Smooth: A New Love Romance Novel (Bad Boy Musicians)

by Hazel Redgate

  And who are we to turn down an offer like that?

  The first bar we hit is a dingy little joint on a side street, the kind of place that looks to hipsters as though it must be great – after all, how could it stay in business otherwise if it looked so shitty? – but to everyone else looks like the owners pull down the shutters whenever the health inspector comes to town, and the drinks probably come with a complementary serving of hepatitis. ‘You sure about this, Dani?’ Lauren asks. ‘It looks a bit… you know.’

  Infected? I think.

  Danielle shrugs. ‘Yelp gives it four stars. That’s good enough for me.’ Without further ado, like a general leading her troops into battle, she marches through the front door and waits for us to follow. By the time we get to the bar, a full thirty seconds later, she has a line of five shots of tequila set up and waiting for us.

  ‘I figured we’d get the night started right,’ she says, dishing them out like candy on Hallowe’en. ‘One for you, and you, and you, and…’

  ‘Oh no,’ Paige says. ‘Tonight’s Ella’s turn. I can’t keep up with you guys two nights in a row.’ She slides the shot along the bar, back towards Danielle, who refuses to be deterred by this minor setback; instead, she just picks up the glass and carefully tips it back and forth under my nose in an effort to tempt me

  ‘What do you say, Ellie?’ she asks. ‘You brave enough for Patrón?’

  I can’t ever recall Patrón smelling quite so much like gasoline, and if I’m perfectly honest the thought of tequila sends my responsible adult side into shudders of disapproval, but then I catch Lauren standing behind Danielle, staring at me with her big, brown, unfair puppy-dog eyes – wanting me to have a grand old time and loosen up a little bit, if not for my sake than for hers.

  ‘Sure,’ I say, feigning enthusiasm and getting about ninety percent of the way there. ‘What harm could one shot do, eh?’ A whoop spreads through my chaperones when I agree, followed by another one when I throw back the shot and suck on a wedge of lime that helps – slightly – with the taste.

  Before I’ve put the glass down on the bar, Jessica has slid a second shot in front of me. ‘Another one?’ I ask.

  She shrugs. ‘Dani bought five. Someone might as well have it.’

  Lauren grins and hangs off my shoulder. ‘Go on, El,’ she says. ‘You can consider it my wedding gift. I haven’t seen you hammered since… what, Spring Break 2009?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’ Or at least, I’ve tried very hard not to remember, which is almost the same thing.

  ‘It might do you some good to cut loose a bit. Just for one night. What do you say?’

  I stare down at the amber liquid in the glass in front of me; somehow, I don’t remember shot glasses being so damn big before. I’m sure the last one I had wasn’t quite so large, but from the way it feels as it swirls around my stomach (and my head), it’s getting harder and harder to be sure.

  Sure, I think. What harm could two shots do, eh?

  As I down it, the girls let out another appreciative whoop; the standard for their excitement gets lower with every passing minute.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Lauren says. ‘Let’s have some fun, shall we?’

  ~~~

  We do not have fun. Not even a little bit.

  It starts when Jessica heads back to the bar to get us our next round of drinks, only to come back a few minutes later empty handed and with a worried expression on her face. ‘What happened?’ Paige asks.

  ‘He said they don’t do cocktails. No call for it, apparently. They don’t even serve wine. It’s pretty much beer, whiskey or tequila, so… take your pick, I guess.’

  ‘That’s weird,’ Danielle says, pulling out her phone. ‘The place got crazy-high reviews. I saved them, see?’

  Sure enough, there’s page after page of positive reviews – glowing, in fact. ‘I don’t get it,’ she says. ‘I mean, everyone raves about this place. I thought this was going to be the high point of the week.’

  ‘Ahem?’ Lauren grins. ‘Sure you aren’t forgetting why we’re out here?’

  ‘You know what I mean. But there’s no decent booze, no crowds, no atmosphere. There isn’t even any…’ She pauses, and yells over to the bartender. ‘Hey! You guys got any music in here?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Jukebox is broken. Since… what, 2014, maybe?’

  ‘A jukebox,’ she says. ‘In New Orleans. And not even a working one! It’s almost heresy. Something’s weird about this place.’ She stands up, smooths down her dress, and heads over to the bar. This is bound to be good, I think as the rest of us follow suit. Danielle once she gets a bee in her bonnet has got to be a sight to see.

  Is it wrong of me to be a little happy that this this recommendation on her part sank so damn hard? I mean, I don’t think so – not now my purse is forty bucks lighter because she insisted we all went to see a psychic – but still… I did promise Lauren I’d be nice to her.

  I figure as long as I don’t say it out loud, it doesn’t count. That seems like a pretty reasonable rule. It might even be one I can stick with.

  ‘Hey,’ she says, beckoning the bartender over. Unlike most of the bar staff we’ve seen since we got here – most of the ones I remember, either way – he’s not an astonishingly attractive man or an alt-chic woman. He must be at least forty-five; how old the moustache that decorates his top lip is, it’s hard to say, but he’s got more hair in that few square inches than he does on the rest of his head. ‘What time do things get interesting around here?’

  ‘Pardon?’ he asks. ‘What do you mean, interesting?’

  ‘You know… when does the party kick off? Are we just a bit early?’

  ‘Party?’ the bartender asks. ‘Nah, this is about as busy as it gets. Not a lot of customers in here, see. We’re a little out of the way. Niche crowd.’

  I bet, I think. It would take the most dedicated hipster dive bar aficionado to think this was a spot worth seeing, no matter how far off the beaten track he wanted to go.

  ‘I thought this place was supposed to be cool,’ Danielle mutters under her breath. ‘Four stars my ass.’

  ‘Oh, you saw that?’ The bartender is smiling like he’s just heard a joke for the fiftieth time and still shows no signs of not being amused by it. ‘Yeah, I figured that was what brought you here. It was just a bunch of college kids dicking around. Figured they’d rate us high just for the hell of it, even though…’ He spreads his hands and looks around. He works here every day; he doesn’t need to be told what a hole the place is. ‘Well, you know. Got their buddies to do it to. We probably get tourists in about three times a week, expecting party central, and then they walk into this.’ He pauses for a second, perhaps expecting us to be as amused by the situation as he is. ‘So can I get you ladies another round of shots, or…?’

  Danielle is about to nod yes, but the collective pained expression on the rest of our faces puts a pretty quick stop to that one. ‘Just the bill,’ she says, before turning back to the four of us. ‘I’m just going to head to the bathroom before we go.’

  ‘Out of order,’ the bartender says.

  ‘Of course it is.’

  ~~~

  ‘Well, that was a waste of an hour,’ Danielle says. She’s pacing up and down the street, part exasperation and part full bladder. ‘I guess that’s what you get for trying somewhere new, right? It’s no wonder everyone used to hang out at Cheers back in the day. Who could blame them?’

  ‘So where to now?’ Lauren asks. ‘We could go back to the hotel, or… maybe one of the bars we hit up last night?’

  Danielle shakes her head. ‘Nope. I promised you fresh and new and exciting. Somewhere we’ve never been before. A real, fun, New Orleans bar experience.’ She’s angrily poking at her phone. ‘Now if I could just get some goddamn cell service so I could check out some reviews…’

  ‘Seriously, we wouldn’t mind just going to that place last night,’ Paige pipes up. ‘The one with the booths? Maxine’s? Marnie’s?’
<
br />   Jess shakes her head. ‘Madeleine’s,’ she says. ‘But that wasn’t the place with the booths. That was the one with the big columns and all the goofy shit on the walls.’

  ‘They all have goofy shit on the walls, Jess. It’s kind of the decorating style around here.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? All I know is, there was stuff all over the walls. And booths.’

  ‘Didn’t they both have booths?’

  ‘I…’

  And that’s when I zone out of the conversation. The two tequilas I had at the top of the evening have started to do their magic, and there’s a warm, content feeling spreading outwards from my abdomen. I don’t know what the hell they put in their spirits down here, but I’m starting to think that maybe Lauren had a point. Maybe I do need to cut loose a little bit.

  After all, I bet Carter isn’t staying at home, all alone. He’s probably out right now, doing whatever the hell he wants now he doesn’t have to worry about our plan holding him back.

  I can’t keep living my life according to a list.

  This just isn’t working, OK? This just isn’t working.

  It was never going to work out.

  Never.

  Never, never, never.

  No. Not our plan. My plan. My plan, that he hated so much. My plan, that I somehow roped him into. All me. All mine.

  Well, fuck him, the tequila whispers in my ear. Just for one night. Fuck him. Go out, and have yourself the best time you can. Just this once, go a little wild. After all, what harm can one more drink do?

  None at all, I reckon. None at all.

  Paige and Jessica are still arguing over the bar they both half-remember from the night before, and Danielle is scanning the sky as if looking for a passing UFO whose WiFi she can piggyback. Lauren looks at me with an expression on her face that maps exactly onto one word: Help.

  And so I do.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘So this is where your jazzman lives, eh?’ Lauren says, giving me a sly little jab in the ribs as she slides her way into a booth, and suddenly I’m not sure bringing the four of them to the Coeur de Vie was such a great idea.

  ‘First of all,’ I say, ‘he’s not my jazzman. Secondly, I’m pretty sure “jazzman” isn’t an actual term. And thirdly, he works here. He doesn’t live here.’ I think. I mean, he can’t, right? Who lives in a bar?

  ‘But other than that?’

  ‘Sure. A hundred percent.’

  Lauren taps the side of her head knowledgeably, and I wonder how hard that shot of tequila hit her; it might be a long night.

  ‘Drinks?’ Danielle asks. ‘I don’t see a menu.’

  ‘I’ll ask at the bar,’ I say.

  ‘No need,’ she says. ‘Just get us all what’s good. I mean, if you’re a regular here, now…’

  I choose to ignore the tone; it’s not my fault her choice of bar turned out to be such a dud, and that I was forced to swoop in and save the day. After the way the trip to the psychic played out, I could use a win. Danielle can be as frosty as she likes.

  Speaking of which…

  That bartender is the same guy who was serving yesterday afternoon. Teddy? Eddie? Yeah, that sounds right. Eddie. He’s cute, in a clean-cut kind of way: high-and-tight hair, a stubbled jawline, deep blue eyes and shirt sleeves rolled up over muscular forearms; I can see the tendons against the skin as he pours bag after bag of ice into a container beneath the bar. I barely noticed him last night, but…

  Stop it, I tell myself. Think of Carter.

  And I am thinking of Carter – I am, I promise.

  But it doesn’t hurt to look, surely? What’s the harm in that? I’m sure he’s looking, wherever he is right now.

  Suddenly Eddie spins around, his eyes on mine, and the moment is gone. Time for business. ‘I know you,’ he says with a smile. ‘You’re the girl who was here with Jack yesterday, right?’

  ‘I wasn’t with…’ I begin, but I can tell that Eddie doesn’t really care all that much. ‘Sure,’ I say. It’s easier that way.

  ‘Well, sorry, but he ain’t here yet.’ He checks the clock behind the bar; it’s just turned ten o’clock. ‘Soon, though. If you’re looking to stick around.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not here to see him. I’m here with friends.’ Yeah, that’s right, I think to myself. I have friends. I’m not just the tourist who comes to a jazz club and drinks alone.

  ‘Mmhmm,’ he says. ‘So, what can I get you?’

  ‘Got a menu?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘No menus.’ He points to the wall above him, where all of the drinks the bar is famous for are listed. It seems Eddie is capable of a lot more than merely mixing vodka with cranberry juice. The rundown is almost exhaustively extensive: from martinis, margaritas, mojitos and Manhattans right the way through to things using a variety of exotic liquors I’ve never even heard of before.

  If I had to go through them one by one, I’d never get my order in.

  ‘What do you recommend?’ I ask.

  ‘You girls like whiskey?’

  I shrug. ‘As much as anything.’

  ‘Well, you can’t come to New Orleans without trying a real Sazerac. That’d be my call. And I’m not just saying that because they’re a pain in the ass to make and I make my living off of tips.’

  ‘What’s in it?’

  He lists off the ingredients on his fingers. ‘Rye whiskey, bitters, a little sugar, a little absinthe. Twist of lemon peel.’

  ‘So basically an Old Fashioned with extra steps?’

  He grins. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t. It’s a local thing. What do you say?’

  ‘Five Sazeracs, I guess.’

  ‘Coming right up. I’ll get someone to bring them over to your table.’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, but my ass stays glued to the barstool. My eyes have caught a couple of words on the chalkboard that I missed the last time I was in here.

  FREE WI-FI.

  I mean, I’ve barely looked at my phone all day… it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for me to check in on my real life, right? Just my emails, that’s all. Maybe work has been trying to get in touch, or…

  Or nothing. Just work, that’s all. Certainly not Carter.

  ‘I think I’ll just wait here, if that’s OK. You guys have WiFi, right?’

  Eddie nods, but he’s barely paying attention to me; he’s already apportioning out sugar cubes into five round tumblers with a look of artisanal concentration on his face. ‘Password’s Armstrong123,’ he says. ‘Capital A.’

  ‘Louis, Lance or Neil?’

  ‘Funny.’

  A couple of seconds later and I’m logged in, and… nothing. Not a single message. Not even the faintest digital whiff of an email. Every inbox I have is as neat and organised as it was when I left Chicago.

  Well, shit.

  Then again, what was I expecting? A long, rambling email from Carter, telling me all about what a horrible mistake he’d made? That wasn’t exactly his style. He wasn’t much of a wordsmith at the best of times, let alone when there were actual emotions on the line.

  He’s probably just waiting until I get home, I think. So we can talk it out in person. He probably doesn’t want our stuff to get in the way of Lauren’s wedding. He knows how important it is to her.

  But of course, if that were true, why would he have picked the night before to break up with me? Surely he could have struggled through another week with me? And if he really did think we had problems, maybe a week away would have helped a little bit? A change is as good as a rest, as they say. A nice hotel, a queen-sized bed for the two of us… the whole damn place seemed to be built on the principle of helping people to spice up their love lives. Why couldn’t we –?

  ‘Do I have to take that off you again?’ a voice comes from behind me. I recognise it immediately, even before I spin around: it’s as much a part of the Coeur de Vie experience as the drinks and the music.

  ‘You’re not even playing!’ I point out, gesturing to the stage;
it’s bare, and the night’s music is being piped through a stereo system.

  ‘Disappointed?’ Jack grins.

  ‘Oh, more than I can put into words. I could barely concentrate on my emails.’

  ‘How terrible that must have been for you,’ he says. ‘A whole five minutes away from work. It’s a wonder you managed to get through it all.’

  ‘Who said it was work?’

  ‘I don’t see a drink in front of you. Trying to keep a clear head?’

  I gesture to Eddie, who’s putting the finishing touches on the last of our cocktails. ‘Actually, we just arrived.’

  ‘We?’ he asks, and I can see him doing a quick mental scan of the drinks on the tray, one-two-three-four-five. ‘Is this the infamous wedding party?’

  ‘I told you I have friends. Is that so hard to believe?’

  ‘Not at all, not at all,’ he says, but his eyes aren’t on me. It takes me a second to realise what he’s got planned before the raw panic sets in: just long enough for him to look around and find the only group of four women about my age in the club. The second Eddie puts the last lemon twist on top of the last glass, Jack picks up the tray and begins walking purposefully out towards our table. ‘What do you say we go and say hello, eh?’

  I rummage around in my purse and practically throw sixty dollars at Eddie, but I’m still not fast enough to intercept Jack; with his long legs, he’s across the floor in two or three giant strides, and no amount of skittering after him in my heels is going to be enough to let me catch up.

  ‘Evening, ladies,’ he says as I slide up beside him. ‘I hear y’all are friends of Ella?’

  He sets the drinks down on the table in front of them, and the girls dive in: after the last bar, an attractive man bearing cocktails – and intrigue – is just about as welcome as ice water in the desert. Over the top of her glass, Lauren gives me a knowing look.

  I shake my head furiously.

  Don’t do it, I think. Don’t you do it. Don’t you dare.