#Blocked, page 14
“Okay, I’m gonna go. But you better believe I’ll be back.” Sarah stood up.
“Yeah. I’m going on a date tonight so I’d love if you could watch them.”
“A date, huh? Is it with the person you were thinking about last time?”
Bo shrugged, but he couldn’t stop a smile from forming on his face.
“Good for you, Bo.” She turned to leave, then asked, “Would I know her?”
Bo thought for a second, watching Elmira slowly crawl from under the couch to join her brother, who was fixated on a cluster of fake, felt cacti under a hallway side table.
“Her name’s Winter. She’s this fashion girl—”
“Wait? Winter Smith? You’re dating Winter Smith?”
He nodded.
“I love her!” She pulled out her phone, showing him she followed Winter on StyleSlap.
“Whoa, that’s cool.”
“Oh, but…” Her face dropped.
“What?”
She sat back down next to him. “Supposedly, she’s from a very weird relationship.”
“What do you mean by ‘weird’?”
“I shouldn’t say anything else because I heard it from a friend of a friend who interned at a lawyer firm her and her boyfriend worked at. So, it could just be a rumor and I hate spreading gossip. Oh, fuck, I really shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No, I’m glad you did.”
“Really?”
“Do you know who her ex-boyfriend is?”
“I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew.”
“But I’m sure you could find out.”
“Yeah, and I would go to prison for aiding and abetting a murder. Because I know you’d murder him.”
Bo nodded and stared into the middle distance. “Probably right.”
“And Bo, you’re like a brother to me, which is kinda gross because we’ve slept together. So, we’re more like—long lost Alabama cousins.”
Bo laughed and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”
Sarah got back up. “I’m just saying I don’t want you to get in trouble. You’re doing so good, other than that whole beating the shit out of Matt thing.”
“If you do end up getting a weed commune, will you let me vacation there?” Bo got up.
“Of course.” She winked. “So, I hope I didn’t scare you too much about Winter. I just heard the guy was awful and it motivated her to quit and start her own online brand. She actually seems like an amazing girl.”
“Thanks Sarah. I’m gonna go find the furry emo twins. I’ll see you later.”
“Okay.”
Bo headed for the back hallway and when he looked back, Sarah was still standing there. And he could have sworn she whispered, “Just be careful, Bo.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Winter barely had any time to obsess over her date because she was still a style post short for the week and had intended on posting one Sunday evening. Of course, she thought she would have a lot more time. She hadn’t scheduled a shelter fire into her usually impeccably-followed weekly planner, though she was more than happy to have been able to help. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so rewarded. The last time her heart felt so full. The last time she felt…valuable. And Bo asking her out. It almost felt like the ending of a long, tumultuous, fairy tale.
She ran into her room and rummaged through her closet, looking for something that could work with her setting idea: Standing on the back porch…no, too cold…sitting on the couch…no, too lazy… Aha! Standing in the shower, under an umbrella. Yeah, it was weird, but Winter had a hunch it would probably be one of her most talked about and reposted photos.
She decided on a simple, high-waist, pleated, above-the-knee skirt in burgundy, paired with a faded, black, Hank William’s t-shirt, tucked in, and black thigh high socks and rain boots (though she knew she wasn’t going to show the boots in the shot).
It took her twenty minutes to set up the shot, ten minutes to get dressed, ten minutes to put on her makeup, five minutes to put her hair up in a high ponytail after breaking two hair ties, and another fifteen to find her damn universe umbrella. She had never produced a photo so fast, and when she could finally sit down to see the result, she almost wanted to cry from happiness—it came out exactly how she envisioned it and she barely had to make any edits.
She posted to StyleSlap and Nanogram with the hashtags StyleOnABudget and DontRainOnMe and some of the other stock hashtags, like Style, Mood, Fashion…
She took another quick shower (without the umbrella) and as she was toweling off, she got a text from Mia: My favorite photo of all time! I can’t wait to see you boo bae!! I’ll be back tomorrow.
Winter wanted to tell her everything that happened over the weekend, but she decided against it, knowing there would be follow up questions and that she was running out of time—Bo was going to contact her any moment. Instead, Winter texted back: Can’t wait to see you too. We got a lot to talk about. When Mia texted back, asking for more details, and then subsequently tried to call when she didn’t get a reply after literally thirty seconds, Winter typed back: Can’t talk now. ♥️
It was about 9:30 p.m. when Winter realized Bo hadn’t sent her the time he wanted to meet. Wrapped in a towel, she touched up her makeup and took her uncomfortably tight ponytail out. After applying some pomade, hairspray, and ironing a few unruly pieces, Winter’s hair was down, shiny and slightly wavy—a beach-hair look. Hopefully it doesn’t rain, Winter thought, or I’ll be on a bullet train to Frizzville.
She looked down at her phone again, then after a few seconds of contemplation, checked her text, skimmed all of her social media inboxes, and even checked her email, hoping that Bo didn’t lose her number. She smiled when she realized her shower photo was gaining traction. Her StyleSlap followers, in particular, were so sweet. One person wrote: So creative! Your feed makes me so happy!! And another person wrote: You look so fab! ffs now I have to get that outfit and that umbrella. And there were a lot of: I just can’t, and I love you Winter! The high from her successful post quickly faded, however, when the digital clock struck 10:00 p.m.
A ball of anxiety formed in her stomach. He was lying, she thought. He’s not going to ever contact me again. He was just being nice. She took deep breaths and changed into her date outfit—an outfit she and Mia put together a long time ago and what Mia referred to as “Sexy Casual,” but Winter had never gotten the chance to wear out. It hung in her closet more as a symbol, to remind her that she was going to date again…when she was ready.
She put on the black, slim-fit, one piece pant suit that showed just a hint of cleavage. Put on her red suede ankle boots that matched her red lipstick. Then put on her red and black tweed topcoat. And looked in the mirror. And smiled.
As Winter contemplated adding red hoop earrings, her phone suddenly vibrated on the nightstand, making her heart skip a beat. For all her body knew, someone had just thrown a brick through the window. Maybe that’s Bo telling me he can’t go out, she thought. She hesitated for a few long seconds before she allowed her feet to move toward the phone. A text notification from an unknown number read: Wow. Just, wow. It took Winter a few foggy moments to realize the number was Bo’s. She sat down nervously on her bed and replied: What happened?
Bo: Excuse my language… Fucking amazing post, Winter! The colors, the composition, your straight-faced expression, just like those tintype photos. It’s so damn good.
Winter closed her eyes and put the phone to her chest in relief. He wasn’t mad at her. He didn’t hate her. He wasn’t saying she was a “slut,” a “whore,” or “desperate for validation”—he was complimenting her on her creativity.
Lyle would have been calling her by now to tell her to take the photo down. He’d probably be telling her the skirt was too short, or that he didn’t want people thinking of his girl taking a shower, or any other crappy reason he gave to make her feel like something she created wasn’t good enough or was sending the wrong message or—Ahh! If it were up to Lyle, Winter would be rotting as a receptionist for a law firm that specialized in screwing people over. She used to go home feeling worthless, wondering when her boyfriend would be coming home that night after going out “with friends.” Wondering if he’d even make it home since he often drove drunk. Wondering if she’d do something to upset him. Wondering if he’d make her—Her heart started to vibrate, and Winter realized it was another text coming through.
Bo: I hope you’re still down to go out. Wanna show you something at the bar
Winter: Hi Bo. Thank you so much for the nice things you said about the photo. What time should we meet?
Bo: Well, I’m ready now if you are
Winter: I’m ready 😊
Bo: Are you sure I can’t pick you up?
Winter: I’m not that far really. I’d like to just meet you
Bo: K
Winter stared at that letter, in awe of the many possibilities of subtext it possessed. Annoyance, maybe? Indifference? Or could “K” mean “Hey! I don’t understand your brain! Why are you so weird, Winter? Why?” The possibilities were endless.
Bo: I can’t wait to see you again.
Winter bit her bottom lip. She almost replied, “Can’t wait to see you too” or at least “u 2,” but her fingers just wouldn’t follow commands.
Winter: cool
She mimed banging the phone against her head. She couldn’t write “u 2”—even though she really wanted to see him—but she was able to write “cool.” Cool!? She waited for what felt like forever (about two minutes) and the next text from Bo said, Just in case, followed by the Multnomah Liquor Library address…and a Winking Face emoji.
Winter jumped up and twirled around. She put her wallet and lipstick and compact mirror and gum into a black clutch with red strap and took a final look at her reflection. She turned her bedroom light out, filled her water bottle up, and decided she’d leave the kitchen light on. Just as she was walking out the door she heard a fence gate shut hard but shrugged it off as merely her cottage neighbor Meryl, taking out the trash or something.
She drove down the main strip of Multnomah Village, and noticed every other tree twinkled with orange and white lights. Because it was so late, the bookstore, bakery, clothing, antiques, and home décor shops were already closed. The cozy taverns, restaurants, and cafes, however, were buzzing with life, and Winter rolled her window down a smidge to hear the conversations as she passed by. Her heart raced as she turned the corner and saw the library sign: A fifties, minimalist, silhouette of a shot glass and Multnomah Liquor Library written in retro cursive lettering, the same kind of font they used in the old Coca-Cola advertisements.
A valet person sat in a small booth on the other side of the parking entrance, and Winter almost pulled in before realizing she didn’t really want anyone driving her car.
Luckily, the street was mostly empty, and she immediately found a spot. She turned her headlights off but had to keep the car running in order to keep the heater on. She watched as a few cars pulled up to the valet booth. The first car was some flashy-looking white sports car, and a man in a three-piece suit jumped out and threw the keys to the valet without even a greeting or eye contact. Rude. The next car was a black Escalade, and three people took their sweet time getting out, talking and laughing. The valet seemed to know them though, and they talked to him for a second before heading in.
“Well…they seem cool,” Winter said out loud, as if trying to comfort herself.
She was twenty minutes early and wondered if Bo was already inside or if she should go in and wait for him or if she should call him or text him or— Just then, Bo’s car slowly pulled into the parking entrance but didn’t stop. The valet briefly leaned out of the booth, giving a familiar smile and wave, and Bo’s car pulled into the lot and out of sight. Winter realized her heart was trying to leap out of her chest, just by knowing Bo was in that car. Get yourself together, Winter, she thought. How are you going to get through this date if you—Her purse vibrated and Winter pulled out her phone. The text read:
Bo: Let me know when you get here 🍸
Winter stared at the text but didn’t reply. She was going to wait until the last moment to get out of her car, if she was even going to get out at all. She touched up her makeup and hair in the visor mirror and killed some time by looking at the newest comments on her latest post. Pacific Northwest Herald even reposted her on its Nanogram, with a link to a small article on the official website, stating that Winter was voted “Social Influencer of the Week.” She was just about to email a thank you to the PNH editor, when she thought she saw Lyle’s blue Mercedes-Benz speed by. She froze and didn’t blink until it drove to the end of the street and turned sharply with what sounded like a skid. She fanned her misting eyes to keep her makeup from getting ruined, and knew she needed to act fast in order to stave off an impending panic attack.
First of all, she rationalized, there was no way it could have been Lyle because he didn’t like Multnomah Village, once saying it was for “boring, hoity-toity people or well-off hippies.”
And after they broke up, he moved over the bridge to Vancouver, and rented a house from his mother. Apparently, within a few months, he opened an extension to the Portland firm in Washington and rarely visited Oregon. One of the lawyers at the firm, Shelly, messaged Winter with the update.
She had also mentioned that at a recent office party, Lyle got drunk and said something horrible. Shelly asked Winter if that horrible something was true and if it was, she’d “call the cops on the bastard, immediately.” Winter was moving on, she wanted nothing more to do with the guy, or the firm for that matter, so she made the decision to deny the horrible something.
Messaging back with something like: “Oh, thanks Shelly but he lies a lot when he’s drunk.” And she was technically telling the truth because Lyle lied a lot. Most of their relationship was a lie. The reasons she fell in love with him were based on lies. Heck, most of his life was a lie, including his career, in which he got paid to lie on behalf of other liars. Second of all, there were many other Mercedes-Benzes in the world and blue was probably one of the most common car colors and how would he even know where she was, anyways?
It was all so preposterous that Winter laughed, and realized it was a few minutes after she was supposed to meet Bo. She looked in the mirror with relief—her makeup was still intact and the red from her eyes had dissipated. She took a sip from her water bottle, took a long, deep breath, texted Bo…and opened the door.
As Winter approached the front door she looked through the windows to see a small, empty lounge with a right arm facing chaise couch, and a sleek, silver, square shade lamp. The three surrounding walls displayed a gray-toned nautical mural depicting a blue whale breeching next to a ship. She was just about to grab the silver octopus tentacle handle, when the door slowly opened for her. Inside, she wondered if she should sit down, but decided to stay standing. She looked all around for any semblance of another door handle, tentacle or not, but the walls in the lounge were doorless and completely smooth. After about a minute, one of the walls opened, revealing a wide corridor illuminated with blue light.
“Your reservation is ready,” said a female voice that sounded like it was playing from an old timey radio. “Please enjoy your visit to the Multnomah Liquor Library.”
Winter entered the corridor and heard the wall close back behind her. She slowly walked forward until she got to a door with no handle. She stood there for a while before the same female voice told her to “Please knock.”
So she knocked.
“Who is it?” asked a familiar low voice.
“Oh, uh…Winter.”
The corridor was quiet, and she could hear a mechanism revving up. Then the door creaked open, allowing old-timey bluegrass music and bar crosstalk to fill her ears.
Standing in front of her was a deity in a brown trench coat, black sweater, black twill chinos (rolled up just a tad), and cognac brown, chukka calf boots. Bo stood there, eyebrows high, shaking his head slowly.
“What is it?” Winter asked, self-consciously.
“Every time I see you,” he said, “I just can’t believe how stunning you are.”
Her ears warmed. He held out his hand and she timidly took it.
“This place has an amazing entrance,” she said.
“Nah. That’s reserved for VIP only.”
“Isn’t this a VIP club?”
“Some are more VIP than others.” He winked.
They walked, hand in hand, through another lounge that had two doors, but instead of a breeching whale on the mural, it was an octopus taking its turn harassing the ship in the middle of an ocean. The right door opened automatically, and they entered a large bar area with small clusters of people sitting throughout. Winter was suddenly overcome by the striking aesthetic: The room was dimly lit, save for the sections under industrial light chandeliers, or next to one of the three electrical fireplaces built into the dark walls; these sections consisted of buttoned, red velvet chesterfield sofas and fauteuils arranged around black coffee tables, or black velvet chairs set around circle dining tables; and the bar, fit with a line of black swivel chairs, was backed by light blue tiling and clear glass shelving that seemingly held every liquor bottle imaginable.
Winter watched as a bartender in a red vest moved a rolling library ladder to the left, climbed it, and carefully grabbed a bottle of Hennessy Black, before handing it to another bartender who opened it and started making drinks for two customers who seemed to be in a heated conversation.
“Wow,” Winter said. “I can’t believe I’m in here.”
Bo smiled and guided Winter to the other side of the room. Every dining table and seat was full; a few people were eating desserts; a few others were in the midst of a full course meal, but most were drinking. Bo put his hand on the small of Winter’s back and she shivered—not the scared kind, the happy kind—and they walked to the very back table, next to a fireplace. He pulled out a chair for her and she sat down.
