My brows rose. “Yes.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Beebee. I run the bar here on Fridays.” She released my hand and still eyeing me, patted the counter next to her lean hip. “You guys can set up here. Mr. Mak will be down soon. I’m sure security has informed him you’re here.” She winked, and her beautiful fake lashes fluttered in her brusque breeze as she walked down the long bar to a waiting customer.
I blinked once at her retreating back, still reeling that she knew my first name, and turned to the gals. “You heard her. Let’s get the appetizers out first. I’d like to have that done before Mr. Mak shows.”
I was hiding in the restroom. In a bathroom stall. A very fine restroom…but still, a restroom.
Humiliated. My breath came in short pants, and my head rested in my hands as I tried counting the tiles on the floor to calm my mind. A fine sheen of sweat dotted my brow, and my brain just wouldn’t shut the fuck up as my heart battled inside my chest like a sputtering racecar.
I was having an anxiety attack. I knew that. But just because I knew, it didn’t mean it would evaporate the second I mentally told it to stop. The rich crowd had pressed in as soon as the appetizers were out; many of the people were those I had known back in high school. All were friendly and accepting, and sincerely pleased to see me. Though, Beebee may have had something to do with it, hovering protectively over me as she had been, but their reactions had seemed genuine.
But there had been so damn many of them.
I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. I started counting again.
One…
Two…
Three…
Four…
Five…
Six…
Seven…
Eight…
I sucked in a sharp breath when I heard the door to the bathroom open and the slow, methodical beat from the music filter in louder…then quiet.
“Lucy?” It was Jet, his tone soft. “Beebee said she saw you come in here. Exactly forty-seven minutes ago. Are you okay?”
I groaned quietly. I didn’t want to speak, but I made myself before he thought to bust down the stall door. “I’ll be fine. I just need a few more minutes.”
It was silent for so long I thought he had left. But he hadn’t. I had heard a soft rustling against the bathroom stall before he sat down with his back against the door. His black suit jacket rustled beneath the frame of the door, and then his hand appeared under it. He pulled his hand back…leaving a small, plastic toy maze on the ‘number four’ tile.
I breathed through my nose as tears welled in my eyes. “Thank you.” He didn’t say anything as I bent and grabbed the small toy. Instead, he sat in the quiet with me while I zoned on the little silver ball inside the curving maze, again and again, hitting the mark only to start over again. Repetitive and soothing, it coaxed my thoughts down from meltdown level. Just barely. Eventually, when I could speak without feeling nauseous, I whispered, “It’s almost been a month since I’ve seen you.”
He hummed quietly. “I made the first move. It was your turn. I was waiting for you to call or stop by.”
My brows furrowed as I wiped the sweat from my forehead and concentrated on the maze again. “Your first move was to take your ring back. What was I supposed to think?”
His fingers started tapping on the tiling outside my door. He would really need to wash his hands. “I didn’t calculate that. That was my error.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Would you have dinner with me sometime? Soon?”
An unexpected chuckle escaped. It felt good against the chaos residing in my mind. “Oh, my God. You have no idea how much I’ve missed your absurdity.” He and I, we were made for each other. Two cinnamon rolls in a zipped up baggie. With extra icing. And maybe a random green sprinkle or two.
His tone was light. I knew he was smiling. “Ditto.” He thumped the stall door lightly with his head, his blue hair showing through the crack of the door. “But I really do want that dinner.”
“We’ll have it. Tomorrow night. My place at eight.” My head was still buzzing. “Talk to me. Tell me all about The Club.”
And he did.
While I sat inside the bathroom stall of an erotic sex club, he told me all The Club’s secrets.
March 5, 1998 – Age 7
Feet pounded the floor to exit Mr. Rupert’s classroom. Recess time! I was going to the monkey bars first. That fat head, Rick, had been hogging them for the last two days. Not this time though. I would tell the recess monitor on him if he did. My blonde pigtails swung as I dodged two desks, moving as fast as I could.
Mr. Rupert shouted, “No running, kids!” I ducked my head and slowed my pace. To a slow jog. Those monkey bars were mine! Then, my feet halted at Mr. Rupert’s next words. “Mr. Mak, is there a problem?”
A few of my classmates glanced in Jet’s direction but, just as fast, raced out the door.
I didn’t move though. I peered once more at the door and fisted my hands.
The fat head was going to beat me there if I didn’t leave now.
My chest heaved, but my attention swung back to Jet.
He was still sitting at his desk in the far corner of the room. His forehead was down while he studied the math test we had been taking. He kept thumping the pointy end of his pencil repeatedly on the paper. With the noise diminished, I could now hear the quiet humming sound he was making in the back of his throat, gurgling and deep. He slammed his right elbow on the table and fisted his black, shaggy hair in his free fist, yanking on it in rhythmic jerks.
“Mr. Mak, I said, is there a problem? The time’s up for that test. You need to turn it in now.”
My brows furrowed as I turned a sharp glare our teacher. He didn’t need to speak to Jet like that—as if he were talking to a misbehaving dog. Jet always had problems when it came to math. The teacher knew that. Everyone knew.
I kept my scowl on our teacher as I raced to the back of the room. To Jet. I knew I didn’t have much time before Mr. Rupert made me leave. Probably to scold Jet, too. Our teacher was more of a fat head than Rick was. Nicely, I placed my hand on Jet’s shoulder. He jerked under my touch, and his gaze slammed into mine like he was waking from a nightmare.
His blue eyes were huge and rimmed red as if he hadn’t blinked in hours. “Lucy?”
“It’s me,” I whispered, glancing up quickly to our teacher when I heard his chair squeak.
Mr. Rupert’s shiny black shoes clicked on the tiling as he marched in our direction. “Ms. Plume, you cannot help Jet with the test. You should be outside right now.”
I ignored him, gazing back down. “Jet, you’re gonna get in trouble.”
He peered at his sheet. His pencil started thumping again on the paper. His voice was hoarse when he growled, “The numbers. They’re out of order. They should be one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven—”
“It’s addition. The answers won’t be in order.”
His eyes met mine. His lips thinned so hard there were lines at the edges. “But they need to, Lucy. The numbers need to be in order. They need to be exact. One, two, three, four, five—”
“Ms. Plume,” Mr. Rupert grabbed my shoulder, jerking me upright, “you need to be with your other classmates at recess. Mr. Mak will have to stay inside today for his improper time management.”
My eyes narrowed on my teacher. With my thoughts churning for a way to get his attention off of Jet, I remembered a response my mom had said to a mean customer at the bakery. I knew it wasn’t a proper phrase to say since my mom immediately told me never to repeat it to anyone. So I did the only thing I could. I shoved his hand off my shoulder, crossed my arms, and gave him my best mommy-stern-look. “Fuck you, you son of a bitch.”
Mr. Rupert’s jaw dropped. His cheeks flushed an unnatural shade of pink. Like cotton candy.
Jet made a choking sound, and then he shoved up from his desk. His shoulder pressed against mine as he held the test paper up high. He started ripping it into tin
y pieces and nodding with a firm decision, he growled, “Yes, Mr. Rupert. Fuck you, you son of a bitch.”
I sat side-by-side with Jet in the waiting area of the administration office. The chairs were brown and stiff, and pressed together. My head rested on Jet’s shoulder while his left arm was slung over my shoulders. Our feet swung back and forth, a few inches from the ground.
I sighed and glanced at the clock. “Think Principal Martin will give us detention?”
“Probably,” Jet answered quietly, his eyes glued to the numbers on the clicking timepiece. “It’s past fifteen minutes. We were supposed to be called in already.”
I shrugged and watched how my blue tennis shoes seemed to blur against the darker blue carpeting with each fast swing. “They called our parents. That’s probably what’s taking so long.”
Jet leaned his cheek against the top of my forehead. He whispered, “Thank you for doing that.”
I giggled softly, remembering Mr. Rupert’s expression. “You’re my best friend, Jet Mak.” I punched his side lightly. “I’ll do anything for you.”
Mrs. Mak and my mom rushed inside the office door. Both appeared frazzled.
Though, they stopped in their tracks when they saw us.
We didn’t move. We stayed huddled against one another.
Our moms stared for long moments, running their wide eyes over us, and then both started patting their windblown hair. All business. The expressions they shot the receptionist would have made me hide. I wasn’t sure who started harping first, Mrs. Mak or my mom. I watched as the receptionists—literally—ran to the Principal’s office.
I mentioned quietly, “Maybe we won’t get detention?”
Jet snorted. “Maybe not.”
Present Day
The dinner table was set. Chicken parmesan sat in the middle of the table—Jet’s favorite dish. A bottle of red wine was left to breathe on the counter where the wine glasses sat. I had two red candles burning and the lights turned down two notches to set the mood for a personal affair. The china wasn’t expensive, but it was clean. As was my small apartment, the boxes all unpacked thanks to my mom helping me.
I wanted tonight to be perfect. Jet was the man I wished to spend the rest of my life with. It was best to start our adult life out on the right foot, date wise.
Intense and quiet. A hint of the odd. With a spark of heat.
All backed by passion and loyalty.
Just like us.
I squinted at the clock. Two minutes until eight o’clock.
I hurried to turn on the music. Jazz played on my favorite station in Karim.
Check. That was perfect.
I smiled, nodded my head, and then ran my hands down the pure white, two-piece tunic dress I was wearing. No shoes. My pink toenails gleamed in the subdued light from under the hem of my floor length skirt that lightly ruffled against the beige carpet.
I was ready for him. I peered at the clock again. Eight o’clock.
Knock. Knock.
Right on time. As always.
Trying not to grin like a silly school girl, I walked quickly to the front door.
It wasn’t Jet.
The Mak family’s’ long-standing driver, Mr. Hurshle, waited outside. With an apologetic nod, he handed me a small red envelope. With my grin long gone, I opened the crisp envelope. As my eyes scanned the contents of Jet’s scribbling, I instantly leaned against the doorframe. Swallowing heavily from a dry throat, I peered up to Mr. Hurshle. “Is she at Karim Hospital?”
“She is, Ms. Plume.” His lips pinched. “From what I’ve heard, she took quite a fall.”
“Will you take me there?”
“Of course, Ms. Plume.”
It was the reason why Jet had sent his driver. “Thank you. Give me just a moment. I need to blow out candles and grab my purse.” A perfect night this wasn’t going to be. I glanced down at my bare feet. “And probably shoes, too.”
“Mr. Mak would be mighty upset if I let you leave without them.”
Stepping inside the sterile hospital room, my attention instantly honed on Mrs. Mak. In all my years of seeing her, it had never truly occurred to me just how much older she was than my mom. Mrs. Mak had to be in her mid-seventies. It was odd that I had never taken the time to ask her age.
To me, she was always just…Mrs. Mak. Jet’s mom. The woman who always opened her door wide and had a grand smile on her face when I was a child. But tonight, she lay sleeping in a hospital bed. Her skin, always so shiny and porcelain, was now pale, like someone had taken a scrub brush and rubbed away her natural glow. Her previously up-kept died black hair was currently matted down from sweat and whiter than a first snow. The sweet wrinkles on her face were so pronounced it was hard not to stare. Though, my right hand lifted to my mouth in horror as I saw the left side of her face. It was black with varying tones of violet.
Instantly, I walked to Jet. He sat on the loveseat watching me enter.
My whisper was strained. “Is she going to be all right?”
He grabbed my hands and pulled me down onto his lap. He held me snug against his heated body while we both gazed at his mother. His words were gruff but soft. “The doctors say she’ll be okay.”
Her face…it was dreadful. “What happened?”
“Her nurse said she found her lying in the shower. She must have slipped.”
My nostrils flared, and I glanced quickly into his ice blues. “Do you believe this nurse?”
“I do,” Jet stated and rubbed my back gently. “I personally pay her paycheck.”
Comforted by that, I situated my legs more easily over his. Resting my head back against his shoulder, I murmured, “I’m so sorry, Jet.”
“She’ll be fine.” He paused and tapped his fingers on my left thigh. “But she’ll be cranky as hell when she wakes up.”
“If I were her, I would be spitting fire.” My gaze swept over the horrendous shade of her precious face. “She’s got a bigger shiner than you did when you fought Rick.”
Abruptly, Jet’s chest vibrated against my back. He gently nuzzled his cheek against mine. “That prick only got one punch in. Just one. He deserved the beat down I gave him after that.”
I couldn’t believe he still thought he was right. “He stole a book from me, Jet.”
“Exactly.”
Steadily, I intertwined our fingers together, my brows furrowing deeply. “I’ll stay here with you tonight.”
His soft lips brushed against my left temple. “I know.”
December 31, 2009 – Age 19
Grandma grinned as she handed me the phone. “It’s your friend. That Jet boy.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s more than just that.”
Her hazel eyes damn near twinkled as she strolled to her weathered sitting chair. “You say this like I don’t already know it, Lucy-Bear.” She waved a hand at the darkened window and winked. “Tell that boy he’s not jetting you anywhere anytime soon. You’ve got more school to finish up.” She paused and peered out the window. Absurdly, she snickered. “Though, it does appear to be a blue moon tonight.” She waggled a finger at me as she sat down. “Anything can happen on a blue moon.”
I had no idea what a ‘blue moon’ was, but I nodded anyway. “Gotcha.” Then I politely gave her my back. I smiled as I only did when Jet called. Keeping my voice down, I murmured, “Hey. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.”
Jet rapidly retorted, “Dad put Mom in hospital care. At Lakeside Center.”
My smile instantly fell. I thought about his words for a full minute before I replied, “You don’t agree with his decision?” His mom had been getting worse…and worse. Her Alzheimer’s was debilitating.
“That’s the thing. I don’t know if I do or if I don’t.” He groaned severely. And added a few curse words in a growl. “She’s my mom, Lucy. It feels like she should be at home with us. It’s not like we don’t have the room or enough staff…but, at the same time, it’s hard.”
My lips thinned. �
��How often does she remember, Jet?”
He didn’t answer. Only dead silence met my question.
“Jet, how often does she remember you? Or your dad?”
His tenor was whisper-quiet. “It’s barely a blink now.”
Even though my chin began to quiver, I kept my manner steady for his sake. “It sounds like your dad’s making the right decision.” I shook my head and ran my fingers through my hair. “Especially after the last episode, where she wandered away in the middle of the night. If she’s with professionals one hundred percent of the time, they’ll know how to take care of her. Right? And it won’t tear you or your dad apart seeing her like that every day.” I spoke so softly. “Your mom wouldn’t want you guys to suffer because of this. Because of her ailment.”
He hesitated, and then sighed quietly. “I know. She said as much before.”
I knew that. “Jet…I’m sure your dad knows what he’s doing.”
He grunted, his deep voice taking on more force. “Bad shit happens in hospital care.”
I snorted. Give me a break. “You’re a Mak. Make sure it doesn’t.”
There was a silent pause. Eventually, he chuckled. “Your ironies are one of the reasons why I adore you.”
I amended my previous statement. “Wait! Real accidents do happen. They happen to all of us. But bad shit shouldn’t.” I nibbled on my bottom lip. “Understand?”
“Perfectly. Accidents, okay. Bad shit…not so much.” He paused. “Boom.”
I groaned. “You’re gonna drive me crazy.”
“I hope so.” He cleared his throat—pointedly. “As soon as you get your ass home.”
“It’s only a few more years.”
“I’m waiting. Impatiently.”
I did smile then. “I love you, too.” I snorted softly. “Happy New Year’s Eve.”
“I’m saving every New Year’s kiss for you.”
May 19, 2009 – Age 18
Just One Sip Page 3
