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“I’m not ready to gamble yet,” she said after a beat. “Besides, I like to think we are in this together.”
“We are,” I confirmed as my eyes burned with fresh tears. I needed to hear that more than she would ever know. She must have heard the emotion in my voice because shortly after she offered to come see me. Taylor rarely made house calls.
“I’m fine, I swear. Hold it down for me, okay? I’ll be back to it soon. I want to go over the list of properties.”
“Oh, have something in mind?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.
“Not yet, but I’m thinking about it.”
“Talk soon. Proud of you, boss,” she clipped out before hanging up.
I quickly called my lawyer, and within an hour I received confirmation from Taylor that Devin had indeed complied with my demands. I would spend the next few weeks with my new firm, pouring over my holdings and real estate investments. I wanted to keep things simple, and although Devin used my money wisely, he had diversified me too broadly.
A minute later I got an email. It was a list of the properties Devin’s investment firm had purchased with my permission. I looked at the list briefly, deciding to get back to it later. My heart wasn’t in it today.
I wanted to be hands on. I had no desire to waste my days away at the spa or fake my way through luncheons with false smiles with friends I didn’t have.
Once I was uncovered as Devin’s whore, I was kicked out of every circle I had so desperately weaseled my way into the last four years. Now free of Devin, I had nothing. I wasn’t sure exactly where to go from here, but anything was better than the life I was living.
This wasn’t living. I was surviving.
Making my way upstairs to shower and change, I felt my heart constrict once or twice but refused to humor it. Once dressed in designer, loose fitting slacks and a tight fitting, bust-enhancing blouse, I reached for some pumps. As I was artfully applying my makeup, I was suddenly disgusted with the stranger reflected in the mirror. I went back into the closet, opting for jeans and a t-shirt.
Watch yourself? What the hell did he mean by that?
I brushed my long, dark brown hair and scrubbed my freshly painted face off. I settled for a light dusting of bronzer on my imitation tan, some lip gloss, and a layer of mascara to accentuate my gray-blue eyes.
So this is thirty-one.
Reaching for my favorite pair of Chucks, I picked them up then slid them on. Deciding to drive myself, I relieved Carson for the day. I needed to disappear. I needed a drink. I picked my most inconspicuous car—my Mercedes—and let the top down. It was one of those seventy-degree weather days, not a cloud in the sky. They weren’t a rarity in Charleston, but winter had lingered a bit too long. I reveled in the feel of the sun on my face as I drove over the two-mile Ravenel Bridge, observing the beautiful Charleston harbor with Sia singing in the background.
I drove out to Folly Beach to get some much-needed space from my usual scenery. The circle I had just alienated myself from wouldn’t be caught dead here. Smiling to myself, I made my way down the busy Folly Road, delighting in the burst of new tourists who were bustling about, taking note of a few changes and recently opened storefronts. Breathing in deep, I caught a whiff of air from the vendor serving fresh boiled peanuts next to me. Folly was to me the
essence of a little surfer town, with old school tourist shops at every corner. Local bars buzzed with live music as I drove past. The smells were heavenly wafting through the air. The strip seemed like a small carnival of color and texture.
This was home.
Pulling into the parking lot next to the Tides hotel, I quickly made my way toward the strip. I walked a few minutes, noting the amount of bodies I had to dodge. Charleston was growing, no longer the hidden gem of my childhood. I stood and watched a young street performer tear up the saxophone like he had been playing for well beyond his years and clapped wholeheartedly when he was finished. I leaned in and gave him a large tip, refusing to put it in clear sight. He took the money and shoved it in his pocket with a smile, not realizing the size of it. I winked knowing that later he would get a decent surprise out of it.
I walked into The Mystic bar and quickly took a stool. Having never been there, I noted the cool atmosphere. There was a small stage in the corner with room enough for a small crowd on the dance floor. The bar top itself was shaped oddly and took up the entirety of the rest of the space. It was the longest bar counter I had ever seen, starting at the entrance and leading in a series of waves out to the dance floor with stools on either side. The bartender smiled at me as I looked around. Somehow it worked. He took my order, and I continued to look around as I waited for my drink.
“Wow,” I said as he handed me my Blue Moon with an orange slice.
“Yeah, it’s different,” he said then chuckled.
“Your place?” I asked as I noticed the color scheme of navy, light gray, purple, white, and lime green. Four floor to ceiling lava lamps cast dancing shadows around the bar, creating a glow that surrounded the space. Plants were strewn everywhere. It looked like I had wandered into a pothead’s paradise. All that was missing was the incense.
“No, not mine,” he answered. I looked up at him, and he was grinning at me. He tapped his fingers on the bar and quickly offered up, “Dave, holler if you need me.”
With a smile, I thanked him before giving him a twenty, waving my hand when he offered change. He was young, maybe early twenties, with blond hair and blue eyes. I was sure when he wanted to hold a woman’s attention he was more than capable. The bar was practically empty, but it was only 3 P.M. on a Tuesday. The majority of the patrons seemed to be on vacation by the way they were talking. I tuned them out to listen to the music playing. I sighed and took a long sip of my ice-cold beer. Delicious.
No matter how familiar I was with this city, there was always something new popping up. I settled in at three beers and noted the music being played was an amazing mix of old school and new stuff that I enjoyed.
When my next beer was served, I asked Dave to turn up the music.
“What station is this?”
“It’s the owner’s mix,” he said. When he registered my appreciation, he agreed. “I know, he’s got incredible taste and has playlists for days. It never gets old.”
