Finding Abigail

by Christina Smith

  The bouncer, who looked like he ingested his share of steroids, stood at the door with his thick muscular arms crossed in front of his chest. Between the bald shiny head and dark sunglasses, not to mention the deep scowl on his face, anyone in their right mind would think twice before causing any kind of trouble.

  Debbie sauntered up to him, touching his muscled arm with the tip of her finger, tracing it down to his elbow. “Hey, Felix, busy tonight?”

  The bouncer turned to her, scowl still in place, and slowly removed his glasses, revealing bright emerald-colored eyes. The smile that spread brightened his face. “Hey sugar.” His deep voice only added to the look; he was the scariest person I’d ever been this close to. “What brings you out tonight? I haven’t seen you here in a while.”

  Debbie turned to me. “I wanted to get my friend out in the land of the living. Felix, this is Abby.” She wrapped her arms around us, her warm fingers resting on my bare shoulders. “And this is her sister, Brenda.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Felix,” we said at the same time, our voices wavering just a little.

  He smiled again, showing dimples I hadn’t seen earlier. “Lovely to meet you both. You’re in good hands with this one.” He pointed to Debbie, giving us a wink, which led me to believe that he wasn’t scary after all, but merely a big old teddy bear. He opened the door and gestured for us to enter. “Have a good night, ladies,” he called as we slipped by. I peeked over my shoulder at him once we were in, and saw that the scowl was once again in place, glaring at a couple of men in suits.

  As we stepped inside the dimly lit club, a mixture of smells hovered in the air—beer, wine, sweet perfume and even the musky scent of cologne. But one particular odor stood out from all the others—sweat. Which was understandable considering the dance floor was overflowing with tons of gyrating bodies. The bass was pounding, and even though the night was young, the large room was crowded. Debbie found a table by the dance floor while Brenda went off to get us some drinks.

  “Holy crap, it’s busy tonight. Look at all the hot guys. We shouldn’t have a problem finding men tonight,” Debbie yelled over the music.

  I arched an eyebrow at her. “What happen to the mystery writer?”

  Her face fell. “Turns out he was seeing a romance novelist, the bastard.”

  “I’m sorry, Debbie. Men are pigs.” I rubbed her back gently.

  “Why are men pigs?” Brenda yelled, sitting beside me, her hands empty.

  “That’s a stupid question. But speaking about questions, where are our drinks?” I leaned toward her so I didn’t have to yell.

  “The waitress is bringing them. I couldn’t carry them all.” Just as she finished speaking, a brown-haired waitress came over carrying a tray. She placed my vodka cooler and their wine on the table, and then walked off. “I paid her at the bar,” Brenda explained as I was reaching for my money. “So why are men pigs?” she asked again.

  “The guy Debbie was dating cheated on her with a romance novelist.”

  She gazed at Debbie sympathetically. “Men suck. You’re too good for him.” She raised her wine glass. “May the romance novelist give the mystery writer crabs, and may his wee-wee shrivel up and fall off.” We laughed as we lifted our glasses, clinked, and chugged back our drinks.

  “How do you know the bouncer?” I asked Debbie, after placing my bottle on the stained wood table.

  “We went to high school together. I haven’t seen him in years, but when I started coming here, I ran into him.” She paused as a couple of guys walked by. She did a hair flip and went on. “We went to lunch once and I met his wife. She’s a sweetheart.”

  “He looks scary,” I said, voicing my first opinion of him.

  She was in the process of taking a sip of her wine. She nodded as she swallowed. “Yeah, I know, but it’s all an act. You should see him with his kids.”

  Teddy bear, I knew it—well, not at first of course; anyone that saw him wouldn’t think so.

  We sat for a while drinking, commenting on the other patrons’ dancing abilities, until Debbie’s favorite song came on and declared it was our turn. She dragged us up to dance. If you could call it that. The mob on the dance floor was so tight, we just moved with the crowd.

  After a few songs, we tried to reclaim our table, but in our seats were four burly men guzzling beer. As we made our way past them in search of another place to sit, I felt a strong hand on my arm. His fingers were warm, but his grip was a little tight. “It’s you!” a deep voice shouted beside me.

  My gaze followed the arm up to his face and studied his features, trying to place him. Short brown hair, tanned skin, dark coffee-colored eyes, strong jaw. Nope, didn’t recognize him. “Yeah, it’s me. But who are you?” I asked, pulling my arm free.

  “I’m the cop from outside that publishing building yesterday. Remember? I asked you if you wanted a ride.”

  Oh, the hottie cop from my daydream. “I didn’t recognize you without your uniform.”

  He grinned, lightening his face. “Here, why don’t you girls sit down. I’ll grab some extra chairs.”

  Debbie and Brenda eyed me curiously as they plopped down onto the chairs that the cop brought over from a few tables over. He pulled me onto the one beside him, while the girls sat across from me. They were sandwiched between a tall blond who looked like a weightlifter, and a guy with shaggy black hair and piercing blue eyes. “So, what’s your name?” the hottie cop asked me, leaning close so I would hear him. He smelled of musk cologne.

  I considered the idea of withholding my name a little longer, but when he smiled, showing his white perfect teeth, I couldn’t resist. “Abby, what’s yours?”

  “Nick.” He took my hand and instead of shaking it, he held on; he had a warm tight grip. “These are guys I work with. John, Marty, and Brian.” He pointed as he spoke.

  Once I introduced Debbie and Brenda, everyone seemed to talk at once. They were all uniform cops who went to school together, but were out celebrating Nick and Brian making detective. It turned out Brian was the only other single guy, and somehow Debbie was seated next to him. I overheard Brenda and Marty, the blond muscle man, comparing notes on their children.

  They were fun to talk to, and the conversation, although loud because of the music, was great. We had a blast. John taught us a drinking game, using a quarter and a shot glass. Since I wasn’t very good at it, an hour later I was a little buzzed.

  The bass-pumping music changed to a slow song. “Dance with me,” Nick whispered, leaning in close to my ear. Brian was in the middle of a story about a case he was working on. His piercing blue eyes were animated as he spoke while he ran his hand through his unruly black hair. I liked Brian instantly; he had a calming voice and a friendly face. I noticed Debbie leaning into him, and judging by the look in her eye, I wasn’t the only one with a positive reaction to him.

  As Nick took my hand to help me off my chair, I felt sudden nerves in the pit of my stomach. “Sure,” I said quietly, not sure why I answered him, since he was already leading me to the dance floor.

  His arms wrapped around my waist and I leaned my head against his chest, breathing in his scent. Warmth emanated from him, and his muscles were hard under my hands as I laid them on his broad shoulders. I felt safe in his embrace.

  We moved slowly, bumping into other couples occasionally, but I didn’t notice, feeling content in his arms. While we danced he asked me a few questions. I pulled back, only to be nudged back against his warm chest.

  The next song was a little faster, but Nick wasn’t concerned. As that one ended, I glanced up into his intense brown eyes and was surprised by what I saw. His face was soft and thoughtful as he gazed down at me.

  When he started to lean down, I took a step back, knowing what he was about to do. He gave me a small smile. “Thank you for the dance,” he whispered into my ear. His breath was hot against my skin, giving me goose bumps.

  He led me back to the table where John was chugging back a massive mug of b
eer, while the rest of the group cheered him on.

  “I have to powder my nose,” Brenda announced before I sat down. “Debbie, Abby, are you coming?” She glared at me with a twinkle in her eye. I smiled at the men before following her through the thick crowd.

  “Okay, tell us. What do you think of officer hottie, and how do you know him?” Brenda asked after shoving me through the dirt-crusted washroom door.

  I laughed at the thought of prolonging my explanation, just to make them suffer. “I saw him at Debbie’s office, and then later outside, leaning against his car as I was hailing a cab, just like he said. He asked me if I wanted a ride, I said no thanks. Besides a bit of flirting, that was it.”

  Brenda leaned into the mirror to fluff up her hair. “Okay, so what do you think of him? You guys danced a long time.”

  “He’s cute. And he seems nice.”

  “Do you think he’ll ask you out?” Debbie asked, taking out her lipstick and applying a fresh coat, expertly avoiding a drunk blond who almost bumped into her.

  “I think so. While we were dancing, he asked what I like to do for fun and if I saw a lot of movies.” The door swung open, hitting the wall with a bang as four loud girls stumbled in with a fit of laughter. I moved closer to Brenda, who leaned against the graffiti-covered wall.

  “What did he say when you told him you were a complete hermit?” Debbie asked with a smirk.

  After I swatted her in the head with my clutch purse, I replied, “Anyway, after the last dance I think he wanted to kiss me, but I pulled away.”

  Debbie rolled her eyes. “Why? It’s just a kiss.”

  “I know, but I’d rather not swap spit with a guy I barely know at some bar when I’m drunk. It’s sleazy.” I glanced at my friend. “No offense, Debbie.”

  She grinned. “None taken.” Checking her appearance in the mirror one last time, she spun on her spiked heel. “On that note, let’s go. I think I’m going to get drunk and kiss Brian.” I laughed as she marched passed me, a woman on a mission. “In a bar,” she added, pushing the door open before storming out.

  Brenda and I followed her as she stalked up to Brian and planted one right on the mouth. When she pulled away, Brian’s eyes were as wide as saucers. A slow grin spread on his face. She glanced at me and smiled.

  Laughing, I took her hand and dragged her to the dance floor, where we danced the rest of the night, together and with the guys. Nick danced with me during all the slow songs.

  At the end of the night they walked us out. Nick had pulled me aside, next to the building. “Are you sure you don’t want us to walk you home? You’d be safe with four cops around.”

  “Thank you, but no. We’ll be fine, I don’t live far. It was nice meeting you,” I yelled as Debbie pulled me away.

  The streets weren’t as busy at this time of night. Only a few people hovered on the sidewalks or in doorways. The clicking of our heels echoed on the pavement as we found our way home. Arm in arm, the three of us reminisced about the evening, laughing loudly over the memories.

  Even though Brenda promised Jeff that she would be home, she stayed at my place. Having too much to drink, neither of them could drive, and the price of a cab all the way to her suburb would be enough to send one of her children to college.

  Chapter Four

  Movie Day

  The next afternoon, after dropping my sister off, I took her children to a movie, a cartoon called Wendy’s Wish. The film had been made from the first pre-teen novel I ever wrote. We went for ice cream afterwards at Rainbow Crème, my favorite ice cream shop that was inconveniently located one block from my apartment building. Even though I worked a lot, I always seemed to have time for a trip up the street for two scoops of rocky road. If I was really feeling dangerous, I’d choose caramel chocolate crunch.

  Since the place was also close to the theatre, the bright orange Formica booths were filled with ice cream–stained kids that had followed us from the movie.

  A little girl at the table across from us was concentrating hard on her scoop of vanilla, peering at it through pink heart-shaped lenses. Melted cream dripped from her chin onto her yellow rubber-duck jacket.

  High-pitched squeals and laughter filled the room as the children discussed my movie. Yes, I didn’t technically write the screenplay, or have much say after it was approved, but since I wrote the original story, in my mind, I considered it mine. The producers did involve me in choosing the actors, and watching them record the voices was interesting. Although I really didn’t understand the production of it, trying to figure out how the animation came to life was confusing. I usually just sat back and listened, acting like I understood what they were saying.

  “Isn’t that the same story from one of your books, Aunt Abby?” Justin asked, pulling me from my thoughts as he licked the tiger-tail ice cream that trickled down his arm in a thin orange and black streak.

  I sat across from him, a banana split waiting in front of me, Haley beside me on the cushioned bench. He glanced up, blue-gray eyes wide with curiosity, waiting for an answer. “Yes. Do you remember when I told you that a big producer asked me if they could make a movie based on my book, and I said yes?”

  He nodded, licked, and swallowed. “But how did they make it, and how did they make those people into cartoons? Can they make me into one?”

  Keeping a straight face was usually difficult when speaking to this kid, and the idea of him thinking he could become a cartoon was so comical, a laugh snuck out. “You would be interesting as an animated character. But they didn’t make anyone into a cartoon. They draw pictures on a computer and they make them come alive on the screen. Then people tape their voices so they can match it with the character drawings.”

  His eyes widened. “Cool. Can I put my voice on one?”

  I shook my head. “Probably not.”

  I turned to Haley, who had been quiet longer than usual. She was holding her tongue out and spinning the cone to catch the melted bubble gum ice cream. Some of it was smeared over almost every inch of her adorable face. I took out a tissue from my purse and wiped her off. “Okay, you two, let’s get you home before your clothes are covered, and your mother won’t let me take you out again.” When they finished eating, I removed the remaining ice cream that covered their arms and faces, then we headed for their place.

  Brenda lived outside of the city, about a twenty-minute drive, not far from where we grew up. “Hey, sis. Ready or not, your kids are here,” I yelled after letting myself into her two-story colonial. I envied her; I couldn’t wait to buy a house someday, instead of my apartment in the city. Right now it was fine, but like Brenda, I wouldn’t want to raise kids in the city. It was crowded, noisy, and not exactly as clean as the suburbs. It wasn’t often you’d find a Dumpster overflowing with garbage around here, or a homeless person sprawled out against the trees.

  “Hey, you made it back in one piece, I see,” Brenda said, coming out of the kitchen.

  “You were worried about them?” I sat down on the comfy leather couch that faced the large picture window. A perfect place to sit and watch the view of the park across the street. Swing sets, slides, climbers, rocking horses, and even a pond in the center waited for kids to come and play. It was a peaceful view; the grass that surrounded it all was brown with the occasional green blade sticking up, craving the sunlight still shining bright. Shrubs, marigolds, and petunias were planted throughout the park. Mothers could sit on the iron benches that were conveniently located in the shade, while their kids played. I watched a girl hang upside down on a climber; her long tresses flowing down in liquid, bluish-black ink, to the dirt below.

  I turned from the scene to my sister, who sat in the overstuffed armchair beside me. A book lay open on the end table. She must have taken the free time away from her kids to catch up on some reading.

  “No, I was worried about you. I thought you might have a hangover, and my kids talk a lot,” she explained absently, playing with the pages of the novel I couldn’t see the title of.<
br />
  “I told you this morning before I took you home that I was fine. What about you? Hungover? You’re older; I can handle it better than you.”

  A snort escaped her lips. “Bite your tongue. And two years doesn’t count.” She rolled her eyes, rubbing the soft arm of the chair with her hand. “Do you want to stay for dinner? Jeff’s cooking chicken on the barbeque.”

  “How can I say no to barbeque? Do you have any wine?”

  “Of course. What am I, a barbarian?” She stood up and walked into the kitchen.

  I followed her into the large, airy room and sat down on one of the stainless steel stools in front of the white and chrome island. “Why don’t we take it out on the deck? We can watch Jeff cook.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Outside, I lay on a lounge chair sipping my wine, enjoying the beautiful weather, listening to two finches fight over a worm in the big oak tree that Jeff had carved the kids’ names on. The smell of barbeque teased the air, mingling with the slight scent of lilacs.

  “So, Abby,” Jeff said, turning to look at me. He closed the lid of the barbeque and took a sip of beer. “My wife tells me you were falling all over some cop last night.” He grinned. “Did he cuff you?”

  “Uh…no. And I wasn’t falling all over him. We danced a couple of times.” I pointed at him with my free hand. “And if there was any falling, it was him.” Why did I sound so defensive? So what if he asked me to dance all night, and tried to kiss me, without asking for my number. I was an independent woman; I certainly did not need some hottie cop falling all over me.

  “Did you give him your phone number?” Brenda asked me. She was perched in a lounge chair beside me and leaned back against the head rest; her long silky hair hung over the edge.

  “No. He didn’t ask for it.” I noticed her eyebrows knit together, and I quickly asked, “What?” My tone was more defensive than I would have liked.