by Karen Renee
I finished my sandwich and used the paper towel to wipe my mouth and my fingers. Grabbing the shopping bags, I upended them over the bed. I really wanted to wear the teal-and-black rockabilly dress I picked up, but I didn’t think there were any black heels to go with it to be found. The dress was retro: fifties, maybe early sixties, and it hugged my figure from breasts to hips then flared out, mermaid-style, but ended at the tops of my knees. When I tried it on, my first thought was that I could totally be an extra on Mad Men if the show were shooting in Jacksonville. The problem was not only my lack of appropriate shoes, but also that if I wasn’t careful I would be very close to upstaging a drag queen. If I did say so myself, I knew I would look that good in it, assuming I put the right effort into my hair and makeup when I wore it.
I remembered that I had told Tucker I would call him back, so I grabbed my cell and did that.
“Yo, Frankie,” he said after the first ring.
“Yo, yourself. What time are you two going to be at the Metro?”
“Oh, you know how it is. Maybe nine at the earliest. But things won’t get to shakin’ until ten or so.”
I sighed as I thought about my dilemma.
Never one to miss a beat, Tucker asked, “What was that sigh about?”
“I don’t know what to wear. Mallory left some of the fabulous dresses I bought in Daytona here for me, but I have no shoes.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky to have two best friends this side of the beach, with a key to your house?”
I shook my head at myself. “How the hell could I forget something like that, and yet, I did. Are you sure it wouldn't be a problem to drop by my place? I don’t want to inconvenience you guys. It is kind of out of the way from Marsh Landing.”
Based on his tone of voice, I had a feeling Tucker’s head was cocked to the side at my comment, “Now that’s utter bullshit, and you damn-well know it.”
“No, it isn’t, really. I mean JTB is right there, and to come to my place you gotta come all the way up to Atlantic and beyond.”
“BFD, girlfriend. The Jazz Festival is also going on, so it’s a crapshoot as to how good or bad 95 will be and taking the Matthews Bridge to use Union Street to cut over to Jefferson can sometimes be even quicker. I know what your problem is. You just don’t want us getting ideas about borrowing your shoes. Only Reggie has a similarly-sized foot, darling. I could go to your place now and still be back in time to gussy myself up.”
My head fell back on my neck, and I said, “You’re just that determined, aren’t you?”
“Damn right, I am. Been too long since you got out of the house, and meeting these other women should be stellar.”
I wrapped up our conversation by telling Tucker where he could find three specific pairs of shoes that would pair with any of the three dresses at my disposal. I wouldn’t get the footwear until I met up with him at the Metro around nine, but I wasn’t out to impress anyone until then anyway. Now I just had to tackle my other dilemma, which was figuring out a dress that would be ok to wear to Kickback’s without looking too done up. I laid out the three dresses I had on hand. The dress I wore to Warren and Marnie’s wedding was still down in Daytona. There wasn’t room in the saddle bags for it without folding it tighter than I would have liked, so I left it and Marnie assured me she’d get it cleaned and send it to me. I told her she didn’t need to clean it, but I was learning that she was pushy when she wanted to do something. Guess that was one thing she and Warren had in common.
Two of my options on dresses were the teal-and-black dress and a wine-red polka-dot-patchwork sleeveless dress that was vintage swing-era. It was fitted through the waist and had two vertical rows of buttons one on either side of the midriff, which accentuated my stomach. I knew Vamp would argue with me, but I felt like the buttons shouted for people to look at my poochy belly, so that was a definite drawback to wearing it to the drag queen show. My third option was a fifties-style flare dress in a bright turquoise that was very summery. The bodice was fitted with a flared skirt which made my curvy figure look almost drool-worthy. The dress was sleeveless with a girlie sailor-style collar and was patterned with fifties-esque martini glasses all over it. A black belt cinched at the waist which made me appear to have an hourglass figure.
When I had come back with my sandwich earlier, I had only pushed the door slightly closed. As I was standing at the edge of the bed deliberating about which outfit to wear, the door swung open swiftly. Suddenly Abby, Jackie, Trixie, and Mallory were all in the room with me.
“What are you doin’? Movin’ into the compound?” Trixie asked.
I gave her a sideways glance and said, “No. I’m figuring out what to wear tonight. I already know the teal dress is out.”
“Why?” Jackie asked, in a tone that sounded mildly offended.
I remembered my mental note for her and Mallory, so I said, “I don’t know if you’ve been to a gay bar, since I seriously cannot picture Henry stepping foot in one just for fun. However, when drag queens are in attendance, you don’t want to affront them in any way if you can help it. But you really don’t want to be dressed better than a queen at their show. The only people who can throw more attitude than insulted drag queens, in my experience, are insulted black women. So, I’m not setting foot in there tonight in that dress. Don’t want to sound full of myself, but with hair and makeup, I look fabulous in that get-up.”
Jackie nodded, “Got it. Well, both dresses are cute, but do you have shoes for each dress?”
“I’ve got Tucker swinging by my place to get three different pairs of shoes for me. He or Reggie will meet me at the door or in the parking lot.”
“You can’t be serious?” Trixie asked.
“What do you mean?”
Waving her hand at the dresses dismissively, she said, “These are all too long and don’t show enough cleavage.”
Abby gently put in, “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, Trix.”
“Of course it is. She’s one of us, she can’t be runnin’ ’round in this kinda stuff. She needs something that hits mid-thigh at the longest.”
“It’s a gay bar, you know that right, Trixie?” Mallory asked.
Trixie glowered at Mallory. “Of course I know that! And that’s why it shouldn’t matter too much what she wears, but she should show everybody she’s a biker babe to the core. None of this says biker. It all says Mrs. Cleaver handed down some of her edgier dresses to her great-great granddaughter.”
Shaking my head, I said, “Trixie—”
But she cut me off with a clap of her hands, “I got it! You and I are similar in proportions. I got a bandage dress that should fit you perfect!”
It should be noted that Trixie and I were definitely not similar. Not in proportions, not in style and not in coloring of skin or hair. I have olive skin with dark hair, while Trixie has fair skin with freckles and her hair was platinum-blonde with purple at the tips. I could not imagine that any dress she had would be complimentary to my olive skin, or to my shorter figure. To my dismay, Trixie bolted from the room before I could say word one about how she really didn’t need to be that generous to me.
The sigh I blew out was so forceful a low and short raspberry sounded from my mouth.
Abby put her hand on my bicep, “Don’t worry, Rainey. She means well. Just humor her, but wear whatever you feel good in. Personally, I like the martini dress. It doesn’t say ‘June Cleaver’ either, no matter what Trixie thinks. It’s sassy and screams, ‘Let’s have a party.’”
Mallory turned her head to each dress, then declared, “I think Abby’s right. The martini dress is semi-swanky, but fun all at the same time. Plus, I bet that aqua color does wonders for your eyes and hair.”
I grabbed the other two dresses. “All right, then. Decision made. Thanks, ladies.”
I still had an hour before I needed to meet Roxanne, and I wanted to take a shower. I wasn’t sure if the ladies would help me get out of the compound or not, but I decided to fib to them so they
wouldn’t find themselves in hot water with their respective bikers later on.
“Well, I’m gonna grab a shower, and then a nap so I’m ready for tonight’s festivities with Reggie and Tucker. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a show at the Metro, but if it’s as good as it once was, tonight should be a wild night for sure.”
Mallory grinned, and then said, “That reminds me, I gotta call Natasha. She probably won’t be very happy with me, once she finds out I gotta bail right when Trombone Shorty takes the stage. So, I’ll leave you to it. Cal and I need to be there at what time? Nine or so?”
Trixie spoke from the doorway before I could. “We’re rollin’ up on that joint ‘round nine-thirty. I wanna have a decent seat. Don’t know when I’ll get another chance to do this kind of thing.”
I was going to tell Trixie that if she won over Reg and Tucker, then they’d likely call her up to go with them any time they had a chance to go. She’d have to find it out for herself, though, because Abby hooked an arm around Trixie’s shoulders and said, “C’mon, Trix. Our girl here’s had a long ride from Daytona and then she had to sit in an interrogation room. I can appreciate her need to get cleaned up.”
Without further ado, the ladies breezed out of Vamp’s room, and I set about trying to make my great escape.
CHAPTER 20
I stepped into the dress and zipped up the back. I wished desperately that I was at home. Not just because then I would have more of my own stuff at my disposal, like decent jewelry to further accentuate this kick-ass dress, but also a full-length mirror so I could thoroughly assess my appearance. The mirror perched above the pedestal sink was great for getting my make-up done, but it was hell for me to get the full effect of my martini-glass dress. I blew out a sigh at my reflection because there was nothing to be done for it; I had to get moving, and do it in stealth-mode so nobody would hear or see me leaving.
I pulled my old black motorcycle boots on and felt extreme relief that Roxanne had decided on Kickback’s as our meeting place. I felt like a dork wearing motorcycle boots with such a cool retro-style dress, but if there was any place in Jacksonville where nobody would bat an eye, it was any restaurant in Riverside. I would not be able to pull it off at the Metro later on that night, at least not without drastically changing my make-up and my hair. Thank God Tucker was willing to go to my place for shoes; that was another problem averted.
Slowly opening the door to Vamp’s room, I was grateful for my motorcycle boots. I could walk down the hallway to the back door without my feet making a sound, if I were very careful about it. Had I been wearing appropriate high heels, that would have necessitated tip-toeing or one of the bikers definitely would have heard me. I just had to make it down the hallway, past six rooms, three on either side, and pray that nobody decided to exit any of those rooms or round the corner and go into any rooms down the corridor.
I was lurking at the mouth of the hall leading to the rooms, and I was straining my ears to hear if anyone was in the kitchen. There was a very small kitchenette table with two chairs in the kitchen, and it was nothing for a brother seeking some solitude to sit at that ancient Formica table with a bottle of booze in order to brood. I took a deep breath and decided to make a go for it, and if I was found out I’d have to wing it with my excuse. To my deep relief, nobody was in the kitchen and I quietly turned the handle to the back door and stepped out into the bright sun dipping toward the tree tops.
Thank heavens I had the forethought to get my purse from Vamp’s saddle bags before we went into Starbucks before meeting the detectives. Having my purse meant that I had the keys for my SUV, which was still parked behind the Riot MC clubhouse.
The next hurdle I had to clear was exiting through their back gate. The last time I was part of Riot, someone had to open the gate for you when you got to it, or the person using the gate had to have a special clicker for it. Technology had changed in many ways in the past six years, so I hoped to whatever patron saint was in charge of get-aways that the gate would open automatically if one were exiting, not entering.
The breath I had been holding blew out from the depth of my lungs as I watched the big black wrought-iron gate swing wide for my exit. It had been a very long time since I had been in the compound, let alone traveled away from the compound using the back exit. However, just like riding a bike, my instincts kicked in and I quickly motored my way back to Townsend Road where the front entrance of the club was. The light at Blanding was green, and I made a left to head north toward the Riverside area.
I had the distinct feeling that I was being followed as I drove up Blanding Boulevard. I checked my rearview and side mirrors, but I didn’t see any motorcycles, big manly-man pick-up trucks or other signs of Riot MC bikers who might have decided to round me up and take me back to their clubhouse. This feeling of being followed and imminently discovered was a feeling I hadn’t had in nearly eleven years. During my teens, I snuck out of my mother’s house. Every single time, and I mean, absolutely every single time, I snuck out, this feeling came over me. It was the feeling of being watched, and that the person you were sneaking away from somehow, inexplicably, had their eyes on you. Mind you, I only snuck out four times; the fifth time resulted in my mother busting me. That sense of anticipation mingled with an unknown dread of the consequences of your actions was an unforgettable feeling. It just wasn’t unforgettable in a good way, like the feeling of a first kiss; it was unforgettable in the worst way, like the feeling of a first hangover.
I took a deep breath and put all of those thoughts out of my head. If there were no bikes rumbling behind me, and no tell-tale pick-up trucks with the capability of towing a trailer behind it, then I was just being overly-paranoid. As I made my way over to Highway 17, it occurred to me that this was my first time being on my own completely and driving on my own without a member of Riot MC in eleven days. Now there was a feeling worth dwelling on. I had nearly forgotten how great it was to have my freedom.
The drive to Kickback’s was a quick one; the traffic was very light and what traffic there was, was headed the opposite direction since it was six-thirty and all the downtown workers were going home. I managed to find two parking spaces on College Street, which meant I didn’t have to attempt parallel parking and pulled right in behind a white Toyota Prius.
The front of Kickbacks was a large patio with a fireplace on the left. In the middle of the patio was an oversized outdoor hostess stand that could be used as a quasi-bar. There was a hodge-podge of people seated out on the patio. There were bikers, but they weren’t wearing any colors to indicate they were part of a riding club or anything else. There were also white-collar workers and families with kids. It was a cross-section of the people who lived in the Riverside area. I moved past the hostess stand and to my right was a doorway that led into the original portion of the restaurant before they expanded. There was a short bar with a dozen seats on my left, but Roxanne was not amongst the patrons sucking back beers. I turned to the left, scanning the tables which were a smattering of high-tops and low-tops. The lighting was exceptionally dim, though each table had a tiny light fixture hanging above with small glass orbs below each light. It was as if each table had a crystal ball above them. This decorative effect did nothing to light the food, but was cool nevertheless. I knew with the expansion of the restaurant there was a second bar. This second bar was circular and extremely cool. I found Roxanne at the round bar only after I looked through the wrong side of the restaurant., and that led me through the high-backed leather booths that were better lit and allowed for lots of privacy for the hipsters and various yuppies who also frequented the popular bar with 204 beers on tap and many more selections of bottled beer besides.
I put my purse on the bar next to Roxanne, hiked my ass onto a stool next to her and found a stocky mixed-race man standing in front of me in seconds flat. His hair was shoulder length dread-locks and his eyes reminded me of the paramedic who examined me before carting me to the ambulance.
Before he
could say anything to me, I foolishly asked, “You got a brother who works at the fire department?”
He gave me a big, happy smile and said, “No, but I could pretend to be a brother who works at the fire department if that’s what you want me to be, sweetheart.”
I grinned at him and said, “Sorry, but no. Your eyes just looked familiar.”
He looked disappointed, but asked, “What’ll it be for ya?”
I looked around at the many taps, but still wasn’t feeling like a brew, so I said, “I’ll have a glass of house pinot grigio.”
Roxanne didn’t pussyfoot around about things at work, and that was no exception outside of the office either. She turned to me and immediately said, “That legal firm is top-notch, Frankie. I don’t know how you managed to get them on your side, but it’s a damn fine thing you did. I put legal in touch with Martina, and they’ve said you can get back in the office on Tuesday.”
I smiled, “That’s excellent.”
Roxanne’s head tilt told me I may have spoken too soon. “Just because legal is cool, doesn’t mean Alex or HR are cool. Alex wants you to wait until Wednesday.”
I leaned my head back and gazed at the ceiling covered in beer tap handles. Old, current, and even new ones were up there, and it was so unexpected to see on a ceiling that it was utterly cool. However, beer taps were not going to help me with my predicament. It was Memorial Day weekend. The month ended on Wednesday of the coming week. For half the month, an assistant had essentially been doing my job and I was going to be paid based on her efforts. That didn’t sit well with me.
