“We could go to the Tavern.” The fact that she might accidentally on purpose run into Wallace and Joe shouldn’t be an issue.
“The Tavern? Only hoes go in there. It’s so dark and seedy. Reminds me of one of those old 1970s movies.”
“Dark might work for you tonight. You could take the hat off and maybe no one would notice.”
“You’re serious?” Desiree said between bites. “Joe wouldn’t like it. What if he’s still there?”
“I don’t care what Joe likes or doesn’t like,” Gen said, and realized for the first time in her life she meant it, “If he’s there with Wallace, he’ll just have to deal.”
They both would.
9
Desiree was right about the lighting in the Tavern. Not that Genevieve had been in there much, since it was Joe’s place. Joe and ‘the guys’. All his ex-Air Force buddies, even some Army like Scott, and of course, Wallace. Well, it was time to show that what was good for the goose was good for the gander. At least that’s what her Daddy used to say. Daddy had always told her she could do anything she set her mind to do. Well, now she wanted to be stupid just like the guys. Stupid and drunk.
She’d come to the right place.
Desiree went towards the portion of the bar with the least amount of light, near the back, and found an empty stool. Genevieve sat down next to her.
The owner and bartender appeared to be drunk. Arnie, she believed that was his name. Instead of serving drinks he was pretending to be a mime, doing ‘man in a box.’ Not very well, Gen thought. She looked around the crowded bar, and didn’t see Joe or Wallace anywhere in sight.
“What’ll you have?” asked a bartender with a ponytail.
“A draft beer,” Desiree said, removing her cap and smoothing out her hair.
Boy. That was purple.
“What about you?” he asked Gen.
What a big decision. “Do you have wine?”
The man looked dumbfounded. “Sure, we have wine, sweetheart. This is wine country. But if you want wine, you might want to go to Giancarlo’s. Here we serve the real drinks.”
“Like beer?” Desiree asked.
The man did not look amused with Desiree. “What do you want?”
“Maybe come back to me. This is a big decision. On the cruise I had a blue drink, what was it called? What I want is a good drink, something that’s not too sweet but will go down smoothly. Something made with the finest ingredients.”
She had apparently really stumped this man because he stared at her like she was an oddity in a traveling freak show. “I don’t think I can help you.”
“Why? Is that a weird request?”
“Just give her a tequila shot and maybe she’ll shut up,” Desiree said. “Plus, we might be able to leave earlier.”
The man poured from a tequila bottle into a tiny glass. “That’ll be ten dollars.”
“Ten dollars?” Genevieve shrieked. “That’s outrageous.”
“Shut up and drink it. I’ll pay.” Desiree slapped down a ten dollar bill.
“Is this the best liquor? I usually drink wine, but Joe likes tequila.” All right, so she wasn’t a hard drinker and never had been. She figured it was because she’d missed out on college and gone to culinary school instead. In her culinary school days she and her friends would go out and have shots of espresso for fun.
“It’s the best for your purposes. Getting drunk fast.”
Leave it to Desiree to know what she needed. She took a sip of the drink and it tasted a little bit like what she imagined motor oil might taste. She stuck her tongue out. “Gah.”
“You don’t taste it, stupid. Just slam it down. Like this,” Desiree picked it up and swallowed it like the thing was water.
“How can you do that?”
“Give her another one,” Desiree told the man. “Do it like I did.”
So Genevieve held her nose and slammed it down. And a funny thing happened. The second and third times it tasted a whole lot better.
She didn’t know how much time had passed when she lifted her head off the bar counter. “Where’s Wallace?”
“Here’s not here,” Desiree said next to Gen. She sounded drunk.
Genevieve took a good look at Desiree. She had purple hair, so Gen hadn’t dreamt that. Just like Barney the dinosaur. She pointed. “Your hair!”
“Stop laughing,” Desiree said, and put her cap back on. “We need to get out of here.”
“I wanted to find Wallace first,” Genevieve said, grabbing her purse. “Is he here? Where’s he hiding?”
That mean bartender gave her a snooty look. “You’re officially cut off.”
“All I want to do is take care of him,” she said to the man.
“Oh, you took care of him all right.” He wiped the counter.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Genevieve climbed off the stool and teetered a little bit in place.
The bartender leaned across the bar. “It means he and Joe left here hours ago, and neither one of them looked happy. Looked like they might start swinging at each other any minute, if you want the truth.”
“Oh no. I’m a horrible person. Desiree, please take me home. I don’t deserve to live, but at least I can cook.” Genevieve walked unsteadily towards the lit exit sign.
“I’m coming,” Desiree said.
“Sit back down. You two aren’t going anywhere. Your ride is on its way,” the bartender said.
“I can handle my own ride, thank you very much, Mr. Bartender.” She took out her phone. Displayed on it were several missed calls and one text message:
Where are you?
The text had come in about an hour ago, from Wallace. She nudged Desiree. “It’s Wallace! He’s in the phone, that’s where he is. I found him.”
“Give me that.” Desiree took her phone. “Huh.”
“Give it. I need to text him back.” She did, telling him that she needed help.
“Drunk texting. That’s a great idea. Ask him to pick you up,” Desiree said and leaned on Gen’s back like she was about to take a nap.
Genevieve sat down on a chair at one of the now empty tables and Desiree plopped down on the other, laying her head on the table. Gen had just texted Wallace to please pick her up at the Tavern when he walked through the door. “That was fast.”
“Thanks, Mick.” Wallace nodded to the mean bartender.
Genevieve saw her knight in shining armor coming towards her, handsome as usual, except that his left eye was red and a little swollen.
“Need some ice for that?” Mick asked.
“Nah, I’m fine.” He squatted down in front of Gen. “So. I was looking for you.”
“Your eye.” She reached out and touched it lightly. She’d done a fine job of taking care of her man.
“It’s nothing.”
“Joe did this.” Her fingers skimmed down his jawline and through the stubble there.
“He was drunk, and I let him take a shot. I deserved it.”
“I hope you hit him back. Hard.” Gen leaned her forehead into his and breathed in his scent. Woodsy. Leather. Man.
“The important thing is he and I are going to be okay. I took him home so he could sleep it off.”
Desiree popped her purple head up. Somehow she’d lost the cap again. “You need to take her home now. And me too, on the way.”
“Sure,” Wallace said, and did a double-take. He squinted in Gen’s direction. “What have you two been up to?”
“We did some drinking.” Gen tried to stand up, and when she wobbled a little her hands reached out for Wallace’s broad shoulders.
“No kidding.” Wallace rose to meet her, and his arms steadied her.
“She can’t handle her liquor,” Desiree said.
“What she said.” Gen jutted her chin towards Desiree. “And I hate tequila.”
“For what it’s worth, I think tequila hates you.” He seemed to study her for a minute, then swooped her up into his arms.
She put her head on his should
er. “I don’t feel so good.”
“Kinda thought so.” He walked towards the door and kicked it open with his foot. “Come on, Desiree. We need to hurry.”
“Oh sure, I can walk,” Desiree said. “Don’t worry about me.”
Gen was about to tell Wallace that he needed to put her down and quickly, when he did just that. Like he had a sixth sense, he set her down near the curb. He held on to her, and let her get sick in the gutter.
Exactly where all that tequila belonged.
* * *
Timing was everything.
Wallace had learned a couple of things tonight. First, tequila did some kind of weird voodoo number on the Hannigans. Second, Joe could pack a punch even when he was shit faced drunk. And Wallace would remember that for many years to come. So would his left eye.
He and Joe had finally had it out. After the Tavern, Wallace had driven Joe to the liquor store, then to the river to sort things out. In the middle of all that sorting, Wallace asked Joe if he’d feel better by taking a swing at him. Unfortunately, Joe took him up on it. Wallace had ended their ‘talk’ by driving Joe home. Then he’d gone back to Genevieve’s only to find she was gone. He’d called her, and received no answer. Texted her. No answer. Began to worry, and then got a call from Mick at the Tavern. Only a few minutes later, as he was on his way, an interesting reply from Gen:
I am do frunk. Hekp me p;wadw.
Followed by:
ll$m good a Lil
This went along with the kind of night he was having, and made about as much sense.
When he’d arrived, it hadn’t taken long to recognize the green-gilled look on her face, and he’d barely made it with her to the curb to watch her get sick. Then he’d loaded both drunken girls into his truck and driven Desiree home, where he’d walked her to the door and made sure she got inside all right.
Now, Gen dozed as he drove her home. She looked pale, tired, and damned if he didn’t feel guilty about it. He should have come back to her sooner, and should have let Joe stew. At least texted her so she wouldn’t be left hanging. But, as usual, he was a bad boyfriend. The difference being that this time he cared.
Gen snuggled next to him, and it was almost like she’d heard him. “I’m…call.”
It was all he could understand of her mutterings. He pulled over, opened the passenger door and gathered her in his arms. “Give me your key.”
She fumbled in her purse and handed it to him, then laid her head back on his shoulder. Once inside, he put her down on the couch and propped her up on a pillow. She wasn’t wearing a dress tonight, but a pair of dark blue jeans that accentuated every curve. A black leather jacket, which he removed.
“I’m not a booty call,” she mumbled.
This time he understood her, and hell if it didn’t piss him off. “No, that’s right. If you were a booty call you’d be the world’s most complicated one.”
Booty call. Yeah, he’d sure take a shiner for a booty call. Risk losing his best friend for a booty call. Hold her hair back while she got sick for a booty call. He shook his head. Women. He went to the cupboard and got a glass of water. In the medicine cabinet he found some aspirin and brought both to her.
“Here, drink some water.” He sat down next to her. “You’re dehydrated.”
She lifted her head off the pillow as slowly as if it weighed four hundred pounds. He knew the feeling. “Please kill tequila for me. Kill it good.”
He handed her the aspirin and water. “Sorry I didn’t come back sooner. I needed to work something out with Joe.”
“It’s okay.” She swallowed the aspirin and sipped at the water.
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s just I missed you. And I didn’t want you to change your mind.” She set the water down on the end table, and then looked up at him, eyes watery.
Something squeezed in his chest at that lost look in her eyes. He gathered her in his arms, and lay back down on the couch, resting her on his chest. She snuggled in like she was going to stay for the winter.
“Thank you for coming back.”
“No problem.”
Except that it was. He was in so deep he no longer recognized where or when he’d fallen in. It was like being lost deep in the woods with no compass. This was all so new to him, this overwhelming feeling of protectiveness mixed with pulsing hot lust. This inability to think straight.
They stayed in that position all night, tangled up in each other, and he wasn’t aware of the time when his eyes opened to the sunlight drifting through the curtains in Gen’s kitchen. His left hand was fisted in Gen’s riot of long red hair, and the right hand appeared to be palming her ass. Good to know even in his sleep he was getting some kind of action. He shifted and Gen moved only slightly.
“Gen?” He whispered.
“Mmmmm.”
“Hey, it’s morning.” He eyed his wristwatch. Eight AM.
“Ooooooh my head,” she touched her forehead. “Kill me now.”
He slowly rose, taking her up with him. “A shower will help.”
“And a new head.” She cradled it with both hands.
“That will teach you to stay away from shots.”
“From now on tequila is my mortal enemy.”
He took her hand and led her to the shower, turned it on and left the room. Sure, it was tempting to stay with her, but he had things to do. In the kitchen he started the coffee, found eggs and potatoes and started cracking and chopping. Gen didn’t know it yet, but he cooked a great breakfast too. Up at the cabin there was often little to do during the snowstorms but cook and eat. And think.
He needed to do more of that.
It wasn’t like Joe didn’t have some good points. They’d both seen Gen through difficult break-ups. This last one, the marriage, being the worst. She’d come home and cried for weeks about the horrible mistake she’d made. Beat herself up like nobody’s business, and though he also held marriage in high regard he’d never seen anyone take it so hard. Especially after two short months. If he were ever to be the cause of that kind of anguish, he wasn’t sure he could live with it. And despite the fact that he wanted to get married someday, his track record left something to be desired. Deep down, he couldn’t blame Joe for having concerns.
He couldn’t hurt Gen. Not now. Not ever.
He’d made up his mind some time during the night, as he lay with his arm full of Gen. He’d wondered what to do next, how to figure it all out, how to make his next move. When he woke up, he had his answer. He just needed Gen to understand. It wouldn’t be easy.
She came out of the shower wearing a terry cloth white robe, her towel-dried hair falling around her in waves. Without a stich of make-up on, she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. His heart ached a little, knowing she wouldn’t take his news well.
“I feel so much better,” Gen said as she staggered towards the kitchen.
She wasn’t fooling him. “It might take a few more hours. You should eat something.”
“You cooked for me.”
“Don’t look so surprised. You’re not the only one who can cook.” He stirred his fried potatoes. When Billy and Scott were young and Mom worked mornings, he used to make this for breakfast. There never seemed to be enough potatoes to satisfy his brothers.
Gen looked disappointed for some reason. “I’m sure it’s good.”
“Believe it.”
She came up behind him and put her arms around his waist. “But you’re my best medicine.”
“Yeah, and you’re distracting the cook. Go sit down.”
She went to sit down at the table in a bit of a huff, it seemed to him. “I wanted to take care of you, not the other way around.”
He served them both mugs of coffee, and large helpings of eggs and potatoes. “Eat.”
Gen took a tentative bite. “This is good.”
“Shocked?”
She smiled for a minute, then it flat lined. “How’s your eye?”
He’d al
most forgotten. “How does it look?”
“Black and blue.” She looked pained, which could either be the tequila or guilt.
“That’s normal.” Being a man, he squirted ketchup all over his eggs and ignored Gen’s frown. He took a bite of his potatoes. Not bad if he said so himself.
“I don’t see how you can be so calm about this. I’m mad at Joe.”
“Don’t be.”
She set her fork down. “And why not?”
“Because he’s worried about you. He means well.”
“That’s the problem. He’s always looked out for me, like I couldn’t do it for myself. I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“I noticed.” He quirked an eyebrow.
“Maybe he doesn’t remember that I came back from Austin, rented a house, got a small business loan, bought the bakery and managed to keep myself alive. All without his help!” She was winding herself up like a spinning top.
“Gen—”
“I’m tired of Joe interfering in my life. I know what I want and he can’t stop me. Life is about taking risks. I might get hurt, I might fall down, but I’ll get up again. I always do. I’m not afraid to take a risk. What about you?”
No. He didn’t take risks. Why would he? He’d been the glue to hold the family together. Billy had taken the risks, and so had Scott. Wallace had to be head of the family. He’d given up dreams of football. He’d been the one to get a regular job in construction just in case Billy didn’t make it to the majors. Maybe that’s why he always liked to get away to the mountains where at least for a short time he could be away from all the responsibilities pressing down on him. There really weren’t that many anymore, but like Joe with Genevieve, he seemed to be stuck in old patterns too.
He looked at the woman in front of him now, and realized that if he hurt one hair on her head he’d hate himself for the rest of his sorry life.
He put down his fork, no longer hungry. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She rose, took a few steps toward him, and sat on his lap. “You make me happier than I’ve been in a very long time. Maybe even my whole life.”
He had to tell her now, before she started something up with him. “Listen. I was going to tell you—”
THE STARLIGHT HILL COMPLETE COLLECTION: 1-8 Page 49