Brand New Me

by Meg Benjamin

  Tom poured drinks at a small built-in bar at the side, while Chico lounged at the street entrance, checking IDs on everyone who came in. The band was okay—not the kind of music she usually listened to, but fun. Couples whirled around the small dance floor periodically, laughing as the warm breezes blew through the live oaks.

  Deirdre tried to remember if she’d ever gone to an outdoor show before. Actually, she hadn’t been to that many indoor shows either. Men like Craig Dempsey didn’t go to music shows that much. They went for the owner’s boxes at sports arenas instead. She watched one of the couples slide across the floor, eyes locked on each other, and bit her lip. She’d had dancing lessons when she’d been at school, but since it was a girls’ school, they’d had to practice with each other. She was better at leading than following. And then at the school dances, most of the boys had had other things in mind besides dancing. She wished now she’d tried a little harder. The couples looked like they were having fun.

  Tom placed two margaritas on her tray with a snap, bringing her back to the job at hand. He cocked an eyebrow. “Everything okay out there?”

  “Great.” Deirdre smiled in his general direction and hoisted the tray to her shoulder. Dancing could wait. Right now she needed to make some tips. After all, she’d be down by five dollars on her salary this week. She pressed her lips together to avoid a grin. It might not have been quite proper for Tom Ames to give her a mattress, but she wasn’t all that upset that he had. He was just fun to spar with.

  As the evening went on, the crush intensified. Some people pulled out chairs from inside to listen to the music. Sylvia served the crowd nearest the door, as well as part of her normal station, and complained to Tom about it in a low voice. Marilyn, the weekend barmaid, took care of the rest of the inner room. Deirdre trotted between the outside tables, picking up glasses and taking orders and trying to stay out of the way of the dancers as they spread around the open space. The band had shifted to a lot of fast stuff, including the occasional two-step, that had at least half the crowd on its feet.

  Suddenly the lead guitarist played a slow descending scale. The keyboardist did a riff on his accordion. The singer grasped the microphone. “Okay,” he yelled, “everybody grab somebody you want to rub crotches with. Time for some ‘Volver’.”

  Deirdre stopped, clutching her tray to her chest. In her opinion, “Volver, Volver” was the sexiest song in the world, even if she couldn’t understand more than half the words. One of her roommates had translated it for her in high school. All she could really remember was the chorus: “To return, to return, to return to your arms again.” She turned toward the stage as the band began to play the slow, pounding beat.

  The singer leaned forward, crooning, “Este amor apasionado…” He sounded a lot more like Jon Dee Graham than Vicente Fernandez, but Deirdre didn’t care. Neither did the crowd. They roared their approval, then began moving to the slow beat. She turned to watch. The dancers moved unhurriedly across the floor, laughing and dipping to the beat. A couple of them were dancing so close Deirdre was half afraid they might set the place on fire. She began to sway along with the music, half-closing her eyes and humming along.

  Someone pulled on her tray, and she looked over her shoulder to see Tom, smiling at her. He set her tray on the bar counter, then placed his hand at her waist, nudging her gently out onto the dance floor.

  Deirdre’s stomach immediately clenched itself into a knot. Dance? Here? Now? In front of everybody? Tom grasped her other hand in his, the arm around her waist pulling her closer. His thigh brushed against hers and she rested her hand on his arm, feeling the hard muscle of his biceps beneath her fingertips.

  “Y volver, volver, volver…” the singer growled.

  Tom turned them in a slow curve, his feet moving hers. Deirdre swayed against him as the drumbeat sounded behind them. Suddenly, she was resting her cheek against his, feeling the slight prickle of his beard against her skin. They turned again, and she drew back a little, wishing that her heart weren’t thumping quite so loudly. She only hoped Tom didn’t hear it above the sound of the music.

  “Y volver, volver, volver…” The whole band was singing now, along with at least half of the audience.

  Tom maneuvered her expertly around a swaying couple, his hand moving down slightly to the side of her hip. She could feel the warmth of his palm against her skin where her T-shirt had pulled up.

  Every inch of her body was suddenly sweltering, infected by the heat of his hand. Deirdre felt a clenching deep in her body that had nothing to do with nervousness and everything to do with how close his body was to hers as they made one more turn across the dance floor.

  She closed her eyes. Oh god, oh god, oh god. This really wasn’t supposed to happen. At least not like this. Not with him. Not right now.

  “…volver, volver, volver,” the singer finished, and Tom dipped her low over his arm, leaning down over her so that their bodies were almost horizontal and touching again. The accordion and the guitars played the final chords through a chorus of yells from the crowd.

  He brought her upright again slowly in the midst of the noise and applause. She felt her face growing warm. What should she say? What could she say after something like that? She felt like she’d just engaged in some kind of sex act in front of a large crowd of beer drinkers. And she wasn’t even embarrassed—just sort of stunned.

  Tom’s teeth flashed white against his sun-warmed skin. “Thanks for the dance. Now go sell some beer.” He tapped her lightly on the shoulder, and she turned, numbly, to pick up her tray again.

  At a nearby table, a woman raised her hand and gave her a tiny wave. Deirdre squinted. Oh lord. Of course. The one night I didn’t want anyone I know to be here. She walked over toward the table, picking up some empty glasses on the way to give her time to catch her breath. “Hi, Janie, how are you?”

  “Great, Dee. This is terrific. I’ve never been to the beer garden at the Faro before. Actually, I’ve never been here before at all.”

  Janie Toleffson grinned up at her. Her soft lilac tank top set off the olive tone of her skin, and her dark eyes sparkled. She had the kind of haircut that probably only needed a quick brush to put it back in line. Deirdre thought wistfully how nice it would be to have hair that didn’t have to be hauled off her neck every morning. Maybe when she got some money ahead she’d actually get her hair cut.

  She wondered if Tom Ames liked short hair.

  “Dee?” Janie was frowning slightly, and Deirdre realized she’d missed something.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear.”

  “Do you do this every Saturday at the Faro?” Janie bellowed over the surging noise of the crowd.

  “Oh. I don’t know. This is the first one I’ve worked.” Deirdre glanced around the beer garden at the full tables. “I think we do it most weeks during the summer and fall. Until it cools off, anyway.”

  Beside Janie, her husband Pete studied the beer garden with a lot less enthusiasm. Deirdre wondered if he danced. Probably not, given that every dancer in the place had been on their feet during “Volver, Volver” and she hadn’t seen him there.

  “Are you the only waitress out here?” he said.

  Deirdre nodded. “Which means I’d better get back to it. Nice to see you.” She turned away quickly and headed toward a table where a couple of men were waving at her. Pete Toleffson must be very good at his job as a county attorney. He made her feel guilty, and she hadn’t even been doing anything.

  Other than dirty dancing with Tom Ames, of course. But she doubted Pete Toleffson could arrest her for that. And, in truth, she didn’t care if he did.

  Janie gave Pete a narrow-eyed look “Will you relax? Everybody’s having a great time. Nobody looks like they’re getting ready to take a swing at anybody else. You’re off duty, for heaven’s sake.”

  Pete shook his head. “Erik says this place used to be the toughest bar in town. Hard to believe it’s been transformed overnight.”

  “It did
used to be the toughest spot in town, but it clearly isn’t anymore.” Janie grinned again as she surveyed the room. “I can’t believe what Tom Ames has done with this place. It’s really nice.”

  Pete glanced toward the street entrance where the massive bouncer was watching the crowd with narrowed eyes. “Ames may not be the only reason the crowd is staying in line.”

  Janie followed his stare, and then shrugged. “That’s just Chico. He looks scary, but he’s a great guy.”

  “You know him?”

  “Sure. He was a few years ahead of me in high school, but he was a star on the football team. He went into one of those special military branches, SEALs or Rangers or something. I don’t remember what exactly. Then he was a pro wrestler. Then he came back here.”

  Pete frowned. “You know a lot about him.”

  “It’s a small town, Pete. I know a lot about everybody. We should try to get Erik and Morgan to come here with us sometime. And maybe Cal and Docia, too. Even Lars and Jess—looks like they’ve got a play area over under that live oak.”

  “Yeah. Somehow I doubt Ames would be all that delighted to have the chief of police sitting in his beer garden on a Friday night.”

  Janie thumped him on the arm. “Quit being a grouch. We’re here to support Dee.”

  Pete glanced across the room, rubbing his arm absently. “She looks like she’s enjoying herself. So does Ames. So do all the tables of guys who’ve come in to watch her tonight. I’ll bet the ones inside are pissed.”

  Janie watched as Deirdre gracefully dodged around a live oak to reach a table in the corner. “She really is lovely, isn’t she?

  Pete nodded slowly. “Yep. Way above class for most of these kids. But they can come in here and look. And Ames can do more than that, judging from the way they were dancing.”

  “I don’t think Dee sees it that way.”

  “Come on, Janie, don’t tell me I’m a romantic. There’s something going on there.”

  Janie shrugged. “Maybe. But I’ll bet it’s not what Tom Ames thought it would be when he hired her.”

  “What do you think he was after?”

  “Maybe just another waitress. Who knew she cleaned up this well?”

  “I don’t know, babe. One look at that face, and you’d have to be an idiot not to know she’d turn out to be a knockout in the right outfit.”

  Janie grinned again, reveling in the warm evening air. No matter what Pete said, she’d find a way to get the family in here, if only so that they could get a look at Dee being a certified knockout. She glanced around the room, taking in all the tables full of men watching Dee swing by with her tray. Oh, definitely a Konigsburg legend in the making.

  Everyone seemed to be having a good time except for one man at the far side. He sat glowering in Dee’s general direction. Janie frowned, trying to remember where she’d seen him before. Sandy hair. Broad shoulders. He should have been smiling—for some reason she thought of him with a smile.

  She blinked. Craig Dempsey. Watching Dee and glaring. The sight sent a slight shiver down her spine, particularly since Dee didn’t seem to realize he was there.

  Janie made a mental note. Dee might not have realized it before, but she’d definitely hear about it by tomorrow if Janie had anything to say about it. She turned back to Pete. “C’mon, stud. Let’s dance!”

  Chapter Ten

  A large part of the Saturday-night crowd stayed both inside and outside the Faro until the official closing time of two in the morning. Tom and Chico circulated among the remaining diehards, moving them relentlessly toward the door, while Deirdre and the other barmaids cleaned off tables and stacked glasses for Leon to run through the dishwasher. The empty bottles were tossed back into the cardboard cases, ready for recycling. All in all, it looked like a very successful night, at least as far as Deirdre could tell.

  Part of her wanted to slip out the door before Tom noticed and head back to her apartment. After that dance, she wasn’t sure what she could say to him. More seriously, she wasn’t sure she could casually walk down the street beside him as if nothing had happened.

  Apparently, from his point of view, nothing had. He was still acting the same way he always did, joking with Harry and Chico, listening to Sylvia’s complaints with a certain glazed patience, bagging up the most visible trash so that the restaurant could open at noon tomorrow, even though Leon didn’t come in until Sunday afternoon. For him, it seemed to have been a quick turn around the dance floor and then back to business. Nothing special.

  Deirdre, on the other hand, felt as if her world had tipped on its axis. She wasn’t sure how long it would take her to return to an even keel, but she knew she wasn’t there yet. And walking anywhere alone with Tom Ames wasn’t likely to make that equalizing any easier. Finally, she leaned behind the bar and retrieved her purse, hoping she could get to the door while he was stacking chairs.

  He was at her side in an instant. “Hang on a minute. I’m almost through.”

  She thought about telling him she could walk herself home, as she’d told him every night, hoping this time he’d take her at her word. But she figured it was probably a lost cause. At this point telling him not to bother was more a formality than anything else.

  Guts up, Deirdre. Time to put on your big girl panties.

  “I’m walking Deirdre home,” he called to Chico, then started toward the door.

  She caught a quick look at Sylvia’s face. Her eyes and mouth had narrowed as if she’d just tasted an unripe persimmon.

  “Why don’t you or Chico walk Sylvia home?” she asked.

  Tom blinked at her, then he shrugged. “She drives to work. I think she lives closer to Johnson City. Chico keeps an eye on the parking lot.”

  Deirdre’s face felt warm in the darkness. Geez, shouldn’t she be too old to blush now? “Oh.”

  Somewhere in the distance, the muffled roar of a motorcycle rumbled out of town, probably heading off toward one of the campgrounds back in the hills. Other than that, Main seemed more silent than usual, with everything closed down except a distant Stop and Go. Briefly, Deirdre pictured the streets outside her condo in Houston. She didn’t think she’d ever seen them empty, even at two a.m. Different world, Deirdre.

  Tom grinned lazily as they strolled up the street. “Another good night,” he mused, finally.

  “Did we have more people than usual, or is that what you expected?”

  “We’ve been building the audience for a while now, but this was the first weekend where we really had a sell-out, or close to it anyway. How’d you like the band?”

  “They were very…” She searched for the word. “Eclectic, I guess.”

  He chuckled. “They do a lot of different stuff. Classic bar band. Whatever the crowd’s looking for, they can deliver. At least they had the people up on the dance floor most of the night. Kept them thirsty.”

  She nodded, trying to think of something—anything—to say that didn’t involve “Volver”. “You’re a good dancer,” she blurted. Apparently, her brain and her mouth weren’t currently on speaking terms.

  He grinned down at her. “So are you.”

  “No I’m not.” She blew out a breath. “I don’t really dance much. I never had the time. Or I didn’t. Maybe now I will.” She was once again profoundly grateful for the darkness that hid the fact that her face was flaming. Clearly, this was her night for idiocy.

  “I hope so.”

  She knew he was still smiling. She could hear it in his voice. Fortunately for both her sanity and her dignity, the door to her apartment was just ahead. “Well,” she murmured as she dug in her purse for her key, “thanks again.”

  Tom took the key from her fingers and unlocked the door for her, then turned back. He stood between her and the open door, but she suddenly had no desire to ask him to move. She stared up at his face in the dim light. As he turned, the reflection from the streetlights caught tiny flecks of gold in his hair. He reached out slowly, smoothing an errant lock of her hair back
behind her ear.

  Almost without thinking, Deirdre shifted up on her toes, leaning toward him and ignoring the frenzied alarm bells clanging in her brain. Maybe it was time she tried making the first move for a change. Just because she’d never done it before didn’t mean she couldn’t do it now. She remembered the feel of his hand on her hip when they danced, the warmth that had spread across her body. Just a taste. Just a touch. Nothing serious.

  Her lips touched his, lightly, gently, almost as if she were afraid he might run.

  She leaned closer, into the heat of his body. Running didn’t seem to be on his mind at the moment. She moved the tip of her tongue along his lower lip, tasting salt and warmth. He reminded her faintly of potato chips, and she felt almost like giggling. Her bête noire. She’d never been able to resist potato chips.

  Her hands moved without her willing them, resting on his chest, her palms rubbing across the smooth fabric of his T-shirt, feeling the slight jut of his nipples underneath.

  And then his arms locked around her waist, pulling her tighter against him. His mouth opened against hers and she answered him, sucking on his tongue as he pushed against her lips. Her head was spinning, and she wondered if she should take a breath. But she knew the spinning had nothing to do with breathing and everything to do with the heat that spread slowly from the point where their bodies met, the swell of his arousal and the throb of her own.

  He angled his head, taking the kiss deeper, and she followed him, winding her arms around his neck now, pressing herself against him, feeling the heat and pressure and excitement building deep inside as she moved closer still. As she moved her hands up the back of his neck, feeling the prickle of short hair against her palms. As she pressed her body against his, shoulder to knee, her breasts flat against his chest. As she…

  Oh my god. What am I doing?

  Deirdre pulled back, her body screaming. She managed to draw in one breath, then another, almost panting as she stared up into Tom Ames’s ice-blue eyes. He was frowning down at her, maybe trying to figure out what the hell she had in mind.