Irony has a laugh at my expense when she walks in the room right as I land on “Foxy Lady”. I chuckle, and she looks to the radio, then me before cracking up also.
“I hope that’s your way of giving me a compliment,” she says.
I shrug. “Take it how you want.”
“You look good.” Her observation appears to have taken her as much off-guard as it did me. Her eyes fall to the floor the second she finishes saying it.
“You look better.” I smile. “ At least you’ll take the heat off me, though. Gets tiring being the sexiest person in the bar all the time.”
She smirks—head tipped to the left and all—then socks me in the arm. Jeez. Twice in one afternoon she’s openly touched me. A week ago I would have needed to pry her arms from over her body.
I don’t know what’s sparked the change within her, but I sure as fuck ain’t complaining about it. This side of Jane: her humor, her laughter, and her confidence are a breath of fresh air.
“Tigger and Bronx are already at the joint, so let’s head out, huh?”
She nods, and takes my offered arm. “Are all your friends the same as you? I mean, with unusual names?”
I shake my head. “Nah, babe. Malice isn’t my given name.”
“Oh.” She giggles as I let her go to walk out front ahead of me. “I thought your parents must have had a sense of humor.”
“Not a good one.” I laugh, pat Rocco on the head, and shut him in the backyard. “It’s a nickname I picked up a while ago.”
“Can I ask your real name, then?”
Dammit. I knew this day would come. “Do you have to?”
Her face drops. “I guess not.” Jane gets into the pick-up, leaving me standing with my arms resting on the roof, cursing my stupidity.
I drop in beside her, and take her hand. “Don’t do that—take everything so personally. It’s embarrassing, is all.”
“It can’t be that bad. I went to school with a kid named Jack Horner. Imagine the stick he got.”
I die inside, knowing I never should have opened my fucking trap. Why did I tell her Malice isn’t my real name? I should have run with it. Fuckwit.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” I double-check.
She gives me the most sincere nod, yet I can still spot the tiny tweak at the corners of her lips.
“My birth name”—I cover my face with both hands—“is Alice.”
The darkness is comforting, and I choose to keep my hands in place while silence surrounds us. Then I hear it. The tiniest of noises, but she did it. She laughed.
I drop my hands, and look at her: red-faced, smiling, and holding her hand to her mouth.
“Oh my God,” she finally blurts out in a run of words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but that . . . sucks!”
“You’re telling me.”
“Why the hell did they call you that?”
“Alice Cooper? I don’t know. I never asked in case the answer was worse.”
She snorts, and shakes her head. “That’s cruel.”
“Yeah, well. Let’s say it was the start of why I grew to resent my father as a teenager.”
“Only your father?” She snickers, but the faux pas isn’t funny to me. I’ve gone and revealed another little part of myself.
“Yeah.”
“Jeez. Your mother gets off lightly.”
“Happens when she’s dead.” I start the pick-up, put it in gear, and punch the accelerator.
She’s staring at me; I’m not blind. I can figure out her expression from what I can see in my peripheral.
“I’m sorry I started that conversation, Malice.”
I shrug. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t know.”
“How old were you?”
I sigh, and grip the steering wheel a little tighter. “Six.”
She doesn’t offer any more words, and I love that about her. She knows that useless ‘I’m sorrys’, and ‘that must have been hards’ won’t change the fact my mother died.
Her hand rests atop my leg, and I let go of the wheel with one of mine to place it over hers.
“Tell me about Tigger and Bronx. What am I in for?”
I can’t help but smile at her blatant change of subject. I give her hand a little squeeze, and start to tell her about the guys who will make sure she doesn’t forget tonight in a long time.
THE MUSIC resonates deep in my chest, and my hips start to sway of their own accord as I walk. It’s been so long since I was allowed to let loose that I forgot how easy the beat takes you over. A three-piece band plays on a low stage at one end of the bar: two guitars, and a harmonica. The bluesy, country music they play is fast, and capped with a heavy bass. I like it. I like the way it makes me feel. I like the fact it makes me want to let go.