In a classic black strapless dress, she multitasks, having reluctantly agreed to meet Jack and his new girlfriend for drinks before attending Brody’s wood art exhibit. Her stomach grows nervous as to how she will react, seeing Jack with another woman. Although agreeably divorced, it may prove taxing to watch one she loved with his new love.
“Time to pay the piper.” She readies herself, entering a quaint lounge decadently adorned, its black and crimson color scheme seductive and inviting.
Her ears hone in to the smooth jazz music billowing from the live house band, providing a charming ambiance. Her eyes apprehensively scan the upscale establishment, the chatter of happy hour conversations merciful in its delivery cloud her otherwise restless mind.
She hears a whistle, followed by Jack’s voice, “Savannah. Over here.” He waves her to a booth tucked away in a quiet corner of the bar.
Relieved he does not offer up his arms for an embrace, as usual, but simply stands motioning for her to sit down in the seat across from him and his girlfriend.
“This is Daisy,” he says, introducing the attractive dark-haired woman sitting beside him.
Wow. She’s pretty. You did good, Jack. Savannah’s internal thought rings, conflicted at the woman’s comparative appearance, a complete one-eighty from hers. Although ultimately satisfied that he chose to go such a route, symbolic of his willingness to move on rather than replacing her with a like image.
Daisy eyes Savannah, her face quickly forcing a smile as she extends her hand. Hmm. Tall, blonde and fit. Guess that’s okay, if you like that played-out type. Quite unoriginal if you ask me. She could use a little makeup. Daisy, too, keeps her thoughts to herself.
Savannah greets her cordially, her private mind juxtaposed and inappropriate. I had a Cocker Spaniel named Daisy as a child. Sit Daisy. Shake. Good girl. The fleeting memory causes Savannah’s lips to curve upward as she shakes and releases Daisy’s hand.
“What are you all dolled up for?” Jack asks, taking note of the way Savannah’s little black dress sculpts her alluring form.
With Jack’s inquisition, Daisy scoots closer to him, placing his arm around her shoulder and clutching his thigh with her hand as if staking her claim. Her plunging neckline bubbling over, exhibiting a bountiful display of sun-kissed skin. Dolled up? Daisy huffs. Little black dress, please! That’s played-out, too. She could have at least done something with her hair. Daisy notices the uncultivated mane, long and parted at the center, its natural wave thick and lacking of polish. Looks like a hot mess. Sarah Jessica Parker wannabe.
Savannah self-consciously slumps her posture, attempting to draw attention away from herself. Easy Fidoette, I’m no threat to you, she picks up on Daisy’s territorial body language. “I’m headed to a wood art exhibit,” she answers Jack.
“We’re just a stop along the way, huh,” he says, slightly put out. Looking to Daisy, he continues, “Told you she stays busy. Always something pressing to do.”
“Jack said you write for the paper or something,” Daisy jumps in, her easy voice and interrogating body language at odds.
“Yeah. I have a column with The Times.” Savannah searches for a bartender, suddenly feeling an urge to take the edge off. “How about you?” she follows up as cordially expected.
“I work in healthcare. Medical billing. I work from home.” Daisy continues, rapidly getting to her point, “We’re setting up an office at Jack’s.”
We. At Jack’s. Savannah keenly processes, coming to her own conclusion, attempting not to allow the shock of the expeditious revelation to present itself in her expression.
“We’re taking the big leap. Moving in together,” Daisy happily confirms, nestling herself tighter to Jack. How do you like them apples, Bohemian Barbie?
Jack looks to Savannah, as if he expects her to react. She does not. “That’s cool. Congratulations.” Savannah hears the words rolling off her tongue, distant to any emotion.
“What are you drinking, Ma’am?” A bartender approaches the booth, tending to Savannah’s thirst, Jack and Daisy already effectively managed, each having a light beer.
“I’ll have a Guinness.” Savannah smiles widely at the bartender, a true godsend.
“You got it,” he says, retreating from the table in pursuit of her libation.
“Guinness?” Daisy pipes. “Pretty stout drinking for a girl. You know that stuff will make you fat.”
Savannah chuckles. “If I’m going to drink, I want to taste it,” she says, eyeing their light, watered-down beverages. “‘Only for the bold,’ ” Savannah deems the Guinness slogan.
“‘Go big or go home,’” Jack quips, her mantra. “Savannah Bondurant doesn’t do anything halfway.” He rolls his eyes.
Growing irritated at his digs and the general course of conversation, Savannah verbalizes her internal thought with a bite, “That’s right. Life is for the bold. If you can’t handle it, go sit on the sidelines.”
“Ooh!” Daisy’s voice echoes, high-pitched. Maybe I misread this one. Might be a little spunk behind that permanent fake ‘I try too hard’ smile. She scrutinizes Savannah’s expression.
Jack simply tips his beer up, chugging what’s left in his glass, recognizing a familiar face passing by. “Hey man! What’s going on?” Jack calls to a fellow firefighter and his wife on their way to a table.
“Hey Brigant,” the firefighter addresses him as is customary to station life, by his last name. “Nothing much. Friday night. Just showing the wife a good time.”
Savannah smiles at the unfamiliar firefighter and his wife, growing very uncomfortable at the whole scene. A tell-tale sign that she never should have agreed to this meeting. If you’re doing something you wouldn’t want the whole world to know, you probably shouldn’t be doing it, Savannah, she scolds. Her largest aggregate not knowing what Jack has said about her and their separation. Another habit of late he seemed to acquire, telling everybody everything, the way he wanted to tell it, regardless of the truth. No telling what the firefighters and their wives must think of me.
“I understand that, man.” Jack flashes his fellow firefighter a gluttonous smile. “I’m treating the ex-wife and the new girlfriend tonight,” he says boastfully, as if such a fact deserves a pat on the back.
Idiot. Savannah rolls her eyes, wishing she could hide under the table. Feeling a burning need to explain, but opting not to for fear of making the engagement sound more twisted than it really is.
The firefighter’s wife looks from Savannah to Daisy, then to her husband very uncomfortably at the admission, tugging on his arm.
“Well…guess we’ll be off to our table,” the firefighter responds, not quite knowing how to respond. “Good luck with that, Brigant,” he mutters out the side of his mouth, escorting his fidgety wife.
The bartender unknowingly plays mediator, delivering Savannah’s Guinness, which she quickly places to her lips, indulging in a lavish taste.
“Bring me another,” Jack instructs the man, “with a shot of Jäger.” He looks at Savannah challengingly, awaiting her concerned protest to his habitual drinking, a regular argument toward the demise of their relationship.
“You got it, Boss,” the bartender affirms, fleeing.
Savannah, a regular lightweight in the alcoholic beverage department, can’t help but laugh, feeling the effects of her quarter glass of Guinness. Jack and Daisy eye her peculiarly. Savannah shrugs. “What else can we do, but laugh? This is sooo awkward.” She says what everyone else is thinking, giving in to another self-soothing belly laugh. “Who does this!”
Jack watches her, unwilling to join in, reflecting and wishing that he could turn back the clock when their reciprocal laughter far outweighed their hurt and disappointment.
Whatever. Daisy takes a sip of her light beer. It’s like having drinks with a bobble-head. She’s so bubbly. Daisy refuses to acknowledge the absurdity of the moment.
“Let’s just get everything out on the table,” Savannah prefaces, her laughter subsiding,
knowing no other way to be but direct. ‘Some things are better left unsaid,’ the advice of her mother, Buffy, makes a fleeting pass in her mind. Staying true to herself, she is compelled to face the big fat elephant in the room. “From my understanding, we’re here to do a little meet and greet, for you.” Her eyes level with Daisy’s. “I guess Jack has some concerns about your comfort with he and I maintaining civility.” Jealous much?
Daisy wastes no time with pretense now that Savannah has flung the door wide open. “Do you make a habit of being friends with your exes?” So you can enjoy the fringe benefits? Tramp. Her eyes diligently interrogate Savannah’s as if she is prepared to decipher a lie.
“I don’t have that many exes to make it a habit.” Savannah’s lips teetering between a smile and a smirk. “And I wouldn’t exactly call Jack and I friends. We’re friendly. We don’t have consistent contact or anything. The way friends would. Especially since the divorce became final.” Shut up, Savannah, you don’t have to explain yourself to some begrudging ninny.
“Friend…ly,” Jack huffs, anxiously awaiting his beverages.
Daisy paws and strokes at him, much like a cat settling into its dominion, playing to his impatience. “I wouldn’t remain friends with an ex…unless I had future intentions with him,” she leads. So, step-off, wench.
“I have no future intentions with him, I assure you. What we had has been broken for some time. Beyond repair. We tried. It didn’t work. Why would either one of us want to go back to that,” she says, her voice stern, certainly not a question. If I wanted him, I’d have him. You’re more than welcome to my leftovers. So uncalled for, Savannah. Get a hold of yourself.
“Well, I know he doesn’t want to go back to that,” Daisy emphasizes. “That’s why I wanted to meet you. To get a feel for your intentions.” And to size-up my competition. You’ve got nothing on me, aviation blonde.
“This should do it, shouldn’t it?” Savannah motions in their cuddly direction. “If I can sit here with the two of you, being affectionate and not be bothered by that, then there’s your answer.” What more do you want from me? Blood? First born? Restraining order?
“Guess she has a point, huh babe,” Daisy talks to Jack, coaxing his face toward hers, theirs lips meeting. Let’s see if this bothers you, Miss Cool as a Cucumber. ‘I’m not jealous.’ Blah blah blah!
Don’t mind me, Savannah internalizes, the obvious and intentional PDA nearly causing her to throw up in her mouth. Would you like to strip down right here on the table and show me? Officially mark your territory. “We’re all adults here,” Savannah continues, attempting to squash the high school vibe. “You don’t get to be thirty years old without having some relationship baggage. The idea of being someone’s one and only is irrelevant at this age. But you can certainly be the last,” she adds, truly hopeful that they have found that perfect fit with each other. Good luck to you!
“We were talking about that the other day, weren’t we, babe?” Daisy runs her fingers through Jack’s hair. “About how it took us thirty years to find one another.” I can make him so much happier than you ever did. I own it in bed. Bet you never make a peep, goody-goody. Probably like humping a sack of potatoes.
“Yep,” Jack agrees, eagerly accepting his drinks from the bartender. He downs the shot and chases it with a hefty gulp of beer. “I saw your column the other day. Taking Out The Trash. Inspiring,” he says, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“What column?” Daisy seeks clarification, discontent that the two of them share information she is not privy to.
“It was a piece about letting go of past relationships,” Savannah explains dryly. The topic, usually causing her guilt, has no such effect in this instance. Feeling purposely jabbed, Savannah takes a finite amount of pleasure in her confession. “You know, taking out the trash…getting rid of the excess baggage. Let it go and move on.”
“Were you having problems with that?” Daisy inquires. “Jack’s doing fine. He’s moved on,” she is sure to add, a reminder to him and a convincing resolution to herself.
“I may have a few issues,” Savannah answers candidly, quickly pointing out, “not because I’m still in love. I’m just trying to find a good balance. You know, get to a healthy place. Where I don’t feel like a failure for getting divorced. Don’t feel bad for hurting another human being.” She eyes her phone, its vibration calling her attention from inside her glittery clutch, a text from Brody inquiring of her much desired attendance.
Daisy notices the distraction, neither female missing a beat. Both very much in tune with the other’s facial expressions, body language and general nuances.
“Who’s that?” Jack notices too, simply not as coy to make only a mental note, his inquiry of her phone action is immediate.
Savannah ignores him, continuing onward with Daisy. “There’s no reason to share a portion of your life with someone only to end it with hate and resentment. The adult thing to do…the healthy thing to do…is for me to honor what was, put it to rest peacefully and move forward.”
“I get that.” Daisy takes a drink of her beer, quickly returning her hand to Jack’s thigh. You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, little girl. ‘I just want world peace.’ Girl, please! You ain’t never going to be no Miss America. “Are you seeing anyone? Dating?” Her question probed by Savannah’s passing attention to her phone, calculated and aloof, a timely segue.
“I’m getting my feet wet,” Savannah keeps it short. You don’t know me like that to start in with those questions, Daisy Mae. Although her disclosure is subtle, she is unable to camouflage the sparkle in her eye accompanying a satisfied grin with the thought of Brody—the delectable pond into which she is dipping said toe.
“From that expression, I’d say you dove off the deep end!” Daisy replies happily, her first genuine reaction since Savannah’s arrival. Who do you think you’re fooling? I’d recognize that look anywhere. You got a man on the brain. And in your bed. So long as it’s not my man, we’re good! With the exciting revelation, Daisy pushes against Jack from inside the booth, feeling secure enough to leave him and Savannah at the table unattended. “I got to go.” She heads for the ladies’ room, her bladder about to burst.
Savannah grows quite uncomfortable with Daisy’s absence, ironically wishing for her quick return. Jack leans his frame onto the table, engaging Savannah. She leans back against the booth, sitting straight up attempting to thwart Jack’s confidential body posturing.
“You fucking that dumb gym jock fuck?” He keeps his harsh voice down in the bar, unwilling to let her cell phone interruption go.
Savannah bites down on her bottom lip, shaking her head. Her eyes darting back and forth between Jack and her half-full glass of Guinness, talking herself out of picking it up and throwing the dark-colored, sticky substance at his uncouth little mouth. “That’s your first and final freebie, Jack,” she warns through gritting teeth, wondering how someone so handsome can be so ugly.
“What do you expect me to do!” Aware of his rising voice, he pulls it back down.
“I expect you to be an adult.” Savannah leans over the table toward him, her shoulder purposely leading. Although the action engaging, she does not present with her chest, refusing to exhibit an open welcoming posture. “You sit here and call someone you don’t even know names. You chastise me for dating, when you’re moving in with your girlfriend of a few weeks,” she bites. Is she one of those ‘friends’ you’ve been calling and texting and whatever else for the past few months? Savannah refuses to ask aloud, unwilling to come across as though she cares or is bothered by such a fact. “You two have been pawing and kissing all over each other from the moment we sat down. You don’t have a leg to stand on, Jack. It doesn’t matter if I’m fucking,” she whispers his term bitterly, “the whole entire gym. It’s none of your business. It does not concern you.” Her index finger, threatening his space, beats firmly atop the table.
“Doesn’t concern me? I love you, Savannah. I didn’t want any of this,”
he whispers, looking toward the ladies’ room, keeping track of Daisy, should she catch him in the act.
“You’re unbelievable.” Savannah chuckles defiantly. “You’ve got a woman in that bathroom. One I’m presuming you’ve told the same thing. That you love her.” Savannah grabs up her blinging silver clutch, securing it under her arm. “How do you think she’d feel if she knew you were out here telling me this crap?” her question completely rhetorical. “If you have issues, get them worked out before bringing someone new into your life. Why would you dump all of that garbage on her. You’re not some disrespectful…conniving little snake?” the first of her statements that actually poses itself as a question.
“Oh, I don’t know, Savannah.” He throws his hands up in the air. “Maybe because it feels good to be wanted. To actually have a woman who makes me feel needed.” Jack looks back and forth from Savannah to the ladies’ room, still keeping an eye out.
“That’s great! Let her want you. Want her back. Do your thing, Jack.” She stands from the table.
Jack grabs her arm. “Doesn’t even bother you, does it?” He shrugs, his expression a mixture of hurt and hate. “To see me with someone else.”
Savannah snatches her arm out of his hand, pulling a ten dollar bill from her clutch, her thoughts rolling. “And the truth comes out. You didn’t invite me here for Daisy. You did this for you.”
“I’ll get it,” Jack offers to buy her drink. “Please, sit back down.” Again, he eyes the ladies’ room.
“No. You won’t.” Savannah adamantly places the bill under her half-full glass of Guinness. “I don’t even know you anymore, Jack. Give Daisy my apologies for not saying goodbye.”
“Don’t leave. Come on. Just sit back down.” He worries what Daisy will think of her abrupt departure.
“Ha!” Savannah chuckles. “I’d have to be a glutton.” She contemplates what a fool she has been to sit here and play along with the charade, explaining and defending herself for nothing. “You made your bed, now lie in it.” Savannah hears Jack’s fist bounce off the table as she promptly walks away.
Let It Go Page 12
