by P. J. Vernon
“Maybe we should go, Charlotte,” I said. “Blow off some steam and see everyone?”
Frances’ bloodred lips split into a smile from one ear to the other. Paul’s face remained flat as a sidewalk.
Between his constant watching and the liquor store closing for Christmas, there’d be no way to snag a stowaway bottle anytime soon. I’d suffer one evening at Ruby’s for a stiff drink or two. Funny how I’d spent so many underage years trying to get inside Ruby’s, and now it was nothing but a means to an end. A bitter pill.
“Are you sure that’s such a great idea?” Paul asked. The correct answer was obviously no.
I swallowed hard and summoned a younger Gray to plead my case. The Gray who was the life of the party back when drinking was something I did for fun. With other people.
I nudged Paul. “Nonsense. I haven’t seen my friends in so long. Let’s go. We’ll stay for an hour. That’s all.”
He remained silent.
I locked eyes with Charlotte, straining to keep desperation from trickling into my voice. “It’ll be fun. Frances is right. You deserve some fun.”
Her eyes cut to Paul’s for a moment. They didn’t think I noticed, but I did. She seemed as concerned as him. Seemed she’d spoken to Mamma about me, after all.
Paul wasn’t happy, but the hopeful politician inside him knew better than to show it. Manipulation was never a one-way street. “One hour,” he said, relenting. “And I’m coming with you.”
“Of course you are, love,” I replied. Frances gave Charlotte and I both unwelcome hugs and darted back to her pew, victorious.
The piano cut off as Pastor Calcutt stood, and we rejoined Mamma and the twins. As the good pastor went on about Bethlehem and its bright star, the dull pain tugging at my temples loosened a bit. I’d have a drink soon and knowing so stilled my roiling head.
* * *
As soon as our rental car doors slammed shut, Paul didn’t mince words. “One drink, Gray.” His tone cut like a knife. “You’ve been drinking all day.”
I ignored him. Instead, I began to think through all the ways my one drink might turn into four. Four was my goal for the evening. Four would unwind the knot in my chest and get me to sleep after.
I’d make my first drink—the one Paul would see—into a double. That’d get me halfway there. He’d believe one trip to the restroom. There’d be time for a shot of something on the way. Ruby’s would be crowded enough for him not to see.
Should I get bourbon? No, vodka. Better stick with clear liquor. Gin would be more festive. Gin tasted like Christmas.
If Paul went to the restroom, which he rarely did, that’d be winning the lottery. I could replace my drink with a second double and sip it down to the level he last saw. If he didn’t, I’d have to figure out something else.
His sandpaper comment from earlier, the latest in an endless parade of digs, replayed in my head. I’d get drunk tonight. I’d get drunk and that would be my revenge for his biting words. The thought was warped. Skewed like my priorities. But I no longer lent a voice to the part of me that said so.
Mamma’s face had burned, too, when we’d announced our plans. As she’d tucked her crocodile clutch under her arm to hold onto the twins, she’d turned to me and spoke low. “You watch yourself tonight, Gray. You hear?”
* * *
People packed the parking lot of Ruby’s, everyone sipping from glass bottles and solo cups under neon lights. Cigarette smoke and lime wedges. Shouting and laughing and backslapping. Covered awnings kept most of the rain off, but the slick asphalt shined in all the wet. Charlotte’s SUV pulled up next to our rental.
Everyone in Elizabeth aged eighteen to fifty seemed to be there. Pockets of older folks, too. A radical departure from the Georgetown pub scene Paul and I knew. The look on Charlotte’s face as we made our way to the front door told me it was different than the places she frequented in Raleigh. We’d both spent years away from Elizabeth, but Ruby’s was like riding a bicycle. Step inside, and it all comes rushing back. And that’s exactly what happened.
Frances found us as soon as we stepped into the crowded bar. “Girls!”
She spilled her drink as she hugged me. Cranberry and vodka. I could smell it.
“What are y’all drinking?” she asked.
“Water,” Paul said. “How about you, Gray? Water?”
“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” I shouted. In bars, I deliberately raised the volume of my voice. It would give Paul doubt I’d heard anything he said, were it convenient not to. Ruby’s or the Ritz Carlton, the rules of the game never changed.
I turned to Charlotte. “How about you, sister? What’ll it be?”
“The same.”
“You got it, guys,” Frances replied, looking at her own drink. “I’m due for a refill, too.”
As she started off, I pushed past Paul and whispered in her ear. “Make mine a double,” before adding, “for the holidays.” She winked and made for the bar.
Despite the heels, I couldn’t see the counter past the crowd. On the one hand, that’d make things easier when it came to my own refills. On the other, I couldn’t tell how long the line was. How long until Frances’ return.
I clutched the strap of my handbag. The dance floor the next room over pulsed with bass from bad speakers. Even if I could hear over the music, it certainly didn’t help my pounding head.
“Gray King,” a man called from behind. I recognized the husky drawl almost at once.
“Jacob Wilcox,” I answered, turning. “And it’s Godfrey. Gray Godfrey.”
Jacob looked the same. Curled brown locks always a week late for a cut. His square jaw a week late for a shave. He hugged me. Tight. My thoughts went to Paul’s eyes, undoubtedly fixated on this interaction. The fluttering in my chest dissolved into something else.
“Hey, Charlotte.” Jacob smiled. She nodded.
“I’m Paul.” My husband thrust his hand between Jacob and myself. “Paul Godfrey.”
“Nice to meet you, Paul.” Jacob shook his hand.
The discomfort of my situation sank in, and a lump built in the back of my throat. My husband and Jacob Wilcox stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. I wanted to vanish into thin air. Where the hell was Frances with my drink?
“And you two went to school together?” A simple question, but it flew from Paul’s mouth like an accusation. In this case, his suspicion was on point.
I’d never told Paul about Jacob because Jacob was no ex-boyfriend. What I also didn’t tell him was that Jacob and I were friends with benefits before either of us knew there was a name for what we did together.
Jacob flashed a toothy, white smile. “Yeah, we went to school together.”
“Jacob Wilcox!” Frances cried like she didn’t see him all the time.
She returned with our drinks not a moment too soon. She hadn’t the slightest sense of balance, so I grabbed mine fast. Should she spill any of it, there’d be no easy replacement. The liquor sloshing in my cup smelled like pungent pine. Frances winked again. Either she’d done well or the bartender had an extremely loose pour. Merry Christmas, I told myself as I took a gulp. My earlier buzz crawled out from under my headache. I warmed up again as my cheeks flushed. I’d get what I needed from tonight and make it through to the other side.
“I have to be honest, Paul,” Jacob chuckled between swigs of Corona Light, “I know exactly who you are.”
“Is that so?” Paul didn’t appear amused. His patience with Ruby’s had disappeared somewhere between stepping out of the car and Frances greeting us.
“I see you on Fox News every so often. Saw you on Sean Hannity a couple weeks back. Talking about solar-powered skyscrapers or something.”
Paul nodded. “I’m a lobbyist for a clean energy think tank, Cooper and Waters. Maybe you’ve heard of us?”
“Can’t tell you I have, but I will say you put up a good fight for a liberal,” Jacob replied, speaking out the side of his turned-up beer. He wiped his mouth and added, “S
till think Hannity shut you down.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Paul retrieved his phone from his pocket, shutting down the conversation.
That damned phone again. I took in a mouthful of gin, already feeling more talkative. “You know, Paul’s running for congress next year. Like Daddy.” Men in my life followed the same ambitious pattern. The differences from one to the next, Daddy to Paul were almost entirely superficial. Another swallow.
“Paul!” Charlotte’s mouth hung open. “You didn’t tell me. That’s wonderful news. We need more environmental lawmakers. No matter what Mamma says.”
Paul slipped his phone back into his slacks. “We’re trying to keep it mostly under wraps until the party’s finished vetting other potential candidates, but Gray’s right.”
“Congratulations,” Frances added, no doubt hoping to punctuate the topic and move on.
As I tipped my cup, Charlotte mentioned something about leaving early, “gotta kiss the kiddos before Santa comes” is all I caught before ice hit my upper lip. I’d finished my drink. I glanced around the circle. Paul’s demeanor lifted as he went on about his work. Everyone else’s eyes were on him as he practiced a stump speech. Between that and Charlotte’s goodbyes, no one noticed I’d finished. Folding my hands behind my back, I concealed the empty cup.
“I’m going to use the ladies room,” I said aloud.
Only Frances heard. Probably anxious to leave a conversation she found dull. “You want me to come with?”
“No, no. I’ll just be a minute.” I caught myself speaking loudly, not meaning to this time. My buzz returned strong right off the bat. I might not even need four, but I’d try my best.
“I’ll catch you two in the morning,” Charlotte said, interrupting Paul and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Lovely seeing you again, Frances. Jacob.”
A rushed hug goodbye from Charlotte. After she vanished, I began shouldering my way past an assortment of people. Some I vaguely recognized, others I didn’t. I spoke with no one. My small frame fit perfectly between two men standing at the counter.
“Can I get you something?” The bartender asked, pouring a line of shots.
“Tanqueray and tonic,” I answered. “A double.”
“I like the sound of that,” one of the men said. A balding guy built like a truck. He could’ve been overweight or all muscle depending on how you squinted at him. He nodded to the bartender. “Add her in, too. I like a woman who can put down.”
You have no idea.
“You got it.” The bartender placed an empty shot glass behind the others.
“I’m Jonas,” he said, pointing to the shot line, “and that’s tequila.”
Jackpot.
A moment later, my double gin and tonic sat before me. A shot of swirling gold followed. I salted the back of my hand. “Merry Christmas,” I cheered with Jonas. I licked the salt and downed the shot. It took two swallows. Sour acid climbed up my throat between gulps. Still, I managed to keep it all down, and Jonas laughed as I sucked a lime wedge clean.
“You want another one?” His lips split into a hearty smile. I nodded, and we repeated the ritual. This time the shot slid down like fiery butter.
My head swirled. I’d sleep tonight.
I thanked Jonas, politely declined to follow him to a second bar and made for Paul. As I walked, my shoulder jerked backwards. My purse strap had lassoed a stool back. I tugged, but it wouldn’t give. I pulled harder. The older woman sitting on it turned to me, scowling as I rocked her seat. Before she could say a word, a hand steadied me.
“Let me get that for you,” Jacob said, pulling the strap off the woman’s chair.
“Thanks.” I smiled and began walking back to the others.
“Hold on, Gray,” Jacob said, stopping me with a firm hand on my elbow. “You’ve hardly spoken one word to me tonight.”
“Paul’s here,” I said, slurring. Mamma’s words replayed in my mind. You watch yourself tonight, Gray. You hear?
“He doesn’t know about us,” I added.
Jacob smiled sideways, and his green eyes glistened from drinking. “Us?”
“Our history.” I closed my eyes, reopened them. “Or whatever it is.”
He talked past me. “You wanna go to the other side? Let’s dance. You look like you haven’t danced in a while. They even have dancing up there in D.C. with all those stiff suits and cocktail parties?” he joked, infusing faux skepticism into his words.
“What part of ‘Paul’s here’ aren’t you understanding?” More slurring. The shots had compounded with the gin which had already met my bathroom wine from earlier.
Jacob didn’t stop. “Paul’s talking to your sister and Frances. He’s having his own good time. Let’s skip over to the dance floor.”
How many beers had he turned up?
I eyed him head to toe. His white tee shirt looked painted onto the contours of his hard chest, tiny features visible through a sweaty sheen. I remembered what his chest looked like. The warmth against my cheek as I laid my head on it. Paul never allowed me to lie on his chest. Even if he did, there’d be nothing but his new beer gut to look at.
“Okay,” I said, taking another swallow. “One dance, and then it’s straight back to Paul, you hear?” My own drawl returned the more I drank. My husband detested it.
Jacob took my hand and led me through the crowd onto the darkened dance floor the next room over. A techno remix of “Greensleeves” blasted from the DJ’s table, creepy but appropriate for Christmas. The floor teemed with wet bodies. A disco ball turned overhead, spinning flecks of silver light around the room. Everything grew dreamy, almost abstract, the drunk and the darkness working together.
I tried to keep my distance from Jacob, but there were too many people, all twisting their hips and grinding against each other. I had nowhere to stand other than pressed up against him. His hands went to my hips and moved me with him. For a country boy, he could dance. But then we’d always had body chemistry.
I turned to take another gulp. Nothing but ice left.
Jacob took my cup and passed it off to someone. I didn’t see who or where. The room spun with the disco ball. If losing my drink didn’t bother me then I was good and drunk.
He raised my left hand. “Some rock.”
“It’s expensive.” My words were sloppy.
“I’ll bet it is. You’re Gray King.”
“Godfrey. My name’s Godfrey.”
The room turned faster. Jacob pulled me tighter against his body. The hard-on under his jeans rubbed against the inside of my thigh. I liked it so I let him keep doing it. Drunk Gray let him keep doing it. He lifted my chin with his hand, pulling me close to kiss my mouth.
“No. Paul’s here—”
At least, I think I’d said “no.” I don’t know if I did or not. If it was aloud or only in my head. His lips cut me off, his ashtray-flavored tongue inside my mouth.
Sinking into the swirling, sparkling dance floor, I closed my eyes and kissed Jacob back. It was deep. The sort of kiss that brought back a life I’d purposely forgotten.
As I pulled away, an icy hand fell on my shoulder. The dream I danced within suddenly felt … wrong. Like a painting pulled crooked. The hand squeezed hard like its owner intended to hurt me. To break my collarbone.
I turned to face Paul. My vision blurred, but it was definitely him. His voice sounded muffled in my ears. He screamed, but the louder he did, the more distant his words became, as if we were submerged in water.
Squinting, I could see by the way his lips moved he was saying “fuck” over and over again. As he tugged my arm, I spun on my heels. The jerking sent bolts of pain through my shoulder like electricity. Sharp burning cut through my swirling daze.
My heart beat with the music. “Greensleeves” was a bizarre choice for a club. Even a techno remix. Even if it was Christmas Eve.
6
Nina
A nightmare jolted me awake. Nearly as soon as I sprang up, the memory o
f it vanished. I couldn’t recall the terror of moments earlier. Something about a snake? A nasty, mottled snake coiled in a doorway?
I turned my phone over on the nightstand. Four-thirty AM. Merry Christmas.
I splashed my face with sink water, pulled my jeans up, and threw on a knitted cardigan—navy with wide white stripes. I grabbed my badge.
On the way to the living room, I peeked in on Auntie Tilda. She was deep in a morphine slumber, her chest slow to rise and slower to fall. She wouldn’t wake for hours.
My stomach growled worse than before I’d fallen asleep. A cheeseburger, some fries, and I’d swing by the station to check on my partner, Sammie. I’d covered for both of us on Thanksgiving, so he was up for the Christmas vigil. But, I could still get a head start on the day-after’s paperwork. I’d be back before Auntie woke up.
My patrol car choked for a moment, but cranked. The recession had cut deep into Elizabeth’s already starved budgets, and new civil cars were a pipe dream. Recovery hadn’t touched this town yet. I didn’t flip my headlights on until I’d backed out of Auntie’s driveway.
I pressed the radio. “Greensleeves” played. A techno version. I turned the dial until I found a soft rock station. Nothing too crazy.
Ten minutes later, I’d picked up my Dairy Queen combo and radioed Sammie.
“You don’t need to come in,” he said as soon as he picked up. “It’s quieter tonight than most holidays. Clinic’s catching most of them. Drunks as usual.”
“I’m gonna swing by for a few minutes,” I answered.
“What about your aunt?” Sammie paid attention like that.
“She’ll be okay for a while. Morphine always does what it says it will. I can’t sleep. I’ll get a jump on my files so they don’t drown me later.” I smirked. “I won’t even speak to you.” I could almost see Sammie’s grin on the other end of the radio.
“Better not.” He clicked off.
I turned down Main Street and hung a right at Marion Ave. Twinkling Christmas wreaths hung from cast iron street lamps. Floodlights kept the single-story sheriff’s office lit up almost as well as daylight did. SHERIFF JIM F. BURTON III in gold lettering.
