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Jade couldn’t be more than five feet tall in her bare feet, but she was a bulldog ready to tear apart anyone or anything that got in the way of her clients. She and the other lawyers in her firm were who you wanted on your side.
Apparently, I wasn’t on the right side.
“Hi Jade… it’s personal.”
That just made her slide over next to me on the empty barstool. “Personal? How personal? If you want more up-front money, I’ll see what I can do. If you want more time with your kid, we can work that out, too. You really shouldn’t pass this up.”
“Hey, Mickey! When I heard you were here, I had to come right over and congratulate you,” Mindy Marshal said. We’d met when I was in Cheyenne. Spent a little time together. Told her about Cricket and Sweet Water, and she couldn’t leave Cheyenne fast enough. Now she taught line dancing here at Last Call. We never hooked up again after she moved here. Both of us were too busy. But man, she looked good.
“Don’t be congratulating him,” Jade told her. “At least not for signing with the next big band to come out of Country Music.”
“But I thought… doesn’t matter. Congrats on your baby girl. That’s such good news,” Mindy said, running her hand down my back. And as soon as she did, I thought about CindyLou.
I was never gonna get that woman out of my head.
“Hey, man,” a guy’s voice said, next to me. And when I turned around it was Rob Williams, a black guy I went to high school with. He stood with his partner, June Maplewood, a white woman who planned most everything that needed planning in the two towns, Cricket and Sweet Water, from weddings to festivals. Her other two partners in their polyamorous relationship, Dex Hunter and Jake Doyle walked up to shake my hand as well. All folks I knew from school.
Fuck if everyone didn’t want to congratulate me for either my kid or my contract, both of which I was busy running away from. When my drinks came, I couldn’t even enjoy them and get stinking drunk like I’d planned because all of a sudden, I was the most popular person inside Last Call.
I wanted to be polite, but it went against my nature, and I found myself starting to struggle for air. I wanted to tell everyone to fuck off, but I couldn’t. They were genuinely nice folks, and were just trying to show me some kindness.
But didn’t they all know from past experiences with me that I didn’t deserve their kindness?
It was at the exact moment when I wanted to yell at everyone when Daryl showed up.
At first, I thought he was going to punch me again, which, I completely deserved. Plus, it would save me from all the bullshit I was about to blast out of my mouth. After all, I’d just abandoned his niece… again.
Only it was far worse this time and we both knew it.
Instead, he took my arm and said, “Glad you could meet me here, Mickey. Let’s go someplace quiet. Like a booth or a table where we can talk private-like.”
“I can have a server bring your drinks over,” Emma said from behind the bar, as Daryl pulled me out of the fray.
Once Daryl took hold of my arm, there was no way I would even attempt to pull away from him. His grip felt more like a vice, rather than friendly support, and I knew to just go along with whatever he wanted.
Everyone bid me farewell, except for Jade Whitaker who made sure I had her card before she allowed us to disappear. I hadn’t been the source of that much support, well, ever. Even when they carted my dad off to prison, no one came around to check on me. Of course, it didn’t help that I’d alienated most everyone over the years.
Yet, there they were wishing me well, when I didn’t deserve any of it.
I slid into the bench seat of the booth, and got as close to the wall as I possibly could, thinking the wall might save me if Daryl started throwing punches. I could duck and he’d hit the wall instead of my face.
That was the plan, anyway.
Daryl was about to say something when a waitress I didn’t know brought over our drinks.
Daryl looked at my flight of tequila. “You gonna drink all that by yourself?”
“That’s the plan. Then order another round, and maybe another until everything mellows out.”
“Your plan is to get stinking drunk?”
“Yep.”
“That’s not a plan. That’s avoidance.”
“Whatever works.”
There were three types of flights: full shots, half shots or quarter shots. For the full shots, the bartender poured three different tequilas. For the half shots, the bartender poured four different tequilas, and for the quarter shots, eight different tequilas. That flight was more for a group of folks who wanted to find their perfect tequila. I didn’t fucking care what type Emma poured, just that I had three full shots in front of me and a tall cool beer to wash them down.
