11.

Elise

It’s been two weeks. Two long, lonely weeks since I arrived home from Kentucky. I’d spent the first week constantly looking over my shoulder, worrying myself sick Beau would show up. But those fears quickly abated as I realized the likelihood of him finding me in a city the size of Chicago was next to nil. Especially considering I work from home, so no employer to track, and I sublet my apartment from my landlord whose mother died last year.

Situated halfway between Lake Michigan and Wrigley field, the building sits smack in the middle of a prime real estate market. I got lucky. The apartment stays in her name, so he can keep on claiming those social security checks each month. A small cut to his buddy for falsifying documents and voila! I get rent control for keeping my mouth shut. Bureaucracy at its finest. It’s not my problem if he’s not smart enough to realize that he’d make a killing selling the property. So much more than he collects in those checks every month.

We’d only spent a few days together, but my time with Maryanne showed me just how much I’d missed having girlfriends to gab with. What kind of self-respecting woman goes five years without a good-natured gossip fest?

Really, the only woman I know is Livvy. And I haven’t even seen her in person before. She works with me at the phone sex line, and we found out we were both in the same online finance class at DePaul. She’d asked me several times to meet up for a drink, but I’ve just been so closed off to people for so long and what kind of conversation do you have with a woman you’ve had a phone sex threesome with? I’ve sucked her virtual nipple into my mouth. And those threesomes are strictly off the cuff. So what if she thinks I really flow that way and that’s the reason she wants to meet?

A person’s into what they’re into. I’m not judging, but that’s not my scene. At all. Although I did find it exciting when Mark—I mean Beau—slapped my bottom during sex. That I liked. I can’t think about that, though. The numerous things I liked sexually or otherwise with that man.

What’s Livvy’s number? Scrolling through my contacts, I hit the call button before chickening out. She picks up on the third ring.

“Elise?” I forgot she’d said she programmed my number in her phone. “This is a surprise. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Now I really feel like a heel for not being nicer. Her concern sounds like all she wanted was to be my friend, nothing concerning hookups. I’m an idiot. “I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out finally.”

“I’d love that. What are you doing tonight? There’s this new club, Scepter, if you’re into that scene. Or there’s this old bar—a real hole in the wall—my brother and I used to hang out in before he moved away. Moe’s. It’s a dump but the booze is cheap, the people are friendly and they let you get up and sing karaoke if you know the words because it’s not a karaoke bar.”

“That sounds perfect,” I tell her, trying real hard for her to pick up on my enthusiasm without sounding too enthused. It’s a delicate balance.

“Give me an hour. Will that work?” Livvy asks.

“Sure. But um—how will I know you?”

“I’ll be the one with the strawberry blonde hair and a bright yellow tube top,” she says.

She gives me the address before we hang up, and I jump into the shower with a smile on my face. The first smile I’ve smiled in two weeks.

Smokey eyes lined in black kohl, thick volumizing mascara. I let my long golden blonde locks fall wild in loose waves down my back. Why am I putting all this effort in when I’m just going out for drinks with a girlfriend? Maybe I’m hoping as I slide my black tank top on under the cut up to hell black cotton and lace T-shirt which hangs off one shoulder, and the miniest denim miniskirt I’ve ever worn in my life—a recent retail therapy purchase to help me forget Beau, which ironically looks more biker chick than anything I own—with a slit up each thigh and my black booties, that maybe I’ll meet someone who can help me forget about Beau Hollister, at least for the night.

One thing I have to give Beau credit for, he woke the sex beast which lay dormant all these years. No putting that baby back to sleep.

The cab honks outside my brownstone apartment. Tree-lined street full of small front yards bursting with lush greenery. Less than a ten minute drive from Wrigley Field. It’s safe to walk everywhere from here. Not all areas of the city can claim that.

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing out front of Moe’s. Livvy was right, it’s a hole in the wall in a rundown part of town. No trees. No one out walking. Boarded-up, condemned buildings pepper the landscape. It’s kind of depressing, to be honest. Several bikes sit parked out front. She never told me it’s a biker bar.

“You sure you want in there, sweetheart?” The cabby actually sounds concerned for my safety.

“I’m good,” I tell him and pay my fare.

“Don’t seem right. Nice girl like you should be down at Scepter or someplace.”

“I’m meeting a friend here. Thanks for your concern, but I’ll be fine.”

He nods and drives away once I’ve closed the door.

Now or never. I step inside Moe’s and part the curtain of smoke to get a look around. From the smell assaulting my nostrils, tobacco wasn’t the only plant the patrons partook of. Beyond the smoke and alcohol, there’s a third layer of atmosphere, a grease layer so thick I feel it coat my skin.

Though dark inside, at least two overhead light fixtures hanging dangerously by only the cable connecting it to the outlet, I spot her right away. Just as promised, strawberry blonde hair and a bright yellow tube top sits on a stool at the bar. A bar that yeah, is as biker as the movies portray. More jean and leather clad men than a girl like me knows what to do with. Twice as many of them as there are woman ratio, but those women make themselves count. Bent seductively over pool tables. Rubbing their behinds against the men wrapped around them, helping aim the dart at the dart boards. Giving the green light for a whole lot of bad intensions. Biker babe chic to the max. Yet all I can think about is the chaffing from all that leather. It’s a sight to behold. I’m kind of in awe, still I’m together enough to not let my mouth gape open.

“Livvy?” I call out.

She turns, drink in hand, ice clanking against the glass.

“Elise?”

I smile.

So does she.

“You’re beautiful.” Not that she isn’t, because she is, I just totally didn’t mean to say it out loud.

She stands and walks over to hug me.

“House rule,” Bartender calls. “Hot chicks start going at it, I get to watch.”

“Shut up, Rick,” Livvy calls back.

“We’re not going at anything,” I tell him. “It’s just we’ve never met in person before. We only know each other from work.”

“You both do the phone sex thing?” His voice goes up at the end. What, like a girl like me can’t do phone sex? All it takes is a good imagination or the internet when you’re stuck for creativity.

“Yes…yes…oh yes big boy,” I tease in my best oncoming orgasm voice. I notice several men in the bar quit drinking, playing pool, or talking to take notice. My antics earn me a smile from Rick, the bartender.

“You know we’re an anomaly, right?” Liv tugs on my hand to get us moving back toward the bar.

I purse my lips, not knowing where she’s going with this.

“Most phone sex girls are actually four hundred pound, fifty-five year old divorcées with seven kids, five of which have different baby daddies,” she says, laughing.

Ah, there it is.

“You’ve ruined the fantasy forever,” Rick tells her. “So—”

“Elise,” I offer.

“Elise,” he repeats. “What can I get you to drink?”

“Whiskey sour?”

“I see—man troubles?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because pretty things like you only order whiskey sours when they’re trying to forget. Otherwise it’s Piña Coladas and Daiquiris.” He pinches his voice higher to make himself sound like a sorority girl on the last word.

“Well, Rick. You could say I have men trouble. I just got back two weeks ago from Kentucky. Had to bury my dad. But I couldn’t even stay to do that because of a man I used to know.”

He stares blankly at me. And blinks. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Me too. Thanks, though. Dr. Manning was a real respected member of the community so…”

“That your name, Elise Manning?” After dropping several ice cubes into my glass, he pours a healthy pour of whiskey to start my drink. Then he tops it with lemonade. I guess that makes sense, since the other two ingredients are sugar and lemon juice.

“Very same.” And I slightly bow my head to complete the introduction.

Rick sets the glass down in front of me where I immediately swipe it from the bar top, swirl the ice around a few times to mix it and then drink the whole thing down at once.

“Another,” I cough out. “Come on, Livvy. Let’s sing.” Grabbing her hand, we jockey from the stools so fast she almost bites it, that is, tumbles over her feet in those ridiculously high, bright yellow espadrilles.

We start off entertaining our fellow bar goers with a rousing rendition of Aerosmith’s “Dream On.” Moving next through a couple of Dixie Chicks tunes, “Sin Wagon” and “Goodbye Earl” where instead of singing, “Maryanne and Wanda,” I sing, “Maryanne and Elise were the best of friends all through their high school days…” And when it gets to the chorus, of course it becomes, “’Cuz Beau had to die.”

Livvy laughs. My words slur as the waitress has been quite attentive. Not one man makes a pass at me.

“What the hell kind of biker bar is this?” I yell at the men after my last song, the female anthem, “I Will Survive.” They only stare. “I look hot tonight and not one of you has had the balls to hit on me?”

“You done, Elise?”

Oh no, no, no.

That’s so not Bartender Rick.

“Thanks for the call, brother.”

This would be when I actually look around at my surroundings and notice what I should’ve noticed when I first walked in here. All the leather cuts with, you guessed it, Brimstone Lords. Under it, the fiery devil head and an Illinois rocker.

My. Luck. Sucks.

“Time to go home, Elise.”

I pretend not to hear him. Pretend not to see him. Liv excuses herself from my side wearing what can be described as a “holy shit” look on her pretty face while I stand shaking my head and wishing A.—I had a firearm, and B.—That I knew how to shoot it.

While pretending not to hear or see him and contemplating firearm use, I turn my attention as a drop-dead gorgeous man, strawberry blond hair and big brown eyes just like Livvy, only he’s covered in tattoos and has snakebite piercings and gauges in his ears, walks up to her at the bar. “Good to see you little sis. I’ve missed you.” The name on his cut says Bloodhound.

Why can I never shake these guys? My one female friend up here has ties to the Lords? The universe hates me. It’s official. Hates me. If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again—

for the one billionth time…

My.

Luck.

Sucks.

“Raif,” she practically cries his name. “Is it safe for you to be here?”

“I’m fine, baby girl. Small world.”

Well at least I know she didn’t set me up. I could never forgive such a betrayal. Beau still watches me, but with the lull in action, I discretely move to the hallway leading to the bathrooms.

I don’t know how much time passes when the door to the restroom swings open, and Beau strides in. “Can’t hide from me forever.”

“Was just giving you time to drop dead before I went back out there.”

“Darlin’, I’m beginning to lose patience.” He keeps stepping forward until I’m backed against the sink. Grabbing my hips, he sets me on top of the basin, pushing between my knees. “How did you think it was okay to wear this?” He slides his hands up the slits on my thighs, completely changing the subject. “Out without your old man? There are consequences to your actions, Elise.”

I’m sorry, what? “Did you hit your head?”

“What?”

“Did. You. Hit. Your. Head? Because there are not consequences for my actions. You’re not my old man. I’m not your old lady. And I can wear whatever the hell I like, whenever the hell I feel like wearing it.”

“Time to go, Elise.”

“Then go, Beau.”

“Woman, you’re tryin’ my last nerve.”

“Yeah well, I was tryin’ to get laid,” I somewhat slur. “Too bad my one friend has assholeiations with the Lords. Guess I should’ve paid better attention. A mistake I don’t intend to make again.”

“You need to get laid.” Beau turns on his sex voice. “I’ll be the one to oblige.” His hand moves, sliding from my thigh to burrow inside my panties. He gently tugs and twists at the light bundle of pubic hair before those magic fingers find my center. And in finding my center, he pushes down and strokes.

My head falls back with a long, exaggerated moan I didn’t mean to give him.

“That’s it, baby girl. Get nice and wet for me,” he whispers while using his spare hand to undo his belt and the button on his jeans.

While he’s distracted, I strike, kneeing him in the groin as hard as I can. As Beau doubles over cupping his boys, I use the time for my escape. Dashing out of the bathroom I cut back into the kitchen gaining a few odd looks and choice words from the fry cook as it’s a very confined space, and head out the back door. The only way my get-away will allow me to get away.

It’s not a good neighborhood, but rounding the big, green dumpster carefully, this time making doubly sure not to run into any cuts since I can’t seem to trust anyone, and the universe hates me and my luck sucks, thankfully I see a bus stopped at a stop and make a run for it.

After paying the fare, I drop down in an empty seat below the window line. We hear yelling and engine rumbles in the distance. The bus driver turns to me and I shrug. I guess that was enough of an answer because he turns back and shifts into drive. That was close. Alone again.