LoveLines (6 page)

I took a sharp right out the door to the oyster bar, excusing myself politely as I gently pushed through the crowd. The patio was filled with patrons who preferred live music over the DJ upstairs.

“A hooker?” Erica laughed behind me.

“That’s what I said,” I called over my shoulder. I thrust my hand behind me, and she took it automatically.

“You would have had to proposition him for sex, honey,” Erica explained. “That’s a hooker move. Yours was a sexy, flirty move. Like, ‘Come and get it, but you know I’m’ll make you work for it!’”

“Erica, please stop.” And then I stopped. Dead in my tracks. Erica bumped me from behind.

“Traffic jam?” she asked.

No, not a traffic jam.
Bullet to the heart, more like.

There he was. Sitting at a table in the far corner of the bar, sipping his usual
drink with a tiny blond thing laughing beside him. I watched her say something, then lean her head against his arm. He patted her head playfully, and she swatted his hand away. He chuckled and pinched her cheek.

He used to do that shit with me—tease me for being little. It was condescending and obnoxious
, and I loved every bit of it. How can I explain? When I stood next to him, I was safe. He could envelop me in his arms, and I would disappear from the big, bad, scary world. He’d fight it off for me. Be my iron shield.

“B?” I heard from behind, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. Someone was moving in on my iron shield, and I ought to do something about it!

“Honey, let’s go,” Erica said. She saw him, too, and she knew our favorite bar had just turned into a danger zone.

“He doesn’t even like blond hair. He told me he didn’t like girls with
blond hair,” I said.

Erica walked around me and stoo
d directly in my line of sight.

“Move,” I demanded.

“He doesn’t like blondes,” she said.

“Then why is he with her?” I asked, peeking around her shoulder. She blocked my view again. “Move!”

“This is booty, plain and simple. And you don’t need to see it,” Erica replied. She grabbed my hand. “We’re leaving.”

It’s just like the unexpected explosion of a volcano—rage. It comes out of nowhere. One minute the village people are leading a quiet existence, going about their business, buying shit in the market, and then the next minute they’re petrified. Some are taken completely off guard. You can tell because their facial expressions offer no clues of distress. But some saw the explosion coming after it was too late. It’
s cemented on their faces. Absolute fear.

I wanted to see it on Brian’s face—absolute fear. I wanted my rage to petrify him. I was meek and mild during our breakup. I sniveled and wept in solitude. I never once had the emotional breakdown everyone around me thought I was owed. I didn’t freak out on him. I walked away with class.

Yeah. I didn’t really feel like being classy at the moment.

“Bailey?” Erica said. “Now.”

“He knows this is my place,” I spat. “There’s, like, a trillion bars and clubs to go to in this town.”

“Enough. We’re going.” Erica yanked my arm.

I yanked right back and headed for Brian’s table.

“Bailey!” Erica hissed, but it was too late.

“Hi!” I squealed cheerfully.

Brian looked up and frowned. He used to do that a lot—frown at me—expressing his disappointment in something I did or said. Or something I didn’t do or didn’t say. I had a lot to say at the moment. I imagined he’d frown through all of it.

“Bailey, what are you doing here?” he asked.

“Having a girls’ night,” I replied. “What are you doing here?”

He smiled patiently. “Well, obviously I’m on a date.”

I extended my hand to the blonde. “I’m Bailey.”

“Erin,” she replied, shaking my hand. “How do you two know each other?”

“We used to fuck,” I replied.

Erin’s mouth dropped open. Brian scratched the back of his neck and sighed.

“We were engaged, and we used to fuck,” I went on. “But I guess I got a little too complicated for him, so he dumped me.”

“Bailey, let’s go,” Erica said, popping up by my side. “Hi, Brian.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Wait,” Erin said. “You two were engaged?”

I nodded—big, bright smile plastered across my face.

“‘Were’ being the operative word,” I replied. “It was great for a while there, but I guess Brian needed a more perfect woman. You know the type: perfect body and smile. Says all the right things. Superstar blow job giver.”

Erin’s eyes bugged.

“A girl who’s got it all. One who doesn’t mess up.” I glanced at Brian, and then I leaned in close and spoke softly to his flustered date. “Don’t mess up.”

She furrowed her brow at me, then looked at Brian. I followed her gaze and fastened my eyes right on his exasperated face.

“I never got my Pompeii,” I said, low and even. “And you know I deserved every bit of it. But I’m not going to erupt all over you like I’m owed. Because I’ve already won. She’s not fucking you tonight.”

This time I let Erica yank me all the way out of the bar and to the corner of
Front and 18
th
Street.

“Tell me aga
in why we’ve done our last four beach trips here?” I said. “I mean, we know everyone in this goddamn town. Isn’t the point of a trip to get away? So we don’t have to see people?”

“Bailey, tone down the bitchiness, okay?” Erica ordered. She dug around the inside of her purse for her cell phone.
“And you know why. Noah, God love him, is a moron with our kids. I’ve gotta stay close until they get older.”

I snorted, then
took off toward another club.

“Bailey!” Erica called, running after me.

“I’m not ready to go back to the hotel,” I said, shrugging off her hand.

“That’s fine. We can hang out, but if you go dark on me . . .”

“Nobody’s going dark, okay? I just wanna get my dance on,” I replied.

I spent the rest of the evening getting wasted an
d looking like a total slut on the dance floor. My goal was to erase two recent painful memories: shaking my ass for Reece and seeing my ex-fiancé on a booty date.

When Erica and I emerged from the club at 2:30 A.M., a taxi van was waiting.
A group of young men (one carrying a case of beer) cut in front of us and threw open the van door.

“Oh
, well,” Erica said. “Let’s find another.”

The boy toting the beer spotted us. “Oh, my bad. You wanted this taxi?”

“It’s cool,” Erica replied. “You guys take it. We’ll wait for another.”

“Well, I’ve got a better
idea. Why don’t you come with us? We’re going to a film screening.”

The others nodded, shuffling around the sidewalk.

A film screening at 2:30 in the morning? Please. I shook my head. “Thanks, but we’re tired. We’re gonna go home.”

“Nah! Come with us. It’s
gonna be a fun time,” Beer Boy pleaded.

“No
no,” I replied. “You all go have a good time.”

He turned to his friend and muttered, “Fucking bitch.” A few of the boys snickered.

Excuse me?

And then something in my brain snapped. I watched that little college punk stand there, avoiding my face
, gripping his bush-league beer while the taxi driver yelled at his punk ass posse to make a decision.

“Hey, son!” I called in his direction. “There’s no need for that. No need
for that kind of language.”

He hung his head—literally hung his head—while I chastised him.

“Bailey, let’s go.” Erica tugged on my arm.

“Now, I’m sorry we turned you down, and I’m sorry if that embarrassed you, but maybe we don’t feel like ‘screening’ the bull
shit home movie you shot for film class on your bullshit, cheap ass camcorder.”

“Oh my God,” Erica said.

“We got to this cab first. Then you and your dipshit friends come barreling down the sidewalk and steal it. What you need to be saying to me is ‘I’m sorry.’ And then you need to go brush up on the manners you clearly left at home when you came to college. Ain’t nobody gonna wanna fuck a little asshole like you if you can’t be classy,” I said.

“Bailey!
” Erica hauled me along.

“Punk ass motherfucker!” I yelled over my shoulder. He flipped me off. I fought Erica as hard as I could. “Let me at him. One minute with that little shit! Just one!”

“Bailey Mitchell!” Erica screamed in my face. “He’s a doofus! All right?! Calm. Down.”

She practically threw me into the next available cab, daring me to say another word. We rode back to the hotel in silence. I seethed, fantasizing about all the other things I should have said to Beer Boy. Yeah, I was pissed he called me a ‘fucking bitch,’ but I really just used him to la
sh out about my feelings toward Brian. I wish I would have exploded all over him at the bar instead of reigning in my anger. At the mere thought of Brian, I burst into tears—going from irate to depressed in zero seconds flat. It was just the beginning of a long night.

***

I sat nestled in the good beach chair, staring blankly at the ocean. I wore my oversized sunglasses to hide my puffy, red-rimmed eyes. Last night’s crying session was a doozy. Erica was too good to me, and I didn’t deserve a bit of it, especially since I told her her children were ruining my life.

“Honey, I know,” she said, holding my head on her lap while she stroked my hair. “They’re ruining my life, too. You don’t think I’d rather be in Miami right now?”

I chuckled. “I’m sorry, Erica. You know I didn’t mean it. I love your kids. They’re not ruining my life.”

“They did tonight, and I’m sorry for that,” she said.

“No, they didn’t. I did. It’s me. Always me . . .” I had much more I wanted to say, but the words caught in my throat:
My fault. My fault. My fault he left me.

There was no more conversation that night, just the sound of
bitter heartbreak. The shattered pieces manifested themselves as tears. The aching in my chest burst forth in a long, painful groan. The memories of my former lover tangled in the hitching in my throat. It all came out ugly and desperate and wrong. But I was lucky because I had a best friend to share in my grief, to hold me and stroke my hair and tell me sweet lies.

“I can’t believe I’m drinking a margarita out of a can,” Erica said.

I cracked a smile and took another sip of my own margarita. It actually wasn’t that bad, but I was more concerned with alcohol by volume. And this baby’s percentage was nothing to be ashamed about.

“What time is it?” Erica asked.

I glimpsed my cell phone. “Ten o’clock.”

“Too early for those sandwiches?”

I shook my head.

“Why do I eat like a horse on the beach? And did we pack enough chips?”

I chuckled and flipped open the cooler lid.

“We packed plenty. And it’s just something about the beach air. Makes you hungry.”
I tossed her a sandwich and a bag of apple slices.

“Bitch, I don’t want th
ese. I want chips,” Erica said.

“You get the chips after I see you eat some apple slices,” I replied.

“Oh, I see. Payback,” she said.

Erica forced me to eat breakfast this morning.
I wasn’t hungry in the least, but she said if I didn’t put something in my body, I could forget about drinking. And all I wanted to do was sit my ass in that beach chair all day and guzzle adult beverages. Well, and scope out hotties.

I pushed the sand around with my fee
t, trying for a crop circle design, breathing in and out, slowly and deeply, letting the full sun beat down on my shoulders. I only liked the beach when the sun shined bright and dangerous in the sky. Not that I was looking for skin cancer. (I slathered myself from head to toe in SPF 100.) No, I was looking for light, for warmth on my face. I wanted it to transport me far away, up and over the ocean, to a brand new place where I could be a brand new person. In other words, I wanted to take a nice, long beach nap.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Erica said with her mouth full.

I looked over at her. “What do you mean?”

“I want today to be fun, but you’re all moody and sad,” she said. “And for good reason.”

“It is fun,” I lied. “I’m having fun just sitting here.”

Erica grunted.

“I promise,” I insisted. “I won’t let last night ruin our trip.”

Erica shrugged. And then she giggled. “Usually when you’re drunk you have a hard time enunciating your words.”

“Isn’t that most people?” I replied.

“I suppose.” She thought for a moment. “But you just told that kid off. It was so sharp. So hysterical.”

“Oh really? Because you seemed pissed as hell,” I said.