I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (14 page)

Janie laughs back, clearly missing the implication. Feeling thirsty, I order a Coors Light. I don't care for hard liquor, or the hangover that follows.

“So, tell us all about the date,” they say in unison as if they rehearsed it.

I reach over, dropping my five dollar bill on the bar before snatching my drink. I take a long pull from the glass, enjoying how the cold carbonation settles my stomach. I clear my throat, mentally preparing myself for the numerous questions to follow.

“The place is gorgeous,” I start, looking at Kristy. “It was Vic’s… you know how pretty it is there.”

“Um-hmm and expensive,” Kristy agrees.

“But everything felt staged…” I pause, collecting my thoughts. “His charm was more over the top than his wardrobe. To make matters worse, he ordered a two hundred and thirty dollar bottle of wine at dinner,” I conclude.

“What!? A two hundred and thirty dollar bottle of wine?” Janie squints, dumbfounded.

“Did it taste expensive?” Kristy asks.

“Yes, but spending two hundred and thirty dollars on wine is ridiculous,” I answer, shaking my head. “Anyway, his life was interesting with the art history and stuff,” I continue, feeling less than enthused. “What really bothered me, and I don’t know why, was his dinner,” I confess.

Kristy rolls her eyes as Janie patiently waits for an explanation. I continue. "He ordered a steak… barely cooked. I mean, the entire slab of meat was all shiny and pink. He declined potatoes, sauce and vegetables… he just ate raw meat,” I say, puckering my lips as if I were sucking on something sour.

“So, you mean to tell me you don’t like this guy because he ate raw meat?” Janie asks like it’s as normal as waking up.

“Yes… I mean, yes and no. Janie, it shouldn’t have been served. I was shocked the chef allowed it. I’m not exaggerating, it was glowing pink. Blood was splashing around the plate as the waiter walked towards us,” I finish, mimicking the liquid with my hands unsuccessfully. The more I talk about it, the more absurd it sounds. I roll my eyes in frustration. Maybe I’m being irrationally ridiculous. Fanfriggintastic! I’m officially a lunatic. My eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, hoping one will appreciate my viewpoint.

“Well… I guess it could be unpleasant,” Kristy replies, reading my mind.

“Yeah, I guess,” Janie agrees hesitantly. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to sit at dinner with a hunk of uncooked meat drenched in blood,” she finishes, adjusting herself in her seat.

"It just doesn’t make sense. He orders a bottle of expensive wine, and a raw steak, but only eats the steak?”

“Yes,” I answer, knowing Janie doesn’t need a response to her rhetorical question.

“I don’t like the sound of this guy,” Janie concludes all of a sudden.

That’s a shocker. One minute she’s rallying for him, the next she’s overly suspicious.

“Janie! Don’t be ridiculous,” Kristy exclaims, staring at her. Janie shrugs back, taking a sip of her drink. “Why is it such a big deal? He ordered something neither of you prefer, so what?” she retorts, shooting daggers at me.

I know she means well, but I refuse to force myself into liking someone. “Kristy, trust me; he’s not normal.” 

She mulls this over, silently nodding her head. “Do you think it was him?” she responds, drawing out the word
him
.

Janie looks at me, confused. “Him who?”

I have no way out, so I might as well tell Janie. I turn to her. “I received a few text messages days ago from a prank caller, or should I say, texter.”

Janie’s eyes widen at my disclosure. “What did he write?”

I shrug. “Something like, I’m coming for you.” I think it was along those lines anyway.

“What! And you didn’t tell anyone?”

“I told Kristy.” I point to Kristy, hoping it would help. I was wrong. Janie’s face reddens in anger.

“Anna! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” Janie spits.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal,” I reply.

“Of course, it’s a big deal. Someone is threatening you and you don’t call the police or tell anyone?” Janie pauses. “Didn’t any of this dawn on you? The texts, the stalking at your shop and now tonight!” she exclaims, demanding an answer.

“Janie, I didn’t look at it that way. I mean seriously, I told you about my nightmares and you dismissed them like they’re the standard,” I fire back. “I’m not going to live my life in fear of everything; that’s not how I’m built.” I throw an angry glance at Kristy for playing the neutral role of Switzerland. Thanks, wingman.

Janie stands up, clearly establishing her dominance. “Anna, things keep happening around you that you must pay attention to. This pattern of events isn’t normal and rather than addressing them, you’re ignoring everything!” she yells.

What the hell got into her? Stupid question. Vodka makes people angry and messy. I need to diffuse the situation quickly since people are gawking at us, hoping to see fists fly. “Janie, I’m sorry. I’ll be more vigilant and I promise to tell you everything that happens from now on, okay?” I’m not sorry, but I don’t want to make a scene either.

Janie points at me. “Okay, but you better tell me everything,” she threatens.

I nod, glad that conversation is over. Changing the subject sounds perfect right about now. “What do you say we visit Martello?”

“Yes!” Janie squeals, clapping her hands together like a child. That was easy. She’s drunk and in friendly love with Martello… dodged a bullet there.

My phone vibrates and beeps, indicating I have a message of some sort. I reach in my purse to see who it is. It’s a text message from Martello. Speaking of the devil. He’s checking to see how my date went. That’s funny, I didn’t tell him I had a date, but I know who did.

“I’m finished,” Janie calls out, tipping her empty martini glass side to side proudly. 

We triumphantly wade our way through the crowd of drunks, complete with a few shoves and pushes out the door. An overwhelming need to know if Janie ever plans on reconciling with Nick smacks me out of nowhere. “Janie, have you spoken to Nick at all?” I ask, instantly regretting it. Both Kristy and Janie swing their heads at me in unison, shooting me shielded glares. “Relax,” I reply, holding my hands in front of me, and surrendering. “I’m curious. I feel like your life is changing majorly and getting lost in all my stupid drama.” I smile, hoping to flush away the apprehension I created. After a few moments of gathering her wits, she clears her throat.

“He called me a few times, but I didn’t call him back,” she replies sheepishly.

Good enough for me. I’m sure she doesn’t want to talk about it, but I find it strange she never brought him up, since she dropped the news on me. I guess some people grieve differently. Some forget, while others get lost in their memories. Janie and Kristy resume their conversation about the men Janie talked to at the bar. Janie is swooning over one man in particular while Kristy is being polite and listening. I drop my eyes to the concrete, diving into my own thoughts. They’re racing through my mind like a torrential river, not allowing me to gain any ground with the flash flood that is consuming my life. Invisible forces are weaving my life’s strings into one giant knot. Damp cobblestones under my feet indicate our arrival at River Street. That was fast. I look up to see the Wet Willies sign gently swaying in the breeze. Wow, I really zoned out. I trail Kristy and Janie into the fully packed bar, spotting Martello instantly as we fight our way towards him.

“Hey there, ladies,” Martello shouts to the three of us hugging the bar.

“Hey,” Kristy and I return with wide grins.

“Martello!” Janie screams, lunging straight across the bar with her arms outstretched in front of her. She grabs him and squeezes hard, pushing the air out of his lungs.

“Jesus, woman,” he says, gently pushing her off him. “You needs to be more careful,” he adds, adjusting his lopsided, bob-cut, blond wig back on his head. Collecting his composure, he smiles warmly. “How are you, Ms. Janie? You and all o’ your craziness,” he asks, smirking.

“Oh Martello,” she says, batting her lashes at him. Good grief. The man is gay for God’s sake and she’s flirting with him. I roll my eyes as she continues to fawn over him. “I’m good, but I missed you! It’s been forever since I last saw you.”

“That’s ‘cause it was, girlfriend,” he smiles back. “How’s Nick doing? Still looking gorgeous as ever?” he inquires, adding a flirtatious wink. Janie’s lack of response doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oh girl! Don’t tell me you’s havin’ problems?”

Janie nods yes. She seems reluctant to come out and say she’s getting a divorce. I can relate; saying things out loud does make them feel more real.

“Well, how should I put it? We’re not having problems… we’re getting a divorce," she spits out.

“Lord Jesus,” he replies, resting his hand against his forehead, pretending to faint. “Why is you talkin’ all that crazy talk? He’s such a fine man an’ he treats you good, you know.”

“Anna and I have already been through this,” she responds wearily.

“Well, what’s the reason? Did he cheat on you? ‘Cause God help me if he did, you knows I’ll be up in there….”

“No! Stop jumping to conclusions,” Janie exclaims uncomfortably.

“Well, what is it then? And don’t tell me you two just has problems. ‘Cause y’all know you needs to work through that type of shit, not get divorced like the rest o’ the fools in this world.”

“No, no.” Janie says, deflated. She’s holding back; that much is evident. “We had our share of problems, but only one was unsolvable.”

Her vague explanation may placate most people, but Martello ignores her subtle warnings to leave it alone. He keeps badgering her with questions, hoping she’ll eventually break, but Janie stays strong, reiterating the same explanation.

“I already thought about my decision…” she trails off.

“Apparently, not enough. You is makin’ a bad choice,” he says with an unyielding finger pointing in her direction.

Janie rolls her eyes, clearly done with the conversation. “I don’t believe I am,” she counters confidently.

I dissociate myself from their word tennis. If I pay attention much longer, I’ll end up getting a headache. I scan the room, to make sure Shane didn’t show up. The coast is clear for now. After my scrupulous canvassing, my eyes pull themselves to the empty entrance. The tall outline of a man now occupies the previously vacant doorway. I inhale sharply as my lungs yank my breath back. It's him… the stranger who owns my waking thoughts. He glides inside, stopping to assess the atmosphere. I want to tap Kristy on the shoulder, but my arms feel heavier than a bag of marble headstones. His eyes lock on mine, drawing me toward him. Life pushes the
Pause
button, allowing our glances to become knotted. The rational part of my brain bellows for me to snap out of it. There’s a hold on me, a tie. I can’t unravel it and I don’t want to.

He treads toward me assertively, leaving a trail that glitters brightly like jewels in his wake. He passes through a thick crowd of people with ease, unaware of the effect he has on them. His presence extracts me from myself, and throws me into the perilous waters of destiny. He’s the wrong kind of good. With extreme effort, I turn away from him to regain my composure. A small breeze tickles my arm, forcing my hair to stand up. Peeking out of the corner of my eye, I see him standing next to me. Nervous thoughts topple over each other like an unbalanced stack of books. He leans his elbows against the bar, allowing his shoulder blades to sink together. His black t-shirt is stretched thin, tightly covering his swollen biceps. My jaw slacks while staring at the numerous muscular hills and valleys. Sex oozes from him like a Greek god. Maybe he is one. Sensing my stare, he turns his head, placing his ice-blue eyes on mine. My breath strains to escape, but there’s nothing I can do to exhale. Jealous gazes from the on looking women judging us annoy me, emphasizing our obvious differences in slow motion.

“Hello,” he finally says in a velvety English accent.

My heart somersaults. In a snap, life flings back to normalcy. No more slow motion, no
Pause
button. Noise replaces the silence in my head and the inquisitive faces of the crowd depart. Did that just happen? Or did I imagine it? Everything appears ordinary again, except for me. 

I swallow hard. “Hello.”

"My name is Valen.” He doesn’t miss a beat. No nerves, no hesitation… he just stretches out his hand, waiting for me to offer mine. My problem? My hand is frozen on my lap.

“I apologize,” he continues. “My intentions are not to make you feel uncomfortable,” he adds, retracting his arm.

You’re an idiot
I roar to myself. I’ll be damned! “No. It's okay,” I quickly interject. “I'm sorry, I just… I just wasn’t paying attention. Anna… I’m Anna,” I reply, extending my hand nervously.

He grins, exposing his straight, movie star teeth. He slides his hand into mine as a shock reverberates through my entire body, making me gasp. His smile widens. Did he feel it too?

“Would you like something to drink?” he asks coolly.

“Sure.” I don’t really want one, but a good-looking man can always change my mind.

“Allow me.” He lifts one finger towards Martello with poise.

Martello responds gloriously, practically skipping his way over. “What can I do for you,” he asks Valen seductively.

“We’ll take two of those,” Valen answers, pointing to the orange, slushy liquid whirl pooling in the wall.

“Comin’ right up,” Martello answers, scanning Valen up and down. He eyes me, with the
you-better-not-mess-this-up
look. I counter with the
stop-you’re-embarrassing-me
expression. 

“Do you come here often?” Valen asks, curving his sculpted, black eyebrow.

He must have caught our silent exchange. “Yes… well, no. Martello…” I explain, pointing to his back, “is a good friend and also the owner, so we pay him a visit every now and then,” I finish. I gesture to Kristy and Janie, sitting behind me, both attentively studying our interaction.

“I see,” he answers rubbing the bottom of his strong chin. “Did you grow up in Savannah?”

“Actually, I used to live in New York. A few years ago, I decided I needed a change… a slower way of life… so here I am,” I laugh anxiously.

“A slower way of life?” he questions quizzically.

“Yes,” I pause. I guess it does sound strange. “New York was too much hustle and bustle. Everyone’s always going somewhere in a hurry… I was unable to relax there. Plus, I’ve always dreamed of living in a small town,” I respond, blushing. I’m not accustomed to answering personal questions about myself, especially to a stranger.

“Now that you’ve been here for a few years, what have you accomplished?”

“Accomplished?” I ask, confused. What a random question. Accomplishments belong in categories like graduating with a doctorate degree, or placing first in a triathlon, not leaving New York to try and escape feeling I don’t quite belong. My life is more of a series of pathetic choices that led me down many wrong paths, and eventually turned into dead ends.

“I’m sorry. I must have worded my question incorrectly. What I meant was, what are you doing now?”

“You mean career wise?”

“Yes.”

“I own the coffee shop, Déjà Brew,” I answer.
You know, the one you’ve been in
.

“Well, that’s an accomplishment... but you don’t feel that way, do you?”

Who is this guy and why is he so interested in my life? “Um... yes, I guess I do.”

“You guess?”

His eyes are so intense, I nearly forget what we’re discussing. “I… uh… I’ve always loved the idea of being my own boss.”

“So it’s not rewarding then?”

“Oh, it’s rewarding, but it’s a lot of hard work,” I frown. Sometimes too much work.

“I’m sure it is.”

“What about you? Do you live in Savannah?” I ask, trying to divert my biography from center stage.

“I live in England, but our family has a home here. I visit on occasion.”

The article I read in the Savannah Tribune crosses my mind. Martello strolls over with our Styrofoam cups, gently placing them on the bar in front of us. He shoots me another look before leaving us.

“Wow, that’s pretty amazing,” I reply, sipping my adult slurpee.

“Yes. Truly amazing,” he responds with sarcasm.

His demeanor shifts, showing his uneasiness. Did I say something rude? I don’t believe so. Our peculiar conversation is making me edgy. I’m sitting here with an overly good-looking man who’s inquiring about my dreams. What’s wrong with that? “So, how long are you in Savannah?” I blurt out.

“Indefinitely,” he responds tersely.

“Well, you should stop by my place for a coffee… sometime…” I trail off timidly.

Pretty forward, Anna.
I wish I could seize the words that ran from my mouth so freely. He looks at me, inhaling deeply. He’s about to say something, but only a silent breath passes between his lips.

After a few minutes of contemplation, he responds. “Yes, I would like that."

“Great," I reply, a little too eagerly.

“I better go,” he says, dropping a fifty dollar bill on the counter. He turns without so much as a smile and leaves. I stare, watching as his muscles move flawlessly and threaten to make any woman fall to her knees. The dust doesn’t settle before Janie, Kristy and Martello bombard me.

“Wow!” Kristy exclaims.

“Yes, girlfriend! Wow isn’t the right word for his sexiness. Goodness…and that was the same man that came into your place looking for your sweet butt a few days ago…” Martello adds.

“It’s like he came straight out of a movie… airbrushed and everything,” Janie chimes in. 

I shake my head. “Guys relax. Too many oohs and ahhs are flying around,” I respond, raising my hands in the universal gesture of stop.

“What’s his name?” Kristy asks.

“Valen.”

“Valen… what a great name,” she says with a dreamy expression.

“Sure is. I hope he comes to visit you… he’s not bad on the eyes,” Janie adds.

“Well, if you doesn’t want ‘em, send ‘em my way. I’ll surely give ‘em some good lovin’…” Martello says, swinging his hips around in a circle.

“Martello, please stop,” I say covering my mouth and chuckling. 

I glance at my watch and notice it’s still early, twelve-thirty in the morning, but I’m exhausted. The three of us bid Martello farewell before walking back to my car. I dip in the driver’s seat with what little energy I have remaining. I swing by Kristy’s house and drop her off before heading home. Just as I hit the highway, a light snoring springs from the passenger seat. Janie is sleeping. I roll down my window, eager for the fresh air to hit me. Bob Marley hums through my speakers, telling me not to worry about a thing. If only it were that easy. I glance in my rearview mirror, surprised to see a set of round headlights blazing in the reflection. Squinting, I curse the idiot behind me.
Turn off your high beams, jerk.
I reduce my speed, hoping the car will pass me. No such luck. I merge into the center lane, peeking in my rearview just in time to catch a rusty truck swinging behind me, and nearly losing control. It speeds up and stops right before it kisses my bumper. I slam the gas pedal, listening as my engine makes a loud, whining noise. In the blink of an eye, the speedometer reaches eighty miles per hour. I switch over to the right lane, determined to ditch this jerk. As soon as my tires roll over the dotted line to merge, the truck follows, speeding up, then slowing down. It repeats this taunting behavior so many times, it heightens my concern.

“Janie!” I yell, shaking her arm violently.

“What? What!!” she responds with alarm, jumping up in her seat.

“We’re being followed,” I say, hastily pointing behind me. “The truck is messing with us.” I can feel the anxiety in my words. Janie turns in the direction of the rapidly approaching vehicle. Reaching eighty-five miles per hour, my knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.