AllFreeNovel
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15
Somehow, I find myself standing in front of Stella’s new restaurant in the South End, which means I’ve walked a hell of a long way. They aren’t open yet—they actually have their soft opening this coming Thursday—but I have a key and I decide to use it because it’s hot as a mofo out here and I’m very visibly sweating and there’s a bar full of alcohol, and air conditioning inside.
Unlocking the door, I scoot in, quickly relock it, and then shut off the alarm before it goes off and the cops come. The restaurant is dark and cool, and I sigh and then shudder because it’s also a little creepy being in here all alone.
“Stella? Delphine?” I call out. “Anyone here?”
Nope. Just me.
I head for the bar, running my hand along the smooth, polished wood, and then slip under it at the waiter opening on the far side. I take in the wall of liquor and refrigerators filled with wine and mixers, all ready to help make this restaurant yet another success for Stella and Delphine.
“Poison, poison, bubble, and doom, I likely should not drink you.”
But I will.
First things first.
I slip out my phone and shoot out a text to my core Fritz ladies. When Patrick broke my heart, I sent a massive text and then had a fun pity party with all the Fritz women, but this is too delicate a situation to call in the extended crew.
Me: Emergency girl meeting at Bon Bagay.
Bon Bagay in Creole means good stuff, but since it also has the word gay in it, it was my top pick and they ended up going with it.
Me: This is a top secret event so please do not share this with your other halves. And no, it’s not a scary emergency and I’m physically fine.
My phone immediately starts blowing up in my hand like bottle rockets on the Fourth of July.
Stella: Why are you in my restaurant? I just got the alarm notice. I’m on my way.
Amelia: Me too. I’ll be there in fifteen if I hit the traffic right.
Gotta love my ladies. They don’t even ask questions. They just show up.
Octavia: I’m already in the neighborhood, so please unlock the door as I’ll be there in five minutes.
Oh. Score! I race out of the bar and over to the front door, unlocking it for her and then I return to the bar, flip on some music through the sound system, and start shaking up martinis because I know I could use one and I need something to occupy my hands before the others get here.
I pour a line of four martinis that I’ll likely end up drinking most of, and then I slip off my shoes and climb up on the bar because I’ve never done this before. I’ve danced on tables in bars before—shhh, don’t tell Octavia that—but never on the actual bar and this feels like the right time to let my wild girl out of hibernation.
I pick up one drink and start swaying my hips to the hypnotic beat of the light house music Stella likes to play and just as I’m taking my first sip, Octavia waltzes in, ever the perfect and polished queen of Boston. She spots me dancing on the bar with a martini in my hand and then comes and takes one of the barstools a few spots down from me.
“How many of those have you already had?”
I hold up my drink. “This is my first. I swear. I just got here, but I’m in crisis mode and I needed a sip or two before I could tell you all what I have to tell you.”
She grins up at me. “If I weren’t in my sixties and afraid of falling and breaking a hip, I’d climb up on there and do that with you. It looks fun and I’ve always been curious.”
I cackle out a laugh at that thought. Not of her breaking a hip, of course, but of Octavia Abbot-Fritz dancing on a bar. That’s insane. She’s the epitome of regal and perfectly refined manners and honestly in the top three of the best women on the planet.
“It’s a bit wild and freeing,” I admit, doing a small dip and then smacking my ass like I’m inCoyote Ugly. “I won’t lie and say it’s not.”
“I was never wild nor free when I was your age, so keep dancing for both of us, but as you do, please inform me on a scale of one to ten just how worried I should be.”
I peer down at her, scrunching my nose. “I honestly don’t know how to answer that. A six, maybe.” I shrug and then take a long sip because this might be the best martini I’ve ever made. It’s freaking delicious and hitting me in all the right places.
She purses her lips to the side, a classic displeased Octavia gesture but lets it go as we wait for the others to arrive. I keep dancing because why not, and as I do another booty swivel, Octavia asks, “You’re not going to start stripping, are you? Because that’s a very un-Fritz-like thing to do.”
“In front of you or in general?” I snicker and then pull it back in when I see she’s serious. “No stripping,” I solemnly promise, holding my free hand over my heart just as the door to the restaurant opens.
