She fiddled with the wrapper on her cigarette pack. “Between what happened with him and the boyfriend who almost killed her a few years ago, she doesn’t trust them. That’s why she calls all the shots and follows the three golden rules.” She held up a finger to count.
“1. Never trust a man, because he’ll break your heart.
2. Never kiss anyone you truly care about.
3. Never allow yourself to fall in love because of rule number one.”
I nodded slowly. “The same rules you’ve adopted.”
“Works for me.” Kat said it like it was no big deal, but the way she kept her eyes from meeting mine as she scooted out of the booth seat and hurried off toward the kitchen told me our whole conversation had been a very big deal.
For the first time ever, I felt a little jealous of Kat and her free-spirited mother. I had always felt sorry for Kat because even though her mom was alive and well, she was never really ‘there’ for Kat. She never seemed to care about anything Kat did, no rules, no curfew. Now I understood why. She was teaching her the best life lesson she could: to be strong, take care of herself, and never count on anyone for anything—especially a man.
Amazing how a simple thing like falling in love could be the beginning of the end. How one bad choice could shatter all your hopes and dreams in an instant.
My bad choice affected the futures of everyone I cared about. Despite Kat’s don’t-give-a-damn attitude, she was a straight A student and would’ve easily excelled to the top of anything she pursued. Billi Jo, on the other hand, would probably have the same future either way. She’d keep coasting along and latch on to anyone who would give her the time of day—most likely some loser with an unlimited supply of weed and bullshit.
As for me, ever since I was a kid I knew the sky covered an area much larger than Dahlia, Texas, and I had always planned on exploring it. I’d always pictured myself traveling out west, working as a trainer for some of the big horse ranches and competing in shows just so I could see the countryside. But everything was different now. It didn’t really matter what any of us had hoped or dreamed—I had ruined that for all of us.
The guilt over my friends giving up so much for me weighed on me like a heavy blanket. I had to give them their lives back.
Wandering toward the kitchen to find Kat, I stopped when I saw Billi Jo sitting at the bar. “What are you doing?”
Billi Jo grinned and held up a can of Spam. “Munchies,” she answered with a full mouth.
“It’s breakfast time; how can you have the munchies already?” I asked.
Kat came up behind us with a bowl of Cheerios in her hand. “Because she had a joint for breakfast.”
Billi Jo shrugged her shoulders and kept shoveling in the dog food-textured substance.
“Ughh,” we groaned when she chased it with beer.
“Slim pickins, Charlie,” Billi Jo said to Charlie as he came into the room.
Charlie gestured his hand toward the canned ham. “Make yourself at home.”
“I’ll go out to get some groceries.” Kat set her cereal bowl on the bar, then discreetly poked a tiny strand of her dark hair back up into her wig.
“Got a better idea,” Charlie said, fishing through some papers behind the bar. “I have a card for the discount warehouse, so I’ll buy this time. You girls can make a list.”
“Uh, we don’t do charity, remember?” Kat spoke up. “You buy this time, we’ll cook.”
Charlie nodded, then eyed my recycled outfit and bed head. “Sleep good?”
“Sure,” I grumbled, “as soon as I put your Flintstone cot together.”
“Maybe you should consider listening to me the next time I try to tell you somethin’.” He twisted away, but not before I saw the corners of his lips turn up.
“Maybe.” I bored my snake eyes into the back of his head.
“So, Charlie,” Billi Jo started, “why was your bar closed down for a few months?”
I couldn’t help myself. “Probably because he ran off all his employees.”
He turned to face me. “I had a heart attack.”
Oops. I sank onto a barstool beside Billi Jo. “Sorry, Charlie.”
Kat picked up his menu of fried food off the bar and held it up like she was holding the tail of a mouse. “No wonder. Is this the garbage you eat all the time?”
Charlie shrugged, but he might as well have admitted to getting cholesterol infusions through an I.V. drip once a week.
Kat scowled. “I can see I need to supervise this trip to the warehouse. We’ll get some fruits and vegetables.”
By the end of week two, the bar looked good thanks to our group effort. Charlie had decided to close the bar while we got it in shape. We repaired rickety chairs and tables, and we even replaced the shot bulbs in the sign out front—it actually read Charlie’s now. We cleaned the weathered hardwood floors, and Charlie borrowed some equipment to sand and buff them.
After Kat convinced Charlie to let us paint the walls a nice shade of khaki, it looked even better. While they were out on their paint run, he’d let her talk him into some inexpensive, black picture frames for the articles and posters that he had tacked everywhere on the walls. She was Martha Stewart on crack.
Between the makeover project and Kat’s relentless efforts at healthier cooking, Charlie’s mood seemed to lighten. I think he was even starting to like us a little—the way he had to stop himself from smiling kind of gave it away. I decided maybe Charlie wasn’t so bad after all, and if I’d been feeling like the old me, I might’ve even liked the old guy. But letting myself like him would only make me feel worse about all the secrets I was hiding from him. Keeping my distance was the safe route.
On the last night of our semi-extreme makeover, Charlie got suddenly serious. “The re-opening is tomorrow. You girls shouldn’t give out your real names to anybody—for safety reasons. There’s some real weirdos in Vegas, in case you hadn’t noticed. My friend Rex makes perfect I.D.s, and he’s comin’ over here later to get you set up.”
“What do we need I.D.s for?” Billi Jo asked.
“In case the A.B.C. guys—the Alcohol Beverage Control—stop by. You’re supposed to be twenty-one to work somewhere that sells alcohol in Vegas. They could shut me down.”
Billi Jo blew air out her mouth. “But Charlie, we’re legal.”
Charlie gave her his I’m-too-tired-for-bullshit look before he started back in on his pile of receipts.
Nobody said a word, not even Billi Jo. We knew better than to push our luck on legal issues.
I was about to follow my friends to the basement when Charlie stopped tapping on his adding machine. “Hey, kid, I picked up somethin’ for you when I was out the other day.” He reached under the bar, pulled out a small plastic bag, and handed it over to me. “I noticed that picture in your room, the one of your family, has a big crack in the glass. Thought you could use a new one.”
For a few seconds, Charlie allowed me to stare into his eyes—into the deep well that reflected his soul. Without understanding how, I knew he held onto a gnawing pain that drove him to offer help to three young strangers. And I knew that he understood me. He might not have understood exactly why I was so angry or lifeless, and he probably didn’t care for my attitude, but he understood my pain.
Taking the bag, I unwrapped the tissue paper and pulled out a wooden picture frame. “Um…thanks, Charlie.”
“It was nothin’.” He waved his hand so I wouldn’t make a fuss.
At a loss for words, I flipped the frame over and over in my hands.
He tucked his receipts into the cash register drawer and closed it. “Well, I guess I’ll be turnin’ in. You better get to bed, too. Lotta work to do tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I said and kept my seat at the bar.
Normally, an act of kindness like this might have brought tears to my eyes. But I didn’t feel sad, or happy, or anything at all—and I hated myself for it. I was thankful for the frame and a place to live, the job, and
even Charlie himself. Mentally, I was thankful for many things, but I felt nothing in my heart. I was lost and empty—a person without a soul.
Running my hands over the smooth wood of the frame, I stared into the glass. Even though I moved it from side to side to catch the light, I could barely see my reflection. And I knew why—I barely existed.
15
SINK OR SWIM
Like all the other mind-numbing days I had managed to waste away since arriving in Sin City, I realized this day would likely be equally as insignificant. And I marveled at how little I really cared if the cops found me and dragged me back to Texas.
After days of searching for any shred of evidence that might help to prove my innocence, we came up with nothing. Kat and I had slipped off to the library to use the Internet and set up a fake Facebook account so we could check out the profiles of people from Logan’s high school. We hoped to find people talking about his history of trouble-making, but so far, nothing. All we found were horrible rumors about me: speculation about what happened that night and wild gossip about where I might be. Jamie hadn’t come up with anything, either, so things were looking more and more grim as far as us returning to our old lives anytime soon. Maybe ever.
With the effort and enthusiasm of a slug, I got ready for work. It wasn’t that waitressing was a horrible job, it’s just that I would’ve preferred something less social—like doing paperwork in a closet somewhere, digging a trench with a fork, or searching for prairie dogs in Antarctica…
Billi Jo grinned as she set dirty glasses on the bar for Charlie. “That cute guy at your window table has it bad for you.”
I turned to see Kat’s reaction.
Billi Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m talkin’ to you, River.”
I glanced toward the window tables, but didn’t have a clue which guy she was talking about. “What guy?”
“The same one that’s been coming here since we started this job two months ago.” She waved her hand in front of my eyes. “Always asks to be seated at one of your tables, flirts with you…”
“Flirts with me? Why? I look like crap.”
She examined my face. “Hmm, your complexion has turned to a dead ashy color and your eye color is all weird.” She winced. “You could stand to gain a few pounds, too. But if you get past all that, you’re still pretty.”
She could’ve told me I had won a pig at the county fair and I wouldn’t have been more surprised. “I am?”
She stared at my hair. “Except for that knot thing you always do with your hair, it’s—”
“Okay, I get it.” I threatened to throw a soggy bar towel at her.
“And you’re really grumpy…” She slinked away, and I continued with my grumpiness.
When a rowdy group of college-age guys strolled in and set up camp at one of the tall tables in my section, the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. They reminded me of Logan and his buddies with their confidence and the way they appraised Kat and me from head to toe as if we were art sculptures—naked ones.
Their crisp khakis and pastel button-downs were a dead giveaway that they weren’t our typical customers. Our regulars were the blue-collar after-work crew, the pool hustlers, the divorcees, some old guys like Charlie, and the hard-core alcoholics. Occasionally we might have a party crowd wander in whose sole purpose was to get hammered, be obnoxious, and irritate the employees. I was willing to bet money that this was going be their category.
I turned to Kat, my eyes pleading.
“Your table,” she said, then took off after Charlie loaded drinks onto her tray.
I sucked in a breath of air and forced myself to their table. “You guys lost?”
“Not any more, honey,” the biggest guy answered as he checked me out.
I flashed a fake smile so quick that if he blinked, he’d miss it.
“We’re just looking for a little action, maybe a table dance or something.” He moved into my personal space, making my pulse race, and I took a step back.
My attempt at a positive attitude evaporated. “You came to the wrong place for that. The strip club is three blocks down.”
“Maybe we’ll hit that next.” Keeping his googly eyes on me, he sat down on a stool. “But I think we’ll hang out here with you for a little while first.”
“Suit yourself,” I said flatly. I decided he reminded me of the Incredible Hulk—minus the green.
“Come on, loosen up. It’s my buddy here’s bachelor party.” He whacked his friend on the back. “We’re just looking for a good time.” Pulling a wad of money out of his pocket, he pushed a twenty toward me. “Twenty bucks if you show us your boobs,” he laughed then turned to his friends for approval.
“Ooh…tempting,” struggling to keep my cool, I rolled my eyes upward as if I was considering it, “but no.”
“I guess we’ll settle for a round of beer and eight shots of Cuervo to get us started, then.”
I pulled another table over to seat them. “Looks like you guys got started a while ago.”
Ignoring my comment, he leaned down to whisper in my ear, “Sure you won’t consider my offer?”
He’d been here for less than five minutes, and I already wanted to inflict pain on him. “Money can’t buy everything.”
“It can buy most things, baby doll,” he garbled as he moved to slide his sweaty arm around my waist. Lucky for him, I dodged contact and resisted the urge to stab his arm with my ink pen.
“Not here, it doesn’t,” I growled, and beelined it to the bar.
Hastily, I returned with their drink order and passed out tequila shots, a saltshaker, and lemon slices. There was an extra shot glass and Bachelor Blondie pushed it toward me. “This one is for you, sexy.”
In desperate need of a numbing agent, I downed it. Unfortunately, the taste of furniture polish and fire didn’t numb anything. I shoved the lemon in my mouth and hauled ass to the bar for ice water. When I could speak, I said to Kat and Billi Jo, “Anybody wanna trade me tables? I don’t really feel up to it—these guys are jerks.”
Kat gave me a bored look. “You say that about every guy that comes within fifty yards of you. It probably wouldn’t hurt if you tried being friendly, maybe even flirt a little. Who knows, you might actually enjoy it and you’d make better tips.”
“But these guys are serious jerks.”
“Then don’t take their shit.”
“But—”
“Suck it up, River.” Kat walked away.
After I checked on my other tables, I forced myself back to the bachelor table to take another drink order. When I walked up, I caught the cutest guy in the group staring at me. “You look familiar.” He studied my face. “You look like that chick on TV…the one on the news.”
I stopped breathing.
“Hey, sweetheart,” one of the guys broke in, “how about a round of Sex on the Beach?”
“And I’ll take a Blow Job,” added another one.
Laughter exploded in my ears, and their faces morphed into images in a funhouse mirror. My lungs tried to collapse while the guys competed to see who could come up with the most offensively named drink. I didn’t care about their stupid competition, I cared that one of them recognized me. I had to get out. Stumbling through them, I pushed my way toward the closest escape. When I was safely behind the ladies’ room door, I stopped to lean against the cold concrete wall.
Kat was ten seconds behind me. “Seriously, are you going to run away every time some guy looks at you, or flirts, or hurts your feelings?”
I shook my head. “You don’t underst—”
“I do understand. I understand that what happened to you was scary and horrible and unfortunate, and your instinct is to run and hide every time some guy comes near you. I understand that you’ve been like that since we left Texas. But it’s time. It’s time for you to pull it together. It’s time for you to start living again. We can’t help you if you don’t help yourself.”
“I didn’t ask any of you to help me. I
wanted to turn myself in. I tried to talk you guys into leaving me or going home. I didn’t ask for any of this!”
“You did when you kept dating that piece-of-shit boyfriend of yours. I tried to warn you, and so did Justice, but you were too damn hard-headed to listen!”
I didn’t have enough fire in me to continue the argument. “Go to hell, Kat,” I muttered. Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I bent over and braced my hands on my knees.
She stormed out, and I moved to the sink to splash cold water on my face. I knew Kat was right about everything she said, but I didn’t know how to fix it. The only way I seemed to deal with any of it was to push away the people I cared about the most. That’s why I had to leave. And because someone recognized me from the news, I had to leave now. When I pushed open the bathroom door, I staggered back when I saw the guy who recognized me coming toward me. There was nowhere I could go.
“Hey, I thought of that lady on TV—the one you remind me of,” he called out. “The really pretty newswoman on channel four, Maria something. You two could be sisters.” He disappeared into the men’s restroom.
A shock of relief went through me, but my head still felt like it would explode. I had to get out of here. If I disappeared, my friends would eventually give up their search and go back home. They would have a chance to reclaim their lives.
I made a quick exit down the basement steps to my room, and for some reason, I focused on a single picture that hung in a cheap frame on the wall like a target. It was a picture of some Jamaican guy with an extra large smile on his face. Below were the words “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” I’d been dying to smash it into a thousand pieces.
A slamming door startled me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kat yelled.
“I’m leaving.” I reached under the cot for my suitcase.
“Just because you don’t want to deal with those guys upstairs?” She snatched the suitcase out of my hand. “I guess you think one of us will clean up another one of your messes like we’ve been doing since we got here? Well, I’ve got news for you—we’ve covered your ass long enough!”
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