Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
It’ll do just fine.
A woman in her mid-fifties wearing a tight hot pink tank top and a bright blue bow in her flame red hair approaches me from the other side of the bar. “I’m Becky, and I’m the owner here. I hate to say this, but I don’t think this place is for you, sweetheart.”
“Listen, I just want a drink, just like everyone else here,” I reply as politely as I can manage given my circumstances.
Becky isn’t convinced. “Pretty girl like you from the other side don’t need nothin’ this place can offer. Why don’t you get on out of here and get home to whoever is waiting for you, because I wasn’t lying when I said this place ain’t for you.”
There is no one waiting for me.
Growing frustrated, I raise my ass from the stool and lean over the bar. I look Becky dead in her blue eyeshadow. I feel my eyebrows furrow I’m glaring at her so hard. “Look, Becky, woman to woman? A week ago, my boyfriend left me without warning. I came home to find all of his shit was gone, and I haven’t heard from him since. I just got my car repoed about three-seconds ago in this very parking lot while inside the pawn shop next door trying to pawn everything I own that might still hold some value because I’m broke. Beyond broke. Like I’m not even going to be able to pay for the drink I’m arguing with you over even if you do serve me kind of broke. And do you want to know why I don’t have a penny to my name? Because that boyfriend I mentioned earlier? He didn’t just leave. He drained my bank account on the way out and left me with nothing but unpaid bills, questions, and a goddamned fake sapphire.” I take a deep breath. “So, belong here or not, if anyone in this bar deserves a fucking drink right now, can we at least agree that person is me?”
Becky pulls a glass from under the bar and turns it upright in front of me. “It’s on me. What ya having?”
“Vodka,” I reply, sitting back down on the torn barstool. “Ice please.”
“What do you want for a mixer?” she asks, dumping ice into the glass.
I sigh and rub my eyes. “Vodka.”
Becky chuckles and sets the glass in front of me. “One vodka-vodka coming right up.”
I drain it in three gulps. “Thank you,” I tell her, setting the glass back down onto the sticky bar.
She leans forward on her elbows. “Men are shit. Had that happen to me once, too. My fiancé left me, and I lost the house, my dog, and then the motherfucker went and married my sister.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you and that your fiancé couldn’t see what was right in front of him.” I sigh. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose my house, too.”
Becky grabs the bottle again and refills my glass. “No, I mean I lost the house because he hitched my trailer to his fucking truck and dragged it right out of the goddamned trailer park.”
I can’t help but laugh, holding my mouth closed so I don’t lose any of the precious free booze inside.
“Did you ever find him again?”
She smiles. “Oh yeah, I found him alright. My cousin Irwin lives two towns over and when Joon came driving on through with my house on his hitch he told my cousin he’d rather see it burn to the ground then bring it back to me.”
“So, what did you do?” I ask, taking another swallow. Maybe, I can learn something from Becky’s story.
Becky smiles with a kind of wicked satisfaction I yearn to feel. “What do you think I did?” She leans over the bar once more. “I burned it to the ground.” She winks and pushes off the bar, heading to the far end to serve another customer.
I finish my second vodka-vodka and fish my phone out of my pocket to call Yuli for a ride, since I’m pretty sure sympathy and pity carries a two drink maximum. Only, I can’t get a signal.
I look around and spot a side door that’s been left propped open. Rather than face the hoard of leering bikers in the parking lot, I make my way through the crowd to the door. Once outside in the narrow alleyway between the pawn shop and the bar, I hold up my phone to the sky. Nada.
“Damn it!” I huff. Like this day could get any worse. I’m trapped in a fucking Tina Fey comedy where everything bad that could happen does. Only, my movie isn’t funny because it’s a tragedy.
“You need to make a call?” A voice asks. I turn around, and there are two huge men approaching. They don’t look like bikers. One of the men is bald, wearing a fitted black t-shirt over black dress pants and the other larger men is dressed in a blazer over khakis with slicked back black hair. “You can use my phone,” he says holding it out. “I’ve got signal.”