"Okay," he said, "but I'll hold you to your promise."
She laughed and nodded toward his car. "Come on."
Richard warmed to the sound of her laughter, the first time he'd heard it this evening.
She's a cautious one, he observed. Kiss her once, and she seemed to question it all. But allow her to lead, and the caution seemed to fade. He knew she was trying to figure him out, trying to match his story to the man she saw sitting across from her. But there was no mistaking the sympathy on her face the moment she realized how similar they were.
Six
The Sailing Clipper was a bar typical of small coastal towns: Dimly lit and smelling of mildew, cigarettes, and stale booze, it was popular with blue-collar workers, who crowded around the bar ordering Budweisers in volume. Along the far wall, the stage overlooked a slightly warped dance floor that seldom emptied when bands were playing. A few dozen tables, carved with the initials of most everyone who'd walked through the door, were arranged haphazardly, unmatching chairs circling them.
The group on stage, Ocracoke Inlet, was something of a regular at the Clipper. The owner, a one-legged man people called Leaning Joe, liked the group because it played songs that put people in a good mood, which made them want to stay, which in turn was good for business as they ordered booze in quantity. They played nothing original, nothing daring, nothing that couldn't be found in jukeboxes around the country, which was exactly the reason why, Mike thought, everyone liked them so much. Really liked them. When they played people came in droves, which wasn't the case with the bands he played with. Never once, however, had they asked Mike to fill in, even though he was on a first-name basis with most of the group. Second-rate band or not, the thought was depressing.
But then, the whole evening had been depressing. Hell, the whole week had been depressing, for that matter. Ever since Monday, when Julie came by to pick up her keys and casually (casually!) mentioned that she'd be going out with Richard on Saturday instead of spending tonight with them, Mike had been in a funk. He'd been mumbling to himself about the unfairness of it all with such regularity that a couple of customers had even commented on it to Henry. Worse, Mike couldn't summon the courage to talk to Julie the rest of the week, knowing that if he did, she'd press him on what seemed to be bothering him. He wasn't ready to tell her the truth, but seeing her walk by the shop every day reminded him that he had no idea what to do about the whole situation.
Sure, Henry and Emma were great, and he liked spending time with them. But let's be honest here-on a night like this, Mike knew he was a third wheel in this little group. They had each other to go home to. Mike, on the other hand, had zip, unless he counted the occasional mouse that scurried through his kitchen. They had each other to dance with; Mike had to sit at the table alone half the time, reading beer labels as he peeled them off the bottles. And when Emma did ask him to dance, which she'd done regularly tonight, Mike would head to the floor, his head hung low, hoping to God that no one would see him dancing with his sister.
Sister. Sister-in-law. Whatever. Technicalities weren't important at a time like this. When she asked, it still made him feel as if his mother had offered to go with him to the prom because he couldn't get a date.
This was not the way things were supposed to be tonight. Julie was supposed to be here. Julie was supposed to be the fourth wheel. Julie was supposed to be the one dancing with him, smiling over a drink, laughing and flirting. And she would have been if it wasn't for Richard.
Richard.
He hated that guy.
Didn't know him. Didn't want to know him. Didn't matter. Simply thinking the name caused him to scowl, and he'd been scowling a lot, all evening long.
Watching his brother carefully, Henry finished the last of his Coors and set the bottle off to the side.
"I think maybe you ought to cut back on that cheap beer you're drinking," Henry commented. "Looks like it's giving you gas."
Mike looked up. Henry was smirking as he reached for Emma's bottle of beer. She'd gone off to the bathroom, and considering the ever-present lines in a crowd this size, Henry knew she might be a while. He'd already ordered another to replace it.
"I'm drinking the same stuff you are."
"True," Henry said, "but you have to realize that some men can handle it better than others."
"Yeah, yeah . . . keep talking."
"My, aren't we in a mood this evening," Henry said.
"You've been riding me all night."
"Considering the way you've been acting lately, you deserve it. We had a great dinner, I've been engaging you with my sparkling wit all night long, and Emma's been making sure that you're not always sitting alone at the table like some loser whose date just stood him up."
"That's not funny."
"It's not meant to be. I'm simply speaking the truth. Think of me as your very own burning bush. When in doubt, when you need answers, you come to me. For instance-you need to lighten up about this. You're letting it ruin the whole night."
"Look-I'm doing my best, okay?"
"Oh," Henry said, cocking an eyebrow, "I see. Sorry. I guess I'm just imagining all the deep sighs."
Mike pulled the rest of the label off his bottle and crumpled it into a ball. "Yeah, yeah. You're a funny guy, Henry. You should head to Vegas with your act. Believe me, I'd be the first to pack your bags."
Henry leaned back in his seat. "Aw, c'mon. I'm just having a little fun."
"Yeah-at my expense."
Henry held up his hands, looking innocent. "You're the only one here. Who else can I pick on?"
Mike glared at him before turning away.
"All right, all right . . . I'm sorry already," Henry said. "But listen-I'll say it again. Just because she's out with Richard doesn't mean that you've lost your chance forever. Instead of moping around, use it as a challenge. Maybe this should inspire you to ask her out."
"I was planning on that."
"You were?"
"Yeah. After we talked on Monday, I decided to do exactly what you said. Tonight was supposed to be the night."
Henry studied him. "Good," he finally said, "I'm proud of you."
Mike waited for more, but Henry stayed silent.
"What? No jokes this time?"
"No reason to make jokes."
"Because you don't believe me?"
"No, I believe you. I have to, I guess."
"Why?"
"Because I'll get to see you do it."
"Huh?"
"The gods are with you, little brother."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Henry raised his chin, nodding in the direction of the door.
"Guess who just walked in?"
Richard stood beside Julie just inside the door as she craned her neck, looking for a place to sit.
"I didn't realize it would be so crowded," Richard shouted over the noise. "Are you sure you want to stay?"
"C'mon-it'll be fun. You'll see."
Though he flashed a quick smile of agreement, Richard was doubtful. This place struck him as a refuge for those who drank to escape their problems, people who were desperate for the companionship of a stranger. It was, he thought, the kind of atmosphere that promoted the notion that everyone here, whether with someone or not, was up for grabs. Julie didn't belong in a place like this any more than he did.
On stage, the band had started up again and people were trading places on the floor, some heading in, others taking a break. He leaned in close to Julie's ear, and she could feel his breath against her. "Let's get something to drink," he said, "before we find a place to sit down."
Julie nodded. "Sure. You lead the way. The bar's straight ahead."
As Richard began squeezing between people, he reached back, offering his hand to Julie. Without hesitation, she took it. When they reached the bar, he held on to it as he raised his other hand to get the bartender's attention.
"So that's him, huh?" Emma said.
Emma, thirty-eight, was a gree
n-eyed blonde with a sunny disposition, which more than offset the fact that she wasn't all that pretty in the classic sense. Short and round faced, she dieted constantly with no success, though neither Mike nor Henry knew why she bothered. People responded to Emma not for superficial reasons, but who she was and the things she did. She volunteered regularly at her children's school, and at three o'clock every afternoon, she propped open the front door with a brick so that kids in the neighborhood would have a place to congregate. And they did-her house was a beehive of activity for hours as children trampled in and out-drawn by the homemade pizzas she cooked almost daily.
But if the children loved her, Henry adored her and considered himself fortunate to have her by his side. Emma was good for Henry and vice versa; as they often told others, they were too busy laughing together to have any time to argue. Like Henry, Emma loved to tease, and when they got going, they seemed to feed off each other. And after a couple of drinks? Watch out, Mike thought. They were deadly, like sharks who fed on their young.
Unfortunately for Mike, he knew that right now he was nothing but a baby shark, swimming ahead of Mommy's open jaws. One look at the hungry gleam in their eyes made him want to dive for cover.
Henry nodded. "That's him."
Emma continued to stare. "He's really something, isn't he?"
"I think Mabel used the word . . . sexy," Henry offered.
Emma raised a finger, as if Henry were an attorney who'd made a valid point in court. "Yes . . . sexy. Very sexy. In a handsome stranger kind of way, I mean."
Mike crossed his arms and sank lower in his seat, wondering if the evening could get any worse.
"My sentiments exactly," Henry said. Still waiting for drinks, Richard and Julie were standing at the bar, their faces in profile. "They do make a lovely couple," he added.
"They certainly stand out in a crowd," Emma agreed.
"It's like one of those People magazine articles about the world's most glamorous couples."
"Like they should be starring in a movie together."
"Knock it off, you guys," Mike finally cut in. "I get it. He's perfect, he's wonderful, he's Mr. Everything."
Henry and Emma faced Mike, their eyes bright with amusement.
"We're not saying that, Mike," Henry offered, "we're just saying he looks like he is."
Emma reached across the table and patted Mike on the shoulder. "Besides," she said, "there's no reason to lose hope. Looks aren't the only thing that matter."
Mike glared at them.
Henry leaned toward Emma. "I guess you should know my little brother's been having a hard time with all this. And from his expression, I don't think we're helping."
"Oh, really?" Emma asked innocently.
"I'd be fine if you two would quit picking on me. You've been at it all night."
"But you're such an easy target when you're this way." Emma giggled. "Pouting does that, you know."
"Henry and I have already been through this."
"And it's not attractive at all," Emma said, ignoring his comment. "Take it from a woman who knows. Unless you want to lose out to a guy like that, you'd better change your tune before it's too late. If you keep acting the way you've been acting all night, you might as well say good-bye right now."
Mike blinked at the honesty. "So I should act like I don't care?"
"No, Mike. Act like you do care, like you want what's best for her."
"How do I do that?"
"Be her friend."
"I am her friend."
"Not right now, you're not. If you were her friend, you'd be happy for her."
"Why should I be happy she's with him?"
"Because," Emma said as if the answer were obvious, "it means she's ready to start looking for the guy who's right for her, and everyone knows who that is. In the end, I honestly doubt if it'll be the guy over there." She smiled and touched his shoulder again. "Do you really think we'd be giving you such a hard time if we didn't believe this was all going to work out for you two in the end?"
As much as she teased him, Mike knew at that moment why Henry loved her so much. And why he loved her, too.
In a sisterly kind of way, of course.
Julie and Richard's drinks finally arrived-bourbon for him, a Diet Coke for her-and after paying, Richard put his wallet away, then glanced off to the side, toward the man sitting at the end of the bar.
The man was stirring his drink, seemingly minding his own business. But Richard waited, and sure enough, a moment later the man's eyes drifted over to Julie. The whole time he and Julie waited for their drinks, the man had been doing just that, though he'd tried not to be obvious. This time, however, Richard caught his gaze and watched him with unblinking eyes until the man finally turned away.
"Who are you looking at?" Julie asked.
Richard shook his head. "No one," he said. "Just thinking about something else for a second there." He smiled.
"You up for hitting the dance floor yet?" she asked.
"Not quite yet. I think I need to finish my drink first."
Andrea, dressed in a tight black miniskirt, stiletto heels, and a halter top, had stretched the chewing gum from her mouth to her finger and was twirling it around in boredom as Cobra downed his sixth shot of tequila and chased it with a squeeze of lime. Wiping the pulp from his mouth with the back of his hand, he grinned at Andrea, his gold incisor catching the light of the neon sign behind them.
Cobra had rolled up in front of the salon on his Harley on Thursday morning-though Andrea didn't know it, her name was frequently mentioned at biker bars as far away as Louisiana-and by the time he'd left, Andrea had given him her phone number and spent the rest of the day strutting around the shop, feeling downright pleased with herself. In her rapture, she hadn't noticed the pitying glances Mabel had cast her way, nor had she realized that Cobra was, like all the men she dated, basically a loser.
He'd called her earlier that evening after a couple of beers and suggested that she meet him and his friends at the Clipper. Though not technically a date-he hadn't offered to pick her up, nor had it occurred to either of them that he might suggest getting something to eat first-Andrea had been thrilled by the time she hung up the phone, thinking it was close enough to at least feel like a date. She'd spent an hour figuring out what she wanted to wear-first impressions were important-before she'd left to find Cobra at the Clipper.
The first thing he'd done was put his arms around her, resting both hands on her bottom while kissing her on the neck.
It hadn't bothered her. After all, Cobra wasn't bad looking, especially when compared to some of the other guys she'd gone out with. Though he wore a black T-shirt with the picture of a bloody skull emblazoned on the front and leather chaps over a crusty pair of jeans, he wasn't fat or hairy. And the tattoo of the mermaid on his arm, she had to admit, was relatively tasteful when compared to others she'd seen. She wasn't too keen on the gold-tooth thing, but he looked and smelled clean enough, which you couldn't always bargain on.
Nonetheless, she'd finally come to the realization that the evening had been a complete waste and that she'd made a mistake by giving him her phone number. For one thing, after the first couple of shots, when things were just beginning to get interesting, a few of his friends had shown up and one of them had informed her that Cobra wasn't the guy's real name, just the one he used with friends. His real name was Ed DeBoner.
That was when the interest began to fade. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine having to admit that to anyone. Unlike Cobra (or Snake, or Rat, or even Dean), Ed wasn't the name of someone who drove a Harley, someone one step ahead of the law and living the free life. Ed wasn't even the name of a real man. Ed was the name of a talking horse, for God's sake. And let's not even mention the last name.
DeBoner.
When he'd said it, she'd nearly spat her drink out.
"You wanna go back to your place, baby?" Cobra asked, slurring the words.
Andrea slid the gum back into her mouth. "
No."
"Then let's get another drink."
"You don't have any money."
"So buy me a drink and I'll make it up to you later, baby."
Though she'd liked being called "baby" earlier in the evening, thinking it made her seem sultry, that was when Cobra was doing it. Not some guy named Ed DeBoner. Andrea snapped her gum.
Cobra seemed oblivious to her scorn. He reached under the table and ran his hand over her thigh, and she stood up, pushing away from the table, needing another drink.
It was when she neared the bar that she recognized Richard.
Julie's face lit up as soon as she saw Mike, Henry, and Emma at a table near the dance floor. She reached for Richard's hand.
"C'mon," she said, "I think I see someplace we can sit."
They pushed their way through the crowd, crossed the edge of the dance floor, and reached the table.
"Hey, guys. I didn't expect to see you here," Julie said. "How are you?"
"We're doing well," Henry said. "We just thought we'd come by after dinner to see what was going on."
Richard was standing behind her, and Julie tugged on his hand. "I want you to meet someone. Richard-this is Henry and Emma. And this is my best friend, Mike."
Henry held out his hand. "Hey there," he said.
Richard hesitated before grasping it. "Hello," he said simply.
Mike and Emma came next. When Julie glanced at Mike, he smiled pleasantly, though doing so practically killed him. In the warm air of the bar, her face was slightly flushed. She was, he thought, particularly beautiful tonight.
"Do you want to sit down?" Henry offered. "We've got a couple of extra chairs."
"No-we don't want to bother you," Richard said.
"It's no bother. C'mon. Join us," Emma chimed in.
"You sure you don't mind?" Julie asked.
"Don't be silly," Emma said. "We're all friends here."
Julie smiled and moved around the table to take her seat; Richard followed and did the same. Once they were comfortable, Emma leaned across the table.
"So, Richard," she said, "tell us about yourself."
The conversation was stilted, almost uncomfortable at first, because Richard didn't volunteer much more than was asked directly. Occasionally, Julie supplied additional information for him, other times she elbowed him playfully, as if chiding him until he went on.