This is Not a Fairytale, page 8
"Stop it," she hissed.
Shrugging, I slung my red cloak over my shoulder and snagged another cupcake for the road. "Hey, I'm just surprised he finally cut the cord."
"Don't even, Harmony."
It wasn't my fault Faith had a six-foot-two shadow. She couldn't brush her teeth at night or even tinkle without being accompanied by hubby. I was expecting him to bring home a leash one day. How someone as independent as my sister used to be could put up with one hundred ninety-five pounds of pure cling was beyond me.
"Being close to your spouse isn't unusual, you know."
"Of course not," I agreed. "But being so overly dependent that you don't even have an original thought anymore is."
"Whatever, Harmony."
I had to wonder if this was why Michael was back in the picture, at least on the sidelines. Maybe Faith realized this wasn't exactly normal.
What the hell did I know, though? I hadn't exactly had shining examples of healthy, stable relationships in my life.
"I'll Merry Maids the spare room after I see Dad tonight."
Smashing the second cupcake in my mouth, I left Faith stroking her little paunch, consternation stamped on her face.
Outside, I inhaled deeply, my lungs inflating with exhaust, the stench of a dumpster, and fresh spring rain. Winter had not bowed out gracefully but the snow had finally cleared and now all the shit was melted and soggy. More rain was expected later in the evening.
Charlie and Matt were already waiting for me at the curb. The Cadillac's front fender had a fresh dent and I saw flecks of blue ingrained in the contorted metal. Another mailbox had jumped out in front of Charlie, it seemed.
My Chucks splashed through puddles to the passenger side. I peered through the open window at Matt.
"Hop in the back, shortstop."
"No way. I'm the boyfriend, I take precedence."
"Yeah, well, class before ass."
"Don't you mean crass?"
"Grow six inches and say that to my face."
The height thing drew him up short. It always did.
"I'm not short," he huffed. "I'm vertically challenged."
I nudged all five foot nothing of him out of the way and claimed the passenger seat. He pouted in the backseat as Charlie merged into traffic.
"My honor is seriously undefended right now," Matt muttered.
Charlie met his narrowed turquoise eyes in the rearview mirror. "Hey, it's dangerous to take sides between you two and you know it," he said. "I'm totally neutral."
"Put some lead in it, Switzerland. I got fifteen minutes before I'm late."
It took at least forty minutes to get there in morning traffic.
"Do you even know what time management is?" Matt asked me.
"Sure I do. I just have difficulty managing to make time for it."
I twisted in my seat to find him grinning at me. Kissing the tip of my index finger, he did the same, and we interlocked. We both had commanding personalities and we butted heads a lot but at the end of the day Matt was my little sidekick and I loved him dearly. I showed my affection by picking on him.
"How was the wedding yesterday?"
"Dad bawled like a baby," I said with a smirk.
After six years of dating and three years being engaged, Dad had finally made an honest woman of Symone. A simple ceremony in Symone's old Methodist church in Jersey, I'd been a bridesmaid once again, along with Faith. They'd written their own vows and I didn't think I'd ever heard Dad speak so fluently, so poetically. Symone awakened the sap in him. It actually brought a tear to my eye.
My not-so-wicked stepmother had given us the remaining cupcakes from the reception. I adored her.
"They leave for their honeymoon in the morning."
"Where they going?" Charlie asked.
"New Orleans. Dad wants authentic bourbon chicken."
The way to my dad's heart was definitely through his stomach and luckily Symone loved and accepted that about him.
If Red's hadn't come with the benefit of a family discount, I didn't think Dad would be nearly as proud of me for my newfound responsibility. As it was, I was pretty sure I was now his favorite offspring.
Half an hour later, Charlie parallel parked in front of Red's.
"Sorry you're late."
"Oh, I still have twenty minutes. How's that for time management?" I said, giving Charlie then Matt a quick smooch. "Thanks for the ride, boys."
"Do you have community service after work?"
"Nope. I finished my hours before the wedding." Though I still had a few checks to cut.
"When do you need picked up?"
"It's already covered. See you guys Monday morning for lattes?"
We agreed on a time before school and I watched them putter off into the sunrise. The Caddy backfired at the stoplight and I saw several folks across the street duck into an alcove like there was a drive-by.
Snorting a laugh, I followed a group of giggling sorority chicks into Red's.
Immediately I was accosted with the delicious aroma of fried, greasy goodness. You'd think after breathing this stuff in for two solid months that I would be nauseated or at the very least immune to it, but I could gladly say that my olfactory senses remained an addict. I could sniff this shit all day.
The diner was bustling. Voices were overlapping, dishes clattering, glasses clinking. Every booth was occupied and all but two seats at the counter were taken. I hadn't seen it this packed since the first day Caleb brought me here. Louise had made me the permanent third shift Red Riding Hood and on any given day (night?) we got maybe a third of this crowd. It was a bit overwhelming now.
Transitioning into a working stiff hadn't been easy. After my shift, I had just enough time to shower before rushing to school, and after school was over, I crashed. Hard. My free period was devoted entirely to my artwork because there sure as hell wasn't any other time for it. My muse was sulking even now over my neglect.
I'd thrown myself into my new routine, trying to stay busy. To be honest, down time was dangerous for me right now. I started dwelling on Ashleigh and Mom and those things were better left un-dwelled. I couldn't afford to keep popping Tums when my throat started tightening and my chest began burning.
A very teeny, tiny, infinitesimal part of me knew it was only a matter of time before I had a major breakdown. But that day wasn't today.
Hey, we were all a little mad here.
***
By the time my break tick-tocked around at ten, my thighs were burning like I'd commandeered Mom's Thigh Master and my arms were like wet noodles. Even though my biceps were toned from hefting trays laden with heavy plates and my hips slimmed down from constantly walking and being on my feet, the fast pace and constant demand of first shift had me breaking an unladylike sweat.
The fry cook, Archie, hooked me up with a heaping plate of steaming biscuits and gravy off of Granny's menu. The diner had three main menus, Little Red, which catered mostly to child portions and yummy desserts, The Granny, offering all those classic, American staples like fried chicken, meat loaf and biscuits and gravy, stuff that took you right back to Grandma's kitchen. Then there was The Wolf, featuring the Big Bad Wolf, their gargantuan double cheeseburger. Needless to say, The Wolf served a lotta meat.
"Damn, Arch, how d'you stand it?" I demanded, mopping my brow. "It's hotter than Satan's nutsack back here."
He didn't even break stride as he expertly flipped six pancakes in a row. "You can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen, is my motto."
"I'll be staying out of the kitchen, then."
"You get used to it," he said with a grin.
Archie booted me out of the kitchen after that. It didn't hurt my feelings. He barely tolerated the other cooks back there. It was his domain and anyone who passed through those doors were treated as trespassers.
I scarfed down my biscuits and gravy at the counter.
Belly full, I got back to work.
"Table ten, Harmony," Louise told me.
"On it, boss lady."
A couple had just walked in and sat in my section. The girl was hidden behind a menu but there was something familiar about the ringed fingers clutching the laminated sides, about the sleek auburn ponytail poking above it.
My steps slowed.
The girl slapped the menu on the tabletop, her bored gaze meeting the dude's across from her. There was serious tension there. My eye was trained to see those subtle nuances, but they weren't exactly being subtle here. They were both super stiff, the dude's eye getting a little twitchy. I might get caught up in my own bullshit sometimes but I did notice other peeps and their drama.
Ember True, the lead singer of The Delinquents, leaned forward on her elbows. "All I'm asking for is a little assistance, Marc. I could've--"
Their convo ended abruptly as I stepped up to their booth.
"Give us a minute," Ember snapped.
"Can I at least start you off with some drinks?"
My voice seemed to tighten up her shoulders even more. Ember's head whipped up. Her eyes flared in surprise when she saw me but quickly her mask of indifference was back in place.
"Harmony," she sneered.
Yeah, she didn't like me very much. I could honestly say the feeling was mutual.
"I thought you only worked nights," she continued.
"Rianne's son's getting his tonsils taken out today."
"They should reconsider letting you out. Natural light is so not kind to you."
"Ooh, that burned almost as much as it probably does when you pee."
Ember's lips seemed to twitch. It was probably only an optical illusion.
Dude pointedly cleared his throat. "Ice water for me, please."
"It's what's in his veins," Ember stage whispered.
I snorted. Nice to know I wasn't the only one on her shit list. She was an equal opportunity bitch.
"Amber?" Marc prompted.
Amber, huh? So... ordinary.
She glared at him. "Diet Coke."
When I returned with their drinks, Ember still had her eyes narrowed into slits at her breakfast companion. Things apparently had not cooled down in the fifty-seven seconds I was away.
"Do you guys need more time?" I asked.
Ember smirked but said nothing.
"Short stack for both of us," Marc ordered.
"Coming right up."
After I put their order in, my other tables required my attention. I replenished drinks, fetched jelly, mopped up small spills, but I kept an eye on Ember's table. As soon as they had the semblance of privacy, they were nearly head butting each other, their voices hushed in a heated argument.
At one point I heard, "She's your responsibility, too."
The Delinquents were regulars at Red's. Thrashers was only down the block and after they'd spent the night jamming they came in around three in the morning to grab some grub. Caleb, otherwise known as Chuck Berry, sometimes referred to as Hendrix or Van Halen, always led the pack. There was Rodney, the crazy drummer who always managed to smell like a distillery, Miguel, their tall, dark and handsome bassist, Brandon, Beethoven on a keyboard, and of course, Ember, the temperamental lead singer.
I'd gotten to know them all pretty well over the past two months but I had never seen Ember with anyone other than her bandmates. My curiosity was definitely piqued now, which was why my nose was all up in her business.
"Order up!"
I scooped up their plates. "Thanks, Archie."
They safely returned to their corners when the food arrived.
"Thank you," Marc muttered.
"I need more syrup," Ember said.
I nodded and quietly slunk away.
After she got her extra syrup, Ember doused her pancakes until they were drenched and chose to ignore everything but her stomach for the remainder of breakfast. I was disappointed but I couldn't exactly press play on life's universal remote and resume watching their drama.
Before they left, Ember offered her hand. "For you," she said with a wicked smile.
Suspicious, I took what she proffered. The door swung closed behind her and I unfolded a crumpled tip.
It was from a snarky novelty tip of the day calendar.
If you roll your eyes enough, you might eventually find a brain back there.
That bitch, I thought, but I felt a grin spreading. I hated to admit it but part of me was slightly impressed.
The rest of my shift passed without incident.
Unfastening my cloak, my pockets stuffed with real tips, I found my messenger bag and beat feet out of there. I'd barely cleared the door, though, when a ringed hand grasped my shoulder and yanked me backward, shoving me against the side of Red's.
"Oof," I grunted.
Ember True cozied up in my personal space. "Don't tell the guys what you saw today, hear me? They don't need to know I met up with Marc."
"You loitered around four hours to tell me that?" I demanded. "Stalk much?"
She growled in my face. I was sure she was going for intimidating, and it would've worked on most people. But my muse perked up and took instant notice of Ember's eyes. True to her actual namesake, Ember's eyes were a dark amber, and the black pupils were oddly reminiscent of some insect that had been fossilized in the stone.
"Bug eyes," I said with a smirk.
Her jaw clenched. "Don't. Say. A. Word," she snapped, punctuating each syllable with a shove to my shoulder.
I shoved right back. "Someone should pop your overinflated ego, Amber."
The crowd streaming along the sidewalk was giving us a wide berth. They didn't seem to know whether we were about to brawl or go for each other's bras.
"Just don't tell them," Ember said more quietly. "I don't need more lectures."
That got me more curious than ever but I wasn't giving her the satisfaction now of showing interest. "Here's a tip," I told her, slapping the tip of the day into her hand. "Keep your own gums from flapping and your business will probably stay private."
It was easy to shake her. I feinted left, went right, and was sure to clip her shoulder as my Chucks ate up the pavement.
***
Thrashers was deserted this time of day.
The industrial metal doors groaned open, a shaft of bright afternoon sunlight slicing inside. I stepped in and they slammed closed, plunging me into darkness and echoing in the cavernous space.
I was only momentarily blinded. Onstage, a three-legged stool stood in a circle of illumination provided by a single stage light. Caleb appeared and copped a squat, one booted foot braced on the floor, the other caught on the middle rung. He had earbuds in and his attention was totally focused on the battered acoustic guitar in his hands. He hadn't noticed me yet.
Suddenly, I was painfully aware I was wearing a pair of Faith's black yoga pants I'd pilfered out of her closet this morning because all two pairs of my black jeans smelled like a greasy spoon's fry vat. Faith's pants were a few inches too short and stretched a little too tight over my ass. At the diner my cloak had concealed that not-so-small fact but now I self-consciously tugged my shirt to cover my obvious panty lines.
Anybody behind me was gonna get an eyeful of my lace cheekies.
The strumming of a guitar broke the silence.
Pausing, I glanced up and my heart skipped a ridiculous beat. It was such a deviation from shredding on an electric guitar. He caressed such sweet sounds from the strings, fingerpicking a bluesy melody that I didn't quite recognize at first. His eyes closed, he was totally devoted to the music, oblivious to his audience of one.
He was so mesmerizing when he played. He was totally in his element.
Quiet as a church mouse, I shuffled over to one of the circular booths and sat down. The huge, empty space acted as a natural reverb for "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." I had no trouble at all hearing him.
It was a good thing Ember hadn't decided to pursue me. She was definitely territorial when it came to "her boys" and I doubted she would appreciate me gawking at one of them now.
Did I honestly care, though? Not particularly.
Down to the very last note, Caleb stayed completely riveted, extraordinary eyes still closed and brow furrowed. With the music still vibrating through the air, a hint of a smile curved his lips.
"Hey, killer."
I gasped. "How'd you know I was here?"
"I don't know. Self-preservation?"
"You know, if I'm gonna be accused of it..."
He chuckled, his eyes opened, and he met my gaze across the wide expanse of the club. A thrill tingled through me.
"Motown, huh?" I asked, voice slightly, embarrassingly breathless. "What other surprises are you full of?"
A mysterious smile was his only response.
Choking the neck of the guitar in his fist, Caleb stood and bent to tuck it back into its case. My head tilted as I stared unabashedly at his ass. There was something very familiar about the wallet bulging in the right pocket, the left ragged and ripped halfway off.
"It was you!" I exclaimed.
Startled, Caleb straightened. "Uh, what was me?"
"Your ass! I was ogling it and I--" I stuttered to a stop. A blush flamed in my cheeks. "And I've said too much, haven't I?"
The tips of his ears reddened.
I cleared my throat. "Um, we should probably get going."
"Yeah, good idea," he agreed.
Caleb disappeared backstage for a second and the light extinguished itself. I was plunged into darkness once again but I heard a pair of booted feet land on the floor then footsteps heading in the direction of the entrance. Gathering my stuff, I scrambled after him and he locked up behind us once we were on the sidewalk.
"How is it you have the keys to the kingdom?"
"I live in the apartment above the club."
I whistled. "The owner must love you."
Caleb smiled absently but didn't answer.
We set off against the flow of foot traffic. As I jostled along, elbows out to preserve my personal bubble, tagging a few people along the way, I withdrew my Marlboros and ignited the tip.
He was staring at me. "Your lungs are probably tar."
"You're not the first to tell me that."
Shrugging, he faced forward again.
Maybe it was the fact that he didn't press the issue, or shame me for polluting the world, or lecture me about cancer and gum disease, but suddenly the urge to keep puffing kind of lost its appeal. I tossed it to the ground in front of me and crushed it beneath my Converse.
