Chapter Sixteen
Chapter
Sixteen
Swatches
Things had changed over the years at Fortnum’s.
There was an espresso bar against the side wall where the
tables and chairs with the games had been back in the day.
There were new, but still worn-in and comfortable couches
and armchairs scattered around, with some tables and chairs at the front.
And there were a lot more patrons than there used to be, and
although some high-school-aged kids were there, they were no longer the
majority.
But the field of books stretched off to the back just like
they used to, and that musty smell I remembered so well mingled with coffee
filled the air, permeating me with nostalgia.
The good kind.
The happy kind.
The wondrous kind.
However, sitting in the seating area in front of the large
plate-glass window was what could only be every beautiful white woman in the
Denver Metro area.
And, if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, among them was Dolly
Parton, traveled forward through time, or a much younger lookalike, replete
with a huge head of platinum blonde hair not even close to being contained by a
wide pink Alice band. She was wearing a pink lace bustier out of which was
bursting so much cleavage, entire sects of fundamental Christian churches had
her on their watch list. Over this was a denim blazer, its lapels adorned with
diamanté rivets. On the bottom were skintight, stonewash jeans, her calves and
feet covered in bubblegum pink, patent leather, platform stripper boots.
She looked like she was going to pop up and start singing
“Two Doors Down.”
She was a lot.
And I wanted to be her best friend immediately.
But there was more.
The man behind the espresso counter had an ultra-long russet
beard, a wild head of graying blond hair, and the aura of a serial killer. He
was wearing a flannel shirt and looked like Grizzly Adams gone bad.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be his best friend, but he looked
interesting.
Duke, unfortunately, was nowhere in sight.
Indy was waddling over to us, but it was the guy behind the
espresso counter who boomed, “VIP! VIP!” He turned to a blonde woman behind the
counter with him and hollered, “Froth, woman! Froth! She’s here!”
“I’m frothing, Tex, I’m frothing,” the woman said, smiling a
smile that was so dazzling, I was stupefied for a moment, but she was doing it
while frothing.
And then Indy was there. “That’s Tex. He’s loud. He’s
annoying. He’s also sweet and makes great coffee. And that was his way of
saying he’s happy to meet you.”
“Do I get froth, my man?” Toni called to him.
“Who are you?” the man named Tex boomed.
She tilted her head at me. “I’m her best bitch.”
“Then fuck yeah!” Tex shouted, and I felt my eyes widen at
his language shouted across a place of business where the women at the front
section, clearly Indy’s crew, weren’t the only people in the place.
However, oddly, it didn’t appear like they heard it, or they
were regulars and it was nothing new.
“Sit your ass down,” Tex ordered on another boom. “I got
you.”
He then, no other way to put it, appeared to be attacking
the espresso machine.
Indy took my hand and thus began the introductions.
I kinda recognized them from that time Liam and I spent in
the hospital, but for obvious reasons, I couldn’t say I was paying a lot of
attention then.
In fact, I couldn’t have been, because I hadn’t noticed Tex
or the Dolly Parton lookalike, and even with the Darius situation, I would have
remembered them.
First there was Roxie, who was Hank, Lee and Ally’s older
brother’s wife. Then Jules, who was married to Vance, another one of Lee’s men,
the woman Darius had talked to about Liam. And Ava, who was married to a guy
named Luke, also one of Lee’s men. Sadie, a fairytale-princess-looking gal who
was married to Eddie’s younger brother, Hector (who, too, worked for Lee).
Stella was semi-kinda famous. I’d heard of her before she hit the papers with
her story with her guy. She was in a popular local rock group. Her man was
another of Lee’s team, his name was Mace. Then there was Jet, who came out from
behind the counter. She was Eddie’s wife.
Ally was there too.
And the Dolly Parton lookalike was called Daisy. I learned
she worked with Ally, and when I was introduced to her, she said, “I sure am
glad to meet you, sugar. It’s high time. Welcome to the tribe,” and then she
emitted a laugh that was gorgeous. It sounded like tinkling bells.
The final two were a hippie chick named Annette who greeted
me with a “Yo, bitch!” and I learned, unsurprisingly,
she owned the head shop down the way.
And Shirleen, who was studying me tentatively and holding
herself uncomfortably.
I knew why.
Darius hadn’t given me the whole story yet, but I did know
she blamed herself for her nephew getting sucked into a world where he didn’t
belong.
It was just, she held no blame.
So I stood in front of her, a bevy of Rock Chick eyes
focused on me, and I said softly, “Come on, Aunt Shirleen. It’s been a long
time. No hug?”
She caught my eyes and relief saturated hers, right before
she surged out of her chair and gave me a hug.
I remembered it right.
Her hugs were the best.
“Stop hugging. Sit your ass down. Drink.” Tex was close, his
booming even closer, so I let Shirleen go, but made sure I gave her a smile
before Toni and I were bumped and prodded into sitting beside each other on the
couch.
Jet assumed the arm of the couch by me, Indy wedged herself
in beside Toni, and Jules was perched on the other arm. Roxie and Ava lounged
in the two armchairs across from us, Daisy sitting on an arm of Ava’s chair.
Shirleen sat in the one at the end, Sadie in the other. Annette sat cross
legged on the top of a table between Jules and Sadie with Stella straddling a
turned-around chair she’d pulled over from a table, doing this between Sadie
and Roxie. Ally doing the same thing between Roxie and Ava.
The gang was all there.
A mug topped with foam was shoved in my hand.
“Don’t know what you like, so I threw everything good at
it,” Tex low-boomed. “Vanilla, cinnamon and a hint of almond. Tell me what you
think.”
I sipped it.
My eyes rolled back into my head.
He’d shoved a mug into Toni’s hands too, and I knew she had
her sip when she whispered a reverent, “Motherfucker.”
“I’ll take that as approval,” Tex declared then he clapped
his hands, the sound so loud, I jumped, nearly sloshing coffee and foam over my
hand. He then rubbed them together, saying, “Right. What we talkin’
here? I gotta dust off my grenades? Smoke bombs? Or dig out my brass knuckles?”
Slowly, my head turned to Toni to find she’d already turned
to me, and I was pretty sure we wore identical surprised/confused/terrified
expressions.
“We’ve never needed brass knuckles, Uncle Tex,” Roxie put
in.
“Don’t mean you shouldn’t have them,” Daisy replied in her
adorable country twang, studying lethally tipped nails embedded with so many
rhinestones, you could barely see the pearly pink polish underneath. “I got me
some years ago. Between Jules and Ava. Or was it Roxie and Jules? Don’t matter.
Pink lacquer. They’re cute.”
Cute brass knuckles?
I was under the impression this was the chilled-out,
hang-with-some-coffee-and-girlfriends-before-the-onslaught-of-a-big-party-in-order-to-get-to-know-each-other
portion of shifting into the life that I hadn’t shared with Darius until then.
How were we talking about brass knuckles?
The bell over the door sounded and I looked that way to see
a tall slender white man with a brown crew cut and a shorter, handsome Hispanic
man walking in.
The taller man had what looked like a scrapbook in his arm
tucked to his chest.
“I’m out,” Tex low-boomed, and immediately lumbered away.
Even as crazy as that man seemed, I should have taken this
as the warning it was.
Alas, I did not.
The crewcut guy walked right into the seating area, dropped
the scrapbook on the coffee table with a loud funf,
then lifted his hands, forefingers and thumbs in L-shapes, tips of thumbs
touching to create a frame through which he squinted.
At me.
“Ummm…” Toni mumbled.
My thought exactly.
He dropped his hands and announced to the store at large. “I
can’t. I don’t know her, but this is impossible. Every color looks good against
Black skin. I’ll never be able to pick.”
I wouldn’t quite agree. The color they named “flesh” didn’t
quite work.
Toni and I exchanged another glance.
“This is Tod,” Jules shared. “And his partner Stevie. Tod’s
the Rock Chicks’ officially unofficial wedding planner.”
I choked and I hadn’t even sipped my coffee.
Darius and I weren’t even living together officially.
We were on day three.
Yes, I loved him, and he loved me. Yes, we were doing
this. Yes, we shared a son who we were both devoted to.
But with all that had gone on before, and it being so heavy,
I’d never even thought about us getting married.
Never let myself dream that far ahead.
Something around the region of my heart shifted, and it
didn’t feel bad.
No.
It felt very, very good.
“I’ve got it!” Tod shouted on a snap. “Amethyst!”
“My man,” Toni butted in. “My bridesmaids wore aubergine.”
“I approve,” Tod told her, then asked. “Who are you?”
Toni hiked a thumb at me. “Toni, her best bitch. And as
such, she was my maid of honor.”
“I approve of that too, since it’s clear you have good
taste,” Tod replied.
“Well, thanks,” Toni said. “But see, she’s got a framed
picture of us at my wedding. She’s gonna obviously have framed pictures of her
wedding. And aubergine and amethyst clash. She
couldn’t put those pictures close together, and everyone knows, best bitches
put their wedding pictures close together in their family rooms.”
Tod hooked a finger on his cheek and rested his chin on his
fist, murmuring, “This is true.”
I turned my head and stared at Toni like she’d done what
she’d obviously done.
Lost her damned mind.
“What did you wear?” Tod asked Toni.
“Ivory. Off the shoulder. Kickass ruching