On Every Street (5 page)

At first I froze to the spot, paralyzed with hatred and fear.
If he had cared enough to glance in my direction toward the end of the driveway, I would have been seen. I was in disguise and there was no way he’d recognize me even without it, but I had to be as unmemorable as possible. Luckily he got into his car, while I gathered up my wits and kept walking, making myself promise to never be caught so emotionally compromised again. Just seeing him in the flesh, knowing he was so real, so alive, and doing so damn well for himself, made me feel like my guts were bleeding out on to the ground. If one glance was already unraveling me, how was I going to survive the long con?

After I saw him, I went back to the tiny apartment I had rented in Biloxi and drank myself into a coma
, questioning if I was really cut out for this. But the answer, which I found somewhere in the fifth can of Miller Lite, was yes, I was. I’d come too far to give up. I had seen my mark today. And I had to get started on my other one.

The next day, I resumed my amateur stakeout, parking f
arther down the road and hiding out in the wild tangle of bushes that ran between the gated community and his house. I saw a few men pulling up to the house in a dark SUV. There were three of them, all obviously bad news. None of them seemed like someone I could even imagine seducing, but I knew that it didn’t matter in the long run. I thought about turning away and giving up my ghost, but I couldn’t do that either.

Finally, a few days later, I spotted the man with the haunting eyes.
The man in the sharp linen suit, the mix of casual elegance. I saw him visit day in and day out, and when I saw him and Travis together, I knew he was someone with potential. Travis seemed both enamored and frightened of him. That’s all I needed to know.

So I started
following that man, who drove off in his vintage Pontiac GTO, a car that only added to his burgeoning sex appeal. I followed him to his beautiful white house on the beach of Ocean Springs. I sat outside his house at night, wondering when I’d lost my mind. I sat outside his favorite coffee shop, wondering when I’d gather up the nerve.

And then one day, I did find the nerve. On that day, I met Javier.

CHAPTER FOUR

It took a good forty-eight hours of staring at Javier’s cream
-colored business card before I decided to call him. In that forty-eight hours, I’d managed to throw up several times from stress, found a job down the street as a bartender (hey, Eden White is of legal age), and watched several porn movies on my computer. Yeah, I know, porn’s not exactly the best teacher of sexual skills, but I was going to have to get comfortable with the idea of sex and seduction somehow.

Actually, in a weird way the porn helped with my mindset. The actresses were
fake to the teeth and faking everything. That was their job and it wasn’t any different from my job. I had a fake name and a fake life, and I was probably going to have to spread my legs for someone to get what I wanted. They wanted money and I wanted revenge, but our reasons didn’t matter, only what we had to do to get it.

Only I wasn’t going to be seducing just anyone. It was going to be Javier Bernal, a consultant for things that I could only imagine. Part of me was disgusted that I was trying to win over a man who might be hired to pour acid down other girls
’ legs, a man who could make the cons I pulled look like child’s play. The other part of me was intrigued, excited and awash with newfound lust. When I watched a girl with fake tits getting done against the wall by some Spanish lothario, I touched myself, imagining I was doing the same with Javier. I’d only met the guy once and already he was getting under my skin, and in more ways than one.

I was just about to start my first shift at the bar, named Hogan’s Heroes for some strange reason, when I decided I was already nervous enough for that, so why not add to it. With twitching fingers I entered in his phone number and brought my cell to my ear.

It barely rang before it was snatched up.

“Hello
.” His smooth voice came over the line.

I nearly choked on my nerves. “Hello, is this Javier?”

There was a pause. My heart thudded once.

“Yes. Is this Eden White?”

I couldn’t help but smile. It felt traitorous. “You recognized my voice.”

“I could never forget your voice. You sound like
an angel who’s gotten her wings dirty.”

I bit my lip, almost laughing at what he said. How forward he was. How
right
he was. 

He went on
. “I’m glad you called. I was afraid you weren’t going to. I thought maybe I’d scared you away. I don’t normally pick up women at coffee shops.”

“You’re not scary,” I found myself saying, and the odd thing was, he suddenly wasn’t. I was the scary one here. I was the one with the plan.

“I’m glad you feel that way. I must admit, I felt like a bit of a jackass just giving you my business card and asking you to call me. A real man would have pursued you.”

“I have no doubt you’re a real man,” I remarked coyly, dancing from foot to foot. Who was this person suddenly flirting with this stranger?

“And I have no doubt I won’t stop
pursuing you after this. So, Friday night. That’s tomorrow. Why don’t we bump it up a day and I’ll see you tonight?”

I rubbed at my forehead. “Well, I work tonight. It’s actually my first shift.”

“You’re too pretty to work.”

“Yeah well
, pretty doesn’t pay the bills.”

“I bet it could. And so where is this new job of yours?”

I sat down on the worn couch that came with the apartment. The whole thing had come furnished, and everything that was mine was still in my suitcases, afraid to become permanent.

“It’s at Hogan
’s Heroes,” I said with a hint of embarrassment. “It’s just some bar downtown.”

“Ocean Springs?”

“Biloxi.”

“What were you doing in Ocean Springs the other day?” he asked. He sounded curious, not suspicious, but it didn’t stop me from nervously sliding my feet on the carpet.

“Checking out the area, that’s all.”

“Checking out the men?”

“That was lucky,” I said breezily.

“Very lucky.
For both of us. When do you get off your shift?”

“I don’t know, I think it’s just from eight till close. But I don’t work tomorrow, so you know, I’d love to see you.” I realize
d how desperate I sounded so I added, “You know, if you still want to go out.” Man, I was so bad at this.

Another pause.
He made an agreeable little sound.

“I do. And I will see you tomorrow. I’ve got your number now and you can bet I’
ll be persistent. So good luck on your first day, Eden.”

“Thank you
,” I said breathlessly, then hung up. My heart was racing and my blood was on fire. Adrenaline made everything feel alive. I was almost…giddy. But whether it was because I was one step closer to my goal or because I was talking to Javier himself, I didn’t know. All I did know was that I went into my bedroom and started unpacking my suitcase, hanging things in my new closets for the first time.

***

I’d worked as a waitress for a few months in Colorado once, at this small mom and pop-style Italian restaurant. I actually did do some bartending for them on the weekends, which meant I knew how to make some drinks, even though I was underage. Of course, my resume now said I had worked at a whole slew of places that didn’t exist, with Gus acting as a fake reference for when the time came. But Eden White got lucky with Hogan’s Heroes. It seemed all I needed to work there was breasts, ass, and sass.

It was a bit intimidating at first. The other
bartenders were wearing mini-skirts and stilettos, both things I could only dream of wearing because of my scarring and nerve damage in that leg, and they seemed to know everything. They poured their drinks fast and neat, knew the names of almost every customer, and handled the men’s ogling with ease.

Me, well I messed up a lot of the first drinks I got and did a silent prayer of thanks every time someone ordered something as easy as a beer or a glass of wine. My feet, clad in wedge boots, were sore after two hours and I kept blushing and stammering awkwardly whenever some rowdy man tried to hit on me. Yeah, I had been hit on a lot before, but
there was a reason I avoided clubs and bars.

Thankfully, as the
hours ticked past and last call was approaching, I sort of got the hang of things. The good thing about having the men lusting after you like a bunch of drunk idiots was that they never noticed if you messed up and put Smirnoff in their top shelf gin martini or skipped the Triple Sec in their margarita. They just wanted to get drunk and then they wanted you.

“Hey
, sugar tits,” I heard someone slur from behind me while I was putting cash in the register.

I rolled my eyes and took in a deep breath. I turned around to see some slobbering, ruddy-faced douche in typical collegiate gear: a burgundy and white striped polo shirt, light jeans. His hair was blonde and spikey. His eyes were glazed, complimenting his jerk face.

He was leaning over the bar, waving his hand like he was trying to grab at me. It made me uncomfortable and I backed up till my back hit the register.

“Can I help you?” I asked
, deciding to ignore the sugar tits comment. He had a few buddies beside him who were chugging back beers and laughing like morons. At the other end of the bar Julie and Deanne were busy helping customers. I eyed the clock on the far wall. Last call wouldn’t come soon enough.

“Yeah I want another drink and your number.”

“You’re not getting both,” I said quickly, remembering what the manager, Steve, had told me about cutting off people who were too drunk. Hogan’s Heroes attracted the rowdies from Thursday thru Sunday, but it was a still a respectable joint where lots of regulars came to relax after work. I was fully in my right to refuse him and was expected to do so if people got out of hand.

The guy’s face grew redder. “What? You can’t refuse me a drink!”

Now his buddies had stopped laughing and were looking at me with a dumb expression, which wasn’t too far from their usual one.

I glanced down the bar again but Julie and Deanne were still busy. I was going to have to handle this on my own.

“I didn’t say I was refusing you a drink. I’m refusing you my number.” I tried to hide the shaking in my voice. It was ridiculous how out of my element I felt. Conning, sure, sometimes I had nerves of steel. But bartending? Dealing with drunk dickheads? I was shaking like a leaf.

“Listen, bitch,” the guy said
harshly, leaning even more now, his hand no longer reaching for me but for the bottles of alcohol underneath the bar. “Just because you’re new here doesn’t mean you’re too good for me. I’ve been coming here for years.”

I swallowed hard and straightened up. “And I’ve been here for a few hours. But guess what, now you’re not getting a drink, either. You’re cut off.
Funny how that goes.”

“Aw
, what?!” one of his douchey friends said, spilling beer onto the counter. “Way to go, Tom! You’ve pissed off our bartender.”

Tom grabbed a bottle of vodka in his hands and brought
it up from out of the bar. I reacted, reaching forward for it but he snatched it away, shoving me back with one hand. He poured the drink in his empty glass and slammed it back.

“Hey, you fuck!” I yelled
, forgetting any pretenses. “That’s stealing!”

He wiped his disgusting mouth and reached into his pocket. He took out a wad of twenties and threw them over the bar and onto the ground.

“It’s not stealing, I’m just helping myself because the service here sucks!” he yelled back, pouring himself another glass.

“I’m reporting you!”
I said, finally snatching the vodka away from him.

“Oh yeah, good luck with that,” he said
, laughing. “No one’s going to back you up.” His friends started laughing with him, slapping him on the back like he’d just said the most clever thing in the world.

Tom slammed the vodka,
then slid it down the counter, away from me. “Thanks for the drink, sugar tits.”

Oh, I was mad. I was so mad. And what made it worse was that Tom was still standing there across from me, watching me with morbid lust, like I was his next meal.

“Excuse me,” I heard a familiar voice say. A voice that made my insides fizz like happy champagne, bursting away the anger. Maybe the wrong voice to make me feel that way, but there was no denying it.

That s
omeone tapped on Tom’s shoulder and the giant slowly turned around. There was Javier, just behind him. Compared to the frat boys, Javier wasn’t very tall, maybe 5’10” while the rest of them were over six feet. They looked like ogres, blundering beasts, while he remained cool and collected, lithe like a lizard. He shot me a quick look with those sharp eyes of his and gave me a barely perceptible nod, before fastening his gaze on Tom.