Long Live Dead Reckless Page 9

  “Talor? I didn’t know you were here.”

  His tone seemed surprised, but his face was a blank slate. He had to know I didn’t go to bars just to hang out.

  “Well, I didn’t know you were playing tonight.”

  Never mind the huge marquee flashing DEAD RECKLESS over his left shoulder. He looked at my dress in a way that said I-want-to-stare-but-I-want-to-be-a-gentleman-too. Let’s just say he seemed to like it.

  “I thought you had some big…ball or something tonight?” he asked, brushing his hair out of his face.

  I laughed.

  “I did, but…I left. I hate I missed your show.”

  “Nice dress,” he said, scratching a bit of his stubble and giving a crooked smile.

  Before I could thank him, he reached out and took the blubbering guy up by the jacket.

  “Greg, I’ll take him. His girlfriend’ll drive him home.”

  Greg shrugged and let him go. Sage helped him stumble off towards the side door. I took a chance at seeming desperate.

  “Sage?”

  He glanced back with a look that stopped me in my tracks. It was cold, almost angry. Sirens wailed down the road as opened the side door and pushed the guy inside ahead of him. A bouncer guarded the door as it closed behind him. I hurried after him, but the doorman held up a hand.

  “We’re closed.”

  “I was just talking to Sage. You know Sage?”

  The man wouldn’t budge. Bex walked up beside me and showed her hand stamp. She tried to move past him, but he blocked the entire door. He was big like that. Bex pulled out a ten and threw it in his face.

  “Seriously, Dan? Have a heart – she’s in love with Sage from Dead Reckless.”

  “We’re closed.”

  He stared me down. He must’ve thought I was used to getting whatever I wanted wearing dresses like that. I didn’t have the energy to tell him things didn’t exactly work that way for me. No one was footing my bill because I was pretty. I was even wearing a borrowed dress. Bex had the energy to argue, but I wanted to get out of there fast. Sage wasn’t interested in talking to me. Even in that dress.

  I looked across the intersection to Citizen’s Park, a newly renovated city project dedicated to all the missing citizens lost over the years to the river. It was a way for families to feel support for the loved ones they never got to bury. While it was once a crime-infested eyesore, police patrolled the area now. There were even a few new businesses on nearby corners.

  While there was always a chance to run across a homeless beggar, the solitude and serenity of walking the river by moonlight was worth the risk. The Flint was a dirty river, muddled by the red Georgia clay and a myriad of snapping turtles and alligators, but at night it could have been the Blue Nile. I needed a quiet place to think. Bex shouted obscenities at doorman Dan before following me across the street. She carried a drink in hand as she sauntered along.

  “You know my stuff’s still in there? I saw him talking to you.”

  She nudged my shoulder. I walked straight to the swing set and plopped down. My voice sounded small.

  “He just said hey.”

  She offered me her drink, but I ignored her.

  “Thanks for coming to get me, Bex.”

  She sat on the swing next to me and raised the glass with a wink.

  “He couldn’t keep his eyes off that booty.”

  I gave a weak smile.

  “Yeah.”

  She twisted her swing in a tight circle and spun out wildly. Sure, we were grownups on a playground – and she was drinking alcohol – but I needed something simple and familiar at the moment. Her laugh made me feel like a kid again. It had been a long night and I just wanted to breathe. The men in my life were confusing and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with any of them. At that point, it seemed like everything. I closed my eyes and with each gentle swing, I felt less weighed down. Each soar through the air brought a fresh breath my way, and that felt like just enough for the moment.

  10

  I woke up the next morning to three voicemails from Azalea. Questions ranged from why she couldn’t find me at the gala to when Spencer was going to come get his car. Each message had a different ruling emotion. I think I liked the curious one the best. The one constant in every voicemail was that she wanted to meet me for lunch downtown after she finished volunteering.

  Like most wealthy people, she spent her mornings pretending to care about others less fortunate than herself. Azalea called it the “silver spoon oath.” I could never tell if she was kidding when she called it that.

  She was always involved in some charity work or another, and I think she liked it – wealthy requirement or not. Her charity of choice was the Cypress Aquarium, a local aquarium of sorts just showcasing the types of creatures anyone near a creek could pluck out on any given day. She said she felt led to help the local biologists who took on the community project being that she was more knowledgeable than them anyway.

  I always agreed with her, mostly because she was right. She got me painlessly through Biology the semester before. She was a genius and she loved animals – even the not-so-cuddly kind. I did feel bad about ditching the gala, especially since her parents probably spent several thousand on catering and enslaving a local concert pianist for the evening.

  I got in the aquarium free with my student ID – one of the perks of being a college student longer than I was supposed to. I wore my new black boots and a flowered dress Azalea gave me from one of her magazine photo shoots. She was a good friend like that. Rich. Plus, she said it was too big for her. She met me in an over-sized polo shirt muddied with bits of grass and some type of slime – not exactly typical for her.

  Still, she bore it like a champ. She hugged me with just her neck as she stuck her hands out to avoid dirtying my dress. Her dress. It was some major label; a good one, apparently, because I couldn’t pronounce it.

  “You’re supposed to wear a belt with that. Also, turquoise. Have I taught you nothing?”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  “I’ve just got to wash my hands and change my shirt and we’ll run to lunch. Do you want to try Harvest Moon? Have you ever been there?”

  “I thought they closed last night.”

  “Yeah, restaurants do that. But they open the next day. Repeat, that kind of thing. Why did you just run off last night? Were you really that mad at Spencer? Wait, before you answer, let me do this.”

  With that, she hurried off with an impatient sigh. Her hands were getting to her. Turtles and alligators peered at me from behind the glass as I shuffled quietly around in the lobby listening to a looping track of birdcalls and frogs. Azalea returned in a spaghetti strap red polka-dot tank in the place of the dreary polo and fresh makeup was on her face. She waved a little piece of paper.

  “I get a free appetizer volunteering here.”

  Being just about the only bar/restaurant in downtown Cypress with enough room for customers to actually sit, Harvest Moon was packed to the brim at lunch. People even spilled out on the streets in animated conversations while waiting for tables to open up. I tried to convince Azalea to go somewhere else, but she wouldn’t budge. She wanted Harvest Moon. She had the coupon and all.

  “You know they have trivia here every week? I usually go with Sara. You’ve met her, haven’t you? You should come with us next time!”

  The line barely moved. We took a single step forward. Impatient, I checked my phone.

  “I don’t know her.”

  “Sure you –”

  “Azalea, I need to talk to you about something and I don’t really want to be in a crowd. Can’t we go eat somewhere else?”

  Her eyes got big.

  “Ah-ha! You finally did it. It was Spencer, wasn’t it? That’s why you two disappeared last night. Tell me everything!”

  My heart dropped. Surely my best friend didn’t believe I’d sleep with someone like Spencer. I prayed no one I knew would be sta
nding within earshot of the conversation we were having. Azalea was a good friend, but sometimes she was insensitive. And loud.

  “Are you talking about Spencer Kaden?” someone asked.

  The voice was soft and unfamiliar. We turned to see a petite girl holding two menus. She was only about five foot tall with thick eye makeup, a lip ring, and was not a natural redhead. She wore Toms and a black T-shirt with an illegible band name splashed across it. In Cypress terms, she was a “scene” chick, a groupie. Not really Spencer’s type, but then again, he was into any woman who would open their legs for him. Literally. Neither of us answered her.

  “You’re Azalea Beaty and Talor Gardin, right?” the girl asked.

  I nodded. She continued.

  “I guess you don’t remember me. We went to school together. I’m Jill. Um, we were in the same homeroom senior year? Anyway, I know Spencer. He’s a regular here.”

  “Oh…ok,” I replied.

  “So are you sleeping with him, too?” Jill asked.

  I fumbled for a rational tone. Was this a normal thing now? Getting all chummy over mutual current lovers? Gross. After blinking a dozen times in a few seconds and making some weird sighing stutter, I finally found words.

  “G – od, noooo! I just –work – we work – I – work with him.”

  Azalea had this expression like I was screaming obscenities in a church. I think she knew then that something had happened the night before. Since I stumbled through my first defense with Jill, I turned to Azalea and bellowed at her.

  “God, Azalea! This is how rumors get started.”

  Azalea let a tiny smile escape while Jill hugged the menus to her chest.

  “I just figured if he knew you, he would like you. Since you’re so pretty and nice.”

  I didn’t expect a compliment. I struggled to accept it, but I wasn’t very good at that. Azalea tagged in for the save.

  “Sooooo, Jill, you work here now? How’s that going?” she asked, shifting her weight and holding her chin a little too high.

  “I’m a hostess. I can seat you now if you want.”

  Those standing in front of us in line looked back with chilled stares. Azalea met their frowns with a smug smile. I avoided their eyes, shrinking into my shoulders as Jill led us past the complaints of those in front of us. Walking close behind her was why I noticed a bit of blood on her collar.

  “Hey, Jill – your neck. Did you cut it?” I asked, pointing to where she had a Band-Aid.

  It was sloppily put on, so I could make out a small puncture wound in the skin. It looked a little infected, but before I could look closer, she adjusted her thick choker over the Band-Aid, covering it for good. She gave a slight nod.

  “It’s just a new tattoo. Supposed to look like a vampire bite. Like it?”

  I bit my tongue and forced a smile.

  “It looks infected. Did it hurt?”

  Her eyes rolled back in her head.

  “No, man. It felt good. I only wish it had been a real bite. Eternal life and all? I’d let one bite me. You?”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the tattoo. I tried to hide my grimace, but I couldn’t shake it.

  “Probably not, but I’m not really into tattoos or biting or…infections.”

  I had been so consumed by her infected neck tattoo that I didn’t notice her leaning in close. When she licked my cheek, I jerked back. She lingered like she expected me to come back for more. When I just stared at her, Azalea turned up a brow.

  “Seems like a good time to mention dick. As in, what we like. As in, we’re straight.”

  The restaurant got quiet as someone stifled a honking laugh. It felt like everyone was watching and waiting on my response, so I nodded. Jill’s gaze was direct and strange. It was like she was counting eyes to make I wasn’t growing more or something.

  “Princess, I bet. Both of you,” she muttered, snarky.

  A twinge of terror froze my stomach solid until ice spread across my skin. Spencer called me a princess. Azalea dangled a twenty-dollar bill in front of Jill like it was catnip.

  “Well, it’s been real weird, Jill. How about that table now?”

  Azalea’s tone was sharp, like she was out of patience. No doubt she didn’t like being referred to as a princess when she had so many shining crowns from being the queen of something. Homecoming, prom, pageants – you name it, she was queen of it. Princess wasn’t good enough. Looking hard at Jill, I suddenly remembered her.

  She sat towards the back of the class usually. She had glasses in high school and always wore oversized black Goth pants with a chain hanging out the back pocket. She was never the one talking in a group, but her eyes were the most hungry for attention. She had a really bubbly personality, though – always smiling. She wasn’t like that now. I hoped she wouldn’t spread some horrible rumor about me being part of Spencer’s ever-growing harem.

  Without another word, Jill took the money and led us to a table in the upstairs loft of the restaurant. The industrial building was well over a century old, and it was converted into a restaurant fifteen years before. The owner of Harvest Moon had it stripped bare years back and painted the entire inside a giant mural of stoner art. There were large mushrooms and swirling night skies. It looked like Wonderland was trapped on the wall. As I passed confusing collages, I imagined a good Burning Man going on just out the back.

  The air smelled of old, wet wood, pizza, and local beer on tap. The floors creaked as you walked along them and the fans swayed out of sync overhead. It was every bit as eerie during the day as a haunted fun house at night, but it was a popular local spot. It was always full of eclectic people and live musicians. I usually loved being in the middle of a thriving art scene, but this one was different. The vibe was overwhelming and uncomfortable.

  I felt the need to run out of there in a spastic fit, but I tried to ignore it. It made no sense. People occupied the tables around, and they seemed perfectly fine with their smiling faces and lively conversation. What was wrong with me? No one else seemed to be feeling the fight or flight reflex, and I was on the verge of a panic attack. I chalked it up to Jill’s weird juju and wild tongue. Azalea was unaffected. She slid her straw from its paper and cracked open her menu, peering at me like a sly detective over it.

  “So when are you going to tell me about Spencer?”

  I looked around. Strangers watched us. Their eyes darted around, trying to pretend we were invisible.

  “This is going to sound really, really paranoid, but have you noticed everyone looking at us?”

  She fanned herself with the menu.

  “Well, we’re the best looking people in here, Talor. What did you expect? For them all to pretend we’re hard to look at? Even lesbians dig you. That’s new.”

  She motioned to Jill downstairs standing at the door. Jill looked like a robot. Not moving, staring, barely breathing. There was that ice running over my skin again. I shook my head and shivered, thinking the movement would crack the sheen and free me.

  “I don’t think she’s a lesbian. She said she was sleeping with Spencer. Don’t you remember her from high school? She was crazy over every guy with a guitar!”

  Azalea twisted her lips around in thought.

  “Well, yeah, you’re right. Maybe you’re just irresistible then. Anyway, stop stalling and tell me about Spencer. I want all the juicy details. And I know there are juicy details.”

  I asked for this conversation, but now I dreaded it.

  “Ok, so last night, when I walked outside to get some air, he followed me out and –”

  “He tore off your clothes and sexed you in the pool?”

  I stared at her a minute. The things my friend imagined me doing.

  “No…no, listen. We argued and then he, well, we did kind of make out. Not naked. And not in the pool.”

  She squealed and slammed the menu down on the table, sending the extra napkins and straw carcass sailing through the air into the rest
aurant space below. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity. People were definitely looking at us now.

  “Oh my God! Was it amazing? Speech, speech!”

  I blushed as I looked up and saw the waiter standing at our table looking like he’d just walked in on his sister changing.

  “I’ll, uh, come back,” he mumbled, clearing his throat.

  “Azalea, get a hold of yourself. Geez! You can’t just blurt out everything in your head.”

  She pouted at me over her straw.

  “My, my. Aren’t we touchy? I was just kidding. What happened to make you so pissy?”

  I groaned and leaned forward so I could whisper.

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m gonna sound crazy, but Spencer changed last night in a way that’s hard to explain. He became something else, like a beast –”

  Her jaw dropped.

  “A beast? Oh my! Did he get all grabby and grunty and try to pull your hair out?”

  “Stop. I’m serious. It’s not funny. It makes me question what I was drinking last night.”

  She blinked hard and sat back rigidly in her chair like she was poised for a job interview with wide eyes and perfect posture.

  “Oh…yeah. The governor sent my parents a century old case of Perrier-Jouet for the gala, you know?”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “It’s really old, really expensive champagne.”

  “Did you hear me? I’m trying to tell you what happened last night and you’re talking about what people were drinking. Do you want to hear this story or not?”

  Her mouth opened, but it took some time for anything to come out of it.

  “It’s pretty old stuff. Strong…for someone like you.”

  I was confused. It took a second or two before I caught what my best friend was telling me. I didn’t drink. She knew that. Heck, everyone in Cypress knew that. Dad was in the loony bin because of his hallucinations while drunk. Because he burned down our house while hallucinating while drunk.

  I almost died because he was drunk. He never drank a day in his life until mom got sick, but he made up for every missed drink in his life during those seven months. With a parent like that, I did not drink – not socially, not at all. That wasn’t news. It was known. Her shoulder drew up defensively.