Chapter 7
FISHER
Lila leads me around the neighborhood, each of us taking turns passing the bottle of whiskey back and forth as we walk.
All the shops are closed, but we look in the windows. She shows me two of her favorite galleries, a non-profit coffee shop that has after school art classes for kids, and when we pass a Thai restaurant, she smiles. “Siam House. Home of the best khao soi in the city.”
I stop to peer in through the darkened window.
Lila stands next to me, pressing a hand to the glass.
Her wrist is stacked with delicate gold bracelets, and her fingernails are painted pink.
I like her style—tonight, she’s dressed in a bohemian outfit my mother would hate.
Baggy cargo pants, strappy sandals, and a sleeveless flowing top that shows off the delicate floral tattoo on her forearm.
“I’ll have to come back and try it sometime,” I reply.
“Ask for Lek, and tell him Lila sent you,” she says as we step back and keep walking together. “He’ll give you free mango sticky rice.”
Lila is one of those people who gets chatty when she’s drinking, and I’m glad she seems to be warming up to me a little…
even if it is alcohol-induced warmth. I enjoy listening to her talk about the community here, about her art.
She’s effervescent, passionate about everything.
Lila’s emotions and joy seep through her skin, her smile, and probably her art too.
I haven’t seen any of her paintings yet, but deep down I know I’ll like them.
We walk a good seven blocks together, Lila’s voice filling the silence as we peek inside semi-dark windows. The street lights, benches, and public garbage bins along the street are painted in bright colors, each with a different pattern. It gives the whole street a bit of flare and personality.
Fisher Group’s sleek high-rise is going to feel dark and ominous amongst the quirky shops and bright colors. Like the villain in a cartoon. The small independent businesses will exude joyful songs while the modern corporate build echoes in evil laughter.
I snicker at the visual and Lila whips her head to look at me. The tiny gold hoop through her nose catches the light, and so do her dark eyes. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.”
She arches one eyebrow, but keeps walking.
Faint jazz music tickles my ears, echoing through the dark. Lila smiles at me and waves a hand. “Follow me, I have one more thing to show you.”
She grabs my wrist, her warm hand on my skin sending a shiver down my spine, then pulls me onto cement steps that lead to a lower level beneath a pottery studio. As we get lower and closer to a solid black door, the music grows louder.
Lila lets go of my wrist and knocks a pattern on the metal door, it might be morse code, but I’m not sure.
When she’s done knocking, there’s a pause, then the door swings open and warm light fills the stairwell, the colorful sounds of saxophone, piano, and drums move against my body and I relax into it, letting my shoulders move with the beat.
A tall Black man dressed in a suit looms over us, he tips his chin to Lila. “Welcome to Tommie’s,” he says in a deep voice, stepping back so we can enter.
He stares me down, and for a second, I think he’s going to kick my ass…but then his gaze flits to the bottle in my hand. “I’m afraid I’ll have to confiscate that.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and hand him the expensive bottle, because I’m pretty sure he could easily kick my ass.
As he takes the bottle, he winks at me.
Lila waves. “Hurry up! You’re slow for someone who’s supposed to be an athlete.”
I gasp in mock horror, but rush to catch up to her.
We pass through a dark hallway only lit by a few crystal wall sconces, until we reach a large room with brick walls and exposed duct work, antique crystal chandeliers hanging throughout the room.
Each chandelier is different, but somehow they all complement each other.
There’s a massive bar along one wall, and it has a 1920s vibe with gold shelves above the bar and ornate polished wood below.
A stage fills the center of the room, and it’s filled with musicians playing live music.
The jazz instruments thump through the space, making the crystals on each chandelier vibrate and twinkle in the lights.
Small, round tables surround the stage, with plenty of room for dancing left around them.
“Whoa, this place is awesome,” I say, unable to disguise the awe in my voice.
“Isn’t it?” She says, her eyes bright. “It’s an old speakeasy, built in the twenties. One of my favorite places.”
“I can see why,” I tell her, following her toward the bar even though I’m tipsy and don’t need another drink.
“Lila,” the bartender, a gentleman who’s probably in his sixties, calls out to her. “The usual, hon?”
She slides onto a barstool. “That’s right, a Dirty Shirley on the rocks.”
Lila likes her drinks sweet. I smile and sit beside her. “Make that two.”
“It’ll be right up.” He studies me. “You new here?”
“Yep, I’m a Tommie’s first timer.” I shrug. “I’ll definitely be back though, this place is incredible.”
“Thank you,” he says with a grin.
“You own this place?” My eyebrows climb up my forehead.
“Yes, sir. My great grandpa, Tommie, opened it in 1921. It's been in the family ever since.” He fills two glasses with soda, vodka, and a splash of grenadine, then adds several cherries.
I blink, wondering why my family’s business couldn’t be something cool like this. A small family business, something with a legacy, a heritage.
“So what brings you to Tommie’s tonight? You Lila’s new man?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer his question, looking at Lila as he adds, “Zane’s going to be awfully jealous; this one’s handsome.”
I don’t have a clue who Zane is, but for some reason, I’m a little jealous of him right now.
“Oh Robert, would you stop with that already! Zane and I are just friends.” Lila chuckles, and my irrational flare of jealousy subsides. “And this is Archibald Fisher. I’m showing him around the neighborhood.”
He brings the glasses over and settles them in front of us, his expression hardening. “Fisher, as in Fisher Group?”
The music seems to fade as everyone sitting at the bar turns and looks at me with less than friendly expressions.
I scratch the back of my neck. “I’m afraid so. But I’m doing everything I can to convince my father not to demolish the firehouse.”
He sniffs through his nose. “Well, you better hurry up because I heard they’ll close on the property in two weeks.” Robert glares, then turns away from me.
I can feel the heavy looks from Tommie’s patrons around the bar, so I keep my focus on the Dirty Shirley in front of me and take a sip. I’ve never had one before, but it’s not half-bad.
“Sorry,” Lila whispers, leaning in to speak. Her jasmine and honey scent wafts around me, and I’m not sure if I’m drunk on the whiskey or her. “I should probably just keep calling you Hercules, it would probably raise less questions around here than the name Fisher.”
“I feel like an asshole even being here.”
“Don’t. It’s just that this neighborhood means a lot to the people who live in it. We’ve always managed to keep it small with family-owned operations and small businesses. This street holds memories.” She sighs, sadness moving over her dark eyes.
“You grew up in the neighborhood?”
“Yeah.” She nods, still leaning in so we can hear each other. “My mom raised me here…the art collective was her family, and now they’re mine.”
She used the word was. Past tense. “She passed away?”
Lila nods, one piece of dark hair falling into her face. She tucks it behind her ear. “Almost a year ago.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I mumble, knowing the sentiment is stupid, but without a clue what else to say. I should be better at this, since I just lost my granddad…but I didn’t have the same connection to the man that Lila obviously had with her mom.
She gives me a small smile of acknowledgement.
“the firehouse carries so many good memories, losing it feels like losing her all over again.” Condensation runs down the side of her glass, and she absently stops it with her finger.
“After Mom passed, all of the artists took care of me. I don’t know what I’ll do once we all disperse to new studios. ”
My heart sinks. the firehouse is home to her, to their whole collective. It’s a piece of her heart. This is her family the same way the 3B crew has become mine.
“I may not be a fan of Fisher Group, or anything they stand for, but on a personal level, as someone who has gone through loss…I am truly sorry about your grandpa, Fisher,” Lila says, spinning in her seat to face me. Her eyes are glossy from her alcohol-induced buzz, but her words are honest.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s those gorgeous brown eyes…but I blurt something that I’ve never voiced out loud before. “Don’t be. My granddad was an asshole.” A goofy laugh and a hiccup bubbles out of me.
This makes Lila laugh too. We both start cracking up like my granddad’s assholery is the funniest damn thing on the planet.
“And what, exactly, made him an asshole?” She asks, her cheeks pink. “Outside of demolishing people’s livelihoods to expand his billion dollar empire, of course.”
I take a sip of my drink and slow my laughter.
“He was verbally abusive, manipulated everyone he supposedly loved, and only cared about himself. Oh, and he put a stipulation in his will. But only for me…none of the other grandchildren.” I shake my head, chuckling.
“I’m sure you don’t want to hear the sob story of a spoiled little rich boy. ”
Lila’s eyes widen. “Don’t kid yourself, I’m nosy as hell, I want to know! What’s the stipulation?” She sips her drink through a straw.
I laugh again. “Okay, get this. I can’t receive my—very large, mind you—inheritance unless I get married.”
She grabs hold of my arm, nearly spitting out her drink. Lila swallows, then bursts into laughter again. Her drink is nearly gone, so I know she’s feeling good right now. “Stop it! That’s horrible! You weren’t lying; your grandpa really was an asshole.”
I smile at her reaction, even though the ultimatum is anything but funny. “Right?”
She takes another sip, her eyes bugging out like she just had an idea. Her small hand slaps my shoulder repeatedly until she finally swallows and can say what’s on her mind. “You should just marry me. Then we can buy the firehouse with your inheritance!”
Our eyes hold for two seconds before she peels into a fit of giggles again. My mind is fuzzy, my vision blurring, and I laugh, too. It feels good to laugh.
“Problem solved!” I say, clinking my glass with hers.
“Next up, ending world hunger.” She points her index finger in the air as she says it.
“We’ll save the entire world by the end of the night at this rate,” I tease. The thought has me glancing down at my watch, though. Shit, it’s late. “I have practice early tomorrow; why don’t I walk you home?”
She nods, a bit unstable as she gets down from the high stool.
I reach around her waist with my left arm to stabilize her, then grab my wallet with my right hand and throw a fifty down on the bar.
Robert the bartender gives me a parting glare that suggests he’ll string me up by my balls if anything happens to Lila under my watch, and I tip my chin in his direction in acknowledgement, glad to see she has people looking out for her wellbeing.
Once we’re back outside—the bouncer never does give my whiskey back—the cool air feels great on my skin, my face hot from all the alcohol. “Okay, you need to tell me where you live so I can walk you there.”
“Hmmmmm,” she hums, screwing up her nose and pointing the direction we walked here from, the lacy strap of her top slipping off one shoulder as she does so. “That way.”
She’s adorable when she’s drunk…and when she’s not drunk.
I had fun with her tonight, just talking and sharing about our lives.
She’s really cool, completely different from the girls I usually meet in bars, who only flirt with me because they know my last name or want to hook up with a hockey player.
We walk along the sidewalk, her arm looped through mine, until she stops in front of the firehouse. “Okay, this is me.”
My brows scrunch together. “Lila, this is the firehouse. Where do you live? I can’t leave you here alone.”
She tuts. “Fisher, this is my home. I live in the apartment upstairs.”
Holy shit. When Fisher Group demolishes this building, she’ll not only lose her community, but her home. This is so much worse than I thought.
“Come inside and I’ll show you around,” she slurs. “You can’t drive home anyway. I have a couch you can sleep on.”
I was going to just order an Uber to take me back to the loft, but I really don’t want to leave her here alone, not when she’s drunk.
Not when my family is taking so much from her.
I don’t know why it feels like if I stay close to her, I can somehow protect Lila from her troubles, but guilt keeps me from reaching for my phone.
“Okay, yeah,” I say. “I’ll crash here.”
Lila tugs me inside and locks up for the night, then leads me up a set of old, wooden steps to the tiniest apartment I’ve ever seen. I can barely stand, the ceiling is so low. Was this space supposed to be a storage closet or an attic?
“It’s just temporary,” she says, using the wall for balance so she can kick off her shoes.
I look around, wondering how anyone could actually live in this claustrophobic space. There’s a small twin-sized bed along the wall, and a kitchenette on the other. She’s decorated the room with a colorful floral rug and white curtains. Pottery lines the kitchen countertop.
My eyes land on a love seat in the corner. Is that the couch she spoke of? Does she think I’m three feet tall?
As I was looking around the room, feeling like I might pass out from worry for this woman, Lila was apparently crawling into her tiny bed. She’s already snoring as she lies facedown with one arm dangling down to the floor.
Shaking my head, I cross the room with one step and cover her up with the fluffy blanket that’s folded at the foot of her bed. Then I make myself as comfortable as humanly possible on the soft rug, hoping I won’t wake up regretting my decision to spend the night.