Chapter 1
Years later
My grandmother had connected with me during my teenage years, but only on a surface level. My mother held her on the periphery of our family.
She came to my high school graduation, and we had a nice, long talk, just Nessa and me. She spoke urgently of the Bible, saying Frank had found undeniable proof of God in his studies of the Earth, and that I needed to read the Bible every day as the key to a happy, healthy life. She said it was the thing that got her through, and she herself seemed reasonable and kind, like she was flourishing because of that information. I would end up taking what she said to heart. I would make a habit of reading at least a chapter a day.
I looked forward to becoming my own person when I moved out of my parents' house. I had plans to go to junior college in Tyler. My mother had set up the whole thing, and I went with it since she and my dad were paying for it. My grandmother told me while we were talking that if my college offered it, I should change my major and go into business management. She said she had a close friend in Chicago who owned a fancy retail store, and I was just the girl to move to the big city and work there once I got my degree.
I had taken that proposition seriously. I knew that I wanted to travel like she did and see other parts of the world. My parents wanted me to study dental assisting. My mom had already talked to our dentist in Chandler about hiring me when I finished the program. She wasn't happy when I changed my course of study, but I was stubborn about it I convinced her that I could still work at the dentist's office with a business management degree. As far as I was concerned, it was business management or bust. The end goal was now Chicago.
But it didn't work out right away.
I finished my Associate degree in two years, but I didn't move to Chicago for a few more years after that. Nessa's friend, Joan, still had her store in Chicago, but she was going through some financial challenges. She had a manager who had been with her a long time, and times were tight, so she simply couldn't hire me at the time. She offered me a room at her house for a good rate. It was a safe place with reasonable rent, but I didn't move right away.
I had a good job in Tyler, and I wound up staying there so I could save up and apply for a transfer within my company to make moving easier. I had worked for Abercrombie & Fitch while I was in JUCO, and I stayed on there even after graduation. I worked my way up to store manager, and I knew there were opportunities for me within the company in Chicago, but I waited a while to move.
Time passed.
It took me a few years to work up the courage go. Eventually, I devised a plan, set a date, and sold my car. I would take the bus until I learned the city and got my footing in Chicago. I'd rather have cash in hand than a car when starting fresh, anyway.
Joan was still having trouble with her business, so I just stayed on at Abercrombie and didn't work with her. She was happy to receive the rent every month. She kept to herself and was a quiet, hospitable host and landlord. Her kids were a bit suspicious of me, but they were grown and out of the house with kids of their own. I could understand where they were coming from since their mom had never had a young roommate move in from out of state.
I was twenty-three when I finally moved to Chicago, and I had now been there for ten months.
It was October, and the Cubs had a playoff game tonight, so they were the talk of the town. I was currently sitting at an upscale bar that wasn't all too far from the ballpark, and I could hear about three different conversations, all of which were about baseball. No one was dressed in a jersey or t-shirt here, though. They were all in trendy attire, and yet all I heard was baseball talk.
I was there for a job interview, although I wasn't sure I wanted it. The atmosphere was overwhelming, it was crowded, and I was hyper-aware of all the noises and glances. I wasn't too keen on working at this place. It was too busy and bougie for me. It was so exclusive that your name had to be on a list to get in.
One of my customers at Abercrombie, Tom, was the manager here, and he had asked me to come by. He said he wanted to bring me on part-time, promising I could make three or four hundred dollars in tips on a busy night.
And this must've been what he meant by busy night. It was packed. I squeezed into the only open seat at the bar and spoke to one of the bartenders on duty. He introduced himself as Max and asked what he could get for me. I ordered a ginger ale and told him I was there to talk to Tom.
"He told me to meet him here at eight o'clock," I said to him, leaning in so he could hear me.
"It might be a minute. I know he's taking care of something in the kitchen. I'll tell him you're here, though. What's your name?"
"Marley. And thank you. It's fine if he needs to reschedule. I didn't know how busy y'all would be."
The bartender smiled. "Y'all, huh? Where are you from?"
"Sorry. Texas. I didn't know how busy you would be tonight."
I usually kept my accent neutral, but the y'alls still flowed. They were natural to me, and they came out accidentally.
"Y'all is great," he said smiling. "I like it. And, no, I'm sure he wants to talk to you if he told you to meet him here. It might be a minute, though. Here's that ginger ale."
He set a glass in front of me. It was a short glass with the perfect amount of ice and a thin straw, and I picked it up and took a small sip before setting it down again.
"Can I get you anything else?" he asked.
"No thank you. Is it okay if I wait right here for Tom?"
"Of course. Let me know if you need anything."
"Thank you."
He walked away, heading to the other end of the bar. There were two bartenders and they were both busy. I watched them for a moment, thinking I would be overwhelmed standing behind that counter with all these people looking at me, waiting to get my attention.
"Do you mind if I stand here and order a drink?" a guy asked, coming up behind me.
I turned and looked his way. He was older than me—in his mid to late thirties—handsome and dapper like so many of the gentlemen in this restaurant. I smiled noncommittally, scooting over a bit to give him room, and he squeezed in beside me.
"Have you ever come here before?" he asked, glancing at me. He turned and made casual eye contact with the bartender, nudging his chin before turning back to me. He did a double take, staring at me. "Do I know you?" he asked. "Those eyes. You're a pretty lady, I hope you don't mind me saying that."
I pulled back and looked at him. He was young, rich, and handsome. "I work in retail, so maybe," I said, feeling a little reluctant and thinking that might put a stop to his advances.
He looked me over with an appraising stare. He smiled and looked down at me, puffing out his chest. He seemed to have gained confidence, and I knew I had made a mistake by telling him my position in life. No offense to rich, handsome men, but… never mind… this guy was just a little pushy. I didn't care for his demeanor and the way he was looking at me.
"Retail, huh? Like clothing?"
"Yeah, clothing."
"What kind? What's the name of the place, and I'll come see you at work. I'm rich, you know. I have three cars. I'll pick you up in the Bentley."
"I ride the bus, and it's all good," I said with a shrug. I needed to stop talking. I was giving him too many honest details. I stared at the bar, not making eye contact with him.
"If you ride the bus, then you really need me to pick you up from work."
"What can I get for you, Mr. McDaniel?"
"I'll have that Blue Label, a double, and whatever the lady's having."
"I've got mine," I insisted casually. The stranger glanced at me, and I smiled. "Thank you, though."
"What are you having there? A Tom Collins?"
"No, it's just a soda."
"What, if I might ask, is a lady like you doing sitting by yourself?"
He looked me over with interest. I wasn't going to say that I was applying for a job. In fact, I was pretty sure I was not going to work at this place, anyway.
The bartender slid Mr. McDaniel his drink, and he took it with a nod. He took a sip of it and turned to gaze at me like he was about to get comfortable right where he was standing—inches from me.
"So, back to my question… what's a nice young lady doing here by herself?"
"I'm, uh, meeting with a friend of mine," I said, reluctant to mention the interview.
"Oh, so you're not by yourself? Is this friend a man?"
"As it happens, he is."
He smirked at me and cocked his head to the side. He was dripping with confidence—oozing with it. I normally didn't mind it when a guy was confident in the right ways and for the right reasons… but this guy. His confidence was off-putting. I gave him a fake smile and glanced downward, at the bar—wishing for a way out.
I peered around the bar, hoping to see Tom. I prayed he would finish whatever he was doing and come save me from this conversation. I glanced around the room briefly before staring at the bar again.
I took a deep breath.
There had been a guy—a man.
I saw him when I glanced.
He was sitting at a table by himself, and I had made eye contact with him for a brief second before looking away again. He had been smiling at me and wearing a kind expression. I saw honesty in his eyes, even from across the room. I wondered if he was still looking at me, and I glanced at him again.
Yes.
He was still looking my way with that warm smile. I smiled back at him, and he picked up his hand and waved me over.
He was a gorgeous specimen of a man, and the hand gesture was so casual and confident that I didn't think twice. I figured he was calling me over because he knew Tom.
I gave him a quick nod and started to stand up.
"If you'll excuse me," I said.
I had never said that phrase to anyone in my life, and I smiled at myself after it came out of my mouth. I swiveled on my stool and hopped off of it, grabbing my coat and scarf and placing them over my arm before taking my glass from the bar.
"So, it's a 'maybe later' on getting your number…" the guy said, hopefully.
"Yeah," I agreed with a smile, hoping that didn’t give him more confidence. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I was creeped out by the guy, but he was forward, and I was also happy for the excuse to end the conversation with him.
The other man was sitting at a high-top table for three, but he was the only one there. I figured Tom had sent him and he would be joining us. As I walked his way, I tried to plan what to say to him.
I took a deep breath.
I no longer wanted the job and I didn't know how to tell him that and be nice without wasting anyone's time.
I was taken aback that he was so gorgeous to look at. Those dark, mysterious eyes were set in a perfect, masculine face. He looked like one of the models on the walls at my work. He was wearing a blue suit—dark steel blue pants with a lighter-toned shirt and tie. Everything was tailored and matched. Tom dressed nice, but this guy—he must've been the owner. I smiled at him as I approached his table.
"I'm Marley," I said.
I reached out to shake his hand. I set my glass on the table, but then I fumbled with my things. For a second, I couldn't decide which to deal with first, my purse or my coat and scarf. I hung my purse over the back of my chair before doing the same thing with my coat and scarf.
"There's a coat check if you don't want to lug that around," he said.
"Oh, I know, but I don’t let the scarf leave my sight, and I… had some things… in my pocket… m-my jacket pocket."
I finished my sentence in a choppy tone because I regretted talking about the things in my pocket. The truth was that I hadn't given my jacket to the coat check lady because I had loose nuts from in my pocket from feeding squirrels and birds earlier.
"That's a great scarf."
"Thank you," I said, smiling. "It's my favorite piece of clothing."
"In what way? Something besides the fact that it looks cool?"
"Thank you, I know, I love it, but no, it's more than that… it's got a whole long story."
"Oh, yeah? Let's hear it."
"Are you sure you have time? I saw how busy you guys are tonight, and I was going to tell Tom that I could just come back some other time."
"Who’s Tom?"
He seemed clueless when he said that, and I stared at him with surprise.
"Tom who works here. He's a customer of mine, and he asked me to… I'm meeting him… I thought I was meeting you, too. Were you calling me over here about something else?"
He smiled and sat back on his stool, gazing at me. "I’m sorry. Are you on a blind date or something?"
"No, it's supposed to be… a job interview…"
He tilted his head at me. "Why do you sound so uncertain?"
"I, uh, because I thought you knew that already. Plus, I regret coming here. I've never worked in the restaurant business. I'm not sure if I'm cut out for this."
"What business do you work in?"
"Retail. Wait. Why'd you call me over here? Are you on a blind date?"
"No."
"I thought maybe I looked like the picture of a girl you were meeting."
"No. I'm meeting dudes here. I just called you over to give you a way out in case Tucker McDaniel was bugging you. I know that guy. He's a piece of work. I saw him trying to talk to you."
"Oh, you know that guy?"
He shrugged. "Sort of. He knows a lot of people. He used to be a football player, so he's pretty popular."
"Oh, like a professional one?"
He smiled. "Yeah, for the Bears."
I glanced at Tucker McDaniel and then back at the handsome stranger. He adjusted the cuff of his shirt.
"Does that change how you feel about him? Do you want to go back over there and talk to him?"
"No, I don't." I started to say something about Tucker's personality, but then I changed my mind and kept my mouth closed. I gave him a little smile and then glanced around the room. I didn't want to miss Tom. I didn't see him.
"What's the story with the scarf?" the guy asked.
"It has to do with a lady, an old actress. You probably don't even know her."
"Try me."
"Mariam Waterson."
"I know who that is. How could I not? She's been in a ton of movies."