Chapter 3
NIGHT OUT
“Two more shots of tequila for my friend,” Lollie practically screams at the thin blond bartender.
Dreading what two more shots would make the night into, but also knowing that at that moment I would not deny them after the day I just had.
A day that included a not so charming, but intensely handsome green-eyed man and a house that is apparently now in my ownership.
After tall, dark and handsome left, I got on the phone right away.
Dialing one of the few numbers left in the stack of papers the man put in my hands.
I needed to see if I truly had an uncle who left me a house near New Orleans.
Much to my disappointment, the call was not answered by the deep baritone I was hoping for, but it wasn’t fruitless.
In fact, I discovered I was willed a lot more than just a house.
In a small town in southern Louisiana named Racine, sits a fully furnished mansion with a one hundred-forty-acre wooded lot.
And even a couple of old cars from varying decades.
I tried looking for the town on the map I had on hand in the shop, but it must be too small a town, for there was nothing to mark it.
Odd that it’s clearly marked on the map the man gave me.
After an hour or more of inquiring about wills and trusts, I decided to head down in the next few days to see the house for myself.
But for now, as I look at my very darling, very blonde best friend, who must have learned a new smoky eye technique, I am going to enjoy this night out and pretend I haven’t a care in the world.
And thankfully, the alcohol coursing through my body is doing just the trick.
I feel the wobbly mellow of the last three shots we consumed take effect as I look out at what surrounds me.
Of all the bars Lollie could have picked, this one is definitely the least disagreeable.
It sits a few doors down from the corner of Sixth and Lafayette Boulevard, and sees its fair share of traveling businessmen come through its doors every night.
The bar’s rich mahogany moldings and dark grey walls create a dreary ambiance, especially when mixed with the cigarette smoke. But that quiet sadness also holds a feeling that is inviting and warm in its melancholy magic. I’ve always been a sucker for that kind of unique charm.
The dance floor is merely a small tiled open area next to the jukebox.
And when you look up at the giant disco ball above, it sets a luminous glow much like the full moon on a clear night in this concrete city.
It almost seems out of place as it releases a glittery sheen across the bar that bounces off the glassy-eyed patrons occupying the floor below.
I down each shot that Lollie hands my way knowing we must be nearing number three, and she looks at me with eyes full of shock.
“I can’t believe your mom never told you about her having a brother.” She grabs my hand with a little squeeze to give her words extra effect. It’s an unnecessary action, because I’ve been living with the shock of the situation all day.
“You and me both, Lol. But can we not right now? Let’s just enjoy tonight.” It’s clear to me that my brain has hit overload, even though Lollie seems not to have picked up on that. So I add,
“I am not adult enough to think about all this right now.” Or maybe not sober enough is what I mean to say. Lollie looks at me with a sideways glance and the widest grin.
“You’re twenty-six…” We both burst out laughing immediately after the words leave her dark pink lips, realizing how ridiculous I sound. In my defense, when you’ve grown up with someone for so long, you always feel a bit adolescent when you’re with them.
To get out of her knowing glare, I try to lure her to dance, nodding my head at her pick of suited men near the dance floor. Dancing is always the best option. And I feel like I should be dancing with what Lollie made me slip into for the night.
I’m wearing a metallic pink mini dress with bell sleeves and a plunging neckline that leaves little to the imagination, but I like it. It makes me feel like a big pink moon shining above an endless, deep sea. A sea that matches the eyes of a very alluring man I met today.
Frustration is a new embodiment I’ve taken on today.
I am still kicking myself that I didn’t get his name, and I would be lying if I didn’t say I thought about him more than a couple times after he stormed out the door.
I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact that I could even find someone who clearly didn’t want to be in my shop so appealing.
I discussed little with Lollie about the man.
I know her ways too well. She would want to know all the details, and I don’t know that I trust myself not to reveal more of my lust fueled feelings than I want.
She’d probably scout him out and bring him to my doorstep if she knew what he sparked beneath my skin.
“OK, now I know something is on your mind, but I won’t pry anymore,” Lollie announces while she reads my face intently, then gives me a quick peck on the cheek.
I smile, grab the shot glass in front of me and down it. Is that number four? Trouble will brew at this bar if Lollie buys any more. She can drink like a fish, while I drink more like a manatee floating to the bottom of a dark void with every shot I put in my body.
I focus on Ashton. He follows us on most of our outings, playing the distant bodyguard in case any of us get any unwanted attention.
His good-hearted nature is infectious, so I never mind when he tags along.
Most people find his bright glow a beacon for positivity, which is why he’s currently surrounded by his own group of friends at the table across the bar with a drink in his large hand.
His positive attitude was nonexistent when he heard of my inheritance. I found him quick to tell me all the ways Louisiana is a terribly unsafe place to live. He is just worried, I know, but the seed of distrust he has of the place took root deeply.
Ashton throws a wink at us from across the room, and Lollie can barely hold her disdain as her eyes flip up to the ceiling and then back to me.
“Why is he always here?” Lollie gripes, annoyed, and for good reason. Lollie and Ashton have a history. The on and off type of history, and right now they are very off. I chuckle under my breath as they stare at each other with a look that seems it could open a wound.
Seeming to be in the middle of this standoff, I take the next best course of action. I grab Lollie’s hand and pull her toward the dance floor. Maggie May is playing on the jukebox. A favorite of both of ours. It’s the perfect song to forget to, and that is what I hope to do.
I let the music soothe me into a trance-like state while Lollie dances with her arms above her head, wearing the biggest grin on her face. My feet move of their own accord, stumbling every once in a while. A sure way to tell I’ve had one too many drinks, but I’m not worried about that now.
We dance for what seems like an hour. The sparkle of the disco ball lands in iridescent orbs on my face.
I lift my face so the orbs are all I see, each speck looking like a moonflower I’ve seen somewhere in my past. The tequila is doing its job of loosening my muscles and my inhibitions.
My thick hair falls down, just skimming my shoulders, and I’m aware of a shadow of a palm on the small of my back.
Slightly startled, I spin around to shove whoever it is away. My hands meeting mist from a man’s form, smelling of flowers that open under the watch of the stars. And then, no one. My stomach relaxes as I realize it was just another hallucination of a moment that never was.
Recognizing I’m maybe in need of a break. I turn to Lollie, my mouth forming words to let her know I’m going to get some fresh air. She is consumed with the beautiful olive-skinned man next to her. Her arms linked around his neck as they sway to the music.
She moves through flattery as if it’s a language she herself invented. I’ve never learned that way of speaking. It breeds more complications than it’s worth. She gives me a quick wink of her eye, and mouths back that she’ll be right behind me. I laugh, because she looks anything but.
I stumble across the old, whiskey-stained carpet of the bar toward the main entrance to the street outside. The question of why a bar owner would pick carpet as its flooring of choice flows through my mind. I can always count on these deep, philosophical thoughts when liquor is involved.
I pass Ashton, who is shamelessly staring at Lollie, while pretending to listen to a pretty brunette sitting on his lap.
My platform boots do nothing for my balance, and I all but fall out toward the entry.
I just barely catch myself on the deep-colored doorframe, my palms thankful for the support.
The thick wooden door takes a bit of effort to open, but I finally let the warm midsummer night air envelop me as I make my exit.
There isn’t a soul outside, which is odd for a Saturday night.
I feel a little uneasy, but reach inside my purse for the one thing I need most when booze swirls through me.
My fingers find the small pack of cloves at the bottom, and I instinctively fish one out.
Shuffling through my purse again, I exhale in irritation at forgetting my lighter and lean up against the building in a defeat of my own doing.
I close my kohl-rimmed eyes, the unlit clove still hanging lazily between my fingers, and let my thoughts drift a bit, sobering me up.
What the hell am I going to do with a house a thousand miles away from here?
I can’t possibly wrap my head around what my future now holds.
I take a deep breath with my eyes still not wanting to open.
The smell of white midnight blossoms and smoky whiskey fills my senses.