Rock'n Tapestries (4 page)

When
I got back to the bar, Willow gave me a big hug.  “I’m so proud of you, Chels. 
You really showed him!”

Marybeth
watched me from the other end of the bar with a “wise witch” smile on her
face.  She reached into the cooler, pulled out a Corona, and popped it open. 
She shoved the lime down into it as she made her way to the end of the bar.

“I
don’t condone drinking on the job, but it’s the end of the night, and you look
like you could use this right now,” she said in her gravelly smoker’s voice as
she set the bottle in front of me.  “I don’t give a fuck what Scott Doofus
says.”

“Thanks.”
I watched the lime fizz in the neck of the bottle as I concentrated on getting
oxygen into my lungs.

 I
wish I could say I felt like I’d just knocked Evander Holyfield down on the
canvas. Instead, it felt like I’d taken a bite out of a live power line.

Several
more uneventful weeks passed. It was now mid-September. Clientele was light
during the week this time of year, with everyone getting used to being back in
class, though Saturdays were still busy.   I put on my best pair of Reeboks in
preparation for being on my feet all night.

Willow
met me at the door of Tapestries, her chest heaving in panic, her eyes round
with terror.  She gripped me by the upper arms and pushed me back against the
wall as soon as I stepped in from the street.

“What’s
wrong?  Did you see Fred?”

 Tapestries
came with an official ghost we all affectionately called Fred, though he
usually hung out in the basement.

Willow
peered over her shoulder, still holding me against the wall, and then looked
back at me. “ I don’t know how to tell you this, but Asher Pratt got a job as a
bartender here. He’s out there right now with Scott.”

I
know there’s no way to prepare someone for news like that. I appreciate it when
Willow tells me things in advance, but my bladder nearly let loose.

My
brain locked up for a moment as I stared into her green eyes.  She had her head
tilted, searching my face, watching me as though she thought she might have to
call 9-1-1.

“What?”
was all I could manage. “Why? How?”

“Apparently,
he took a bartending course a couple of years ago.  He’s really good too.  He
just made me the best margarita I’ve ever had.”

My
chest locked up.  I felt like I was going to hyperventilate. “Willow, I
can’t....I can’t...he can’t work here.  If he does, I can’t.”

“That’s
up to you, but you can’t quit tonight.  Scott’s expecting a large crowd, and
you’re one of the best waitresses we have.  I’ll run interference so you don’t
have to deal with him that much.”

Suddenly,
it was all too much. Just too fucking much for me to handle.  I knew why he’d
gotten a job at Tapestries. I felt like I was being hunted.  I didn’t know what
his agenda was where I was concerned, but I needed to grow a pair and deal with
him. 

My
stomach flipped over on itself thinking of being in the same space with him.  I
tore myself from Willow’s grip, sprinted into the restroom in the lobby, and
went to my knees in front of the toilet.

I
shook and pleaded with the goddess in charge of fairness and justice to take
care of this for me. 
Please not this. Not this.  Anything but this.
 

“You
can’t keep avoiding the issue this way.”  Willow was standing outside the stall
because I’d forgotten to lock the restroom door on my way in. I pulled my cheek
off the toilet lid and turned to look at her toned calves and purple-and-black
Nikes under the door of the stall.

“For
fucks sake, it’s time for you to get over him.  Sometimes I don’t think you’re
even trying.”

I
smoothed my skirt, tucked my T-shirt back in, and headed out to the bar for a
showdown with Asher. Luckily, it was an hour before opening time—the bar was
empty.

He
was pouring four or five different kinds of alcohol into a stainless steel
shaker.   I stood on the brass foot rail around the bottom of the bar and
leaned across the polished wood bar top.

“What
do you think you’re doing?” I narrowed my eyes at the back of his head, but he
saw me in the mirror behind the bar.

My
nostrils automatically widened as I inhaled. The son-of-a-bitch was wearing
Paco Rabanne again.

Paco
Rabanne is one of those olfactory triggers for me. To me, it smells like
mind-blowing Asher-sex. If I could make it through being this close to him when
he was wearing that particular cologne, I could leap tall buildings in a single
bound.

He
glanced up, his eyes bright.  A half-smile curved those oh-so-kissable lips. 
“Making a Long Island iced tea.”

“That’s
not what I meant and you know it.”

“Can’t
a guy use his bartending skills?” He shoved another stainless steel shaker over
the top of his concoction and shook it vigorously.

“Does
it have to be here?”

“Is
there some reason it shouldn’t be here?”

Classic
Asher.  Weave and dodge. Feint and stall.  Answer all questions with a
question. Mr. Funnyman.

“This
is
my
place of employment. It’s my Asher-free zone, and you’re screwing
up the karma here.”

“Now
that’s just about the nastiest thing I’ve ever heard a waitress say.  So much
for the friendly atmosphere at Tapestries.”  He rolled his eyes, but he was
grinning when he said it.  It lit the fuse to a stick of dynamite inside me.

He
poured the iced tea into two glasses then turned and set one in front of me.  I
noticed he had a tattoo on his right forearm that said “Mother” inside a large
heart with purple banners around it.  He hadn’t had it when I dated him five
years before. He’d also had both ears pierced five or six times from top to
bottom. 

“Cut
the bullshit. The note, the phone call, and now this.  What are you doing? This
smells of desperation, and that’s not a word I associate with you.”

“I
just want to be around Chelsea Whitaker, but she’s not cooperating. I’ve been
forced to take desperate measures.  It’s sad, isn’t it?” He stuck his lip out
in a pout.

“What’s
sad is that you think I believe you.”  I leaned in closer and studied him. “Why
don’t you just admit it? You’re looking to get laid, you’ve got nothing better
going for you right now, and you think I’ll be an easy target. Here’s a news
flash, asshole.  I took my turn being the flavor of the month, and I’m not
doing it again.”

He
leaned across the bar on his elbows and stared into my eyes.  Sexy toffee,
gooey, sweet poison.  I was all tangled up for a moment.  I had to take a deep
breath and extricate myself.

For
one brief nanosecond, not even a full heartbeat, he looked shocked. And hurt. 
Then the cocky face slid right back into place, and he smiled at me.

“Ah,
my sweet and juicy Chelsea, I do love a challenge.”

Willow
was as good as her word and made sure I didn’t have to deal too much with Asher
that night.

Asher
attracts a crowd of women to him no matter where he goes.  That’s just how it
is.  By the end of the night, he had a bevy of drunken bimbos at the end of the
bar gushing over the drinks he was making.  As the liquor flowed, more and more
boob was exposed. I saw a couple of nipples. And he was loving it.

Watching
him flirt with all those women did painful things to my insides. It brought
back memories I’d worked hard to dispose of.  You just have to think through
stuff like that, compartmentalize it, and deposit it into the suitable trash
bin in your brain. I’d loved Asher unconditionally, but he refused to be
faithful. It was the thing that drove the ice pick into the heart of our relationship.

 “Go
dump a cold drink on his crotch,” Willow suggested as we watched the disgusting
display from the shadows across the room.  “That’ll cool him down.”

I
shook my head. “I’m not going to stoop to his level.  Trust me, ignoring him
will hurt him worse than if I spilled a drink on him.  That’s why he’s working
here right now. I was doing my best to pretend he didn’t exist, and he can’t
stand that. It’s the Asher Pratt Theory of How The World Revolves Around Me. 
He thought because he took me to the hospital, it negated all the other shit
he’d done to me. ”

“He
is gorgeous though.”  Willow clucked and shook her head.  “I can see how
something like that could burrow into your psyche and stay there.”

Yep. 
If I were honest, (and I will be here) I still had strong feelings for Asher. 
In fact, it pained me to know I would
always
have feelings for Asher.  I
would never be free of this charming, maddening, cheating asshole bastard.  It
was going to be a real test of my endurance to work with him.

“We
need to find you a date.” Willow turned to me with determination in her eyes. 
“That’ll send him a message. Do you want me to find someone for you?”

“No,
thanks.  I’m not a charity case.  I don’t need you to set anything up for me.”

“Charity
case?” She laughed sarcastically.  “You don’t see the guys checking you out, do
you? Chels, you’re beautiful, but you close yourself off from everyone who
tries to approach you.  You’re an ice queen. No man is going to try and chip
through all that cold.”

“I
don’t care. Men are nothing but trouble.”

Liar!
Liar!
  In fact, I
was terribly lonely.  I often wished I had a guy to take me to dinner, someone
I could waste a day with, sitting on the edge of the reservoir, laughing and
touching. I’d had that for a short time with Asher.

 I
can’t explain it, but all that pain suddenly bubbled up into my chest and sat
there, heavy and ugly, a giant lump of loathing.  And strangely enough, it felt
right, as though I were supposed to be feeling it.  Was this what healing felt
like? 

I
mopped up the back room four times, waiting for Asher to leave the bar. He was
waiting for me to leave too. I would’ve mopped the floor a hundred times just
to avoid him. 

He
finally left at three in the morning.  Exhausted, I grabbed my jacket and purse
and headed toward the door.  I thought Scott and I were the only ones in the
bar just then, and I didn’t want to be alone with him.  I suppose I shouldn’t
have worried.  He was in the back room counting all the money they’d made that
night.

As I
walked through the bar, Marybeth called to me.  I was surprised she was still
there.  When I turned, she waved a Pepsi on the rocks, complete with lemon,
over her head then set it down on the bar in my usual spot. It was a summons,
an invitation to talk.

“It’s
three in the morning, Marybeth. It’s time to go home.”  I cast an anxious gaze
toward the door, wondering if I could get away with refusing her.

“Stay
with me until I finish cleaning up.  Then we can walk out to our cars
together.” She wiped the top of the glossy cherry bar with an old dishcloth as
she talked.

Though
it was well lit, and I’d never been accosted while leaving Tapestries, the back
parking lot was a bit scary in the wee hours of morning.  She smiled a little
as I heaved a sigh.  You didn’t say no to Marybeth Catalino. I turned around to
go and sit at the bar with her.