Chapter 48 #2
He pushed me into a quieter corner of the club, his movements sloppy, under the influence. The sounds of music were muffled in the hallway leading to the bathrooms that he’d dragged me to.
“I never said that.”
“You don’t have to,” Rashad retorted. “I can see it in the high and mighty act you put up every time I try to say something nice to you. If I call you beautiful, you’re supposed to say thank you. Not twist your face like some uptight bitch over the fact that I called you baby. “
“Thank you for the compliment,” I tried to talk down the storm I felt brewing. But from the way Rashad’s face was set, I knew it was too late to stop what had already started. He wanted to have this fight, so that’s what we were going to do.
“No!” he said. “Don’t be fake now. You really think you’re Morgan, huh?”
I just blinked, not exactly offended, but merely taken aback.
“You think you’re some type of debutante? You really think respectable niggas are lining up at the door trying to wife you up?” He laughed a little to himself. “You forget you was out here poppin’ your pussy for a nigga who should be put under the jail.”
Alcohol makes people so ugly.
At the sound of his last statement, I turned to put some distance between Rashad and myself.
I was not going to stand there and listen to him insult me in his drunken rage.
The minute I turned my head, his hands roughly gripped at my shoulders, forcing me to face him as he continued with his vitriolic rant.
“Nobody out here is trying to put their last name on a thug’s whore.
Tell your Daddy that. He’s making me sick every time he fixes his mouth to call me his son.
” I absorbed each and every word like it was nothing.
This wouldn’t be the first time Rashad got drunk and told me how he really felt about me.
Tomorrow, he would wake up, realize he couldn’t do any better, and then spend the rest of the day sending me five hundred-word apology text messages.
“You can be the most beautiful woman in the world, but every man who learns your story will always see you as one thing first—trash. Tainted goods.”
***
When I sat down at the stocked bar amidst the commotion, I did so with every intention of taking advantage of the free alcohol that came with the purchase of entry into Eden Xavier’s afterparty.
“Can I see your ID?” the bartender behind the counter questioned when I asked for a vodka cranberry. For a moment, disappointment settled into my chest before I remembered that it was long after midnight, meaning it was officially my twenty-first birthday. I could get this drink legally.
Setting my purse on the counter, I pulled out my wallet.
After the bartender read my birthday off my driver’s license, he broke into a smile. “Well, you certainly didn’t waste any time.”
“Vodka cranberry,” I repeated my order to the man behind the counter.
His smile faded slightly into a grimace over my demanding tone, but he brought it right back.
Candidly speaking, he was an attractive man, standing about two or three inches above my head, with deep brown skin, brown eyes, and a shining smile.
I assessed him shamelessly. Under the mood lighting of the nightclub, colored bulbs reflected back in his eyes as he looked me over just as openly.
Appearance wise, this man was more my taste, but I had a strict list of things I looked for in a man these days, and Mr. Bartender here was way too reminiscent of the type of men I’d sworn off. He was fun to look at, however.
“How you in such a sour mood on your birthday?” he asked, making no moves to get me what I was asking for. In fact, if I wasn’t mistaken, his tone took on a flirtatious color. “And no, ma. Vodka cranberry ain’t the drink you want to be your first. Let me get you something special.”
“This isn’t my first drink.” Not by a long shot…
“It’s your first legal drink, ain’t it?”
Around us, house remixes of Eden’s songs blared through surround sound speakers.
She was nowhere to be seen, however, likely still recuperating from what was objectively a great first concert.
I still didn’t like her, but I had to give credit where it was due.
Good music was good music. The man I’d come here with was off somewhere on the dance floor, awkwardly flailing about, probably thinking he was making me jealous.
He wasn’t.
I just really needed this drink. Calmly, I tried to express this to the bartender who was so hellbent on making small talk. He met my quiet request with a smile.
“A birthday this important needs an equally important drink,” he announced, pulling out a round glass bottle from under the counter. “This stuff isn’t for sale. It actually is part of the club owner’s personal stash, but I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Since this was Miami, the club owner could have only been one person. I didn’t make any sudden movements, keeping my cool as the young man in front of me reached behind for a shot glass.
“This stuff’s expensive,” he informed, pushing the bottle up so that I could read it. L'Essence de Courvoisie, I read off the beautifully shaped glass bottle, filled halfway with brown liquor. “It’s cognac. Is that alright with you?”
“I don’t care,” I replied honestly. I just needed a drink.
“I got you.” He poured the liquor just shy of the shot glass brim, his eyes peering up to see if I felt threatened by the amount he’d given me. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes. “There you go, Lauren.”
I squinted at his usage of my name. Did I know him from somewhere?
In response to my reaction, he explained, “I read your name off your driver’s license. I’m Josiah, by the way. But the ladies call me Joey, so feel free.”
I only chuckled, reaching for the glass in front of me. In one swift motion, I downed the entire drink.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Josiah raised an outraged hand. “No, you can’t toss that back like it’s some cheap shot of Everclear. This cognac costs three thousand dollars. You have to savor it.”
“Oops.”
He reached for my glass and poured me another. “Try again.”
This time I was a little more deliberate with my sip, watching the man behind the counter cautiously as he nodded in approval.
“Did you say that this whole bottle was three grand?” I questioned after setting my glass down. “Can’t you get in trouble for just taking it upon yourself to just give it out like this for free?”
“It’s just two drinks,” he assured, but then he seemed to decide it was best to quit while we were ahead. “Let me make you that vodka cranberry now.”
“Wait.” I stopped him. “Would you by any chance have a cheaper version of this drink?”
Josiah cracked a smile. “Cognac? For sure, pretty lady. Remy or Hennessy?”
“Whichever one gets me drunk the fastest.”
***
“So what’s your story?” he asked as he poured me my sixth shot. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing alone at a nightclub’s bar on her birthday?”
My glass vibrated against the brown, wooden bar counter, moving slightly to the bass of the music that blasted throughout the club. I reached for it, turning my chin up to look at Josiah when I replied. “I’m not here alone. I came with my boyfriend.”
“Then where he at?”
I didn’t reply right away, choosing to take a quick gulp before pushing my glass forward for another shot. “Who cares.”
“Ooh,” he forced a wince, clutching his heart as if it broke for me. “Is that why you’re on your seventh shot of brown?”
I didn’t acknowledge the question until he poured it for me. “Yeah, probably.”
I forced down the drink quickly.
“You might wanna let up on all that Henny, though. It sneaks up on you.”
“One more shot,” I urged, coaxing him for an eighth.
“You too small to be going through eight shots of cognac in less than thirty minutes.”
“Do I look drunk to you?” I raised my eyebrows, my face the picture of sobriety.
Over the past few months, in the days when I’d numbed myself with alcohol to drown out the memories that summer, I’d developed quite an impressive tolerance.
Sure, my drink of choice had usually been wine, but the brown liquor coursing through my veins at the moment didn’t feel any different than usual.
I just needed to get my mind off of things.
Tonight wasn’t the first time Rashad had exploded on me, but that didn’t make the harsh words he’d dished out any easier to carry.
Just because I didn’t cry, didn’t mean his words didn’t weigh on me. “Just one more.”
“Last one,” Josiah gave in, pouring me an eighth shot.
I eyed the drink in the cup, noting the rising heat in my face that told me my oncoming buzz was close.
Without much time set aside for processing, I downed the eighth drink.
I could feel myself getting numb, and a small part of me realized it probably wasn’t the best decision to have had all these drinks on an empty stomach.
“Now let’s hear your story, pretty girl. ”
Cracking a hazy smile, I questioned, “Is that what you do? You pick a girl, pump her full of drinks, and then pry into her personal life?”
Josiah leaned against the counter, arms resting on the surface, drawing closer to my face in the midst of the commotion of the party. “Only when I’m curious. Only when she’s fine as hell. I’m just trying to see what’s up with it.”
He rose a suggestive eyebrow.
“I don’t think my man would appreciate seeing you so close to my face right now,” I informed.
His features twisted into a dreamy-eyed smirk, his gaze brushing over my face and body hungrily before ultimately coming back to meet my eyes.
“He left you by yourself, looking the way you look, on your birthday. Believe me…” His smile grew, an air of cockiness about it, “…your man should’ve expected this. ”