After I made my phone call, I started the impossible task of getting ready. It took me forever to find the curling iron and make-up kit Mom bought for me ages ago in the hopes I would develop an interest in something a bit more girly than martial arts or burying myself in books. Then there was the issue of actually working the curling iron and the millions of brushes and applicators whose life’s purpose I wasn’t entirely sure of. I was just finishing up when Ashley’s new Porsche pulled into my driveway, forty-five minutes after she said she would be there.
“Holy shit, Scout!” Ashley screeched as I walked towards her car. “Is that you?”
I have to admit, even I was a little shocked at my final results. My hair magically decided to do something other than just hang there. I followed the step-by-step instructions I found online for “smokey eyes” and “dramatic lips” and was painted up like a whore, but did a good enough job I looked expensive. The dress I borrowed from my mom’s closet helped with the “I’ll do anything you want as long as you give me $5,000 in cash first” vibe. It was a basic black Chanel dress, the only designer thing she owned. On her petite frame is was elegant and classy. It managed to stop nearly a foot above my knees.
Somehow, though, it managed to cover more skin than the purple aluminum-tank-top-posing-as-a-dress thing Ashley was wearing. “Damn girl, you look fine! Almost dying did wonders for your figure. You’re so skinny!” Sadly, she meant it as a compliment.
“You don’t think it’s too much?” I tugged on the bottom of my dress. “Or too little?”
“Are you kidding? I’m totes jelly.”
“And I toast and jelly your outfit, too. It matches the… are those feathers in your hair?”
Ashley doubled over in a fit of giggles. “Oh my God, Scout, I forgot how funny you are.”
“Yeah, I’m considering a career in stand-up,” I muttered as I tried to figure out how to get in the car and fake an abdominal injury without enlightening the world as to the exact nature of Victoria’s secret.
“Absolutely not. I forbid it.” The tires on the Porsche squealed as she slung it into reverse. “No self-respecting future model is friends with a female comedian. Unless it’s Ellen, of course.”
The drive to McGuire's should have taken an hour, but Ashley managed to make it in thirty-three minutes flat. I knew this because she clocked herself with the stop-watch app on her iPhone.
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to do this,” I said as she slid the car into a parking spot so quickly my seat belt came dangerously close to cutting me in two. It was a stupid idea for a myriad of reasons, the top two being we were nowhere close to the twenty-one minimum age requirement, and it was not in the confines of Lake County. I could see how the next ten minutes of my life was going to pan out: The bouncer was going to laugh in our faces, and then Toby would show up, take me out back, and put a bullet in my skull. This is the sort of things that happened to girls who tried to break the rules. I was sure of it.
“Don’t be such a chicken. I do this all the time.”
I might have found comfort in that if I didn’t know that Ashley had a problem with the truth, like her tendency to stretch and recreate it to suit her needs. “I do this all the time” could have meant anything from “I got away with it once” to “I do this all the time in my fantasy world.”
I reluctantly allowed her to drag me out of the car. The first thing I noticed about the guy at the door was that he had a tattoo of a snake wrapped around his arm with the head of the snake curled around an apple on the back of his hand. It was unique and strangely poetic, which was the exact same way I would have described it’s owner, Kit Berkley.
It had been at least six years since I last saw Kit. At the time he was one of those teenage boys who managed to grow an entire foot over night, thereby losing anything resembling coordination with his newly elongated limbs. He was a shy guy who preferred books to people, a trait with which I could definitely identify. We often debated what constituted high literature, me arguing on the side of a mix of intelligence and creativity while Kit was more of a beautiful language and Important Message kind of guy. He was a really sweet boy.
The person guarding the door of the only bar outside of Nashville a decent person would be caught dead in looked like he might rip your tongue out for calling him sweet.
“Ash!” He wrapped his arms around my partner in crime, a smile of absolute delight on his face.
“K-Bro, how goes it?” She was giggling as he lifted her in the air. I tried not to notice that she was wearing a pair of blue and pink polka-dotted panties.
He sat her back down and looked me over. “Scout Donovan? Is that you?”
“In the flesh.” And a little black dress, but mostly just flesh. Lots and lots of exposed flesh.
“You certainly grew up nice and pretty, not that I ever doubted that you would.” He gave me a pat, which didn’t feel insulting coming from him. Not that I would have done much about it if it had. He was acting like Old Kit at the moment, but you never knew when the ‘roid rage would kick in.
“And you grew… Well, you certainly grew.”
Kit laughed and patted his somewhat paunchy belly. “Up and out.” He gave Ashley’s shoulders a squeeze. “What are two pretty girls like you up to tonight?”
“Scout needs a night out.” Ashley constructed a face that so convincingly portrayed concern even I almost believed her. “It’s time she started having fun again.”
You know that I feel really crappy about what happened to you but even crappier about the fact I now have to feel all awkward because of it look people get after you’ve been through something super sucky? That was the look Kit gave me. “Oh yeah. I’m real sorry about all that stuff that happened to you. That was rough.”
He didn’t even know half of if. “I’m getting better,” I lied.
“Here, you girls go on in. Tell Bobby at the bar that your drinks are all on me tonight, okay?”
“Thanks, Kit.” Ashley gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before grabbing my hand and dragging me through the door. “You’re the best big brother ever!”
The inside of the building was dark, and it took me a second to adjust. It was just two days past the new moon, so my night vision wasn’t working so well. “Big brother? His dad was married to your mom for literally six months when we were in middle school.”