by Jess Bentley
I know he’ll put them in a jar on the shelf at the slightest provocation, and being his heir apparent is absolutely no defense.
Janie
The news at Red Hall is not good. Gloria’s bullshit little stunt is, somehow, so much worse than I could have imagined it would be. “Tim,” I say into my phone, desperate to not sound as desperate as I am, “come on. We’ve known each other for six years. You know I want to do this for you, and you know I can make it amazing.”
Tim sighs, and I can already tell I’ve lost. “You know I wish I could, Janie,” he says finally, “but it’s not just my day, you know? And as much as I hate this part of it… well…”
“You don’t want the bad press after the incident with Martin,” I finish for him. “I’m going to strangle that little — ”
“I won’t tell the press that’s how you feel,” Tim laughs. It’s short- lived. “Look, I’ll make it up to you some other way. Once all this wedding buzz is over and we can get back to living a normal life, Jenna and I will come by for a visit. I’ll even have Penny leak our plans to the paparazzi.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I say. Tim hates the paparazzi, and while I don’t know Jenna very well, I suspect she also does. Most celebrities do. “I mean, you do have to come by, but you don’t have to alert the vultures.”
“It’s fine,” Tim sighs. “They’ll probably find us anyway. They can get some pics of us being friendly. Look… I’m really sorry about changing the venue.”
“I’ll be fine, Tim.” I am not sure of that, but it pays to be optimistic. Most of the time. “Go get married; you two have fun. Just promise me you won’t have your reception at Ferry Lights. I couldn’t handle it.”
“You have my solemn oath,” Time swears. “I’m not setting foot in that shit hole. Love you, girl.”
“Love you, too. Jerk.”
Tim pauses, and I can hear him holding his breath.
“I’m kidding,” I assure him. “Good bye.”
We hang up, and I’m alone in the office long enough to have a mini break down. Just five seconds of abject panic, just to get it out of my system.
Gloria.
I want to string that woman up over the doors as a warning to anyone else who thinks they know better how to manage my PR profile better than I do.
Five seconds are up. Pity party over. Blow out the candles, put away the hats. Back to business, girl.
Mama should be up about now, and I’m certain that if anyone is there with her, they’re probably tired of it. The dinner service has started out slow but steady, and given the sharp decline in business recently I don’t expect I’ll be needed. So I find Chester, who barely has any work to do with his second bartender taking most of the drink orders.
“I need to go check up on my mom,” I tell him as he gives me that sympathetic smile of his. He knows how stressed I am. Chester’s good like that. It’s too bad he’s gay, because that’s a man I would snap up in a second. “Will you just generally keep an eye on things? And especially Gloria? Just like… tranq her if she looks like she’s about to talk to someone.”
He chuckles, and rolls his eyes at me. “Will do, boss lady.” We’ve had the conversation before — unprofessional, I know, but Chester is great for venting — about possibly firing Gloria. He knows all the reasons I can’t. Gloria doesn’t know that if Mama were to die, she’d be out of a job. I try not to think like that, but I just need any little excuse.
“Thanks,” I tell Chester, and we exchange Parisian-style faux cheek kisses before I hightail it out of there and to my car.
After repeatedly texting my stepfather and my brothers to no avail, I arrive at the hospital to find that, in fact, Mama is there alone. She has been since I left her with George this morning.
“It’s okay,” she tells me. “George has work, you know and… I know the boys are busy. You didn’t have to come.”
I sit down in the chair near her bed, and hold her hands tightly in both of mine. She returns the squeeze; she doesn’t mean it when she says I didn’t have to come, and she doesn’t mean it when she pretends not to be hurt that she’s here alone.
We’re quiet for a moment, and Mama gets a certain look in her eyes — a kind of feigned casualness that always precedes the same question. “Have you… have you heard from him?” she asks.
Of course, by “him” she means my father, her ex-husband. All these years later and she’s still in love with him. She’d never admit that, of course. It seems so strange to me that she would, like she never drew the connection between his leaving and her neuroses getting markedly exaggerated almost overnight. Before he left, they were manageable. Stressful on Dad, I know, and a big reason why he left but… if he’d known how bad it would get, then who knows? Maybe he wouldn’t have.
“He… hasn’t called, Mama. But I could call him, if you want.”
There’s an instinct to lie to her, tell her he asked about her. But the fact is, my relationship with my father is really just beginning, and we haven’t yet broached the subject. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to, and there’s a part of me that’s worried that if I bring it up, he might withdraw. Run off, again.
Abandonment issues; I have them. I’m aware, and I have the reports of several therapists to back me up. But I don’t have the time or the energy to spare to steamroll my way into Dad’s life and get the answers that might resolve some of that. I will, one day. Maybe.
Mama nods slowly, and swallows back something that might have been an impending crying fit. Funny how weak she can be when her own brain turns against her. When it comes to Dad, she can put on a strong face like no one’s business. Maybe we only have so much... maybe that’s where she spends all of her strength and resolve.
“I ran him off, you know,” Mama sighs, waving at her prone form under the hospital blanket and at the room around us. “With all this. With my… nervousness. I’m sorry he wasn’t around for you, Janie. Sorry that I made him leave.”
“Don’t say that, Mama,” I chide her. “I never felt that way. We’re all responsible for our own decisions.”
Mama isn’t buying it, I can tell. She’d much rather heap the responsibility on herself than admit it had nothing to do with her. Even if her attacks had anything to do with it, it wasn’t her fault and I really believe that. I want to be connected to Dad, but I’m not naive about him — he left because it was too much for him, and it was too much because he wasn’t the man he should have been. Parents are human too, weak and fallible like the rest of us.
“Get some rest, Mama,” I tell her as her eyes droop closed anyway. “It’s his loss. It always has been.”
She probably doesn’t hear that part. Her eyes close, and she’s sleeping peacefully from the sedatives in her system.
I lean back in the hospital room chair and watch her sleep, wishing I could make it all better.
Jake
It takes an effort to stop grinding my teeth as I step through the doors of Red Hall for the second time. This time, it will go better than before. I know that. It’s all planned out. Still, I’m unreasonably nervous going into the place. Why is it so slow in here? There can’t be more than forty or fifty people scattered around the lounge, and the last time I saw the place it had to have been in the hundreds.
That makes it so much worse, but I approach the bar anyway. What choice do I have? I never really needed to set aside anything like a nest egg. I’m Reginald’s only heir, and I’ve seen his will. Well, the original version anyway. No telling what it says now. The only business idea I ever had was —
No time to waste thinking about that right now. Not when I see Janie across the room and feel my stomach tighten. Or first meeting comes rushing back to me: the smell of her, the closeness of her body when we danced. The need that started to kindle at the base of my dick. I feel awful thinking about that now, but can’t help the fact that I’m looking forward to sweeping her off her feet, giving her something, even for a little while, to take her mind off
of all of this.
I can do this.
She hasn’t seen me yet, and that’s fine. She’ll see me soon enough. So I go to the bar and lean casually on it, waving fingers at the bartender… is it Chester? I’m pretty sure it is.
Chester sees me, and pulls a face. Aha. So, I’m on some kind of watch list now. He quickly scans the crowd, probably looking for Janie.
His eyes stop searching, though, and he pales as he stares at one of the patrons at the bar, a guy in a cheap suit and large sunglasses, and a bag that he’s laying quietly on the bar. Chester isn’t staring at the man’s face, or his suit, or even the bag, though — he’s staring at the handgun. The man’s lips move, he’s telling Chester not to make a scene, to fill the bag up with whatever cash is behind the bar. Even with a crowd this small, it’s likely thousands of dollars.
Careful not to draw too much attention, I approach the man. I don’t move too quickly, and I keep my hands in sight. He glances at me, freezes, and angles himself so he can train his gun on either Chester or me without moving too far. A professional, it looks like.
“Making a mistake,” I say to the robber.
“Shut up,” the man says. “Don’t fucking talk.”
Chester is taking the bag from the counter. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll get the money, all right? Just don’t… just don’t shoot. I’m getting the money, but I have to duck down here to get it, okay?”
The man’s lips twitch nervously, and he waves the gun a little. “Fine. Go, get it. I’m watching you.”
So are several other people now. They’re not moving, just watching. I can’t tell if Janie is or not. If this goes badly, she could be in real danger. But all I can do is what I need to.
“Man, listen to me,” I say. “This whole place is full of cameras. It’s a high-profile lounge. There’s no way you’ll get away with that cash very far. How much is it gonna be? Five, six thousand dollars? Is that worth the years they’ll put you away for?”
“Shut up,” the robber says, and twitches the gun toward me. “Just shut up. Don’t make me do anything I’m gonna regret.”
There she is. I can see Janie out of the corner of my eye. She’s storming toward us, furious. Maybe she doesn’t realize? I spare a look toward her, and our eyes meet. Slowly, I shake my head, and hold a hand out to stall her, then I point at the robber where he can’t see me but she can, and curl three fingers in to make a gun.
Janie freezes in her steps, and her gaze shifts to the man with the gun. From her angle she can’t see it, but she’s too smart to take chances like that.
I inch just a little closer, almost in arm’s reach now. “You don’t have to do this, guy,” I say, monotone, calm, careful not to set him off. “If you put that gun away, and leave now, no one will call the cops. Think about it — you get a second chance. Who gets that? I’ll go with you, and we can talk about what’s going on, what brought you to this point. I got a lot of money, okay? Maybe I can help. It would be better that way, wouldn’t it?”
“No,” the man says. “No, I don’t want your strings. It’s better this way. This place is hoppin’, every night. They’ll make it back. This is chump change. Don’t fucking move!”
He twitches the gun toward me further, now almost pointing it at me. Chester is frozen in place behind the bar, his eyes shut tight. He’s afraid. Genuinely terrified of being shot. And why not?
I’m not, though. I try to match the man’s breath, pace him as he breathes, both hands up and empty as I take another slow step forward. “Let me help you. What’s your name?”
“I’m not telling you my name,” the man says. “Forget it. Just… I just have to do this, okay?”
“Tell me why,” I urge him. “Come on. It’s all right; no one has called the cops. Tell me why you have to do this.”
He looks uncertain. His eyes are twitching back and forth, looking for some sign of danger maybe, and he licks his lips. He’s pale, and there’s sweat on his forehead.
“Come on, man; just tell me the story,” I say again. “We can just talk this out…” He’s frozen with indecision, and looks, for a moment, like he’s ready to give in. I reach for the barrel of the gun cautiously…
“No!” the man snaps. He tries to jerk the gun away before I can grab it, but I’m faster than him. I grab his wrist, and tug the point of the gun down, toward the floor where a stray bullet can’t hit anyone.
“Sorry about this,” I mutter, and snake a hand behind his neck before I twist and drop to one knee.
He goes over, dropping the gun on his way, and it clatters to the floor just before he does. I grab the gun the moment I let go of him, and he scrambles to his feet. One quick look around the room, and he’s off like a shot, across the lounge, shoving people out of the way and bolting through the door.
It’s over. I straighten up, smooth my slacks, and carefully lay the gun on the counter. Chester is staring at me, wide-eyed and with a hungry sort of look that I hope Janie will have when I see her.
That was too easy. And I know why. Because paying that guy to attempt rob this place and take a fall for me was about the only thing that would get me into her good graces again.
But it worries me that I’m turning into Reginald.
Janie
Every bone in my body tells me not to trust Jake Ferry when he approaches me from across the lounge, where he’s just talked down and then put down an armed robber, but all I can think about is that if anything had happened to Chester, or if someone in my restaurant was shot, it would be the end of everything.
So when he comes close, his dark eyes filled with what looks like genuine concern, all I can think to say is, “Thank you.”
Jake shakes his head. “I don’t think he was serious. Are you okay?”
“Not really,” I tell him honestly. “If someone had been hurt… I’m going to have to do something about my security detail. I thought a couple of bouncers were enough, but it never occurred to me that someone could come in and rob the place during business hours. I mean what was he possibly thinking?”
Jake shrugs, sympathetic and just as confused as I am. “I don’t know. Desperate, I guess. People do strange things when they’re pushed hard enough. Things they might not normally do. Who knows what his story is?”
“Well, hopefully the police catch him,” I say. “It’s dangerous to have someone like that running around out there. Plenty of people got that on video. I think you’ll be immortalized forever, or at least for the next few weeks.” A thought occurs to me — a nasty one — and I blurt it out before I realize I’m speaking. “It’ll probably be great for your father’s restaurant, right?”
Jake blinks, his lips parted, and then starts to turn away. “I guess we’ll see.”
I should let him go. I don’t like him. I mean he’s gorgeous, and there’s something about a man who will face down danger that is objectively, undeniably sexy, but Jake Ferry is the enemy. Nonetheless, I find myself reaching out to stop him. “Jake, wait.”
He does, and for a moment I’m searching for the words. That’s about the time the police arrive.
Jake waits for me while I give my statement to the police along with everyone else. I have Chester show one of the officers the security footage from the night, and avoid being a bitch about how long it took for them to arrive. Chester hit the silent alarm behind the bar just a few seconds after he realized what was happening. Next time, someone could be dead.
But that’s the last kind of talk I want to have with the police, especially right now. So instead it’s all humility and profuse gratitude while they gather everything they can — which isn’t much. They take the gun, at least, and hope to get prints off of it. Since Jake touched it too, they have to print him just in case the robber isn’t on file. Jake is gracious about that, but people are taking pictures and I do wonder if maybe this won’t look bad for the Ferrys when it gets online.
And that’s a vicious thought, not the kind I’m used to having. Guilt worms into my s
tomach — this is the man that just saved my bar, my bartender, and if things had gone really badly, who knows — maybe even my life. I shouldn’t be thinking about whether the PR for this is going to hurt him. That’s not who I am. Is it?
When everything is done, and the police are on their way out, Jake comes back to me, looking embarrassed, his hands in his pockets. “Kind of a fiasco I guess.”
“Armed robbery usually is,” I say.
He laughs quietly, and shrugs. “I guess you’re probably right.”
“Noncommittal. Is that like a thing with you?” I wince at my own tone, and put a hand lightly on his arm. “I’m sorry. I’m just… my nerves are shot and I get sarcastic when that happens. It’s a defense mechanism, that’s all.”
“No, you’re… you’re not wrong,” he says. He puts his large, warm hand over mine. His hands are soft. Not that I should expect anything else — he isn’t a field worker, after all. I’m not certain Jake Ferry has worked a hard day in his life.
Just behind him, several yards away, Gloria is practically on her tiptoes, trying to peek past him to see what we’re about.
As if reading Gloria’s thoughts, or mine, Jake glances over his shoulder and then back at me. “Would you… like me to take you home? We can leave out the back so no one can see us. I’m not parked far.”
I want to laugh. People have already “seen us.” But it’s a sweet thought. I did drive my own car but… “Sure,” my mouth says before I can get ahead of it. “That would be good.”
When he smiles, I almost want to kiss him, and that’s the most ridiculous thought I’ve had in recent memory. So I take my hand off his arm, out from under his hand, and go to retrieve my purse instead. I’m not kissing Jake Ferry. Not yet, anyway.
I probably look as nervous as I feel on the way back to my place. Every time I try to start up a conversation, the words get stuck in my throat. Maybe I just don’t want to pop whatever illusory bubble I’m actually in right now. Maybe I’m worried I’ll say the wrong thing. This isn’t one of my talents — making nice with someone I very recently would have had killed if I thought I could get away with it.
