Hello again, gentle readers. Here's yet another strange tale dredged from somewhere in the depths of my psychosis. Familial duty is a thing in my clan, so I identify with some of the feelings expressed by our protagonist--in abstract, if not in direct comparison. Such obligation isn't always easy to navigate but to paraphrase the Joker, sometimes escaping it is like gravity, in that all it takes is a little push.
As always, I apologize for all errors and typos, because despite taking some time away from Lit, my editing skills haven't improved. All feedback--good or bad--is welcome. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!
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Blake leaned back on the stool until the cool of the bar's brass rail pressed against his back. He clutched the half-consumed beer in his left hand, which he'd been holding so long the foam and iciness had dispersed, leaving a flat, tepid beverage he had no intention of finishing. Still, as long as he held it, Lucas wouldn't insist on him having another.
Speak of the devil.
His eyes fell on a man striding through the crowd from the men's room, and walking as if he owned the place.
"Ah, much better." Lucas slid onto the stool next to Blake. "I think I peed for a good ninety seconds."
Blake shook his head. Oversharing was his future brother-in-law's favorite pastime.
His favorite pastime, except...
Almost on cue, Lucas glanced around the bar. His gaze settled on a pair of chattering blondes in the corner. Both wore typical clubbing outfits, which barely concealed enough to keep them out of jail on indecency charges, and neither looked older than twenty-one. Lucas nudged him. "Target acquired."
"Mmm hmm."
"I'll move on the short one, you get the tall one, okay?"
Blake sighed in exasperation. "Dude, I'm marrying your sister in less than three months. I'm not picking up bar bimbos."
"I know you're not." Lucas quirked the corner of his mouth in a half-grin. "I just wanted you to play wingman, to keep the other one busy for a bit. I guess I'll just have to take both of them home."
"Go for it."
Lucas ordered a fresh pitcher. He paid, gave Blake a quick wink, then hefted the pitcher and three clean glasses before heading for the girls' table. Blake watched, half-amused, and half-hoping the guy would be shot down in flames. Sadly, the girls slid over and made room for him and within moments, all three were chatting and laughing.
Blake shook his head. Lucas was a confident, good-looking guy, in excellent shape, who knew how to chat with people and had enough money to dress the part. He rarely went home alone unless he wanted to. Still, he'd been known to say the wrong thing and strike out once in a while... and since Blake had promised Nia that he'd be Lucas's ride, he had to stay.
Unless he does get the girls to take him home. He can call Reggie in the morning if it comes to that.
He spun to the bar, placed his mug on the wooden surface, and nudged it away from him. His glance drew the bartender's attention. "Diet Coke, please."
"Sure thing, Mr. Pennington."
A moment later, the requested drink arrived. Blake slipped the man a fifty, sipped away, and let his mind wander. He knew a lot of people would have thought him insane to tip that amount but Wayne had looked out for him and Lucas as long as they'd been coming to the Fifth Ave Taphouse. Though the clientele was upscale, it had seen its share of incidents in the past, and security always sided with the best tippers.
Besides, it's only money, right? We've all got money to burn. That's about all we
do
have.
The thought brought a bitter, ashen taste to his mouth but before he could stew on it, he felt a presence at his right elbow. Blake flicked his eyes in that direction and suppressed another sigh.
Unlike the pair of near-children Lucas was entertaining, the woman appeared to be in her late thirties, or about ten years older than Blake. She wore her brunette hair in an elegant upswept do, the style of which suited her slinky black cocktail dress. Expensive jewelry--or well-made fakes--decorated her fingers and a glittering tear-shaped diamond pendant dangled into her impressive store-bought cleavage. The gemstone's flickering facets drew the eye, which Blake was certain was the point.
Worst of all, he glanced at her face a second time and realized that he knew her.
"Good evening." The woman's voice was rich and cultured, and her hazel eyes were challenging.
At once, the confines of the bar felt constricting--suffocating, even. Blake shifted in his seat, leaning away from her. "Hello."
"Your friend seems to have left you alone." She slid into Lucas's former seat. The slit of her dress fell aside, revealing a length of toned, tanned leg. "So I figured you could use some company."
"I appreciate it but I really don't think I'm the right person."
She smiled, revealing a row of perfect, white teeth. "You could be."
Blake took a deep breath. "Not likely, Lucille."
The woman stiffened, though whether it was from him knowing her name or the fact that she'd told him previously that she hated her full name, he wasn't sure. She said, "Have we met?"
"Three months ago at Peter Morton's New Year's party. You were there with Phillip. I know he's in San Francisco this week but you do remember Phillip, right?" He paused. "Your husband?"
She stared at him, her eyes wide.
Blake offered her a faint smile. "He works closely with Albert Pennington. My father."
The woman paled as recognition dawned on her. She excused herself and hurried away. Amused, Blake watched her make a beeline for the exit and vanish. His momentary levity trickled away and he sighed.
She was hanging all over Phillip at that party not twelve weeks ago, playing the doting, loving wife... and now she's out on the prowl for strange dick. She's not even being subtle about it.
He shook his head. He didn't know Phillip Comstock very well but his brief interactions had convinced Blake that Phillip was a decent guy and not one to tolerate his wife fooling around. He was also twenty-five years older than Lucy.
Maybe that's it, the age difference. Performance. Maybe they have an arrangement or something. Or maybe they...
Unbidden, the image of a young woman's face--thin, attractive, blonde hair falling to her shoulders--appeared and hovered in his mind. Blake sighed again.
I don't even know about myself anymore. I'm in no position to judge other people.
Lucas rose from his seat, along with the two ladies. All three wove toward the door. His hands slipped around their waists and the girls giggled nonstop.
His future brother-in-law caught Blake's eye and waved. As far as Blake was concerned, that was all the signal he needed. He motioned to the bartender and pointed to his friend. "Wayne, all three of them are toasted. Can you call them an Uber or a cab or something?"
