“You’re ridiculous.”
Sliding the grilled cheese on to a plate, I joined Monica at the table. Neon yellow cheese oozed out of the sides of the toasted white bread. It was an edible masterpiece, which reminded me of something. I removed the postcard about the art show from my pocket. On the front, red, yellow and orange blended together to form a portrait of a woman. Her eyes were out of balance with the rest of her face, however, they were captivating. Haunting almost. Her irises shone black as a starless sky and hid away an aching pain. Underneath the portrait was the title, “Shattered Consequences.” A shiver sent goose bumps to rise on my arms.
Monica peered at the postcard, curiously. “What is that?”
“I was invited to an art show on Saturday by Andrew, the painter himself.”
She snatched it out of my hands and examined the postcard from all angles as her expression grew to disbelief. “Holy shit. Do you know who this is?”
Was she hard of hearing? “Yes, Andrew. He is the artist who came into my coffee shop today and saved me from getting strangled by an overworked corporate fat cat.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. He put the dude into an arm lock and made him apologize for being rude.”
“Wow, that’s pretty awesome.” Monica slapped the postcard face up. “Everybody says Andrew is an elusive and incredibly private man.”
My eyebrows bunched together. “What are you talking about? Who are they?”
“Everybody. Andrew is known as a creative genius with the magical touch of success. Last year, he opened a pop up coffee shop in Corktown. Lines snaked around the block and the coffee was hailed as liquid gold.”
Jesus. Andrew was that Andrew. I’d read about him in the Detroit News but like Monica said, he was elusive. Cameras weren’t allowed at any of his openings and since people respected him, they followed that rule.
Another tidbit of news popped into my head. “Wasn’t he also the spear header of taking over abandoned lots and turning them into edible food gardens?”
“Probably. He is a modern day renaissance man.”
“I can’t believe I met him,” I murmured.
Monica leaned over the table, thirsty for gossip but there was little to tell. Our conversation, while memorable, was brief. Nonetheless, she was like a dog with a bone.
“Come on,” Monica whined. “You met the great Andrew. Was he breathtakingly gorgeous? I want every detail down to what size shoe he was wearing.”
“Seriously? His shoe size?”
“Yeah….” A mischievous glimmer twinkled in her eyes. “I want to know if his greatness extends to his crotch.”
My shoulders shook with laughter. It would be widely unfair to the male population if Andrew were truly gifted in all areas. Although, based on his large strong hands, I had a feeling he wouldn’t disappoint as far as the main event was concerned. They were hands that wouldn’t let you go until you were satiated with pleasure.
Monica snapped her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Haven.”
I stored my sexy daydream away for later and turned my attention back to Monica. “What?”
“What do you mean, what? DETAILS!”
“He has longish hair, brown eyes and dresses like a skater boy.”
Monica scoffed. “You only got two A’s in high school. One in science and the other in creative writing. You can do better than that.”
“Fine.”
I conjured up a mental image of Andrew. It wasn’t hard. His face was hard to forget. “His eyes are the color of soot framed by a pair of eyelashes women everywhere would long for. His six-foot-one build is comprised of lean muscle and gifted genes. A five o’clock shadow dusts his high cheekbones. I didn’t see what shoes he was wearing or what size they were. Sorry.”
Monica’s mouth gaped open. “He sounds like sex on a stick.”
Now that I thought about it, Andrew was sex on a stick. He didn’t have tattoos covering his arms or have danger written on his forehead. What he did have was a far more attractive subtle hotness
I shrugged. “You can say that.”
“Don’t act so nonchalant. I have known you since we were in third grade. This Andrew had an effect on you.”
“Only because he was an intriguing person. He dressed like a skater boy, acted like a badass, and talked like he stepped out of private school. The man is a walking contradiction.”
“Sex on a stick, walking contradiction… he sounds exactly up your alley.”
I playfully slapped her arm. “Whatever. Do you want to go with me to this art show?”
“Wish I could, but Tolgan and I have a date.”
Tolgan was Monica’s latest fling. Granted, he’d lasted longer than the others but he was the sweetest guy on earth while Monica was a grade-A bitch. She got off on control and eventually her strangle hold on others gets old.
“Oh ok, that’s fine.” My hands fidgeted with the postcard. “I’ll go alone.”
“Don’t act like I pissed in your tea. You will be the sexiest bitch at his art opening. I’ll make sure of it.
“Thanks.”
Monica glanced at her watch and cursed. Rising from her chair, she wobbled precariously on her heels, than straightened. “One day, I’ll stick my manager in these torture devices called stilettos and see how he likes it.”
“Since he is a former sumo wrestler, I doubt there is a high heel big enough.”
“True dat.” She blew me an air kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
“Bye.”
Monica’s signature Chanel No. 5 perfume lingered long after she left. I opened my kitchen window and crawled onto the fire escape. The signature smells of city living wafted under my nose. Rotting garbage, exhaust fumes, and Chinese food. Yummy. Hugging my knees to my chest, I watched the sun explode into a fiery orange ball and toasted to a new day.
Being a barista at The Roasted Bean wasn’t my only job. This past week I got hired as a shot girl at an exclusive gentleman’s club that catered to the rich and famous. Rogue wasn’t a sleazy joint. It couldn’t be when men paid three grand for a VIP booth. Then again, I wouldn’t say it was classy either. Half-naked woman gyrated on poles; red velvet curtains lined the walls, and blackout windows warped time. The owner, Linda, had taken over the business from her father, which was sweet in a weird way. She was also fair and never stiffed any of her employees. As long as the men kept their hands to themselves, there were worse side gigs out there.
Thursday was Rogue’s busiest night. Drinks were half-off, so liquor flowed like water and made the crowd rowdier than it already was. Couldn’t complain though, tips were at a premium. I adjusted my bra to ensure the tissue paper was properly distributed. The first night I worked here, Linda told me my A-cup boobs wouldn’t cut it. Either I stuffed or got boob implants. I went with the cheaper option.
Billy, the bartender twirled a bottle of jack and poured it into a shot glass. “How’s your night going, Haven?”
“Not bad. How bout yourself?”
“Could be worse. My son finally started potty training so I don’t have to come into work reeking like shit anymore.”
My eyes widened in surprise. “You have a son?”
Billy was the last person I thought would have a kid. He was a tough talking born and bred Boston boy. The word “mortem” (death in Latin) was tattooed on his knuckles and his shaved head showed off a skull on his neck.
“Yeah, you want to see a picture?” Billy pulled a photograph out of his shirt pocket and slid it across the bar. A gap-toothed two-year-old smiled up at me. “Isn’t he adorable?”
“You make good babies.”
“Thanks, but it’s all my wife, Carmen. She is the sexiest woman alive and everyday I’m thankful she has stuck with me.”
“Seems like you’re both lucky.”
Billy titled his head as a thoughtful expression flashed across his face. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. We are both lucky.”