Authors: Tara McTiernan
"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 could 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?"
"No, it's fine?"
"I, I've been trying to catch you at work. I wanted to explain. About the other night?"
His voice hardened a little. "What about it?"
"Well, that's my best friend's husband. I was just, helping him. I wasn't-"
"Hey, it's none of my business."
"But, it is! I mean, I don't want you to think that about me! I'm not doing anything," she said, trying to modulate her voice. "And I just wanted you to know."
"I...," he said and let out a little gasp of exasperation. "What does this have to do with me?"
"You," she said and paused. She forced herself to say it. "You were going to ask me out. And I want to."
There was a silence on the other end of the line. It stretched out so long that Chelsea started to open her mouth to fill it, but then he finally spoke.
"Listen, Chelsea. You're a nice girl, I'm sure. But I really don't need drama in my life right now. I've got enough going on. I just need things to be simple."
"But they are! They're simple!"
"That guy you were with? Things aren't simple there. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out. And I'm sure you know that. So, let's not play."
"I'm not playing. I'm totally serious. Nothing's going on."
"Really? I saw you holding hands with him when I went to the bathroom."
"He just...took them. I pulled away!"
He sighed and said, "I'm sorry. But I'm not interested. I don't need this. And to be honest, this call just confirms what I was afraid of: that when it came to you, as much as you were funny and cool and hot, there would just be way too much craziness - fights and accusations and emotional late-night phone calls. Like this. It's nearly ten-thirty and I've got an early flight tomorrow. I've got to go. Take care of yourself, Chelsea."
There was a click and the call was disconnected. Chelsea pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it in disbelief. She threw the phone on the floor of her car, heard it thump as it bounced against the carpeting, and covered her face with her hands, letting out a keening wail. What had she done? She shouldn't have called him. It had seemed so right, so necessary, only a few minutes before. But it had been a huge mistake. Emotional late-night phone calls, he'd said. And that's what she had just done: called him in the heat of emotion and ruined everything.
She let herself sob violently for a minute more and then gradually brought herself under control, breathing in long slow breaths. She reminded herself that there were other fish in the sea, that a few very eligible fish might be waiting for her at Bembe. Besides, she had to go back. She had to pretend she had simply retrieved a lipstick. She turned on the car's interior light and refreshed her makeup in her visor's lit vanity mirror, dabbing concealer on her reddened eyes and reapplying mascara.
As she turned out the light her phone rang and she scrambled for it, feeling around on the floor and hoping in spite of herself. Finally discovering it in time, she jabbed at the send button and lifted the phone to her ear, the mournful tones of Nina Simone's "Wild is the Wind" trembling through the darkness and through her. Her favorite song, a song of overwhelming desire.
"Hear that?" John said, his voice husky on the other end of the line. "That's my heart. I can't live without you."
She gasped and shook her head, wordless. God, she missed him. She loved him. Always would.
The memories came tumbling back of that long-ago spring together: the late nights and the conversations they couldn't bear to end, his crooning to her as they listened to this song together and then possessing her with his body, engulfing her with passion and terrible bottomless need until the sun started to rise again, leaving them both still craving more.
Corona
Kate stood on the outskirts of the dance floor watching Lucie and Sharon dancing together, twirling each other around endlessly like whirligigs and laughing. They weren't dancing in a serious way, were being silly instead.
It was just the three of them now, Chelsea having left to get something from her car and who had still not returned nearly thirty minutes later, and Bianca was gone for the night, poor Sebastian seriously ill and in an incompetent nanny's care. Kate wondered how she was going to get home, and then felt a pang of guilt for being so selfish, thinking about herself. Bianca had real problems and, even in the midst of her crisis, she'd thought of Kate.
"Are you going to be okay? I'm so sorry to leave you like this," Bianca had said, putting her hand on Kate's arm after she told them the whole story.
"Oh, no? Don't be sorry?" Kate said, lowering her brows and tightening her lips in sympathy. "You have to think of Sebastian. I hope you fire that nanny?"
"I shouldn't have insisted on driving tonight. I just wanted you to have a good time, not worry about driving. Tonight's supposed to be our celebration of your new career," Bianca said, her beautiful face sorrowful.
They had all bid her good luck and watched Bianca hurry out of the bar. Then it was just the four of them. Kate, feeling awkward without her best friend guiding her, stood with the other women and forced herself to take an occasional sip of the strong drink Bianca had given her, trying to get used to the taste. She preferred light and bubbly drinks; her usual go-to drink was Corona with a twist of lime. But, no, Bianca had wanted her to have this special cocktail and Kate was going to drink it in her friend's honor. She was going to drink it even if it made her feel anxious, that morning's test result still broadcasting in the back of her mind and making her hope. What if the baby...Kate shook her head, forcing the thought away. Bianca was always right and was probably right again. Kate shouldn't rely on home pregnancy tests, shouldn't get her hopes up.
By the time the dance lesson started, she had only half-finished her drink, but Sharon, abruptly friendly again, had pried it out of her hand and put it on the bar. "Come on, Kate. Let's dance!" So she had. And it was surprisingly fun - not only the dancing, but the camaraderie between the four girls that sprung up on the dance floor, bumping into each other and laughing.
By the time the class ended, Kate was breathless and flushed, happier than she had been since they moved from Vermont. As soon as the realization of this emotion hit her while standing back and watching couples take the floor, an enormous wave of guilt poured over her. Bianca should be here, having fun with them, should be part of this wonderful feeling, this special evening. After everything she had done for Kate, Bianca was missing Kate's watershed moment of belonging.
It was incredible how selfless Bianca was. Even after everything else she had done, even after the new job she had just found for Kate out of the goodness of her heart, Bianca was still thinking of her, trying to help her. Just before she left to run home to her ailing child, Bianca had pulled Kate aside.