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While I was gulping my beer and brooding, a girl deposited herself on the barstool beside mine. She sweeps some strands of brassy blonde hair from her forehead. She’s attractive in the way that can be bought with money. Lots of jewelry, an obvious nose job. She’s also weirdly dressed in a silver sequined evening gown. The right strap keeps falling from her shoulder. A diamond boulder dominates her petite left hand.
“Hi, I’m Sophie. I already know who you are.” She gives me a bleary, somewhat crooked smile before wobbling on the stool.
My hand shoots out to seize her elbow, releasing when she manages to stay upright. “Careful, there.”
“Wow, thanks. You’re the best.” This Sophie person tosses back the rest of her drink. Then she wipes her mouth with a brown napkin, unaware that she has smeared pink lip gloss all over her chin. Either she’s drunk or two more tequila sips away from crossing the threshold.
“Are you all right?” I ask her. A drunk woman all alone at a seedy bar needs at least one guardian angel.
She beams at me and nudges her glass in the direction of the bartender. He slings a dishtowel over his shoulder and looks around. When his gaze connects with Fiona’s, she shakes her head.
“Sorry, kid,” the bartender says to Sophie. “You’re cut off again.”
“No fair,” Sophie complains and crosses her arms.
He shrugs. “You made a real fucking mess of the counter yesterday.”
“I said I was sorry. This isn’t cool.” She sulks for a minute, then remembers I’m still sitting next to her. She leans closer as if she’s sharing a secret.
“Hey, did you know that I’m Haven’s cousin? Well, I’mmarriedto her cousin. I didn’t want to marry Jared. My father said I had to and then he gave me a Porsche. I didn’t want a Porsche either. I wanted a Bentley.”
I have no clue how to greet this news. She’s a member of Haven’s family though, so maybe if I talk to her I’ll find out something interesting. “Better luck next time.”
Over the rim of my beer glass I spot Fiona having a quiet word with the biggest of the bouncers. The guy eyeballs me with a puckered frown.
Sophie starts to slide off her stool again, catches herself by bracing both palms on the bar, and hiccups sharply. “Haven didn’t tell me you were coming over today. I saw her before she went to her meeting.”
I set my beer glass down. “What kind of meeting?”
Sophie is eager to tell me but she starts speaking in a whispery shriek that can probably be heard across the room. “Afamilymeeting. I’m not ever invited even though I’m Jared’s wife. I don’t care. My father never invited me to his meetings either. The only time he ever talked to me was to complain that I wasn’t pretty.”
The bartender didn’t cut her off soon enough. She slurs her words, getting dizzier by the second.
In the meantime, my presence has been detected. It starts with a girlish squeal and then someone else shouts my name. One of these days I ought to take Gage’s advice and don a real disguise so I don’t get swamped every time I leave the house. But I didn’t do that today so I might as well make the best of the swarm heading my way.
First, I get surrounded by scantily clad dancers who insist on a photo shoot. One girl deposits her ass in my lap while another wraps her arms around my neck. A third girl plants a lipstick kiss on my left cheek while preserving the moment with a cell phone camera.
I’m starting to feel like I’m being mauled at the zoo. Luckily, Fiona marches over and shoos them away. Ordinarily I don’t mind getting slobbered on by beautiful women. Today, however, I’m not so thrilled. There’s only one girl I’m interested in dealing with. And my effort to make a good impression on her won’t be enhanced by the sight of strippers climbing me like a tree.
At Fiona’s command, the dancers wave and scurry back to the stage. But a few of those self-important executive fellows in the audience have already sauntered over with their confidence and slick charm, acting like we’re old friends as they bark out drink orders. The bartender glowers, perhaps considering breaking a few whiskey bottles over their receding hairlines.
Sophie remains glued to her barstool, gazing at the circus of admirers through groggy half-closed eyes. When one of the pretentious suits abandons a nearly full vodka on the rocks she grabs at it, only to be thwarted by Fiona, who sneaks to her side just in time to snatch the glass away.
“That’s enough, honey,” Fiona says, firmly but not without kindness.
Sophie parks her elbows on the counter and mopes. “I deserve drinks.” Her lip quivers. “My husband is such a mean jerk. Did you know he didn’t talk to me this morning? Not even when I made him an Eggo. He never talks to me.”
“How about a soda?” I throw another big bill at the bartender. “I’ll have one too.”
Sophie perks up. “Bruce, I want a cherry in mine. Can you add a cherry?”
Bruce dumps a handful of cherries into both glasses but he’s still a little cranky. He gruffly shoves the glasses over and some of the soda slops on the counter.
The volume of a Lada Gaga tune gets jacked up a few notches. Up on the stage, the girl who wiggled her ass in my lap performs a circus trick on the center pole.
Sophie chews on a maraschino cherry, then gets distracted by the boxy hot pink purse dangling from her arm. She yanks it open, peers inside with a frown and then shoves the thing at my chest.
“Conner, find it for me.”
