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16
ZANDER
I watch as Oscar’s car leaves the parking lot. When the red taillights disappear in the dark night, I turn to the hotel building where a few guests are still celebrating. But the party that had me excited for weeks has lost all its appeal and is now just a boisterous room to me. I call my driver, Greg.
When he arrives with my car, I get into the rear seat. “To a bar.”
He turns and looks at me over his shoulder. “Any particular one, Mr. Teager?”
I shake my head. “No. Just someplace quiet.” My head meets the padded headrest as I close my eyes.
Marr’s back, her wet puffy face, her words… God, her words. Something dark claws around my throat, and I loosen my tie.
Time ticks by, but I’m too lost in my thoughts to notice it.
“Mr. Teager, we’re here,” Greg announces, and I open my groggy eyes, looking out of the car window. Neon red block letters shine, forming the word Rendezvous.
I step inside the bar with a single aim: to dunk all the uneasiness that’s gripping my chest in booze. There have been a handful of moments so far in life when I wanted to forget everything over a bottle of Scotch, but today is the worst of all. I perch on one of the barstools.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks.
“Scotch. Neat.”
I grab the faceted glass and take a sip of the amber liquid. My mind wanders to my girl. Feelings of anguish that gathered around me when Marr recited about her childhood still aren’t gone. I remember her raw voice, her corded neck muscles, her clenched fists holding the blanket, shielding her from the cold and dark that engulfed us in that room.
Someone taps on my hand covering the now-empty glass, and I look up to find the bartender glancing my way, an eyebrow raised.
“Girl trouble?” she asks as I point for her to refill my glass. “You look pretty damn worked up.”
“You mean fucked up.” I shoot the liquid back, not giving a shit that it’s intended to be savored.
She fills my glass again when I ask her to keep them coming.
“That girl must be something. You have a pretty face over there, and by the look of you, you seem loaded too. If I didn’t have a five-year-old hunk at home, I’d so be hitting on you.”
“Yeah, she is something. She’s everything.”
“Wanna talk about her? The bar is pretty much empty.” The bartender nods toward the neighboring vacant barstools.
I shake my head.“No.”
“Come on, man. It’s only you and me here. Your story can compensate for all the tips I’m missing tonight.”
I point for another refill when she doesn’t do it on her own.
“Don’t down this one like the others,” she mutters, filling my glass and placing a bottle of Johnnie next to me. “I want to hear the complete story before you pass out on my table.”
“If I pass out, call my driver. He’s outside.” I’m so gonna pass out. I already feel lightheaded.
“Okay. I promise you’ll be in your bed tonight. Now, I guess I deserve a story in return.” She bats her eyelashes at me.
“You are in the wrong profession, persistent woman,” I slur. Shit. How much did I drink already?
“Maybe, but I do just fine.” She places a glass of water in front of me, which I ignore, of course.
When she turns to attend to the two old fellas at the other end of the bar, a hand grabs my shoulder.
“What the—” I try to get up from the stool but stumble. I hold the bar just in time to prevent falling on the floor.
