by B. N. Toler
Classic me.
Wanting the unattainable.
“I’m trying to help you reach him,” he says as his gaze moves back to me. Luckily, he misses me checking him out.
I move to another table and slide in the booth to put the shakers in their place. “Well, don’t get me hurt trying. He looked like he wanted to hit something.”
“He would never hit you. I swear it.”
“He’ll probably fire me.”
“No. But he will be thinking about you.”
“Yeah. Like how I remind him of you and how much it hurts.”
“He’s a drug addict, Charlotte. Misty is his dealer. I need to get her away from him before he kills himself by overdosing.”
I close my eyes. This deal we made gets more complicated by the second. Now I’m helping Ike settle his affairs by saving his junkie brother and somehow sending the drug dealer girlfriend away. “Look, Ike. You can give me pointers and intel, but you have to let me control this. I do have a little experience in these situations.”
“Okay,” he huffs in defeat. “We’ll try it your way for now.”
“Thank you.” I smile and head toward the bar where I see Misty staring at me. She just saw me talking to Ike, except he’s invisible to her so she saw me talking to myself. I decide to ignore that little fact and act like I don’t notice her staring at me.
“What can I do now, Misty?”
The afternoon bleeds into the evening and the bar actually gets crowded with the happy hour folks on their way home from work and tourists from around the county. Other than Ike and George’s, the only other places to eat in town are a restaurant named Sam Snead’s and a tiny place called Lindsay’s Roost Bar & Grill. There are a few other pizza and sub places around, but not in town. I follow another waitress, Anna, so she can show me the ropes. She also fills me in on all the gossip.
“So Misty and George are screwing,” she whispers as we stand out back by the dumpster while she smokes a cigarette. Her curly, blond hair is in a tight ponytail and her lipstick is a deep shade of bright red. It’s not a very flattering color on her, even though she’s very pretty with bright blue eyes and perfect white teeth. “Misty dates Roger and she’s running around behind his back, but he doesn’t know,” she says, in her Southern accent. “He’d be real mad if he found out.”
“And no one tells him?” I mean, seriously, this town is the size of a needle point, and I imagine this is the kind of juicy gossip to get all the town hens clucking.
“You know how they say, ‘don’t kill the messenger’? Well, Roger would kill the messenger.” Anna’s eyes go wide in emphasis.
“Really? You think he’d murder George if he found out?” I ask, somewhat alarmed, wondering if, yet again, I’m faced with another dilemma in helping George.
“No,” Ike shakes his head.
“Well maybe not that, but he’d definitely beat the shit out of him. And poor George.” Anna shakes her head. “He’s just been a mess since his brother died. His brother, Ike, was his twin, ya know? Fine piece of man, too. It really is a shame.”
“I broke a lot of young ladies hearts when I died,” Ike jokes, and I smile sadly. I believe he did.
“I didn’t know he had a twin brother,” I lie. “And how does this Roger stay oblivious?”
She takes a drag of her cigarette and answers me as smoke billows out of her mouth. “Well, between us, he’s the town drug dealer, and he owns a mechanic shop on Berkley. I guess he’s been too busy to notice his whore of a girlfriend is running around on him. She’s not my favorite person, if I’m being honest, and she thinks because she’s banging the boss she runs this place.”
“Misty is a whore,” Ike agrees.
“I don’t think she thinks much of me,” I admit.
“That’s because you’re pretty and new in town. Don’t sweat her, girl.” Anna flicks her cigarette under the dumpster. “Anyway, don’t tell a soul what I just told you. I don’t normally gossip, but you got me going tonight.”
“She’s a vault. You should totally confide all of your deepest, darkest secrets in her,” Ike says, dryly, and I smile against my will.
“Your secrets are safe with me.”
When we reenter the bar, George catches sight of me and narrows his gaze. He’s suspicious of me, and other than the Johnny Cash song thing I’m not sure why. I give a bright smile, but he looks away.
“So you’re the new girl?” A tall man with piercing blue eyes approaches me. I recognize him from the kitchen, but we weren’t introduced, and I haven’t been able to get a good look at him. His accent is Scottish, or Irish—something foreign. I know he works here as he’s wearing the Ike and George’s T-shirt, which is stretched across his massive, muscular chest. In fact, it’s so tight, I can see his nipple rings poking out of his shirt.
“Could you close your mouth, love? You’re drooling,” Ike warns, and I quickly adjust my posture and close my gaping mouth.
“Um, yeah,” I answer as I turn to face him.
“You didn’t tell me she was bloody hot,” he yells across the bar to George, who cuts him a warning look as I blush. Some of the patrons at the bar turn their heads in our direction and chuckle; the men’s eyes roaming my body. My cheeks flame with heat and embarrassment. “I’m Sniper. I’m the other manager here, and if you’re sensitive to sexual harassment, you should probably quit now because if I think you’re sexy, I’m going to tell you.” He extends his hand and I take it, noticing how little and dainty my hand seems in his.
“This is my other best friend . . . besides George,” Ike explains, his arms crossed, glaring at Sniper. “We were in the military together.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sniper. I’m Char. And I’m not overly sensitive, but if you touch me inappropriately, I’ll bust your kneecaps out.” I beam a friendly smile as Sniper’s eyes flicker. I think I just excited him.
“He’s a sick fuck, Charlotte. He likes pain.”
“Pretty and violent. I think I just met my soul mate,” he growls as he steps toward me, a look of heat and lust in his gaze. He’s still holding my hand. “You’re the town gossip, pretty thing. You know . . . mysterious lass rolls into town in the middle of the night.”
“Not much mystery here, I’m afraid.” I laugh nervously.
Sniper squeezes my hand and his gaze locks on mine. “I have a sense of these things. You’re something special,” he whispers as he leans in and I swallow hard. He smells really freaking good.
“And you should know you’ll be walking knee-deep in bullshit every time he’s around. He’s a bit of a ladies’ man,” Ike says, as he rolls his eyes.
Taking my hand from Sniper’s, I say, “Thanks. I guess.”
“Sniper!” George calls, and he’s almost burning a hole through us as he stares. “Get back to work!”
“Don’t let George be too much of a wanker to you. He’s going through some shit. You need anything, come to me, lass. I’ll take good care of you.” He winks and walks away. “George, you need to get laid!” he yells before disappearing into the kitchen.
“Sod off,” George laughs as he grabs the remote and turns the volume on the television up. When my gaze meets the screen, I nearly keel over.
“Police have found the body of twenty-one-year-old Casey Purcell under a bridge just outside Charlottesville.” My throat seizes with pain as I swallow hard and my eyes widen as I watch the screen. The reporter continues. “Detective Andrews received an anonymous letter stating there was a body under the Ukon Bridge. Police retrieved the body and DNA testing is being done, but authorities believe it could be the body of missing UVA student Casey Purcell. At this time, detectives are asking anyone with information to call the number at the bottom of the screen. A tire track was found and police are currently studying video footage from a local gas station to see if there are any matches.”
Fucckkkkkk. . . .
“Are you okay?” Ike asks, and I nod yes way more vigorously than I should. They’re goi
ng to find me. I’m a suspect.
“Is there a problem, Charlotte?” George calls. I quickly snap to and smile brightly.
“No. No problem,” I shake off the anxiety blanketing me. Calm down, Char. You didn’t kill her, so even if they find you, you have nothing to worry about. I take a deep breath and try to relax.
“You sure about that?” Ike asks, his brows furrowed in concern.
“Come here, please,” George motions a hand and I make my way toward him. His shaggy hair sits just over his eyes and his tight, black Ike and George’s shirt shows off his hard build. I haven’t seen him smile once all day, but when the woman in front of him says something, he actually laughs.
“Oh, shit,” Ike groans.
George is leaned over the bar in front of an older woman with dark, shoulder-length hair. She has a gray streak through the front and rich brown eyes. I approach George and he straightens to a full stance and motions to the woman before him. “Charlotte, this is my mother, Beverly. She helps with the books here. Just thought I’d introduce you so if you see her in here you know who she is.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. McDermott.” I offer my hand and she takes it with a friendly smile.
“As it is you, Charlotte. What a pretty name.”
“Call me Char, please.”
“Of course. I hear you’re new in town. How do you like Warm Springs so far?”
“It’s really nice,” I say, politely. I mean, I don’t have anything bad to say about it . . . yet.
“Well, since you’re new in town and working for my son, I think you need to come to my house for Sunday dinner.” I can literally feel George tense up beside me. I open my mouth to protest, but she adds, “I won’t take no for an answer, either. Do you like lasagna?”
“Um . . .”
“With garlic bread and tiramisu,” Ike purrs. “God, I miss my mama’s cooking.”
I don’t know what to say, so without thinking, I steal Ike’s words. “With garlic bread and tiramisu.”
Beverly stills, her eyes meeting mine before darting back to George. Shit. Why did I say that?
“Uh, I didn’t think you’d repeat that. That was my favorite meal. She made it for every birthday and every time I came home on leave.”
“Well,” she says, softly, her eyes welling with tears. “I actually make a wonderful tiramisu.”
“No. I didn’t mean for you to make it. I just . . .” I shake my head, unable to finish the sentence. Oh God, I just reminded her of her dead son, and now she’s crying. I am such an asshole.
“Sunday it is,” she states. “George, why don’t you pick her up and bring her with you?”
“I have a vehicle. I can drive,” I add quickly.
“Don’t be silly. George will already be on his way. There’s no sense in both of you driving.” Beverly gives George a little wink and he rolls his eyes. “It was nice meeting you, Charlotte. I’ll see you on Sunday.” As she slides off her stool, I chance a glance at George who is grimacing.
“You don’t argue with my mama,” Ike says, letting me know why George didn’t insist we ride separately.
“Nice meeting you, too,” I call as she walks away.
“I’ll pick you up at five on Sunday,” George grumbles before tromping away. When I turn to go, my eyes meet Misty’s and she’s glaring at me. I guess she heard I got an invite to dinner at the McDermott’s house. Perfect! This night is going fabulously.
George avoids me the remainder of the night and when we close, I help Anna count out her till, and she tells me to take it to the office and give it to George and then I can leave. I do as she says, and open the office door without knocking.
My eyes bulge out as Misty snorts a line of coke off the desk while George holds his nose, apparently haven already snorted his own line. When he sees me, he jerks up and Misty follows, turning her back to me as she rubs frantically at her face.
I know my goal is to get close to him—to help him—but I can’t help letting my distaste pour out of my mouth.
“Really, boss?” I question, my tone bearing every bit of my disapproval. George glances to Misty and then back to me, wiping at his nose. It’s the first time since I’ve met him he doesn’t look cold. Now he just looks embarrassed. “Here’s Anna’s till. Do I work tomorrow?”
“You wanna do a double? Do you think you can wait tables yet?” he asks, and I can see the humiliation in his eyes.
“I can do it,” I say, jerking my gaze from his. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I toss the money and receipts on his desk and shut the door loudly.
“What a bitch,” I hear Misty grumble through the door. I can’t help standing there a moment and listening. “She was talking to herself all night. What a fucking weirdo.” Rolling my eyes, I stomp away.
“I am so glad that happened. He looked so ashamed,” Ike cheers.
“Doesn’t mean he’ll stop,” I whisper. I quickly grab my belongings and my leftover burger I didn’t finish on my break and march out of the kitchen.
“Night, lass. I’d be glad to accompany you home if you’d like,” Sniper purrs as he gives me a flirtatious wink and I roll my eyes.
“As tempting as that sounds, I’ll pass. Night, Sniper,” I call out.
As soon as I’m back in my motel room, I change into my pajamas; a pair of shorts and a tank top, and plop down on my bed. Opening the Styrofoam box my leftover lunch is in, I stuff a few cold fries in my mouth. “Wanna watch TV?” I ask Ike as I chew, whom is seated in the armchair.
“Whatever you want.” He shrugs.
“So what’s the deal with the sexy, foreign BFF?” I ask.
“First off, guys don’t say BFF.” He chuckles lightly. “We were in Afghanistan together. I promised him a job when we got back. George kept my promise for me,” Ike sighs and rubs his head as I find he always does when his mind is heavy in thought.
“He seems . . . interesting,” I add.
“You mean hot?” Ike snorts.
Chewing the bit of burger I just bit off, I mumble around the food in my mouth, “I mean, yeah, he is, but I mean, he’s just . . . different.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, let me just say, he’s been with quite a few ladies, so if I were you I’d steer clear.”
“Thanks for the warning, because I was totally planning on banging him,” I reply dryly.
“Suit yourself.”
“You can sit by me, ya know? I know you won’t try anything.” I pat the spot next to me.
He snorts and stands before catapulting on the bed, causing me to jerk in surprise. Just before he would land on me, he morphs and is on the bed beside me. I giggle like a little school girl and hate myself for it.
“That’s a beautiful sound.” Ike smiles at me, his brown eyes sparkling bright.
“Me laughing like an idiot?” I ask as I flip on the television with the remote.
He lies back and puts his hands under his head, staring at the television. “When my grandparents were alive, they had this carport attached to their house and my grandmother had, like, twenty wind chimes hanging out there. I think that’s my favorite sound in the world. It’s so light and whimsical. Feels like home.” He looks at me, his dark eyes lit with warmth. “Your laugh makes me think of them. Of those wind chimes.”
As our gazes remain locked, I have to swallow. That might be the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me. Let alone, by a man. Of course, the first one that does is dead. And with that thought, I tear my eyes away. I cannot get attached to Ike. He will leave soon and another will take his place. Another soul needing help so they can crossover.
“With lines like that, I bet you were getting ladies left and right when you were alive,” I jest to break the awkwardness of the moment. Suddenly he sits up, his tags tinkling under his shirt. “What?” I practically jump out of my skin with his jerky movement.
Ike disappears and then materializes moments later. “George is outside your door,” he says, softly, as he stands by me where I sit on the bed,
arms crossed.
“What?” I whisper-yell, but before he can respond, three loud knocks bang on the door.
“He’s drunk.” Ike’s jaw tics in anger.
“Is he dangerous?”
“No. My guess is he’s embarrassed.” Ike huffs as more knocking sounds come from the door.
George must have gotten my temporary address from my application paperwork. I hop up and reach the door in four long strides, yanking it open. I know I’m trying to help George for Ike’s sake, but for him to show up so late and drunk while pounding on my door is rude. I’m ready to give him a piece of my mind, but when I see his red eyes, filled with tears . . . I can’t. His shirt is untucked, his shaggy hair sticking up everywhere as if he’s been running his hands through it, and he’s holding a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Instead of yelling at him, I stare at him, waiting for him to say something.
“Who were you talking to?” he asks belligerently, his eyes scanning my room.
“You must’ve heard the television,” I answer quickly.
“No. You were laughing.”
“At the television.” I cross my arms, becoming increasingly annoyed with his line of questioning. “Were you standing here listening?”
His lips curve slightly. “No.”
“What can I do for you, George?” He pulls himself off the doorframe and pushes past me into my room. “Sure. Come on in,” I remark dryly. He ignores my comment and plops down on the pleather arm chair closest to the door.
“He’s shit-faced, Charlotte.”
“I know,” I answer, not thinking about it.
“What?” George looks up at me in confusion.
“Nothing. To what do I owe this unexpected honor?” I plop down on my bed and cross my legs in front of me. As I do, I look up and notice Ike’s eyes fixed on me. Reminding myself not to stare back, I look to George who is also staring at me, his dark eyes practically burning into me. I look down and realize the strap of my loose tank top has slid down, revealing my bra strap and the top part of my boob in the lacy cup. My face flames red. Not from embarrassment. Okay, maybe a little, but it’s more the heat of their gazes upon me. I quickly clear my throat and right my top.
