Reggie’s keen eye.
The new furniture was pretty traditional also but in a color palette of charcoal leather, muted tangerine, and aqua tones. No florals, so Reggie had won the print battle and kept it leaning toward stripes and solids. With my mom footing the bill, I’d been leery of what I’d end up with in the furniture department. This? I could definitely live with it all – and love it. Once again, Reggie had saved my carcass.
My usually unperturbed and composed mother stood near the hallway, wringing her hands. “What do you think, Victoria?”
In an unusual move on my part, I embraced my mother and pecked her on the cheek. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Mom.”
Irish eyes widened then crinkled in a smile as she held me at arm’s length. “Oh, I’m so relieved. I wasn’t sure about some of the fabric choices, but Reginald assured me this was what you’d like.”
I looked at Reggie. “Even after all these years?”
The hip jutted out while his hand waved around as if holding a cigarillo out of boredom. “Reginald von Braun never forgets. He always knows vat the ladies vant,” he said with a brow wiggle.
I laughed and pecked him again on the cheek. The nice thing with having a gay friend is that they love hugs and kisses from just about everyone – and you didn’t have to worry about them feeling you up like a testosterone-fueled teenager. The only thing butch about Reggie was the familiar TAG Heuer blue-faced watch – more a pronouncement of status than fashion.
A quick peek into the virtually empty bedroom revealed pearl gray paint saturating the walls and a king-sized mattress and box springs dressed with assorted pillows, sheets and a blanket neatly folded at the foot. Once in the bedframe, I’d be climbing Mount Everest every night just to go to bed. But at that moment, I couldn’t have cared less about the lacking bed and dresser. All the commercials stated that a solid mattress was the key to a good night’s sleep anyway. I looked forward to testing that theory tonight. Alone.
I promise.
***
The sunlight slanted across the window seat where my contented kitty lounged. The hours waned in quick succession after Mom and Reggie left. I’d changed into something more comfortable, put up my hair, and after bringing in all my crap from the car, puttered around my brand new, old space, familiarizing myself with the new surroundings and making little adjustments to furniture placement. I’d just finished moving the desk when a dull knock sank into the door.
Opening the heavy wooden door was like swinging open a vault at Fort Knox. I really needed to ask Reggie what it was made from. But that idea left as quickly as it arrived when Zeke glared down his six-foot-five frame at me from beneath his black Stetson.
“Wanna tell me what this is?” he asked, holding up the check I’d left on his kitchen counter.
“Um,” I started, “payment for services rendered?”
An eyebrow arched before he ripped the check in two. “I never asked you for anything, Vic. Thought I was helping out a friend.”
“And I appreciate that, but I figured it was best to keep things on an equitable basis. You know, no expectations?”
The twinge of his cheek muscles reflected the weighing of words before he spoke. “When were you going to tell me you were moving out?”
“Today?” I squeaked.
Tired eyes darkened before Zeke’s gaze left mine. It took all of two footfalls for him to walk through the doorway and take in every inch of the remodel. “I like what you’ve done with the place. Most of it fits you.”
“Since Mom paid for it, I just gritted my teeth and let her have at it. Reggie looked out for me though, so can’t complain. I’m just glad to be home.”
“Looks like someone else is too.”
Slinky had left his sunbeam filled nest to curl around Zeke’s ankles with a purr as loud as a motorboat. I looked down at him with a scowl.
“Traitor.”
Zeke bent down with a chuckle and scratched my tabby behind the ears. “Oh, you forgot this at my place.” He flung a fluffy gray mouse toy across the room that sent Slinky skittering after it. It looked like one he’d bought during our refugee status days. That was when Zeke had shown his thoughtful side – until I realized he was buttering up my critter in an effort to try and get into my pants. Or up my skirt. Didn’t work then and it sure wasn’t gonna work this time.
I think.
“Let me get your key,” I said, digging through my purse before extracting and holding it out to my former landlord. Er, the Good Samaritan.
Friend was a word I still hesitated to use where Zeke was concerned. Reminded me a little too much of the boyfriend variety. He held his hand open so I could drop the key into his palm, almost as if he was as much afraid of touching me as I of him.
The musky scent of the great outdoors overtook new construction and touched me all the way down there. My thighs clenched.
Having Zeke in my apartment, having him standing so close I could feel the warmth radiating off of him – it all served to be a little much for my present euphoria. My heart pounded as dark eyes trailed from my hand to my lips, and breath stilled when his gaze met mine. My nether regions jumpstarted awake after weeks of forced hibernation. That promise I’d made to go to bed alone tonight swept away like the deck chairs off the Titanic. I suddenly wanted Zeke to take me in his arms and do unspeakable things to me – all night long, y’all.
Instead he slipped the key in his pocket, planted a kiss on my forehead, then turned and walked right out my door in two strides. After staring at the closed door for a few, I looked down at Slinky with a sigh.
“Looks like it’s just you and me again, pardner.”
Slinky just looked at me before spitting out the toy from his mouth and settling again in the window seat to lick himself. My eye roll of disgust landed on the top of the new stainless fridge. The empty top of the new stainless fridge. Too bad Mom was a teetotaler and hadn’t replenished my liquor stash. I could really use a shot of Jack about now. Or three fingers of scotch. A Long Island iced tea anyone?
I knew the best place in town to get a drink or two – and it probably wouldn’t cost me a thing.
Can you say Grady’s? I sure can. Could. Oh hell, just get in the car.
Chapter Three
The bar was a slow go so early in the evening, kinda like my usual Wednesday nights – unless it was wet t-shirt night. When I work the bar, I have a tendency to bring a little chaos to the atmosphere. My co-worker Rochelle is a different matter. She’s a classy cowgirl.
Wavy brown hair framed a cherubic face with deep-set green and knowing eyes. My co-worker had seen a lot in her thirty-some years. Had the little boys and the single parent moniker to prove it. She didn’t talk about how her ex ran off and left her with nothing, and we all knew better than to ask. As a frequent sufferer of foot-in-mouth disease, I’d made that mistake only once.
Schedules at work had gone a little screwy since our former co-worker got caught in a drug ring and murder moment. When he’d tried to launch me off my rooftop for a brief flight sans wings, my boss sent Bud down under for an eternity of keeping the likes of Joseph Stalin and Adolf Hitler company.
This employee shortage was a boon for Rochelle by opening up another bartender position. Higher wages, better tips, and more hours than the server position, allowed Rochelle the opportunity to start saving up so she could eventually move out of her mother’s place. I’d worked with her over the last few weeks, guiding and grilling her on mixing drinks, reading people, and the best ways to entertain customers to earn more tips. She was a natural in the making drinks category. Mimicking my daring form of entertainment? Maybe that’s a category best left to my area of expertise.
Rochelle’s full lips perked up in a smile when I sidled up to a barstool. “Hey, Vicki. What’re you doin’ here on your night off?”
“I just moved back into my apartment,” I said.
“Congratulations.” Rochelle beamed. “Guess that’s cause for celebration.”
“More or less.”
“So why aren’t you there relaxing instead of hanging out in this place?” she asked, filling a couple of mugs from the tap before setting them onto a tray.
“Since I’ve yet to restock the fridge, I have no booze for celebrating.”
“Bummer. Sounds like a good time for a tea from Long Island.”
“No truer words were ever spoken,” I proclaimed.
“Coming right up,” she quipped, sliding the full beer tray up onto the bar.
As Rochelle set to work on my drink, warm lips trailed lightly across the back of my neck. A husky voice followed. “You didn’t just do a good job trainin’ her, you did a very good job trainin’ her.”
I turned around to languid eyes the color of milk chocolate and a smile tilting one edge of my boss’s mustache. “Hey, Grady.”
This was about as normal as Grady had acted toward me for – well, weeks. Our waltz of Grady advancing and me retreating had formed a skid mark bigger than the ones my Vette left in a sudden stop. Maybe it had something to do with him firing the kill shot through Bud’s brain that night. Or something to do with the newfound discovery my boss was actually an undercover ATF agent and clandestinely worked with Ranger Zeke on occasion. It couldn’t be that Grady was concerned I’d spill his secrets in a drunken melee – could it?
I’m pretty sure I can guess the answer to that.
As Rochelle set the full-to-the-brim glass before me, a wave of Grady’s hand comped my alcohol consumption and sent Rochelle to wait on a couple at the end of the bar about one step shy of needing a room. The way that couple was going at it, they were on the verge of violating two commandments, three Texas statutes, and four of Newton’s laws. I focused in on my drink with a cough. No matter how hard I tried to escape it, that nagging nookie temptation was everywhere.
“This sure is a new look for you,” Grady said, taking in my sweat-streaked t-shirt, comfy shorts and droopy ponytail. “Dusty chic?”
“More like grimy girl,” I returned.
That got me a chuckle. “So how’s the new, old place?” Grady asked, sliding in next to me.
I finished a desperate pull on my straw with a sigh of liquid satisfaction. Yes, I’d taught Rochelle the mixing drinks part of the job really well. “I take it you’ve already talked with Zeke?”
“Yep.”
“And you know he’s ticked at me?”
“I think it’s more you scared him by leavin’ his place without informin’ him,” Grady asserted.
That rankled my catnip just a bit. “Is this what I have to look forward to now? You two whispering behind my back and sharing my every move with one another?”
“You’ve nothin’ to worry about from me, Vic. Zeke was concerned about what might’ve happened to you, that’s all.”
Happened to me, shnappened to me. The guy could’ve picked up the phone and called. Or texted. But no, he had to get my boss involved like a trail rider circling the wagons.
Men.
“Just because you two work together on occasion,” I muttered above piped-in music, “does not mean my day-to-day affairs are fodder for gossip.”
“Affairs?” The rise of his mustache signaled more than understanding of my accidental double-entendre.
I punched his thigh. “You know what I mean. I had enough growing up on the receiving end of Gossipers ‘R Us from my parents’ fellow parishioners. I don’t need it from you two.”
He stood and planted a kiss on my forehead. What was it with the forehead kisses today? I needed some straight-up lip lock – and soon – before my girlie bits exploded.
“You have my word it won’t continue,” Grady pledged, jostling t
he laden beer tray. “Enjoy your drink then go home and get a good night’s sleep. I need you in full Vicki mode for the start of the alcohol X-games tomorrow night.”
“Yes sir, boss,” I said with a salute before taking a huge slurp of my drink in preparation.
The alcohol X-games. I still thought it strange an ATF agent ran a bar as part of his cover. Suppose it made some sort of sense, being close enough to hear all about the action, so to speak. In more ways than one. I laughed out loud then stared into my empty glass. What all had Rochelle put in there?
Rochelle wormed her way over, and together we watched the boss’s retreating backside. A sigh escaped from one – okay, both – of us as he bent over to hand out beer to a table of college-aged females, offering a bird’s-eye view of his jean-clad butt.
“Would you look at that,” Rochelle murmured.
“Yeah, howdy.”
“Reminds me of a little somethin’ I marinated and threw on the grill for dinner last Sunday.”
“I see that,” I said with a tilt of my head, handing over my empty glass. “But those gals are obviously too young for him.”
“A woman of any age would have to be dead not to pay attention to a man with an ass that fine.”
Ice clinked somewhere in my periphery as I took in the scenery up ahead. “Hmm.”
Rochelle paused after she dumped another Long Island iced tea on the bar in front of me. “Well?”
“Well what?” I asked.
“Are things better between you guys now?”
As Grady finished flirting with the fishes and moved on to another table, I realized nothing had yet been resolved between us about the secrets revealed the night Grady wrote Bud’s name on a bullet. I hadn’t considered how it’d affected the rest of the staff either.
“Yup, right as rain,” I lied.
Don’t judge.
“It’s about time,” she commented, absentmindedly wiping out a glass with the towel until I thought it’d break before she put it down. “You two have seemed on edge around each other for so long now, I didn’t think things would ever get back to normal.”