Page 8 of February (New Orleans #2)

“E xcuse me,” a woman said. “You look like you’re about empty. Can I buy you another drink?”

Monica looked down at the glass she’d long forgotten about and noticed that the ice had melted most of the way. She’d been staring up at the screen behind the moving bartender, watching the pianist but also watching something else. Well, some one else. She hadn’t believed it when she’d first arrived. Monica had walked up the stairs because she’d read on her phone that the bar had two floors, and typically, the upstairs bar was less crowded than the downstairs one. Seeing that the downstairs bar was full when she walked in, she’d taken a chance on the upstairs. Upon sitting down at the bar and ordering a gin on the rocks, Monica had glanced up at the screen showing two empty pianos waiting to be played. One pianist, dressed in a tidy black suit, had sat down and begun. It was then that Monica had taken in the surroundings. The camera didn’t just cover the two pianos but the booths around them as well, and she could’ve sworn that Bridgette Musgrave was sitting in one of them.

The light was dim, so she could’ve been wrong, but she wasn’t. She watched Bridgette and the two women she was with. One sat on Bridgette’s side of the booth, and Bridgette had her arm over the back of the booth for a second. They weren’t touching, but they both looked more than comfortable around each other. Monica wasn’t sure what that meant, but she sipped on her drink and watched anyway until someone approached the booth. It wasn’t the waiter; he’d already been by. It was a woman, and soon after her arrival, she and Bridgette had walked off together, so Monica had assumed that Bridgette had left the bar. Then, the bartender had distracted her by asking her if she wanted a refill, and Monica had accepted and asked for a water with lemon as well. After that, though, she’d kept her eyes on the screen, not expecting or thinking that Bridgette could be right behind her. As a result, their awkward moment had caught Monica by surprise, and ever since, her eyes had been back on the screen, watching as Bridgette and the woman who had been upstairs with her and was now back sitting next to her seemed to be enjoying their evening. She tried not to think about the fact that every so often, Bridgette’s head seemed to tilt back as if she was trying to see if Monica was still up there.

“Oh. No, thanks,” Monica replied to the woman who had just offered to buy her a drink. “I was about to leave.”

“Are you sure?” the stranger asked with a kind smile.

Monica glanced back at the screen and noticed that the third woman who had been at the booth was gone, and Bridgette had turned to face her remaining companion, with that arm back over the booth again. The two of them looked like they were laughing about something, and Monica wanted so much to know what it was.

“You know what? I will have one more. Thank you,” she said.

“I’m Amina.” The woman held out her hand to Monica.

“That’s a pretty name,” Monica said as she shook it.

“Thank you.”

“Monica,” she offered her own name in response.

“What are you drinking, Monica?”

“Gin,” she replied.

“Can I get another for her and one for me as well?” Amina asked the bartender.

He nodded and got to work.

“So, I hate to ask this, but are you from around here? I promise, it’s not a line.” Amina chuckled.

She was an attractive woman with long, near-black hair that was in a single braid down her back. Her eyes were brown, and she wore black-rimmed glasses over them. She looked to be about Monica’s age, maybe a little older, but not by much.

“No, I’m from New York,” she said.

“New York? You’re far from home.”

“I am, yes.” Monica laughed this time.

Her drink was placed in front of her, and she waited until Amina had hers as well before they both lifted them and took their first sips.

“Are you from here?” she asked.

“I am. I moved here from Austin about three years ago.”

“Austin? I love Austin.”

“So did I, but my girlfriend got a job here, so we relocated.”

“Ah,” Monica said.

She’d assumed this woman had been flirting with her, but apparently, she’d been incorrect. Maybe this was just that Southern hospitality she’d heard so much about. It was confusing, and Monica wasn’t sure she liked it, given the context.

“We broke up about a year ago,” Amina added. “And I thought about moving back home, but I fell in love with this place, so I decided to stay.”

“I see,” Monica replied, feeling like she was back in the game.

‘What game?’ She thought to herself. She hadn’t sat at a bar and flirted with a woman since she’d been dating her ex-wife.

“So, what are you in town for?” Amina asked her.

“Business,” she said. “My company might be buying another company.”

“Wow. Sounds intense,” Amina said before she took another drink.

Monica leaned over a bit to get closer to Amina, giving her what she hoped was a signal that meant that if Amina was flirting, Monica was flirting back. Then, Monica’s eyes went back to the screen and caught sight of yet another woman joining the booth. Bridgette stood and moved to the other side of the table, giving the new woman a chance to sit next to Bridgette’s original companion. When the new woman and the companion kissed, Monica’s eyebrows lifted. Bridgette turned away from them for a second, and Monica watched as her head tilted up again. So, the companion wasn’t with Bridgette, after all. This new woman wrapped an arm around the other one, and her hand didn’t just remain on the booth. It went on the companion’s shoulders while the companion rested her head against the new woman’s chest.

“How long are you in town for?” Amina asked.

“Uh… I don’t know.” Monica peeled her eyes away from the screen, turning back to the woman next to her.

“Well, if you’re interested, there’s a great show tonight at a place near here. I doubt it’s sold out, if you want to listen to some good music.”

“I would, but I have work early in the morning.”

“No problem,” Amina replied. “Maybe a drink another time while you’re in town?”

“Sure,” Monica said before she finished her third gin.

“Can I get your number? We can arrange it.”

Shit. Monica hadn’t thought that far ahead. Amina was pretty, age-appropriate, and probably not at all like the asshole of a woman who was downstairs with her friends right now. Monica shouldn’t even be thinking about Bridgette. She should be taking Amina back to her hotel and topping her until the woman came beneath her.

“I’m going to run to the bathroom. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Oh. Okay,” Amina replied.

Monica stood and walked down the short hallway in the direction of the bathroom. Not having to go at all, though, she wondered what to do when she arrived there.

‘Just give the woman your number, tell her to come to your hotel tomorrow night, and have some fun. It’s been forever. You need this.’

“You’re still here,” Bridgette noted.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Bridgette pointed to the door behind her. “Are you in line?”

“No, I…” Monica cleared her throat and looked down at the hardwood floor.

“Hey, are you okay?” Bridgette asked as she walked a little closer.

“Yeah, I’m good. You go ahead. I’ll just go back to the hotel.” She waved Bridgette on.

“Okay,” Bridgette said before she walked past Monica and into the bathroom.

A minute later, Monica still hadn’t figured out what to do about the woman who was waiting for her at the bar, and when Bridgette got done and walked out, she stopped, seeing her still standing there.

“Couldn’t hold it, after all?”

“There’s a woman at the bar. She’s very nice. Bought me a drink. But I wasn’t thinking, and now, I don’t know what to do,” she blurted out.

“Sorry, what?” Bridgette said as she laughed.

“She invited me to a concert.”

“Oh,” Bridgette uttered. “And you don’t want to go?”

“No,” Monica said, shaking her head.

“And you can’t just tell her that?”

“I tried. She asked for my number. I don’t want to be a jerk, but I also don’t know that I really want her to call me.”

Bridgette nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I see. Well, I can… I can help.”

“How?” Monica asked, surprised.

“I’ll pretend I’m really drunk, and you need to help me get home.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you know me. You can make up how, if you want. Just tell her you found me in the bathroom, and you need to help me get home.”

“This is ridiculous. I can just give her my number.”

“Give her the wrong number,” Bridgette suggested.

“That’s bad, too, though. She’s nice.”

“Well, I was about to leave, anyway, so if you want an excuse to go, now is the time.”

Monica sighed and nodded.

“Okay. I’m going to put my arm over your shoulders,” Bridgette said. “Wrap yours around my back, and let’s do this.”

Before Monica could protest, Bridgette’s arm was over her shoulders, joining them at their sides.

“I’m going to put my weight a little on you, too, so this looks real, okay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Monica wrapped her arm around Bridgette’s waist and felt when Bridgette rested against her. They walked through the hall and over to the bar, where it was showtime.

“Amina, I’m so sorry.”

“What happened?”

“This is someone from that company I’m thinking about buying.” Monica paused and went to correct herself, “The company is thinking about buying. I guess she’s taking the news harder than I thought. I just found her in the bathroom. She’s pretty drunk, and she drove, so I’m going to get her home.”

“Oh, okay. Do you need any help?” Amina asked genuinely.

“I’m going to throw up,” Bridgette announced, placing her head on Monica’s shoulder.

“No, I think I can take care of her,” Monica said. “Sorry about this. And thank you so much for the drink. I owe you one.”

“I never got your number.”

“Vomit. Vomit,” Bridgette added, pretending to heave.

“So sorry,” Monica told Amina quickly before she and Bridgette made their way down the stairs and out the door, where Bridgette stepped away from her.

“You owe her one? Really?” Bridgette laughed.

“I’m out of practice. Anyway, do you need to say goodbye to your friends in there?”

“I did before I went to the bathroom. But how did you know I had friends in there?”

“Oh,” Monica let out, feeling caught. “The woman who was with you upstairs before… I just assumed there were more of you.”

“Well, I told them goodnight already, so I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess.”

“Where’s your car?” Monica asked as she pulled up the app on her phone and ordered one for herself.

“I walked tonight. I don’t live that far, and I knew I was going to have a drink.”

“Let me drive you home, then. It’s only fair; you saved me up there.”

“It’s fine. I make this walk all the time. It’s ten minutes. I’ll be home before your car gets here.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure. I have pepper spray if I need it,” Bridgette told her.

“I really feel like I should drive you,” Monica said.

“Miss Arnette, I was fine before you got to New Orleans, contrary to what my parents might make you think, and I’ll be fine long after you go home. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When Bridgette just turned away and started walking, Monica had no other choice but to stand there and watch her until she turned the corner. Her car arrived minutes later, and soon, Monica was back in her hotel, wishing she’d just gotten that damn seaweed wrap tonight instead of taking Bridgette’s advice and trying a local bar that wasn’t in the Quarter. Deciding not to pull out her computer to do more work, she picked up her phone and went to find Bridgette on social media. The woman’s Facebook profile was private, but her other social accounts were relatively public. Monica was able to see several photos, and she was about to make a comment to herself about young people putting their lives online when she noticed that there were hardly any pictures of Bridgette with her friends. Instead, most of them were just images of the cards Bridgette had written and drawn. There were three images in a row of a plain white card with couples holding hands. One card had a man holding a woman’s hand. One had two women. The other had two men. Bridgette was a good artist, and Monica smiled, liking that Bridgette had been inclusive in her cardmaking.

As she switched from one social site to another, she remembered something, so she opened her Facebook page, which she rarely used, and checked that she and Sophie Santiago were still friends on the platform. She went to Sophie’s profile and noticed that she’d been right: Sophie had relocated to New Orleans from New York about four years ago. The woman had worked for Arnette Assets for three years or so, and she and Monica had become friends. Normally, whenever Monica traveled for business, even if she knew someone nearby, she didn’t bother reaching out because she never wanted to be social on these trips; she just wanted to do the work and get back home. Sophie was nice and fun, though. She was a lesbian as well, and even though she was probably about thirty-two or thirty-three now, closer to the age of Lily’s new girlfriend than her own, Monica had never really noticed.

Monica went to Messenger and decided to leave her one there instead of texting since she wasn’t certain Sophie would have the same number. She let the woman know that she was in town and told her that there was no pressure, but if she wanted to grab lunch or a drink sometime, to let her know. Done with typing the message, she dropped her phone on the bed and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. While washing her face after, she thought back to Bridgette’s horrible drunk-acting, and it made her laugh. Then, before she fell asleep, she also thought about how good it had felt to have her arm wrapped around Bridgette. Monica quickly pushed that thought out of her mind, rolled over, and went to sleep.