by LE Barbant
Lava Lounge was dark, like most other bars, but its funky sculpted walls and booth dividers gave it a distinct feel—more like a postmodern art exhibit than a drinking establishment.
The front bar spilled into a backroom with a round sunken seating area that looked like a 70’s era hot tub, sans water. Past the tub, there was an area that could serve as a dance floor if the aging hipster crowd was ever moved by the spirit. The smell of stale smoke hit Rhett in the face, accompanied by some moody shoegazer music from the late nineties. He liked the joint and its idiosyncrasies. Jillian loved it, and it fit her like a glove.
Rhett scanned the room. His date was nowhere in sight, so he slid a stool out from the bar and read the specials. His taste still hadn’t acclimated itself to Pittsburgh cuisine.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender asked over his shoulder.
The place was nearly empty, but he feigned busyness behind the bar.
Rhett dropped the menu and scanned the bartender’s stock. “Whiskey. Neat.”
The bartender nodded and turned toward the rows of dusty bottles. Rhett hadn’t consumed well drinks since college.
Maybe I’m regressing.
He sipped on his whiskey and stared mindlessly at the television. A report on a local sports icon droned on. Rhett hated the way that his new city elevated athletics above all else. But in order to influence a place, he needed to know what it loved. At least Pittsburgh wore its heart on its sleeve.
"There’s my favorite hack."
Rhett grinned at the sound of the familiar voice. "Takes one to know one."
Jillian pulled out a stool next to Rhett and eased herself in. "Glad to see your rhetoric has reached junior high status. That should help you out with our new mayor.”
Rhett tried to subdue the smile that washed across his face, but the effort was futile. Something about the reporter got him every time. "How's your blogger thing working out?"
Jillian slapped him across the chest. She had gained some notoriety from her piece on the events surrounding Dobbs’ death at City Hall. While her reporting bent the truth concerning the role Rhett and friends played in the mayhem, she had also included an incisive perspective on the city and its inhabitants. The article garnered significant attention—some negative, but the Keystone Voice had doubled its subscribers since the article ran. Jillian had solidified her place as a darling of the regional internet space. Though fully aware of her talent and popularity, Rhett had no problem poking fun at her work in new media.
"What are you drinking?"
Rhett looked down at the dark liquid. “Just the finest bottom shelf whiskey this place has to offer."
"Careful. You'll be a yinzer in no time."
Rhett stared into her green eyes and then wandered toward her strawberry blonde hair. Her natural beauty and relaxed posture put him at ease. In the world of politics, Rhett was accustomed to facades. But Jillian had an authenticity that he found refreshing.
"So," Jillian said, "I've been wondering, is there some sort of conflict of interest here?"
Rhett raised eyebrows. "How so?"
"You know," she said, "a journalist and the mysterious young speechwriter who lands a job with one Mayor, only to then take up with his opponent, after the first Mayor just happened to die a mysterious death? A death which I reported on…”
Rhett felt a chill cross his spine. He certainly knew what it looked like to the people outside of City Hall, or at least those who paid attention.
Jillian waved to the bartender.
"Hey, Rob. How's it going?"
The bartender grinned at her. Rhett hadn't received as much as a moment of eye contact. “Another day, another dollar, J. What are you drinking tonight?
“I’ll have the usual.”
“Two limes?” the barkeep asked.
“Of course.” A single dimple showed itself on Jillian’s cheek.
Rhett cleared his throat. “A gin and tonic after Labor Day? That’s a worse crime than wearing white.” He paused, caught up with the glimmer in her eyes. “And no.”
“No?”
“Conflict of interest. This isn’t a problem.” Rhett closed his eyes as if trying to remember. “When impartiality, the lovechild of responsibility and interest, is born, it is not the being of the progeny that is corrupt, but only its seeming.”
Jillian knitted her brow. “A master of the letters, aren’t you? Who is that, Gorgias?”
Rhett swirled his glass, watching the insignificant viscosity of the cheap whiskey make every attempt to cling to the side of the glass. “Nope. Johannes. Rhett Johannes”
“Your narcissism is insufferable.”
Rhett smiled. “Guilty as charged. So, what’s been going on in the Steel City?”
“Always something going on.” Jillian grabbed her fresh drink from the bar and drank through the swizzle stick. “Looks like your man Kinnard is winning hearts and minds already. Polls are looking good.”
“A carpenter is only as good as his tools,” Rhett said.
“Is that an innuendo?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Shit like that just comes out. If I raise my eyebrow, everything can be an innuendo.” Rhett grinned and gave his eyebrow a wiggle.
They chatted, drinks in hand for the better part of an hour. Rhett raised two fingers for another round, but a cold, early winter wind, swept into the Lava Lounge, distracting the speechwriter. A black man with wild eyes and wilder hair stood in the doorway. Jillian turned to Rhett and rolled her eyes.
“What?” Rhett asked under his breath.
Before she could answer, the man boomed into the mellow bar. “I knew I’d find you here. But I didn’t expect to find you with him.” The man wagged his finger in Rhett’s direction. “This is a gold mine, indeed.”
Seeing the man approach, Rhett felt instantly protective. He stood, sliding the stool out from underneath him. He sized the guy up: short and scrappy looking. If Rhett couldn’t persuade him, he was pretty sure he would lose in good old-fashioned fisticuffs.
Jillian grabbed his arm. “It’s OK. He’s harmless,” she whispered. Her word’s failed to set him at ease.
The man lurched toward the bar. Rhett was seldom intimidated, but the look in the guy’s eyes was unpredictable.
“Hey, King,” Jillian said with as much candor as could be gathered. She smiled her white perfect smile toward the man.
“You haven’t returned my calls.”
“I know, I know. It’s been busy, you understand.”
The man looked at his feet for a moment. In Rhett’s line of work, being publicly confronted like this would not be an anomaly. Jillian’s vocation was not much different than his.
“Sure. I get it.”
The man’s dark eyes darted toward Rhett, and he put on his best political smile.
“Rhett Johannes,” he said, jutting out his hand to shake.
“Yeah. I know who you are. You worked for Dobbs. That guy was a shit.”
“OK,” Rhett said, at a loss for words.
King turned his attention back to Jillian. “Listen, I don’t mean to interrupt, but this shit’s important.” He paused. “Excuse me.”
“Shit don’t make me blush, you know that.”
Rhett was taken by Jillian’s patience for the man. A certain kind of kindness swept over her face. He couldn’t be sure if it was sympathy or some kind of related emotion. Either way, her countenance made Rhett settle back into his bar stool.
“Thanks. I mean, yeah. Anyway, I really want you to come out to one of our meetings. We’re on the verge of something, something big. It’s just that everyone doesn’t know shit about what’s going on and we need to expose the truth.”
“Truth with a capital ‘T’. That’s my jam, King. It’s just with the new administration and everything that’s going on…I’m being pulled in a bunch of directions.”
King scratched his chin and exhaled deeply.
“Yeah. That’s cool. Listen, I just think the people would be interested in our
story.” King paused for a beat. Sweat beaded on his head. He looked like a preacher at a tent revival. “Jillian, I’ve seen ‘em. More than once. And I know the monsters are real. Your article, it was effective. It got people to stop talking about what’s really happening here. But you’re wrong. Dead wrong. For the integrity of your craft, if nothing else, you should hear me out.”
Jillian pursed her lips. Her eyes held no pretense. “I’ll think about it.”
The man raised his voice. “You’ve been thinking about it.”
The reporter took a step back. In turn, the man advanced. Rhett’s eyes cut to the bar for an impromptu weapon. But Jillian didn’t need him—yet.
“Cool off, King. You’re not the only one in this city that thinks he has the next hot story.”
“Hot story? I’m not pitching you celebrity gossip.” The man nodded at the news, still highlighting the story of the local sports hero. “I’m talking monsters, terrorism, cover-ups. And that’s just the beginning.”
The man’s volume increased as his eyes got wilder. Rhett lost patience with the man. He figured it was time to step in. He placed his hand on the man’s thick arm.
“Get your hand off me.”
“Easy King. Everything’s gonna be ok. Trust me. But it’s time for you to go,” Rhett said.
For a split second, the man’s face went blank. Rhett wondered if Jillian picked up on it. Then he turned and headed toward the exit, leaving the bar as quickly as he came.
****
The city streets were unusually quiet as Rhett and Jillian approached her car.
“What was all that about?”
“King? Well, I’m just getting to know him. I guess he is what people might call troubled.”
“Do you mean dangerous?” Rhett asked.
“Nah, I don’t think so. He actually saw what most didn’t, and he is honest enough to want to talk about it. I don’t know why, but he’s been around for most of your friends’ escapades. King saw the big metal man the first night Elijah changed and witnessed the fight at PPG Tower. The guy is always at the wrong place at the wrong time—or the right place, for a journalist.”
“So, what’s his angle? He crazy or something?”
Jillian stepped toward Rhett and bumped his stride off course with her shoulder. “I wouldn’t call him that—but he sees himself as a hero. Hell, he might just be one. King’s trying to make sense out of what he saw and make a difference with what he knows. I respect that. He has a group of truthers who get together and talk about the Pittsburgh monster conspiracy. I think most of them are there for the free coffee or something, but he’s digging deep and looking for visibility. He’ll find it before too long. You guys should be careful.” She paused. “And how the hell did you do that?”
“Do what?” Rhett asked with a straight face.
“You know, just get him to leave.”
Rhett raised his hand in the space between them. Waving his fingers in a slow arc, he said, “These are not the droids you’re looking for.”
She pounded his shoulder with a tight fist. “You’re an idiot.”
Rhett was surprised that for once, the truth worked.
Rhett wondered if he should follow up with this King character, or if they were better off leaving it alone. He eyed a Jetta parked too far off the curb. “This is you right?”
“Yeah. I’m sorry we got interrupted. Let’s not call it a night yet. Can we go someplace else?”
Rhett’s phone buzzed in sync with her words. A text came in from Paul: I need to talk with you.
He reached over and rubbed Jillian’s back, which sent a wave of electricity through his body. “I should probably call it a night.”
“You could come to my place for one last drink,” Jillian said with a wink.
Rhett took in her smell and the perfect strawberry-blond curls. He stuffed the phone into his pocket.
“Just one couldn’t hurt.”
****
The apartment was close to what he had imagined. Clean, but not obsessively so. The furnishings were retro-classic without the hipster irony that had always been off-putting to the politician. He leaned back into the low loveseat and took in the tasteful black and white photographs covering the northern wall. Nature scenes were interspersed amongst images of Pittsburgh and a few off-centered portraits, each encased by matching matte black frames.
“I’ll be right there,” Jillian sang from the kitchen.
Rhett could hardly hold back his giddy smile. Invitations for “just one drink” were not a rarity for him, but he was honored to receive this one. Neither social manipulation nor his power of persuasion got him across the threshold. And for the first time in a long time, he was truly glad to be waiting for a drink in a beautiful woman’s living room.
“You need a hand?” he asked toward the kitchen, even though he knew the answer.
“I got this, Cicero.”
“Um, Cicero delivered speeches, you know.”
Jillian’s head peeked around the corner. “He wrote them too, dumbass. And who knows, maybe you’ll deliver them yourself one day.” She offered her signature wink and disappeared.
Trying not to let his imagination run away with itself, he occupied his mind by pushing around a pile of magazines on her coffee table. Writer’s Digest, Wired, and The New Yorker were on top.
Nice taste, he thought.
A magazine on the bottom of the stack nearly made him gasp.
“Cat Fancy?” he called into the kitchen. “Settling into the spinster life, are we?”
He scanned the room for signs of felines.
“It’s my roommate’s,” she shouted back.
Shit. Roommate.
He looked for evidence of the woman, or man, belonging to the cat.
“Here you go.” Jillian handed him a glass and sat next to him. Pulling her feet up underneath her, she leaned back on the arm of the sofa.
“Is this what I think it is?”
She nodded. “I’ve been ready for this night.”
“Oh, have you?”
He closed his eyes and sipped from a glass. The sweet citrusy tones hit his tongue first, followed by the strong, grainy edge of a whiskey perfect for the potion.
“Quite the mixologist. Let me guess: one dissolved sugar cube, not syrup.”
“Mmm, hmm.”
“Rye whiskey.”
“Yeah. What kind?”
He sipped again. “Bulleit?”
“Damn, you’re good.” She smiled.
Rhett took another sip and settled into the evening, enjoying the company as much as the drink. Before he knew it, the pair had talked and laughed their way through three rounds.
“One more?”
Rhett looked at his watch. 12:45 am. “Better not. I have an early meeting.” He lied, but he thought the small deception might make the evening progress more quickly in the direction he was hoping for.
Jillian stared at him unblinkingly with a gentle, boozy countenance. A faint grin danced on her lips. She was waiting for his move. This moment—with her—felt totally foreign. Rhett was a boy again, contemplating his first kiss.
“And your roommate will probably be home soon.”
“Nope. She’s in Cleveland with her cat.”
“Sounds like my version of hell.”
Before she could laugh, Rhett leaned in and kissed her. It was slow but deliberate. She kissed back, the taste of the Old Fashion still on her soft lips. Her hand moved gently across his chest and up to the nape of his neck. Pulling him closer, Jillian gave him her full attention. She knew her craft. Heart beating through his chest, he lost his breath. The forfeiture of control was at once exhilarating and frightening.
The way he was sweating, she could have been his first.
She pulled away.
His face questioned.
Then with a wry smile, she stood, took his hand in hers and led the speechwriter back into the bedroom.
****
“I’ve never smoked,
but I think I need a cigarette or something,” Rhett said. “And maybe a snack.”
Jillian purred. She traced a nail down the side of his ribcage, pausing in each valley. Shivers rippled through his frame.
“After your performance, I’m surprised you don’t need an all you can eat buffet.”
“You were my buffet.”
She gave him a tiny shove then settled back into her pillow.
They laid in silence, somewhere between awake and sleeping. Finally, Rhett looked over at the clock. 2:47. Grabbing his phone from the bedside table, he shook it awake.
Six missed messages.
Damn it, Paul.
Her legs were entangled in his, and Rhett wanted nothing more than to stay in her bed until the end of the world.
“I don’t want to, but I need to go.”
“Work?”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I should catch a few hours before I need to head in.”
“I’m going to sleep past noon,” she said. “You should give blogging a try. I can set up a Wordpress site for you right now: www.rhettorician.com.”
He laughed. “Clever.”
“Yeah. And, it’s available. I already checked.” Her eyebrows arched.
Rhett turned and kissed her forehead. “This was amazing. Thank you.”
“No, thank you. So, this is goodbye, player?”
“Yep. Off to my next mark.”
In the faint light from the street, he watched Jillian crinkle her perfect nose. “I knew it.”
He laughed. “Not a chance. Trust me.”
“I do,” she said. “And I have.”
Minutes ticked away as Rhett put off the inevitable.
Finally, he said, “How about a show on Thursday?”
“A show? What did you have in mind? Jazz or the opera?”
“Sort of. There’s a slam poetry night at a place in East Liberty. I really want to check it out.”
Her eyes sparkled. “You’ll never cease to surprise me, will you?”
“I’ll try my best,” Rhett said with the most natural smile he had ever produced.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The midnight air swept gently across Rita’s scaly surface. She hadn’t moved in over an hour, but the cool, damp breeze helped her retain the moisture necessary for her health. Her powers had their advantages, but there were more drawbacks than just her lack of dinner invitations. After a few hours out of the rivers or the dark, wet hole she lived could be disastrous for the fish out of water. Years in her current body had taught her to be shrewd.
