Ariel
When I reach the front doors, the noise dies down and I feel instant relief as I walk away from the club. I don’t know who mystery man is, but his presence was overpowering, even from across the room.
Who is he? Did my stepfather send him? Have they found me? Oh shit! I quicken my steps, needing to put as much distance as possible between me and the club, and the man with the intense dark eyes.
The chilled air stings my cheeks, and every sound, every blaring horn makes me jump. I constantly look over my shoulder, expecting to see someone following me.
You’re just paranoid, Ariel, I chide myself. Instead of feeling like a brave woman, my sixteen-year-old-self has returned and all I want is to run to the safety of my apartment and hide under the covers.
I shut the door behind me and shoot the bolt home quickly. My heart hammers away in my chest as I rest my forehead against the door. What a terrible night this has turned out to be.
I hurry to my bedroom, jerk off my clothes, and slip into my nightgown. Grabbing my laptop, I head to the couch and switch the computer on.
Altruist, are you there? I watch impatiently until the laptop says he’s online.
I’m here, is everything okay?
I’m not sure! I swallow hard, still shaken from the events of the night.
What happened?
After those drinks at the club, I know . . . I know I shouldn’t be talking to him. Loose lips sink ships and all that, but . . . I can’t tell you. I wish I could but we promised no personal stuff. Remember?
Fuck that! What’s going on?
My face splits wide as tears gloss my eyes. A jumble of emotions zings inside my body, my self-control almost non-existent. But I shouldn’t. I should just tell him goodnight until I can think with a clear mind. I surprise myself when I start to type.
My friends and I were at the club, I was not dressed appropriately, and felt out of sorts. And then, I felt someone staring at me. I’m not even sure how that’s possible. Anyway, when I finally spotted him . . . his eyes . . . his eyes were so . . . intense. With his hip leaning against the wall, he looked so powerful. Oh, God! I think they’ve found me. Oh, shit! I don’t know what to do!
Wait!!! What do you mean they’ve found you? Who’s found you?
I can’t say anymore. I’ve already said way too much. I’m sorry. At least I have enough sense to not blurt everything out.
I wait, my hands trembling as I stare at the blinking cursor. His response pops up.
Okay, what did the man at the club look like?
I crinkle my nose and wonder why the hell that matters. Why?
I just want to know. Tell me.
I can feel the alcohol working its way through my system. The fuzziness is still there, and my barriers are down a little. Any other time and I’d say goodnight and be done with it. But not tonight.
It was dark, lights flashing so I couldn’t see him very well. I could make out a dark suit. He had dark wavy hair that blended into the room. When the dance lights flashed, I could see intense eyes that locked with mine. Dark eyes. Powerful eyes.
Anything else?
This will sound crazy, but I swear he radiated power.
Okay, I know the type and you do not want to cross him. Stay away. Don’t go back to the club.
Don’t go back to the club? It’s sound advice, but why is he giving me orders?
What type is that?
Men who are used to getting what they want at all costs.
I scoff as I read his words. Funny. (SMH) That man didn’t want me. All the women there wore short dresses, high heels, perfect makeup. What did I do? Show up in a pair of jeans. JEANS! Can you imagine how out of place I felt? No, that man was staring at me for other reasons.
Because they found you?
Yeah, because they may have found me. I’m not sexy or alluring. I’m plain Jane. Nothing stands out and the man with the intense eyes . . .
Or maybe he wanted me out of the club, me and my jeans. A bit unnerved that I told him so much, I type a quick Talk to you later. Goodnight Altruist and then snap the laptop shut without giving him a chance to respond. I said too much.
~~~~
The next morning, after a restless night’s sleep plagued with dreams of men chasing after me, I climb out of bed and head for the kitchen. I run my fingers through my messy hair. Visions of the man from the club dance through my mind like an old movie I can’t shut off.
I grab a pot, fill it with water, and set it on the stove. Maybe a good hot cup of tea will calm my frail nerves. After the last three years, why is this happening now? I have been so careful. The only money I’ve spent—splurged—was for this apartment and for the falsified records. Besides that, I live a meager life hoping to stay under the radar.
When the pot whistles, I pour the water over the teabag, add a teaspoon of honey, and head for the couch, hoping to watch an episode of House before work.
Nursing is something I have always been interested in, dreamt about, and maybe one day I’ll get my degree. Who knows. I got my GED last year after two years of online studying and some very impressive fake documents. I take a sip of my tea, switch on the TV, snuggle into a soft blanket on the couch, and watch House for the next two hours.
That evening, I dress and head for work. It’s busy as always, but I don’t mind. It helps keep my mind off the guy at the club and the way he stared at me.
I’m covering for Jimmy behind the bar when someone sits down in front of me. Without looking at him, I ask, monotone, “What can I get for ya?” as I grab the dirty glasses sitting next to him and put them under the counter.
“Bud Light,” says a deep masculine voice with a southern drawl.
His accent surprises me and my head snaps up. I lock eyes with his soft brown ones. I stare at his handsome sun-kissed face, the splatter of light freckles across his nose. The dimple that shows in his left cheek when he smiles at me. My heart skips a beat.
I catch myself, turn, grab a glass, and top if off with Bud Light. “Here you go.” I slide the glass in front of him.
“I like your accent.” He smiles, showing his perfect white teeth, and then takes a sip.
“I like yours too.” I flash him a smile. “You new here?”
“Yep. Just came up to help a buddy finish up a construction job. He’s afraid he can’t make the deadline.”
“That’s awful nice of you.” I swallow even though my mouth is too dry. “How long you here for?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll stay as long as he needs me to.”
The way he holds my gaze, even as he takes a sip of beer, makes my insides quiver.
Jimmy comes walking back from break. “Thanks, Ariel,” he says as he places his smokes under the bar.
“Ariel. That’s a nice name,” the handsome stranger says with a flirty smile. “I’m Matt.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll see
Two days later
I turn and see Matt slide onto a barstool. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans and a light blue short-sleeved shirt that shows his muscular arms. Wanting to be friendly, I head over and lean my hip against the edging. “I see you came back. How’s the big city treating you?”
“It’s certainly a lot different than what I’m used to.”
“I’ll bet. Where ya from, anyways?” The bar is slow tonight, so I carry on standing next to Matt while Jimmy works behind the bar.
“What can I get for you?” Jimmy asks.
“Bud Light.”
Matt turns his attention back to me. “Atlanta, Georgia.”
“So you’re used to the city life.”
“It’s nothing like this.”
“I’ll bet.”
We chitchat for a few minutes, nothing consequential. I just know how lonely it is when you move to a new city and don’t know anyone, or almost anyone.
~~~~
Saturday night is booming, every table in the restaurant, every seat at the bar is filled. People stand in line outside waiting their turn to get in.
My feet ache as I carry drink after drink to various tables within the bar area. That’s my assigned station tonight. Saturday nights are always busy, but tonight, Standing Backward will perform live, which makes us work our asses off all freaking night.
Just as I serve a round of drinks, Jimmy yells from behind the bar. “Ariel! You’re up!”
That’s my cue. I head over, relieving Jimmy for his fifteen-minute break. I watch as he grabs his smokes and heads for the back door. When I turn around, I glance at the guy leaned up against the bar, seeing him standing there, but not really noticing.
“What can I get for ya?” I ask as I wash one of the glasses in the sink under the bar.
When he never answers, I finally glance up and see Matt standing with a grin a mile wide. A smile stretches my face.
“Matt,” I say. My night just got so much better. “I’ll get your beer.”
He’s been here every night, and he always orders the same thing. Bud Light. And he’ll nurse one drink for hours and never order another. He never uses cheesy pickup lines, just normal conversation. I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to spend time with him outside the bar.
I place the mug in front of him.
“Thanks, Ariel.”
“Welcome.” I take a mini break and lean against the counter, resting my elbows on the bar and interlacing my fingers. “How’s work?”
“Busy as ever, but we’re almost finished with the job.” He takes a sip of beer.
He has the muscled arms and sculpted chest, noticeable through his tight pullover black t-shirt, to prove how hard he works.
Fingers snap in front of my face, breaking the trance. I jerk then stand up straight. “What?”
“Where’d you go?” He’s grinning like he knows exactly what I was thinking about.
Him.
“Huh?
“I was asking you what you’ve been up to, but you were somewhere else.”
I laugh. It’s more of a nervous sound, forced and unnatural. “I don’t do anything but work and sleep.”
“Seriously? You’re a good-looking lady. I figured you go out all the time. I’m sure you’re asked.”
I scoff. He’s right, I do get asked out, but it’s usually by the men I meet here at the bar. And there is nothing sexy or meaningful about getting asked out by someone who slurs his words or stumbles when he stands.
He reaches over and places his hand on top of mine. My eyes dart up to his intense ones. “I’m being honest. Not shooting you a line.”
I freeze, holding his gaze as one side of my lips curls upward. “I know. I do get asked out a lot, but the ones asking are not my type.”
“You have a type?” He removes his hand and wraps it around his mug and takes a sip. I know he’s waiting on me to answer.
“Everyone has a type.”
“What’s yours?”
This conversation just took a lighter, playful turn. Leaning against the counter again, I still hold Matt’s gaze and say, “I like strong men, hard workers.” My eyes drift over his face before returning to his eyes. “Brown hair, blue eyes. I like dimples and freckles.” I’ve never been so bold before, but it’s easy to talk to him.
He laughs, using all his facial features.
“Miss, can I get two beers?”
I savor the moment, and then break eye contact. Glancing down the bar at the patiently waiting man, I nod before returning my attention back to Matt. I smile and say, “See ya later. Enjoy the show.”
The electric guitar strums a note as I join reality once again, waiting on customers until Jimmy returns.
“Thanks, Ariel.” Jimmy says as he places his smokes under the bar.
“No problem.” I head back to the table area to check on customers. Alina covers all the tables in the bar when I cover for Jimmy.
The band starts playing, each instrument joining in until the lead singer grabs the microphone and lets loose the first line in a song. The crowd’s on its feet, people from other areas of the restaurant filtering in, making it standing room only. The ones lucky enough to have tables can’t see, but they knew that beforehand.
Four or five songs later, I’m at the bar when Alina walks up. “Ariel, table five is requesting that you bring his drink.” Table five is in the dining area where the families eat.
My nose crinkles and I shrug. “Okay.” I take the scotch from her and weave carefully through the crowd until I stop mid-step.
It’s him . . . the man from the nightclub. My breath quickens.
I’m gulping air.
I can’t move as I get my first real look at him.
A black suit jacket is draped over the back of the chair. He tugs at the edges of his white button-up shirt. A shiny gold watch catches my eye, which draws my attention to his well-manicured nails.
My feet start to move again. Slowly, I approach the table. When I set the drink in front of him, intense dark brown eyes turn on me. I swallow hard before I say, “Enjoy your drink, sir.”
I’m frozen in place as his gaze roams my body until it reaches my eyes once again.
“I’m Luca,” he says in a deep voice. With a flick of his wrist, he gestures to the other chair. “Would you please join me?”
The place is packed, so joining him is out of the question. But no words freely flow from my mouth. I have to force them out. One broken syllable at a time.
“I . . . I.” I swallow hard and try again. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” Abruptly, I spin around and quickly head back to the bar.
Jimmy grabs my arm as I rush past him. “Ariel, what’s wrong?”
“I’m not feeling very well. I need to leave.”
His eyes widen incredulously. “You can’t leave right now. We’re understaffed as it is.”
My eyes plead with him to understand. If I can only tell him, explain what’s going on, but I can’t. I don’t know who that man is, why he’s here, and I will not put Jimmy in danger.
“Ariel.” Tommy motions me over. My heart sinks and I wonder what’s wrong. What did I do?
I walk over slowly, my eyes darting all around, looking for the stranger. When I’m standing in front of Tommy, I ask, “Yes?”
“Mr. Damonte would like a word with you.”
“Excuse me?” Who is Mr. Damonte and why would Tommy accommodate his request? I shake my head, not understanding what he’s telling me.
“Mr. Damonte.” Tommy nods at something behind me.
Slowly, I glance over my shoulder. There stands the mystery man with his arms folded across his chest, staring at me.
From the side of my mouth, I quietly say, “I don’t know who he is.”
Tommy’s face twists in disbelief as he stares at me with round eyes. “That’s Luca Damonte. One of the wealthiest men in town.”
Relief floods my body when I realize he’s not after me. Nobody sent him to find me. I blow out a slow breath.
“Well don’t just stand here. Take a break and go talk to him.”
Breaking eye contact with Luca, I turn toward Tommy. “Why? We are super busy tonight.”
“Because he’s Luca Damonte.” Tommy throws his hands in the air, acting as if I’m daft.
Whatever.
“Fine.” I head over, and when I’m standing in front of the man, I compose myself, throw my shoulders back, and nod. “Mr. Damonte, you wanted to speak with me?”
I can see the satisfied gleam in his eyes as he flicks his wrist and waves to the open table. “Please, have a seat.”
I slide into the empty seat across from him, fold my hands in my lap, and wait for him to say something.
“Let’s try this again, shall we?” He leans back, folds his arms across his chest, and says, “I am Luca Damonte. And you are?”
“I am Ariel Hancock. Nice to meet you.”
He studies me for a moment, making me squirm in my chair. I’m still not sure what he wants with me, why he needs to talk to me, so I wait.
“Would you like something to drink?”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to figure out what he’s doing. I’m at work, I can’t drink, this is not a date, and I say as much.
“Mr. Damonte, I need to get back to work. So, if you have something you wish to talk to me about, please get on with it.”
Wrapping his fingers around his glass, he leisurely takes a drink. It feels like he’s asserting his dominance, like no one ever tells him what to do. But I’m not like everyone else. His money doesn’t impress me. He’s the type of man I’m hiding from. The quicker I can get away from him, the happier I will be.
“Fine.” He crosses his legs and studies me. His gaze roams my body, at least what he can see of it. I can’t imagine he finds me sexy or even attractive while I’m sporting my food-stained gray T-shirt, no makeup, and my hair pulled back in a ponytail. “I have dinner reservations for the two of us next Friday night.”
I glance around, trying to buy time so my voice comes out steady and strong. When I finally look him in the eye, I say with confidence. “I’m sorry, but next Friday night I will be working.”
“I’ll pick you up next Friday night, seven o’clock sharp.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wondering what game he’s trying to play. “Look Mr. Damonte—”
“Please, call me Luca.”
I bite the inside of my lip, trying to hold my tongue. His smug look and superior attitude is not alluring to me at all. “Luca,” I say with my sweet southern accent, “I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t know you. I don’t date. And besides that, I am working Friday night.” I flash him a polite, insincere smile and push up from the table. As I head back to my workstation, I’m surprised to see Matt standing off to the side with his arms folded, watching the entire exchange between me and Luca. As I pass by him, his eyes dart to mine for a mere second before zoning back in on Luca. I refuse to look over my shoulder to see if Luca watches me.
I head back to the bar where Jimmy stands watching me with narrowed eyes. Just as I get close enough, he asks, “Everything alright?”
“I have no idea,” I say in clipped tones as I pass by him and head behind the bar. When I glance up, I see his jaw clench tightly as he stares at something. I follow his gaze and see Luca standing a few feet away with his arms folded across his chest, and now he’s staring at Jimmy.
Matt slides onto the barstool in front of me, and with all the male testosterone in the air, I could choke. The room is closing in on me, and I know something is not right.
Matt smiles an easy, lazy smile as he grips his beer. Like the last ten minutes didn’t happen. I shake my head as I go about my work, grabbing the freshly made drinks and heading to a waiting table. This shift can’t end soon enough.
~~~~
The first thing I do when I get home is take a hot shower. At the bar, I paid for a bottle of red wine and slipped it into my bag, just like I always do. If anyone finds out, Tommy could lose his liquor license, except my ID now says I’m twenty-one. Finally legal. But after tonight, I thought a glass—or five—might help me unwind, relax a little.
Dressed in a T-shirt and boy shorts, my favorite outfit to sleep in, I pop the cork and pour a glass of Apothic Red before heading to the couch. As I sip my wine, I think about the strangeness of work tonight. Two men, handsome men, both interested in me. At least Matt looked interested. Luca . . . I shake my head as I remember how sexy, put together he looked. Confidence poured from every inch of him. It scares me a little.
I stretch my legs out, resting my feet on the coffee table. My wine takes the edge off and I power up the laptop.
Wine always helps me relax. Constantly expecting someone to burst through my door, grab me from the street, I could never rest. Never relax. Wine helped, and after a while, I started to enjoy the flavor, savor the taste. Apothic Red is a favorite of mine.
Altruist?
It takes him only about five seconds to respond, which makes me happy.
Syrah, are you okay?
Yes, why?
I didn’t like the way you abruptly ended things last night.
Hmm . . . he’s right. I worried I had said too much, and it made me nervous. I don’t know much about Altruist, and I broke the rules and spilled my guts to a stranger.
Can I ask you a question? And I want you to be completely honest.
I wait, and when he doesn’t readily answer, it pisses me off. I told him so much last night and he can’t answer one single question. Trying not to let my anger show in my words, I type Come on . . . we don’t even know each other’s names, or where we live. Why can’t we just be honest? What harm could come of that?
Waiting for his response, I head to the kitchen and refill my glass. When I sit back down and pull my laptop onto my lap, I smile when I read his response.
You’re right. There is no reason to hide things and not be honest. Ask away!
How to ask tactfully what I need to know. Hmm . . . my fingers drum on the keys. You’re not into anything illegal, are you?
LOL, No! Why would you ask that?
You told me to stay away from that guy at the club. You said you knew his type and then you got kind of bossy.
Sorry about that. I just worry about you. Probably more than I should.
My stomach flutters with his admission. Why would you say that? You don’t know anything about me.
I know that you’re all alone. You don’t like to go to clubs, you don’t like to drink the hard stuff.
I’m having a glass of wine right now.
Wine is not hard liquor. Now let me finish. I know that your favorite movies are The Proposal and While You Were sleeping, which tells me two things. One, you’re a hopeless romantic, and two, you have bad taste in movies.
My heart melts a little before, suddenly, I’m a little angry. He knows all these things about me and I know almost nothing about him. Only that he had a girlfriend but she didn’t like his job.
Are you there?
I’m here. I just can’t believe you remember all of that. And I do not have bad taste in movies. Those are some of the all-time greatest movies ever filmed.
That’s debatable. So, how was your day, dear?
I laugh aloud, thinking about the old shows I used to watch. Why did June Cleaver just pop into my head?
Uh, because I was quoting her? (smiling here) Really, how was your day?
Honestly?
Yes, I thought you just demanded that.
Yeah, I did, didn’t I? But first . . . Tell me about your day first.
There’s not much to tell. I’m in between jobs right now so I’ve been doing house maintenance. Fixing the fence, that kind of thing.
You don’t have a job?
Yes, I have a job. I’m just waiting on a new assignment.
Huh . . . mysterious. What do you do?
Just mundane stuff, nothing worth talking about.
Uh huh . . .
For some reason, I don’t believe him. That’s okay; we all have our secrets. My head tilts back and I drain the last of my wine before setting the laptop on the couch. As I refill my glass one last time, I picture Altruist in a cowboy hat and boots. He has a hammer in his hand as he mends the fence to keep the cows in.
I laugh at the images in my head, sit back down, and grab my laptop, pulling it onto my lap.
How about you? Anything interesting happen today?
I wouldn’t say interesting, but strange. The guy from the nightclub showed up, demanded I have dinner with him Friday night. Turns out, he owns the club.
And? Are you having dinner with him?
I don’t want to. I told him I had to work, but my boss seems to do anything this guy wants. Then there’s this other guy. He’s nice, and he’s been coming by the bar for the past week or so. But when guy #1 showed up, he watched us with an odd expression. I don’t know what’s going on.
Maybe they both want to date you. I’d definitely stay away from the club owner, though.
I think I may need to move again.
I don’t understand.
Honesty, right? And besides, you don’t know the important things, like my name, where I live, so I can’t put you in danger.
Now you’re worrying me. What’s wrong? Why would you put me in danger?
I know I’ve had too much to drink. I always talk more when I’m relaxed, and Altruist feels safe. Feels like a friend. If I don’t want to talk to him again, I can delete my account with the stroke of a key. What harm would it do? It’s not like he’s going to show up at my apartment, one of many that lines the crowded streets.
I set my glass down and type.
My stepfather was into, or is still into, some bad stuff. Illegal stuff. I took something from him and ran away from home a few years back. I’m always afraid that someone will show up looking for me and they will eventually find me.
I smile, feeling a burden lift from my shoulders. Actually telling someone makes me feel better. Until I stare at the blinking cursor. He’s not typing back.
No reply.
I wait.
And wait. I grab my glass from the end table and take a gulp. I’m a little angry that he didn’t respond right away. It makes me feel like I’ve scared him off. And why wouldn’t it?
You must have been scared, and it sounds like you still are. Is there anything I can do to help?
A rush of air escapes my lungs, and my lips curl upward. At that moment, I know his opinion is important to me. It shouldn’t be. I don’t really know him. He could have buckteeth, a straw hanging out of the side of his mouth, a jaw full of tobacco, and be spitting every few minutes.
Just being able to talk to you . . . finally . . . helps a lot.
I’m glad. Now why do the two men scare you?
I can’t explain it. It’s just a gut feeling. I’ve lived here three years and nothing. And now . . . I shake my head as I try to explain. I thought Matt was a nice guy, but you didn’t see the look in his eyes when he watched me and Luca talk.
Matt and Luca?
Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! I can’t believe I did something so stupid! I let my guard down too much. Crap! How to fix this. Think! I vigorously rub my forehead just before my fingers fly over the keys.
Just names I made up so I don’t have to say guy one and guy two.
Oh, okay.
Still upset with myself, I drain the last of my wine and type It’s late. I need to head to bed. Goodnight, Altruist.
Goodnight, Syrah.