The Break-Up Psychic (11 page)

She appears rather nonplussed over my forthcoming date with Buffalo Bill, so I look over at Sam who doesn’t seem to find any of this amusing.

“Well, I guess you better be on your way,” he says. “Sounds like you’ve got a big night ahead of you.”

Ellery walks jauntily around me, assessing me with excited eyes from my hair down to my shoes. When he opens the door and motions for me to go through, I look back at Sam, caught between wanting to stay near him and wanting to put distance between us.

He must sense my hesitation because he walks to the door, turns to Ellery and says, “I expect you to be on your best behavior, Mr. Jude-Thomas. Our Ellie here is a special lady, and you need to treat her as such.” His voice is strong, low and even, and it makes me want to rush into his arms, resolution or no.

“Don’t you worry,” Ellery says, grinning and winking at Sam, “I know how to show a lady a good time.”

Oh no, I forgot to pack my night vision goggles.

The thing about moths is that they’re quite dense so when they fly into you, it feels like getting hit with squishy rocks that stick to your clothes. After dinner at the
Eatin
’ Alley, Ellery took me to the Butterfly House to observe moths in all of their nighttime, skin-crawling glory. I did my best not to scream every time one flew by my hair, but in the end I had to insist we leave before I puked all over the beautiful, sleeping butterflies.

Ellery is adamant we have coffee and dessert back at his place and, feeling a little guilty about cutting his time with the moths short, I agree to go. As we approach the dimly lit front porch of his house, I text Luanne his address so she’ll know where to send the CSI team.

Ellery flips on the lights and tells me to have a seat on the sofa while he goes to get the coffee and dessert. I avoid a questionable stain on one of the cushions and perch hesitantly at the far end. There’s no television in the room and no pictures of family that I can see. The place is tidy but I wouldn’t call it clean. The air smells a bit musty and it’s rather humid inside even though the air conditioning is on.

A large tank is resting on a table in one corner of the room and I stand, moving gingerly toward it. I slowly lift away a corner of the threadbare towel which has been draped over the top, hiding whatever’s inside. At first I think it’s a hose of some kind, coiled up for storage, then it moves. I jump back, frightened, and the towel falls to the floor. Inside the tank is a long, thick snake. Its black body moves against the glass as its head rises and a forked tongue darts out to smell me.

“Hi,” I say, careful not to get any closer. “Don’t eat me, okay?”

The snake sticks out its tongue in response.

“I see you’ve met Gloria,” says Ellery, startling me as he reenters the room. “She’s a Mexican Black
Kingsnake
. Isn’t she magnificent?”

“What does it eat?” I ask. Please don’t say people, please don’t say people…

“She’s a carnivore, so I give her a nice frozen mouse once or twice a week.”

“How nice,” I say, backing away from the meat-eating reptile.

“Cake?” Ellery’s laid out a rather dry looking pound cake and two cups of black coffee. I notice that he’s dimmed the lights a bit and, as I reclaim my position on the sofa, he uses a remote control to turn on some music which sounds more like people crying.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “It’s the mating song of a South African tribe. It’s supposed to arouse the libido and bring forth fertility.”

Okay, I’ve had enough. “Actually, Ellery, I think I’d better be getting back now. I have to work in the morning and you probably have big plans with your snake, so…if you could just drive me home, that would be great.”

Ellery ignores my request and instead leans in closer to me, whispering, “Hey, hey, hey, what’s the rush? I think we should get to know one another a little bit better. Tell you what, how about a foot rub?”

Taking advantage of my shock, he reaches down and deftly removes my shoes, grabbing my right ankle and pulling it into his lap, much too close to his groin for my comfort.

“I don’t think—” I start.

“Hush now, little dove. Just lie back and relax. I promise…you’ll thank me for it,” he says, fingers pressing and swirling into the balls of my feet. His big eyes wink clumsily at me.

“I’m not really a big fan of foot rubs, so…” I try to pull my leg out of his grasp.

“
Shhh
, don’t worry about a thing. Just close your eyes and enjoy the sensations I’m bringing to your feet.”

As
skeeved
out as I am at this moment, I have to give the guy some credit, he knows how to rub a foot. I slowly lean back into the cushions and close my eyes, unable to watch as Ellery lavishes attention on my naked feet. I think of Brook and of my plans to have Amber make her into a voodoo doll.

I try relaxing into the foot rub, willing my ears to ignore the ritual mating sounds of a South African people, but something warm and wet has suddenly enveloped my big toe. I snap my eyes open and find Ellery, head down in full toe-sucking euphoria.

“What the hell are you doing?” I squeal, tying to yank my foot out of his enthusiastic mouth.

I accidentally kick him in the face as I struggle to remove my poor abused foot from the grip of his jaws. He drops the foot and brings both hands to his nose, howling in pain. I jump from the couch, grab my purse and tear across the living room, wrenching open the front door.

“
Frak
!” he yells at me, as I leap onto the porch. “I think you’ve broken my nose!”

I look back to see bright red blood seeping through the gaps between his fingers. He stumbles from his position on the couch, unable to see where he’s going. His eyes are clenched shut against the onset of a bloody nose. “Help me out!” he demands, waving his arm wildly before him, searching for me.

I jump beyond his reach, stepping further onto the porch. “Keep away from me you, you toe-sucking freak!”

I sprint from the house and turn onto the sidewalk, running until I can no longer hear his moaning or the African cries of fertility. To use his word,
Frak
! I just made a mad escape from the clutches of a toe-sucker!

Gravel digs into the soles of my feet. I look down and realize I’ve fled the house without remembering my shoes, which seems pretty dumb right now. Thank goodness I grabbed my purse. I dig into the bag for my cell phone and press Luanne’s name, but it goes straight to voicemail.

“
Hey y’all, it’s Luanne. I can’t answer your call right now so leave me a message. Have a blessed day!
”

Of course. Of course this is how my first rebound date would turn out. I have no shoes, I’ve just escaped a foot molestation, and I have no way to get home. I briefly consider calling Tim for a ride, but I’d rather walk the ten miles back home shoeless than give him the satisfaction of seeing me in this state. I dig around in my purse for the small bottle of mace I always carry and a business card flutters out of my bag and to the ground.

SJ Auto Body and Repair. Sam gave me the card when I went to pay for the repairs on Luanne’s truck. I can’t say why I’ve kept it, but seeing his scrawled cell number on the back of the card feels a little like fate. So my decision is to either call Sam James, the man I’ve been trying so unsuccessfully to avoid the past few weeks, or walk home with no shoes, through strange neighborhoods, and risk getting mugged or worse. It’s a pretty tough call.

I punch the numbers into my phone and pause just a moment before hitting
Send
. Half of me wants the call to go to voicemail and the other half just wants to hear his voice. It’s my other half that’s usually right.

“Hello?” Sam’s voice is deep and instantly sets me at ease.

“Hi, it’s Ellie.”

“Your hot date already over?” he asks, a smile in his voice.

“Well, that’s just the thing; I sort of need a ride home.” Ponytail or not, my left hand shoots straight up to full tuck-behind-the-ear mode.

“Well, that is disappointing. I thought Mr. Jude-Thomas and I had an understanding. If you need a ride home, I’m guessing he was using less than gentlemanly behavior?”

“Listen, I’ll tell you about it later. Right now I’m standing on a deserted street alone, and I’m a little freaked out. Can you please come pick me up?” Stay calm, girl. Don’t let him hear you cry.

Sam’s voice becomes more serious and after I give him my location, he reassures me he’ll be at my rescue inside of ten minutes. I wrap my arms around a well-lit street light and keep my mace at the ready. How is it possible that anyone can have this bad of luck when it comes to men? Welcome to my wall of shame, Ellery Jude-Thomas. You’ll go great between my high school boyfriend who turned out to be gay and my boss at the Red Robin who turned out to be married.

True to his word, I hear the telltale roar of Sam’s motorcycle coming down the street just ten minutes after my call for help. He maneuvers the bike parallel to the curb and kills the engine. I release my hold on the street light and step gingerly toward him, careful not to tread on any sharp debris littering the sidewalk. I know I should be grateful, but when he pulls off his helmet and reveals a wide, dimpled smile, his eyes trained on my shoeless feet, I sort of want to kick him in the face too.

“Baby, you must be wild on a date. Can’t say I’ve ever knocked a girl’s shoes off her feet before,” he says, wicked grin in place.

“Ha
ha
, very funny. Did you come here to give me a ride or comment on my wardrobe?”

“Just noticing is all,” he says, pulling out a spare helmet from a leather saddlebag attached to the bike. “So what happened? Mr. Jude-Thomas turn out to be more than you could handle?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I don’t really feel like talking about it right now,” I say, taking the helmet he’s offering me, pulling it on and strapping it beneath my chin.

“Alright, if that’s how you want it. So, where to? The night’s young and clearly can’t get any worse. How about I take you out and we have some fun? You can think of it as a bad-date chaser.”

I know I shouldn’t be going anywhere with him. I’m too shaken up over my disastrous blind date. The alarm bells ringing at the apartment tonight were obviously wrong. It wasn’t Ellery’s snake I needed to be worried about, it’s Sam’s. Unfortunately, I don’t have it in me to say no to my rescuer right now.

“As long as we’re going someplace that doesn’t require footwear,” I say, climbing onto the bike behind him. I tuck my skirt beneath my thighs so as not to expose myself to all of Harlow County on the ride.

“Keep your feet up and hold on tight.”

I wrap my arms around Sam and lean forward, laying my cheek against the supple leather of his jacket. The softness of it acts in conflict to the hard muscles beneath, and it has me feeling things I have no business feeling. Sam kicks the motorcycle into life, and the power of the engine rushes through me. I strain my ears, listening for alarm bells over the bike’s deep rumble, but I can’t hear them. If there’s ever been a time for my senses to warn me about making a mistake, it’s now.

“You ready to go find us some trouble?” he calls back to me.

Too late, I’ve already found it.

Sam steers us down a winding dirt road encased by hundred-year-old oak trees. The smell of cologne on his neck is making it very difficult to concentrate and I find myself in jeopardy of losing my balance when he pulls hard to the right. My cheek sticks a bit to the back of his jacket as I lift my head to see where he’s taken me. Sam brings the bike to a stop outside a dingy looking building on the bank of a small lake, and cuts the engine. The silence of the night air seems even louder than the full throttle of the Harley.

I unwrap my arms from around him so he can dismount the bike first. My dress has crept up during the ride and Sam gets an eyeful of my pale thighs when I swing my leg around the bike and grab the hand he’s offering, rising unsteadily on my shoeless feet. “Where are we?” I ask, eyeing the old house with skepticism.

“This here is the best little whiskey bar in the good state of Texas,” he says, stowing our helmets in the saddlebags. “It’s called Clara’s after the owner Clara Sanchez. It doesn’t look like much but she’s got whiskey in this joint that dates back to your granddad’s granddad, not to mention one hell of a dance floor out back.”

To say Clara’s doesn’t look like much is like saying Ellery thinks feet are just ‘okay.’ The place is a dump, and I mean no disrespect to dumps everywhere. The paint is peeling from the house, the old porch is weathered with age and appears to be rotting in places, and it’s likely the landscaper was Freddy Krueger. The only thing missing is a chainsaw and some old baby dolls with scratched-out eyes.

“I can see by your face you’re not going to take me at my word, but you’ve got to trust me. You’ll love it.”

Sensing my hesitation, Sam comes close to me and places his hand at the small of my back. The feel of him so near has me trembling in my non-existent shoes. I look up, meeting those earnest hazel eyes, and I know my willpower’s on its last leg.

“Come on, Ellie. Trust me.”

Sam keeps his hand on my lower back the entire walk up to the bar’s front door and by the time I step onto the old pine floors, I’m ready to climb him like a tree. Luckily the bar proves to be a welcome and startling distraction. As opposed to the mangled and grimy exterior, the inside of the bar is warmly lit by old gas lamps and the crooning melodies of olden days emanate from a vintage jukebox in the corner. I breathe in the sweet smell of matured liquor in oak caskets and look around at the mingled patrons. I was expecting a rough-looking crowd—butchers with bloody aprons, possibly some small children with black eyes crawling backward on the ceiling. Instead I see a man in a
houndstooth
jacket nursing a glass of Scotch, a lovely woman with cascading black hair and olive skin laughing behind the bar, and a few scattered others, all enjoying their drinks and in no way behaving like serial killers.