Brand New Me

by Meg Benjamin

  “Oh, don’t even try to deny it.” Clem’s grin lit up her face. “Any idiot can see what’s going on just by looking at the two of you. Way to go!”

  “I don’t…” Deirdre blew out a breath. “Look, I’d rather not have this get out. Sylvia would be really mad, and I don’t know how Bobby Sue would feel about it.”

  Clem waved an impatient hand. “Don’t worry about Sylvia. She’s always mad about something, and she was never going to get together with Tom anyway. This will just free up her attention to go after somebody else. Believe me, Bobby Sue won’t care. As long as your relationship doesn’t get in her way, and it won’t. Of course, it may have some effect on the lunch trade.”

  “The lunch trade? Why?”

  “Because all the women who come here to stare at Tom’s ass and fantasize won’t be able to do that anymore. Or they’ll have to work harder. Oh man, Rhonda Ruckelshaus is going to really reduce your tips.”

  Deirdre blew out a breath “If it’s a choice between Rhonda’s seventy-five cents and Tom, I’ll take Tom, believe me.” She felt a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep inside. Giggling. Geez. She hadn’t giggled since she was a teenager—and she wasn’t sure she’d done it much then either. She really wasn’t the giggling type. Or she never had been before.

  Clem threw back her head and guffawed. “Absolutely, honey. Glad to see you’ve got your priorities straight.”

  Chico seemed to take her and Tom in stride, although Deirdre had to admit it was hard to tell since his expression didn’t usually change all that much. Still, he helped her spread the first coat of paint on the walls without being asked, and he seemed not to notice when Tom brought her one of Clem’s sandwiches and a glass of tea, then kissed her quickly just before her shift began.

  “Come over tonight,” Tom whispered to her that night while she waited for Harry to fill her order.

  “Can’t,” she murmured. “I’ve got to finish the walls tomorrow. Why don’t you come over to my place Saturday night after we finish here. I’ll fix you supper.”

  “And breakfast?”

  Deirdre’s heart gave a mighty thump. “That too.”

  She had a feeling spending her nights in Tom’s bed as he clearly wanted her to do wouldn’t leave her with much stamina for the following days. She had just enough of her old determination left to keep to her schedule.

  On the other hand, spending the nights alone in her own bed didn’t result in a lot of sleep either. Once she was there, thoughts of Tom kept her awake, and dreams of Tom weren’t particularly restful.

  By Thursday night, she was beginning to think about the weekend, and how they’d spend it. On Saturday, they’d be at her apartment. They needed to try out his mattress. And besides, Deirdre could guarantee that her coffee would be more drinkable. And they could stay there Sunday morning since not much happened at the Faro on Sunday. A long, lazy morning in bed before the lunch crowd. Deirdre stood at the bar, trying not to look at Tom. She felt like fanning herself.

  Her reverie was interrupted by the crash of a chair hitting the floor and two angry male voices coming from the main room. Turning, she saw two unfamiliar men, both largish although not in Chico’s class. They were standing on opposite sides of a table, yelling. As she watched, one of them stepped around and began to shove the other backward in swift, sharp movements.

  Chico headed across the bar, moving very fast but not fast enough. Something flew through the air, and she heard breaking glass, along with other angry voices from the nearby tables. Two more men jumped to their feet, yelling obscenities through the beer that dripped from their faces.

  Suddenly, Tom was pulling her backward. “Get behind the bar,” he barked. And then he was running toward the knot of struggling men that had grown larger in the seconds since she’d looked away.

  Deirdre knelt behind the bar, peeking around the end. She could see Sylvia, crouched beside a table on the far side of the room. More glass smashed against the floor, and she heard someone nearby roar in disapproval. And then Tom and Chico began wading into the crowd from opposite sides. Chico picked men out of his way like stones in his path, pushing them to the side or sometimes flinging them in the general direction of the floor. Tom grabbed shoulders and pushed men apart, yelling. “Break it up, goddamn it, knock it off. Get the fuck out of my bar.”

  Several men stumbled backward, away from the table. A few staggered toward the door, but she didn’t think they included the ones who’d started the fight. Behind the bar, Harry clutched Tom’s cut-off pool cue to repel anybody who headed their way. Chico was still tossing bodies around, but Deirdre saw the door to the beer garden open and close as some of the combatants headed out the back way.

  After a few more minutes, the fight seemed to collapse. Men who hadn’t been involved now moved cautiously toward the door, although a couple of them had resumed their seats at the tables. She wondered how many were sneaking out with unpaid bar bills. The room suddenly seemed a lot emptier than it had been before the first chair had hit the floor.

  Tom pushed a chair upright at the table in the center of the room where the fight had started, then turned back toward where Leon hovered just outside the kitchen door. “Get a broom,” he snapped. His voice sounded slightly husky. He glanced back toward the bar and Deirdre saw his face for the first time. His mouth was set in a thin line, and his shoulders rose and fell with his breath. He had a reddening bruise close to one eye and a slight cut over his eyebrow, but otherwise he seemed unhurt. He was also furious.

  She stood slowly, releasing the beer bottle she’d held clenched in one fist. She didn’t exactly know what she would have done with it, but it had felt good to at least have something she could throw. “Are you okay?”

  Tom nodded brusquely, then turned away again, jerking chairs upright and kicking beer bottles out from under his feet. Deirdre leaned down to pick them up.

  “Leave it,” he growled. “That’s Leon’s job.”

  Leon looked as if he disagreed, but he also looked like he wasn’t going to argue with Tom right then. Deirdre thought that was probably a smart move. She started to clear off the empty tables, picking up glasses and the occasional bottle that hadn’t been thrown.

  Tom turned toward Chico. “Who were they?”

  Chico shook his head, rubbing his hand across his shoulder. “Damn if I know. Not local.”

  “Didn’t look like frat boys.”

  “No, too old. Tourists maybe.”

  “Not tourists.” Tom took the push broom out of Leon’s hands and began sweeping up glass with quick, angry strokes. “I don’t know who they were or where they were from, but they weren’t here for fun. Unless you’re into busting up bars.”

  Chico shrugged. “Could be that’s what they were after. Some people get off on it. And this place used to have that kind of fight every other night.”

  “It doesn’t any more.” Tom paused for a moment, his hands flexing on the broom. “You see them again, you let me know, okay?”

  “Sure.” Chico rubbed his shoulder again, stretching his neck.

  “You’re hurt,” Sylvia said.

  Deirdre stopped gathering glasses and looked around. Sylvia was standing next to Chico, chewing on her lip. Her mascara was smeared around her eyes, as if she’d been rubbing them. For once she looked exactly like what she was, a very tired waitress on the far side of thirty. “You’re hurt,” she repeated.

  Chico stared down at her, then shrugged again, grimacing as he did. “Asshole hit me with a bottle. Aiming for my head. Got it on my shoulder instead.”

  “Sit down,” Sylvia ordered. “Let me see.” She pushed the slightly bemused Chico into a chair, sort of like a toy poodle herding an elephant, then she pulled up the back of his shirt. “You’ve got a bruise the size of a saucer back here. Let me get you some ice.”

  She stalked purposefully toward the kitchen door, while Chico stared after her.

  Deirdre glanced at the tables in Sylvia’s end of the room. The last cu
stomers were standing up and dropping bills on the table. Apparently, the Faro was closing early this evening.

  Except, of course, for the Steinbruners, who’d resumed their pool game as if nothing had happened. The dry click of the pool balls was oddly soothing.

  “What the hell? Linklatter said you had a fight.” Nando Avrogado stepped through the doorway, surveying the room. “Who was it?”

  Tom shrugged, leaning on his broom. “Not much to it. Over in ten minutes or so. No casualties, or none who cared to stick around.” His voice sounded more normal now, Deirdre realized—less like a man who wanted to throw a few punches of his own.

  Nando nodded slowly, narrowing his eyes at the broken glass. “Who started it?”

  “Strangers.” Tom went back to sweeping. “Never saw them before. Here’s hoping I never do again.”

  “What was it about?”

  Tom looked at Chico again. “What did they say when the whole thing started? Did you hear?”

  He shook his head. “First thing I knew they were yelling like they were gonna tear each other apart. Didn’t do it, though.” He flexed his arm again, rubbing his shoulder.

  “I noticed that. They yelled at each other, but once the action got going, they went after the other guys instead.”

  “Weird kind of fight.”

  “You got that right.”

  Deirdre carried her tray of bottles into the kitchen. She stood for a moment next to the stack of cases in the corner, putting the bottles into their slots. Her hands had begun to tremble, but she ignored it. Everybody else was acting as if the fight hadn’t been anything to get upset about. She should do the same thing—be a grown-up. She took a deep breath and blew it out, but it didn’t really help. The adrenaline that had raced through her body was gone now, and she felt jittery and cold.

  Behind her, the kitchen door swished open. “Deirdre?” Tom said. “Are you all right?”

  “Sure.” She bit her lip. Hard. It wouldn’t do to start sniffling when everybody else was treating this like a routine evening.

  He stepped beside her, draping his arm across her shoulders. “It’s okay. You don’t need to do the stiff-upper-lip thing with me. I know that wasn’t anything you’re used to.”

  She turned against him, pressing her face against his shoulder. “I’m not a wimp. Honest. I’ve just never seen a fight like that close up before.”

  He rubbed a circle on her back, slowly, warming her chilled skin. “It’s okay. We’re all a little shook up. Usually there’s more warning than that when something’s getting ready to blow. But it was just a fight. No big deal.”

  “What are you going to do?” Deirdre leaned back to look at him.

  Tom shrugged. “Clean up. Close up. It’s all over now. Everybody’s gone home. Except for the Steinbruners, of course.”

  “But…” She frowned. “Isn’t there any way you can find out who those men were? Have Nando chase them down? Don’t you want to know?”

  He grimaced. “More trouble than it’s worth, babe. Bar fights are bar fights. If they come in here again, I’ll throw them out. But chances are they’ll stay away now. It was a one-time thing.”

  Deirdre nodded, trying to believe it. And trying to ignore the faint uneasiness that danced up her spine. Everything would be all right. She was being idiotic to worry. But still… She shivered again.

  Tom brushed a finger across her eyebrow. “Okay?”

  “Sure.” She nodded. “I’ll help you clean up.”

  “Clean-up’s all done. Come have a drink with me.” He grinned at her, but above his smile, his blue eyes were bleak.

  He doesn’t believe it either. She dropped the last bottle into the rack. “Okay. But then I’m going home to bed.”

  “C’mon, babe. Leave something open to negotiation.” His hand dropped to the small of her back, pushing her gently toward the door back into the bar.

  Deirdre felt the warmth from his palm spread through her body, brushing away the faint echoes of concern that still lingered at the back of her mind. She leaned her head against his shoulder, letting the warmth flow through her. Everything would be all right. Even if they both thought something strange was going on.

  Right, Deirdre. And ignoring your instincts has worked so well up to now.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Friday morning after the fight, Deirdre decided to take a day off from painting. Not that it wasn’t going well, what with half the crew at the Faro wielding the occasional roller. But she was tired of smelling paint and dust and scuffing through tarps. And she still felt faintly uneasy about what had happened the night before.

  Just a fight. Nothing to worry about. But somehow she didn’t quite buy that.

  She decided to look for tables and chairs more as a kind of scouting mission than serious shopping. After all, she wouldn’t be able to buy anything until she either earned a lot more tips or was able to get her hands on some of her trust fund. Docia had offered her the services of her brother-in-law, Lars Toleffson, who was apparently a very good accountant. Unfortunately, Deirdre was pretty sure her father’s accountants would have him for breakfast, no matter how good he was. Daddy’s accountants hadn’t gotten their jobs by paying a lot of attention to ethical niceties. Lars was supposedly taking a look at her finances, but Deirdre wasn’t optimistic about getting more money any time soon.

  She wandered up and down a few side streets, checking the used furniture stores. The antique stores were largely off limits, since even with haggling there was no way she could afford their stuff. Most of them seemed to specialize in Victorian Heavy anyway, with tables for twenty that would have taken up all the room in the shop before she even thought about chairs.

  Still, there were enough used furniture stores to provide her with a lot of possibilities, most of them bad. Metal patio tables so flimsy the average five-year-old could probably flip them over. Vintage kitchen tables that looked like they needed serious paint stripping. She even found a couple of laminated plastic tables with vinyl-covered chairs that would have been perfect if she’d wanted to open a fifties diner knock-off.

  Deirdre sighed. She might have to go with the bentwood chairs and wooden café tables she’d found in a discount catalog, even though she suspected they’d fall apart within a couple of months. Using them would also make it tough to convince people to stick around for a second cup of coffee since their rear ends would be numb after fifteen minutes.

  She wandered up another side street, giving the shop windows a desultory glance. Another candle store, one that sold what looked like cast-iron lawn ornaments, another candy shop—Konigsburg seemed to specialize in sugar shock. She stopped, peering into the next window on the block. From the street, the room looked too crowded to move around in. She could see rows of dark, lumpish shapes, a couple of dusty coat racks, what seemed to be a marble washstand. She stepped back so that she could read the sign in the window—The Republic of Texas. She frowned. Somebody had mentioned this store to her, but she couldn’t remember who. It was worth a look anyway. At least the stuff might be in her price range. She pushed the door open and walked in, hearing the tinkle of the shop bell.

  The inside didn’t look much better than it had from the street. The space was divided into a series of narrow rows, marked by huge breakfronts and armoires, along with some battered chests of drawers. Deirdre inched down one aisle, peering toward the end. From what she could see, most of the stuff seemed to date from the forties and fifties and featured dark wood laminates, which didn’t exactly bode well for funky café tables and chairs.

  A figure appeared at the far end of the row, but the room was so dim she had trouble seeing him clearly. “Hello?” she called.

  “What do you want?” the man growled.

  Somehow Deirdre managed not to jump. Customer service must not be a big feature here. “I’m looking for café tables and chairs. Metal if you have them, but wood might also work, depending on the style.”

  The man moved toward her, his eyes narrow
ing. He looked a little like the kind of actor who specialized in serial killers—very tall, very thin, sharp cheekbones jutting at the sides of his face, deep-set, burning eyes. She half-expected him to cackle and rub his hands together.

  “Over there.” He motioned with his head, his eyes never leaving her face.

  Deirdre turned quickly and edged through a small gap between a couple of pine dressers. Behind a particularly ornate walnut armoire, she saw three metal café tables. The legs were bent in graceful curves, gathering to a single circle underneath the beveled glass tops, then flaring out to spread in three-legged stands. The four metal chairs had curling designs on the backs to echo their striped circular seats. They looked like they’d been part of an ice cream parlor set, maybe for something like Meet Me In St. Louis. Surely nobody made café tables that looked that perfect, at least not anymore.

  Of course, they’d need to be stripped and repainted. And the striped seats would need to be reupholstered, given the tufts of cotton batting she could see drifting through the worn spots. Maybe Tom would let her use the yard behind the Faro so that she could do them all at once. She glanced at the price tag and managed not to gasp. “Any more chairs to go with these?”

  Mr. Serial Killer shook his head, his dark eyes still burning. Deirdre swore she could hear the soundtrack for Deliverance tinkling in the background.

  She drew herself up, squaring her shoulders. “What can you do for me if I take all three, along with the four chairs?”

  He shrugged, pursing his lips. “Maybe could come down fifty.”

  Right. “I’ll give you three hundred for the lot.”

  “Three hundred?” He smiled derisively, showing widely spaced picket-fence teeth. “I might take eight.”

  “I’m sure you would.” She managed a faintly derisive smile of her own. “Four hundred. They need to be refinished and the chairs need to be reupholstered.”

  “Six. And you haul them off. That’s my last offer.”

  Deirdre managed not to choke. She didn’t even have four hundred dollars, let alone six. Maybe she could borrow the money from Docia, or float a loan at the Konigsburg bank. “Can I leave a deposit while I find out when I can get them hauled away?”