Bachelor Number Five (The Bachelor Series, Volume 1) (15 page)

“What are you guys drinking?” Peter asked his friends.

“Stella for me,” said Blake.

“Metropolitan, thanks,” said Anika.

“Yo, barkeep, a Stella and a metropolitan!” Peter called out to Sabrina, who was ringing up another customer nearby.  She looked up and nodded before turning back to her screen.  “It’s best to drink up now, before this place gets crowded,” Peter said to Amanda.  “An hour from now this bar will be a madhouse.”

“Good to know.”

“You sure you don’t want anything?”

Amanda looked toward Anika.  “I’ll have a metropolitan, too,” she said, wondering what that even was. 

“You got it.”  Peter waved to Sabrina, who was pouring Blake’s beer.  “Yo Sabrina, make that two metropolitans!”  Sabrina nodded again.  Peter rose from his barstool and motioned to Anika.  “Go ahead, take my seat.”

“Thanks.”  Anika sat down, crossing her smooth, tanned legs.

“So I hear that you’re new in town,” Blake said to Amanda.

“Yeah, just over a week now.”

“How’s life in the big city treating you?”

“It takes some getting used to.”

“What brought you out here?”

“I was looking for a change.  Everyone thinks I’m here to be a movie star, but I’m not.”

Sabrina put Blake’s beer on the bar.  Next she pulled out two empty martini glasses, lining them up in front of herself and dropping in some ice cubes before reaching for the shaker.

“I didn’t order a martini!” said Amanda.

“A metropolitan, right?”  Sabrina paused to look at her with confusion mixed with a hint of disdain.

“Uh, yeah… Right…”  Amanda flushed red.

Sabrina scooped some ice into the shaker and then reached for a bottle of black currant vodka and poured in two shots worth.  This was followed by a splash of orange liqueur, what looked like cranberry juice and a few squirts of lime juice.  Amanda watched carefully as Sabrina put the lid on top and shook the mixture several times.  She took the lid back off and poured the drink evenly between the two glasses.  When she was finished she lifted them, one in each hand, and placed them on the bar.  The whole process took about fifteen seconds.  “Anything else?”

“Not yet, thanks,” said Peter.

Sabrina added the drinks to Peter’s tab and then darted off to her next waiting customer.

“You’ve never had a metropolitan before, have you?” Anika asked.

“Is it that obvious?” Amanda replied.

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”  Anika lifted hers from the bar and Amanda followed suit.

“To Amanda’s new job,” said Peter.

“Is that what we’re celebrating?” Blake asked.

“Absolutely.”

They tapped the rims of their glasses and Amanda sipped her drink.  It was slightly sweet and fruity, yet with a tart aftertaste that nearly hid the potency of the vodka.  Anika was right.  The drink wasn’t bad.

“Do you like it?” Anika asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Amanda replied.  “I could get used to drinking these.”

By the time this first cocktail was halfway gone, Amanda already felt it.  She’d always been a bit of a lightweight.  Peter downed the last of his own and ordered another round for everyone, once again on his tab.  Despite her earlier intentions to pay her own way, Amanda gave up and let him.  It was easier not to fight it.

“Why don’t we go downstairs and dance?” said Peter as Sabrina lined their fresh drinks up along the bar.

“I think we should go to the VIP lounge,” Anika answered.

“There’s no dancing in the VIP lounge.”

“So what, you can dance later!”

“You just want to see some movie stars,” said Peter.

Amanda perked up.  Movie stars?  Amanda wanted to see some movie stars!  She couldn’t help but wonder who might be up there right now…  Not that Grant was a movie star, though Amanda felt that if he
was
in this club, he’d be in the VIP lounge.  Wouldn’t he? 

“I don’t care about movie stars!” Anika said with an air of contempt.

“So why do you want to go up there?!”

“They treat you better up there.”

“Don’t you have to be a VIP to get in?” Amanda was half afraid to sound foolish just in asking.

“Anika is a specialist,” said Blake.  “There’s no lounge in town she can’t talk her way into.  It’s kind of her thing.”

“I’m connected, what can I say?” Anika replied.

“Come on, let’s dance.”  Peter lifted his drink to his lips and gulped half of it down.  Amanda managed to finish off her first.  She picked up her second from the bar and stood to follow.  Peter led the group to one side of the room and then down a wide set of stairs.  “The music is better down here!” he shouted to Amanda over the booming electronic beats.  It all sounded pretty much the same to her, though she’d never say so.

The basement section was darker, with strobes and colored lights bouncing off a mist of artificial fog.  A large dance floor was more crowded than the one upstairs.  Peter took another big swig from his martini and placed his glass on a shelf attached to one wall.  Amanda swallowed as much as she could from her own and put her glass beside his.  How she’d ever dance to this strange music she didn’t know.  “Follow me!” said Peter.  The group of four made their way to the center of the dance floor, where Peter found some space and then started to move.  Amanda closed her eyes.  The music pulsed through her veins, vibrating from her toes and her fingertips, along her limbs, picking up speed as it moved through her core and gathering in her inner ear where it pounded a repetitive beat.  There seemed nothing to do but lose herself in it, just like everyone else in the room, and so Amanda danced, from one song into the next and then the next, hardly able to decipher where one ended and the following track began.

The crowd continued to swell until there seemed no room to move, arms and legs and bodies bumping into her on all sides.  A thin sheen of perspiration covered her skin, yet still Amanda moved to the rhythm.  It’s what she was supposed to be doing.  It’s what everyone else was doing.  She tried to keep her eyes on Peter when she could.  At first it seemed that they were dancing together but then he somehow drifted away and into the swarming multitudes.  She still saw Anika, strutting her stuff in front of a group of strange men.  Anika was obviously enjoying herself.  So were the men.  Indeed, this whole experience was meant to be fun, yet for Amanda it was not.  That realization was like a switch tripping in her brain.  She stopped where she was, the lone inanimate being in a swaying mass of motion.  Arms and bodies continued to bump and nudge her.  Peter was now completely lost in the crowd.  She saw no signs of Blake either.  To search amidst this chaos was more than Amanda could contemplate.  Instead, she bolted toward the exit, pushing and weaving her way through the crush of humanity and then hurrying up the stairs.

When she got to the top, Amanda held onto a railing and stopped to catch her breath.  Revelers continued pushing past in both directions.  The ground floor was now throbbing with energy as well.  Amanda needed some air.  She needed to hear herself think.  She moved past the bar and was searching for somewhere to go, an empty table or quieter corner, when she felt a hand grasp her shoulder from behind.  She turned to see Peter looking at her with a concerned expression.  “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I think so,” Amanda answered, breathing heavily.

“I saw you rushing off.  I thought that something might be wrong.”

“No, nothing…  I didn’t see you…”

“You’re sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine.  You should go back to your friends.”

“They can take care of themselves.  You want to sit down for a while?”  He showed genuine concern.

Amanda nodded.  She did, desperately want to sit down for a while.  Peter led her to a smaller staircase that wound up and around to the mezzanine on top of the bar.  The tables here were mostly full but Amanda spotted a couple rising from one on the far side, just along the rail.  “There!” she pointed and then surprised herself by taking Peter’s hand as she led him across.  It wasn’t intentional, just blind instinct, but with his hand in hers Amanda felt a rush of adrenaline.  She knew she’d better be careful.  She didn’t want to end up becoming just another one of his casualties.  When they got to the table she let go and they sat facing one another, each with a view of the action below.  A cocktail waitress arrived to clear the empty glasses from the table between them.

“Can I get you something?” the waitress asked.

“What will you have?” Peter asked Amanda.

“Nothing for me.”

“Come on, you’ve got to have something.”

“Fine.”  Amanda thought for a second.  “I’ll have a coke.”

The server turned toward Peter.  “It looks like I’m drinking alone,” he said.  “I’ll have a limoncello.”

“What’s that?” Amanda asked.

“Lemon liqueur, from Italy.  You should try some, you’d like it.”

“Ok, but only if I can get this round,” Amanda answered.

“I won’t argue.”

“Do you still want the coke?” the waitress asked.

“No thanks.”

The waitress nodded and moved away.

“You’re trying to make a drinker out of me, aren’t you?” said Amanda.

“You don’t like this place much, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“What bothers you so much?  The music, the crowds…?”

“All of the above?”

“We can go someplace else if you’d like.”

“What about your friends?”

“They won’t care.  I’ll text them and let them know we left.”

“That’s all right.  I’m perfectly happy up here away from the mayhem.”  Amanda looked over the railing at the activity buzzing below.  Once again she wondered if Grant was somewhere down there amongst the seething throng.  Amanda tried in vain to spot her quarry.  The fact that he apparently liked these kinds of places was hard to square with her image of him.  Was it possible that she had him all wrong?  Maybe he, too, was a slick, cologne-wearing party boy.  But that just didn’t make sense.  Why, then, would he go on the show?  Why would he want to get married?  The whole concept of Grant coming to a place like this seemed a paradox.  It was the last type of place he’d ever find a marriage-minded girl.  Amanda could understand Peter trolling the dance floors, but Grant?  What also made no sense was the fact that Peter was sitting here with her right now instead of picking up on chicks in the basement himself.  She was hit with a wave of suspicion.  “Why are you being so nice to me?”  She turned back toward Peter.

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“You don’t have to do me any favors.  I’m not a charity case.”

“What favors?  You think I’m sitting here because I feel sorry for you?”

Amanda considered his response.  “I don’t know what to think.”  She was embarrassed to tell him the truth but there seemed to be no other way out.  “From what I’ve seen so far, I get the sense that I’m not really your type.”

“How do you know what my type is?”

“Come on, look at me!  Sitting here in my funeral dress with my shiny black pumps!  I’ve seen the girls you end up with and I’m definitely not one of them!”

Peter seemed pained by the comment.  “You must have an awfully low opinion of me.”

“Or maybe of myself.”

“You’re over-thinking things.  I like your company.  Can’t you just accept that?  It doesn’t have anything to do with what my type is, or what kind of dress you’re wearing, or your shiny shoes.  I enjoy your company.  Deal with it!”

Amanda was shocked at first but then cracked a light smile.  She was saved from responding by the cocktail waitress who returned with a tray of drinks.  “Two limoncellos,” she said, lifting the small glasses full of yellow liquid, one after the other, and placing them on the table.

“I’ve got this one.”  Amanda opened her small purse.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I insist.  That was the deal.”  Amanda turned to the server.  “How much is it?”

“Twenty-six dollars.”

“Twenty-six?!  Amanda looked back to those tiny little glasses in disbelief.

“I seriously don’t mind pitching in,” said Peter.

“No!” Amanda nearly shouted.  “I got it!”  She fished some bills from her purse and tossed them on the server’s tray.  “Keep the change.”

“Thanks.”  The server put the money in a leather wallet and then moved on to her next table.

Peter lifted his glass.  “Thank you for that.”

“No problem.”  Amanda picked up her own.  “Is this an all-in-one-go kind of thing or do you sip it?”

“I prefer to sip it.”

“I’d hope so, for thirteen bucks a pop,” Amanda scoffed.  “I’m gonna make it last.”

“Cheers,” said Peter.

“To your health,” Amanda replied.  They tapped their glasses and each took a drink.  Sweet.  Potent.  Lemony.  “Not bad,” she said.

“Glad you like it.”

Amanda realized that she actually was having fun now.  Why was that?  Because she had him all to herself?  She quickly set that notion aside.  It was a dangerous idea.  He enjoyed her company, sure, but that didn’t mean this was going anywhere or that she even wanted it to.