One Week Later
Ipushed through the revolving door, rain dripping off my jacket as I made my way into the Royal Hotel. Shaking my hair out, I took in the obnoxious grand lobby, all marble and brass, but this was where Janie worked. Despite its staid atmosphere, the Royal seemed to be the place to meet people lately, although I never met anyone worth meeting.
“Hey there, Char.” Craig the bartender greeted me as I grabbed a stool at the bar. “The usual?”
“Hey there, and yes, please.”
He poured a generous amount of red wine and set the glass in front of me. I heard Janie before I saw her—her loud heels clicking the floor.
“Hiya, girl!” Janie bent down from her gargantuan five-foot-eleven frame, her jet-black hair cascading over her shoulder, and kissed my cheek.
“Hey, J-babe.” I pinched her cheek and she swatted my hand away.
“Don’t touch! My makeup is perfect; had it done today in the gift shop.”
“It does look good, love the eyeliner. Is it glittery?”
“You know it!” Janie batted her long eyelashes at me, her glossy red lips forming a perfect smile.
Craig set a vodka gimlet in front of Janie, and she tossed him an air kiss and an exaggerated wink.
That was Janie, all kisses and hugs and PDA, no matter who it was. Her last boyfriend couldn’t deal with all the attention bestowed upon him, let alone everyone else she knew. Now she was single and doing a bang-up job of feeling up every man she met ...up and down. I was surprised she didn’t hurl her Bond-girl body over the bar and into Craig’s arms.
“Fab haircut, Charleston.”
I rolled my eyes at the mention of my formal name.
“Love it. It’s so chic and in, whatever.” She ran her fingers through the ends of my dark blond hair.
“It’s just a few long layers, but yeah, it does feel better. Lighter. Who knows if I’ll be able to style it by myself.” I took a sip of my wine, the burgundy liquid warming my belly. “And I got stuck in the rain, trying to get a cab, so it probably resembles a rat right now.”
“It’s got this whole ratty-yet-seductive Selena Gomez thing going on,” Janie said. “But not dark, of course. It’s good. The color is perfect, blond honey and chestnut. Blech, I hate that it’s natural, you bitch.” She whispered the last part, still twisting her fingers in my hair. “You know what? You should hook up tonight!”
Unfortunately, that part she didn’t whisper. She always went straight to the hook-up thing.
Always.
But it had to be hooking up with theright guy. The Wall Street one or the surgeon from the Upper East Side or the guy we knew in college who invented a million widgets. I didn’t know who or what the hell I wanted, yet I continued to buy into Janie’s mindset.
Did I even deserve anyone like that? How could I be worthy of someone? Would someone feel worthy of supporting me in what I really wanted to do?
And what the heckdidI want to do? I didn’t have a clue.
I took a long sip of my wine, needing to soothe the ache in my belly.
Watching my mom flit through life after my dad passed, unable to move on while only obsessing more over me, that was no life. Hearing her talk about life before my dad—the bands, the excitement, and her fellow groupies—that was her passion, her mission, a manifesto of sorts that she abandoned when she fell for my dad. To me, that life seemed so strange, to flit and float around after musicians, but it was still her life.
Then I found myself in a front-row seat, watching her after my dad passed. Her life before, during, and after him was like scattered pieces from random puzzles, none of them fitting with one another.
But me, I wanted something different. Not her before or after or anything like her life as I ever knew it.
“Please. I haven’t hooked up since months ago, and that guy wanted to use a butt plug on the first date. No, thank you.”
Janie took a seductive sip of her drink through the stirrer straw and waggled her eyebrows. “Seriously, Char, you may like a butt plug. With the perfect guy.”
“Maybe ... after I know a man for more than a dinner.”
“Eh, knowing a guy is overrated.”
