Kace

I could have been honest and just told people that I collected junk. That would have been the easy and simple way to explain what I did for a living, and what I did for fun. But it was more romantic and elegant to say that I took items that had been worn from the battle of time and gave them a second chance. In reality… I took shitty things and made them look pretty and new, and sold it for a lot of money to people who wanted to pretend that they liked vintage stuff, but only if that stuff was new and pricey.

I had nothing to complain about. It started as a little side thing and was enough that it kept me afloat. I was able to live and enjoy life, trading drinks for one night of love and always looking to the horizon for the next project… and the next conquest. For me, some hearts just weren’t worth sharing, and I made that very clear up front. There were no roses. There were no birthday gifts. There were no just thinking of you flowers. That wasn’t me and it wasn’t my style. Either you understood it, or you didn’t. And either way, it didn’t bother me.

It was one of the oldest bars in town, three stories tall with apartments above it. It was rumored to be haunted, but I was pretty sure that anyone who got drunk enough could see a ghost or two. Or maybe they were too embarrassed to admit that they were hammered and fell down the stairs, so it made more sense to make up a story about a poltergeist pushing them. Whatever it was, the bar was low key, a little dark, busy yet quiet, if that made sense. The front windows were huge with a few high top tables. That’s where I took a seat and ordered myself an ice cold beer and a room temperature shot of whiskey. Funny how the family curse and the one thing I swore I’d never touch was my favorite part of a long day. The difference was that my beer and my shot of whiskey was earned and appreciated. No ghosts would be pushing me down a set of steps. And I wouldn’t wake up two towns over with my truck face down in a ditch, trying to convince the cops that a deer made it happen.

My buddy Mack showed up five minutes late, which was actually ten minutes early compared to what he normally would be. He wore a dirty brown leather jacket and black sunglasses like he was out of some eighties heartthrob movie. He ordered some fancy IPA beer and flirted with the bartender, who ate it up and threw her hair behind her as she walked away. I had to hand it to Mack though, he knew how to pick up women. He was the type that would promise forever, only to realize that his watch had been broken for years, and blamed time for the fact that his heart had already moved on by the time the sun came up. The trail of broken hearts from his apartment still stained the carpets.

He was an asshole, but he was closest thing I’d ever had to a best friend.

When he sat down, he lifted his bottle and tilted it toward me.

“I’m not saying a word to you until you take those stupid sunglasses off,” I said. “Are you trying to look tough, or are you getting ready to fly an airplane?”

“Both,” he said and clicked his mouth and gave a thumbs up.

“I’m being serious, man. Take those sunglasses off right now.”

He laughed and ripped the sunglasses away with force, raising one eyebrow as he did. When we were younger, Mack had this dream of becoming a famous actor. He started hitting the gym thinking that having muscle would help. What he got was lots of muscle, but he still had no acting skills. Now he worked as a glorified handyman around town, which wasn’t the worst job in the world. We got along even better now because we used our hands to survive and appreciated everything we earned. Our so called careers weren’t laced with sick days, vacation days, and retirement plans. Mack relied on houses needing work and I relied on rich people wanting old junk refurbished.

I finally tapped my bottle against his, only I smashed the bottom of my bottle into the top of his. That left a white foamy explosion from his bottle.

“Ah, fuck, man,” he growled. “You know how much this beer cost me?”

“Yeah,” I said. I smashed the bottle again, making it explode a second time. “Too damn much.”

“You’re an asshole, Kace.”

I laughed and leaned back, sliding my hand into my pocket. I took out a ten and flicked it across the table at Mack.

“There,” I said. “That should get you another pansy beer and you can tip the pretty bartender.”

“Another chance to flirt with her, I’ll take it.”

“See? I’m just helping you, bro. I waste your beer, you flirt with the bartender, and everyone is happy.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Hey, I was over at Mr. Handley’s place today. He needed a light fixture changed on his back porch. Damn, does he have a vinyl collection.”

“Vinyl records?”

“Yeah, man. You should see them.”

“Does anyone even listen to that anymore?”

“I don’t know,” Mack said. “Maybe someday it’ll make a comeback. But the collection is pretty sweet. He has them in milk crates though. And he has this back wall that’s open. I was thinking that maybe you could build something for him. Something totally custom, you know? And really organize it.”

“You paying for that?” I asked.

“We can talk to him about it.”

“Mr. Handley?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “He’s stubborn and cheap.”

“Nah. He hired me.”

“That’s because he can’t climb ladders anymore. His kids took them from the house after he fell last summer trying to change a lightbulb in the bathroom.”

“You know about that?”

“Who doesn’t? Everyone in this town talks. Lots of chatter and nothing good ever said.”

“Damn,” Mack said. He leaned forward again. “Hey, you ever think about us starting a business together?”

“Doing what?”

“Custom construction, man. You have the eyes for that cool, junk shit. I know how to fix and build things. We could start a company.”

I looked around the packed bar. TVs in every corner, each with a different sports game on. People on their Friday night dates, coming to the only place in town that wasn’t quite a shit hole (yet). There was the bar and then an area for tables. There was a small archway that gave way to a supposed more formal dining area, but it was never used for anything formal at all. The best part about the place was a set of metal steps that led to the roof. Now, the place wasn’t exactly supposed to let people hang out on the roof, but when you got to know Archie as well as I did, you were allowed up there. He owned the bar and the building, along with a few other old buildings in town.

“You even listening to me, Kace?” Mack asked.

I looked at him and shook my head. “No. I’m not. I came here for a couple of drinks and to relax. Eye the scenery and see what I can take home tonight.”

“See, with you, I don’t know what that means.”

“Meaning what?” I asked.

“Are you looking to take home a piece of vintage wood to sand down and refinish? Or take home a woman for little Kace to play with?”

“There’s nothing worth taking home here,” I said.

Mack raised an eyebrow. “I could ask the same question again.”

“Oh, Christ, Mack. It’s Friday. I enjoy my Fridays. My hands are meant for something else.”

“Again…”

“You’re an asshole, man,” I said. “Tell you what… why don’t you go and talk to the pretty bartender a little more. I’m going to get another beer and go for a walk.”

“You’re going on the roof, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. So?”

“You’re going to look at that house. The Wethen House.”

I didn’t respond.

Mack shook his head. “Guys like us, man, we aren’t meant for that shit. I know that’s your dream house. To live there and spend your life working on it. I think it’s awesome.”

“I like the scenery,” I said as I stood up.

“See, that right there. You make me wonder sometimes.”

“Wonder what?”

“Friday night. Place is crawling with people. And you want to go and look at a house.”

“Whatever you think you’re going to suggest, just stop,” I said. “By the way, the bartender’s name is Jane.”

“Jane?” Mack asked. “How do you know?”

I smirked. “I just know.”

I turned and started to walk, feeling Mack’s eyes burning into my back. I knew the way his mind worked. He was debating on asking me if I’d slept with Jane, because that’s what he assumed by my comment. The truth was that Jane bought an old washboard off me a little while ago. I had found it in the bottom of a junk heap at a flea market and fixed it up. She bought it for her great-grandmother who was turning ninety. Her great-grandmother apparently washed her siblings clothes with a washboard. As far as anything else with Jane… that was between me, her, and the sheets.

As I walked through the bar, I looked around, nodding and smiling at familiar faces. I knew a lot of people and a lot of people knew of me. Knowing and talking to were two different things. Which was a nice line that I liked to keep. There was nothing worse than forced and pointless conversation.

The funny thing though…

That’s right where I was headed, the second I opened the door to get to the roof.

* * *

She was standing near the edge of the roof. I froze when I saw her, watching as the soft summer breeze played with her brown hair. She wore some kind of jean jacket looking thing that was shorter than her shirt. Slowly, she lifted her arms up and out, the jean jacket pulling way up, the white shirt underneath lifting up too, showing a little bit of skin. My eyes did what any sane man’s eyes would do, meaning that I followed the curves of her hips and the way that they forced her jeans to make room.

She officially had my interest.

Up there on the roof it was really quiet and calm. There were two metal poles that I think were once used for antennas to grab some free channels, but they now donned a set of round bulbed stringed lights, half of which were burned out. The plastic furniture was supposed to be white, but was now dirty and stained with black, brown, and even a hint of green. On good nights, as long as Archie was in a good mood (he loved to bet on horses, and if he won, everyone won) you could buy a six pack to-go from the bar and bring it up here to chill for the night.

Tonight, it was just me and this woman.

Standing there with her arms outstretched. Her hair dancing in the breeze. I heard the soft sound of some sappy song playing. I saw that she had a boombox on the ledge of the roof. She started to sway a little, left to right, not really moving with the rhythm of the music.

I started to step forward, trying to play this out in my mind. Sometimes I’d come up here and there would be a group of drunk people talking, laughing and getting louder with each story. Other times, you’d find some of the people that lived in the apartments up here having a smoke - cigarettes and something else. Other times, I could get the place to myself. Tonight, there was company. And she was still swaying. She suddenly stopped swaying and leaned forward a little. I watched as the heels of her shoes lifted up.

What the fuck is she doing?

I kept moving forward, silently, wondering what my position was here. If she was drunk and leaning forward, she could end up falling. That would be one hell of a Friday night, huh?

I gently placed my beer down on a half rusted metal table and kept moving forward.

I cleared my throat, trying to make some kind of obvious sound to get her attention. She didn't hear me. I purposely gave a quick kick to a plastic chair, tipping it over, but she still didn’t hear me.

I watched as she got fully up on her tip toes and leaned forward some more.

“Hey, darlin’,” I yelled and reached for her.

She let out a loud scream as my hand clutched the bottom of her jean jacket. I pulled as she started to turn, her hair flying in front of her face. She stumbled and I swung my left arm around her body to make damn sure that she didn’t fall off the damn roof. I punched the boombox and caught a quick glimpse of it as it went flying off the ledge.

“Dammit,” the woman yelled and tried to pull away from me.

“Are you fucking crazy, darlin’?” I called out as I turned and let her go.

I put myself between the woman and the edge of the roof. I showed my hands to let her know that I wasn’t trying anything funny. But the funny part was that her hands clutched my hoodie, which was half unzipped. Her eyes were big, glowing with a really pretty hazel color.

But the first thing I thought when I looked into her eyes?

Sadness.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Kace. I was coming up here for a drink.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

“You got close to that ledge,” I said. “Had me nervous.”

“Oh, shit. My boombox!”

She pushed away from me and lunged forward toward the ledge again. This time, my hands slid around her waist as I ripped her back for a second time. There was just something too fluid about the way she went for the ledge. It damn well shot jitters through my legs and I wasn’t even afraid of heights. The way my hands slipped to her waist was far too easy. I gritted my teeth and quickly let go, again trying to show good faith that I wasn’t touching her with bad intentions.

“Damn, darlin’, you’re going to end up going over the edge there,” I yelled at her.

“Whatever, dude,” she snapped and shoved at my arm.

She went for the ledge again, and this time I stayed back. I made fists and cringed as she bumped into the ledge, which was just about at waist height for her. For me, it was closer to my knees.

She put her hands on the ledge and leaned forward. Then she said, “Total destruction.”

I crept forward and looked over and down. We were on the south side of the building which had a very narrow alley between it and the next building. That building’s windows on the side facing the bar and apartments were all boarded up or covered in newspapers. There was a coffeehouse on the bottom floor and really shitty apartments throughout the rest. The guy that owned the building and Archie did not get along, mostly because Archie gave a damn about the town and the other guy was the picture perfect definition of a slumlord.

Right there on the ground was the boombox, shattered into several plastic pieces.

“Dammit,” she said.

“Hey,” I said. “Better than you.”

“Yeah, right,” she said. “That wasn’t even mine.”

“Sorry. I’ll buy a new one.”

“No you won’t. Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

She turned and started to walk. I slowly turned and stared at her.

Why is this so casual right now?

“Hey, what’s your name?”

She paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Why?”

“Because I’m being friendly. Because you damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“There are plenty of easier women at the bar downstairs.”

“Right,” I said. “But I like a good challenge.”

“Ew. Asshole.”

She started to walk again.

I grinned and moved forward, snatching my beer off the rusted table. I cut around her and got to the door first and put my hand flat against it.

“Look,” she said, “I took four months of karate when I was a kid. And I have a knife and some mace in my bag.”

“You’re not carrying a bag, darlin’,” I whispered.

“Shit. I meant my pocket.”

I leaned and looked around at her ass.

She quickly slapped my face, but not as hard as she probably could have.

“Eyes here,” she said.

“Fine by me. You’re eyes are beautiful. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yeah. And by the next morning, it’s all ‘uh, sorry, babe, I have this super awesome meeting to go to…’.” She rolled her eyes and curled her lip.

“So you’re up here alone because of a broken heart?”

“I’m going back inside.”

“You live here?”

“Do you?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I come here all the time.”

“To pick up women?”

“I like a drink after a long day and longer week.”

“Why come up here?”

“Honestly? I like the view.”

“Is that another get in my pants remark?”

“No, darlin’. If you look behind you, you can see The Wethen House. I like coming up here and seeing it in the distance. Every once in a while there are a few lights on.”

“Why does that matter?”

“I could tell you, but that would be too personal. And I don’t even know your name.”

“Please. I could ask you to kiss me right now and you would without knowing it.”

“Oh, well, yeah. I mean, a kiss is very different than knowing something secretive about me.”

She finally smirked. “Whatever, dude.”

“Kace. I told you my name is Kace.”

“Okay, Kace. Dude. Man. Move your hand.”

“Where are you off to?”

“To salvage what I can of my boombox and then who knows?”

“Want company?”

“No.”

She eyed my hand and I took it away from the door. I was defeated in seconds by this woman that I didn’t know. And I stood there and let her slip away through the door, and I let the door shut. I walked across the roof to the ledge and stared down like a dumb fool, waiting to see if she was actually going to try and salvage the destroyed boombox.

I gave it ten minutes before I realized that she was gone.

I laughed and shook my head.

I looked forward and sighed, drinking my now warm beer, staring off toward a piece of property that I would never own. I tipped my bottle to the wind and smiled. It wasn’t normally my style to let someone that I was interested in slip away. But that woman had pulled off a miracle. And one of two things would happen now. Either I’d never see her again, or maybe I’d get lucky enough and somehow bump into her one day.

I knew which one I wanted to happen.