by JA Huss
He sets the boxes down near an overstuffed leather chair and says, “Take your time, bro. I gotta go take care of some folks over there real quick.”
“Sure,” I say, glancing over in the direction he was nodding. There’s like half a dozen people holding cameras. The kind you use for news broadcasts or filming.
Huh. Wonder what that’s all about.
But I turn back to the boots because all those people disappear into a back room and there’s nothing more to see.
“That jacket is great,” Oaklee says, coming up behind me. “I love it. You’re getting it, right?”
“Sure,” I say, then jerk my arm away when she goes to reach for the price tag. “You’re not buying this.” I laugh. “So just buck off, Oaks.”
She smiles and shakes her head. “These your boot choices?”
“Yup,” I say, opening the first crate and taking out one boot.
“Oh, that’s pretty,” she says, leaning over my shoulder to pet the leather. “Try them on, I want to see you.”
So I slip my shoes off, slide the boots on and realize… “Shit. My pants are too straight.”
“Oh, I’ll go find you some jeans. One sec.”
She’s gone before I can stop her. Not that I could stop her. So I just put the other boot on, ignoring how stupid I look wearing them with straight-leg pants, and walk around, trying them out.
You know you’re wearing a pair of quality boots when they feel like they were made custom for your feet.
I try on the engineers next. Which have the same feel, but the not classic biker vibe the harness ones give off, so I pack them back up and decide on the first pair.
“Here,” Oaklee says, handing me a stack of jeans. “I didn’t know your size, so I guessed. Go try them on.”
I sigh, take the stack, and walk off to the dressing rooms.
“Looking hot isn’t torture, Lawton Ayers! It’s fun!” she calls after me.
“Whatever you want, Oaklee,” I mumble back.
There are three sizes in different styles, but all of them are faded and ripped. They’re a lot like the ones I chose for Oaklee today. Soft, the wash so light, they’re almost baby blue. And filled with strategically placed holes that don’t look manufactured. When I glance down at the price I get the feeling they aren’t manufactured. That each hole was carefully made by hand by some seamstress.
I pick my size, strip out of my own pants, then pull them on.
A black leather belt comes flying over the top of the dressing-room door, the buckles slapping against the wooden louvers. “Put that on too,” Oak calls from the other side. “And let me see you before you take it off, OK?”
“Sure,” I grumble. “Whatever you want, Oaklee.”
“Was that sarcasm?” I can sorta see her through the louvers. She’s got her eye pressed up against the door trying to get a peek.
“Go away, you weirdo. I’ll be out in a second.”
But she doesn’t go away. I can see her boot tapping on the carpet through the opening at the bottom of the door.
Fuck it. I change, pull my boots back on, and open the door to let her gawk at me.
She covers her mouth with her hand when I walk out, trying to hide her smile. Then she says, “Oh, wait,” as she comes towards me, slipping the jacket down my arms. “I actually love the look you have today, but take this off so I can see how it looks with just the t-shirt.”
She’s tugging on my denim button-down, so I take that off, smiling as I watch Oaklee study the muscles in my arms, and then slip the leather jacket back on over the white t-shirt.
“How’s that?” I say. “This the look you’re going for?”
She bites her lip, walks up to me, reaches up to thread her fingers through my hair, musses it all up, then steps back and smiles. “You’re perfect. No, you’re fuckin’ hot, Lawton. I love it.” She whirls in place, and that’s when I see Chuck, standing behind her. Waiting patiently. She says, “We’ll take this,” as she does an up-and-down motion with her pointer finger at my body.
“You got it, Oaklee,” Chuck says. And then he’s snapping price tags off the jeans and the jacket and walking away before I can stop him.
I’m about to remind her that she’s not paying for this stuff. Not any of it. But decide that’s a losing battle and when you want to get your way with Oaklee Ryan, you play her game. So I say, “Hey, aren’t you getting anything? You didn’t find a skirt you like over there?” I nod my head to the women’s section.
“Maybe,” she says, biting her lip again. I kinda love it when she does that.
“Go look again. You might as well. We’re here, ya know.”
“OK.” She smiles. “I won’t take long, I promise.”
“Hey, there’s fifty bikes in this place for me to try out. Take all the time you want.”
She darts off and disappears in the racks of clothing.
See, now that is how you handle Oaklee. Distract her as you pay for the clothes she thinks she’s buying.
I feel like patting myself on the back right now.
But I don’t waste time gloating. I head straight for the cash register where Chuck is already totaling shit up.
And that’s when I see… the bike.
“Ah,” Chuck says. “Nice, isn’t she? The old man made that for himself about fifteen years ago. But he’s selling if you’re interested.”
“I know this bike,” I almost whisper. “I actually remember seeing him ride it once. Some grand opening for a store, I think.”
“Yeah,” Chuck says. “He’s selling a bunch of his older stock to make room for new bikes. I guess the old lady put her foot down and said no more bikes at the farm until he sells some.”
“Crazy,” I say. “That he’d sell this… masterpiece.”
“They’re all masterpieces.” Chuck laughs. “Hop on and give her a feel while I ring you up.”
I’m about to say, Nah. But instead my mouth says, “Yeah. OK.”
And then my leg swings over. My eyes seeking out every last detail of artwork on the tank. One foot on the floor. One foot on the pedal. Both hands on the grips. “Jesus,” I say. “This is damn nice.”
“It’s got a nice rear suspension,” Chuck says. “Floating bitch seat for Oaklee. I’ve ridden on the back of that bad girl and let me tell you, she will feel like she’s flying.”
I can picture it too. Me. Her. This bike. The future.
Stop it, Law. This whole thing is fake. Just a business deal, nothing more.
“Hey!” someone calls from the door. “I got a delivery. Where do you want them?”
There’s a guy standing off to my left with a hand truck stacked two high with kegs.
“Over in the bar,” Chuck says, pointing to the other side of the building.
And that’s when I see the label stamped on the keg.
Buffalo Brews.
I look over my shoulder real quick, trying to see if Oaklee is still in the dressing room.
She’s not. And I know she sees the same thing I do just by the look on her face.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - OAKLEE
The skirt is super cute and that’s all I’m thinking about when I exit the dressing room stall and start walking over to Law. He’s sitting on a bike near the cash register and the first thing I notice is that he looks… he looks… like the man of my dreams.
I giggle at that. And I’m just about to make a joke about buying him that bike just so I can ride bitch with him when I see a guy rolling kegs across the showroom towards the bar.
My mouth is open, my head about to turn to Chuck to ask him what that’s all about—but that’s before I see the brand printed on the keg.
Buffalo Brews.
“What the fuck?” I yell. There’s a ton of people in the store, so I get lots of weird stares, but I don’t care. “Chuck! What is going on here? We have a deal!”
Chuck looks at me, confused. “What are you—” But that’s when he sees the problem. “Oh, shit. I dunno, Oaklee. Le
t me go find out.”
He leaves the cash register just as Law walks over to me. “Hey, maybe it’s not what you think,” he says.
“Not what I think?” I exclaim. I’m too loud. And people all over the store are still staring at me. So I gather myself back up and grit through my teeth, “She’s trying to get my vendors, Law. It’s exactly what I think.”
My whole body is shaking with anger. I’m so mad. I want to kill that bitch! I mean, I have been patient with her for all these years. I’ve been biting my tongue and keeping my mouth shut, just trying to be reasonable, and it’s obviously not working.
I need to up my game. I need to put on the warpaint and battle armor and declare war. Because that’s what this is.
“Oaklee,” Law says, rubbing my shoulder. “Calm down. You’re shaking, for fuck’s sake.”
“Yes,” I say. “I am. Because I have never felt such anger in all my life. I looked the other way when she cheated off me in college. I turned the other cheek when she stole my boyfriends. I talked myself into being rational, and calm, and sane because I don’t like getting crazy, I really don’t. My anger isn’t something I’m proud of. I want life to be easy. I want life to be calm. I don’t want to be the drama queen everyone thinks I am.” I turn to look at him. “And where has that gotten me? Huh? I have had this deal with Spencer Shrike since before my dad died. It’s been almost eight years! And she thinks what? She can move in on my territory and take my place now that my dad’s gone? I don’t fucking think so, Lawton! I don’t fucking think so!”
“Shhh,” he says, pulling me into his chest and putting his arms around me. “We’ll get it handled.”
“How?” I ask. “How are we gonna get it handled?”
“Just wait for Chuck to come back and tell us what’s going on, OK?”
I don’t answer. I’m too angry. I feel like crying, that’s how angry I am. “She has no right,” I say. “No right to play with my life like this! What did I ever do to her but be a good friend? What?”
Law just holds me tighter and shakes his head. “Just take a deep breath. It’s probably not what you think. Like… maybe that guy is just here to drop off samples or something. For the manager to taste.”
“Two kegs for tasting?” I say.
“Oaklee,” he says in a calm voice that makes me want to slap him. Then he pushes me away, holds me at arm’s length and says, “Just. Calm. Down. I’m gonna go see what’s happening and you’re going to stay here. OK?”
I look up at him. Feel the tears stinging the corners of my eyes. But I say nothing. Because all I can think about is how I need to get even with that stupid bitch, Hanna Harlow.
“OK?” Law repeats.
“Whatever,” I say, pulling away from him. “I’m gonna go change.” So I walk off towards the dressing room stall. And he walks off towards Chuck, who I can see is having a conversation with the bar manager. And by the time I get to the stall, Law has reached Chuck, and they start talking.
I watch. Seething. Seeing red. So hot with anger, I’m actually sweating. My hands are shaking and my legs feel weak. So I grab onto a rack of t-shirts and steady myself as I watch the conversation across the store.
I can’t hear them and I don’t know how to read lips, but I can read facial expressions just fine.
Chuck is asking the bar manager about the kegs.
Bar manager probably says something like, Hanna Harlow came in here last week and talked us into putting her kegs on tap for a free trial.
And Law says something like, But that’s Oaklee’s tap. She has a deal.
And Chuck says, Yeah, we can’t do that. There’s a deal.
And bar manager says…
Law is walking back towards me now. Stoic expression on his face. And I don’t know him well enough to understand what that means, but I don’t have to guess, because the first thing he says to me is, “Hanna Harlow had a deal too.”
“Let me guess,” I say through clenched teeth. “She offered them a free trial.”
“No,” Law says, shaking his head, looking a little sad. “No, that’s not the deal.”
“Then what is it?”
“Let’s just pay for this stuff and we’ll talk about it outside. Chuck!” he yells, then rips the tag off my skirt and walks over to the cash register. “Add this to the bill and make it quick. We’re leaving.”
I grab my clothes and purse from the dressing room and walk over to the counter. “What was the deal?” I ask.
Chuck just shakes his head and refuses to look at me as he runs Lawton’s credit card.
“I said we’ll talk about it outside, Oaklee.”
“I want to talk about it now. What’s the deal, Chuck?”
But he doesn’t answer. Just waits for Law to sign the little machine to finalize the sale and then hands him a receipt and our bags.
“Let’s go,” Law says, holding onto my arm as he starts making for the door.
I let him lead me because I really do not want to lose my temper in this store. I really don’t. But as soon as we’re outside, I whirl around and snap, “Tell me what’s going on!”
“I will,” Law says calmly. “But we’re gonna walk home while I do that. OK?”
“You’re talking to me like I’m a crazy person!”
“I think you have serious crazy potential inside you, Oaks. And I want you to stay calm.”
“OMG, it’s bad, right? Just tell me!”
“Promise me we’ll keep walking and you won’t explode in public.”
I take a deep breath. We’re only a few blocks away from my house and I just want to get there. Like… right now. Because I feel like I’m going to cry. So I say, “I promise,” in the most reasonable tone I can muster up.
“OK. So here’s the deal. Two weeks ago Hanna Harlow came in asking about room on the tap.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I say through tight lips. “Got it.”
“She was told about your deal and that they only serve Bronco Brews at the downtown Shrike showroom bar.”
“OK.”
“And she pointed out that Buffalo Brews won Best Brew in Denver this year in the Westword.”
The Westword is the cool free weekly newspaper. All the hipsters read it with their Sunday bagel each weekend. So that contest was no joke. I didn’t even enter this year.
“And…” Law says, dragging out the word. “She also mentioned that it was very similar to Bucked Up, so they should just take Bucked Up off the tap and put up Buffalo Brews Buffed Up instead.”
I stop walking so I can face him. “And they said yes?”
“Oaklee,” he says, still calm. “You promised not to make a scene.”
I look around and realize everyone is now staring at me because I was screaming. So I take another deep breath, close my eyes for the count of three, open them back up, and say, “I’m under control. Go on.”
“The bar manager said yes.”
“Those motherfuckers.” I seethe it. But I’m walking again. I didn’t scream. I’m in control. “I’m going to kill the Shrikes.”
“Now wait a minute,” Law says. “Chuck—who I take it is some kind of manager of the showroom?”
“He runs the whole place, yes.”
“Well, Chuck told the bar manager not to put it on tap until you had a meeting with them. So they’re gonna call you and set that up for next week. But until then, they will only be serving Bronco Brews at the bar. So see, it’s all gonna work out.”
“No, it isn’t. She’s gonna talk her way into my tap. She’s gonna lie her ass off, and get her way, and I’m going to be left with nothing by the time she’s done with me.”
“No,” he says. “That’s not going to happen. Because we’re going to come up with a plan. OK? A logical plan. We’re going to stay focused, and be calm, and we’re going to prove she stole your recipe and tell the whole world about it.”
“How?”
“Stop yelling, Oaklee.”
Oh, my God. I’m so pissed. But I tak
e another deep breath and growl, “How are we going to prove it, Lawton?”
He sighs. “I dunno yet. We’ll host a taste test maybe. Get people in the door and have them do a blind taste test and make them realize it’s the same beer.”
“That’s not going to work! What if people can’t tell? What if they say Buffed Up is better? Then what do I do?”
“Look, I’m doing my best, OK? We just need to think about this a little. Not jump to any conclusions and not do anything stupid that could get you sued.”
“Sued!” I huff out a laugh. “Let that bitch try!”
By this time we’re back over at my building. We walk into the lobby and I force myself to smile and be nice to the waitresses and hostesses as we pass them, making our way towards the elevators. I don’t take my crazy out on the employees. That’s just not right. So when we get into the elevator I just punch the top floor.
“I cannot believe you just did that,” Law says.
“Did what?”
“Punched the button for the top floor and it just accepts it. You didn’t even use a keycard!”
“It’s business hours,” I say.
“Someone could rob you blind, Oaklee. Just go up there and take whatever they wanted.”
“Well, I do have cameras. So I’d catch them if they did. Besides, the waitresses all keep an eye on it.”
“Not when they’re busy, they don’t.”
“Look, it’s been this way for as long as I can remember. No one has ever—”
But I stop talking and in the same moment we both say, “Hanna broke in and stole the recipes.”
“That bitch!”
“I told you your security sucked.” Law takes out his phone and presses a contact. “Eduardo? How long before you can get the new security in?” He waits, smiles at me and nods his head just as the elevator doors open into my apartment. “Uh-huh,” he says to Eduardo.
We both walk out into my apartment and he continues to listen to Eduardo talk. “Well.” He finally sighs. “We think there was a breach.” Then he looks at me. “Where do you keep your security footage, Oaklee?”
