No sign of Eric or Nell. Joe and Vaughan worked the bar.
I’d called Nell earlier and left a message on her cell. After the events of last night, I’d probably want to be left the hell alone too. The rest of the day passed swiftly, and was relatively painless. Despite the countdown to Vaughan’s departure tick-tocking in my head.
He slept with me. We didn’t discuss it, he just climbed in beside me, boxer briefs on. They remained intact. Things were so weird now. The gratitude I felt when he lay by my side burned.
Love was a bitter pill.
Sleeping in helped with my various aches and pains before we moved my stuff, which didn’t take long. We each took our cars to deliver one load to the second-floor storeroom above the restaurant and we were done. Most of my kitchen and household-type items had been donated to a local charity just before the wedding. I thought I’d no longer need them, what with all of those gifts from the Delaneys’ fancy friends arriving every day.
“Cover me.” A hand suddenly gripped my arm. A male voice coming from directly behind me. “Good job. What’s your name?”
“Is this a robbery or something?” I asked, not sure whether to be perplexed or afraid.
The mystery man laughed. “Fuck no. Got more money than I can spend in this lifetime. What’s your name?”
“Lydia.”
“Okay, Lydia. You’re doing great.”
“Thanks.” I chanced a glance over my shoulder.
“Don’t look at me!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Despite it being nearly nine at night, the dude wore sunglasses. His face was mostly obscured by a trucker’s hat. Strands of long blond hair had escaped the cap, however, hanging down past his shoulder. Bright green T-shirt. Other than that, I had nothing. If I had to describe him to the police, there wouldn’t be much to go on, dammit. “I won’t do it again.”
“I should hope not. Sheesh, Lydia,” he said, tone exasperated. “I need you to work with me here. Just act normal. Walk toward the bar like nothing weird is going on at all, all right?”
“All right.”
“Let’s go.”
With slow measured steps we moved toward the bar. It took me a while to catch Vaughan’s eye. I tried to communicate several things to him with my look. First, I was not happy. Second, whoever stood behind me was the definite cause of this unhappiness. His eyes widened, then his gaze jumped to the person steering me toward the big blond bartender.
“You trying to be in disguise or what?” Vaughan asked, voice oddly calm. Instead of reaching for a shotgun or something, he continued pouring a beer.
“Yes,” said the maniac, stepping out from behind me. “Genius, isn’t it?’
Vaughan leisurely checked him out then shook his head. “You’re a fucking idiot. Get your hand off Lydia, you’re freaking her out.”
“I’ll have you know, Lydia and I are the best of friends. She thinks my costume is awesome,” the maniac falsely declared. “Don’t you, Lydia?”
“I’m allowed to look at you now?” I asked.
“Knock yourself out,” the man said, turning to Vaughan, his voice ecstatic. “This is my favorite part, when they get all excited about me.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The maniac gave me a broad grin.
Whoever he was, he certainly wasn’t afraid of loud colors or stating his musical preferences. He wore a fluorescent green T-shirt with a large picture of Malcolm Ericson from Stage Dive on the front, and a matching fluorescent pink hat. “Mal for President” had been embroidered on the hat. Guess he really loved the drummer from Stage Dive. A lot.
“Wow.” I gave Vaughan side-eyes.
He burst out laughing. “She doesn’t recognize you.”
“Duh. She’s not supposed to recognize me, I’m in disguise.” The maniac pouted and took a seat at the bar. “And give me that beer.”
“Bullshit.” Vaughan kept right on laughing, setting the beer on the bar as ordered. “You wanted her to know who you were, you fucking show pony.”
The man declined to answer, instead drinking the beer.
“Babe,” said Vaughan, smiling. “This is Mal Ericson.”
Mal raised a hand in salute.
“From Stage Dive?” I asked, just to be sure.
“Yep,” said Mal. “So … babe, huh? Don’t recall you having a babe before, V-man. How interesting.”
“Not interesting.” Vaughan started pouring another beer. “None of your business.”