Authors: Lynda Simmons
Island Girl (37 page)
I looked down at my blistered feet. What he was saying made sense if I didn’t dwell on the part about us having years together. Or think about what could happen if he decided to tell the doctor about my plans. To have me declared incompetent in order to protect me from myself.
But when I looked into his eyes, I saw love there. The same love I’d seen on the day he showed up at my front door with a bike and a baby seat. I could only hope that love would let him do the right thing when the time came.
I put my arms around his neck. “I’ve never believed in marriage.”
He pulled me closer. “Then just believe in me.”
He kissed me then, tenderly, slowly, making my heart squeeze and the tears start all over again because I probably didn’t deserve this. But for now, for the moment, I wasn’t going to question, I wasn’t going to wonder. I was going to marry him. To hold on and hope for the best.
LIZ
I have fallen off the wagon. At the turn of the twentieth century,
wagon
referred to a horse-drawn water cart that was used to wet down dusty country roads. Back then, being
on the wagon
meant you’d rather drink questionable water from the water cart than be sullied by drinking the finest demon rum from a bottle. When you finally admitted how boring your newfound respectability really was—and how pointless the fight to hold on to it anyway—you fell
off the wagon
and had to run to catch up with it again.
wagon
referred to a horse-drawn water cart that was used to wet down dusty country roads. Back then, being
on the wagon
meant you’d rather drink questionable water from the water cart than be sullied by drinking the finest demon rum from a bottle. When you finally admitted how boring your newfound respectability really was—and how pointless the fight to hold on to it anyway—you fell
off the wagon
and had to run to catch up with it again.
In my case, I have not only fallen off, I have made camp by the side of the road and the wagon has long since turned the corner. I’m not sure I want to catch up, even if I could. Which made my journey of self-discovery mercifully short, ending here on the floor by the window, the only place in this godforsaken room where you can catch a breeze on a hot summer night.
My tumble began on Tuesday on Ward’s Island but oddly enough did not continue with Car Bombs at the Duck. Not out of loyalty to Brenda, but because I’d been banned from the place indefinitely. Found out that little tidbit when I showed up and was told I was no longer welcome. That’s what happens when the new bartender tells you to shut up and return to your seat, and instead you dance the Highland fling on the bar and accidentally kick the bitch in the chin.
One of my buddies told me I was lucky they didn’t press charges, and I believed him. He also told me the man with the long hair and beard—whose bruises had faded at last—had been a stranger to the place. They’d been keeping an eye out for the bastard, but he hadn’t been seen since. I could only assume that when Nadia knocked someone down, they stayed down—and went into hiding later. I should tell her that if the substitute teacher thing didn’t work out, she would make a fine bouncer, because one should always have a career alternative in mind.
Lying there on the floor, staring at the ceiling, not even sure what day it was, I wished I had a career alternative, because law was no longer an option. How sad that Ruby had been right after all. Hairdressing would definitely have given me something to fall back on. But that was water under the bridge.
Clean slate, move on. Never look back
.
Clean slate, move on. Never look back
.
Looking forward, however, knowing I’d have to tell Brenda that she and Mitch were on their own, had caused me to fall off that damn wagon in the first place. I would not be thinking about it even now if I hadn’t run out of booze, proving what I have been saying for some time now—they’re just not making twenty-sixers of vodka the way they used to.
The proof was there beside me, empty and cold, yet I didn’t feel all that hungover. Didn’t feel half bad in fact, except for the crushing weight of Brenda’s petition sitting front and center in my mind, making it hard to think about anything else.
I could go to the liquor store, grab another bottle, and start all over again. But even if I could muster enough energy and money for the trip, I wouldn’t make it past the top of the stairs because I knew for a fact that both Brenda and Nadia were in the house. I’d heard them troop up the stairs and into my room earlier. But I’d kept my eyes closed, pretending to be asleep, even when Nadia came around the sofa and nudged me with her toe.
“Is not awake yet,” she said, and went back out, closing the door and cutting off all hope of a breeze. Punishing me for falling off that stupid goddamn wagon. As if it was my fault her stupid
Don’t drink for today
shit hadn’t worked.
Don’t drink for today
shit hadn’t worked.
But it had for a while, hadn’t it? Like dieting for a day, or not calling the man who broke your heart for just one more hour, it was all about breaking down a long and painful war into manageable battles. And I had been a real warrior for ten whole battles. Sitting proudly on that wagon, right up front with the driver, the two of us laughing and urging his old horse to pick up the pace.
Git up, boy! Git up
! He’d understood I wasn’t like the rest of the passengers. I didn’t have a problem. I was just joy-riding, showing them all that Liz Donaldson was in control. Reins firmly in hand and facing forward. Who needed the demon rum anyway?
Git up, boy! Git up
! He’d understood I wasn’t like the rest of the passengers. I didn’t have a problem. I was just joy-riding, showing them all that Liz Donaldson was in control. Reins firmly in hand and facing forward. Who needed the demon rum anyway?
Then Mark came along and shoved me on my ass, and that driver didn’t even look back once. Fuck him and his wagon. I’d always liked camping out anyway.
Now, however, with the vodka gone, I needed to break camp. Mostly, I needed to pee, which meant the time to talk to Brenda had come.
Familiar thumping and banging began on the other side of the wall, and I tried not to wonder what they were doing as I stood up slowly, pleased that my head and my stomach stayed with me the whole way. As hangovers went, it looked like this one was going to be a snap. Perhaps there was something to be said, after all, for sticking to one demon at a time.
I was still wearing the tank top from the meeting with Mark, but my jeans lay in a heap by the bed and my floppy hat was on the desk, next to a beautiful arrangement of flowers—a dozen pink, orange, and yellow Gerbera daisies I hadn’t known were there. A peace offering from Mark, I assumed, which meant there was still hope!
I plucked the card from the plastic holder, tore open the envelope, and read:
Thanks for helping my sister. I’d love to take you to dinner. Call me. Gary
Hope gave way to a rush of warmth and pleasure that had twice spelled the beginning of something wonderful, something I’d hoped would last, but not this time. I sighed and slid the card into the flowers. How much better for everyone if they had been from Mark.
The door opened and Nadia stuck her head into my room. “You are up,” she said, and seconds later both she and Brenda walked in wearing black bicycle shorts and white T-shirts with I ❤ Iyengar on the front—something Grace would appreciate—both sweating and smiling.
“How do you feel?” Nadia asked, taking a couple of Werther’s out of her pocket and offering one to Brenda but not me. “Hungover or sort of okay?”
“Sort of okay.” I pulled on my jeans and looked from one to the other. “Why are you both dressed that way?”
“I brought T-shirts from yoga school.” She unwrapped a candy and popped it into her mouth. “One for you also. Was now showing Brenda benefits of headstand.”
“I wasn’t very good,” Brenda said, and the two of them laughed. “I kept falling and she kept propping me up.”
That explained the thumping but not the lingering grins.
“You sure you’re feeling okay?” Brenda asked.
“Yes, I’m sure. But we need to talk.”
Brenda looked over at Nadia. “Definitely sharper than usual.”
Nadia grinned. “I told you. Works like charm every time.”
“What works?” I asked.
“Watering vodka.” She walked over and picked up my dead soldier. “Drunk person can taste nothing. Nevair knows difference.”
“It’s the same at the bar,” Brenda said. “We don’t water, but after a couple of rounds, we’re definitely subbing in regular brands for premium. No one ever knows.”
“I don’t believe you.” I followed them along the hall to the kitchen. “I would know if you’d done that. How much water did you add anyway?”
“A lot,” Brenda said, and stopped me at the door to the kitchen, smiling up at me, obviously pleased. “We were late getting here the day after your meeting with Mark, and I was really ticked to find you drunk and passed out when we still had so much work to do. I was ready to smack you around right there on the floor, but Nadia took a more reasoned approach.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple,” Brenda said. “Rather than bully you out of your binge the way I wanted to, Nadia said it would be best to let you continue, on a modified basis. Let you come out of it on your own. It seemed weird to me, but what the heck. We were screwed anyway. Might as well give it a shot.”
Residual anger was creeping into her voice, bringing color to her face, and I was grateful Nadia hadn’t set her loose on me. Made a mental note to thank her later.
“We could see you’d only had a couple of drinks from the bottle,” Brenda continued. “So Nadia dumped out all but the last quarter. I was afraid it was too much, but she seemed to know what she was doing.”
Nadia shook her head in that slow annoying way. “Would have been problem if she knew vodka, but she is peasant. Buys cheap shit, does not keep in freezer, mixes with soda.” She flicked a hand at me. “Was too easy.”
Brenda laughed. “Seemed so because we filled that bottle with water, put it back on the floor, and you didn’t know the difference. Drank the whole thing, and here you are at the end of the bender, rested, mostly sober, and able to work. Brilliant, eh?”
The two of them had the nerve to high-five each other right in front of me.
“Trick is filtered water,” Nadia said, turning to rinse my empty at the sink. “Tap water has chlorine smell and taste. Filtered? Nothing. Is perfect. For peasant.”
She walked past us with the bottle and down to her room. I followed again, speechless, sputtering, madder than hell but not sure why.
Because I’d been duped? Because I wasn’t hungover? Because I wasn’t a goddamn peasant? Then it hit me. “That bottle cost me thirty goddamn dollars!”
“And still is cheap shit.” Nadia stuffed my bottle into her canvas shopping bag, then walked over to her desk and sorted through the folders. “I have things to show you.”
From the moment she first unlocked her door and invited us in, Nadia’s room had never failed to intrigue me. Lipstick-red bed coverings, embroidered pillows, and yards and yards of gauzy red and gold fabric drooping from the ceiling. Walls adorned with paintings of lush women and lusty men framed in heavy gold leaf, and everywhere, bowls of candy and baskets of fruit. Werther’s Originals by the bed, apples on the desk, gum balls on the dresser.
It hadn’t taken us long to figure out that not only was Nadia efficient and organized, she was also a closet sensualist with a passion for color, texture, and anything sweet—which was why she was always popping something into her mouth. No wonder she’d been so worried about her groceries.
“Now we work,” she said, popping another candy and handing me a bulging folder. “We have completed surveillance at Champlain. Here are pictures of building, men in suits, everything you ask for.” She paused. “Do you want to use bathroom first? Maybe have coffee?”
“I don’t believe this.” I dropped the file. “I don’t fucking believe this.”
“I know, it’s amazing,” Brenda said, the two of them smiling, looking every inch the circus act in their matching outfits. “You should have seen her in action at Champlain. She knew you needed a floor plan, so she bought helium balloons and a top hat. Told the receptionist she had a singing telegram to deliver to Klaus Vandergroot and the girl led her straight to him.”
Klaus Vandergroot. The man who would be receiving the petition to bankruptcy. But not from me.
“Now we know exactly which office he’s in,” Brenda continued. “And how you’ll get there. We even drew you a map.” She tapped a finger on the file. “Everything’s right here.”
“That’s great,” I said and turned to Nadia. “But the important thing is, did you sing?”
“Of course. Would have blown cover otherwise.”
I smiled. This was too much. “What did you sing?”
“Bayu-bayushki-bayu.” Nadia gave me her one-shoulder shrug. “Is Russian lullaby warning that little grey wolf is coming to eat you. Seemed appropriate, under circumstances. Horrible man liked it. Even gave me twenty-dollar tip, which I will claim on taxes.”
“You make me nuts,” I said. “But it doesn’t matter because I am out. Can’t finish the petition. Can’t save your ass.” I pushed the folder back at Nadia. “You’ll need to take your pictures to someone else.”
Brenda stopped smiling and crossed her arms. “Okay, what do you need this time? To hear again how brilliant you are? To have us say that this is the best idea anyone has ever had? Because if your ego needs stroking, maybe we could arrange for a couple of cheerleaders to follow you around. Gimme an
L.
Gimme an
I
—”
L.
Gimme an
I
—”
“My ego has nothing to do with it. I told you from the beginning I’m not the one for the job. I gave it a shot, but you need to hire someone else.”
I started along the hall to the bathroom, but like the little dog that she was, Brenda darted ahead of me, blocking the way. “You self-centered bitch. If anyone’s ass was saved here, it was yours. If we’d left you alone with that bottle, you’d be in the hospital right now having your stomach pumped and trying to get over alcohol poisoning.”
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