STILL PROTECTIVE of her privacy on her home turf, Nora hopped in her car and ventured twenty minutes away, near the coffee shop that had become her refuge. The air felt balmy and brought a tingle to her skin. A perfect day to sit outside.
When she turned a corner, she spotted a Mexican restaurant hosting a happy hour. Taking advantage of the unusual warmth on this winter day, a crowd of patrons mingled outside on the patio, a closed-in area with a bar at one end and gaps at the corners to allow customers to come and go. The place was a beehive of activity. A salsa beat thumped from a pair of gigantic speakers. Individuals laughed and conversed at a handful of high-top tables along the periphery, but otherwise, people swarmed within the patio and spilled out to the parking lot. Hovering overhead was a sign featuring the restaurant’s trademark character, a laughing jalapeno, its comic-strip arms extended: Welcome to the fun, folks!
Perfect. She could interact with a few people, yet maintain a degree of anonymity among the crowd. Nobody would notice her unless she chose to allow them to. No one would hear her over the blasting music unless she chose to talk to them.
She squirmed through the crowd toward the bar, ordered a Grey Goose martini dirty, then worked her way into the middle of the crowd. She had no destination here, and it felt good. She’d float along, a cork in the ocean, and see where she landed.
A man with a five-o’clock shadow turned around. Tall, dark and handsome, dressed in a sport shirt and khaki pants, he looked as though he’d arrived from an office that allowed business-casual attire. In one hand he held a bottle of Corona with a lemon wedge floating inside. Before Nora had a chance to divert her gaze, the man laid eyes on her, and their glances locked. Measuring at least six feet tall, he had to lean down to interact with her.
“Did you come from work?” the man shouted over the music.
Nora still had to cock her ear toward him to decipher his words. “No, I had the day off.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an actress.”
“In that case, you fit right in! Half the women here are actresses!” The man chuckled. “Name’s Ben.”
“Nora.” She raised the martini glass to her lips.
“You been in anything I’d know?”
“A few.”
The man nodded, then inspected her closer. His upper eyelids twitched as if her reply registered with him.
“Hold on! Nora, you said? Are you Nora Jumelle?”
“You bet.”
She loved this. Individuals engaged in conversation and laughter all around her. Nobody else could hear a word she said. The sense of control ushered in a feeling a triumph. Once again, she had defeated the odds, wandered into a public place, and managed to maintain her anonymity except with whom she chose to reveal herself. Her confidence revived.
“What would Nora Jumelle be doing here?”
“I came on a whim. Decided to grab a drink.”
“Yeah, I’ve had a few myself.” Ben lifted the bottle and took a quick pull from the longneck. “Been here an hour. This is my fourth.”
She nodded, then scanned the crowd for someone else with whom to mingle. If Ben was on his fourth drink, he wouldn’t be as much fun as she’d hoped. Intelligent conversation wouldn’t be an option.
Nora felt a man’s touch on her arm, and she pivoted. Ben had laid his fingers on her, though he had kept it light and respectful. As respectful, she supposed, as you can keep things with a stranger. But the fact he’d made contact within two minutes of meeting her—after tossing several beers into his system—put her on alert. At first, she’d found him attractive; but on second thought, she decided to keep her distance and wade to the other side of the crowd.
Standing a few feet from one stereo speaker, the beat started to sound like chaos.
“I’m going to head the other way,” Nora said. “It was nice meeting you, Ben.”
His hand dropped. “Why don’t I come with you? We can talk.”
“That’s nice, thank you. But I’m gonna go it alone.”
A grin emerged on Ben’s face. Whether out of kindness or desperation, Nora didn’t know, but goose bumps prickled along her arms.
And now he’d put his hand on her again.
“Come on, I’ll buy you another drink.”
“I’m good. Thank you.”
“But you came to mingle, didn’t you?”
“Yes, so I’d better start working my way through the crowd.”
“What’s the matter? Nora Jumelle can’t talk to a regular guy?”
Shit. Why wouldn’t he leave her alone? And now his hand bordered on gripping her.
She pierced his eyes with hers. “I’m sorry, but I said no.”
“Come on, just one drink. What’ve you got to lose?”
Nora squirmed in an attempt to free herself. Ben tightened his clutch. If she hadn’t shifted her drink to her other hand, she might have spilled it.
“I said no, Ben.”
“You’ve known me five minutes, and you’re judging me already? The great Nora Jumelle is judging an average guy?”
Nora couldn’t wriggle loose. Now Ben scared her. This was a mistake. She needed to get away from him. Somehow.
She shook her arm. “I said no!”
The salsa beats intensified.
“Come on, Nora, give a chan—”
Call it survival instinct, but she tossed her drink in his face and, in the process, splattered several patrons around him. Wondering what had happened, they ceased chatting and spun around. Ben dropped his hand to his side—and, by accident, dropped his beer bottle. The glass shattered when it hit the concrete.
One man, a burly sort who looked as though he’d stopped for a drink on his way home from a day of hard labor at the gym, tensed his shoulders when Nora’s drink splashed him. He inspected the woman with whom he’d been having a conversation, wiped martini drops from her shoulder, then turned in a single step. Nora guessed he was in his mid-twenties and consumed protein shakes by the liter.
Assessing the situation, the man took note of the jagged glass at Ben’s feet and eyed Nora’s empty martini glass. He gave Nora a protective perusal, then glared at Ben, who tried to mop his face with his shirt sleeve. Alcohol dripped from Ben’s hair onto his temples.
Mr. Protein’s eyes narrowed, and Nora could tell he’d started to size up Ben already. The man’s face flushed plum purple.
“What the hell, man? You got my girlfriend wet. The fuck’s the matter with you?”
Ben tried to hold his ground, but from the way his pupils shrank, Nora could tell he wanted to recoil in terror. His eyes flicked toward Protein Guy’s biceps, then returned to the guy’s fuming glare.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he replied. “We’re good.”
“Your face is all wet, dude.”
“I’m cool, man. Let it go, okay?”
Still stunned at what she’d done, Nora stood frozen. The man turned at the waist toward her and jabbed a stubby thumb in Ben’s direction. “This guy bothering you?”
Before Nora could answer, Ben spoke up. “She’s fine. Why don’t you mind your own business? Okay, pal?”
Bad idea.
Now the man planted his feet so he could stare Ben down, face-to-face. He crossed his arms, muscles bulging beneath his T-shirt, a dagger tattoo peeking past one sleeve. Still gripping a longneck in one hand, he appeared ready to smash it across the back of Ben’s skull. Nora cringed.
“You need a beating, pal?” A thick vein popped to attention and snaked along Protein’s neck.
“We’re fine,” said Ben, who looked frustrated by the man’s refusal to move on. He held out one hand and added, “We were just leaving.”
When Ben nudged Nora with his fingertips, she jerked away. Protein Guy noticed this and must have smelled trouble.
“I don’t think she wants to go with you, pal.” And with that, he swiped Ben’s hand away from Nora.
Ben’s jaw line flexed.
People swarmed around them. Nora angled her face toward the ground and hoped nobody else recognized her. She sought a way to escape without anyone noticing, but unfortunately, courtesy of Ben, now she was the center of attention. From her five-feet-eight perspective, she couldn’t see above many onlookers’ shoulders, beyond the occasional gap that occurred as people shifted. Although tempted to escape, she didn’t want to see Ben beaten bloody, despite his aggression. The guy had had too many beers, that was all. Then again, she wondered if she should get out of there while she could. She eyed a route to the parking lot.
But when she heard the first shriek from the crowd, she returned her attention to the antagonist and her knight in T-shirted armor. Protein Guy had grabbed Ben by the neck, and Nora tried—too late—to intercede. Ben must have made another smart comment or two while she wasn’t paying attention, because Protein Guy suddenly landed a meaty fist into Ben’s face.
Ben stumbled backwards, hands flailing. The crowd gasped and herded closer to watch the fight ensue. Someone’s shoulder knocked the martini glass from Nora’s grasp. She tried to catch it, but the mass of bodies had engulfed it. Two seconds later, she heard the glass shatter on the ground.
She tried to squirm away from the throng but couldn’t budge against the bodies packed together, who appeared to relish the spontaneous entertainment.
She was trapped in a mob.