Twist

by Kylie Scott

  Hold up. I liked alone. Alone was easy and exactly what I wanted, wasn't it? Shit. There were no easy answers in my head anymore. No certainty at all.

  Soon as I got back to Seattle I was resetting my dating profile to local matches only. Who knows, maybe I'd stop messing around and actually attempt a real relationship instead of just bumping hips with someone now and then. Stranger things had happened. Perhaps I could change after all.

  "You hungry?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said. "I went for a walk earlier. There were a few places down the road that looked nice."

  "I've got somewhere in mind. Put your shoes and coat on, please, Little Miss Fucking Sunshine." He clapped his hands together, rubbing them. "We're getting out of here."

  "On it." I fell upon my boots, shoving in my feet at lightning speed. What Valerie would have paid to see me actually rushing to get outside. My mild agoraphobia thingy was on hold. And to think it had only taken a small dose of the black plague and a couple of days trapped in a soulless hotel room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Message sent three months ago:

  Hi Eric,

  You'll be pleased to know I left my apartment today. It was my dad's birthday. Ever since I was little, mom, dad, and I always go down to Pike Place to see the guys at the fish market do their thing throwing the fish around. It's pretty cool to see. We go buy salmon to cook for dad. It's the family tradition. My friend Valerie and her partner also came. It was busy as always at the market, but a lot of fun. My folks even managed to play nice with each other.

  Valerie is a stylist and make-up artist. We pretty much grew up together so she's basically family too. Neither of us were exactly part of the cool kid crowd at school. She's a trans woman and had it rough for a long time, way worse than me getting my ponytail pulled and crap like that. Kids can be incredibly horrible to each other. But then I guess grown-ups can be too. All of the shit going on in politics at the moment makes me despair.

  Ugh. Excuse my bad mood. I think I need to eat some ice cream or something. Anyway, work is busy. Lots of interesting projects. How are things going with you? What have you been up to this week?

  A x

  Message received three months ago:

  What's your poison? I'm a mint choc-chip man, myself.

  Message sent three months ago:

  Mint? No. NO. Mint is the devil's work. I'm a chocolate chip cookie dough woman to the end.

  Message received three months ago:

  Haha. Of course you are. And I'm going to ignore you misunderstanding mint. It just means we'll never have to share the ice cream. Probably for the best. Good to hear you had a nice time with your family and Valerie. Pike Place Markets are cool. I haven't been there in ages.

  Spent a few days with an old school friend named Pat. I might have mentioned some good friends have been going through a divorce. Pat's been having a rough time with it so we went camping. Built fires. Drank bourbon. Hugged trees and beat our manly chests. That sort of thing. It was good to get away for a bit.

  I'm sorry to hear you and Valerie had a tough time in school. Kids can be cruel. I was never exactly one of the cool kids either. Of course my brother was. He loved showing off about all his girlfriends and generally being a little shit. But I had my growth spurt early so no one else tended to mess with me.

  If anyone pulls on your ponytail who shouldn't be, you let me know. I'll come teach them some manners.

  Eric

  "Maybe I should head back to the hotel," I said.

  Joe looked at me across the table, his face visibly pained. Poor guy. His agony was so acute the facial hair couldn't even hide his expression, for once. I was hoping his eyes were glossy from wincing, not actual tears. Given the situation, however, it was kind of hard to tell. Nell had really gone all out in her championing of Joe and the belief that I should give him a second chance in the something more than friends stakes. In fact, she'd gone so far out, you could safely say she'd fallen off the edge.

  "I don't blame you." He sighed, leaning forward. Shadows danced across his face, as the candle between us flickered. "I'm really sorry about this, Alex."

  "Not your fault. I know."

  "I can't believe this romantic bullshit. They're out of fucking control."

  "Nell and your friends are certainly something."

  Determined or insane, it was kind of hard to tell which category his friends and fellow staff-members fell under. Sure as hell they were certainly convinced that Joe and I were in the throes of some sort of epic love affair. And, bless them, they were doing everything within their power to enhance that for us by going to town on the Dive Bar's atmosphere. Though some of them seemed more on the side of Satan than love.

  I'm not going to lie. It was a painful experience.

  Joe slumped back in his chair, delivering dirty looks to the rest of the room's occupants. Well, all except for a couple seated at the bar and a family of three across the way. If anything, the couple seemed mildly amused. Nice for them. The teenager, though, appeared to be acting out a series of slow deaths over at his table. At least, I hoped he was. It would be sad if the kid were actually trying to stab himself in the head with a fork.

  Suddenly, the lighting dimmed yet again. If it weren't for the red candles scattered about the room, we'd be sitting completely in the dark.

  "For fuck's sake," Joe muttered. Not meeting my eyes.

  All of this supposed ardor, care of his friends, had squashed the easy-going flirting from last night, murdering it with hyper-awareness and embarrassment. Ironic, really; in attempting to help they'd killed our innocent little fledgling attraction. Knocked it right out of the nest.

  Over on the small stage in the corner, Vaughan, the dude singing and playing guitar wound up his delightful rendition of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" to rousing applause. Eric, standing behind the bar, our friendly blond waitress, Lydia, and the kitchen staff seemed most ecstatic. Meanwhile, the teenager started making choking noises as he apparently tried to strangle himself over at his table. His parents should probably look at putting him into drama. The kid had talent.

  "Now I'd like to play an old favorite of mine for you," announced Vaughan. Just like Joe, his skin was covered in ink. Not that I could make out what the tattoos were. "A little something by that great Canadian artist, Bryan Adams. '(Everything I Do) I Do It for You.'"

  More applause from the kitchen staff. A wolf whistle from Lydia. Vaughan just smiled and started playing again. He too had talent. If only he'd use his powers for good instead of evil.

  "I told them we were just friends," repeated Joe about the hundredth time.

  "I know."

  It seemed when it came to the Dive Bar, I was doomed to experience nothing but embarrassment and awkwardness. Death and dismemberment. Things like that. And the way Eric and everyone kept watching us only made it worse. My shoulders crept in, a weak wall between me and all of them.

  Not good.

  "The place looks great," I said, determined to at least attempt salvaging the evening. And it really did. Exposed brickwork mixed with large beautiful old-fashioned windows. All of the tabletops were shining dark wood with metal legs and chairs to match. The Dive Bar was seriously cool despite the playing of bad old rock ballads, and worse.

  "Thanks." Joe did a great hangdog face. Sad eyes. Cranky lines. He had it all.

  "I love that you left some of the old band and beer posters up."

  "This place has been the Dive Bar for a long time," he said, perking up a little. "Used to be owned by our friend's dad. He was into live music and everything. Started the place in the late seventies, I think."

  "Cool."

  "Yeah. Andre Senior was a real local icon." He tipped his chin in the general direction of the bar. "Used to encourage people to cut their initials into the bar. We just shined it up a little and sealed it over. The area behind the bar needed some major work, though."

  Neat shelves full of liquor bottles covered the wall with a line of be
er and cider taps below. All of it nicely lit by hidden down lights.

  "The old man went through a nasty velvet wallpaper and mirrored tile stage," said Joe. "Took me ages to get all of that shit pulled down."

  "Tell me the tiles were on the ceiling."

  "All over it. And in the women's bathroom. But not the men's."

  I shook my head. "Sounds very bordello chic."

  "Sure, if you're into early eighties porn."

  "Bow-chicka-wow-wow."

  "Exactly." He grinned, the tension easing a little from his big shoulders.

  Weird, when he relaxed I did the same, opening up a little. Even sort of smiling back at him, shock-horror. If only he hadn't lied. On the other hand, we'd have never met if he hadn't. Because the man was right, I wouldn't have picked him off the dating site. Blond, beardy, and big were not my thing. Or they never used to be. Guess I'd never hung around long enough for personality to become the biggest lure.

  "More wine?" asked Eric, appearing beside our table with a dewy bottle and a smooth smile. The man was just too handsome. However, at the moment, nothing inside me stirred at the sight of him. Neither my sex nor my emotions displayed any interest.

  "Will you please just get us the fucking beers we asked for?" said Joe through gritted teeth, a flash of savagery in his eyes.

  I bit back a smile.

  Ever so gently, the bartender kicked him in the shin. "Mind your language in front of your date, bro."

  Joe rubbed a hand across his face.

  "Got to say, I'm a little surprised to see you still here, Alex," said Eric, in a less than warm tone. God knows what his problem was.

  "Heading home tomorrow," I said. "Flight booked and everything."

  Eric nodded and inspected my mostly still full flute of bubbles. "You're not drinking?"

  "Sorry," I said. "Champagne has never really been my thing."

  Slowly, Eric shook his head. "You disappoint me. But okay. I'll get the beers."

  "Thank you," I murmured.

  "I'll help." Joe pushed back his seat, giving me a grim, distinctly unhappy smile. "Back in a moment."

  Another nod from me.

  Oh, lovely. The couple hanging over by the bar were dancing. How sweet. Not so far away from them, Eric and Joe seemed to be having a heated conversation. It involved quite a bit of gesturing. First Joe pointed at the unlit lightbulbs dangling artfully from the ceiling, then at the bottle of champagne abandoned on top of the bar. Next Joe gave Vaughan still crooning away onstage a middle finger salute. It only made the guitarist grin. Eric just shrugged at his cranky bearded brother and pointed toward the kitchen.

  "Here we go." Lydia slid our pizza onto the table with a flourish. "I'm Lydia, by the way. We didn't really get to meet properly the night of Eric's party."

  "Alex. Hi."

  "Are you enjoying yourself?"

  "Sure." I picked up a napkin, twisting it into a knot. "Wow. The pizza's in the shape of a heart. That's really something..."

  Lydia bit at her lip. "Nell has really taken to the idea of you and Joe together. You might have noticed."

  "A little."

  "Want my advice?" She didn't wait for my response. "Just roll with it. Smile. Nod. Then do what's right for you. Nell's great but she doesn't know everything."

  "I've only ever talked to her briefly on the phone. She was too busy to say hi when we came in." I calmly continued throttling the napkin. "This is all a bit overwhelming, to be honest."

  "Try dating her brother." Her chin pointed to the guitarist. "I had to stop her from organizing a surprise wedding for us last week."

  "How could that be legal?"

  "It isn't. Not even remotely." Lydia gave the guitarist a longing look. "I love that man. But this music is godawful." As if to prove her point, Vaughan launched into a rendition of Aerosmith's "I Don't Want to Miss a Thing".

  "I feel like I'm stuck in a bad nineties prom."

  She shook her head sadly. "Yeah. She bribed Vaughan with promises of huckleberry pie. He's a total whore for it, unfortunately."

  I had nothing.

  "He was only supposed to do a few love songs. Keep the music low-key and atmospheric," said Lydia, with a scowl. "I have no idea why he's chosen to perform every horrible, sappy song ever written."

  "He certainly seems committed."

  She shrugged. "It's probably his idea of a joke. Or maybe he's punishing Joe for lying to you, or something. I don't know. Men work in mysterious ways. Too bad all of our eardrums have to pay the price."

  "Yeah."

  "For the record, I wanted to let you eat in peace. But I got outvoted," said Lydia. "Eric's too afraid to go against Nell no matter how crazy the idea. And Boyd just stayed silent, same as always."

  "Boyd?" I hadn't really heard much about him.

  "He works in the kitchen."

  "Ah."

  "I think it's the pregnancy hormones," Lydia continued. "Now that Nell's in the second trimester she's just so hyper. She doesn't know what to do with all the love and extra energy, so she's funneling it into other people."

  Lucky me. "Here comes Joe. Enjoy your pizza." With a parting finger wave, Lydia wandered off in the direction of the teenager and his parents. His parents seemed to actually be enjoying the music. But someone should probably stop the kid from trying to saw his head off with a butter knife. It couldn't be hygienic.

  With two beers and a frown, Joe returned to our table. He took one long look at the pizza and hung his head, mumbling the kind of obscenities that would have taxed even the mightiest of imaginations. I highly doubted goats were actually that flexible, though.

  "Right. That's it," he announced. "We're out of here. Can you carry the pizza? Just because my friends are insane doesn't mean we should waste good food."

  "On it." I stood up, putting on my wool coat. Then I lifted the wooden board our heart-shaped carb, bacon, tomato, and melted cheese goodness sat upon. "Lead on."

  Up onstage, Vaughan abandoned Aerosmith for a rousing rendition of "I Will Always Love You" by Whitney Houston. It was disturbing, to say the least.

  "Walk faster," I urged Joe as we headed toward the kitchen.

  He did as told.

  Back here there were lights, white tiles, and plenty of stainless steel. A big guy was stacking plates while a petite redhead checked on something in one of the industrial-size ovens. Nell's burgeoning belly was only just visible beneath her white chef's coat. The room smelled divine. A combination of every savory and sweet yumminess you could imagine. All of the goodness clearly came from right here.

  "Say goodbye to Nell, Alex." Joe lifted a beer in the redhead's direction.

  "Hi. Bye. And thank you!"

  "Wait," Nell yelled, pretty face panicked. "You can't leave. You haven't had the strawberry shortcakes. Boyd was just about to whip the fresh cream."

  "We have to go," said Joe. "The, ah, candles are setting off Alex's head cold. Real shame."

  I forced out a cough.

  "Later, Nell." God love Joe, the man didn't slow down in the least. "Thanks for the food."

  I gave her my sickliest smile. "Thanks again!"

  Down a hallway and past a small office, out a heavy back door and into the cold night air we went. Already I felt freer, saner. Without the evil love songs filling the air, the world seemed a brighter, happier place. Even the heart-shaped pizza didn't bother me quite so much. I could almost laugh about the Whitney impersonation.

  "Up we go." Joe started up a sturdy set of metal stairs, climbing the back of the building.

  The Bird Building was a two-level brick beauty from the twenties housing a music store, a tattoo parlor, a couple of empty shops, and the Dive Bar. Midtown had none of the tourism glam of downtown, where I'd been staying. In this area, things were a little shabbier, quieter. Peeks of modern and hip were slipping through, however. Rejuvenating the area. Across the road was a slick-looking hair salon, and the tattoo parlor below exuded cool and professional.

  As we went higher I
could see the roofs of houses, the bare limbs of massive trees spreading out beneath the stars. We were pretty much surrounded by suburbia.

  "We're going up to the old offices and storage rooms?" I asked, following.

  "You might as well see them before you go." Keys jangled and Joe opened a door, letting us inside. He flicked on a light. "Plus, we're free from nineties ballads and nosy friends up here. Come on in."

  It wasn't much warmer inside and the air smelled stale, dusty.

  "They all run off a hallway that goes pretty much the length of the building," he said, indicating left and right with the beers. "The main entrance for this level is beside the first shop. They just shut it up and filled the space with shit when business got quiet in the eighties. Only ones using these spaces were shop owners needing storage. But the staircase and everything is still there. It just needs clearing out."

  It was all wooden floors and dirty old white walls in desperate need of cleaning and repainting. What looked to be original polished wooden doors with beautiful old-style silver handles appeared at regular intervals. Joe opened the closest, flicked on another light, and ushered me in. Nothing inside except more dust and a few cobwebs. But the space was big, beautiful. God, actually being here, checking it all out, sent my imagination into overdrive. The things you could do. What this place could be. It got me way too excited.

  I did a slow turn, still holding our heart-shaped pizza.

  I faced windows in a similar style to those below, only smaller. Someone had already pulled off some wall paneling to expose the brickwork. Off to the side was a small room, which I assumed was the bathroom. An ugly old kitchenette from the seventies came next. Gorgeous old plasterwork decorated the ceiling, framing the ancient light shade, and running around the edges of the large room.

  "What do you think?" he asked, setting the two beer bottles down in the middle of the floor.

  "I still think this would be a great project for you."

  He paused in the act of taking off his coat. "As long as the apartments all sold, it would pay off well. Couldn't do it on my own."

  "You did downstairs."

  "I had a lot of help," he said, laying the coat down on the dusty wood. "Nell and Pat, her ex-husband, came up with a lot of the style and ideas. I mostly just swung a hammer. Andre, the guy that owns the building, he loves the idea of doing something with up here and he's up for helping as much as he can. He'd definitely give me a fair share of the profits. But still, it's a bigger job than I'm used to. Guess that's part of the draw of it, the challenge. Come and sit. Floor picnic."