Well. The possibility of watching Earl crumble is going to have to be worth the risk.
I tap my phone and check the time just as footsteps grow closer behind us.
“Here we are. Mr. Adler requested this booth; he should be here shortly.”
I can practically hear the way Earl brushes off Cindy, the delightful day shift hostess at The Dugout. She’s been working here for thousands of years and is a Fox Hole institution, so naturally, Earl has no respect for her. Delilah and I look at each other and exchange eye rolls.
“Fine. Bring me a bourbon on the rocks. Whatever the most expensive one you have is. I’m meeting with a billionaire, after all. He can certainly afford it.”
“A billionaire, huh? I wonder what a billionaire is doing in our little Podunk town.”
“He’s getting me out of here, that’s what he’s doing. James Adler sees the potential in me. And unlike all of you, he respects me for the savvy businessman that I am. Now go get my drink. I don’t want to be seen chit-chatting with the riff-raff when he comes in.”
Cindy, who is in our plan—someone had to turn the music down low enough for us to properly eavesdrop—pats the back of the booth that divides Earl from us.
“Sure thing, Earl. Whatever you say.”
“It’stheEarl,” he calls after her, then mutters under his breath. “Fucking Delilah.”
I offer my woman a fist for knocking, and she quietly taps her knuckles against mine. It didn’t take much convincing on her part to get the town to drop Earl’s stupid ‘The’; just a few sly comments at the farmer’s market and around town. It’s no surprise that Fox Hole is just as sick of Earl’s shit as we are.
Every minute that passes while we wait for James feels like hours. I know he said that he was going to be pushing the boundaries of ‘fashionably late’ as some macho show of dominance, but I’m eager to get this show on the road. My throat is dry from anticipation, but I’m refusing to drink water in solidarity with Delilah. If she even looks at a beverage these days, she instantly has to pee, and there is nothinginconspicuous about a woman knocking on the door of her ninth month of pregnancy getting up and down to waddle to the bathroom every five minutes. We have to keep our low profile if we want this to work.
Finally, the bell over the door of the dive bar rings, a stream of sunlight cutting through the dark room and dimming the buzzing neon beer signs. The urge to turn around and look is strong—James really is a gorgeous human being—but I keep my gaze focused downwards. Under the table, Delilah’s knee bounces wildly. I sneak my hand down her thigh and give her a gentle squeeze, letting the cool fabric of her sundress and the contrasting heat of her skin ground me, too.
Here we go,she mouths and I give her a cheeky wink.
“Mr. Booth. James Adler. Pleasure.”
The furniture shakes as Earl shuffles to his feet. It feels goddamn impossible not to peek over the high back of the dark, aged walnut separation between our tables.
“Please, no need for formalities. Call me the Earl. I am The Earl of Auto, after all.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Nice to meet you…the Earl. Let’s have a seat.
Delilah’s phone lights up on the table, and shepresses her lips into a thin line to stifle a chuckle. When she points the screen in my direction, I see why.
James:
“The” Earl? Seriously? Might as well call himself Lord Small Dick of Insecure Valley.
“Sorry about that. I had to shoot a quick text to my wife to let her know I’ve arrived.”
Cindy pops by again, and James orders a Diet Coke. Another sly move that makes Earl look like an asshole for drinking during an afternoon business meeting.
“Women,” Earl says, his eye roll audible. “They just don’t get that some things are more important than having to remind them that they’re pretty, no those jeans don’t make you look fat, yes I’ll take out the trash. I’m happy to be living the single life.”
“Right…” James draws out. I can tell how much it pains him not to tear into Earl for his shit-talking. It’s probably killing him not to rant about how much he loves his wife—he brought her up no less than ten times in our brief meeting this morning. “Well. Let’s get into it. Obviously, you know that I’ve been looking into your business. I’ve got some connections here in the East, and now that I’ve stepped down from my previous role atthe company I founded, I want to expand my holdings and diversify my portfolio. Franchising an auto body shop might seem a bit out of left field for a tech guy, but I’ve got a vested interest in this case.”
“I can’t tell you how much this means to me. I know that I’ve always been bigger than this town and the mechanic shop my father built. I enjoy working on the cars that I collect, but I’d love to move into a more executive kind of role. There’s more to life than a small-town mechanic shop, am I right?”
“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it? I’ve already done a deep dive on your business model and the projections you sent to me for an expansion into a second location—” I had no idea James made Earl do homework for this little meeting. Somehow, knowing that Earl was up making flowcharts or whatever the fuck makes this even more sweet. “But I want to know more about you. I like to get to know who I’m investing in. Tell me about The Earl.”
“I’m glad you asked, James. I like to think of myself less as a person and more as a brand?—”
I stick my finger in my mouth, faux-gagging at his self-important peacocking. We listen for hours—no, sorry, it's only been eight minutes—as Earl goes on and on about himself, his perceived accomplishments,his alpha-manhood. At one point, he even mentions how heavy he can squat. I’ve been unfortunate enough to see Earl’s pasty, thin thighs before, and I know he has to be lying. There is no way in hell he can squat more than the quarterback for the Knoxville Crushers.
“And as I’m sure you’ve seen, I’ve been hard at work increasing my online presence. My Instagram account, Bow2TheEarl, has gained hundreds of followers in the last few months.”
