Mollywood (29 page)

“No. He feels
obligated
to do those things.” I could tell I was going to get weepy and it pissed me off. I didn’t need my hormones giving Dan the wrong impression. I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I was simply stating the facts. Biology had forced Joe’s hand, and in typical Joe fashion, he was being a man about it. It was his nature to do ‘the right thing’, but I wanted him to do the right thing for himself.

“Molly…” Dan responded, disbelief splashed all over his face. “You don’t know that.”

“Fair enough. But I don’t know that it’s
not
true. We weren’t ready for any of this. Goddamn fucking broken condom! I should have just left him the hell alone, but I was too damn selfish. I just loved him too much to leave him be and let him heal, and now we’re all twisted up in this mess.”

“
Now
who has post-traumatic stress?” Dan chuckled, and I felt my anger surge. I was bearing my fucking soul to my dearest friend and my face lit on fire at his condescending tone. “Molly, you were terrorized by your husband. Someone who should have been your protector turned out to be a monster. You blame yourself for not seeing the psycho behind the pretty boy mask but he was damn good at pretending and he fooled us all. You kept that disastrous marriage together because you made promises that everyone else in the world breaks without an afterthought. Now, I’ve met Joe. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Molly, he adores you. And you
love
him. He wants to rebuild his life with you by his side and you’re actively keeping him at arm’s length. Why?”

“I told you why.” I shot back, but Dan shook his head.

“I think you’re scared, and afraid to believe in him, to take what Joe says at face value and the challenge of an equal partner, because you’ll be vulnerable again. It’s easier to play the strong, independent woman than to put yourself out there. Be pissed at me all you want, sweetie. But I’m calling it like I see it.”

Unable to string a simple phrase together, I sat and let his wisdom wash over me like high tide. The communication breakdown between Joe and I had maybe been fifty percent Joe. Maybe less than that. With bold eyes, I reexamined “us” and it was startling for me to recognize that I’d been pushing him away since before we knew about the babies. It had been exhausting, but the thought of letting him take care of me on any level made me want to jump in my car and drive until I ran out of gas. Soon I was crying, and Dan ran into the house for a box of tissues.

It was a couple of minutes before I pulled myself together enough to speak. “What if he changes his mind, Dan?”

He frowned, and for the first time since we’d arrived in Galveston, he truly looked his age. “What if he’s being one hundred percent honest and you push him so far away that he decides to stay there? Then who wins?”

Dan’s brother David was smooth. Like ‘find a reason to check the time so I can display my Rolex’ smooth. He had a totally approachable and welcoming demeanor, but it contrasted dramatically with his Armani suit and his perfectly manicured hands. In a moment of introspection, I realized that my immediate distrust of him was a direct result of knowing Draven Cirone. I was moody after my discussion with Dan about Joe, and the babies were kicking the hell out of my bladder, so I tried very hard to push my snap judgments aside.

He and Dan were half-brothers, so when Dan introduced the thin, well dressed black man to Sanchez, Dirty S. reacted in thinly masked surprised just like I had the first time we’d met.

“Molly. So nice to see you again.” David reached out to shake my hand and his eyes dropped to my mid-section. Pregnancy was a never ending series of odd experiences, and this business meeting was no exception. I found it awkward to have public evidence of my sex life on display for the entire world. Thankfully, he made eye contact again, his professional mask firmly in place. “Thank you for coming all this way to meet with me.”

“Please. Like it’s a hardship to come down to the Gulf! I love it here. I
am
missing the margaritas this time around, though.”

He chuckled politely. “When are you due?”

“April 4th.” He reacted in open surprised. “I’m having twins.”

“Congratulations.” He pulled out my chair, and I gave him a gracious smile.

“You’ve got quite the place here, David.” I tried to act disinterested in Madeline’s, but I had been offered the head chef position when he was opening the place, and I was guilty of imagining how different my life might have been if I’d entertained his offer. All dark woods and dim lighting, the ambiance oozed sexy elegance. Water walls, ran the length of the front wall, and a long and impressive bar separated the kitchen from the front of the house. The bank of windows facing the gulf were naturally highlighted as they were the primary source of light in the place during daylight hours. I was very curious about the menu, and what the place looked like at night.

“Thank you, Molly. It could have been yours.” He chided lightly.

“I know, I know.” I sighed dramatically, putting a hand to my belly. I decided to play along, since people who took themselves too seriously always made me mischievous. “I’m sure we would have made wonderful gourmet babies together.”

He laughed and toasted me with his glass of iced tea. “We would have made swimming pools full of money together. We still can.”

Thus he launched into his well-rehearsed pitch, using pie charts and graphs that would likely have had a Wall Street investment firm hanging on his every word. It was largely lost on me and I spent most of the time focusing on the plate of perfect croissant sandwiches and crème brûlée. They were divine. David’s smooth exterior became more ruffled as his presentation went on and he finally sputtered to a stop.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Molly, but is this all going over your head or am I just boring you?” The slight sharpness in his tone made me smile as it reflected the familial similarity that I had often looked for between him and Dan. Setting down my spoon, I turned and gave him my full attention.

“David, I am far too pregnant to waste your time or mine. Why don’t we just skip through the courtship and get down to brass tacks, shall we? Tell me what you want from me and tell me what you plan to give me for it.”

Dan gave a giggle that he quickly stifled at a sharp look from David. Sanchez put his hand to his mouth and acted like I had just kicked a cop in the junk. I patted his hand and smiled calmly. Dan shrugged at David and made a “what can you do” gesture before folding his hands back into his lap. David fixed him with an authoritative glare for just a moment before a smile twitched on his lips.

“Very well.” He laced his fingers together and sat back. “Dan warned me that the flowers and candy approach wouldn’t help me, so let me speak plainly. I have a bar that needs food. A new product that is different from everything happening on the island. Your trucks in Austin are the perfect gimmick, and from what I hear the one parked at Cas’s turns a great profit.” For a moment I wondered how he’d come by that bit of information, but he pressed on and I was once again forced to focus on his presentation. “So, simply put, I want to franchise your food truck. In essence, I want you to open a third truck that is permanently parked here at my new bar, which will also be called Wrapgasmic. The vintage food truck theme will carry into the bar. All your recipes, with a staff approved by you. You’ll have total autonomy for the menu, and Dan has helped me design some themed cocktails to go along with your food. In return, I would own 50% of the new truck. We would split all the food proceeds between us after expenses on the truck were recouped.”

I looked at Sanchez, who had an unmistakable glow of excitement behind his dark eyes. Finding no immediate objections, I asked to see the location. We all left Madeline’s and David insisted I ride with him in his shock white Audi convertible. I wasn’t sure if it was another attempt to show off his success or to separate the weak one from the pack, but I really didn’t care either way. I reached over and switched on his stereo, blasting Ke$ha on full volume just to see how he’d respond. When he chuckled and sang along with me to the chorus, I decided we might be able to do business with the guy.

He cut down a side street and parked behind a bold red building. As we walked to the side of the building where Dan and Sanchez had parked, I gaped at the candy apple red food truck parked where those driving down the boulevard wouldn’t be able to miss it.

“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I asked, my eyes sweeping the expensive wrap that spanned the entire length of the truck. It was unsettling to see the ultra-professional version of Mason’s paint job, and they’d even included a slightly modified version of our logo. It was crisp and clean and streamlined.

David didn’t even blink at my smart ass remark, and his poker face was nearly impenetrable. “It’s a wrap. It can be changed easily enough.”

Sanchez gushed and carried on about how amazing the new, custom truck was. David launched into the specs and proceeded to explain how the kitchen was ‘top of the line’. He went on to say that the entire side space where Dan had parked would be turned into an outdoor seating area for customers with children who didn’t want to come inside the bar. He went on and on, but I couldn’t stop looking in the direction of The Pleasure Pier, Galveston’s answer to Navy Pier in Chicago. The carousel, roller coaster, and other motion sickness inducing attractions were just on the opposite side of the highway.

“See, Molly? It’s a prime location. The Pier is an easy stroll from here.”

“That can be a blessing or a curse, though.” I replied, wrinkling my brow. “Won’t you have to compete with everyone on The Pier?”

I spotted the Bubba Gump sign wedged between two buildings on the pier and shook my head doubtfully.

“Galveston needs variety, sweetie. This is a vacation destination.” Dan’s soothing tone made the obvious statement seem like an ad for the Galveston Tourism website.

“Look, Little Mama! They have a flat screen built into the side of the truck!” Sanchez called like a preschooler at the top of an especially cool slide on the playground. “And a Karaoke machine!”

I shot David an uncertain look.

“People have to have something to do while they wait.” His humble shrug was unbecoming, but I had to admit, the idea suited the good time atmosphere we’d tried hard to market in Austin.

“They’ll need a gong.” I joked. “We could mount it just outside the window. That way the staff can shut up anyone bad enough to chase away customers.”

I was kidding, but the three men with me laughed and nodded as if I was a genius.

“Come on.” David said, placing a hand on my shoulder, “Let’s go look at the bar.”

As we stepped into the entryway, I stopped short and my jaw dropped to the floor. I was staring up at a floor to ceiling image of myself. Somehow, David had acquired a copy of the Austin Chronicle photo of me that caused such a giant influx of attention for the trucks.

In a moment of utter naiveté, I’d allowed the photographer, a shifty little bastard, to shoot a playfully suggestive picture of me draped over the hood of my food truck holding one of my strappin' wraps. He’d asked for my phone number after the shoot, and I’ve never been so happy to turn someone down in my life. The photographer had kept repositioning the wrap and shouting “lean closer”. In the end, he’d had me lean way too far forward for the plunging neckline of my tank top.

Here right inside the front door, David had elected to display a boldly lit black and white version of the photo to greet bar customers. In the photo, my boobs were at eye level and blown up bigger than Sanchez. I looked a lot like a pin-up from the old days, and the wrap looked a lot like a giant phallus. Mortified, I consciously crossed my arms over my cleavage.

“Oh, hell no!” I complained, shaking my head and feeling all of the blood in my body rise to my cheeks.

“Oh, yes.” Dan replied sternly. “What is it you always say, sweetie? What sells?”

“Sex sells.” Sanchez smiled at me in a way that seemed to say ‘take what you dish out’.

All of the upholstered booths were white and patterned with red cherries, and there was all manner of vintage neon from places around Texas. A plethora of other cool rockabilly themed memorabilia was strategically scattered on all the walls. The bar itself looked a lot like a dimly lit diner counter. Chrome accents were a theme throughout, from the counter, to the clocks, to the bar stools. A giant vintage jukebox sat as a focal point in the far corner, obviously for show. The area centered around my distracting picture had seats that were mounted to the walls. They looked like the tailgates of old style red and white trucks, complete with functioning tail lights.

I was so enraptured by the eye candy, that I barely registered Sanchez’s flash going off. When I looked over at him, I realized he’d just snapped a picture of me standing next to my obnoxious portrait.

“Sometimes I want to hurt you.” I admitted, and he smirked in an evil manner.

“So
I
shouldn’t have posted that to Facebook?” He blinked innocently, and continued snapping pictures all throughout the bar. David led us to the bar itself, showing us the giant margarita machines which were a must for the Texas heat and an oceanside setting. He’d had collectable glasses made, margarita style, shot glasses, and pilsners. Red and white t-shirts like my staff wore on the Austin trucks were for sale, as well as a black and white version. They hung behind glass above the hostess station, with a few new editions, including white ones screen printed with my boobalicious image.