Lasting Damage (3 page)

“Well,
maybe I enjoy being an idiot.” Jane shot back.

“Well,
maybe you do.” Lily smiled as she produced two large bottles of pills and set
them on the table. “And maybe you're just an insolent brat who needs to get
laid.”

“I'm
not a brat.”

“So
you're sticking with
insolent
and
needing to get laid
?” Lily
nodded as though she’d suddenly been given proof that the depths of Jane’s soul
didn’t run much deeper than a muddy puddle on a hot day in July.

“Why
don’t we contemplate my sad, pathetic existence after you get those pills
crushed up and ready to go?”

“Don’t
crush mine.” Chloe made a stink face. “I hate snorting anything.”

“Did
it ever occur to you, Jane, that all I’m trying to do is to encourage you to
engage in a healthy human interaction every once in a while.” Lily popped open
both bottles and started making three small piles of pills. “No crushing, it’s
Valium and Xanax and I’d like all of us to wake up tomorrow.”

“Why
on earth would you encourage more human interaction when I work in a bar?” Jane
rolled her eyes.  “Seriously, I get all the human interaction I can stand.”

“I
notice you didn't call it healthy interaction,” Chloe laughed and poured a
healthy dose of shrimp fried rice on her plate.

“Oh,
come on,” Jane huffed. “You, of all people, know that the average Saturday
night at work means dealing with wall to wall stupidity, hormones and alcohol.
I dare you to find a speck of meaningful or healthy human interaction in that
fucked up mess.”

“That's
a sweeping statement.” Lily looked up from her pills and smiled.

“Yes
it is. It's a broad, sweeping pronouncement on the state of my existence at
work right now and I'm standing by it.” Jane set her chopsticks down on her
plate and crossed her arms over her chest. “And can you please explain to me
why I’m friends with either one of you? I'm starting to forget.”

“Because
we’re the only people who put up with your stupid crap?” Chloe reminded her.

Jane
had to press her lips together to keep from saying something snarky. Her mood wasn’t
going to take a sudden, miraculous turn for the better because she’d unleashed
her inner demon upon her friends so she decided to do something productive. “You’re
roots are showing. You want me to clean that up for you?”

“Is
that a peace offering?” Lily asked.

“Yes.”
She admitted freely. “Am I doing it right?”

“Not
really, but I'll order a fresh bottle of Manic Panic and a bleach kit. You can
do my whole head.”

“Sounds
like a plan,” Jane agreed. “When we get the bleach processing I'll try out a
few new drinks on you.”

“Oh,
hell.” Chloe’s voice was flush with anxiety since they’d had their share of bad
things happen when the two of them mixed hair dye with cocktails.

“Oh,
come one.” Jane reassured her. “It's not like I'm going to get out the clippers
and shave the back of your head,”

“I'd
rather we didn't repeat that one.” Chloe lets out a long, mournful sigh. “I
still can't look at gin and not miss that chunk of hair.”

“Hair
grows back.” Jane snapped. “And that bottle of Hendrick’s was amazeballs and
you know it.”

“Why
is it Chloe never gets to do anything to your hair?” Lily asked.

“Because
there's nothing to do with my hair. It's straight. It's brown. End of story.
Chloe’s hair, on the other hand, requires a lot of upkeep and since she refuses
to spend any real money on getting it taken care of properly she’s stuck with
me.”

“If
you were a real friend you’d offer to pay for her to go to a salon.” Lily gave
her customary eye roll as reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of
bills. “So? You gonna text that girl or what?”

3.

It was half past
ten when
Jane caught sight of Harper standing at the far end of the bar. She was wearing
a faded Sex Pistols tee-shirt and a pair of those hipster glasses Lily mentioned.

The
band was in full swing and the place was packed. As profitable at the night was
going to be for everyone it wasn’t the good for socializing unless you were
drunk and horny and didn’t give a crap what people were talking about.

“You
up for a bit of the hard stuff tonight?” She shouted over the noise.

“I’ll
take whatever you’ve got.” Harper pulls out a crisp hundred and holds it out
for her to take.

“Why
do I get the impression you’re not talking about drinks,” she teased and
slipped the cash into the front of her apron before hopping up on the
stepladder. There was a bottle of Midleton Irish Whiskey she’d been dying to
crack open for the longest time and Harper seemed like the kind of customer who
would appreciate it.

“Three
bartenders?” Harper motioned to the two other women working behind the counter.
“Band must be pretty good.”

“I
wouldn’t say there were good, but it's Saturday night and people need somewhere
to go.” Jane answered. “Seems like you’re out of luck again.”

“I
got your text.” Harper shook her head.

“What
are you talking about?” Jane broke the seal on the bottle and grabbed a clean
glass.

“The
text you sent me.” Harper reached into her pocket, pulled out her iPhone and
hit the message icon before holding it up for Jane to read:

‘Good band tonight.

Come check them out.

Jane’

Jane’s
face went hot and her skin felt like she’d been dipped in scalding water. It
was a miserable feeling and she wanted it to go away. “I didn't send that to
you.” Her hands shook just enough for her to notice but she’d be damned if she
was going to spill alcohol on the clean bar top with Harper watching.

“You're
the only one who has my number.” Harper stated as Jane slid the drink in front
of her.

“In
the entire world?” Jane put the screwed the cap back on the bottle and set it
on the counter behind the bar. She’d already been up the ladder once tonight,
she figured she’d play it safe and assume Harper would want another drink
before too long.

“Just
you and my mom.” Harper stated as downed her drink.

“Maybe
the text was from your mom?” Jane suggests with a laugh before filling up the
glass one more time. “Maybe ‘Jane’ is her secret spy name?”

“My
mother’s name is Feather and she doesn't believe in having a cell phone. Or a
computer or a television.” She informed Jane. “She also doesn’t believe in
having a microwave or electricity or eating anything that didn’t grow out of
the ground and I seriously doubt she’s got a secret spy name.”

“Sweet
mother of god,” Jane laughed. “She's a hippie.”

“No.”
Harper shook her head, pressed the glass to her lips and took the drink. “My
grandparents were hippies. She and my dad were raised on a commune, and crunchy
habits die hard.”

Jane
took a breath to clear her head but it felt like an impossible task., the air
is thick and all around her people were screaming and the band was playing at
the loudest possible volume. As much as she wanted to blame her growing anxiety
on external distractions she had to admit to that the real problem was the overwhelming
desire to stand in one spot and feed Harper whiskey till the sun came up.

Jane
reached out, took the iPhone from Harper’s hand and stared at the screen as her
brain ran the phone number through its memory banks. It’s wasn’t a long process
since she’d been dialing that exact number for years.

Fucking Lily

“That's
my roommate’s number.”  She told Harper after handing back the phone.  “I
didn't text you. She did.”

“You
gave her my number?” Instead of looking sad and forlorn Harper shot her a look
that said she wasn’t buying what Jane was trying to sell.

“Calm
down, Hotshot,” Jane replied. “I didn’t hand your number over to anyone. I put
the napkin on the coffee table while we were eating dinner and Lily picked it
up. She probably had it memorized before she put it back down. She’s sneaky
like that.”

“So,
you guys were talking about me?” Harper’s expression transitioned from suspicious
to smug in an instant.

“It’s
no biggie.” She topped off her little lie with a casual shrug, and started cleaning
up the empty, abandoned glasses before Charlie had a chance to get in her way. “We
talk about people from this place all the time.”

 “And
then you’re roommate just decided to text me?”

“You’re
making a big deal over nothing,” Jane said as she took an order for a vodka
gimlet.

“Are
you sure?”

“Yes,
and you need a drink.”

“You're
the mixologist. What do you recommend?”

 “Mixologist?”
She scoffed at Harper’s blatant attempt to blow rainbow colored, unicorn smoke
up her ass. “Where's you hear that line of bullshit?”

“Portland
Magazine.” Harper replied. “They did a spread on local bartenders a few years
ago. You were on the cover.”

“Were
you creeping on me?” She laughed as she filled an order for a round of tequila
shots.

“No.
But I checked out the club’s website and it had a link to the article.
Apparently you're one of the best bartenders in the city.”

“It's
a small city” she chuckled. “The pool is pretty limited.”

“Wow.”
Harper ran a hand through her hair and looked a little dismayed that her sweet
talk had fallen flat. “You just do not know how to take a compliment, do you?”

Jane
took an order for a mojito and gave her a sour face. “How about a Rusty Nail?”

“For
my coffin?”

“For
your gut,” answered Jane. “It's a drink. Scotch and Drambuie.”

“Sounds
good.”

Jane
could feel Harper watching as she took more orders. In her head she knew she
should be angry at Lily but pretending she wasn’t interested in Harper was
getting difficult.

She
saved Harper’s drink for last even though she took the order first. She figured
it was the only way to carve out a little space for thirty seconds worth of
small talk with the girl she was starting to like.

“You
still haven’t told me about the band?” She asked when Jane set the honey
colored drink in front of her. “Good or bad?”

“If
you were really here for the band you'd be over by the stage and not over here
making googly-eyes at me.” Jane made one more attempt at playing hard to get
before giving up and admitting she was sweet on her new favorite customer.  

Harper
smiled and for a brief second Jane was certain she was about to lean across the
bar and kiss her. Instead Harper picked up her drink, moved off the barstool
and disappeared into the crowd, and Jane was left alone to wonder if she’d
managed to completely fuck things up.

*****

The band was
halfway through its second set when Harper decided it was time to head back to
Riley’s. The night turned out to be a complete bust; the band was as lifeless
as overcooked macaroni, she’d had way too many sweaty male bodies ‘accidently’
pressed against her and she wasn’t in the mood to withstand one more verbal
go-round a girl who clearly wasn’t interested.

Setting
her empty glass on the nearest available table she was heading toward the exit when
a familiar looking redhead, with a serving tray tucked under her arm, placed a firm
hand on her arm.

“Can
I help you?” Harper asked as she tried to pull away.

“Your
name is Harper? Right?” The redhead eyed her carefully for a moment before a
smile spread over her face.

“Yes,”
she replied.

“Okay,
cool. Hold this.” The waitress shoved the tray into Harper’s hands and pulled a
set of keys from the front pocket of her apron. “You need to come with me.”

“No,
I don’t.” Harper answered back.

“Look,
this is important.” The waitress gave her a push against the wall and opened a
large set of doors that Harper hadn’t noticed before. “It’s about Jane.”

Harper
held still as the waitress gave a quick look down the hallway and then motioned
for her to follow her past the doors. Harper had seen enough horror movies to
know that this was usually when the axe murder showed up and started chopping
people into tiny pieces.

“Come
on,” the waitress said as she popped her head back through the doorway and grabbed
a handful of Harper’s shirt.

Harper
dug in her heels but holding firm wasn’t an easy task. The girl might’ve been
several inches shorter but she had both the element of surprise and brute
strength on her side.

“Stop
it,” Harper hissed as she tried to pry the waitress’s fingers from her shirt.

“Jesus
fuck,” the waitress grumbled as she manhandled Harper past the doors. “I’m
trying to help you.”

“How
is this helping me?” Harper struggled to pull away from her but it was wasted
effort since the girl pushed her up against the wall and held her steady.

“Charlie’s
just told me he was taking over for Jane. She’s about to go on break and she
always comes out here to drink her soda in peace.” The waitress announced
conspiratorially. “All you have to do is be in here waiting for her, and then
it’s all about you turning on the charm.”

Harper
felt her breath hitch in her chest as she realized she probably wasn’t about to
be robbed or beaten to death with a serving tray. “I don’t really think she’s
all that interested in-”

“Yes,
she is.” The waitress interrupted before loosening her grip on Harper’s shirt. “It’s
just that she’s the kind of person who needs to be cornered every once in a
while.”

“What
if I’m not very good at doing the cornering?” Harper let out a breath as she
found her footing and tried to make for the door.

It
wasn’t much of an escape attempt since all the waitress had to do was give her
another push up against the wall and Harper was instantly paralyzed. She
assumed it was the result of a childhood spent among pacifists and stoners.

“Improvise,”
the waitress said as she opened the door and slipped back out.

Harper
stood in stunned silence, unable to move, while the door clicked shut, and the
unmistakable sound of a lock turning echoed in the empty courtyard. She wasn’t
sure how things had gotten so weird so fast,  all she’d been trying to do was
leave before she could get tangled up in another attempt at making friends with
Jane.

She
stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jeans and took stock of their
contents before pulling out her phone. Getting reception wasn’t a problem but
Riley was the only person she knew in town and he was in Boston so he wasn’t
going to be able to help her get out of the situation gracefully.  Harper
shoved the phone back into her pocket. It seemed like pounding on the door
until someone let her out was her only option if she wanted to make it out
before Jane showed up.

Harper
was moving toward the door when make a run for it because she figured that it
was only going to make things worse but it was difficult to think straight with
the heavy pounding of blood in her ears.

“Jane?”
She asked as the unmistakable figure of a woman came into view. “Is that you?”

“Harper?”
Jane held the door open for a second before crossing the threshold and closing
it behind her. “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m
not sure,” she stammered nervously. “I got lost.”

“Lost?”
Jane reached for the wall directly to the right of the door and flipped on the
lights and everything came into view. She wasn’t standing in an empty courtyard
like she’d assumed. It was an abandoned eating area fitted with tables and
chairs and a high fence with lattice roof covered in green vines and fairy
lights.

And
there was Jane.

Harper
held her breath for a moment and stopped hating the crazy waitress who’d
stuffed her through the doors.

“I
was headed to the bathroom and must’ve gotten turned around,” she stammered like
a nervous teenager, obviously, lying and improvising were not her strong suits.

“But
how did you get in here?” Jane turned the handle on the door and closed it shut
before setting her can of soda on the hostess stand and crossing her arms over
her chest. “The door’s always locked.”

“I’m
not really sure,” Harper said with a sigh. “I was trying to leave and I got stuffed
in here and that girl told me to improvise.”

“What
is that supposed to mean?” Jane narrowed her eyes for a second before tilting
her head to the side as if she were trying to remember something.

“The
waitress with the red hair-”