by A. R. Case
Walt was patient, up to a point. There was a fine line between stalling and setting him off. I was walking it as far as I could. So, I ordered him one, too.
We toasted the club, the flag, and pretty ladies, and knocked it back. Two would have been pushing it.
I waited until Walt’s beer was in hand.
“Touched my girl.”
Walt had his beer to his lips, but luckily hadn’t sipped yet. I’m certain he’d have pulled a spit take on me if he had. “You didn’t have a girl yesterday,” He said, gauging whether it was safe to sip or not.
I let him drink in peace. When his glass hit the bar, I let it out. “Met Edie Krupps, the designer Betty Jo always talks about.”
Walt tapped his glass. “Short? Curvy? Quiet? Brown hair?”
“Yup.”
“She’s not your type.” He declared, then took another sip. Just like that, he’d made up his mind. Maybe he was right, maybe he wasn’t. Maybe he was waiting for me to wax nostalgic how much my type she was. Any way you cut it, I wasn’t going to let him do that to me. I wasn’t nomad because I liked being alone, I was nomad because no man was my boss. No man. That was a vow I made to myself a long time ago.
“Going to Vegas. Need the club there notified.” There it was. My resignation or whatever you call it. I ordered a new beer to replace the piss warm remnants in front of me.
“Never asked for permission before.” Walt rightly observed.
Heck, I’d been more places than just Vegas over the last few years, never once checking in, or asking for permission. This was going to be different. If I was betting everything on this shot, it was going to need all the backing I could get.
He stewed longer. “You running?” He finally asked.
Maybe I was. I needed distance. Edie needed distance. She also needed to see the world out there was hers. Not mine, hers. Then, if she still wanted my sorry ass, well, I’d have to consider what that meant. My brain wasn’t going there, not even in the darkest, screaming recesses of it.
My phone buzzed. The ringer was off, but it was the call from Curve I’d put in. I had to take it.
After that call, another text. Walt should be good and pissed. I braced for the verbal hit, or maybe a physical one, and turned to face him.
“You’ve changed.”
“What you mean?”
“You’re always making deals, but not like this. It’s like your life depends on it. The guy from LA warned me about you, you know?” He sipped before moving on. “Said you’re a nutjob that doesn’t sleep. Not what I saw when you got here. Hell, I thought he was crazy.” He nodded to whatever he was thinking. “You get a girl, now I see the nut job. Interesting.”
Interesting. Indeed. Nutjob, since fourteen.
“Vegas.” Walt picked up his phone, scrolled through a few contacts and made a call. It was short, to the point, not very glowing endorsement, but at least a “He’s legit,” then snap, the extra-durable flip phone closed. Then he skewered me. “Pussy.”
His head went up as Mary came from backstage. She was in normal clothes, jeans, a sweatshirt that bared one shoulder, boots. Her beeline to Walt was interrupted by that same asshole who almost touched Edie. Both Walt and I moved. The bouncers were there, too.
The guy got belligerent, Walt got physical. He’s a big guy, we broke it up before Walt could break something important.
“He’s banned.” I told the bar. “Banned for life.” I stared at the guy who was being restrained by Freddie. “Rule. No touching the girls. You broke it. Get gone.”
There was a string of excuses, threats, pleas, you name it. I’d heard it before. In this business, you get the same types over, and over, again. They think for a few dollars they own a woman, and it’s their right to treat them like shit. That’s where all of them are dead wrong. First, there isn’t enough money in the world that allows you to own someone. Second, women are, at least to me, the balance to life. If your life is hard, a woman is soft. If you’re getting too complacent, there’s at least one woman out there who can shake your foundation to the core, and scare the bejesus out of your soul while doing it. There’s moms, sisters, lovers, friends, and they all are the glue that the cosmos needs holding it together. Without women, I’m convinced everything would fall apart. Mostly because no one would be around to nag a man to fix it.
“You lose your shit over Edie Krupps, huh?” Walt had draped his arm over Mary. He was staring at me.
“I couldn’t get her to say anything about it backstage.” Mary chimed in.
“You all can suck my dick. I know Edie is off limits.”
Walt laughed hard at me. “Good luck with that lie.” He dragged Mary out the door, still laughing.
Let him laugh. My willpower is legendary. If Edie is off limits, it’s a done thing. I went back to my drink.
Four hours later, three waters, no booze, five calls, two emails, several texts, and one long dark ride, I was in Edie’s driveway. The lights came on. Hard to ignore a Harley at eleven p.m. I felt a little like shit for being there, and uncomfortable as fuck after riding over a half hour with a hard on.
I locked down the bike, got the saddlebag unhooked, and was at her door. She didn’t yell at me, or ask me what I was doing. Thank God, because I don’t think I could have answered that. All that mattered was that I was inside the porch then in the house, and the night was locked out. She scrutinized me from top to bottom.
The saddlebag went down by the door. I wasn’t going to be presumptuous. But, she had let me in. She was wearing those soft sleep pants you get from the girly store in the mall, and a silky little tank I could half see through. “You look good.” She did. Her hair loose, no bra.
“You smell drunk.” She wasn’t yelling, but there was an edge to her voice that you couldn’t miss. My eyes caught on the fresh tattoo, and the scars.
“Last drink, four hours ago.”
One eyebrow raised. “How many total?”
Shit. Since one p.m.? Probably seven. Not a good tally to admit to. “A few.”
“More than two?”
“Yes.”
She counted on her fingers. “Less than ten?”
“Seven, exactly.” I redid the math in my head to be sure I wasn’t lying.
Her lips got hard. Really hate it when their lips get hard.
“You drink and drive often?”
“I’m not your damned ex.”
She slipped behind me, and opened her door. “Leave.”
I’d fucked up. When you fuck up, you have two choices, fuck up more and blame everyone else, or fess up the truth. And folks, unless the truth gets you twenty to life, opt for the truth. Okay, so I’m not paladin material. Paladins are boring fucks. “I walked you to the truck, then went back in to get drunk, so I wouldn’t drive here like I wanted to. I wanted to get drunk. Guess I wanted to be here more than that though. Either way, I was being an ass.”
“I’ll agree with that.”
“I’m still being an ass because I never even asked you if you wanted me here.”
“Yup.”
“Sorry baby.” I picked up the saddlebag and started to walk out the door. She stopped me.
“You haven’t asked.”
“Asked?”
“Ask me. Don’t presume.”
We were touching. She was a magnet. My soul stretched out of me and into her. No way in Hell did I want to leave. It was too damned important. “Do you want me here? Tonight?”
Her hand touched my hair, and she whispered, “Yeah.”
Just like that, I was somewhere soft.
Chapter 4: Basalt
Edie
Two magical nights in a row. It was Monday, but that didn’t mean anything to me. I worked whenever inspiration hit.
I’d dreamed of him. He was in black, but a strangely gossamer, leathery, organic black. Then I woke up to him. Instead of waking him, I went to work capturing the dream. Swatches of fabric and bits of nature I’d collected were strewn around my drafting
table workspace and preliminary sketches were in progress.
There was a river stone, deep gray, probably basalt. It gleamed almost black when wet. That was inspiration for the armor. I’d need to cast it in plastic because there’s no way to shape basalt as I was imagining it. Unless of course, you’re a magical, elemental fae. I needed to find food coloring and Karo syrup to see what it looked like with a blood-like substance on it, but that would be later. He came out when I was dipping it in water, and watching the drying process.
“Babe.” Indy brushed my hair to one side in order to kiss my neck. “You’re up early.”
I motioned over the sketches. “Inspired.”
He slipped one of naked sketches out of the pile, and chuckled. “You could have stayed in bed and gotten more inspiration.”
It’s not ladylike to snort, but I did it anyways. I tapped one of the bottom pages. “You were sleeping.”
That one got examined as well. “You made me look young.”
“You do look younger when you sleep.”
A startled grunt escaped. “Never knew that. Coffee?”
“Kitchen.” My hand movement was vaguely in the direction of the coffee pot, and about every food preparation item I owned. Luckily, Indy is resourceful, and I’m a huge believer in keeping like items together. Which meant he only had to open the cabinet above the coffee maker in order to find filters, coffee, and various sundries I keep around for when the mood strikes.
“How do you take it?”
“Cream, but more raw umber than buff titanium.” I was drawing, but I knew his eyes were on me. Looking up, I confirmed he was standing there looking at me like I had three heads. “Light but still coffee.” I translated.
“Ah. Got it.” He rummaged in my fridge and pulled out the half and half. “What do you have all the flavors for?”
I shrugged. “If the mood hits, I guess.”
“You’ll get sick. Some of this stuff looks years old.”
Another snort. “Probably is. Mom got me some of the flavors before I moved here.”
He made a sound of disgust.
“It’s alcohol based, so might be still good.”
“That doesn’t even pass the giggle test.”
“I know.” I was getting a good giggle out of the verbal imagery.
He set the cup on the little table next to the drafting table. It was cluttered, but he carefully moved some of the paints and the rock to make room.
“Water. Coffee.” He pointed at each cup. “In case you get distracted and forget.”
He already knew me well. I laughed and it felt good. Under that, in the bliss of a quiet morning with inspiration, was a deep realization. All of the things I’d experienced before this day built into appreciation for someone who could see I was half crazy, yet put up with it. I set everything down, and turned to him to brush his face with my fingertips.
“You are …” Oh, God, I was going to cry. “Thank you.”
“Babe.” He kissed me to shut me up, and stop the tears. That was perfect, too, but in a way that mellowed out all the sad and just made me happy. I snuggled in and forgot about my dream, and embraced the reality.
About an hour later we were snuggled on the rattan couch in the three-season porch. “How did you know about the water/coffee thing?” I asked.
He had to catch up because we were talking about other things. “LA. One of the drag queens I knew, shacked up with an artist for a bit. Told me how he had to rush his boyfriend to a hospital because he drank turpentine.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Cops investigated. Because they had to rule out poisoning attempt. Interviewed Reggie. Then went and did some snooping at their apartment. Cleared my dancer right away.”
“Glad I mostly work in watercolor then.”
Indy’s chest was shaking. “Glad you do, too, babe.” And with that, we went back to the prior conversation.
There was a lull, and I giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“What did Reggie’s boyfriend think he was drinking.”
Indy chuckled.
Still Edie
“Hi Honey, do you need any money?”
My mom calls once a month, but never in a predictable pattern, so I can brace myself, or avoid the call. It started when I moved out of their house for the second time. Her timing sucked, as usual. I was waiting for Indy to arrive. In fact, had just picked up the phone and read his text before Mom called. It’s like she’s got a sixth sense to know when I’m near the phone.
“I’m fine.” I lied just a little bit on that, because my online business was in that lull between Christmas and the summer festival season. I had most of my available money tied up in material. Luckily, last Fall’s local fair covered my rent for the year. Fin and Betty Jo were kind enough to work with my erratic income. It helped they had years of erratic income expertise which helped them understand feast versus famine. Vega and Marina’s shoe orders were an inflow because it reused supplies I already had.
“You can always come home if you need to. Jim just had that contractor at the house to re-waterproof the basement. It always gets so damp down there otherwise. I don’t know why, since we’re on a hill. But this time, the contractor says what they did will keep out the damp. That will help the resale value.
“Jim keeps threatening to sell the place and move to Florida. I’m quite happy here. We just put in another rhododendron bush near the well.”
I let her ramble a bit about the house.
“Are you sure you don’t need any money?”
“I got three more orders from the club, so I’m good.”
“That club. I wish you wouldn’t take that work.”
“Mom, don’t.”
“Honey, they are strippers. That can’t be very safe. Nor is it a, well, empowering career.” She tripped on her words a bit.
“On the contrary, I think it is pretty empowering.”
“Oh my good Lord, you’re not considering stripping? I’ll have Jim get a U-Haul. If you don’t want to live in the house, I understand. Maybe we can make one of those tiny houses in the back, or convert the garage.”
“Mom! I’m not stripping, not considering it, nor would I qualify for it.”
“Why not? You’re beautiful.”
Of course, Mom thinks that. She doesn’t see the scars, or the forty extra pounds, or my height as deficits. Not to mention my utter lack of grace and athleticism. “I don’t have what it takes, athletically, to be a dancer.”
“You know that gym down by Sally’s? They put in a pole. I bet if you got in a regular class you’d enjoy it.”
I blinked at the phone in my hand. Being my mother, I hesitated to point out the hypocrisy of her suggestion, right after her rant about stripping.
“I’m perfectly happy being an artist. That’s me.”
“Of course. I just wish you had, more.”
She hesitated before that last word. I knew what she meant. More. A husband, family, grandchildren for her to spoil. Those things wouldn’t happen for me. But maybe if I told her about Indy, she’d relent a bit. “I met someone.”
“Oh?” She didn’t sound enthused.
That flustered me. Granted, my judgement was extremely flawed with Eddie, but this was different. Indy was nothing like Eddie. In high school, Eddie was a good student, an athlete, and a charmer.
Okay, the last item was similar. I suppose you could count Indy’s physique as athletic as well, but it wasn’t the same. Dammit, talking to my mother was a minefield of insecurities. I was a completely grown woman. I’d been through therapy to figure out what I was and how I was happiest. “He’s one of the owners of the club.”
Silence.
When I drop a bombshell, I don’t do it halfway.
“Is he …?” My mother was having trouble articulating. Perversely, it made me feel stronger. That was bad, I loved my mother, and shouldn’t do things like this to her. I pushed that urge back down and tried to correct the
conversation.
“He’s charming, kind, solid, and from what I’ve heard from the girls, a rock. I like him.”
“That’s good, I guess.”
“He knows me, and puts up with the oddness of my art. Better yet, leaves me enough space so I can create.”
“That is good. I just hope he isn’t one of those biker types who run around with a bunch of women.”
Oh God. I stifled a laugh. She’d just described exactly the image Indy cultivated. There was going to be little hope if I didn’t figure out a way for Mom to warm up to him.
Did I want that? Did I want Indy and my mother to meet? He was probably the most dangerous of the men who worked together to run Fantasies. Even Fin had a wariness around Indy. That spoke volumes. Fin had been one of those bikers who made the fake ones on TV look like pansies. Betty Jo was the same way. I knew the stories about Indy. Even the bad ones. He’d killed someone and had spent a large portion of his life in prison.
The conversation wasn’t going to end well if I kept it going toward Indy’s direction. “Do you think Dad is serious about selling the house?”
“Oh, he talks about it every year. It’s gotten worse since he retired. Then there’s my hip problems, which he says is another reason to get a single level place. But Florida! There’s hurricanes down there.”
Hurricanes, big bugs, flowers year-round, reptiles, both human and animal. Interesting place, for a visit. I agreed with Mom on that count. While we were in harmony about weather, Florida, and the vagaries of life, I got changed into, or should I say, out of my normal skin, and into a lot of my real skin. That included one of the shoe design prototypes I’d made for Vega. If my Mom thought I was pretty enough to be a stripper, then maybe I’d just test that out on Indy.
For once, my voice wasn’t faking being happy to appease Mom.
Indy tapped on the screen door outside, then let himself in, as I was wrapping up the conversation. He eyed me funny as I said my goodbyes. I said goodbye to Mom at least four times before she finally let me go.