Rock'n Tapestries (5 page)

“S’up,
Chels?”  She dumped the remainder of the soggy lemons and limes into the
garbage disposal and pushed the button. 

“Not
much.  Think I may have made enough money tonight to pay off my car.  Now I can
get my own apartment.”

She
raised her eyebrows and smiled.  “That’s awesome!”

I
took a drink of my Pepsi then pushed at the lemon floating on the top.  I
thought carefully of what I wanted to say next.

“How
did you enjoy working with Asher tonight?”  I tried to keep my tone nonchalant,
but my voice sounded like someone crinkling aluminum foil. It was a stupid
question to ask—a crazy, high school girl thought—but I wanted to collect
allies in the event that people starting picking sides.  Something inside me
wanted to make him the bad guy.

“Oh
my God, if I were in my mid-twenties I’d be all over that like ugly on an ape.”
Marybeth shook her head and laughed.  “He’s a charmer, that one. Nice ass too.”

I
slumped in my chair, running my fingertips through the drops of water on the
outside of my glass.  What could I say that wouldn’t make me sound like a
rejected bitch?

She
peered up at me as she scrubbed the small stainless-steel sink under the bar. 
“Willow told me about you and Asher.”

I
felt my cheeks go hot.  “Willow should keep her mouth shut.”

“She
only told me what I already suspected. A blind man could see you have feelings
for him.”

“I
do
not
have feelings for him.  He’s ancient history.  He was incapable
of keeping his dick behind his zipper, and I don’t share.”  I tried not to
sound angry. Angry meant I cared, and I didn’t.

“He
talked about you a lot tonight.  Kept looking over the crowd to see if he could
see you.”

“You
mean the crowd of sluts at the end of the bar?  The ones he was making drinks
for?  Which one of those walking vaginas did he take home with him?”

Uh-oh.
  I was headed into dangerous
territory. This was so not me.  I didn’t want to sound like I sounded.  I took
a deep breath. 

Marybeth
turned to the liquor shelves in front of the mirror and grabbed a bottle of
Captain Morgan spiced rum.  She poured a shot into my Pepsi, her eyes never
leaving mine.

“I
shouldn’t be drinking and driving,” I mumbled.

“One
shot’s not going to fuck you up.”  She leaned across the bar on her elbows. 
“Tell me what happened.”

I
bet Marybeth Catalino was awesome when she was twenty-four.  She’s awesome now.
She’s short—about five feet tall—solid and stocky, long dirty-blonde hair.  I
wouldn’t want to be the one to cross her.  She looks a little weathered, but it
suits her, like a fine patina on a copper statue.  I know she’s had a rough
life.  I think she said once she had a husband who beat her so badly she had to
be hospitalized.  She said the smartest, wisest things sometimes, and we girls
hung on her every word. 

I
opened a vein for Marybeth that night.  I told her everything, right down to
how my gut still clenched with a longing ache every single time I thought of
him.  I told her I didn’t think I’d ever get over him, that my foolish,
treacherous body still wanted to present itself to Asher on a silver platter. 
I told her I was pathetic, stupid, it would never be what I wanted it to be.  I
told her I wanted babies and a house of my own and I was the dumbest bitch on
the planet to dream of that kind of a life with him.

She
just listened, bobbing her head occasionally, handing me a tissue when my pain
started to leak out my eyes.  I felt a little better afterward. I dunno—maybe I
needed to purge like that.

When
I was done, I slumped across the bar as if I were a popped balloon, spent,
exhausted. 

She
twitched her lips into a slight smile. “Y’know, I always thought women should
be more like men.”

“What?”
I lifted my gaze to her.  “Why?”

She
laughed sardonically.  “Let’s face it.  You can order the best part of a man
from an Adam & Eve catalog.  And yet...”  She pulled a stool around the end
of the bar and sat in front of me.  “I like sex. Once in a while, I get the
urge to make that connection with a man.  To have him hold me, touch me. 
They’re warm, and I like the way they smell.  I like the way their lips feel on
mine; the way the stubble on their chin rakes across my face.  You can’t get
that from a dildo.”

“Marybeth!” 
My cheeks went hot with embarrassment.

She
laughed.  “I like all that, and yet I don’t want a man in my life.  I think in
that regard, I’m  more like a man.  I want the sex with no commitment, no
strings. It’s less complicated that way.”

“Maybe
so, but I’m young yet.  I want the dream.  I want a guy who thinks I hung the
moon. I want someone to love me so hard he thinks he’ll die without me.  I want
a guy who thinks I’m the sexiest thing he’s ever seen and has eyes only for
me.”

She
scowled then chuckled.  “Jesus Christ, Chelsea.  Life is not a fucking romance
novel.  That’s where you young girls trip yourselves up.  You think your life
is going to be a Cinderella story, and I’m here to tell you it’s not going to
be like that at all. I have pins holding my right shoulder together that give
the lie to that ‘cherished princess’ bullshit.”  She sighed and reached across
to pat my hand.  “I get it though.  I felt just like you did once.   And I’m
sure some women do get the fairy tale.  I didn’t.”

So
here we sat at 3:30 a.m. on East Carson Street in Pittsburgh,
Pennsylvania—Marybeth and me—losers in the love department, kindred spirits in
pain.  I knew she’d opened a vein for me as well, and I appreciated it. 

“What
am I gonna do, Marybeth?” I whispered past the lump in my throat.  “I don’t
know what he wants from me.  I don’t know if I can work here if he does.”

“He’s
working here because of you, you know.”

“I
know. Ever since he carried me out of the freezer and took me to the hospital,
he seems to want to start something up again.  I just don’t....my heart is not
going to be able to take it.”

She
smiled a mysterious smile and nodded,  intent on tearing a straw wrapper
apart.  She does stuff like that when she’s thinking. 

“Well,
whatever you decide to do, don’t pretend you don’t have choices here.”

“What?”

“You
can’t control what Asher does. You can only control how you react to him.  You
get to choose.  Quit Tapestries, if that’s your choice.  But if it were me, I’d
buddy up to that son-of-a-bitch like he was my best friend.”

I
narrowed my eyes and shook my head.  “I don’t follow.”

“You
need a little hair of the dog that bit you, sweetheart. If it were me, I’d want
to know what happened, so I could get some perspective. Sometimes to get over
something, you have to see it for the mind-fuck it is. I can tell you one
thing: avoiding him is not going to work.  You’re a challenge to him right
now.  Men love it when a woman ignores them. He’s going to pursue you until you
give in. Take your power back, Chels. 
You
go after
him.
Make him
tell you what happened.”

I
stared open-mouthed at her. She was suggesting that I actually
interact
with that asshole.  It was inconceivable.

“I
can’t do that.  I’ll just get my hopes up again, and he’ll hurt me.  I still
haven’t recovered from the last time he body-slammed my heart.”

She
shrugged and looked annoyed.  “Oh, big deal.  Boo hoo, you’ll get hurt.  And
you’ll find a way to deal with it and move on.  It’s what women do, Chels. 
It’s what makes us strong. It’s what makes us
better
.”

I
met with Willow the next day at McDonald’s for lunch, hoping to run Marybeth’s
theories past her.  We both slid into a booth, trays in hand. 

“Marybeth
used the term ‘hair of the dog.’ I had some idea what it meant, but I had to
ask my dad to be sure.  It basically means I should immerse myself in the very
thing that caused me pain.” I blew out a breath as I opened my fish sandwich. 
“And that just seems like the stupidest contradiction in terms ever. Why would
I
do
that to myself?” I shook my head.  “Seems like a strange way to get
over someone.  By being around them.”

“Marybeth
is a woman of the sixties.  They did a lot of that deep introspection thinking
stuff back then. Still, she’s awesome smart, and she’s been through a lot in
her life. She should know what she’s talking about.” Willow canted her head and
looked at me.  “I thought about you last night. I don’t want to sound like
Marybeth, but I think what happens next is totally up to you.  You can’t ignore
him.  You have to ask him to make drinks for customers, so you’ll have to talk
to him.”  She shoved a wad of French fries into her mouth, chewed, and
swallowed. “That means you have two choices: you can be rotten as hell, or you
can be reasonably nice. I mean, you don’t have to go jumping into his lap or
anything, but  can you at least find a way to talk to him without verbally
tearing his balls off?  I guess it depends on what kind of a working
environment you want to have.” She shrugged.  “Personally, I’d talk to him. I
think that might flip him out more than if you were mean. If you can find a way
to be around him without feeling like you want to cut his throat, it
could
help you get over him. He’s just a guy, Chelsea.  You give him way too much
power.”

I
stared at her.   It had never occurred to me that what happened next was
totally up to me. I couldn’t stop Asher from working at Tapestries, but I
could
decide how I reacted.  I don’t know where it came from, but I
suddenly had an epiphany. Sometimes you just get it. 

If I
were ever going to get over Asher Pratt, I would have to tear the scab off the
wound and pour alcohol on it.  I would have to be like one of those
snake-handlers who injects himself with a little bit of venom every day to
develop an immunity to the snakes he plays with. 

I
took a bite of my sandwich and nodded.  I swear I heard the Wonder Woman theme
song playing in my head. I’d made the decision to take my power back.

“Hey,
Asher.”  I slid my crossed arms across the bar and smiled at him in the mirror.
He was replacing the pour spouts on the liquor bottles behind the bar with
clean ones.

I
would’ve totally missed it if I hadn’t known him. He picked his head up and
looked at me in the mirror. His mouth was slightly open; his eyes were round
with shock.  He held that look for a nanosecond then it was gone.

He
turned around slowly, eyebrows slightly arched in a question. I smiled
inwardly.

Willow
and Marybeth had been right about talking to him.  It was the last thing he
expected from me. I’d thrown him a curve, and it was interesting to watch him
react to it.

“Hey,
Chelsea.”  He opened one of the drawers under the bar and deposited the extra
pour spouts into it.  He bent over while he did it, more than was strictly
necessary.  I think he was trying to hide his surprise. “How are you today?”

“Oh,
I’m just fine. And you?” I smiled at him.

A
breath left him in a tiny huff, barely perceptible. His eyes widened again, and
I thought I saw him shiver a little.  Yep, the frontal assault had been the way
to go.

“Dandy.” 
He picked up a towel and began to wipe the dishwasher spots off the glasses
we’d need for that night. It was Friday, and The Sinister Spiders were playing
at Tapestries. They attracted an odd crowd: black and blacker were the only
colors their fans wore.   Both males and females wore enough makeup to rival
Marilyn Manson.

“Asher,
can I ask a favor of you?”

Amusement
lit his eyes; a slight smile quivered across his lips.  “Chelsea Whitaker
asking me for a favor. Let me fix this moment in my mind forever.” He put his
fingers to his temples and closed his eyes.

“If
you don’t want to do it, just say so.” I flounced off the chair and started to
walk away.  “There’s no reason to get sarcastic about it.” 

The
frontal assault had hit a snag.  I’d have to withdraw and regroup.

He
ran to the end of the bar and stopped me with a grip on my arm. “I didn’t mean
to say it sarcastically.  I’d do anything for you, Chels.”

Anything
but stay faithful
. 
I shook my head.  Now was not the time to think like that.

I peered
up at him.  He smiled at me, a smile so blinding I momentarily forgot where I
was.

“Er...yeah.
Uhm.”

“You
wanted to ask a favor of me?”

“Oh,
yeah.  I’m getting my own apartment soon, but Mom and Dad are on a cruise right
now.  I have tomorrow off—I think you do too...”  I took a deep breath. Once I
said it, it couldn’t be unsaid. Did I really want to go there?

I
blew out a breath. “Would you want to tag along with me and check out some
apartments?  I mean, I need someone to look at an apartment with a man’s eye
for repairs and fixing things, and with Dad gone, I just—“

“I’d
love to go,” he blurted. His hand tightened on my upper arm. “But I do have to
work an early shift here.  I’m off at one.”

Grinning
inside again. Baited, hooked, reeling him in.  

“I’ll
pick you up here then.” I extricated my arm from his hand and made my way
toward the back room.

“Chels...?”
he called when I was nearly to the door.

I
turned back to him. “Hm?”

“Can
I...will you...do you want to go to dinner tomorrow night?”

I
froze.  He looked like a little boy asking for a puppy. 

Let’s
get one thing straight: if Asher Pratt has a weakness, he takes care not to let
anyone see it.  He’s excellent at throwing up walls to keep you out just as you
were about to step in. 

Yet
there was an air of vulnerability about him now. The look on his face was
hopeful.

You’re
a fool,
my rational
self screamed.
Run!

As I
stood in the doorway of the back room of Tapestries staring up into the face of
the man who’d stolen my heart and had not yet deigned to give it back, my
less-rational self responded, 
Maybe it’ll be different this time, Chelsea.
 

The
next day I was in the parking lot of Tapestries at 12:30 p.m.  I was feeling a
bit cranky for being so eager to see him, yet I was anxious to test myself. 
Could I be around Asher without feeling as though my insides were on fire?

Soon,
he sprinted out the back door, his gaze searching the parking lot.  When he saw
me, that beautiful smile spread across his face as he hurried toward me.

I inhaled
deeply, held it, and tried to get my bearings.  At this point, I still had a
choice.  I could still close the door and avoid further pain.  But avoiding the
pain hadn’t worked; in fact, it had caused more.  Hair of the dog, indeed.

I
let the breath out in a whoosh just as he opened the door and hopped into my
car.

“God,
I couldn’t wait to see you.  I didn’t think the hands on the clock were ever
going to  move.”  He leaned toward me, just a bit.  I thought for one second he
was going to try to kiss me, and there was no way I was going to let that
happen. I’d have to immunize myself to him by degrees.  His lips on mine were a
no-no today.

He
drew back and stared at me, blinked, then smiled again.  “So where are we going
first?”

“I
have four apartments to look at today,“ I said as I started the car. “I’d like
to take one of them if possible.  I really need to get out of Mom and Dad’s
house.  I’m ready to live on my own.”

“Sounds
cool.” He nodded and buckled his seatbelt.  “Thanks for asking me to go along.”

The
first two apartments were beautiful but way out of my price range.  The third
one was up three flights of stairs, smelled like piss, and would’ve needed
cleaning with a pressure washer and several gallons of bleach.  The fourth one
seemed to be perfect for me.

It
was small, only one bedroom, but the bathroom was large with a tub for the
long, nightly soaks I enjoyed.  The kitchen was straight out of the 1970s
(Harvest Gold!), but it came with all appliances.  The living room was the size
of a large cardboard box, but I could live with it.  It was clean, and all
utilities except TV were included in the rent. There was lots of parking in the
alley behind the house. Best of all, it was within my price range and fairly
close to Tapestries.

I
gazed around in wonder. I was so excited.  This was the one—I just knew it! I
was finally going to be out on my own.

“So,
what do you think?” I asked Asher, who was jiggling the hardware on the toilet.

“It’s
nice, Chels.  I see some things that need fixed and tightened up, and I hate
the colors in the living room, but I’ll help you paint if you want.”

I
clapped my hands together in front me as a shiver of delight settled down my
spine.  “Oh God, this is the one.  I’m going to do it.  I’m going to sign a
lease for this one.”

“I
think it’s perfect for you,” he said. “I’ll help you move if you want.” 

 
Swept away by the emotion of the moment, I threw my arms around Asher’s neck
and gave him a big squeeze.  Almost immediately, I realized I was in trouble. 
I tried to step back, but one arm went around me, locking me solidly against
his body as he stared into my eyes.

I
blew out a breath mingled with a tiny, pathetic squeak as I was absorbed into
those damned orbs of his.  Asher’s lean body pressed the entire length of mine
was causing fireworks to shoot  off inside my skull.

Still,
I might’ve been okay if he hadn’t dropped one hand to cup my ass, pulling it
against the raging hard-on he had.  My mind automatically pictured him naked, 
thought of what he’d
done
to me with that cock.  And those hands and
that mouth...