Lily White Lies(51)

“Okay then.” Holding up the proper number of fingers, I said, “Kevin, I’ll have two more screwdrivers please...” I paused briefly, and then added, “And, you can put them in one, big glass.”

Kevin shook his head, threw a hand towel over his shoulder, and said, “You got it, Meg,” as he turned and walked away.

I saw him motion to Charlotte, who stood at the other end of the bar, talking to girls from college whose names presently escaped me. Before Kevin could fix my drink, Charlotte had joined Popeye and me.

She glanced briefly at each of the two men and then looked keenly at me. Guiding me to the barstool directly behind her, she said, “Meg honey, you having a good time?”

Instead of answering her, my attention was on Kevin and the empty glass that was supposed to be holding my drink.

“Meg, how are you feeling? Are you okay? How about we get you dancing awhile, maybe work off some of that liquor. Sound good?” She turned her back toward me and I heard her whisper, ‘No more, Kevin’.

Ignoring what I heard, I shrugged and she wasted no time leading me to the crowd of dancers who had been enjoying the band for the better part of the night. When we reached the pavement, she turned me around and I found myself facing Popeye and his outstretched hand. My shoulders slumped as I let out a sigh of defeat. I had resigned to the fact that no matter how flustered I was around him and no matter how much I didn’t want him to know what he was doing to me, I would have to dance with him. With any luck, when we were through, he would walk away and leave me to regret everything I said—or didn’t say.

As I placed my hand in his, he sweetly said, “I promise not to step on your feet, Meg,” as he pulled me closer with his free hand.

I forced a smile and silently sang along with the band to a beautiful rendition of ‘High Enough’. Without invitation, my thoughts crept into the lyrics of the song. I couldn’t help but notice how good he smelled or how nicely my head fit into the contour of his chest. I thought I felt his grip tighten, but I wouldn’t have sworn to it. My head was spinning so it was difficult to figure out which one of us was breathing hard, but I was certain it wasn’t me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know he had any effect on me.

I couldn’t remember this song ever being so long, but tonight, it seemed to go on endlessly as Popeye slowly circled me around the paved dance floor.

I felt his hand make one, slow pass up and down my back, when I accidentally thought aloud, “You’re a good dancer.”

At some point, my silent singing became vocal humming. Closing my eyes, I inhaled one deep breath of his scent and prayed for another verse to the song.





Fifteen





...The line between good girls and bad girls was very fine, but very well defined. It was a line I was always careful not to cross but I had never in my life wished for anything as hard as I wished that I could be the girl in the mirror...





I couldn’t pinpoint the moment the music and laughter became rumbles of thunder and pounding rain, but to give it any thought hurt everything except my hair. A sudden flash of light burst through the window followed by an ear-piercing crack that ricocheted throughout my throbbing head. The simple act of opening my eyes required effort and if I knew nothing else, I knew I would surely vomit if I were to sit upright too fast.

I was unable to focus on anything but I did glimpse enough to know I wasn’t anywhere I’d ever been before. From the knotty pine walls to the garden box windows and beamed ceiling, as I was seeing this room for the first time, there was also something unexplainably familiar about my surroundings.

Shallow breaths filled the gaps between throbbing and wincing. I rolled slowly to the side of the bed, braving an attempt to swing my legs over the edge. As much as I would have liked to pull the quilt up over my head until sobriety returned to my body, the urge to use the bathroom would not allow such a luxury.

A stifled, ‘shit’ slipped from between my gritted teeth as I tried to balance myself in a standing position. With one hand on my forehead and the other grasping the mattress for support, I scanned the room for a door.

I suddenly realized that the one familiarity about the room was its three, large vases of fresh flowers. Cory had a penchant for fresh flowers—and candles—in every room, no matter the cost or the time of year. I had been to Cory’s house enough times to know that this wasn’t it, but I was certain I was at one of several homes owned by her family. I had absolutely no recollection of arriving here and my pounding head told me that I had drank too much the previous night to recall much of anything.