Blue Persuasion Page 4

  I laughed again, and this time he joined in.

  His laughter transformed his face, causing his dark eyes to sparkle. The moment passed too quickly.

  “Do you still ride?” I asked.

  “Yes, but not as often anymore. I make sure to do the charity runs like Toys for Tots and love to take a long ride on a cool winter’s day. Did you know you crinkle your nose when you’re thinking?” He didn’t wait for me to respond. “Cat tells me you’re working on a novel. What do you write about?”

  “That’s personal.”

  “Oh. I was under the impression that you’d like to publish your work someday.”

  I sighed heavily. “Yeah, that’s true, but I don’t really know if what I’m writing is any good.”

  “You haven’t let anyone read it?”

  “No. It’s my escape and my dream, and I’m not ready to find out I’m wasting my time.”

  “I can understand that. Dreams and reality are rarely in alignment.” A flash of regret played across his features, quickly replaced by the stern set of his lips. “However, if you ever want some feedback, I’ve got a lot of experience with storyline help and editing.”

  “Yeah, thanks, I don’t know.” I was so caught up in the conversation I hadn’t realized two new people had sat at the bar.

  “Judy, can you take their order?” Stuart asked, tilting his head toward the end of the bar. The bar manager had come up behind me without my being aware.

  “Oh, yeah. Going,” I responded, looking at Tate in question and then breaking eye contact.

  More patrons filed over to the bar, and I mixed and pulled their drinks. I could feel Tate’s stare like the red laser light at the end of a sharp shooter’s rifle. The heat of his attention followed me everywhere. Before I could change my mind, I stalked back over to him. “I’m probably going to regret this, but are you free Wednesday night?”

  “Yes,” he muttered in what sounded like a breath of relief.

  “Let me talk to a few people, and I’ll let you know. This isn’t a date. I want to make that clear.”

  “Agreed. Think about letting me look over some of your work.”

  “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but would you mind taking off?”

  He held my stare, and I didn’t immediately back down. He seemed to know that his presence was an intense distraction, and I didn’t much care for his astute cognizance. Without breaking the connection, he fished money out of his wallet and lay it down in front of him.

  I gave in and reached for the bills.

  “I’ll take off, but first let me give you my number.”

  I punched a few buttons on my phone and brought up the address book. “Here.” I offered him my phone.

  His fingers brushed mine, and I gasped in response. He seemed to have zero reaction to the contact.

  I felt my nipples responding again. They were like rebellious teenagers. I wrapped my arms around my chest and waited for Tate to give me back my phone.

  When he replaced it in my hand, he said, “See you soon.”

  As soon as he left, I could feel my pulse settle and my shoulders relax. Seeing him again seemed stupid and problematic. And yet, he seemed to have a sad story of his own that I was now curious about. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say, and part of me wanted to track down one particular Cat.

  Tap 42 steadily picked up and even with four of us behind the bar, we mixed drinks non-stop, pulled beers, filled the ice bucket, ran the register, and cleaned glasses. When it got that busy, even the pushy guys didn’t expect to get my attention for more than a second or two.

  Since I opened that night, I didn’t have to stay until closing. Once the crowd at the bar began to die down, I was able to leave for the night.

  CHAPTER THREE

  You Could Be Happy

  by Snow Patrol

  For most people, Sunday morning was either a day for rest or religion. My Sunday, however, included the women’s group and meeting my mother’s latest “wallet.” Neither prospect felt the least bit appealing as I sat eating oatmeal at the kitchen table by the window.

  I usually felt better after attending the women’s group, that is, if Charmaine didn’t show. She had a major bug up her butt about me and usually gave me a hard time. Without her there, it felt more like a supportive group of women listening to each other. For Charmaine, group therapy was more like an action sport. Serve, volley, lob!

  I slipped into a pair of black shorts and a tank and then remembered I’d be heading straight over to my mother’s after the meeting. Even though the heat index was pushing up the mercury, I changed into jeans and a baggy T.

  Once at the Hollywood Bread building, I took the elevator to room 312. Only Ann, the group facilitator, had arrived so far.

  “Hey, Judy, did you have a good week?”

  “Ups and downs. The usual. Yourself?”

  “I’m close to finishing my supervised hours and hopefully, I’ll be able to set up my own counseling practice soon.”

  “That’s very exciting. Are you planning to stay in the area?” I wondered aloud.

  “My husband and I haven’t decided yet. We’re considering staying put or moving closer to my parents.”

  “That could be good or bad, depending on your parents,” I said, laughing.

  “So true.” She laughed with me.

  Two other women strolled in and took seats in the circle of chairs. The non-descript room, with grey walls and carpet, did nothing to inspire joy, but we managed anyway. I checked email on my phone to fill the time before the group started.

  I looked over at Ann, who glanced at the clock on the wall.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” she said, smoothing her skirt over her thighs.

  Seven of us awkwardly glinted at each other. No one seemed to want to start. I never planned to speak at these gatherings, but Ann usually coaxed me to do so. When the silence became too acute, I blurted out, “I sort of met someone.”

  “How do you sort of meet someone?” Charmaine demanded as she breezed into the room.

  Did she time that on purpose?

  Her name didn’t suit her at all. For me, Charmaine elicited images of a sophisticated, petite, French woman. The real Charmaine reminded me of my junior high school gym coach. She wasn’t unattractive, but the hard planes of her face and body reminded me more of a body builder. However, her appearance definitely reflected her personality. Hard as steel.

  After she sat down, she crossed her legs and leaned in toward me. “Well?”

  “He’s not at all my type, and assures me he’s only interested in friendship.”

  “What a crock of shit!” Charmaine exclaimed empathically. She looked around the group for support.

  Ann spoke up, “What part are you referring to, Charmaine? I’d also like to see you sit back in your seat and consider your words.”

  “Right,” she acquiesced, sitting up straight. To me she said, “Men never want to be just friends. Even if you’re gay. They think they can convert you.”

  She’s gay? I raised my eyebrows in curiosity.

  “Not that I’m gay,” she continued and shifted in her seat. “Also, I doubt Miss Prissy’s feigned disinterest is real. If that were the case, she wouldn’t have mentioned him.”

  Ann turned her body toward Charmaine’s seat. “I think this is a clear example of you assuming too much without listening to what she has to say. Asking questions is a much better way to get at the truth rather than jumping to conclusions.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she clucked, waving her off. “That’s what you keep telling me. She just gets under my skin. Miss Perfect who hates men giving her attention, when all the rest of us wish we were so lucky.”

  “Empathy is a very necessary skill to be an effective manager,” Ann explained to Charmaine. “We can discuss that during your time. Judy, would you please continue?”

  “His name is Tate and I met him ... through a friend of mine, Cat. They showed up unexpectedly at my work, and Cat
thinks we should be friends. He is hard to read, though. But something he said has stayed with me.”

  Suzie, sitting just to my right, asked, “Is he hot? Do you have his number?”

  I glanced at her and then spoke to Ann, “I told him he wasn’t at all my type, and he said that I was judging him like people judge me all the time without getting to know me, which you know I abhor.”

  “Was he right?” Suzie asked.

  “Yeah, I guess. I mean, I’m not sure where you draw the line between learning from the past and being prejudiced in the future.”

  “Nicely put,” Ann said. “So did you agree to see him again?”

  “I’m toying with the idea of inviting him to the weekly gathering of my friends. That way, it’ll be clear it’s not a date.”

  “But you’re hesitating?”

  “Invite me and I’ll distract him for you,” Suzie said, twitching her eyebrows.

  “Yes, I’m hesitating. My friends are my world, and I have a real safety and comfort with them. Really, they’re my family, other than my aunt. What if they like him and I don’t? I know I’m judging him based on his size and his scowl—”

  “Which is just like men judging you based on your rack,” Charmaine shot back.

  “Or women, as in your case,” I countered, staring back at her.

  “Touché,” she capitulated.

  “There’s also this unnerving feeling when he’s around. Part of me wants to run toward it, but mostly I just want to hide from it.”

  “What is the feeling?” Ann asked.

  I closed my eyes to allow myself to feel the sensation. “Vulnerable. Like my normal defenses aren’t there to protect me.”

  “I can see why you would be hesitant,” Ann said. “My gut tells me this might be a growth opportunity for you: balancing openness while taking care of yourself.”

  “I guess we’ll see.”

  I half listened to the rest of the shares and discussion. The other half of me dissected every moment of my interaction with Tate, as if I could discern something that would put me at ease instead of feeling like a young, scared girl. Nothing became clear and if anything, I felt even more confused. Not having control over my body’s desires around him put me on edge. The fact that he had zero response to me in that way just pissed me off.

  ♥♥♥♥♥

  On my way to my mother’s house, I stopped by Publix and picked up some dessert. My angst had shifted from Tate to meeting my mother’s boyfriend. Of boyfriends past, Trey had been the worst. I still lived at home at the time and at every chance, he cornered and groped me. His dirty smirk still visits my dreams on the odd occasion. I told my mother about him, and she insisted I was jealous of her and was trying to sabotage “the best thing that ever happened to her.” I stayed away from the house as much as possible, bathroom and bedroom doors always locked when home. Fortunately, for us both, she kicked him out a few months later.

  Knocking on my mom’s front door, my heart pounded.

  A man, I guessed to be in his mid-fifties, answered the door. “You must be Jude, I’m Daniel,” he said, extending his hand right out to me and taking the dessert in the other.

  Clasping it in return, I took in the man before me. He looked nothing like my mother’s usual fare. He wore khakis and a short-sleeved, collared polo, shirt. His salt-and-pepper hair was short and neat. His pale blue eyes stayed focused on my face.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said. Glancing over his shoulder, I took in the house where I had spent my childhood. Unchanged as ever, I recognized the pale blue walls and the southern knickknacks my mother so loved, lining all available surfaces. Time travel might not exist, but it sure felt like it did when I came back home.

  Peeking up, I saw my mother waiting for me. I approached her with my arms open, and she embraced me in a tight hug. “He’s different,” I whispered. She, too, seemed different. Gone were the tight jeans and low-cut blouse. The flowery dress gave her an understated sexiness. “You look wonderful, Mom.”

  “You? What’s with the baggy clothes, Jude?” She tugged on my shirt.

  Ignoring her I asked, “So Daniel, what do you do?”

  “Whatever the hell I want,” he responded, a huge smile breaking over his face. I liked him instantly. “I’m retired and love to travel, read, dance, and do anything on the water.”

  “Sounds like a good life.” I followed my mother into the kitchen, Daniel trailing behind us.

  Bagels and all the fixings covered the table. I made myself a plate, spreading cream cheese over an onion bagel, topping it with smoked salmon and tomato. “Mom, how’s Helena? I haven’t heard from her in a while.”

  Helena was my mother’s sister and the only adult in my parent’s circle for whom I ever held any respect. My father’s parents were hideous people, and my mother’s mother died young from breast cancer. Their father, always angry, had more reasons to be after she died. Years ago, Helena had battled breast cancer and won. Recently, the tumors had returned, and it wasn’t looking good for her.

  My mother’s face dropped and Daniel rubbed her back. “She’s been in and out of the hospital.”

  “She hasn’t returned my calls.”

  “Honey, she’s doing chemo again and doesn’t want to see anyone. Send her an email. You have a better chance of hearing back that way. Just send your love, Sugar.”

  “Okay.” I knew death was part of life, but I couldn’t allow myself to acknowledge the possibility.

  We ate in silence until Daniel asked, “So what do you do?”

  “I wait tables and bartend. I aspire to write novels and I dabble.”

  “That’s interesting. The market is really changing in that arena with all the eBooks out now. I love my Kindle. I don’t travel without it.”

  I swallowed a bite of food and said, “Yeah, I’m still fond of paperback books, but I’m sure I’ll succumb eventually.”

  “Cicely and I were just talking, and she tells me you aren’t in touch with your father—”

  Odd question. “Or brother,” I said, taking another bite.

  “You have a brother?” he asked, looking from my mom to me.

  I guess they don’t know each other that well.

  “Thanks, Jude,” my mother muttered. “When Hatch and I divorced, he took Matt and I kept Jude.” She paused and caught my eye.

  I shook my head no.

  “Jude stopped visiting Hatch and for reas— Matt stopped coming here as well.”

  “It’s complicated,” I said, bristling in my seat.

  “Sounds like it, and it’s clearly an uncomfortable subject for you both. I would’ve treaded lighter had I’d known.”

  My mother touched his shoulder and smiled.

  We continued to eat, the silence filling the room like a helium balloon about to burst. Once we finished the meal, I stood to remove the dishes to the sink.

  “Jude, I’ll take care of that. Sit and let’s chat,” my mother said, patting my vacated chair.

  “I need to get going. Laundry, house chores, etcetera.”

  “What about dessert? I didn’t mean to run you off,” Daniel said.

  “Not at all, and I’m totally full. Thanks for making my mother so clearly happy.” I gave my mom a hug goodbye and said, “See you soon.”

  “Love you, Sugar,” she called to my back.

  “Love you too,” I said over my shoulder from the foyer.

  ♥♥♥♥♥

  Back at my apartment, I washed my tattoo and applied the A+D Ointment. I left my T-shirt off and sat in front of my computer. Ignoring the dust and laundry, I sorted through my writing. Could I be brave enough to share something with Tate?

  I had a couple of novels I had started and never finished: the story of my life—way too personal to share—and my current novel, Soul Adjacent:

  Like any other Saturday night, we close the front section of Beverly Hills Cafe, topping the ketchup, salt, and pepper, and wiping down the tables. I closed out my receipts earlier with the
shift manager. After finishing my chores, I go to find Jacy.

  “Meet at Crush?” I ask. Crush is our favorite alternative dance club.

  “Yeah, I need to run home, tuck in Cheri, and shower. My mom’s going to watch her.”

  “Great! I’ll see you there. Is Tee coming tonight?”

  “Yeah, but Katness—”

  “I know, a forever waste of my time.”

  On the way to the townhouse, which I share with my younger sister, I chastise myself for chasing the unattainable. I even understand what motivates me. What good is psychology if it changes nothing? Knowing the cause without a way to fix it is its own torture. I crave a deep connection but constantly choose to obsess over men who either lack the ability or have zero interest in me beyond friendship. My latest obsession, Tee, he and I are great friends. However, he loves the drama and younger, stick-figure blondes who couldn’t be more my opposite.

  My father and I never connected on a real level, and he has little interest in me other than to lecture that I should go into a career like physical or occupational therapy so I can make more money. He will expound about politics or healthcare but other than knowing his opinions, I know nothing about him. He knows even less about me. I never feel comfortable or safe to be myself around him. I spent my childhood trying to morph myself into someone else so he might notice me. Old habits die hard, as they say.

  At my place, I run up the stairs, pull off my work clothes, and step into the steaming hot shower. I wash the smell of work off my body and hair and then dry off quickly. The faster I get to Crush, the sooner I can dance. I slip on a fitted pair of jeans and sleeveless black top with enough spandex to hold in my chest. It crisscrosses in the back and barely reaches the edge of my jeans. Once in strappy sandals, I take my license and some cash out of my wallet and shove them into my jean’s pocket. Back in the bathroom, I shake out my brown, curly hair and part it on the side.

  Unlike most people, I go dancing to dance. I don’t wear makeup or drink. I’m usually lost in my own world or that of my friends when we dance together.

  Once in my sporty CRX, I head out to the club.

  After paying and flashing my ID, I enter Crush as the hard alternative music immediately beckons me. The large front room holds tables and chairs on the left and a long bar on the right.