Reaching Hearts (Hearts Series) (4 page)

Pockets: full of frustration in the
form of my fists. Head: down. With: Teri. Talking: Nope.

________

“Why
are you so quiet tonight, B? Something bothering you at work?”

I
don’t hear her. I’m not really here. I’m seeing Mark waking up in the morning
and seeing Teri in the kitchen making pancakes like she does. I’m seeing Mark’s
face when he tells me without words that I’m a coward. Am I a coward? Hell no.

I
stop walking. “Teri.”

She
turns, her heel scraping on the sidewalk. Zipping up her dark grey jacket, she
asks, “Yeah, B?”

“You’ve
got style, you know that?”

“Thank
you. Uh-oh. I sense something bad coming.”

“I’ve
always been honest with you, right? Told you what’s up.”

She
looks to the other side of the street, smiling sideways, one corner higher. “Oh
yeah. You always tell me how it’s going to be.” She adopts a voice that’s
supposed to be me. “Don’t get attached Teri. This is as far as this will ever
go. But I’ll treat you right. You just can’t ever expect me to be anything you
dreamed about when you were a little girl.” Her hands go up with quotation
signs and she gets very serious. “And I will be fucking other women.”

I
look off to the distance. “Jesus. You memorized it.”

“I’ve
heard it enough!” She touches my cheek. “Why are you asking? You want to make
sure I don’t get my feelings hurt if I don’t see you again for awhile after
tonight?”

“No.”
I remove her hand and hold it in both of mine. “It’s because I’m hoping you
won’t hate me for not taking you back to my place. I have somewhere I need to
be. I promised someone something.”

Her
eyes cloud over. “Oh. I didn’t see that coming.”

“Yeah.
Sorry. I was trying to avoid it.”

She
backs away a step, pulls back her hand, holding it up. “Wait. Who’s waiting for
you at this hour? Please don’t tell me you were about to use me to get over
another girl.”

Hearing
it put so directly sounds awful. Thinking fast, I do what I rarely do. I lie.
It’ll hurt less and I like her that much. “It’s not that. I have to go help a
guy who’s got his heart all busted up. I didn’t want to go. I’d much rather go
with you.”

The
frown lines smooth out and she exhales, and looks away again, relieved. “Oh.
Sorry. I was just surprised for a second. That’s not something I’ve ever seen
you do.”

“What?”

“Ditch
one woman for another. I mean
,
I know you’re not the
tied-down type, but you usually focus on one of us at a time. It gives a woman
a sense that she means something.” She blinks away the vulnerability, tries to
cover it up with a smile.

I
hold out my hand, asking her to take it again. She does. “Teri, you do mean
something.”

“I
know. I just need you to know it, too.”

“I
do.”

“I
do have self-respect. And I like to fuck you. The two can co-exist.”

“They
sure can.” I laugh and bend to kiss her hand before releasing it. “Another
time.”

“Oh,
alright.
Enough with the seriousness.
Jeez. Go help
your friend. I’ll see you later.”

“Let
me call you a cab.”

“It’s
okay. I’ll go back in and have Bobby call me one. I’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

I
watch her walk inside before I turn in the direction of Le Barré. Checking the
time on my phone, I discover it’s a sad 2:37 a.m.
I hope she’s still there.

As
I get closer, it’s obvious the place is dark. They must have gone home. I
fucked up. I care, which is hard for me to understand or believe. I have to see
her again. I feel it. I really need to talk to her. What is wrong with me?

I’ll
just go and look inside the window, see if she’s there. If I have to walk home
alone after this, I have a feeling I will replay my mistake over and over until
my frontal lobe falls right the fuck out. The last two steps until I get to the
window are fucking torture. I’m sure when I look in, she’ll be gone.
C’mon Annie, still be there.

Lights:
dimmed.

________

“You know what, Manny?”

He
pulls off a long piece of plastic wrap. “What?”

“I’m
going to make this place great. You wait and see.”

He
grins. “I know.”

“Now
you can’t use that whole thing. Are you trying to bankrupt me?”

He
laughs and we tear pieces off it, covering the pour spouts of the sweet alcohols
to protect them from fruit flies. As we work, I’m trying so hard not to feel
disappointed. Why did I leave Italy anyway? You know what? I don’t need this.
Brendan Clark can kiss my ass.

“Annie.
Someone’s at the window.
You want me to tell him to go
away?”

I
spin to look. Peering through the glass, leaning with his hand over his eyes to
shield away the reflection, Brendan smiles, giving me the same little wave as
when he left. I walk past Manny to get out from the behind the bar. “I can’t
believe it.” Then louder, “Um, Manny, you can take off for the night. Thank
you.”

“You
sure?” he asks, surprised.

A
smile grows in me so strong it fills my whole body. “I’ve never been more sure
of anything in my entire life.” Wiping my hands on my jeans, I pull on the
chain hanging from my belt. For the last time tonight the key goes into the
lock, but this time lightning quick. “Hey.”

Looking
troubled, Brendan steps forward and leans on the doorframe. “Hey.”

Manny
scoots by, holding his jacket. “See you tomorrow, Boss.”

With
my eyes on Brendan I mutter, “Thanks Manny. Um… You want to come in or would
you rather stand there frowning?”

The
cloud dissipates around him in an instant as he chuckles and shakes his head.
“I just didn’t think you were going to be here. I’m sorry I’m late.” He leans
over to hold open the door, to take the weight off me. “After you, Freckles.”

“Freckles? I like it. Come on in.” I walk
in, motioning for him to join me. I’m so happy,
it’s
nuts. I’m not even thinking to hide it. Who can think at a time like this? The
door closes behind him, holding the world at bay. We’re alone. And there’s no
Corinne waiting in bed on the other side of a door. It’s just us this time.

“He
called you Boss. You’re the manager?”

I
spin around, walking backwards to answer, “I’m the owner. This is my bar.”

He
takes it in with a new appreciation. “Really? Wow. Impressive.”

“Thanks…
but I need to get more people in here before anyone gets impressed.” I turn
away, but he jogs up and reaches out for my arm. Spinning me back around in the
middle of the room, he pulls me toward him so close that I can see black flecks
swimming in blue. So that’s why his eyes always seem so dark and tortured.

“Hi.”

“Hi,”
I whisper back.

He
moves in closer, holding just short of us touching. I wait, the hammering in my
chest hopefully not audible. I close my eyes and tilt my head just a little,
excitement roaring through me. I can’t breathe. He’s about to kiss me. I can
feel it but I can’t believe it. His arms tighten around me. Our lips touch. He
presses his onto mine for the very first time, holding there as a shiver floats
all the way down to my feet. Stopping there, he pulls away. My eyelashes
struggle upward. He smells like heaven, if heaven were made up solely of men.

“What
do we need to do to clean this place up?”

“Um…
well…” I back away to get my head on straight, tucking my hair behind my ear
and looking to the floor for my sanity. “Manny already did the bathrooms so
you’re lucky. But I need to wipe everything down. Put the chairs up on the
tables so the cleaning crew can do the floors in the morning. I guess that’s
pretty much it.”

He
smiles. “I can do that.”

My
lips are still zinging. “Great. I’ll get you a towel.”

He
stops just short of walking behind the bar.

I
smile and put one hand on my hip. “You can come back here. You’re an employee
now, you know.”

He
laughs. “Great, what do I make?”

“Me
happy.” I toss a damp towel at his face.

He
grins and catches it. “I guess that’s all the payment I’ll need.”

“Oh,
you’re so smooth. You know that?
But well played.
Now
get wiping.”

He
laughs, looking more and more comfortable. Strolling over to the booths, he
begins there, bending over. “Like this?”

I’m
already staring at his ass. “Just like that. What kind of music do you like?” I
skip over to the iPod, happier than I’ve been since my loan got approved.

Brendan
straightens, deep in thought as he tosses the towel from hand to hand. “Got any
classic rock?”

“Do
I have classic rock
?!
” I push a couple buttons and
Janis Joplin begins the slow crooning of her masterpiece, Piece of My Heart. My
hips sway and I close my eyes, dancing in place, caught up in it. I love to
dance. I spin around and as soon as I realize what I’m doing, I crack my eyes
to see if he’s looking at me like I’m nuts. But he’s dancing, too. Humming
along as he works his way from booth to booth. He looks happy. It’s something
to see. Boogying my way to the register, I pick up the twenties and start
counting; twenty, forty, sixty, eighty…

He
calls out over the music, walking to gather dirty napkins off a table in the
center of the room. “How was tonight? Get busy after I left?”

One
hundred, One hundred twenty… “Nah. We stayed slow all night. The busiest was
when you were here. And stupid me – I loaded up the register hoping we’d
need the change, but alas!”

He
brings the trash to a trashcan behind the bar. I
look over
,
watch him toss it in
. He winks at me and goes back to
wipe. I can’t get over this. I lost my count. Okay. Twenty, forty, sixty,
eighty…

“What are you doing to get the word out?”

“Umm…
that’s a great question.” That’s all I want to say. Not a fun topic. Where was
I? Twenty, forty, sixty…

“So
how about a great answer?”

Eighty…
I glance to him and see that he’s serious. He really wants to know. “You’re not
just making conversation are you?”

Nerves: calm now. Hesitancy: still
there. Mind: filling quickly up with marketing ideas.

________

“I’m
not just making conversation, no.” I toss the towel and walk over to watch her
count, waiting for an answer. She’s in over her head. I know that. She looks
younger than me and running her own business without having a game plan is a
common error in small business owners. When you start something, you can’t just
go in half-cocked with fairy dust in your brain. It doesn’t work like
that.

With
twenties in both her hands, she looks at me helplessly. “Well, the truth is, I
don’t know how I’m going to get the word out. I’m not great at that stuff. I
can run a bar, but this is my first solo show, so…”

“You’ve
never done the promoting,” I finish.

She
sighs and gives a short nod, putting the money back in the register while she
thinks. I give the room a once over again and decide it’s got a great vibe in
here. It’s not like the other places up the street so this will appeal to it’s
own crowd. There’s kind of a Goth feel to it and people like a dark bar,
especially for dates. I can see this hitting it big if she just pushed it
right.

She
walks toward me, pulling back her hair from her forehead by running her fingers
through it while she looks at me. The thought that she’s addictive to look at,
settles in me again. I just stare at her, thinking I could help her make this
place great. But I don’t even know her. That’s a hell of an assumption, on many
counts.

“I
never needed to promote. The place I worked at, then managed, had been there
for years before I got there.” She follows my eyes around the place, seeing her
baby. There’s pride on her face, but it doesn’t hide the fear. “I guess I expected because this is a
busy area, it would just sell it itself, you know?”

The
towel stops. “It’s a busy neighborhood, but these people are loyal to their own
and you’re an outsider.”

She
winces. Mutters, “Story of my life. Listen, let’s not talk about it, okay?” She
turns around abruptly, her hands on the open register drawer, her shoulders
sunken. What did I say?

“I’m
sorry. I was just saying it like it is, but I could have been a little more…”

“Dishonest?”
She throws me a rueful smile over her shoulder.

I
can’t help but smile. “Yeah. I guess.”

She
walks over and changes the song from Riders On The Storm that just started, to
Otis Redding’s These Arms Of Mine. Walking back, she looks a little bit
lighter. “I love this song.”

“Yeah.
Me too.” I go back to wiping tables. We don’t talk for a little while and I’m
running through ideas for what I’d do to spread the word, other than tell my
friends and acquaintances. Does she have a page on Yelp? Are their photos? Does
she have a Facebook page? How about Pinterest? She could have boards on cocktails
and a music playlist with suggestions and… the list goes on and on.

I
don’t know what’s giving me the urge to help, but I know that I can. Isn’t that
enough? She might shoot me down. It was hard enough to talk her into seeing me
tonight.

Looking
at her silence as she counts, her hair pulled over one shoulder; I decide I’m
going to give it a shot. She can always say no. I’ll just walk over and offer
my services to her. Tell her I’ll do it for free; help her get set up and she
can take it from there. But without a map, how can you get anywhere? Why am I
nervous? People pay me for this.

She
looks to her right and sees me standing next to her behind the bar. With her
pen suspended in the air from writing the final drawer count, she says, “Oh! I
didn’t hear you walk up.”

“Look,
I didn’t mean to get you worried.”

“You
didn’t. I was worried already.”

I
scan the bar again, building up the courage to say it. “I could help you.”

She
blinks, still holding the pen. “What do you mean?”

Glancing
to the floor, I weigh the dirty, now crumpled-up bar towel in one of my hands,
looking at the dark crinkles. “Well, this is your baby, so forgive me for
imposing. But I think I could help you market it, if you’ll let me. Marketing
is my thing. It’s what I do.”

She
brings her hand up to her mouth, the pen stuck between her fingers. She looks
pretty cute. On a whisper, she finally manages, “Why would you do that?”

I
really don’t know why.
Because I like the place?
Because I can?
Something tells me it’s more than that. “I feel
like I could help. I want to.”

She
drops the pen and brings both of her hands up to hold her head like she’s
afraid it might explode. “Are you being serious? You’re not just saying this?”

I smile. “I’m totally serious. You know
what’s cool?”

“Having someone help you?”

That
makes me laugh and I shake my head. “No, it’s offering to help someone and have
them appreciate it as much as you just did. Great. So it’s a plan?”

Staring
at me, she’s speechless. She just nods. Chuckling to myself, I walk back out
and grab a chair to turn it over on the table. As I do, Dirty Deeds Done Dirt
Cheap comes on, by AC/DC. I glance to the iPod
player,
impressed that she has this on it.

“Great song.”