Chapter 5 #2
Two hours later, tipsy from entirely too many delicious eighteenth-century-inspired drinks—the Termagant Tavern’s rhubarb
shrub cocktail was tart, sweet, addictive, and absolutely loaded with alcohol—Molly leaned across the sticky wooden table
and raised her voice to be heard over the musical cacophony created by drunk, suspiciously young-looking members of the fife
and drum corps, a talented harpsichordist with an askew bonnet, the helplessly giggling viola player, and a trio of twerking
women in petticoats singing at full, enthusiastic volume about whores.
“This one sounds familiar!” Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t shout like this, since babying her throat meant she could
narrate two books a week instead of one. But since she was off for the entire month, who gave a shit? “Is that—no, don’t tell
me—”
“‘WAP.’” Lise had been drinking the tavern’s famous ginger ale all night, probably so she could stay alert enough to ward
off any attempts to haul her onstage. After another sip from her brown glass bottle, she grinned at Molly. “‘Weird-Ass Pianoforte.’”
“Because it’s a harpsichord!” Molly snickered. “Ha!”
Even close to midnight, the tavern was packed with people. Mostly interpreters still in costume, but also a few obvious tourists, who were equally soused and loud and cheerful. So far, there appeared to be an endless stream of willing volunteers for the stage from both groups.
Lise shook her head, watching her coworkers belt out their song. “Couldn’t pay me enough to get up there.”
“Which reminds me.” When Molly slapped the table for emphasis, her palm stung. “Why the heck did you agree to attend the reunion if you don’t want to go?”
“Janel’s my supervisor, Mol. I don’t have any travel planned, and she knows it. I couldn’t think of a good reason to refuse,
other than my intense desire to avoid socializing among near strangers for hours at a time while they silently evaluate how
gracefully I have or haven’t aged and whether my accomplishments are sufficient to indicate two decades well spent.” Lise
sighed. “Even though I can’t actually tell anyone what I do for a living.”
Molly blinked. “That seems like a good enough reason to me.”
“Well, it’s not.” As Lise picked at her bottle label’s edge with her thumbnail, the paper began peeling off. “At least not
for Janel, who is the sweetest, most enthusiastic steamroller who ever donned a pair of buckled shoes and an apron. I swear
to goodness, if that woman had chosen a different career path, she’d be in charge of all of us by now. America’s benevolent
dictator, complete with presidential pompoms. And we’d probably be glad for it.”
Ah, peer pressure. Very effective at all ages, despite what public service announcements during her teen years had implied.
“So you’re going.”
“I’m definitely going.” Lise lurched forward in her chair, and it creaked in protest. “And you should definitely come with
me.”
Speaking of Molly’s long-ago youth: As if.
“Hahahaha. No.”
If she stayed, she’d get entirely too attached to the town’s hottest and most cantankerous baker, whose shirtless chest had nearly poleaxed her the previous day. And the hotel bills! She shouldn’t forget the hotel bills! Which she might be able to afford, but . . .
She shouldn’t stay. She really shouldn’t.
Her elbows planted on the table, Lise propped her chin on her clasped hands and batted her eyelashes. “What can I do to convince
you to go?”
“Nothing.” Even though Lise’s dark eyelashes were, in fact, quite pretty, and she’d clearly perfected that expression of guileless,
wide-eyed entreaty at some point in her life.
Didn’t matter. No way Molly was attending that freaking reunion, peer pressure be damned. If Karl’s entreaties hadn’t swayed
her sufficiently, nothing could.
Although he’d come surprisingly close.
“I’ll do anything, Molly. Please.” Lise’s mouth twisted. “It’ll be so terrible without you.”
That pleading, woebegone face would have softened even the hardest heart. And despite Molly’s attempts to make hers impervious,
it hadn’t yet turned to stone.
Shit.
Fine. Fine. To assuage her drunken guilt, she’d say yes—but make her agreement conditional upon Lise completing a task she’d absolutely
hate and refuse to do. Thus relieving Molly of the necessity of either spending another month in Harlot’s Bay or flying out
from California a second time for the stupid freaking reunion—and removing her from the walking, talking, grumping temptation
named Karl Andrew Dean.
Congratulating herself on her cleverness, she laid down her terms. “The entire time we were slurping down peanut soup and munching on hoecakes, you were complaining about how long a dry spell you’ve had, how you don’t like most singles’ events and hate all dating apps, and how you wouldn’t even know how to go about seducing someone.
So I’ll say yes to attending to the reunion—”
“Yay! Thank you so—”
“—on one condition.”
“—much.” Lise frowned. “Wait. What condition? Why are you putting conditions on the sacred bonds of friendship?”
“Because you want to get laid,” Molly said, pointing at her. “Which means I want you to get laid, and apparently you need a more powerful motivator than potential orgasms. So here it is: For me to
attend the reunion with you, you’ll have to seduce someone before Friday. A man, a woman, whoever. Just get them into bed
and into your vagina before I head to the airport, and I’ll stay until the reunion.”
In a way, she was leaving her future plans up to fate, which wasn’t like her. But she’d also stacked the deck heavily in her
favor, which very much was.
“But—”
“No buts.” Molly paused. “Although, now that I’m considering the matter, butts are fine too. So are mouths. I didn’t mean
to be so vagina-centric.”
Lise cast a gimlet eye upon her. “Very generous of you, Dearborn.”
“And a bed doesn’t need to be involved either.” Molly spread her hands, a benefactor demonstrating the impressive breadth
of her compassion and munificence. “I’m fine with a couch, or the back seat of a car, or wherever you decide to get busy.
The world is your slutty oyster, my friend.”
There. That should do it. Problem solved. No way Lise was finding some rando and dragging him into bed, especially not in the next three days.
Lise slumped forward, propping her chin on her folded arms. “Unfair, Mol. You know my seduction skills are rusty at best,
nonexistent at worst.”
“Perhaps. But that’s my condition for staying.” Molly grinned at her. “And if your seduction skills are rusty, consider this
your opportunity to hone them again.”
Satisfied, she tossed back the last of her cocktail, thunked the glass onto the table, and waited for Lise to concede defeat.
And waited.
And waited.
On the tavern’s small stage, some dude in breeches was doing his best Pat Benatar impression, accusing his significant other
of being a harp-breaker, mess-maker, string-taker, before warning against further injury to his collection of musical instruments.
Once he got past the shaky opening, he wasn’t half bad. Feeling loose and warm, Molly clapped along and whistled appreciatively
at the next chorus.
Meanwhile, Lise’s mouth worked as she glared across the table and considered the offer. Her fingertips tapped the glass of
her ginger ale bottle.
“Fine,” she finally muttered. “I’ll do it.”
It was loud. Molly had obviously misheard her. “Excuse me?”
“I agree to your condition.” This time, she enunciated each syllable in a clear, loud voice.
But there’d been some misunderstanding, clearly. Because Lise wouldn’t ever say yes to such a—
“I’ll seduce a guy before Friday,” she continued, much to Molly’s shock and dismay, “and you’ll have to stay here until October and attend the reunion with me.”
She didn’t sound happy about it. But she did sound determined.
When Lise extended a hand across the table to seal their agreement, Molly shook it, because she was a woman of her word. Then,
instead of ordering another half-priced drink, she signaled their server for the check.
That rhubarb shrub concoction was the cocktail of Satan, and it had tricked her. Beguiled her senses until she’d willingly
entered into a devil’s bargain. Nay, proposed the bargain herself!
If Lise actually did sleep with someone before Friday, where the hell was Molly going to stay for the next month? Could she
even risk remaining so close to Karl for all that time, or would she need to fly back home and return right before the cursed
reunion?
Her head was spinning, and not in a good way anymore.
After paying the bill, she massaged her aching temples. “The next time I have to explain why socializing is almost always
a terrible idea, I’m referring to this outing as Exhibit A.”
“Amen, sister,” Lise said, with feeling.
Two days later, Molly was sitting in a diner booth and finishing her tuna melt when she received a one-word text from Lise:
DONE. Which obviously couldn’t indicate what it seemed to indicate, so she put down her sandwich, wiped her hands, and wrote back
immediately.
What’s done?
My assignment.
Molly blinked at her cell. You seduced someone? Already?
A beep heralded Lise’s reply. Yup. We did it like they do on the Discovery Channel, as the kids say.
There were obviously more important matters in play, but . . .
The kids haven’t said that since the turn of the century, Lise.
Shut up. I’m old. And so are you, my good bitch. A pause, during which Molly handed her credit card to the hovering server. Need proof of my exploits?
No. I trust you.
An automatic response, but Molly meant it. Which was an odd feeling, because she could have sworn she didn’t trust anyone.
Hadn’t she said as much to Karl on Monday, repeatedly?
She couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment when Lise had turned from a work acquaintance into . . . whatever they were now. Friends,
obviously. Close enough friends that she couldn’t help probing for more information, both out of interest and to ease her
sudden concern.