Chapter 18

Aurora

Customers chattered away at the tables, their noise sweeping down the aisles, erasing the negativity that had taken hold of me that morning. Knives and forks clattered against plates, a woman bust a gut laughing, and one kid let out a shrill squeal as his brother dropped an ice cube down the back of his shirt.

The Moondance Bar and Grill was a home away from home for a lot of folks, and I was included in that, now. I’d come into work, slipped on my apron—it had a pouch at the front for my notepad and pen—and taken up a position behind the bar to slam back my first drink of the night not an hour ago.

Now, the melancholy that had followed me in had dissipated somewhat, chased off by the happy people here. It wasn’t the dinner rush yet, but there were enough tables to keep me busy.

I carried two plates out of the kitchen, around the bar, across the floor, my sneakers tap-tapping on the wooden boards, and placed the food for a couple. “There you are. One steak rare, and one medium.”

“Thank you,” the woman said and smiled at me.

The dude ignored me totally. Apparently, I was beneath his notice as a server. That wasn’t an attitude I encountered often in Moondance, but it did happen on occasion.

Better to go unnoticed than to be judged and measured. Weighed, found wanting.

I offered them both a smile. “Enjoy. If you need anything else, holler,” I said then wound my way among empty tables, back to the bar.

I leaned against it and watched the customers enjoying their meals, talking, or drinking.

The kitchen door opened behind me, bathing me in the smells of barbequed meat and frying oil, fresh, not that gross stale smell I’d experienced in diners across the state.

A hand landed on my shoulder. “You OK there, Aurora?” Jerr’s voice was thick with exhaustion. “Shit, I’ve been on my feet all damn day. I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m all good,” I said and shifted, offered him a smile over my shoulder.

“You sure? I heard there was an incident down at that, uh, that clothing store today.”

“An incident,” I replied and swallowed. “I guess you’ve figured by now—everybody else has—that I’ve been hanging out with Jarryd Tombs.”

Jerr snorted. “Is that what they’re calling it these days? Hanging out?”

“You and your smart mouth.” I whacked him on the hand, and he chuckled. “We’ve been spending time together, is what I mean. I know you said actors were trouble and—”

“I was right,” Jerr put in and dragged out a bar stool behind the counter. He offered it to me with a wink.

I plonked down. “Maybe.”

Jerr sat next to me and rearranged the front of his apron, which stretched across his belly, which was growing by the day, thanks to the great food in the restaurant. “I was definitely right. Now, I don’t know the guy personally, but it looks like a lot of trouble for little payout.”

“What do you mean, Jerr?”

“How do I put this?” The restaurant owner wriggled his nose. “All right, so everything in life is like a transaction.”

“Not like a box of chocolates?” I blinked up at him, feigning innocence.

“Don’t start,” he said and chuckled. “No, it’s all a series of transactions. It’s give and take, see? You give what others can take, and you take what others give. Right, so the transaction has to be equal. You wouldn’t want to buy a low-quality steak for fifty dollars, right? Who’d want to eat a tough as boot steak for that amount of money?”

“OK?”

“No, you want an equal value for what you’re paying. And that’s what relationships are like, too. Both people need to bring value to the table. Now, they’re allowed to bring a few problems, too, that’s natural, but the pros have to outweigh the cons, or it’s not a balanced transaction.”

I sucked my bottom lip and gazed at my tables instead of at Jerry. He’d see how much his words had gotten to me if I did. It kind of made me angry. Angry at myself for getting involved, angry at Jarryd for making me feel this way. A general malaise of low-burning dissatisfaction.

“You’re saying it’s not an equal transaction,” I managed.

“No, only you will know that. I’m saying I want you to look out for it. If you feel like you’re giving everything and getting nothing in return, you have to get out. Remember what happened with that little creeper when you were in high school?” Jerry said.

“How could I forget?”

“He made you feel like you were a nit on a camel’s ass. Nobody deserves that.” Jerry sniffed. “Well, that’s my wisdom all tapped out. Gonna take me another fifty years to refill this, and by that time, I’ll be buried in the grave and laughing at all the suckers still on earth.”

I snorted and looked at him, at last. “Looking down on us from above, eh?”

“No, girl, looking up.” He hopped off the stool then patted me on the back. “I’d better do the damn paperwork before the wife jumps on my tits about it. Call me if you need any help, hear?”

“Thanks, Jerr.” But what help would I possibly need? I had tables to wait and people to smile at. That was hardly a life or death situation.

I checked my tables one more time—still OK, no need for refills on drinks or coffees yet—then scuffled my way back out from underneath the bar. I rummaged around in it, brought out my cell, checked the lack of messages, sighed then brought out my tarot cards instead.

I always kept a smaller deck in my handbag for slow times in the Bar and Grill. Jerry didn’t mind if I practiced here. In fact, he’d offered to let me draw in folks for readings if I wanted.

I shuffled the deck, keeping my hands below the counter and out of sight then shut my eyes for a second. A card for the day. Give me a card for the day. I felt the weight of the deck in my palm, ran my fingers along the sides of the cards, splayed them, picked one, and turned it over.

Finally, I opened my eyes.

The Fool. A young man with a stick over one shoulder, a bag of belongings tied to the end, eyes on the sky walking toward the edge of a cliff. He was joyous, unaware of what lay ahead.

“Beginnings, free spirit, spontaneity, innocence,” I whispered. What was this supposed to mean? That I’d walked into something without thinking first? No shit, tarot cards. Thanks for the heads up. I shuffled them together, placed them in their pack then shoved them back into the depths of my bag.

I slipped off my stool and made the rounds again, halting at teach table to check whether they needed anything then returned to fill a few Coke glasses or beers. Time marched on, and I walked with it: serve the food, pour the drinks, bring the check, take the tip, and, “Thank you, come again.”

Easy. One foot in front of the other. Don’t think about Jarryd. Don’t think about being shunted to one side like a fool. A fool. Oh, for god’s sake.

Halfway through my shift, I plonked down behind the bar for a break and worked my feet out of my shoes to ease the blisters I’d developed on my heels. I’d figured sneakers would be more comfortable for this, but boy, had I been wrong.

My tootsies weren’t used to the pressure.

A man sauntered up to the bar, hair coiffed to perfection and smiling with TV personality jauntiness. He rapped his knuckles on the bar.

I slipped my shoes back on and rose. “Hi, there, what can I get for you?”

“You’re that girl, aren’t you?”

Torrents of ice dropped into the pit of my stomach. “I’m sorry?”

“The girl who was with Jarryd Tombs this afternoon,” he said and reached into the inside pocket of his smart suit jacket. He brought out a white card between two fingers, gave it to me.

Daniel Torrance, CNBB News.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said and gave the card back, heart fluttering, now. Christ, had they already cottoned on? Who’d spoken to them? Probably, someone in the town. Or even Felicity. Would she stoop that low?

“It’s good to see that you’re faithful to him,” Daniel said and presented me with that cheesy smile, yet again, too many teeth showing, like a shark who’d sighted its prey.

The door to the restaurant opened and another customer entered. Nope, not a customer, just James, my ex. Of course it was him. Why not, right? Fuck me.

He spotted me, immediately, sauntered over, and took a seat in front of the bar. “Can I get a Spiced Gold on the rocks?”

I nodded and busied myself pouring it for him, ignoring the eagle eye from both of them. Daniel, who wanted information, and James, who likely wanted to see me suffer after the last time we’d spoken.

I placed the glass in front of James then cleared my throat. “Mr. Torrance, if you don’t want anything from the bar, you’ll have to excuse me. I have tables to serve.”

“Do you? And Mr. Tombs doesn’t mind?” Daniel asked and drew out his cell phone. He didn’t hit any buttons to record but did open up what looked like a notepad on the screen. He typed on it but angled the screen so I couldn’t make out what he’d written.

Christ, why did life have to be this complicated? The Fool. That’s what I’ve done. Walked into a situation without thinking first, and this is the result. I’m going to have to lie to this guy and pretend I’ve never touched Jarryd, let alone slept with him.

Fine, it was no one’s business anyway. Pity, they didn’t see it like that.

“Ma’am? Uh, what’s your name?”

I didn’t answer.

“Her name is Aurora Bell,” James put in, helpfully then tipped the tumbler at me.

“Miss Bell, he doesn’t mind you working here in your spare time?”

“What? No, why would he mind?” I asked, and a strange creep of emotion started somewhere deep inside. What was this feeling? Shame? Humiliation?

“Interesting. So, how would you rate him?”

I spluttered. “What?!”

“How would you rate him?” Daniel asked and typed on the screen without looking up from it. The hair at his crown had thinned a little and provided a glimpse of pink flesh underneath.

“I wouldn’t,” I said, and muscles all down my back knotted up. Christ, how forward could he be? Asking for a rating on Jarryd’s… performance. This is a waking nightmare. This is it, girl, you’ve hit rock bottom.

“You wouldn’t rate him. That bad, huh?”

“What? No. It’s not appropriate to talk about that type of thing with people I don’t know. Or anyone for that matter.”

“I respect that,” Daniel said. “I respect your professionalism.”

Professionalism. Wait a second, here, what was this about? “Professionalism?” I said.

“Yes. I’m sure Mr. Tombs appreciates your discretion. But is there nothing you can tell me about your new employer?” Daniel finally looked up at me, squinting beneath bushy eyebrows. “When did he request your services?”

James choked on the rum, made a grab for a napkin, and dabbed his lips. “Her services? What services does she perform?”

I clenched my fists and pictured smashing one of them into his smug ‘Daddy owns this town’ face.

Daniel sniffed and turned to James, as if he’d only noticed him. “Oh, Miss Bell is Jarryd Tombs’ new stylist. She was seen with him in the clothing store here in Moondance. I must say, Miss Bell,” he continued and looked to me again, “I appreciate your taste. Mr. Tombs has never looked better.”

“I have to serve my tables,” I muttered and slipped out from behind the bar. I marched off, but the strength had pretty much drained out of my legs. I wobbled more than walked and took orders with a pale face. All the blood had rushed out for sure, and my cheeks were icy cold, prickling discomfort.

I brought the orders to the kitchen, refusing a glance at the bar to check if Mr. Nosy had left or not then placed them on the clip in front of the serving counter. I leaned against the kitchen wall, after, breathing hard.

They thought I was a stylist. The image of us together, of Jarryd taking an interest in someone of my caliber, was so far from their minds that it made more sense to peg me as one of the help.

I couldn’t sink lower than this. Don’t tempt fate.

I pushed out of the swinging kitchen doors, letting myself out of the smells of food and into the warmth of the restaurant proper. Daniel Torrance was gone, but James remained at the bar. He raised his empty tumbler and ticked a fingernail against its side. “Refill,” he mouthed.

Jerr hadn’t banned him from the restaurant, and I couldn’t refuse him service unless he’d caused trouble. He hadn’t yet.

I walked over, dreading each inch that drew me closer to him. I halted behind the bar, brought down a fresh glass, and poured his drink. “Here you go,” I said and slid it across the wooden bar top.

“Cheers,” he said and slurped some back.

I turned to go, but James caught my wrist and held me in place. “Let go,” I grunted. “I have work.”

“So, you’re a personal assistant, now? A stylist? Here I was thinking you were just a whore,” James hissed. “Glad to see you’ve diversified.”

“What is your deal?” I snapped and wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Just leave me the hell alone. I’m not interested in you. Get the picture.”

“I have the picture clearly.” He laughed, sick and wet, almost a gargle and filled with unnatural joy. “Don’t you see, Aurora? This is perfect. If you’d realized what you had when I offered it to you, you wouldn’t be in this situation now. I’m the best thing that ever happened to you, and you lost that, now.”

“I am not in the mood for this shit, today,” I replied. “Jerr!” I yelled it so loud the customers looked up from their meals. Some of them quieted totally and listened.

“Be careful, Aurora. You’re making dumb moves. If you push me too far, you won’t be happy with the result.” James hissed.

I folded my arms across my chest. “Fuck off.”

Gasps from the table nearest. The office door opened, and Jerry appeared. “This prick again,” he muttered then crossed the wooden floor, casting bleary-eyed looks at those seated around. “Show’s over,” he said. “Eat your damn food and have fun.”

Jerry’s command was impossible to disobey in the restaurant. People respected him too much, or they feared him, or they loved the aesthetic that much. They returned to their meals but cast furtive glances at me, at the bar, at James in between bites.

“What’s the problem?” Jerry asked and halted next to James’ stool. “You again, eh? Causing trouble in my establishment.”

“Just talking to Aurora.”

“He called me a whore again,” I said, softly.

“He did?” Jerry’s jowls shuddered like Jell-O on a plate. He slapped his hand onto James back and pressed him forward. “He wouldn’t do something like that, would he?”

“Get off,” James grunted.

“Relax, boy, I’m patting your back. Kids these days. They think they’re men ‘cause they’ve got a smattering of ball hairs on their nuts. Shit, you probably don’t though,” Jerry said, softly. “You probably shave them.”

“You don’t talk to me like that. I am the son of a founder!”

“Yeah?” Jerry let go of James and stepped back. “Well, son of a founder, you’re banned from my restaurant for the foreseeable future. Now, get the fuck out of here and don’t come back. You do, and I’ll call the cops.”

James’ss eyes bugged out of his skull, his jaw dropped, his mouth opened and closed.

I snorted despite the situation.

My ex went red from top to tail. “You’ll regret this,” James hissed. “You both will.” He pushed up and stormed from the restaurant, knocking over chairs as he went.

The tense atmosphere eased, and Jerr rolled his shoulders. “That’s better. Now, he can’t bother you anymore. You need a safe space, you come here, girl.”

“I shouldn’t need a safe space,” I replied.

Jerr merely shrugged and meandered off to his office, stopping to chat at tables along the way, the previous anger forgotten.

“I shouldn’t need a safe space,” I repeated.