Chapter 9
Chapter nine
Happy Hour for Three
Ionly really needed one thing: a screwdriver. The chanting. The fall. Even the dreams were enough for anyone to want a stiff drink.
After tireless searching on different internet forums about everything and anything paranormal, I’ve come to the following conclusion: Ghosts are real. They aren’t always the friendliest. Some may say they are snarky and irritating.
After this new chant that has been edging in my ear for the last few hours, it’s all I can focus on.
A luz sabe—the light knows. Duas almas incompletas—two incomplete souls.
The chants repeat in my head, hissing at me in both languages. My mouth goes dry. Every single explanation in my head only leads to a dead end. Settling in the chair the hostess just sat me at, I don’t waste any time.
“Excuse me!” I yell a little too loudly. The waitress and everyone else in the room are now looking at me. She is visibly rolling her eyes as she makes her way over to my table.
“How can I help you?” she asks, gritting her teeth.
“Screwdriver on the rocks, please.”
“Just you?” she questions.
“Yes, it’s just me,” I bite back. The waitress gives a sly smirk before walking away. I exhale, forcing myself to steady my breaths. I need to speak to someone.
Someone that is logical, pragmatic and visible to other human beings.
I scroll through my contacts on my phone, drumming my nails against the wooden table. My index finger stopping at Lena’s name, hovering over the call button for a few moments before I actually click on it.
After a few rings, I get her automated message.
The person you’re trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.
“Hi, girl, I am at Tipsy Boulevard, drinking my day away. Join me. I could really use—”
My sentence trails off, trying to find the words. The truth is, if I finished the sentence, I would say I could really use someone to talk to because I’m lonely and on the verge of losing it. But that’s too much to leave over voicemail so I hang up.
“Here you go,” the waitress cuts in and a drink slides over to me in a trendy, hipster glass. Without trying, my drink is finished within minutes.
With no vodka left and a quarter of the loaf of bread gone, the onlookers at every other table are harder to ignore.
“I should’ve just sat at the bar,” I mumble under my breath, desperation hitting me all at once.
Forget logical. I need to talk to anyone.
Pulling my purse back onto my lap I rummage through my bag, sorting through loose bobby pins and pieces of gum to find my Bluetooth headphones stuck at the bottom.
Acting on a hunch I’ve been desperate to confirm since I left Holden’s house, I rub my thumb over the pendant. The chant picks up on cue.
This time, I only hear part of it— “a luz sabe” in a set of three. A gust of wind shifts the energy in the room as her entrance is almost immediate, raising the hair on the nape of my neck when I hear her voice follow the phrase.
“I was this close to kissing him!” I loudly whisper.
She doesn’t respond to this, only mentioning, “Did you like what I did with the lights back at his house?” she says. A cold chill rushes past my shoulders again.
“I am not sure what you are trying to do with your little tricks.”
“Hey, all I did was control the lights. You are in charge of what you say and do.”
“Okay then, what about pushing me toward his car in the parking lot?” My jaw locks, catching the waitress’s eyes piercing holes through me.
“All I did was give a nudge. But I can’t make you do anything…”
“No filter around him?” I push my ear buds tighter into my ear.
“Still you.”
“Then why did you mock me about how I couldn’t help myself from saying my thoughts…”
“Because you couldn’t. Besides, maybe you couldn’t filter yourself because you like him?”
Her words nearly make me choke on my drink. “I barely know the guy.”
“Stranger things have happened. Plus, I don’t understand why you won’t show Chris.”
All I was doing was giving this man what he requested—unfiltered honesty. Anyone who knew Holden’s story would’ve thought of the same stuff. Chris would throw out my suggestions in an instant.
“Good is relative if the client hates it…” My voice stays level.
She flickers her attention to the men at the bar, mumbling, “He’ll come around.”
Some generic pop music starts playing over the loudspeaker as we spar back and forth, ping-ponging until the pendant is glowing a hypnotizing shade of blue, beaming brighter the more we fight.
I guess others have noticed, because I feel like my table is on display.
“We have an audience,” she says as I move my gaze to where she is pointing. In front of me, a badly dressed man in his forties is staring. Ogling at us—I mean me—intently.
Maybe it’s the vodka hitting me, but I pull my hair to the side, showing off the ear buds as I shout, “On the phone, buddy.”
He spills his spoonful of soup onto his lap. I press my lips together, fighting a smile as I turn my attention back to her.
“Nicely done.” The Ghost says.
“It’s my best party trick. If only a withering stare got me further in my career, I would be unstoppable.”
Like clockwork, the waitress swings by with my refill, placing another screwdriver right in front of me.
“So why do you keep following me?” The words slosh around my tongue. My head is lighter than ever before.
“Because I am your magical genie here to grant you three wishes.”
“Really?”
“No!”
“You choose to torture me in any situation, don’t you?” I rip a piece of bread ferociously off the plate, examining her.
“I am not torturing you, Charlotte. Far from that.” Her eyes lower to the nape of my neck. I swallow hard.
In the seat, she chooses to wear the same outfit, same hairstyle as the last time I saw her. Her eyes focus on everyone in this room but me.
“Then what do we call our little rendezvous?” I ask. Her gaze eventually snaps back to me, the buzz hitting me harder.
I think there’s two of her…
“Divine intervention,” she says casually, as if I’m supposed to understand what the hell that means.
I hear a loud clink. Before I can react, the table is covered in wasted liquor that hasn’t reached my lips yet.
“Did you push it? I wanted that!” My hands slam on top of the tablecloth.
She stares at me with a cold, withering stare of her own.
“What!” I can see what she was thinking right on her face. The nerve of her to judge my drinking. I am of age and can pay. The perfect combination for day-drinking. Considering the circumstances, I’m deserving of one or five drinks.
“Hi, girl.” A different, warmer voice sneaks up on me. My face goes flush.
“I got your message.”
Right before me, Lena stands in her matching, black coordinated set. Shiny pink lipstick. Cat-eye sunglasses.
“Can I sit?”
I jump from my seat to grab any napkins I can find, soaking up the vodka covering the tablecloth as I blot it profusely.
Lena tosses her brown hair from the side of her face to lay evenly in front of her shoulders, fully entertained by the sight of me.
“You made it! Do you mind doing me a favor?” I say, pitching my voice higher than normal.
“Sure?”
“Don’t ask any follow- up questions, but can you just pinch me?” I blurt. Lena raises an eyebrow. Seconds later, she is bringing her index and pointer finger together to squeeze as hard as she can against my skin.
“Okay, good,” I confirm, letting out a long breath.
“Are you okay?” Lena asks. She is staring at me as if I have two heads.
“Well, I am day-drinking, so that’s for you to decide…”
Between the pinch and the strain from wrists applying pressure to the tablecloth, a slow ache spreads across my arm. In the chair beside me, her figure is no longer there. Her voice is no longer infiltrating my brain.
“We should just move. Nobody will notice,” Lena says. She phrases it less like a question and more as a statement, already gliding to the next table, not skipping a beat as we move the utensils, drinks and bread over. I scan every inch of the room, wondering where this ghost is hiding out.
“The whole office is talking about how you left the restaurant the same time Holden did.” She leans in, softening her voice. My attention is now snapped back to her.
We both settle into the new table, waving over the waitress to come by again.
“Yeah, I am trying to take big swings like you.”
“That’s sweet of you to say. I know I said go for it, but remember to keep your guard up,” she warns.
“What do you mean?”
“You are sweet and he’s not known for that.”
I know exactly what Holden Strauss is known for and what it’s going to take to fix it. I’m more than just sweet… I’m—
My head feels floaty. Hyperaware of every limb in my body. My lips tingle with electricity as I imagine how gentle Holden’s lips would feel pressed against mine.
“I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.” My head feels like a cloud.
I’m drifting fast, picturing us back in his kitchen where we had a moment.
We both paused, which sent me running out of his house in a panic once the lights turned back on.
The face I’ve been staring at for years on my television was readily there, waiting for my next move.
I ran away like a little bitch then dreamed about him right after. So, I reassure her and myself…
“Nothing happened”
“You’re lying. You don’t just leave with Holden Strauss for nothing to happen.”
“Why would I be lying?” Nervous laughter spills out of me.
“Your face. Something happened.”
“I just really want to know how you convince your clients to do things they don’t want to do?”
“That’s easy…” She says and I move my chair closer to hers, hanging on the silence. “You got to make sure it’s something they thought of and they wanted it. Simple psychology.”
“Simple…” I repeat back.
“One time, I had a client who advertised online that she was rich and owned a large mansion, showing off her designer bags and clothes. Someone exposed her and it turned out she rented everything and went into debt trying to keep up the fantasy. I had to rebrand her as relatable, that she wasn’t vapid.
“She hated the idea.
“Now she’s a Christian, Bible-thumping influencer who does daily affirmations online. I don’t think she’s ever stepped inside a church.”
I hang onto every word. Lena is so self-assured with her choices. I bet she easily decides what meal she would get at a restaurant without having to look up the menu in advance.
“I just need him to see the light is what you are saying?” I ask.
“Exactly. Did the client want to change her image? No! She did, however, want a paycheck and an audience—as do most people in this town.”
“All he seems to do is sulk about his past experiences, but in a quiet, brooding way.”
“You just need the public to see his good moments. Even if getting him there is orchestrated.”
“So stage something where he is being nice to someone and it’s on camera?”
“Exactly!”
“I just want him to sign with me.”
“You mean Blackburn?”
“Yes, that.” My chest deflates.
Lena’s brown eyes widen and the corners of her lips curve into a smile. At this rate, I don’t know which volume my voice is set on.
“Let’s get a box of food to go and head to my place to hang. I’ll get those brisket nachos you are always ordering for lunch. They will soak up the alcohol.”
Lena frantically waves her hand in the air, immediately catching the waitress’s attention. I can’t seem to get a grip on reality. Everything is getting blurrier by the second.
Images of the restaurant are blurred with my body now on a green chair.
Time shifts in an instant. I can’t figure out when and how I landed here, because a wool blanket is draped over me and I’m resting snug into the cushions of the chair.
Her ghostly figure is now sitting next to me again.
The chant is buzzing in my ear as a headache forms.
“I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to get butterflies anymore,” I confess.
A rush of wind blows the blanket off my body and my eyes hang heavy, having a hard time staying open. I’m no longer able to fight it, surrendering to the darkness behind my eyes.