by Brea Viragh
A short time ago, Heartwood heralded the arrival of its first liquor store, which had everyone in a delighted uproar. Now misers and drunks who only wanted to keep their car seats warm and drown their sorrows need look no further for spirits than the second left at the stoplight.
Before that had been the Tooth, a dive bar outside the town limits catering to those who didn’t care to dress up to be seen in public. The drinks were watered down and expensive but you could do whatever the hell you wanted. As demonstrated by the numerous bikers disregarding the sign requiring shirt and shoes for admission. If one ignored the smell of smoke and body odor, then it was a good place to forget your troubles.
“I’m not going there,” I persisted, rubbing my temples. “I have a headache and I’d rather not exacerbate it.”
Leslie cocked a long, green-tipped nail at me. Some might say the color clashed with her red outfit. She put the naysayers to shame. “Don’t say anything you’re going to regret. You look like you need a stiff one and I’m the only one offering.”
I sighed and grimaced against the pain. “I thought we’d rejected the idea of sleeping together.”
“Get in the fucking car. I won’t ask you again.”
“Like you asked the first two times?”
Leslie gestured again toward the seat and refused to take no for an answer. Though I felt more inclined to poke my eyes out than go for a drink with her, I plunked down, letting the wind through the open window rustle the unkempt strands of my hair as Leslie pushed the volume up and the pedal down.
Bob Marley told me every little thing was going to be all right but somehow I didn’t believe him.
“This is your lucky day,” Leslie yelled above the engine roar.
I shook my head. “Somehow I doubt it!”
The drive took less than two minutes before the squat two-story located at a curve in the road came into view, with dumpsters on one side and an abandoned woodshed on the other. The Tooth was aptly named, since most patrons only had one in their mouth. Their official slogan gleamed in bright letters beneath the name of the bar: The Drinks Have Bite!
Despite the relatively early hour, cars were parked around the perimeter, their occupants already inside. Soggy fields surrounded us and a cow lowed in the distance. Only in Heartwood, as they say.
Leslie smirked as she made the right-hand turn and pulled to a stop. I got out of the car slowly, avoiding the potholes large enough to swallow a grown man.
“You are going to thank me for this,” Leslie said while we made our way inside. She jerked opened the door and then let it swing shut behind us.
I narrowly missed the door smacking me on the ass. “I’m not so sure.”
The smoky interior was quiet for the number of cars in the parking lot, the hush of too many people focusing on their drinks. Here, the taps emitted drafts with more foaming head than substance. The décor hadn’t changed a bit in the years since I’d last stepped inside. Grey walls and NASCAR memorabilia greeted us, along with a sign proclaiming a dinner buffet guaranteed to knock our socks off.
I had my doubts.
Leslie made her way to the bar, past the pool tables where neon signs blinked and men concentrated on balls.
“This will help get that stick out of your ass.” Leslie slapped me on the back and chose a stool at the bar.
I fought back my natural gawkiness and settled on the seat with little fanfare. “I see you come here often. The bartender knows you by name.”
He smiled in our direction and nonchalantly slid two brown bottles across the bar top. They skidded to a halt inches away from our waiting hands, trapped in place by sticky messes no one bothered to clean.
“Because we graduated with him, bitch.”
Somehow I didn’t take offense at the name-calling. I should have, particularly coming from her. Instead I almost laughed. The absurdity of the situation threatened to throw me over the edge, and I knew I was only a step away from insanity in the first place.
“So help me understand something.” Leslie grabbed her bottle before swinging the other toward me. She waited for me to take hold of it before we both raised our beers in a toast, culminated by the clink of glass.
“What?” I asked in a doubtful undertone while trying not to look directly into her eyes. The rumor around band class had always been that women who looked right into Leslie’s corneas winked out of existence. Poof.
Tonight I blamed my reluctance on my aching cranium.
“Why you’re here in the first place.”
It took me a moment to formulate my reply. “Because you asked me?” More of a question than an actual answer. I took a sip from my bottle, the cold liquid sliding down easily even if the taste wasn’t perfect. The brew transported me into an alternate dimension version of my youth, where dogs and cats were friends and so were Leslie and I.
“You know that’s not what I mean. What are you doing here, back in Heartwood?”
“I thought we went over this the other day. Or are you so bored you need me to liven up your life?”
“Sweetheart, if I were bored, you’d be the last person I’d take out for drinks.”
The statement deserved a second round of cheers, to which I agreed. Somehow, I knew she spoke the truth. I glanced up, catching our reflections in the mirrored glass behind the bar. The clean lines of Leslie’s jumpsuit accentuated the curves she managed to keep in check though the years. And here I was in faded capris and a wrinkled tank top. I noticed a bit of egg salad still clinging to my shirt and swiped at it with harried hands.
“Ha,” I said. “We never did get along, did we?”
She shook her head. “Nope, we didn’t. You may have been a cheerleader but you were also such a…what’s the word? Goody two shoes.”
What person did she remember? Certainly not me. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”
“Stick in the mud, then. You and August, thick as thieves. No one else could get in. Not even me.” She toyed with the label on her drink, peeling the edges.
“Do I detect a hint of vulnerability there? Don’t tell me you had a crush on August!” My mouth hung open as I gawked at her. Again, the mental command came to tighten up and I snapped my jaw shut. “Leslie, puh-lease. You were the most popular girl in school! You could have had any guy you wanted falling to their knees with a snap of your fingers. Why August?”
“Sure, any guy except the one I wanted. He had that suffering artist vibe going on. Not to mention a head of hair like I’ve never seen before. He was sexy, even for a band geek.” She waved the memory away. “But the past is the past. I like to consider it a passing bout of insanity, like the common cold. I got over it.”
“You better not have dragged me here to tell me about your schoolgirl crush.” Wouldn’t it figure? I waited for the other shoe to drop.
“I didn’t.”
“Then tell me, what could possibly prompt you to spill your guts to me?” I asked. “It’s not like we’re cronies or anything.”
“You might not think I have a kind bone in my body, but I do. Besides, I’ve alienated a lot of people and I want someone to talk to.” Leslie blew out a breath. “If you tell anyone what we chat about tonight, I’ll find out and kick your ass. You know I will.”
“I wouldn’t dream of saying a word,” I promised her solemnly. “Though I gotta tell you, I’m not in the mood to discuss men.”
“And thus the reason I brought you here!” She spoke as though the answer were obvious. Perhaps it was. “You look like a dog someone kicked, and that kind of expression only comes from one source. You needed a decent drink and conversation to boost your spirits, so it’s good I came along.”
“If you say you were the right person for the job, then I may vomit.”
The banter helped, which surprised me. For the time we weren’t the women we used to be. We weren’t the popular girl and the one who skated by in social circles outside of cheerleading. Odd, how in this town the popular girls chose not to p
ut on outfits and rally for the football team.
To the casual masses we may have appeared to be friends. We were two ladies on the town, having a drink for ourselves and nothing else.
And in that moment, I valued Leslie’s company.
She reached behind my back and pinched my arm, recapturing my attention. “You need someone,” Leslie stated. “A female touch to get you back to earth. You’re surrounded by too many men and it’s bad for digestion.”
“I know some people who would disagree with you. I’ve always found men more tolerable than women.” Another sip of beer, this one going down even easier.
“You sure looked tolerable when I picked you up, clodhopping down the street with a black cloud over your head.”
“A fiancé can do strange things to a person. They drive you to within an inch of your mental capacity and then act like it’s your fault.”
“I won’t tell you it takes two to tango, because you and I know it really does. What I will say is fuck them,” she burst out.
I turned to her. “Fuck them?”
“Absolutely! Fuck every last one of them. If you’re having a problem, or if your man is making eyes at someone else—” She paused for effect.
How the hell did she know?
“—then tell them to fuck off. Do what you want! Life is too short.” Leslie downed the rest of her beer. “Stop worrying about what other people think of you.”
“I think you’ve been into your mother’s self-help guides,” I remarked.
She slammed the bottle down with a bang. “Which is not the point. The point is, I look at you and see a woman who is unappreciated. Who is running herself ragged and would rather stay in bed than get up and face another day.”
The alcohol helped as well, I decided. Something about a good low-level buzz had the muscles in my back releasing, the tightness between my shoulders dissipating despite the increasing crush of bodies in the bar. My worries hazing over so they didn’t seem so close.
Beer, the shield for inner demons. A sword of the mighty, composed of barley and hops.
“And what?” I responded. “I do get up, and I do deal with it every day. I deal with the home improvement issues eating away my money, and a fiancé who wants a huge wedding and somehow expects me to plan it while he’s out having lattes with my best friend’s girlfriend.”
Leslie raised her brow at the mention of drinks but let me continue my rant.
“I put a smile on my face and divide my attention a million ways while everyone else gets to do whatever they want.”
“Like I said,” she interjected, “tell them to fuck off. You don’t want a big wedding? Well, who cares? You don’t have the cash for your house issues? Your fiancé will pay for them. You don’t like him hanging around another woman?” She leaned in close. “Then kick her ass and nip it in the bud.”
I lapped at the last dregs of my own drink, contemplating another. “Duncan loves to open his wallet instead of keeping it closed. And I never knew you were such a fan of physical violence.”
Leslie licked her lips. “Someone has to take charge at home, and it certainly isn’t my husband. I’m the one who gets things done, and I think what you need, what every woman needs, is a little bit of confidence.”
“I am confident,” I told her.
“Not yet, but I see stirrings of it there.” Leslie gestured at my face. “With a little push you can stand up and live your life the way you want. Beholden to no one.”
“Why do you care?” I wanted to know. “What do you want from me?”
She gestured around. “You’re looking at it.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Be quiet and drink your beer, Isabel. Let’s pretend we’re starting over, shall we? Because right now it appears we only have each other.”
“I think you want to see how the drama unfolds.”
“And you wouldn’t be wrong.”
I contemplated her statement while Leslie ordered us another round of drinks. Was the solution to my issues as simple as a single four-letter word? To march in and assert my authority?
Somehow I had a hard time believing that.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Leslie, still looking as bright and fresh as a spring flower, deposited me in the hotel parking lot several hours later. If someone had told me at age sixteen that I’d be sitting in a bar almost two decades later sharing drinks with Leslie Gordon, I would have branded them a liar. Or laughed in their face. Or both.
She let me out of her car in front of the hotel, with an air kiss winging its way across the space and a promise of getting together to shop at a later date. My clothes belonged in a Dumpster, she’d said. I approved of the decision but felt obliged to make a show of disagreeing. With a parting smile.
And thus the evening ended on a much better note than it had begun. A crescent moon rode high overhead and a fog numbed my brain. I hadn’t meant to drink as much as I did, but the company, more pleasant than I’d anticipated, invited me to stay and sip. So I did.
It took longer than I wanted to admit to make the trek up a flight of stairs; my sneakers found every obstacle in their path. I fumbled to get the key in the door, scraping against the metal lock before completing the insertion. Tumblers ratcheted into place and I felt immense satisfaction when the door swung open. The lights were still on inside, although I hadn’t banked on Duncan staying awake—
My bad.
He sat in the armchair near the television, dwarfing the furniture and trying his best to channel his inner parent, with fingertips drumming across the cloth arm.
“Do you have any idea what time it is?” he asked, emphasizing each word. “How dare you walk out on me.”
I scoffed, flinging my jacket on the floor and stumbling to the bed before planting down face-first. “I don’t care,” I said through the pillow. “I had a lovely time out with Leslie and she convinced me not to take any shit from you.”
“Leslie?”
“Leslie Gordon, yes.”
“The girl you hated in high school?”
“You’re damn right!”
“You come home drunk for the second time in a week and this time it’s Leslie’s fault? That’s real responsible of you.” Duncan let out a great exhale. His neck cracked when he moved, the sound echoing in the hush. “If you think I’m going to have sex with you this time, then you have another think coming. I’m still a little peeved at you for starting an argument and then vanishing.”
The blankets beckoned me and I snuggled deeper, inhaling the scent of commercial laundry detergent. At least whenever I left for the day and placed a sign on the door, I came back to a tidy room and laundered sheets. Room service was a blessing.
“No one is asking you to have sex,” I retorted. “Can’t you see I’ve already fucked myself, here?” I pointed to my skull.
The thought amused me and I chuckled, the sound ending in a snort.
“You’re unbelievable.” Duncan shook his head and I heard the disgust coloring his statement. “You walk away from a fight you started, disappear for hours, and then expect to just go to bed like none of this happened?”
I slapped an arm down and grabbed the nearest pillow, dragging it closer until those downy feathers cushioned my head. “You’re damn right,” I repeated, the words circling my mental track.
“How many beers did you have?”
I tried to hold up some fingers and lost count. “Two. Three…I don’t remember.”
“Leslie must pack some high quality shit at her house to have you stumbling around like a fool from three beers,” Duncan commented.
“We weren’t at her house.” Stay steady, Iz, stay strong. “We were at the Tooth.”
“The Toof? Please get your head out of that pillow and speak up!”
“The. Tooth.” I spoke as evenly as a drunk could muster. “It’s a bar. I went to a bar with a friend and you have nothing to do with it.”
“I don’t have much to do with anything in your l
ife anymore.” Duncan leaned back in the chair, his gaze to the ceiling.
“What is that s’posed to mean?”
“It means that if you aren’t complaining then we aren’t talking.”
“That’s not true.” Spurred into action, I let my finger lead as I sat up, my equilibrium suddenly out of whack. The momentum carried me up and over to the opposite side.
“It is true. We’ve both been so stressed, we haven’t had a moment to connect. I want to get our connection back, Isabel, instead of finding it with someone else.” He paused, scowling.
“It sure felt like we were connected the other night when you were fucking me,” I said crudely. “I didn’t hear you complaining about our relationship then. But being balls-deep can do that to a man, I’m sure.”
“I don’t know why you’re acting like this!”
“Acting like what? I’m saying what’s on my mind. It’s not my fault you can’t take it.” My eyes fluttered close and I sighed. “You can’t take it.”
“I can see we’re going to have to talk about this in the morning. You’re being completely irrational right now.”
“Me irrational?” I poked at my chest hard enough to leave a mark.
“You bet your ass.” Duncan shot me a poignant. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m calm. There’s a difference.”
“You and I have pretty disparate definitions of those terms. You are completely unreasonable right now.”
I didn’t bother to look at him. “On the contrary, I’m feeling rational for the first time since we moved. And you know what Leslie helped me realize?” Struggling to sit up, I fixed him with a sneer. “You can stuff your big wedding where the sun don’t shine. I have too much else to handle right now to figure out the stupid details for something I don’t want or need.”
Duncan blinked once. Twice. “Is that how you really feel?”
“Yes.”
“You have too much on your plate right now?”
“Yes!” I responded a second time.
“Do you even want a wedding?” he asked.
“I don’t know why you say stupid things,” I muttered in response before snuggling into the covers once more. “Of course I want a wedding. I just have too much to do.”