Amaretto Flame (30 page)

“Claire, where is he?” My voice was nervous,
strained.

“He’s at Stallott’s, of course. He’s given up
waiting, but it’s better late than never,” she said. I raised an
eyebrow, and then a few moments later, I smiled.

“Thanks Claire,” I said.

My foot hit the accelerator as soon as I was
on the main road. My heart pounded in my chest, pushing me faster.
It seemed as if it had been waiting too, and now it was galloping,
willing me to get there faster. My thoughts came back to me full
force as I drove. I'd convinced myself in the dining room that I
deserved this, but what if he didn't want it any more? What if he
had already grown tired of thinking of me; of my name; my face?

It didn’t matter. I had to risk this. He was
my summer, and without him, what was the point of having been the
wrathful lady for my whole life? I was right about him being the
sun. It was like he'd been created to light the darkness within me.
The drive seemed to take forever. How had I made it through the
past few months and was now unable to make it for two and a half
hours? When I pulled into the parking lot of Stallott’s, night had
already fallen. I sat in the car for only a few moments, long
enough to gather myself. My hands were shaking and my breathing was
erratic.

He was inside…only a few footsteps away from
me. With adrenaline and nervousness running through my veins, I
crossed the parking lot in just a few moments. The music got louder
when I opened the door. The smell of smoke and beer greeted me,
reminding me how much I missed this place. This was where it had
all started…where our story had played out. From the first night I
worked here until the last, when I’d fled with the Venator
following me.

As I walked to the bar, Renee’s eyes met
mine. Her face twisted and then became the picture of joy. “Oh,
Olivia, you’re a sight for sore eyes, honey,” her raspy voice told
me. In the next moment, Jenny and Erika were screaming and hugging
me.

“It’s about damn time you got back,” Jenny
said. I hugged them both, refusing to let the tears fill my
eyes.

“I’ve missed you both,” I said, looking into
the faces of my friends.

“Well, you’d better get on over there,” Erika
said, inclining her head toward the stage. “He's probably ready for
a drink.” The corner of my mouth turned up at her. She'd known what
I was here for. Who was really the Wise One in this
situation?

“I need two shots of whiskey, Renee,” I said,
with determination in my voice. She suppressed a grin and nodded.
After she supplied me with the tray, I took a deep, shaky
breath.

“One sec,” Jenny said, putting her hand up.
“The night you pissed Paula off, you kissed a guy. It’s the only
thing I can’t figure out about you,” she added.

“Oh,” I laughed. “I had to see…what it felt
like. I mean, if I would feel anything, you know.”

“Gotcha,” Erika said. “And did you feel
anything?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Lips. Other than that,
nothing,” I laughed.

Jenny nodded. “Yeah, but that’s not what I
was getting at. I was wondering if you had his number. He was
pretty hot.”

I gazed at her a moment and then laughed so
hard that tears gathered at the corners of my eyes. After gathering
myself and shaking my head at her, I turned toward the stage.

When he came into view, my legs felt rubbery,
but I kept going. He strummed the guitar, and sang a line into the
microphone. I got past the crowd and that’s when he saw me. Looking
into his eyes was instant and immediate relief for me. I nearly
started crying there, but held it in, breathing deeply. The music
stopped.

When our eyes locked, the glasses on the tray
shook and the whiskey splashed a little, but I kept moving forward
until I was standing in the usual spot. The crowd was murmuring
now, and with a glance at the bar, I could see Jenny and Erika
watching. Oh well, I thought. If he hates me, at least the whole
world could share in my humiliation.

I stood there, looking in his eyes for a
moment. “I...” I started, but my voice failed me. Now I really was
on the verge of crying, and the crowd had grown even quieter,
making me more nervous. I took a deep breath and tried again.

“When I left, I left the only man I've ever
loved behind,” I said to him. “I left my heart here...with you.” I
took another deep breath. “I love you in the way I hope you still
love me. I was tortured because I wasn't here with you. I've spent
hours thinking of what I should have done, and when I close my eyes
at night, I see your face. You haunt me until morning.” I held the
tray out for him to take one of the glasses. “And James Dean really
has nothing on you,” I added.

He gazed at me, and my heart pounded, waiting
for his answer. After moments grew into torturous minutes, I
stepped up onto the stage and took the microphone from the
stand.

“Can you guys believe,” I said to the crowd,
my voice loud over the speakers in the club, “that this guy won’t
have a drink with me?” The crowd—some of the regulars that I
recognized and some new faces—murmured more loudly now. I
continued, tears spilling over my cheeks.

“Now if that’s not the rudest thing I’ve ever
seen,” I said, my voice cracking. “What kind of a guy won’t toast
to my undying love for him?” The crowd didn’t get loud the way they
had for him. Most of them wore concerned faces and a few yelled for
Jackson to take the drink. I looked at him and smiled warmly.

“Don’t you nice ladies and gentlemen think
that our musician should just take the damn whiskey before I pass
out on this stage?” I asked, my voice thick with tears.
A lady up front was clasping her hands together as if watching a
tear-jerking movie. Then, the noise level did increase. There were
shouts of, ‘Take the drink,’ and ‘Come on, DJ.’

I put the microphone back in its holder as
the crowd whistled, clapped and screamed for Jackson to take the
alcohol. There was a small smirk on his lips and a flame in his
eyes. He held his hand out and took the shot glass. I took mine as
well, and the crowd got even louder. As I sat the tray down beside
me, Jackson propped his guitar against one of his machines and we
clinked glasses.

At the same time, we threw our heads back and
drank the fiery liquor. Jackson gazed at me for a moment. “I’ve
waited so long,” he said gruffly.

In the next moment, he let the shot glass
fall from his hand and scooped me up to him. The tingling invaded
me and I almost sighed in relief. I wrapped my legs around him and
held on to his neck. He looked at me, searching as if to see if
this was real; if I was real.

“I love you Jackson Vance, and I never want
to be away from you again,” I said.

“I love you, Slayer. So much.” And then, his
lips were on mine. The tingling, the fury of the white lights was
back, welcoming me home. And then Jackson carried me off the stage
and through the cheering crowd, his lips never leaving mine.

THE END

For Slayer

Smoky silhouette against the night,
What was dark is now bathed in light.
His eyes are smiling and shrouded,
The room of his heart is not crowded…
Unlike the dusty lounge that goes on forever.
The hand runs through bristled, messy hair,
Interrupted beams of light flash in the air.
A smile transforms his face and lingers,
He sits, he caresses, adjusts his fingers…
On the frets of his guitar.
Slowly, almost painfully building,
Notes create beauty, silence is yielding.
His voice is raspy then smooth again, dancing
The strings of the guitar are not the only ones prancing…
As he unknowingly resurrects a heart.
His eyes; they flash passion into a lonely room
And his body sways to the rhythm of impending doom.
And when he closes them, his face betrays a pain
That draws out through his music and starts falling like
rain…
And it lands on her.
Like a vampire, his voice draws blood
And the notes, they flow through the room in a flood.
Stop it, her heart screams, yet begs for more,
As she drops to her knees and stares at the floor.
And she knows that he wants to sign.
The last few notes leave a depth that is sweet
And across the room, their naked eyes meet.
He bites his lip, smiles gently; his eyes shy away,
She cries from the silence that now covers his play.
And they stand.
In an instant, the floor between them disappears
She cradles his face and he kisses her tears.
The guitar is no longer needed, as the music resumes
They melt into each other and the passion consumes
Although they’ve barely touched.
An arc of color between them shoots out like a light
And fills up all the darkness and cuts out all the night.
He is dangerous because she is his only
And she fills him up and there’s no trace left of lonely.
And he is her song.

~ Jackson Vance

Thank you to everyone who read this book and
gave me advice and feedback. Melissa, Nadina, Courtney – without
that encouragement, it probably wouldn’t even be finished. I owe
you much more than a mention in the acknowledgments, for sure!

Sammie Spencer writes both fiction and
non-fiction, and in between, she spends time with her fiancé and
two children. She lives on the MS Gulf Coast with her family and
two rescue pooches.

Please find more about Sammie Spencer at:

http://sammiespencer.blogspot.com