Chapter 9 Howdy!
howdy!
FRANKIE
THE HI-DIVE
I should have listened to my gut. I could have sent flowers and pretended I was busy. Instead, I’m stuffed all the way in the back of the bar, trying not to get caught sneaking glances at Daphne as she heads up to the stage.
“Frankie!”
Abi and Jay make their way toward me, drinks in hand.
The three of us have been hanging out a lot lately since the rest of our friends seemingly have better things to do.
Piper’s working on her research proposal defense, Logan is off at a retreat in Baltimore, and Roman and Imogen are fucking— I mean, eating and drinking— their way around Italy.
“I got you something special!” Jay chirps, handing me my second whiskey of the night.
“Is it alcohol poisoning?”
This one is so full, even passing it over has it almost slosh out onto the floor.
“You know, you try to do something nice for your pal…”
“I tried to stop him,” Abi sighs. “But by the time I could step in, the damage had already been done.”
“Somehow, I doubt you were trying to be the voice of reason,” I smirk.
I look back up at the stage. Daphne is as ethereal as ever, haloed in gold light, her long copper hair flowing down her shoulders.
Time for a distraction. The second the whiskey hits my tongue, I hear myself groan.
It’s smoky, full-bodied, and goes down so smooth that I don’t even mind there’s probably three shots in the glass.
Jay elbows me in the ribs.
“I told her once you had a sip it would be immediate: no more complaints!” He cranes his neck, looking around at the packed house. “But hey, it’s weird to see this many people in there, huh? This shit kinda rules.”
“I don’t know if saying this shit kinda rules at a wake is appropriate, Jay,” Abi chuckles.
“Listen, I’m never gonna censor myself, okay?” He shrugs before turning back to me. “Sick nose ring, by the way.”
“Thanks, I got it at the airport.”
“An airport nose ring?!” Abi hisses. “Frankie!”
“It’s a lawless place, Abigail. Besides, I had fifty bucks and a six hour layover.”
“You got any other piercings?” Jay chimes in. “Secret ones?”
“Yeah, of course. My cock.”
I watch in amusement as Abi’s drink nearly shoots out of her nose.
“You liar!”
Jay raises a brow, studying me closely like he’s in the final stages of cracking a safe.
“I don’t know… it’s so hard to tell when he’s doing a bit.”
I hold his gaze, sipping my drink calmly until I can’t hold back my laughter.
“I’m fucking with you.”
“Called it.” Jay gives me a gentle shove. “This fuckin’ guy.”
Of course, I’m not fucking with him. I really did get my dick pierced, way back when I started going to fetish clubs. A few things I’d read told me they enhanced your partner’s pleasure, so I figured why not give it a shot?
Turns out, it’s actually pretty great for both parties.
A little bit of microphone static pulls our attention to the stage, and Daphne launches into a heartfelt speech about Joe and the legacy he built here.
Her voice shakes a little, but she keeps smiling through it, even cracking a couple of jokes.
But not even the years of experience stoically strutting down red carpets can help her disguise her grief.
I know how much Joe meant to her, and vice versa.
He was always bragging about her, showing off her platinum albums, and the magazine covers she graced over the years.
“Roman’s mentioned you two knew each other back in the day. That true?” Jay asks.
“We went to high school together.”
“Shit, were you close?”
I shrug, opening my mouth to throw out some non-answer, but I’m quickly cut off by a sentence that hits me like a truck.
“So, since this place meant so much to me, I’ve decided I’m going to be the one to keep his legacy alive. I’ll be taking over as the new owner and sending my parents to Costa Rica for some much needed relaxation.”
Suddenly, all that whiskey feels like it’s coming right back up.
The new owner? How long is she planning on being here?
For the summer? For forever?
Maybe I could take a really long vacation like Logan’s always been bugging me to do.
I could finally start working on becoming one of those real douchebag-academics with a house in the Scottish countryside, where all they do is walk around with a pipe, talking about the book they’ve been writing for the past ten years.
“You good, dude?” Jay asks. “You’re looking a little green around the gills.”
“I think that might be your fault,” Abi smirks. “You want me to get you some water, Frankie?”
I shake my head. What I need to do is get a grip.
The rest of the crowd falls silent as Daphne launches into a cover of Landslide by Fleetwood Mac.
Her grief feels stifling, like she’s choking on it through every mournful note.
My mind starts to wander back to my mom’s own funeral, when I had to stand up in front of all those people and sum her up in a few pages.
How do you even do that?
I feel like I’m drowning all over again.
Jay and Abi are fully immersed in the performance, meaning this is the perfect time for me to duck out for a cigarette.
Most people have gathered around the stage, which makes it easy enough to weave through the remaining crowd and slip out into the alley.
Out in the warm air, I immediately dive into my coat for my smokes, my hands shaking so bad that I can barely get the pack open.
“Fuck, get it together, dude.”
It feels like an eternal struggle just to dig one measly smoke out of the pack as I pace from side to side. All I wanted was that sweet and possibly expired nicotine, but what I’m getting is the sword in the fucking stone.
“Come on, you mother—“
Finally, one slips loose and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“Thank you, God.”
Just as I light my cigarette, I hear the door slam open behind me, followed by heels clicking on the pavement. I figure Abi’s followed me out, worried and checking in on me, but when I turn around to tell her everything’s fine, I spot a head of red hair.
Oh, no.
It looks like both of us had the same idea.
Daphne doesn’t take any notice of me at first, slumping against the wall just off to the side and burying her head in her hands.
Her sobs echo through the alley, and I have no idea what to do.
She clearly thinks she’s alone, so do I draw attention to myself?
Do I just let her cry in the alley by herself? Is that fucked up?
After a few moments of heart-pounding deliberation, I decide on the path of least resistance: As long as I can slip back inside without her noticing, I can pretend this never happened.
I sneak toward the door, keeping a close eye on her.
I can hear the music and muffled conversation just inside, probably just loud enough to cover my escape.
I take a calming breath, grabbing the handle and carefully inching the door open, but a loud squeak of the hinge in the final moment betrays me.
Daphne’s head snaps up, her eyes widening in shock.
Ohhh, no.
I run my hand through my hair, sucking in a deep, calming breath.
“Hey, uh…”
Oh my God.
Oh my fucking God, say her name, Frankie.
Firecracker.
No, not that one!
“D– Daphne.” I let out the world’s most awkward, uncomfortable laugh. “Hey, Daphne.”
Her initial look of shock rises into a smile and she flicks away a tear.
“Did you forget?”
She looks so different from the last time I saw her up-close— taller, curvier, practically untouchable… and yet, I can still see an inkling of the freckle-faced girl in her grin, the one who would laugh at the mustard stain on her Led Zeppelin shirt and say, I’m saving it for later.
“I didn’t— I mean, I— uh… you were crying, and…”
She sighs, straightening up a little.
“Oh, you saw that? Sorry.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of.”
She squares her shoulders, her demeanor quickly shifting, almost like her pop star persona is a suit of armor. She’s so poised and elegant, despite the tear stains on her cheeks.
“Got another smoke?” She asks.
She’s so close I can smell her perfume. Fresh peaches with a hint of musk, like she’s hiding some kind of sinful secret.
“Or… maybe not?”
I blink, looking at her blankly as my brain fills with TV static.
Her eyes gleam, and she bites her lip, almost like she’s trying to stave off laughter.
“I asked you if you had another cigarette.”
“Oh! Yeah, yeah, I have a bunch left. Take as many as you want.”
I hold it out and she plucks a cigarette from the pack, casually sliding it between her lips.
“I didn’t know you smoked.”
“Only sometimes. Gotta have a vice, right?”
The truth is I ‘quit’ years ago, but I’ve still got an old pack tucked into the pocket of this jacket for… emergencies.
“True enough,” she laughs. “I drink an Alani in the morning, and an espresso before I go onstage. My doctor said I need to cut back, but I tell her it’s my one weakness.”
I give her my best sagely nod.
“Mine’s donuts.”
“Are you still a double chocolate guy?”
“Actually, I’ve evolved. It’s salted caramel now.”
“Like those iced coffee things you used to get when we were kids? The ones that had the tower of whipped cream and caramel syrup?”
“It wasn’t a tower,” I scoff.
I’d pick her up every morning in my mom’s Sedan, and we’d head straight to the coffee shop to load up on caffeine and pastries before class.
“It totally was! It stuck out of that big hole in the lid and everything! You got one every morning, there’s no way I’d forget how huge those things were.”
She’s right, of course. By the time we got to homeroom, I was always riding a massive sugar high.
“Fine, sure, whatever. But you’re not much better. Every single time a vanilla latte with a—”
“Blueberry muffin.”
Our words come out in unison and she chuckles, standing up a little straighter. That’s when I notice what’s hanging off her neck. That old Saint Christopher medallion.
I assumed she would have given it away, or just lost it. I can’t believe she still has it.