The Break-Up Psychic (4 page)

“No, thank you! I think I’m done with men for a while. Anyway, I’ve made a new resolution not to date any more of my ‘type,’” I say, fingers raised in quotation marks. “This is the beginning of a whole new Ellie. From now on, no more bad boys.”

“Well then, this is perfect because he
ain’t
a bad boy! He’s my Cousin Peg’s kid. He’s got a real good job with the state government, he has all his own hair, and not for nothing, he serves as a junior deacon at United Methodist over on Cherry Avenue.” Brook’s smile sometimes scares me more than Amber’s. All I need is to become her new pet project. God or deacon help me.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say. “I think I need to be on my own for a while.”

“Now don’t you worry, I’ll sort out everything. I just know you’re going to love him!” Brook pats me on the arm and moves away, her eyes glazed over in pet-project euphoria. My psychic senses are already telling me this will lead nowhere good.

“Hey, honey, how was your day?” Luanne calls from the kitchen as I walk through the front door.

“Well, Brook broke it off with the
Kar
King and then I licked her wrist. Other than that, same-old, same-old.”

Luanne saunters into the living room carrying two plates of spaghetti, hands one to me and sits down on the sofa, her face stony as a granite quarry.

“Still better than my day. My truck broke down on the way to work and I couldn’t call anybody for help because I forgot to charge my dang cell-phone last night. By the time I made it to the bank that fat old bat Cara Lynn fired me for being late again. I told her, ‘That’s fine with me but I
ain’t
withdrawing my ass from this bank until someone calls me a tow truck!’”

“Oh no! Where’s your truck now?”

“It’s down at that body shop on 5
^th
Street, waiting for a miracle. Apparently the radiator’s shot because of a faulty cooling system. Imagine that, a faulty cooling system during summer in Texas.” Luanne digs into her spaghetti with vigor but all I can do is push the food around my plate. My stomach is still all twisted up in knots over what happened with Tim, and I haven’t found my appetite yet.

“It’s going to cost an arm and a leg to get it fixed,” Luanne continues. “I guess I owe Angel a big-fat thank you for being such a lazy-ass.”

“Lu, let me pay for the repairs. I don’t know how long I’ll be staying here with you and I want to contribute.”

“Under other circumstances I wouldn’t hear of it, but I’ve got a tuition payment coming up next week that I can’t be late on.”

Luanne produces a fresh beauty school application from the pocket of her apron and shrugs her shoulders at me. If there’s anyone on this planet who understands big Texas hair, it’s her. She can tease the sex appeal out of a Mormon. On several occasions she’s tried to tame my long wavy hair into a proper debutant up-do, but even her skilled fingers can’t tame these rebellious locks.

“I’ll swing by the shop on the way to work tomorrow and write them a check. What’re you going to do about another job?” I ask, trying a small bite of the spaghetti.

“I guess I’ll talk to Aunt Jo about picking up a few more shifts at The Cavern,” she says through a mouth full of pasta. “I think I’ll be able to squeeze out three extra shifts a week until I can find something else. Speaking of, I need to get going if I’m
gonna
cover Angel’s shift tonight.”

Luanne takes her half-eaten plate of spaghetti back to the kitchen before disappearing into the bathroom. I take advantage of her absence and fish my cell phone out my purse. Amber forced me to turn it off and remove it from sight after I checked it for the five-hundredth time today. I know it’s weak of me to want to hear Tim’s voice, but I can’t help it. I mean, he could at least do me the courtesy of calling so that I can hang up on him.

I wait for the tell-tale beep, but there’re no messages. No boyfriend. No two-hundred and fifty guest list wedding tastefully set under the canopy of a white tent on a warm Texas night. No babies or family portraits at that cute little photography studio downtown. No happily ever after. I wish I could cry but I think I’ve used up all my tears already. I know he wasn’t The One, but I really wanted him to be. Mostly, I just didn’t want to get hurt again.

“I hope you’re not going to sit around feeling sorry for yourself all night.” Luanne comes strutting out of her bedroom like it’s New York Fashion Week, wearing a pair of skin tight blue jeans and a tiny white tank-top.

“That’s what you’re wearing to work?” I ask, brows lifted. “It’s kind of a rough bar. Won’t those guys be all over you if you’re dressed like that?”

“It’s all about the tips, baby. Now, get your skinny butt off that sofa and into something sexy. You’re coming with me.”

“Ha!” I laugh. “I don’t think so.” I turn toward the TV and lift a forkful of spaghetti to my mouth, ignoring Luanne. Silly me. Luanne doesn’t get ignored.

She marches across space and plants herself in front of the set. “Come on now, I’m serious. You’ve got to get right back in the saddle and I’m going to make sure you do it.”

“I don’t feel like it tonight, okay? I just want to stay here and watch some bad reality television.”

“Listen, honey, there’s no worse or more interesting reality than down at The Cavern, so let’s get going. I put a sexy little outfit together for you on the bed.” Luanne, hands on her hips and foot tapping against the floor, refuses to move from her spot in front of the TV.

Luanne 1, Ellie 0.

The bar is full of raucous bikers and grizzly oil-riggers. I claim a stool at the end of the bar nearest to the door in case I need to make a quick getaway. It’s too dark inside to tell, but I’m pretty sure two of
America’s Most Wanted
are shooting pool in the back and the old guy next to me is dead. I haven’t seen him move once since I walked in and his tight grip on the shot glass in front of him may be the onset of rigor mortis. I gently poke him in the shoulder and hear him grunt a little. Thank God.

“Oh, don’t mind him, that’s just old Hart,” Luanne says, bringing me a beer and tying an apron around her waist. “He falls asleep after his third shot. Hart!” Luanne yells, leaning over the bar to get close to the old man’s right ear.

Hart jolts awake and snaps his head up, his grip on the glass steady. “Yeah,
darlin
’, I’ll take another,” he says, unaware that he had, moments before, been mistaken for a fresh corpse.

“Like hell you will,” says Luanne. “Hart, this is my friend, Ellie. Ellie, this dirty old rascal is Hart, the worst tipper in Cavern history.”

I smile at Hart who takes his time to look me over with murky, cataract eyes.

“Huh, doesn’t look like a friend of yours,” he says to Luanne.

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean?” she asks.

“It means that most of the friends I’ve seen you with look like a bunch o’ harlots. This one here looks like she
ain’t
never stepped foot in a place like this before.”

“Well, I guess that’s true enough, but you be nice to her anyway. She’s just getting over a break-up with her fella.”

“Is that right?” asks Hart. “Who would break up with a pretty little thing like you?”

I admit, even coming from the mouth of a seventy-plus year old man with naked lady tattoos on his forearms, the compliment feels good.

“Now, I said to be nice to her, not to hit on her,” Luanne scolds. “Don’t let him put his hands on you, Ellie. He’s a dirty old dog who can’t be trusted.” Luanne leaves us, sashaying her way down the bar, eliciting catcalls and offers of marriage as she goes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Hart.” I stick out my hand and shake his gnarled old grip which feels warm and comforting. “Do you come here a lot?”

“Every day for the past forty-two years.”

“Wow, that’s a long time. Do you mind if I ask why?”

Hart places his empty whiskey glass over a well-worn sweat ring on the bar and shakes his head slowly. “I like the peanuts.”

“Peanuts? For forty-two years?”

“Good peanuts.”

My psychic alarm bells twinge. This is about a woman. A woman that can keep a man coming back to a dirty, dark old bar day after day for the past forty-two years. I’m on the verge of telling Hart my theory when I notice some men walking through the door to my left. They certainly match the clientele of the bar—cowboy boots, blue jeans, and scruffy faces in need of a good shave, but one of them catches my eye. He’s over six feet tall with unruly sandy brown hair and is H-O-T, hot. I know I’m staring and that I’m not the only woman in the bar gaping open-mouthed at him.

“Humph,” I hear Hart grunt next to me.

“Do you know those guys?” I ask. The hunk with the wild hair is clapping some of his buddies on the back, ignoring a few of the women that made a beeline for him the moment he stepped foot in the bar.

“They’re trouble, that’s who they are. You don’t need to know no more about them. Luanne! Get me another one,” he yells, agitated, waving his empty shot glass in the air.

At Hart’s shout the man I’ve been ogling looks over and catches me staring at him. I know I should turn my eyes away at this point. I’m sure I look like a fish caught on a line, but I can’t help it. His eyes do not waver from my own as he leaves his friends and heads straight for me.

“How you doing, Hart?” the man asks, squeezing one of the old man’s shoulders and finally taking his eyes off me.

“How does it look like I’m
doin
’?” Hart replies. “Luanne, where’s my drink!”

“In a minute, you mean old coot!” Luanne hollers back.

Now instead of staring at him with my mouth hanging open, I’m staring at him with a ridiculously big smile on my face. That’s right, Ellie, stay cool.

“Hi, I’m Sam.”

I move my lips to reply with an elegant yet seductive introduction but instead of words, a weird strangled noise makes its way up from my gut to my lips. Sam smiles wider at me and I refocus my efforts to use language he may actually understand. “Uh, yeah, hi,” I say. “I’m Ellie.” Totally nailed it.

The hand he extends to me is strong and a little rough, and my smaller one all but disappears inside his large grip. His warm skin makes my flesh tingle, and I can’t seem to drop the handshake after an appropriate amount of time. When he finally releases me, I realize my hand is trembling and I grab my knee to prevent him noticing.

I watch as Sam flexes the hand that’d been holding mine, and something like surprise or recognition flashes in his eyes. It lasts only a second before he reaches over to squeeze Hart’s shoulder and turns his attention to the older man. “So what’re you doing hanging out with old Hart here?” His smile makes his eyes crinkle with mischief.

I know I ought to be concentrating on what he’s saying, but all I can think about is the dimple on his right cheek. I want to lick that dimple. Is that an appropriate post-breakup thing to do? “Hart’s keeping me company while I wait on Luanne,” I stammer. Don’t lick the dimple.

“Luanne, huh? She’s a feisty one.”

“Believe me, you have no idea.”

His laugh is rich and deep and makes my stomach flutter. I nervously uncross and re-cross my legs. The skirt I borrowed from Luanne is far too short to be seen as decent, and I’m overly conscious of Sam’s eyes on me as I move in my chair to a more comfortable position.

“So you’re a friend of Luanne’s, and Hart’s obviously taken with you. What’s your story?” he asks.

I can’t think of what to say. Do I tell him I’m just an average girl from east Texas with the psychic ability to spot a doomed relationship coming? Something I’ve got plenty of experience in, by the way. Or do I lead by telling him that yesterday I walked in on my boyfriend giving it to our neighbor, doggie-style? “I don’t know. I guess it hasn’t been written yet,” I finally manage. “What about you?”

Hart grunts disapprovingly beside me but Sam ignores him. “It’s a long story. Might take some time to tell it.”

“Sam!” One of his friends is calling him over to a pool table where a new game is set to begin. Sam yells something back but I’m concentrating too hard on the strong muscles of his neck and shoulders to pay any attention to what he’s saying. I only look away in time when he turns back to face me, though I’m sure the hot blush I feel spreading across my cheeks has given me away.

“I guess it’ll have to wait for another time. I need to get back to my friends. It was nice meeting you, Ellie. Maybe we’ll see one another again soon,” he says, backing away from the bar.

I awkwardly wave goodbye and watch as Sam rejoins his friends. I know the best thing for me would be to never set eyes on him again, but, man, look at that ass.

“Here’s your damn whiskey. Happy now?” Luanne pours a fresh shot in Hart’s glass and takes stock of my moony expression. “What the hell happened to you?”

“She went and found her some trouble,” says Hart.

Boy, did I ever.

I’m on my way out of the apartment when I hear an alert chime on my cell phone, notifying me of a new voice message. The noise makes my heart bang against my chest. What if it’s Tim calling to beg my forgiveness? Do I agree to meet him? Should I price out a castration kit before doing so? The cell phone feels heavy in my hand as I press the voicemail command.