The Cocktail Club (18 page)

Could I actually go to jail? I couldn't imagine a real jail sentence. What
would my coworkers say? What would my girls say? What would my family say?

Trying not to be so visibly unnerved, I clamped my eyes shut. This absolutely had to be a dream, or more like a nightmare!

PETA

W
hen I left happy hour, I felt good. All the normal crap that had been front and center on my mind didn't seem to matter anymore.

I didn't go to the club after happy hour since I had other plans. I was sick and tired of being the victim, and I felt it was time I did something about it. My first step involved some investigating of my own. Between Kyle and Pamela, I felt physically and emotionally abused, and it was time I began to fight back.

The girls all had their own ideas about what I should've done when Pamela walked in and saw me.

“You should've stomped her backstabbing behind,” Ivee said.

“You couldn't have had her arrested?” Felicia wanted to know.

“For what? For stalking me, and showing up to help out my employee?” I shrugged. I had no idea why Pamela had clutched on to me, and why she felt she needed to sneak behind my back to work on the truck.

“What the hell, Pamela?” I had asked.

“I can explain!” she stammered. She reached down to pick up the bag she had dropped.

“Explain? What's there to explain? I should call the cops on you!”

When several customers stopped looking at the merchandise and turned their focus to us, I realized that I needed to tone it down a notch. That skank better be glad we had a crowd, or I could've
snatched that weave from her scalp and beat the crap out of her.

“Maybe y'all should have a little talk outside while I help get these clients out of here and back to work,” Farah said.

I cleared my throat and thanked God someone still had some professionalism left. I squeezed by Pamela, and grabbed her by the arm as I walked out of the RV.

“I don't know what your problem is, but you are trespassing. How dare you lie your way into my place of business?”

Pamela threw her hands up in surrender. She moved back a few steps.

“Wait, whoa! Hold on. You've got it all wrong. I was here the other day when your other lady got sick. She was like throwing up all over the place, and she called you. When I heard her say she couldn't come in, I offered to help out. I didn't mean nothing by it. I mean, I was trying to be helpful.”

I heard what she said, and there was a small part of it that made sense. When Beverly called, I was in the midst of the storm. My mind was stuck on the stunt Kyle had pulled. Beverly could've told me she was driving off into the sunset with one of the boutiques, and her words would not have registered. But there was something about Pamela that I couldn't bring myself to trust.

“I'm supposed to believe that you were simply trying to help?” I cocked my head to the side.

“You were so kind to help me out with the meetings and answering all of my questions. I happened to be in the area, and when I saw the truck, I got excited. At first, I thought my timing was perfect. I even tried to call you. I left a message with your daughter. I guess she didn't tell you that I called,” Pamela said.

Kendal had told me about her call, but I had other issues on my mind.

“Peta, I admire you and what you do. I really was trying to help.
If I would've known you'd be this upset about me trying to help you out, I would've stayed away,” she said. Pamela flicked her fingers and shrugged.

She didn't turn around, but took steps backwards and left me standing there. When a few clients walked off the RV with bags in hand, I told myself to suck it up. I went back in, and worked with Farah until it was time to go and meet the girls at happy hour.

As I eased off the freeway, I turned the radio down. I never had a reason to go by Kyle's house since he came over so much. But after all of my unsuccessful attempts to reach him by phone, I decided tonight was the night.

It also helped that I was riding high on liquid courage. I had convinced myself that I was prepared for whatever might happen.

I could imagine the shock his wife would be in, but what the hell? If he didn't fix what he had done to me, I'd personally tell her about our little romps.

When I turned onto his street, I told myself there was no need to turn off my headlights. It wasn't like they'd be outside.

“You brought this on yourself, you dirty bastard,” I said as I pulled in front of his house. But I was the one who was stunned speechless when I brought my car to a complete stop.

I sat in amazed shock as my eyes registered on the massive For Sale sign that hung out front. It was like a hard slap to the face that stung. I hopped out of my car barely before I put it in park, and marched up to the sign. It was real! The bastard had put his house on the market?

I glanced around to see whether anyone was outside. I needed answers, and since Kyle wouldn't take my calls, I had very few options. I rushed to the windows and the front door.

Kyle's house was completely empty! How had I missed all of
that? My first thought was to call my daughter. For sure, he'd be in touch with her if no one else.

Before I called, I told myself the conversation would have to wait until the next day since it was already late.

The drive home was long and lonely with lots of unanswered questions. I didn't understand why I was being tested. I couldn't imagine what else could be going on.

Thoughts of the trucks being vandalized, Kyle tricking me out of child support, and his house up for sale really threw me for a loop. I couldn't wait to get home, and have a drink. I needed something to help me try to figure the entire mess out.

DARBY

“I don't want no stupid waffles!” Taylor screamed.

If he was gonna have a fit, he'd have to have it alone. I was not in the mood. I walked to the refrigerator and removed the gallon of juice. I wanted sleep, and I didn't mean the kind of light sleep on the couch either. I wanted to crawl back upstairs and get up under the comforter. I'd get my sleep mask, close the blinds, and sleep until my body was tired of sleep. That was the plan as soon as I cleared the house.

“Boy, you need to hurry up and eat this food.” I moved over to the table and poured orange juice into my son's cup, and then into a glass near my husband's plate. What was he doing?

Kevin Jr. ate so fast, I started to tell him to slow down before he choked. But even the sound of my own voice made my head hurt.

“Kevin!” I screamed. “Your breakfast is getting cold! What are you doing?”

I rubbed my temple and prayed for my husband to hurry down. I didn't know what was worse—the fact that I had to get up early to fix breakfast after a night at happy hour, or the fact that my husband hadn't come down to eat yet. My biggest goal on Friday mornings was to get everyone out of the door as quickly as possible. The longer they lingered, the greater the chances something would go wrong. I didn't want anyone to stay at home. I had neither the time nor the energy to look after anybody.

Finally, Kevin rushed in. He snatched one of the waffles from the plate, took three large bites, then rushed over to the stainless steel refrigerator and began to fiddle with his tie. He scrutinized his reflection a couple of times.

I rolled my eyes and prayed he'd hurry.

“C'mon, boys. We need to go,” he barked at the kids.

“Oh, babe, I'm almost out of my body wash and deodorant,” he said to me.

My eyebrows curled downward. Surely, he didn't expect me to make a mental note of the toiletries he needed. But if I had told him that, it would've only slowed them down, so I didn't say a word.

“I'm serious, Darby. I told you last week, and today I had to mix water in my bottle. It's as good as gone,” he said.

I nodded and strained not to sigh out loud. I needed to remember to restock his stuff. The last thing I needed was him to fall back into his mix-with-water-to-make-it-stretch habit.

He walked back to the table, snatched two strips of bacon from his plate, and looked at our sons.

“C'mon, fellas. It's time to roll,” he said.

The boys scrambled from their chairs, grabbed their insulated lunch bags, and followed Kevin out of the door.

“Bye, Mom,” Kevin Jr. said. He was being kind of standoffish, and I still hadn't figured out the issue with his behavioral problems.

“Love you, Mommy,” Taylor said.

“I'll call you in a bit,” Kevin added. I wanted to tell him don't bother. I'd be asleep for sure, but I figured he didn't need that information.

Once they were gone, the house returned to its day-after-happy-hour state, and I was happy again. I glanced at the table and the counters. I decided all of the dirty dishes could wait until later.

I fixed myself a Bloody Mary to help with the wicked hangover
and rinsed that glass. I turned the lights off and dragged myself back up to bed.

When the phone rang, at first, I thought it was in my dream. But no matter how much I tossed and turned, the ringing continued. I wondered if the noise could be all in my head, but then it stopped.

I adjusted myself and tried to return to the rest I had been enjoying, when the phone rang again.

That time, I knew for sure it was neither a dream nor the effects of the alcohol. I eased up onto my elbow, pulled up the sleep mask and snatched the phone from the nightstand.

“Hello?”

“Oh, God, Darby, I need you to come over!” she screamed.

“Carla, I can't deal with this right now. My head is killing me, and I'm tired.”

“Yeah, but, Darby, I'm in a real bind here. My client brought along a friend.”

“And what the hell are you telling me for?”

“Darby, after what went down with that woman, I don't feel right,” she whined.

“I'm tired and don't know what to tell you!”

“Darby, this is a good-paying client. We don't want to lose him. Please, can you come over?”

“Carla, I am not about to screw some stranger because you double booked!” I screamed into the phone.

“Did you hear a word I said? I told you the client brought him. I didn't double book. Look, either we're gonna be adults about this, or you're gonna sit over there and act like some virginal child.”

“Carla, I understand that I'm a part of this business, but I'm a part of the brains behind the operation. I'm not the hired help. I'm not here to fill in at your convenience.”

“So, you're telling me we're about to let this money go?”

“If keeping it means I gotta come over there and screw somebody, yes. Yes, Carla, we are gonna have to let that money go.”

I had come to enjoy the money from the business, and when I made sure the ladies got their share, the gravity of what we were doing didn't really weigh down on me. Carla didn't get it.

“I thought we were in this together. I mean, damn, I really thought if you needed to, you'd be willing to step up to the plate,” she said.

“Carla, you are asking me to screw some man? Yes, I will step up to the plate and make sure the finances are where they need to be, but I'm not about to have sex with strangers for money.”

“So, lemme get this straight. It's okay for me and the other ladies to lie on our backs, and rake in the money, but you're too good to get down like that?”

It happened in an instant. My head felt good and clear, and then instantly, a sharp pain ricocheted from my temple to the backs of my eyes. The hangover had returned.

“Carla, I'm not trying to tell you or any other grown woman what to do, but all I'm saying is I won't be sleeping with anybody for money.” I tried to speak calmly. The angrier I got, the more my head seemed to hurt.

“You trying to tell me you expect me to handle both of these clients alone?”

“Carla, I'm about to hang up. Let me tell you why. At no point when we've talked about me partnering with you did I agree to screw anybody. I told you I could be a silent partner and help with the finances. I'm married.”