AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, here it is, the fourth and final part of The Bar and Grill. Thanks to everyone for bearing with me as this got written and posted. In my defense, though, I haven't kept you waiting as long as DanielQSteele has for "When We Were Married." (Really, DQS, will you please hurry up? We're dying out here waiting to find out what the hell happens next!) Then again, this story is neither as long, complex, nor emotionally packed as DQS's masterpiece, so I should note that it wasn't particularly difficult to write.
If you haven't figured out yet by my comment on the first part, this is based on true people and true events. Truth be told, it's based on me. I'm Tim. Sure, I've changed some things here and there--most notably my profession because I wanted to write something more quirky and original than my previous efforts--and I've embellished, added, or deleted facts in numerous places to heighten the drama or humor or, most often, the flow of the story. Still, Tim was me. (HarryinVA, don't feel bad for saying in your comment to part 1 that you hate me; I'll admit I was a dumb ass for much of my life, and the residuals are still there for all to see to this very day.) I'll leave it to the reader to figure out what happened and what didn't in real life, but ninety percent of this is true. That's also why it was so easy to write.
I hope you've all enjoyed reading this, and now you probably all understand a little better why I'm as fucked up as I am.
In closing, I ask that you all take a moment to comment on the story. Comment on whatever you want: The writing, how much you hated the continuous use of recipes, which characters you liked and disliked, how horrible my own choices in life are. I'd really appreciate your feedback, even if it is just to call me a pathetic wimp.
TWENTY-EIGHT
By the next morning, the county cops had heard about Randy's arrest, and they filled Moss in on all the other sightings. It was thin, they agreed, but Moss decided to go ahead and draw up separate complaints on each time Randy had been parking outside our house and a final complaint for felony stalking. All told, I signed almost two dozen separate complaints, and Moss told me bail would be set high.
All told, I was in an amazingly good mood by the time I returned home at about nine. Both of us had the weekend off, and I was looking forward to making a big breakfast for Nicole, Alistair, and me before spending the day outside getting the landscaping beds cleaned and prepped for the Spring that was now falling upon us.
When I walked in the door, I heard the shower shut off in the hallway bathroom. Good, I though, Nicole is up.
I went into the kitchen to get going on breakfast when I saw Ernie trot past me down the hall and toward the bathroom. I watched him, smiling. He sure had taken a shining to our new roommates, Nicole almost as much as Alistair.
Getting to the door, Ernie scratched at and pawed the door, trying to get Nicole to let him in. She hadn't closed the door all the way, though, and I smiled as the door slowly swung open. Cold pug nose on wet, bare skin had often made for an early morning shocker in my life.
The door swung all the way open, though, and my smile quickly changed. Nicole was standing in front of the mirror. Brushing her long wet hair. Totally naked.
I watched her reflection in the mirror. The long slow strokes of the brush down her hair, her proud, upturned breasts--little more than a handful but shaped as if by a master sculptor--her flat, taut belly flaring to her slightly jutting hipbones, the bubble of her perfect ass rising. And her mons. Shaved bare, completely without hair. I'd never seen one shaved all the way, at least not outside a porno flick.
When my eyes traveled back up her body, though, my wonderment turned to horror. Her biceps were a mass of dark bruises where Randy had held her. He'd really been gripping hard, I realized, and I was amazed she'd not been crumpled at his feet the night before.
I took all of this in in little more than a few seconds, but I couldn't look away from her arms. Then Ernie's nose got to her, and I saw her jerk and look down. My eyes went from her arms to her face in the mirror, and she looked up and saw my reflection staring at her.
Her face remained a mask, staring evenly back at me for a moment before reaching over and closing the door.
I stood there for a moment, embarrassed. Then I did what I did best. I went to the refrigerator and pulled out the ingredients for French Toast and French omelettes with gruyere cheese and fresh chives.
Fifteen minutes later, Nicole walked into the kitchen, fully dressed in jeans and an old sweater, her hair still wet. Alistair was in her arms, slung across a hip with his face buried in her wet hair, and Ernie was trotting dutifully behind.
"Breakfast?" I said.
"Smells good," she replied, smiling. "French toast?" she said to Alistair. His face remained in her hair, but his sleepy head nodded.
I didn't know what to say about seeing her. I was embarrassed, ashamed, worried. Hell, let's face it, I didn't really know what I was.
Nicole seemed to sense this, and her reaction was strange. She was neither quiet nor boisterous. Rather, she just acted like nothing had happened. Like it was no big deal and I shouldn't be so pensive about it.
But I was.
TWENTY-NINE
A half hour later, I was in the front landscaping beds raking leaves from the mulch.
"Want some help?" Nicole said.
I stopped and turned. She was in a stocking cap, old tennis shoes, light jacket over the sweater, and had gloves on her hands.
I smiled. "Outside work's my responsibility, remember?"
"Yeah," she said, "but the house is already clean, laundry's going, and the dishes are done. Alistair's watching cartoons with Ernie, and I'm bored."
I looked at her for a moment. She seemed amused, her eyes dancing and a smile playing at her lips.
"Jesus, Tim," she said. "You act like you've never seen a girl naked before."
My eyes went wide and I felt the blush creeping over me. She laughed.
"You're embarrassed," she taunted.
"Well I . . . it wasn't . . . I didn't mean to-- "
"What?" she teased. "You think I'm afraid you've taught Ernie to go opening doors so you can catch your peek? I mean, I can just picture it. 'Ernie,'" she whispered, a hand cupped to her mouth. "'Quick. She's in the bathroom. Get over there and open it up and let's see what she's got.'"
Nicole was laughing so hard by the end of that she was snorting. It was infectious, and I started laughing with her. She'd never much shown a sense of humor, and I'd definitely never seen her laugh this hard. And I realized that, for the first time since I'd known her, her defenses were totally down. It was like I was seeing the real Nicole for the first time, the Nicole from before her husband was murdered and her boyfriend had put her through months of terror and hell.
I couldn't take my eyes off her as our laughing died down.
"Cat got your tongue?"
"Just never seen you like this before," I said, turning back to raking leaves.
She scooped a pile of leaves into the wheelbarrow.
"Like what?" she said.
"So happy. Playful. You know."
She didn't say anything, just kept piling leaves into the wheelbarrow, pressing them down as she did so.
"You okay after last night?" I said. "I mean, I saw the bruises."
"Yeah," she said. "I'm good. The bruises aren't really that bad."
"And everything else?"
She only nodded, but the peaceful look didn't leave her face. Not a smile, mind you, but not the usual silent mask, either. She seemed content.
We worked in silence for a couple of hours, Nicole bopping back into the house now and again to check on Alistair. The chilly, damp day was exhilarating, and it was relaxing being outside for so long after a winter stuck inside. Unfortunately, it also got us both to do more physical labor than either of us had done in months, and we were wiped out by the time the work was all done.
"Swear to God," I said to her as we put the rakes and wheelbarrow away, "I may need a nap."
"Me, too," she agreed. Then she raised her eyebrow at me.
"What?" I said.
She only smiled, then shook her head. "Nothing. Just thinking of something."
"Thinking of what?"
