“Yep,” Jack agrees, eagerly accepting his drinks from the bartender. He downs the shot and chases it with a hefty gulp of beer. “I saw your column the other day.
Taking Out The Trash.
Inspiring,” he says, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“What column?” Daisy seeks clarification, discontent that the two of them share information she is not privy to.
“It was a piece about letting go of past relationships,” Savannah explains dryly. The topic, usually causing her guilt, has no such effect in this instance. Feeling purposely jabbed, Savannah takes a finite amount of pleasure in her confession. “You know, taking out the trash…getting rid of the excess baggage.
Let it go
and move on.”
“Were you having problems with that?” Daisy inquires. “Jack’s doing fine. He’s moved on,” she is sure to add, a reminder to him and a convincing resolution to herself.
“I may have a few issues,” Savannah answers candidly, quickly pointing out, “not because I’m still in love. I’m just trying to find a good balance. You know, get to a healthy place. Where I don’t feel like a failure for getting divorced. Don’t feel bad for hurting another human being.” She eyes her phone, its vibration calling her attention from inside her glittery clutch, a text from Brody inquiring of her much desired attendance.
Daisy notices the distraction, neither female missing a beat. Both very much in tune with the other’s facial expressions, body language and general nuances.
“Who’s that?” Jack notices too, simply not as coy to make only a mental note, his inquiry of her phone action is immediate.
Savannah ignores him, continuing onward with Daisy. “There’s no reason to share a portion of your life with someone only to end it with hate and resentment. The adult thing to do…the healthy thing to do…is for me to honor what was, put it to rest peacefully and move forward.”
“I get that.” Daisy takes a drink of her beer, quickly returning her hand to Jack’s thigh.
You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, little girl. ‘I just want world peace.’ Girl, please! You ain’t never going to be no Miss America
. “Are you seeing anyone? Dating?” Her question probed by Savannah’s passing attention to her phone, calculated and aloof, a timely segue.
“I’m getting my feet wet,” Savannah keeps it short.
You don’t know me like that to start in with those questions, Daisy Mae.
Although her disclosure is subtle, she is unable to camouflage the sparkle in her eye accompanying a satisfied grin with the thought of Brody—the delectable pond into which she is dipping said toe.
“From that expression, I’d say you dove off the deep end!” Daisy replies happily, her first genuine reaction since Savannah’s arrival.
Who do you think you’re fooling? I’d recognize that look anywhere. You got a man on the brain. And in your bed. So long as it’s not my man, we’re good!
With the exciting revelation, Daisy pushes against Jack from inside the booth, feeling secure enough to leave him and Savannah at the table unattended. “I got to go.” She heads for the ladies’ room, her bladder about to burst.
Savannah grows quite uncomfortable with Daisy’s absence, ironically wishing for her quick return. Jack leans his frame onto the table, engaging Savannah. She leans back against the booth, sitting straight up attempting to thwart Jack’s confidential body posturing.
“You fucking that dumb gym jock fuck?” He keeps his harsh voice down in the bar, unwilling to let her cell phone interruption go.
Savannah bites down on her bottom lip, shaking her head. Her eyes darting back and forth between Jack and her half-full glass of Guinness, talking herself out of picking it up and throwing the dark-colored, sticky substance at his uncouth little mouth. “That’s your first and final freebie, Jack,” she warns through gritting teeth, wondering how someone so handsome can be so ugly.
“What do you expect me to do!” Aware of his rising voice, he pulls it back down.
“I expect you to be an adult.” Savannah leans over the table toward him, her shoulder purposely leading. Although the action engaging, she does not present with her chest, refusing to exhibit an open welcoming posture. “You sit here and call someone you don’t even know names. You chastise me for dating, when you’re moving in with your girlfriend of a few weeks,” she bites.
Is she one of those ‘friends’ you’ve been calling and texting and whatever else for the past few months?
Savannah refuses to ask aloud, unwilling to come across as though she cares or is bothered by such a fact. “You two have been pawing and kissing all over each other from the moment we sat down. You don’t have a leg to stand on, Jack. It doesn’t matter if I’m
fucking,”
she whispers his term bitterly, “the whole entire gym. It’s none of your business. It does not concern you.” Her index finger, threatening his space, beats firmly atop the table.
“Doesn’t concern me? I love you, Savannah. I didn’t want any of this,” he whispers, looking toward the ladies’ room, keeping track of Daisy, should she catch him in the act.
“You’re unbelievable.” Savannah chuckles defiantly. “You’ve got a woman in that bathroom. One I’m presuming you’ve told the same thing. That you love her.” Savannah grabs up her
blinging
silver clutch, securing it under her arm. “How do you think she’d feel if she knew you were out here telling me this crap?” her question completely rhetorical. “If you have issues, get them worked out before bringing someone new into your life. Why would you dump all of that garbage on her. You’re not some disrespectful…conniving little snake?” the first of her statements that actually poses itself as a question.
“Oh, I don’t know, Savannah.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Maybe because it feels good to be wanted. To actually have a woman who makes me feel needed.” Jack looks back and forth from Savannah to the ladies’ room, still keeping an eye out.
“That’s great! Let her want you. Want her back. Do your thing, Jack.” She stands from the table.
Jack grabs her arm. “Doesn’t even bother you, does it?” He shrugs, his expression a mixture of hurt and hate. “To see me with someone else.”
Savannah snatches her arm out of his hand, pulling a ten dollar bill from her clutch, her thoughts rolling. “And the truth comes out. You didn’t invite me here for Daisy. You did this for you.”
“I’ll get it,” Jack offers to buy her drink. “Please, sit back down.” Again, he eyes the ladies’ room.
“No. You won’t.” Savannah adamantly places the bill under her half-full glass of Guinness. “I don’t even know you anymore, Jack. Give Daisy my apologies for not saying goodbye.”
“Don’t leave. Come on. Just sit back down.” He worries what Daisy will think of her abrupt departure.
“Ha!” Savannah chuckles. “I’d have to be a glutton.” She contemplates what a fool she has been to sit here and play along with the charade, explaining and defending herself for nothing. “You made your bed, now lie in it.” Savannah hears Jack’s fist bounce off the table as she promptly walks away.
Chapter Twelve
Several blocks down at the most distinguished art gallery in town, a completely different scene plays out. Everyone who is anyone in Savannah attends. Savannah waits for Jac, her ‘other’ from Brody’s invitation, outside the gallery.
Jac, uncustomary yet boldly sports a short dress—the sassy red, black and white ensemble somewhere between punk and rockabilly. Savannah drawls out a favorable whistle at the sight of her primary role model. The tall, athletic older sister always setting the bar. “You look H-O-T…HOT! Check out those gams,” Savannah catcalls at her.
Jac hands her keys off to the salivating valet attendant, her focus settling on her baby sister. “Yeah. Yeah. Yeah,” she dismisses, quite uncomfortable with attention. “Well, how’d it go?” she references Savannah’s meeting with Jack and his new girlfriend, her sisterly guardianship kicking in.
Savannah nods her head, her pressed expression giving Jac all the answer required. “Just like you said it would.”
“You stay away from him and tell him to do the same, you got it.” Jac grows agitated by the bitter ex’s game playing.
“I think it actually did help in some sort of twisted way,” Savannah hunts for the silver lining.
Jac tilts her head, her eyes and mouth perturbed and blatantly disbelieving, as if to say,
Really
?
“Yeah,” Savannah answers Jac’s internal question, the two avidly reading each other since adolescence. “Seeing him. With her. Like that. All lovey-dovey and handsy. Referring to themselves as
we
. Calling each other
babe
.”
Jac rolls her eyes, symbolizing she’d much rather be gagged with a spoon than to sit with any ex and watch such a self-substantiating display.
“I know. It was really weird at first,” Savannah admits. “Not that I still want him or anything. It’s just strange seeing someone you used to be affectionate with in the affection of another.”
“That would bother anyone, Savannah,” Jac eases her mixed emotions.
Douchebag.
The term runs through her mind in conjunction with Jack and the obnoxious actions.
“But that’s the thing!” Savannah grows excited. “After I got over the initial awkwardness, I was fine with it. It didn’t make me want him back. And the fact that he could do that in front of me, made me realize he’s not as in love with me as he claims he is. You wouldn’t do that to someone you love.” Savannah thumps her hand over her heart, continuing, “I wouldn’t do that to Jack. And I’m not in love with him. Say Brody and I were a thing. I surely wouldn’t invite Jack to dinner with the two of us, then paw all over Brody in front of him. It’s like when a dog pees on the floor and you rub his nose in it, right? I just wouldn’t do that.”
“That’s because you wouldn’t need to, Savannah. When you’re confident and secure with yourself and your decisions, you have no need to show off. You know it…inside.” Jac turns her toward the gallery, continuing their conversation as they approach the line to be checked in. “Some folks, men specifically, are not that secure with themselves. Other things…trophies…make them feel worthy. What better way for Jack to prove you wrong than to show up for drinks with some ego-stroking bimbo on his arm.” Jac gives in to a chuckle before exhausting, “A real catch, huh.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter what his true intentions were. Whether he was trying to make me jealous, her jealous, himself look good…whatever. He did me a favor.” Taking note of Jac’s raised, skeptical eyebrow, Savannah continues. “After seeing him with another woman, all affectionate. Moving in with her and moving on with his life. I don’t have to feel bad or guilty about moving on with mine.” They inch closer to the maître d’. “He let me off the hook, really. Whether he meant to or not. And it feels pretty damn good, Jac.”
Jac laughs, happy to see her little sister’s load lighten, a real change taking place inside her as the baggage of her divorce moves one step closer to extinction.
“Name?” the maître d’ inquires as they approach.
“Bondurant. Savannah and Jacqueline,” Savannah reports.
The maitre d’ looks to the bouncer at the main door, pointing out Jac and Savannah, he nods his head. The bouncer waves them on to the front of the line, removing the velvet rope for them to enter.
“Ooh, fancy,” Jac jokes at their VIP treatment. “I think I like this Brody already.” Savannah giggles at her sister’s supportive approval. Upon entering, Jac grows uncomfortable. The anti-establishment feminist considers Savannah’s high-society a crowd worth avoiding at all costs. “What’s Brody’s last name?”
“McAlister,” Savannah answers, looking around the gallery, Brody’s rustic yet exquisite woodwork displayed everywhere.
“McAlister,” Jac mumbles, the name out of place among Savannah’s elite families. “How did he land this gig? What’s a woodworker doing setting up shop here?” Jac grows suspicious.
“Most of his customers are A-listers in Savannah. Rustic is the new chic.” Savannah rolls her eyes playfully. “Wooten. I think that’s the name. Candida Wooten. She’s one of his clients. She and her husband are sponsoring the event. Something like that.”
“Candida ‘Candy’ Wooten,” Jac informs, shaking her head. “Husband is a banker. A lawyer. A real estate guru. And pretty much everything else that equates to money. That Candy Wooten?”
“I think so,” Savannah responds, half paying attention, as she spots Brody across the grand room standing amongst a pack of eager art-goers. She waves back at him as he motions them over.
“Uh-Uh,” Jac nixes that momentum. Looping her arm through Savannah’s, she guides her away from Brody’s trajectory to the outside walls of the gallery.
“But Brody’s over there. We should at least go say hello.” Savannah balks.
“He can come to you,” Jac says. “Besides, I want to get a glimpse of him and all those blood-suckers.” Coyly pulling Savannah to a piece on the wall where they are out of Brody’s view but he remains in theirs, Jac explains, “You see that woman? Next to Brody.” Jac assumes he is the one towering a head above everyone else, per Savannah’s indulgent description.
“Yeah,” Savannah whispers, feeling as though she is amidst a covert operation. “The one who appears to be serving bubbling breasts with a side of silicone?” Savannah mutters at the woman’s unnatural and gravity defying bosoms jutting out just under her chin, surprised at the little green monster rearing its ugly head in the pit of her abdomen.
“Uh-huh.” Jac’s eyebrow rises suspiciously. “That would be Candy Wooten. The most infamous
cougar
this side of the river.”
“Shut up,” Savannah whispers, watching the attractive, presumably late-forties, Mrs. Wooten and her avid attention to Brody. “OMGosh…are you suggesting…you think Brody’s some kind of artsy gigolo?”
“Now, that’s not what I’m saying,” Jac says, swallowing a soft giggle at Savannah’s conclusion. “I just think it’s odd that he’s hooked up with this crowd. These people don’t exactly do things out of the kindness of their hearts.”
“You scratch my back, I’ll
scratch
yours,” Savannah exhausts, the slang for extracurricular sex. “I knew he had to be too good to be true.”