Incidental Happenstance

by DeSalvo, Kim

  He reached for his martini again and felt a pang of guilt. He’d been pretty rude to her, he thought. He was the one who made millions of dollars, and here was a girl, all alone, buying him a drink, thanking him for “sharing his gift with the world,” and he’d asked her to leave? She’d caught him completely off guard and he hadn’t even asked her name or thanked her for the compliment. That wasn’t the kind of person he was at the core, and he felt badly about it. But hey, he deserved to be able to sit at a bar and have a drink alone, didn’t he? And he’d learned from far too many past experiences that you couldn’t trust women. They all wanted something from him—the spotlight, a record contract, their faces on TV and in those damned tabloids…plus, opportunities for him to be anonymous didn’t come along very often, so he had to take advantage of them when he could.

  But, he thought, almost sadly, if he wasn’t recognized and hassled by fans everywhere he went, if he was ever allowed to just be himself, she was the kind of girl for whom he might buy a drink. Oh hell, should he buy her a drink? It would be the gentlemanly thing to do; he could at least reciprocate the kindness and not leave her thinking that he was some kind of rich asshole megastar who couldn’t be bothered with ‘regular’ people. But that would mean opening up conversation, and that wasn’t what he wanted to do tonight. He looked her way again. She was trying very hard to concentrate on the pool players without looking obvious.

  What was her deal, anyway? Part of him had difficulty believing that she was going to accept their meeting as a random event and walk away without so much as a request for an autograph or a picture. That alone puzzled—and surprisingly—intrigued him.

  He wondered if maybe he should go—find a different place to be anonymous—but he hadn’t thought to bring any of his other disguises along and the ridiculous mullet wouldn’t fit in anywhere else but a place like this one. He glanced at her again and smiled at how intently she was trying to avoid looking at him. It really didn’t look like the mystery woman was going to blow his cover, or bother him again. In fact, it looked as if she were working awfully hard to look everywhere else but at him. As a man with manners, however, he couldn’t just let things go as rudely as he’d left them. He focused his gaze on her until she looked over and caught his eye and he tipped his glass in her direction, smiled, and looked away. It would have to be enough.

  Chapter 3

  Behind her, the door crashed open. Tia jumped in her stool and turned to see over six feet of cowboy lurch into the bar in faded jeans and a dirty work shirt. Her first thought was that this was exactly the guy that Lexi had in her mind when she joked about checking under fingernails. He was obviously a regular, and just as obviously had already started partying before stumbling into Last Stop.

  “Happy Friday Everyone! Three day weekend, so let’s get the party started!” he bellowed. Every head turned in his direction—he had just successfully become the center of attention. His loud announcement was met with a few cheers and the raising of more than a few bottles and glasses in his direction. He raised his arms, anointing them as his subjects, and approached the bar.

  “Hey barkeep! Let’s go Lester; I’ve been standing here for over ten seconds now! Don’t keep a thirsty man waiting for his first brew on a Friday night!”

  “Gotcha, Bud,” the bartender replied, already twisting the cap off a Miller Lite. “Glad to see you haven’t lost the virtue of patience—you have heard of the virtue of patience, haven’t you?”

  “Hell, my daddy taught me to grab life when I wanted it, and right now I want that beer!” He swept the frosty bottle from Lester’s hands, turned, and looked straight at Tia.

  “Well, now,” he smiled, flashing crooked, yellow teeth. “Speaking of grabbing life when you want it…isn’t this here a pleasant surprise—somebody new in my bar tonight—and a pretty somebody new at that. Must be my lucky night. How’re ya doin’, sugar?” He moved in closer to Tia and held out his hand, pressing his large body against the back of her bar stool.

  Tia was frozen in her place. She could still smell the day’s work on him; grease and gasoline, mixed with a splash of whiskey that seemed be emanating from his pores. She was caught off guard, and didn’t know how to react. In all the time she’d spent pondering this night; taking the first step in reclaiming her life; this was a scenario she hadn’t considered, and she wasn’t prepared. Her first thought was to quietly make her exit, but he stood firmly between her and the door and directly behind her chair, preventing her from sliding it back away from the bar. She was essentially pinned, and a slight panic rose in her. Quickly, she tried to calm herself. After all, if she was going to get back into the world again, she would have to deal with people like this guy Bud. His kind was found in every bar and at every party in the world.

  “Name’s Bud,” he said with a crooked and tobacco stained smile. “And you are…?”

  She ignored his hand, but not before noticing a healthy dose of dirt under his fingernails. Lexi’s words rolled in her mind; public place doesn’t mean safe place…shady characters…She replied coolly, “Just about to leave. If you’ll excuse me…” She pushed back on the stool, but it didn’t budge.

  Instead of making way, he moved in even closer, and she got the distinct feeling that taking no for an answer was not something he considered an option. “Now come on, don’t be that way, honey. Night’s young, weekend’s long, and you certainly can’t leave just yet… not before we’ve even been properly introduced.”

  “I’m afraid I really have to be leaving.” Tia kept her voice calm, but his intrusion into her personal space—not to mention her anonymous evening—was making her uncomfortable. She made another attempt to push back the bar stool, but he stood firmly behind it. Tia shivered in spite of herself, and Bud was close enough to feel it—use it to his advantage.

  “Now don’t be scared, sweetheart. I’m just your good old-fashioned southern gentleman.” He raised his voice to address the patrons. “Friends, tell this lady here that I am a perfect gentleman, will you?” he prodded.

  Most of the guys raised their bottles in Bud’s direction, but said nothing. Several of the girls, Tia noticed, looked away.

  “See?” Bud continued. “No need to worry. Let’s just have a beer and get to know each other a little bit. But first, be nice and tell me your name why don’t you?”

  His voice dripped honey and sugar and he made a pathetic attempt at a puppy face, but his glassy eyes were anything but friendly. He lifted his hand and in one quick swoop tugged Tia’s hair out of its knot with his filthy fingers, brushing the fallen strands behind her ear and smiling down at her. Repulsed, she slapped his hand away, and he laughed. He felt in perfect control of this situation, that much was obvious. This man was used to getting what he wanted, Tia thought, and right now, it seemed that he wanted her. She was physically trapped by his huge body; she needed to use her brain to get herself out of this. Her serial murderer scenario flashed through her mind again, and suddenly she was no longer interested in finding herself. All she wanted to do was to get out of here, chalk it up as a hard lesson learned, get in her car, and go home to the safety of her own little house.

  “Leave her alone, Bud, the lady obviously ain’t interested,” Lester said weakly from behind the bar.

  Thank you, Tia’s mind whispered, but Bud just scowled at him. “Mind your own goddamn business, Lester,” he barked in reply. “I’m just tryin’ to buy the lady here a drink, is all. I ain’t hurtin’ nobody.”

  To Tia’s dismay, Lester turned away and busied himself washing glasses at the small sink under the bar, obviously not willing to go any further with the big man.

  She took a slow breath and hoped that she radiated a calm she most certainly didn’t feel. “That’s a very kind offer, Bud, but I just stopped in for a quick beer, and I have somewhere else I need to be, so I really need to be going now. If you’ll excuse me, please.”

  Now he was really irritated. “Listen to that fancy talk, ‘I have somewhere else I ne
ed to be, please excuse me’” he mocked. “Geez, honey. All’s I wanted to do is to buy you…” he picked up her bottle and spun it in his hand. “…one of your fancy beers here and make some general conversation. No need to be a bitch.” He put his hand on Tia’s arm, and she could feel the pressure of his fingers digging into her flesh. Shit, she was in a little trouble here, and she wasn’t quite sure how to get herself out of it. Dealing with unwanted attention from men was just one more thing with which she hadn’t had any recent experience. She looked around the room to see if anyone was going to step up and help her out, but they all seemed suddenly very focused on everything but what was going on in her little corner of the room.

  Bloody hell, Dylan thought, taking in the scene across the bar. The obnoxious cowboy had the poor girl trapped, and he was looking at her as if she were a goddamn ice cream cone that was begging to be licked. Not good. He looked around the room, hoping that someone would come to her rescue. Most of the guys had gone back to their pool games or their conversations, and the girls were trying unsuccessfully to avoid the scene unfolding; watching out of the corners of their eyes or stealing short glimpses from the dance floor. It seemed everyone in the place was concentrating very hard on not seeing what was going on. He turned back and saw the girl’s wide eyes scanning the room, looking for a savior. She was trying to look calm, but he could almost feel her discomfort from where he was sitting.

  Shit. It was pretty obvious that no one else in this dump was going to go to her rescue, and he’d been raised to be a gentleman. He couldn’t stand guys like Bud who thought they could treat women like objects, and couldn’t stand to see her so obviously uncomfortable. Besides, she was a fan, had already recognized him, and furthermore she’d bought him a drink. His response to that kindness had been to be rude and ask to be left alone. Damn it, he had no choice really; he was going to have to go to her rescue. But how to do it? He could whip off his disguise—it was horribly itchy anyway—get the attention of the whole place, and create a diversion so she could escape. Once he was recognized, though, he’d never get out of here, so he put that aside as a last option. But then he reconsidered. The absolute last option was to confront the guy and possibly start a bar brawl. He had a show tomorrow night, and the next, and frankly, the dude looked like he did heavy lifting for a living—confrontation was out of the question.

  An idea occurred to him then, and as her eyes swept in his direction, he caught her glance. He put a finger over his lips to indicate secrecy, then walked his fingers through the air with his right hand while pointing to himself with his left, mouthing, ‘follow me,’ to her. He didn’t know if she understood, but she seemed to calm a bit; her eyes at least lost that deer in the headlights look. He made his way around the bar and stood behind Bud.

  He cleared his throat loudly, then belted out, “Excuse me…Bud is it?”

  Bud turned and faced Dylan. “What do you want, partner?” There was no friendship in his tone.

  He cleared his throat again and ignoring Bud’s question said, “Come on Francine, let’s get out of here.”

  Tia couldn’t see him behind the behemoth of a man, and the slight southern accent wasn’t his own, but she’d know that voice anywhere.

  “I said, COME ON, Francine,” he repeated, more urgently. “You were right, as usual, and I’m sorry for what I done. Can we just go home now?” She twisted her upper body in the stool so she could see past Bud and saw Dylan standing there with his hand extended toward her. She wanted to grab at it like a life raft, but it was still out of reach. Bud saw it as well, and turned his head toward Dylan, keeping his large body firmly planted behind Tia’s stool.

  “What are you DOING, stranger?” he sneered.

  “That’s my woman there, Bud. My Francine.”

  “Oh, is that so?” There was something that sounded like a dare in his voice. “She looks pretty alone to me right now.”

  “Yeah, well we had a bit of a falling out earlier. We been staring at each other across the bar, trying to patch things up.”

  Bud fired a look at Lester, who was quick to confirm. He nodded, and said, “Yup, they was talkin’ earlier—she bought him a drink. Looked like they was tryin’ to patch things up, alright.”

  “Really. Well maybe Francine doesn’t want to patch things up. Maybe she’s ready to move on to bigger and better things. Maybe what she needs is a real man; not some moron with a goddamn mullet who leaves a pretty lady like her sittin’ all alone in a bar full of willing men.” He took a step back to face Dylan, leaving Tia with just enough room to scoot the stool away from the bar and slip off.

  Tia had already caught on to Dylan’s act, interpreting his ‘follow me,’ and joined in immediately, grabbing at the opportunity to escape. Ignoring Bud’s comment, she focused all of her attention on Dylan Miller. “Do you mean it, Chester? I’m still your girl?” She tried to sound surprised, simple, natural.

  “Hell, Francine, we been together too long to call it quits now. I’m sorry for what I done. Can you forgive me?”

  Tia dashed around Bud and threw her arms around Dylan enthusiastically, hoping she was playing the right part. “Oh Chester,” she said, swooning. “You know I just hate it when we fight.”

  Dylan smoothed her hair, releasing the strands Bud had touched. “I know baby, I know. We won’t fight anymore, I promise. Now can we please just get out of here and go make up proper?”

  “You must be reading my mind!” Tia said as he nudged her toward the door and she gladly let him lead her.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Bud relayed loudly from behind them. “I’m here every Friday night, Francine, if you decide you want to try a real cowboy.” He dismissed them, and loudly ordered another beer as they reached the exit.

  Tia didn’t acknowledge the comment, and pushed through the door with her arm around Dylan Miller. They walked away from the bar, and once they’d passed a couple buildings, they simultaneously burst into laughter. Tia bent over and put her hands on her knees, catching her breath and exhaling a huge sigh. She was shaky, but she felt relieved, thankful, and safe, and she burst into more nervous giggles. “Holy crap, you just saved my life!” She stood up and looked at the man who’d saved her. Dylan Miller.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he said modestly. “But that guy was a real asshole, and he wasn’t going to give up until he got what he wanted. I just couldn’t stand to see the look on your face for another minute.”

  She leaned against the side of the building for support, still not sure of her own legs. She was still trembling a little bit, but could definitely see the humor in the situation, now that she was safely away from it. “Yeah, but the look on his face when we were walking out the door was better—am I right?”

  Dylan smiled, and Tia felt her heart skip a beat. “I must admit, his was pretty good too. It was awfully close, though, I wouldn’t want to have to take bets.”

  She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Wait though,” she giggled. “Francine? When you had to make up a name, that’s the one that popped into your head?” she joked, still breathing heavily but at least able to stand on her own two legs again.

  “Well, I didn’t get your name, so I had to come up with something quick.”

  “Yeah, I get that, but why not ‘Sue,’ or ‘Mary’—something more common?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “And please don’t tell me that I look like a Francine,” she joked, “I don’t think I could take it.”

  Dylan smiled with one half of his mouth, a look that made him appear mischievous and sexy at the same time and one that had often appeared on the covers of magazines. “I’ll have you know,” he smirked, “that Francine just happened to be the prettiest girl from the wrong side of the tracks when I was growing up. I had it something bad for her when I was fourteen. No offense, but you seemed like you were sitting on the wrong side of the tracks tonight.” He shook his head and smirked again. “Besides, it’s better than Chester! Where did that come from? You knew my rea
l name.”

  “Did I?” Tia asked slyly. “I thought you said I was mistaken.”

  Dylan half-smiled again and looked at her from dropped lids. “I didn’t think you believed it.”

  “I didn’t. Not for a second. And, just to clear the air, I never had it bad for a guy named Chester. He was the janitor at my elementary school. The smell of that guy Bud made me think of him—he was all grease, gas, and moonshine.”

  “Your elementary school janitor smelled like moonshine?” he joked.

  “Only on Tuesdays and Fridays,” she joked back.

  They were almost a block away from the bar now, nearly to where she’d parked her car, and they stopped on the sidewalk.

  “Listen,” she said, her voice getting serious. “I really can’t thank you enough. I was way out of my league in there, and I was more than a little freaked out.”

  “I could tell,” he said. “What in the world were you doing in a place like that, anyway? There are some rough characters in those kinds of places, and you don’t exactly look rough around the edges.”

  “Thanks, I think,” she said shyly. “You’re right though, that is definitely not my usual kind of hangout. I was just looking for some solitude, some noise, some…well, anyway,” she said, sure he wasn’t interested in her life story, “now you have personally had an impact on my life, aside from your music.” She put her left hand over her heart, bowing her head slightly, and held out her right. He reached out and shook it. “I appreciate it so much. Thank you again.”

  “Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do. You’re a fan, after all. Plus, you bought me a drink, and I was feeling bad about the way I treated you.”

  “Oh,” she added sadly, “but now I feel bad that I ruined your evening. You were obviously looking for some solitude yourself, and now you can’t go back in there.”