Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
FRANKIE
P art of me hopes that Danny is having a worse time than I am. Part of me hopes he isn’t, because not even Danny deserves that. Another small but insistent part wishes he was here. I could do with some back up. And a witness, because I’m pretty sure this violates some international human rights treaty.
I’m at The Silver Saddle with Shelby and Chiara. Brendan, who owns the place, gave up long-haul trucking to buy the bar, but he still looks like an extra from Sons of Anarchy , blond and beefy with a bunch of dubious tattoos. He also holds the title of all-time most ornery in a proud tradition of ornery barkeepers. Luckily, he adores Shelby, so I’m acceptable by association. Although Brendan’s default expression is “bite me”, I detected a flicker of mistrust when Chiara approached. A hundred percent warranted, as I’m now finding out.
At first, I think I’m safe; Shelby and Chiara catch up about Shelby’s health, and then feel obliged to discuss their other bestie Jordan’s renewed crush on Brendan, despite him being ten years older and showing no interest in her whatsoever. I say “renewed” because apparently Jordan was miffed to discover (from Chiara, of course) that Brendan had a secret girlfriend, an actress, who lived in L.A. and sneaked up here undercover for their trysts. When Chiara subsequently informed her that the actress and Brendan had broken up, Jordan was even more miffed because he’d failed to tell her himself, and so she didn’t speak to Brendan for a couple of months. But now – and I promise this story will be over soon – Jordan’s back on her Brendan-crush bullshit. When I ask the obvious question, has Jordan told Brendan how she feels, both Shelby and Chiara stare at me like I’ve grown two heads.
“Of course not,” says Shelby. “That would kill the crush buzz.”
“You mean, Jordan wouldn’t be able to gaze longingly from a distance when she’s here?” I clarify. “Or continue to wallow in completely pointless emotions instead of channeling them productively into a real relationship?”
“Precisely,” says Chiara. “And speaking of relationships…”
At this moment, I sense the conversation is about to slide rapidly downhill.
I am correct. Because Chiara follows up that opening with, “When will you and Danny Durant admit you have feelings for each other?”
“Frankie!!” Shelby’s wide-eyed and grinning like a loon. “You and Danny! That’s adorable! You’re such a cute couple!”
I’m not normally at a loss for words, but then I’m not normally surrounded by people who’ve gone collectively insane.
“Back the truck up!” I insist. “Danny and I are not a couple! We will never be a couple because my only feelings for him are?—”
“Complicated?” says Chiara. “Conflicted?”
She’s playing with me. Winding me up like those clockwork teeth on legs, so she can watch me dash madly in all directions, gnashing away.
I engage lawyer voice mode. “I am not having this discussion. Not now, not ever. Got it?”
“You two have more in common than you think.” Chiara has failed to get it. “You should set aside your grudges and take time to get to know him.”
“Grudges?” She’s chosen that word on purpose, to wind me up further. “You mean, perfectly reasonable objections to toxic male behavior?”
Chiara smiles. She’s enjoying this, damn her. Most people probably cave in to her immediately, so a bit of cut and thrust with me is an entertaining novelty.
“I admire that you’re not afraid to call out poor form in others,” she says. “I also think you look for any excuse to keep your distance. How many long-term boyfriends have you had, Frankie?”
Shelby’s shifting in her seat, discomforted by Chiara’s full-frontal attack. Me, I want to smash a beer bottle and threaten Chiara with it. But I’ll settle for taking her down verbally.
“My personal life is none of your business,” I say. “And you have no idea which way I lean. Could be gay or bi, could be asexual. Don’t impose your cis-het norms on me.”
Chiara sits back in her seat. Taps her immaculately manicured and nonsensically long nails on the table.
“Hmm,” she says, apparently to herself.
Before she can regroup for a second charge, Brendan appears with food. Cheeseburgers and curly fries all round. Hot damn.
“Jordan not joining you?” he says.
His tone suggests he couldn’t care less either way. The fact he uttered words when his usual demeanor is a surly silence says otherwise.
“It’s summer camp season,” says Shelby. “She’s taking a whole group of teenagers rock-climbing and abseiling. I don’t know how she does it. I’d be terrified!”
“Of heights?” I ask.
“Teenagers!!” Shelby replies.
“Oh, come on, Shel,” says Chiara. “We weren’t exactly saints ourselves.”
“That’s what I mean!” Shelby pats her bump. “When this one is born, I’m locking them away until they’re thirty-five.”
Brendan is still hovering.
“Can’t imagine you and Jordan misbehaving,” he says to Shelby. “ You , however”—he nods at Chiara—“were born trouble.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” says Chiara. “Now, go away. Frankie and I are sparring.”
“Wrong. I’m eating.” I pick up my cheeseburger and say to Brendan, “And I’d love another beer.”
He shrugs, which means, “Sure thing, coming right up,” and walks off back to the bar without a second glance at his now nemesis, Chiara.
“You know, Jordan’s right,” says Chiara, who ignores everything that doesn’t suit her, “he does have a fine rear end.”
“I suppose,” says Shelby, reluctantly. “Nate’s is cuter.”
“You think Nate’s nasal hair is precious,” says Chiara. “You are not an objective observer.”
“Poor Nate,” says Shelby, with a sigh. “He really didn’t want to visit his parents today. Hope his dad hasn’t been too difficult.”
“What’s Danny’s relationship with his father like?”
I have to admire Chiara’s ability to pivot. Getting nowhere with me directly, she’s now trying the oblique route.
Shelby, of course, is oblivious to devious tactics. “Nate says his dad gives Danny a hard time because he didn’t go to college. Says his dad doesn’t mean to be harsh, but he has very firm ideas about the correct pathways to success, and he’s worried that Danny’s strayed off them.”
“But Danny’s business is doing very well, isn’t it?” Chiara appears to be looking directly at Shelby, but I know she has a corner of her eye on me.
“Yes!” says Shelby. “And Nate says he’s been asked to be on TV! To present some car program!”
Okay, now I’m listening, but I refuse to give Chiara the satisfaction. I focus intently on eating my curly fries.
“Tough business, television,” says Chiara. “I wonder if he has an agent, or someone with legal experience. He’ll need help fighting his corner when it comes to rights and remuneration.”
She may as well be spelling my name out in neon. Subtle.
“Danny’s super savvy,” Shelby says. “Nate’s always said he admires his instincts, and his tolerance for risk.”
“Typical outgoing, adventurous middle child.” Chiara casts yet another fishing lure my way. “Although the youngest is often the most rebellious.”
“What about only children like you?” Shelby asks.
“Oh, we’re a perfect combination of every birth order trait,” says Chiara, smugly.
Brendan sets my beer down with a pointed lack of care. “Last orders,” he announces. “I’m closing up in fifteen minutes.”
“According to the sign on the door, you’re shut between three and four-thirty,” Chiara says. “It’s only one forty-five.”
“My joint, my rules,” says Brendan, and walks off again.
“Wow,’ says Shelby. “He’s really mad at you.”
Chiara sighs. “I’ll make it up to him.”
What about me ? I want to ask. Any chance of an apology for the torture session I just endured?
I drink my beer, instead. And by one fifty-nine, we’re standing outside on the pavement, The Silver Saddle’s door shut firmly behind us.
“Bye, sweets.” Shelby kissed Chiara on the cheek. “Thanks for lunch.”
Chiara paid, which seemed the least she could do. Brendan managed to avoid looking at her for the whole transaction.
“Goodbye, Frankie,” Chiara says. “And remember, you and Danny do have more in common than you think.”
She walks off in the direction of Bartons, where she may as well live. Did Danny get tortured by Chiara, too? Maybe I’ll ask him; maybe I won’t.
We took my car because Nate has the pick-up. I’m just pulling the keys out of my bag, when said pick-up pulls in behind us, and the driver hops out.
“ Nate! ”
In this respect, Shelby’s a lot like a dog. Even if Nate’s only been gone five minutes, she acts like he’s been away for years.
“How was lunch?” he says, after they’ve kissed hello.
“Weird,” says Shelby. “How was yours?”
Nate pulls a face. “On brand.”
He looks at me. “Don’t suppose we can swap?”
“What? Cars?” I ask.
“Passengers. So, I can drive home with my beautiful wife.”
Danny’s leaning on the pick-up. He lifts his hands to make it clear this is not his idea.
My thoughts are – yes, damn you, Chiara – complicated and conflicted. I want to show my car off to Danny. I want to ask him quite a few questions. I would also sooner eat leafy greens than give Chiara an inch. What will it be, Frankie?
“Sure,” I say. “Danny. Hop in.”