Rock'n Tapestries

by Shari Copell

  Willow met me at the door of Tapestries, her chest heaving in panic, her eyes round with terror. She gripped me by the upper arms and pushed me back against the wall as soon as I stepped in from the street.

  “What’s wrong? Did you see Fred?”

  Tapestries came with an official ghost we all affectionately called Fred, though he usually hung out in the basement.

  Willow peered over her shoulder, still holding me against the wall, and then looked back at me. “ I don’t know how to tell you this, but Asher Pratt got a job as a bartender here. He’s out there right now with Scott.”

  I know there’s no way to prepare someone for news like that. I appreciate it when Willow tells me things in advance, but my bladder nearly let loose.

  My brain locked up for a moment as I stared into her green eyes. She had her head tilted, searching my face, watching me as though she thought she might have to call 9-1-1.

  “What?” was all I could manage. “Why? How?”

  “Apparently, he took a bartending course a couple of years ago. He’s really good too. He just made me the best margarita I’ve ever had.”

  My chest locked up. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. “Willow, I can’t....I can’t...he can’t work here. If he does, I can’t.”

  “That’s up to you, but you can’t quit tonight. Scott’s expecting a large crowd, and you’re one of the best waitresses we have. I’ll run interference so you don’t have to deal with him that much.”

  Suddenly, it was all too much. Just too fucking much for me to handle. I knew why he’d gotten a job at Tapestries. I felt like I was being hunted. I didn’t know what his agenda was where I was concerned, but I needed to grow a pair and deal with him.

  My stomach flipped over on itself thinking of being in the same space with him. I tore myself from Willow’s grip, sprinted into the restroom in the lobby, and went to my knees in front of the toilet.

  I shook and pleaded with the goddess in charge of fairness and justice to take care of this for me. Please not this. Not this. Anything but this.

  “You can’t keep avoiding the issue this way.” Willow was standing outside the stall because I’d forgotten to lock the restroom door on my way in. I pulled my cheek off the toilet lid and turned to look at her toned calves and purple-and-black Nikes under the door of the stall.

  “For fucks sake, it’s time for you to get over him. Sometimes I don’t think you’re even trying.”

  I smoothed my skirt, tucked my T-shirt back in, and headed out to the bar for a showdown with Asher. Luckily, it was an hour before opening time—the bar was empty.

  He was pouring four or five different kinds of alcohol into a stainless steel shaker. I stood on the brass foot rail around the bottom of the bar and leaned across the polished wood bar top.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I narrowed my eyes at the back of his head, but he saw me in the mirror behind the bar.

  My nostrils automatically widened as I inhaled. The son-of-a-bitch was wearing Paco Rabanne again.

  Paco Rabanne is one of those olfactory triggers for me. To me, it smells like mind-blowing Asher-sex. If I could make it through being this close to him when he was wearing that particular cologne, I could leap tall buildings in a single bound.

  He glanced up, his eyes bright. A half-smile curved those oh-so-kissable lips. “Making a Long Island iced tea.”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  “Can’t a guy use his bartending skills?” He shoved another stainless steel shaker over the top of his concoction and shook it vigorously.

  “Does it have to be here?”

  “Is there some reason it shouldn’t be here?”

  Classic Asher. Weave and dodge. Feint and stall. Answer all questions with a question. Mr. Funnyman.

  “This is my place of employment. It’s my Asher-free zone, and you’re screwing up the karma here.”

  “Now that’s just about the nastiest thing I’ve ever heard a waitress say. So much for the friendly atmosphere at Tapestries.” He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning when he said it. It lit the fuse to a stick of dynamite inside me.

  He poured the iced tea into two glasses then turned and set one in front of me. I noticed he had a tattoo on his right forearm that said “Mother” inside a large heart with purple banners around it. He hadn’t had it when I dated him five years before. He’d also had both ears pierced five or six times from top to bottom.

  “Cut the bullshit. The note, the phone call, and now this. What are you doing? This smells of desperation, and that’s not a word I associate with you.”

  “I just want to be around Chelsea Whitaker, but she’s not cooperating. I’ve been forced to take desperate measures. It’s sad, isn’t it?” He stuck his lip out in a pout.

  “What’s sad is that you think I believe you.” I leaned in closer and studied him. “Why don’t you just admit it? You’re looking to get laid, you’ve got nothing better going for you right now, and you think I’ll be an easy target. Here’s a news flash, asshole. I took my turn being the flavor of the month, and I’m not doing it again.”

  He leaned across the bar on his elbows and stared into my eyes. Sexy toffee, gooey, sweet poison. I was all tangled up for a moment. I had to take a deep breath and extricate myself.

  For one brief nanosecond, not even a full heartbeat, he looked shocked. And hurt. Then the cocky face slid right back into place, and he smiled at me.

  “Ah, my sweet and juicy Chelsea, I do love a challenge.”

  Willow was as good as her word and made sure I didn’t have to deal too much with Asher that night.

  Asher attracts a crowd of women to him no matter where he goes. That’s just how it is. By the end of the night, he had a bevy of drunken bimbos at the end of the bar gushing over the drinks he was making. As the liquor flowed, more and more boob was exposed. I saw a couple of nipples. And he was loving it.

  Watching him flirt with all those women did painful things to my insides. It brought back memories I’d worked hard to dispose of. You just have to think through stuff like that, compartmentalize it, and deposit it into the suitable trash bin in your brain. I’d loved Asher unconditionally, but he refused to be faithful. It was the thing that drove the ice pick into the heart of our relationship.

  “Go dump a cold drink on his crotch,” Willow suggested as we watched the disgusting display from the shadows across the room. “That’ll cool him down.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not going to stoop to his level. Trust me, ignoring him will hurt him worse than if I spilled a drink on him. That’s why he’s working here right now. I was doing my best to pretend he didn’t exist, and he can’t stand that. It’s the Asher Pratt Theory of How The World Revolves Around Me. He thought because he took me to the hospital, it negated all the other shit he’d done to me. ”

  “He is gorgeous though.” Willow clucked and shook her head. “I can see how something like that could burrow into your psyche and stay there.”

  Yep. If I were honest, (and I will be here) I still had strong feelings for Asher. In fact, it pained me to know I would always have feelings for Asher. I would never be free of this charming, maddening, cheating asshole bastard. It was going to be a real test of my endurance to work with him.

  “We need to find you a date.” Willow turned to me with determination in her eyes. “That’ll send him a message. Do you want me to find someone for you?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not a charity case. I don’t need you to set anything up for me.”

  “Charity case?” She laughed sarcastically. “You don’t see the guys checking you out, do you? Chels, you’re beautiful, but you close yourself off from everyone who tries to approach you. You’re an ice queen. No man is going to try and chip through all that cold.”

  “I don’t care. Men are nothing but trouble.”

  Liar! Liar! In fact, I was terribly lonely. I often wished I had a guy to take me to dinner, someone I could waste a day with, s
itting on the edge of the reservoir, laughing and touching. I’d had that for a short time with Asher.

  I can’t explain it, but all that pain suddenly bubbled up into my chest and sat there, heavy and ugly, a giant lump of loathing. And strangely enough, it felt right, as though I were supposed to be feeling it. Was this what healing felt like?

  I mopped up the back room four times, waiting for Asher to leave the bar. He was waiting for me to leave too. I would’ve mopped the floor a hundred times just to avoid him.

  He finally left at three in the morning. Exhausted, I grabbed my jacket and purse and headed toward the door. I thought Scott and I were the only ones in the bar just then, and I didn’t want to be alone with him. I suppose I shouldn’t have worried. He was in the back room counting all the money they’d made that night.

  As I walked through the bar, Marybeth called to me. I was surprised she was still there. When I turned, she waved a Pepsi on the rocks, complete with lemon, over her head then set it down on the bar in my usual spot. It was a summons, an invitation to talk.

  “It’s three in the morning, Marybeth. It’s time to go home.” I cast an anxious gaze toward the door, wondering if I could get away with refusing her.

  “Stay with me until I finish cleaning up. Then we can walk out to our cars together.” She wiped the top of the glossy cherry bar with an old dishcloth as she talked.

  Though it was well lit, and I’d never been accosted while leaving Tapestries, the back parking lot was a bit scary in the wee hours of morning. She smiled a little as I heaved a sigh. You didn’t say no to Marybeth Catalino. I turned around to go and sit at the bar with her.

  “S’up, Chels?” She dumped the remainder of the soggy lemons and limes into the garbage disposal and pushed the button.

  “Not much. Think I may have made enough money tonight to pay off my car. Now I can get my own apartment.”

  She raised her eyebrows and smiled. “That’s awesome!”

  I took a drink of my Pepsi then pushed at the lemon floating on the top. I thought carefully of what I wanted to say next.

  “How did you enjoy working with Asher tonight?” I tried to keep my tone nonchalant, but my voice sounded like someone crinkling aluminum foil. It was a stupid question to ask—a crazy, high school girl thought—but I wanted to collect allies in the event that people starting picking sides. Something inside me wanted to make him the bad guy.

  “Oh my God, if I were in my mid-twenties I’d be all over that like ugly on an ape.” Marybeth shook her head and laughed. “He’s a charmer, that one. Nice ass too.”

  I slumped in my chair, running my fingertips through the drops of water on the outside of my glass. What could I say that wouldn’t make me sound like a rejected bitch?

  She peered up at me as she scrubbed the small stainless-steel sink under the bar. “Willow told me about you and Asher.”

  I felt my cheeks go hot. “Willow should keep her mouth shut.”

  “She only told me what I already suspected. A blind man could see you have feelings for him.”

  “I do not have feelings for him. He’s ancient history. He was incapable of keeping his dick behind his zipper, and I don’t share.” I tried not to sound angry. Angry meant I cared, and I didn’t.

  “He talked about you a lot tonight. Kept looking over the crowd to see if he could see you.”

  “You mean the crowd of sluts at the end of the bar? The ones he was making drinks for? Which one of those walking vaginas did he take home with him?”

  Uh-oh. I was headed into dangerous territory. This was so not me. I didn’t want to sound like I sounded. I took a deep breath.

  Marybeth turned to the liquor shelves in front of the mirror and grabbed a bottle of Captain Morgan spiced rum. She poured a shot into my Pepsi, her eyes never leaving mine.

  “I shouldn’t be drinking and driving,” I mumbled.

  “One shot’s not going to fuck you up.” She leaned across the bar on her elbows. “Tell me what happened.”

  I bet Marybeth Catalino was awesome when she was twenty-four. She’s awesome now. She’s short—about five feet tall—solid and stocky, long dirty-blonde hair. I wouldn’t want to be the one to cross her. She looks a little weathered, but it suits her, like a fine patina on a copper statue. I know she’s had a rough life. I think she said once she had a husband who beat her so badly she had to be hospitalized. She said the smartest, wisest things sometimes, and we girls hung on her every word.

  I opened a vein for Marybeth that night. I told her everything, right down to how my gut still clenched with a longing ache every single time I thought of him. I told her I didn’t think I’d ever get over him, that my foolish, treacherous body still wanted to present itself to Asher on a silver platter. I told her I was pathetic, stupid, it would never be what I wanted it to be. I told her I wanted babies and a house of my own and I was the dumbest bitch on the planet to dream of that kind of a life with him.

  She just listened, bobbing her head occasionally, handing me a tissue when my pain started to leak out my eyes. I felt a little better afterward. I dunno—maybe I needed to purge like that.

  When I was done, I slumped across the bar as if I were a popped balloon, spent, exhausted.

  She twitched her lips into a slight smile. “Y’know, I always thought women should be more like men.”

  “What?” I lifted my gaze to her. “Why?”

  She laughed sardonically. “Let’s face it. You can order the best part of a man from an Adam & Eve catalog. And yet...” She pulled a stool around the end of the bar and sat in front of me. “I like sex. Once in a while, I get the urge to make that connection with a man. To have him hold me, touch me. They’re warm, and I like the way they smell. I like the way their lips feel on mine; the way the stubble on their chin rakes across my face. You can’t get that from a dildo.”

  “Marybeth!” My cheeks went hot with embarrassment.

  She laughed. “I like all that, and yet I don’t want a man in my life. I think in that regard, I’m more like a man. I want the sex with no commitment, no strings. It’s less complicated that way.”

  “Maybe so, but I’m young yet. I want the dream. I want a guy who thinks I hung the moon. I want someone to love me so hard he thinks he’ll die without me. I want a guy who thinks I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen and has eyes only for me.”

  She scowled then chuckled. “Jesus Christ, Chelsea. Life is not a fucking romance novel. That’s where you young girls trip yourselves up. You think your life is going to be a Cinderella story, and I’m here to tell you it’s not going to be like that at all. I have pins holding my right shoulder together that give the lie to that ‘cherished princess’ bullshit.” She sighed and reached across to pat my hand. “I get it though. I felt just like you did once. And I’m sure some women do get the fairy tale. I didn’t.”

  So here we sat at 3:30 a.m. on East Carson Street in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania—Marybeth and me—losers in the love department, kindred spirits in pain. I knew she’d opened a vein for me as well, and I appreciated it.

  “What am I gonna do, Marybeth?” I whispered past the lump in my throat. “I don’t know what he wants from me. I don’t know if I can work here if he does.”

  “He’s working here because of you, you know.”

  “I know. Ever since he carried me out of the freezer and took me to the hospital, he seems to want to start something up again. I just don’t....my heart is not going to be able to take it.”

  She smiled a mysterious smile and nodded, intent on tearing a straw wrapper apart. She does stuff like that when she’s thinking.

  “Well, whatever you decide to do, don’t pretend you don’t have choices here.”

  “What?”

  “You can’t control what Asher does. You can only control how you react to him. You get to choose. Quit Tapestries, if that’s your choice. But if it were me, I’d buddy up to that son-of-a-bitch like he was my best friend.”

  I narrowed my eyes and s
hook my head. “I don’t follow.”

  “You need a little hair of the dog that bit you, sweetheart. If it were me, I’d want to know what happened, so I could get some perspective. Sometimes to get over something, you have to see it for the mind-fuck it is. I can tell you one thing: avoiding him is not going to work. You’re a challenge to him right now. Men love it when a woman ignores them. He’s going to pursue you until you give in. Take your power back, Chels. You go after him. Make him tell you what happened.”

  I stared open-mouthed at her. She was suggesting that I actually interact with that asshole. It was inconceivable.

  “I can’t do that. I’ll just get my hopes up again, and he’ll hurt me. I still haven’t recovered from the last time he body-slammed my heart.”

  She shrugged and looked annoyed. “Oh, big deal. Boo hoo, you’ll get hurt. And you’ll find a way to deal with it and move on. It’s what women do, Chels. It’s what makes us strong. It’s what makes us better.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I met with Willow the next day at McDonald’s for lunch, hoping to run Marybeth’s theories past her. We both slid into a booth, trays in hand.

  “Marybeth used the term ‘hair of the dog.’ I had some idea what it meant, but I had to ask my dad to be sure. It basically means I should immerse myself in the very thing that caused me pain.” I blew out a breath as I opened my fish sandwich. “And that just seems like the stupidest contradiction in terms ever. Why would I do that to myself?” I shook my head. “Seems like a strange way to get over someone. By being around them.”

  “Marybeth is a woman of the sixties. They did a lot of that deep introspection thinking stuff back then. Still, she’s awesome smart, and she’s been through a lot in her life. She should know what she’s talking about.” Willow canted her head and looked at me. “I thought about you last night. I don’t want to sound like Marybeth, but I think what happens next is totally up to you. You can’t ignore him. You have to ask him to make drinks for customers, so you’ll have to talk to him.” She shoved a wad of French fries into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “That means you have two choices: you can be rotten as hell, or you can be reasonably nice. I mean, you don’t have to go jumping into his lap or anything, but can you at least find a way to talk to him without verbally tearing his balls off? I guess it depends on what kind of a working environment you want to have.” She shrugged. “Personally, I’d talk to him. I think that might flip him out more than if you were mean. If you can find a way to be around him without feeling like you want to cut his throat, it could help you get over him. He’s just a guy, Chelsea. You give him way too much power.”