Once Upon A Midnight

by Stephanie Rowe

  “I knew it! I knew something was up!” As much as I used to hate it when she baited me, I’m loving this. “Who! And oh my God, what did you do?”

  Her hands flail in excitement. “Shh. Let her tell you, but just know Jennifer and I were in the background, giving a little push.”

  Oh my God, really? “Your psychic friend?” I ask, sounding totally floored.

  GranGran winks. “The same.”

  With her hands on mine, she looks straight into my eyes. The tone shifts, telling me she has to go. Tears fill her eyes, but beyond the water swirl wafts of stardust. “It is so good to talk to you again. I love you, Bailey. Never stop loving yourself, and only give your time and heart to those who see you as the loving person you are. And trust me, there is a man out there for you. He has been in your mind for a long time, and soon you will both be ready to let him into your heart.” Before my mouth can open to utter a word, she shoots a finger at me, “No questions,” and begins to fade.

  I’m barely able to get out, “I love you, too, GranGran,” before she leaves me missing her.

  Thank you for this miracle, God. She may have left my sight, but she will never leave my heart.

  Look To Your Heart

  DALE

  The heavy, wood doors leading into Mulligan’s never looked as welcoming as when I walked in. While the trip home was the most turbulent of my life, the flight had nothing to do with it.

  I always dreamed of screaming the news of my promotion from the top of my lungs for the whole bar to hear. I’ve worked well into many morning hours for this. I’ve compromised my principles for it. Of course I need to accept this offer. So why can’t I find the words to say I am leaving LA for good?

  As Brandon steps into the backroom, I straighten myself out of a slouch to ask Zira for two glasses of Glenlivet Nadurra. Brandon’s raised brows ask why we are springing for the good stuff. “Celebrations call for something special,” I tell him. My smile not only builds out of habit, my game face is slipping on so hard I have to stop myself from standing and shaking Brandon’s hand like he is a client. Despite that, concern over my impending change slips out in my tone. “Besides, I’m trying to figure out how much change I am up for.”

  Brandon raises a brow and slips into our booth. His words seem light, yet caution shows through his pacing. “So, what’s the big thing you need to talk about? Are two new strip clubs opening and you can’t decide which one to waste your money at first?”

  His tone shows he’s already got my number. Of course he does. This is the man who always shows me who I am, yet I’ve told him nothing of Abby. What does that say about me? “Ha! I swore off of strip clubs after your visit. In fact, I’ve sworn off of a lot of things. Strange as it is, I have to admit I feel a lot more secure in my manhood.”

  Brandon’s brows shoot up a couple of floors.

  Zira returns with our drinks. My thank you comes from my heart, yet my smile is pained. Brandon shows he sees through it as his brow creases and his bemused expression grows.

  “Our little chat in Toronto is the reason I want to talk to you now,” I tell him. “Something big happened—something I have worked my tail off for. But first …” I raise my glass while remembering my manners. Brandon had a big breakthrough on a project today, and while my accomplishment is technically more substantial, somehow it pales. In hindsight of yesterday, I saw that merely minutes after hearing of my promotion, I neglected to thank the janitor who helped me into my new office. I don’t want to stop putting basic kindness first. “Congratulations on today,” I tell him. We clink glasses and drink. The dammed if I do, stupid if I don’t pressure I feel makes the news so hard to enjoy I have to force myself to blurt it out. “I got an offer for a promotion. A huge one—like astronomical. We are talking double what I make now, and I would no longer be a slave to commission.”

  The Scotch seems to burn Brandon’s throat more than it should. Maybe he also caught how my words came out like a chime of doom. Subconsciously, I am begging him to reveal the real me—a task he excels in. “Wow,” he says with a hard swallow. “That sounds amazing. What’s the catch?”

  The all-too-familiar ring of my cell phone makes my hand tighten—gripping a book I suddenly long for. I used to jump to attention when I heard Walter’s ringtone; now I’m nearly jumping out of my skin.

  “Sorry,” I tell Brandon, “I’ll be right back.” Two steps away from the table, it hits me. Brandon and I have been interrupted a million times by work calls, yet this is the first time I’ve left him completely hanging. Since when are my calls as important as classified information?

  They aren’t. Snubbing the janitor yesterday and stepping away from my best friend today both show my personality is already shifting.

  “Hey, Walter. Please don’t tell me the Racer deal fell apart.”

  “That’s our Dale,” he says with a chuckle, “always putting the sale ahead of everything else, even a hefty promotion. I just wanted to let you know I’ve mentioned your delay in responding to the board of directors.”

  My delay? I found out yesterday afternoon and landed in LA less than two hours ago. Did they expect me to fly back already and lick their shoes in gratitude?

  “I took the liberty of suggesting we sweeten the pot and got another week of vacation tossed in.”

  Great. He’s pressuring me with dead bait. The only people in this company that have time to take vacations are unsuccessful ones.

  “You hang fire on sending any acceptance emails until morning, and I’ll get you that additional percent we talked about.”

  Only until morning? Does he really think I’m so hot to change my entire life I will leave my world behind with the snap of his fingers? For weeks I’ve questioned how others see me, but this? The reality is crazy. “No problem, Walter. I promise no one will hear from me until I hear from you. Thanks for the heads up.”

  I can’t get off the damn phone fast enough. I haven’t even said yes, and the pressure is making my head pound. Why do I feel they are tattooing sucker across my face?

  That’s it. Game over. I’m manning up.

  The moment I’m back in my seat, my words fly out. “That call drives home my point—other than the fact I would have to move to Chicago next week.”

  Brandon looks like his gulp is trying to kill him. “Next week? What do they think you are? Cattle to be herded?”

  “It’s not that big of a deal.” Did I really backpedal? Just what is it I want? And who exactly am I? I don’t even know anymore.

  “It is a big deal,” Brandon insists. “That is a lot to ask of someone.”

  You’re telling me. “They would make it worth the effort.”

  “Yeah, but what about the stress?”

  He’s right, and how my hand clenched when Walter called proved it. Son of a bitch! Why am I risking my health over a job? “Great point. That is one of the places I am going with this. I’d wind up spending even more time married to my job, which leaves me zero time to find, let alone pursue, anything else.” Again my hand curls as if Logan’s Run were with me, but this time the inner voice struggling to come out breaks through. It’s not the job or the money that have me; it’s the running. I’ve run from my past so hard, and for so long, I’m no longer who I want to be. That person is a more dapper version of the one across the table but with less angsty taste in music. “As much as I am pretty sure I know the answer,” I ask him, “what would you do?”

  Brandon’s look of utter confusion shows I have thrown him for a loop. “Why are you asking me? And why did we have to meet here?”

  After years of running, I’m finally ready to accept the truth. The feathers in Mark’s and BJ’s offices were left to remind me I need to keep creating glory days, and I also shouldn’t be afraid to take vacations, let alone finding a moment to decorate my office. Either the weight of the world can be on my shoulders, or I can rise above pressure to find real happiness, just like Brandon is seeking. Brandon Wayne is filled with hopes and dreams. I kno
w this because he is not afraid to show me, or anyone else, his true nature. His spirit is free. I want that too, and it is time I told him. “Because Mulligan’s has come to be a second home, and as much as it pains me to admit this, you and I have the same goals. I actually believe you are going to meet them. Me … not so much. How do you do it?”

  His jaw slacks. “Do what?”

  “How do you keep hope for all those dreams you had with Amber when you can’t even bring yourself to go out on a date? Right now, you’ve got zip. You took a job you are not too keen on because you were promised when your life worked out, your boss would be there for you. You don’t have a single prospect on the horizon. Yet here you always are, looking as if the whole world is about to burst open and pull you into bliss. How do you do it?”

  Warmth rises from within Brandon, not just from his body, but also from his spirit. I was wrong. I don’t want to be like him; I need to be like him.

  “Follow your heart,” he says as gently as a feather floats to your feet. I stare, waiting for more, yet all he does is smile like a fool who has struck gold.

  “My heart?” I ask. “But I am talking about whether to take a job. A job is a paycheck. What does that have to do with my heart?”

  His warmth grows, radiating out and sucking me in. “Your heart accepts things logic ignores. Did you ever stop to think my not being tied up with thoughts of the almighty dollar is what keeps me feeling free? Sure, we all need money, but once the bills are paid and the food is on the table, everything else is a luxury. Money buys the ability to travel to foreign lands, yet without it we are more likely to walk to the park and hear children laugh. Follow the sounds of your heart, the sounds no one else hears, and you will be like me.”

  Brandon rises to leave. More than ever I want him to stay so he can tell me how he reached enlightenment. But he can’t. This is where the master leaves the student with just enough information to make his own decisions wisely. He’s not leaving me hanging; he’s leaving me strong. “Thank you for seeing what I am about,” he says, “and for reminding me of that fact as well. I always knew there was a reason why you and I are friends. For what it’s worth, I hope you stick around. I’d love to be there when you find the girl who tames the beast. He doesn’t need as much coaxing as everyone thinks.”

  He starts to head off, and as much as I know I am supposed to take time to process everything, I have to grab his arm and stop him. “Hold up, buddy.” My eyes hone in on his. I have a lot of reasons to call Chicago my new home—money, prestige, possibly an earlier retirement, and the words of a psychic saying I am honing in on the girl of my dreams—they all glow like a dead man’s guitar pick. But something more important is right in front of me. It is the family of friends I have built and how they help me see who I am. My heart is screaming if I have to grow up all over again, I want to do it here with them. “Yeah, I’m staying.”

  “Just like that? You’re going to let everything you worked for go?”

  “Yep, just like that. Something tells me if I keep chasing rainbows, I am going to lose. Instead, for some crazy reason, I’m staying here with a wack job friend.” I do my best to let the intensity of the moment drop. My brain has done all of the heavy lifting it can do today. “It pains me to admit I need you to keep me in check. God help me.”

  With a pat on my arm, Brandon leaves me to my musing. However, I can’t let him get far. If I am going to grow, I need to dig up some dirt. “Hey,” I call out to him. “Remind me to tell you about a nightmare named Abby.”

  His smile builds, and I catch a hint of red in those cheeks. He looks to his shoes and shakes his head while saying. “You won’t have to remind me to tell you about a dream named Katherine.”

  My eyes damn near explode out of my head. Just how long have I been gone? Brandon’s warm smile tells he’s got a beautiful tale worth my wait.

  “Life is a chain of events,” he says. He sounds damn near choked up. “One broken link, and all the pretty trinkets fall off. Chains can be fixed though. I’ve never thought I could figure out the ways of the universe but now … now I know I never will. For the first time, that’s okay.” He turns to leave, but is quick to face me again. “Crazy as this sounds, something tells me you just repaired your chain. I’m glad you are staying.”

  Seeing my friend walk away brings burning to my eyes. I can only imagine how this moment would have felt if I had decided to leave him and everyone else behind. Who is Katherine? Is she a part of why the anniversary of Amber’s death hit him so hard? Or is she the reason why he now seems at peace? I’ve always seen Brandon as wise, but his sage-like commentary on the ways of the universe was out of character. Maybe he’s had something odder than Fedora Guy nipping at his heels. I’m happy for my friend, but as for me …

  I’m locked in a mid-life crisis. Not taking the promotion is definite. However, what happens next with my career is undetermined. How can I stay at that place, both knowing I could run it better and accepting I turned down the opportunity? I can’t, which means I have to ask myself, what’s next?

  I’m gonna need another round—both of alcohol and of sound advice. I get off of my duff and make for the bar, working my way through the crowd in an attempt to belly up. Against all logic and reason, this place is packed. Why do so many suckers come here? Then again, I seem to be the king of them; especially since I think of this place as home.

  Harold sees me and raises a finger in acknowledgment. He then smacks a glass on top of a cocktail shaker and shakes away. His usually pale face is red, and sweat has gleamed out of his pores so much his cropped blond locks are damp. His attention snaps to the bottles behind the bar, searching for what to grab next. He’s completely backed up. The counter is the only thing saving him from being engulfed by a sea of customers waving bills. I ponder going to the front room and getting my refill from Daryl, but he is likely even busier. From behind, Zira taps my shoulder. “Hey, I’ll take care of you. Go grab your seat before you lose it.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to have two guys back there?”

  “Yeah and a couple more servers. Either the flu has hit or the next blockbuster has a cattle call going. We need to stop hiring starving actors. Tonight is gonna suck.” From across the room, a group of guys yell for Zira. I motion for her to worry about them instead of me, and she darts off.

  I’m headed back to my seat when a hum from behind shocks my system. A second chill flutters when Fedora Guy brushes past, humming our song. In a beat I am hot on his tail, following a trail of lime and musk. This time, he is not getting away.

  He rounds the bar and steps behind it, and I follow him like I own the place. Then …

  He’s gone.

  I bend down to take a look. All I see are bottles, a floor mat, fallen olives, and a bit of filth.

  “Yo! Dale!” Harold’s voice sends me jerking upright. He hands me a bottle of my usual so I can pour my own, then hops back into action on the drink he was making. I pour while eyeing around the bar, the floor, and into the sea of people. Where the hell did that guy go? I down my drink so I have an excuse to stay and pour another, all while searching.

  I’ve got zip.

  Finally I place the bottle back on the shelf. I go for some cash to pay Harold, and a hand pops a twenty on the bar, dead in front of me. “Two shots of Jäger.”

  What? I’m not—

  My eyes roll. Damn college kids need to develop taste buds. I look to Harold. Harold gives me a thumbs up and …

  Oh, why not?

  I serve the guy. He takes off with the shots, leaving me the twenty. I hand it to Harold and am about to bail when a cute, young thing asks for a vodka Martini. Harold’s expression translates to, “Who are you to deny the lady?” Before I know it, my suit jacket is off, my sleeves are up, Zira has whipped an apron around me, I’ve got a major grin on my face, and the version of “Moonlight Serenade” I hear hummed is my own.

  By the time I finish draining the second glass I had poured for myself, the news is
coming on—the eleven o’clock news. Brandon met me here after work, which would have been about five thirty.

  Six hours? Gone in a flash like I was at a party?

  As if realizing the time was not jarring enough, I get blinded when a rainbow steps up across the bar from me.

  “If I hadn’t witnessed it with my own eyes …” Darla says while shaking her head. “Oh hell, I still don’t believe it. What are you doing back there? You get canned or something?”

  “Nope. I quit.” And there it is, flat out and simple, without a thought. I don’t even feel fazed.

  Darla drops her purse onto the bar and plops onto a stool. “Thank God! Maybe you can turn into a human being now.”

  Nope, still not fazed.

  “What did you in?” she asks.

  “When my friends cowered because of how I acted around clients, I knew I had problems. From there, it snowballed.” I eye around to wave to her friends, but they are nowhere to be found. “Everything okay? You’re getting here kind of late.”

  “I’m fine. I got filled in on some,” she sucks in her lips and her head cocks, “really weird news tonight, so Rox and Jacqueline will meet me here.”

  Something is up. My friend needs a smile—something special. “I sense trepidation.” While she retorts, I lay out five shot glasses and grab pineapple juice, grenadine, vodka, and Blue Curaçao.

  “Yeah.” It’s said with so much caution I expect her to send up a flare. She takes a few beats to suck on her lips again before asking, “You believe in anything beyond the now?”

  “You mean like tomorrow or after death?”

  “The later.”

  I reflect on my interactions with a psychic and how I believe a ghost is messing with me. “I’ve never given it much thought, but sometimes I find myself doing things where I must.”

  “Okay, let’s just say I’ve heard yet more stories showing crazy things often happen around me, and that the future is going to be interesting. Short of that being true, myself and all of the people I know are funny farm bound.”