Cocktail Hour

by McTiernan, Tara

  Making her voice very sad, she said, "So you won't come to my dinner party?"

  "Of course we will. And it's nice that you're helping out your friend. It's hard getting a business off the ground. When will this party be happening?"

  Bianca thought fast. It couldn't be too soon as she needed to marshal her forces, find ways to make this a worthwhile venture. Although she was happy to take credit for helping Lucie, her only interest was helping herself. This event would have to serve as more than a diversionary tactic in a seduction-gone-wrong, much more. The question was: how would it serve her? She said, "Oh, I hadn't picked a date yet. I'm thinking maybe late May? Early June? I'll check with Kate first before I settle on a date now that I know you two will join us. I'm so glad."

  "I'm glad, too. So, that was it, right?" he said, already getting to his feet behind his desk and checking his watch.

  "Oh, yes," Bianca said, leaping to her feet as well. "Thanks for taking a minute. It's just...I really value Kate's friendship. I wanted you to know that. I feel like we've been friends forever."

  He stopped and looked at her. "She feels the same way," he said, and then reluctantly continued in a lower voice, "I'm glad you two met. Kate was lonely here. I think you've made her feel more at home. Thanks."

  Standing near the bar at Bembe and looking up at the muscular man standing over her, Bianca felt a dropping sensation in her stomach from the memory of Grant's coldness toward her. What was he made of? Every man was her plaything: her puppet dangled on strings and made to dance for her entertainment. No man had ever shown such lack of interest. And now there could be a baby, ruining any chance she had. His bizarre extreme commitment to his wife would only be worsened by a growing family. No, it couldn't happen.

  The tickling in her throat started again and she swallowed the bug back down with a gulp of her mojito. Now this was a mojito - perfectly mixed. The place stank to high hell and was filled with low-lifes, but at least they knew how to mix a decent drink.

  "Looks like you're enjoying that," the man said, raising an eyebrow at the drink he'd bought her.

  She smiled up at him. Okay, she was done with this one. She hated when they made a big deal out of buying her a silly little drink, as if they'd given her something significant. "I am. Thank you. So, why don't you run along now. I've got to talk to my friends," she said lightly and turned away.

  A meaty claw wrapped around her arm. "Hey, where you going?" he sneered.

  She raised her eyebrows and coolly looked down at her clutched arm. "Let go of me."

  He waited a moment, as if expecting her to beg. She didn't, just kept her gaze on his hand. He released her. "Ah, go. Whatever."

  She was already stepping away, though, and stopped in front of the cluster of the three girls who had just gotten their drinks at the bar. Chelsea was still being monopolized by the tall skinny Italian with heavy eyebrows. The girls stood together facing the empty dance floor and bobbing their heads a little to the Latin music already pumping loudly over the sound system. Lucie had a glass of white wine, Sharon a martini, and Kate was holding a...cola At least it looked like soda pop - it even had a childish straw sticking out of it. So, Kate was still convinced she was pregnant. And she might be. And Bianca was going to put a stop to it.

  "Kate, you've got to try this mojito. It is so good!" Bianca said, holding out her glass to Kate and hoping a cocktail would kick out any incipient resident in Grant's wife's womb.

  Kate simpered. "Oh, no. Thanks?"

  "No, really, I insist. You're never going to taste a better one."

  "But-"

  "Kate."

  "Okay?" Kate said, looking suddenly queasy. She took the glass in her free hand and sipped from it. "Mmm, good? Thanks?" She tried to hand it back to Bianca.

  Bianca shook her head, "No, you keep it. I'll take your Coke. I'm feeling a little tired. Sebastian's been coughing all night lately and keeping me awake. I can hear him clear across the house." She reached for Kate's cola.

  "Oh?" Kate said, handing her Coke to Bianca, her forehead crinkling with concern. "Is Sebastian sick?"

  "Who knows? Babies are always catching things no matter what you do. He's not even in daycare and he catches bugs as if it's a hobby."

  "That's so true? David was sick all the time when he was little," Kate said. "And now that I'm going to be teaching? I'm probably going to bring home colds every week. But, I'm so grateful! Thank you again. I love children?"

  "That's so nice of you, Bianca. How thoughtful," Lucie said sincerely.

  Sharon said, her tone conciliatory, "That was really great of you. Most people don't think about other people's dreams; they're always thinking about themselves. And now Kate can live her dream and get to work with children. Well, you may be having a few of your own, soon, right Kate? Wait, should you be drinking?"

  "Oh?" Kate said, taking another sip of the mojito. "I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant. And it's only one drink?"

  "Suit yourself," Sharon said, shrugging a little.

  Bianca smiled inwardly. It would be more than one drink if she had anything to do with it. Then she'd drive drunken Kate home and help her inside. Grant would be so touched by Bianca's caring and kindness and...bonus! Possibly disgusted by his wife's drunkenness! This boring night out with "her friends" might be worth more than just a few brownie points with John after all.

  She felt a pleasant buzzing at her hip where her purse dangled from her shoulder and realized her phone was vibrating. She should have shut it off, but had forgotten. She plucked it out of a side pocket and looked at it. It was her nanny. What was she bothering her about now?

  "Sorry, I have to take this," Bianca said to the other girls and turned away, putting the phone to her ear. "Yes, Camilla?"

  "Ma'am, it's Sebby."

  "Stop calling him that. It's Sebastian. Not Sebby. Not Seb. No nicknames. Do you understand me?"

  "I understand, ma'am. I'm sorry. But you have to come."

  "What for?"

  "He's sick. He can't breathe. It was the croup, but I think he's got an infection. He needs to see a doctor."

  "Fine, I'll make an appointment tomorrow."

  "No, ma'am. I think he will die. Nothing is helping. He needs to go to the emergency room tonight."

  "Then you take him. Why are you bothering me? Don't I pay you enough?"

  "But ma'am-"

  "Don't argue with me. And don't forget I can find another nanny if I need to. A cheaper one."

  "I can't take him!"

  "Why not?"

  "It has to be a parent. And you told me not to bother mister."

  "Fine. Fine. I'll come. But you should start looking for another job, I think."

  "But Sebby!"

  "What did I tell you? Oh, shut up with your crying!" Bianca punched the end button violently. There went her night and her plans for Kate. All because of a stupid nanny and her more-trouble-than-he-was-worth son. Well, she would milk this, at least. She put on her best worried-mother look, turned around, and headed back toward the cluster of girls that now included Chelsea.

  Strawberry Daiquiri

  Chelsea wistfully watched Bianca stride out of Bembe, her dress floating behind her and her thick dark hair tossing as she stepped through the door, out onto the pavement, and out of sight. Chelsea let out a colossal sigh of craving, the tragic story of Sebastian's horribly neglectful nanny and Bianca's need to save the day still ringing in her ears.

  She wanted a baby, too: a Sebastian of her own, someone who loved her and needed her that much. More, she wanted to be a baby again, the baby. The youngest of three daughters, she had been the prettiest of them all and most loved little girl in the world. If she wanted something back then, all she had to do was turn her big blue eyes on her daddy and ask and he would give it to her. If only she could go back to those days before she was ten and her daddy died of a massive heart attack, right out on their front lawn, falling down behind the lawnmower, which stood and roared senselessly on while its master conv
ulsed in the freshly cut grass and then became still.

  Nothing was ever right again after that. They never had enough money, always made do and scraped by. Chelsea, once dressed only in the best designer children's wear, wore hand-me-downs from her sisters that were often saggy from wear and stained. They moved from the pretty little clapboard house on Dogwood Lane to a small cheap apartment where the three girls were forced to share a bedroom. Having never shared anything before and two of them already well into their teens, the claws came out and it was a daily battle of who-got-what.

  Chelsea sighed again, this time a shuddering one and then shook her head, straightening. The make-do lifestyle she'd tolerated for years was about to come to an end. Travis wanted her, and she was about to remind him of that fact. She took a sip of her strawberry daiquiri and looked around at the other girls. Should she say something about the lipstick now? No, she'd wait until the lesson started and they were distracted.

  As if echoing her thoughts, Sharon said, "When does this lesson start again?"

  "Just a few more minutes, I think," Chelsea said.

  Sharon gave her a sly look, "So, what was up with that guy you were talking to? Anything there? I've always wondered why you liked these places, but I have to admit, they're starting to grow on me. It's kind of fun, in a cheesy-sleazy way."

  "Oh, stop," Chelsea said, clucking her tongue. "You love it. I'm so glad I finally got you out. Now you're addicted. No more nights in with the cat for you." She sang the last bit, happy again. Having a big posse of girls was essential: that way if one of them couldn't make it out, you could call on the others. Although she was betting heavily on Travis, she still preferred to hedge her bets. That way you couldn't lose.

  "So? Are you going to tell me?"

  "That guy? Are you kidding? Guaranteed he's more broke than I am."

  "So? You'll be broke together. You'll live on love: you, Romeo, and your twenty bambinos."

  Chelsea laughed. "You're nuts, you know that?"

  "Aha!" Sharon said, bugging out her eyes crazily and speaking in a Transylvanian-sounding accent. "You have found out the truth! And now you must be forced to drink the anti-memory serum!" She pushed her nearly-full martini in Chelsea's face.

  Chelsea made a moue of disgust. "I hate drinks like that!"

  "Drink!"

  Chelsea rolled her eyes. "All right. One sip. And if I barf, it's all your fault."

  Sharon cackled and handed the glass to Chelsea. "Ah, ha, ha! Drink!"

  Chelsea took a sip and felt it pierce her throat. "Gah!" She said, sputtering and handing back the drink quickly.

  Sharon's face grew peaceful again. "You remember nothing. It was all a figment of your imagination. Fluffy little clouds, floating through your mind."

  Chelsea giggled, feeling a little high, and said, "You've got that right. I am blond."

  Kate's bleached spiky head popped up into their range of vision, clearly listening in on their conversation. "Me, too?"

  Lucie said, perking up and peering around at the stage, "Hey, I think the lesson's about to start. Though, I don't know if I'll be joining you. My hip's really been bothering me."

  "Lucie!" Chelsea wailed, and stamped her foot. "Come on! That's why we're here!"

  Lucie shook her head at Chelsea's display, but said, "Oh, all right. But just for a little bit."

  But the salsa dance lesson turned out to be more fun than anyone expected. They started by facing forward while the teacher walked the assembled group through the steps, everyone stepping forward and back en masse. The four girls kept landing on each other's feet and colliding while laughing harder and harder until they were clutching at each other in bouts of hysterics. Lucie made it through the whole lesson, Sharon was hamming it up, and even Kate got into it, having more rhythm and style than Chelsea would've thought possible if she hadn't seen it herself.

  Too soon, the lesson ended and gyrating couples started filling the floor. Chelsea found herself dancing with a talented lean-hipped Italian who swooped down on her as soon as the lesson broke up and moved her around the floor with such expertise she almost believed she originated the moves that had her shaking and twirling to the beat. As they made another circuit of the floor, she saw Sharon standing on the sidelines with Kate and Lucie. Sharon rolled her eyes and fluttered her eyelashes elaborately at Chelsea, clutching her hands together under her chin as if overwhelmed and mouthing "Oh, Romeo!" Chelsea couldn't help but laugh.

  "What are you laughing at, my princess?" Gianni, her dancing partner, asked.

  "My friend," Chelsea answered and twirled, realizing she was having a great time. Then she remembered the lipstick and Travis. It was getting late. Travis, if he was at the Bedford, might go home soon and she'd miss her chance. She stopped, stepping away from Gianni.

  "What?" he asked, stopping and peering at her.

  "I've got to go. I'm sorry," she said. Without waiting for his reply, she turned, snatched up her purse where she had left it on the floor, and jogged across to where the other girls were watching the crowd. "Hey, you guys. I forgot my lipstick in my car. I need it," she burst out before realizing how strange this sounded right after she'd been dancing. She should have gone to the bathroom first, made it seem like a fresh discovery.

  "That was abrupt," Sharon remarked. "What did Romeo do wrong?"

  "Nothing! Nothing," Chelsea said, trying to modulate her voice. In her mind's eye, Travis was getting up from the bar stool and paying his tab. He'd be gone if she didn't hurry.

  "What happened?" Lucie asked, just tuning in.

  "You forgot your lipstick? I don't know what I'd do without lipstick now? I'm so used to it already?" Kate said, batting her spidery false eyelashes at Chelsea, her lips caked with unflattering red goo.

  Chelsea looked at her, grateful that at least one of the girls was backing her up, even if it was Kate. She couldn't help but think again that someone really needed to help Kate out in the makeup department. Maybe Chelsea would help her. Even though she was jealous, sometimes you just had to do the right thing, and Kate was a disaster area. But she couldn't do anything right now.

  Instead, she said to Kate, "Yes, it's true, you just can't do without it once you're used to it. I'll be right back." She directed the last to the other girls and then spun on her heel and jogged away before they could say anything more. She didn't want Sharon or Lucie commenting on the bizarre way she was acting. And she had to hurry!

  She jogged all the way out of the club, stopping just long enough to get her hand stamped so she could re-enter the club afterward without having to pay. Once on the street, she ran in bursts down the sidewalk as she made her way toward the Bedford Grille, walking and panting in between. This wasn't how she imagined seeing him at all. She would be all hot and sweaty and messy-looking. But if she didn't see him now when would she have another chance? She couldn't go to the bar without having an alibi of a nearby event she was attending. He would definitely ask, and she had already admitted she wasn't a regular at the Bedford.

  She slowed her steps as she grew close, crossing her fingers and saying a little prayer while trying to catch her breath. She patted down her hair and wiped under her eyes to remove any stray mascara and then walked up to the bar's door and pulled it open. The same beer fug greeted her as last time, old and weary smelling.

  Stepping inside the dimly lit bar, she saw that it appeared that even the same cluster of men were sitting on the same stools watching the game, and yes, Pat, the bartender she had met last time, was watching with them. The end of the bar near the door was empty, no Travis leaning in shirtsleeves against it. She looked around, hoping to spot him somewhere else and then crossed into the dining area. He wasn't there.

  She slumped, standing in the middle of the empty dining room and feeling as tired as the smell of the place. She had been so certain that he would be here. She had seen him in her mind's eye perfectly. He was in town, she knew that. He had been in the office today, slipping in and out of meetings before she coul
d catch him. She wanted to stamp her foot and cry. Instead, she walked slowly into the bar and to where she had expected to find Travis. Maybe Pat knew where he was.

  Spotting her, Pat raised his chin and pushed off from where he'd been leaning to walk down the bar toward her. "Chelsea of the Alabama Slammer. How are ya?"

  "I'm okay, thanks. How are you?"

  "Same old, same old. So let me guess, Travis?"

  "How did you know?"

  "This isn't your kind of place, girl. Look at you, all dolled-up. The girls that come in here wear tight jeans and tighter tops, they're not classy like you."

  "Oh, you're too nice."

  "Not really, not at all," he said. "Nice bartenders don't last. I've been at this for twenty years. So, I know the look of a girl like you, walking in here. Travis isn't here though. Hasn't been for weeks. Actually, I think the last time was when you came in. He said he'd be traveling, Japan." Pat shrugged.

  "Well, thanks anyway."

  "No biggie. Want a Slammer?"

  Chelsea, feeling as if she was going to cry, simply shook her head.

  "All right, see ya."

  Chelsea left the bar and walked to her car. She needed to retrieve the lipstick as evidence and, as well, compose herself. She couldn't go back to Bembe with trembling lips and welling eyes. She got into her car and shut the door and took some deep breaths. Then it hit her.

  There was more than a lipstick in her work bag. The company directory was in there too. The one with the home numbers and cell numbers of employees. Travis's cell number was on that list. She had to call him, right now. She couldn't let this go on.

  She found his listing and dialed his number before she could think too long and change her mind, scare herself off. His phone rang three times before he picked up.

  "Hello?"

  "Travis?"

  "Yes?"

  "It's...it's Chelsea. From work?"

  "Yes?" he said, this time drawing out the word.

  "Did I call at a bad time?"