Page 14

SYMPHONY

T he parking lot isn’t as full as the first time we drove into it the night of the bachelorette.

Marietta parks her mint-green Bug between a truck and a Harley and squeals, “I’m so excited!”

“Don’t drink shots, okay?” I ask. “Get a beer you don’t like and sip it.”

She kills the engine and stuffs her keys in a tiny purse. “I know, I know. If you have to babysit me, you won’t get hookup number two with the hot boy.”

I haven’t spilled a single detail about what went down with Diesel, but I let the comment go and open my door.

Today, we’re dressed way more normally in jeans and tank tops, minimal jewelry, hair up in messy buns. Marietta wears flats, self-conscious about her five-ten height, but I’m in killer heels, red to match my top. It’s my lucky color for this bar.

Definitely no Spanx. I don’t have an unlimited budget for undergarments to slice. But I do have a strapless bandeaux bra I can part with if needed.

I get goosebumps imagining Diesel ripping it off.

I’ve got it bad. It’s almost as though the violence is the draw.

Danger. I’m here for it.

We head for the door. I try to shove away intruding images, like finding some cute, skinny hot girl hanging on Diesel. Him looking at me with pity in his eyes for thinking I interested him for more than a blackmail wedding date.

I draw in a deep breath, willing the insecurity to get out of my mind.

“Don’t spiral,” Marietta says, her shoes crunching the cracked asphalt as we approach the door. “I know that terrified look. If for some reason he sucks today, we throw our drinks on him and leave.”

I nod.

When we open the door, there’s no live band blasting noise, even though the canned music is pounding, and the shouts between tables make my ears vibrate.

I quickly scan the bar. I spot the young bartender from two weeks ago, this time in a slightly different T-shirt. Then the other version of Diesel, hair slightly shorter. The brother, I bet. Merrick.

Leaning over the counter is an orange-haired woman I vaguely recall from two weeks ago. Merrick fills her tray with frothy mugs. She turns with it and spots us, shaking her head and rolling her eyes before taking the beer to a table. That’s not promising.

And no Diesel, not that I can see.

Shit. What if he’s not here?

Marietta takes my arm. “Let’s go to the bar.”

I walk with her to the long, scarred wood counter. Half the barstools are empty. We sit in the middle of the unoccupied ones.

The young bartender spots us. “Hey, weren’t you two here a couple of weeks ago?” His eyes linger on Marietta’s chest. She’s on the slight side and doesn’t wear a bra. Her headlights tend to turn on when she’s nervous, and he probably can’t look away from what’s poking the fabric.

Merrick bumps his shoulder. “Don’t ogle the ladies,” he says. “What can I get you two?”

I scan behind the bar, wishing Diesel was kneeling low to fetch something or fix a tap. But it’s only the two of them.

“She’s wondering where Diesel is,” Marietta says.

I snap my gaze to her. “Hey!”

“Isn’t that what we’re here for?” she says.

Ooooh, sometimes Marietta is way too straightforward for her own good.

But Merrick grins. “Who should I say is calling?”

I’m frozen in my chair. When I don’t respond, Marietta says, “It’s Symphony, his date from last night.”

That gets his attention. “That’s right. You were from that bachelorette.” He lets out a low whistle. “My brother is pretty pissed about the wedding.”

“Well, you shouldn’t be blowing off your family,” Marietta says.

Seriously! Why is she so bold all of a sudden? “Marietta! That’s their business!”

But Merrick shrugs, drying his hands on a towel. “I’ll go get him.” He takes off through a swinging door behind the bar.

I turn to Marietta. “What are you doing?”

“Just laying it out there.” She frowns. “We didn’t get a drink!” She bangs on the bar.

“Marietta!” My face flames. What has gotten into her?

The orange-haired waitress leans against the bar near us. “You two ain’t got the sense God gave a potato.”

I hold Marietta’s hands to silence her banging. “We’re so sorry. Marietta’s just excited to be here.”

She glares at us, her heavy black eyeliner turning her eyes to slits. “I’m not sure her antenna picks up all the channels.”

Marietta stops banging on the counter. “What did you say?”

The woman tugs a cigarette from a pack near her waist. “Two girls like you thinking you ought to come back to a place like this is the reason we have to put instructions on shampoo bottles.”

A man near her lets out a loud whoop. “Vicki’s on a roll!” Everyone looks our way.

“Hey!” Marietta says. “That’s not very nice!”

“Nice is for wine bars,” Vicki says. “The amount of trouble in this joint would make a train take a dirt road.”

I glance over at Marietta. Her face is beet red.

“Thanks for the advice,” I tell Vicki.

“You ought to wise up and skedaddle.” She shakes her head. “But your elevator’s stuck between floors, ain’t it?”

“It is not,” Marietta calls, but the woman walks away. “Drink!” Marietta calls again.

The younger man returns to our end of the bar. His eyes go right back to Marietta’s chest.

“What’s it take to get a drink around here?” She grabs the top of her shirt and yanks it down, exposing both breasts. “Maybe these?”

The man’s eyes nearly pop out of his head.

There’s a roar along the bar, among whistles.

“I’ll bring ‘em a drink!” someone calls.

“I’ll suck those titties!”

“Marietta!” I reach over to snatch her shirt up, but I already see Merrick and Diesel coming out the door.

Merrick spots Marietta’s naked chest and stops short, making Diesel smack into him.

The men in the bar are whooping it up.

I grab her top and drag it into place. “What are you doing?” I ask.

She grins. “Showing everybody I’m not scared of nothing!”

Merrick hops over the bar, standing between her and a press of men coming close. “Risky business in a place like this,” he says.

She spins on her chair to face him. “I want a motorcycle ride.”

“I’ve got a Harley!” shouts a man with a red bandanna, an angry scar across his cheek.

“Yours sucks,” says another man. “I’ve got a Kawasaki that will rattle those sweet little tits.”

Merrick glances over at Diesel, who has his hands crossed over his chest like a scowling gargoyle.

Now we’ve gone and done it. Or Marietta has. What has gotten into her? First, the shots two weeks ago, and now, flashing her boobs in a biker bar?

“I had no idea she was going to do that,” I tell Diesel. “I’m sorry if we’re stirring up trouble.”

Marietta shoves herself up onto the stool and then stands on the bar. “I’ll flash them again for a ride!”

The room erupts with volunteers.

Did this girl lose her mind? Or take drugs between the car and the door? She isn’t acting drunk, other than maybe on the attention.

She lifts her arms and dances back and forth to a whoop from the men below.

God. I have no idea what to do with her. I scramble onto my knees on the stool to get high enough to grab her hand. “Marietta! Get down!”

But someone gives me a hefty push from behind, and I’m thrust onto the bar next to her. I turn back to see a bald man wink at me. “I’d like to take a gander at those grand knockers!”

I have no intention of standing up, but Marietta reaches for me and drags me into place beside her. “Let’s dance for them, Symphony!” She lifts our joined hands in the air and closes her eyes, swaying her hips and shimmying her chest.

Oh, no. I’m not doing that.

I look down at Diesel, who watches me, one eyebrow raised.

I remember that look. The same one that had me drinking six shots of Fireball. He reaches for a set of controls by the register, and the music level goes up a notch.

Is he encouraging me?

A man below passes both of us shots. Marietta smacks her into mine and drinks it.

We are so going to regret this tomorrow. But I down it.

Even though the alcohol will take a hot minute to work its magic, the act of shooting it while standing on the bar is a hit of adrenaline that makes me feel high.

That voice in the back of my head that says, Big girls don’t dance on bars , is drowned out.

Marietta and I bump hips, then stand back-to-back, getting low with bent knees and working our way back up.

The crowd is almost entirely men, the lone few women sitting with their guys among the tables. They’re banging their beer mugs with as much enthusiasm as their male counterparts. Even Vicki seems amused, leaning against the far end of the bar.

Watch this elevator, lady. It ain’t stuck nowhere.

Boots stomp to the rhythm of the music, and we keep dancing. Merrick returns to behind the bar to pour drinks. I guess we’re out of danger.

Marietta drags the elastic out of her bun and lets her hair fall down to another eruption of encouragement.

We dance, facing each other for a moment, and she reaches over to yank my hair down, too.

Another pair of shots are passed to us from below. I know how much I can handle, but I watch Marietta take a second one with some concern. She’s a lightweight, and the alcohol is hitting.

She bends over and spins her hair to a roar of appreciation. Several men approach and lift her by the legs to crowd-walk through the men. They take her to another table to dance solo.

“Strip! Strip! Strip!” echoes through the bar.

She toys with the strap of her top like she’s going to pull it down again.

Geez, Marietta. I cautiously move to step onto a stool, but Diesel takes my hand. He and Merrick lift me down like I’m a feather to stand behind the bar.

“Stay here,” Diesel warns, and he and Merrick leap over the bar.

The two of them nudge their way through the men to the table. Marietta still dances, teasing the crowd with the straps of her top until the brothers arrive and take her down.

There’s a general groan of disagreement as Marietta is brought around the far end of the bar. Diesel waves at me, and I scurry over to them. He pushes both of us through the swinging door.

Merrick shouts, “Free round of beer!” which changes the boos to cheers.

We’re marched through a kitchen where a couple of men wash dishes. What is going on with Marietta? It’s like she’s become a rebellious teen hell bent on destruction. Even I know not to rile a bar full of bikers.

“You’ve got this. I’ll head back,” Merrick says and peels away toward the bar.

Diesel pushes us into a small office scattered with folders and beer signs and closes the door.

“You two are a party and a half,” he says. “You need to stay put for now, or I can’t guarantee your safety in my bar.”

Marietta scowls, tugging on her shirt. “Spoilsport.” Yeah, she’s drunk.

“What were you thinking?” I ask her.

“I just wanted a motorcycle ride.” She crosses her arms over her belly.

“I can give you a damn ride,” Diesel says. “Those men aren’t angsty college boys. They can get you in real trouble.”

“You belong to Symphony.” Her scowl turns into a pout. “I want a hot biker dude of my own.”

Diesel blows out a long breath like he’s our dad and trying to keep his temper. “Do not leave this office. I have to go make sure everything cools down out there.”

He glares at Marietta, and despite me being as mad at her as he is, the urge to defend her is too strong. “Don’t be mean to her. She wanted to cut a little loose.”

“Well, do it in someone else’s bar,” he says. “People get knifed fighting over a wild woman around here.” He storms out, slamming the door.

I turn to her, expecting to see her chastised and deflated.

But she looks ecstatic. “He called me wild, Symphony!” She grabs both of my arms. “Nobody has ever called me that!”

I press my palms into her cheeks to hold her still. “Marietta, do you have a heroin habit I don’t know about? You’ve never acted like this!”

She pulls me into a fierce hug. “I’ve never danced on a bar before.” She jerks back, her eyes alight. “Forget the coffee shop! I’m going to get a job as a stripper!”

I drop my hands. “I’m here for your female empowerment, Mar, but I’m not sure you have a stripper personality.” Although the two times she’s been at this bar, she has definitely come out of her introverted shell.

She presses her hands against her chest. “I’ve never flashed my boobs before. I want to do it again! Did you see how they all shouted for me?”

She’s been bitten by the attention bug, that’s for sure. Her gaze goes to the door handle, and I step in front of it. “Save it for the pole dance, girl. If you bare any more skin in Diesel’s bar, it might ruin things for me.”

That sobers her up. “Oh, right. Gosh. I don’t want your man looking at my naked boobs. That’s wrong. Shit. I’m sorry, Symphony. Did he see me? Shit, shit, shit.”

Truth be told, I don’t think he looked for even a second. He was more worried about the scene.

“I’m not worried about that. Why don’t you sit down?” I turn her toward the chair behind the desk. “I think the shots are going to your head.”

She nods and drops into the seat. “You’re right. I feel like I’m high or something.”

“Adrenaline. There was a lot of energy out there.”

“That waitress was mean. I wanted to prove we belonged here.” She folds her arms on the desk and drops her head down. “Okay, I’m moving from excited to embarrassed.”

I smooth her hair. “It’s okay.” I flash to the memory of the bridal room door pressing against my naked back, Diesel kneeling in front of me, my leg thrown over his shoulder. “We all do crazy things sometimes.”

I push aside a pile of papers to sit on the edge of the desk. It’s filled with receipts and invoices and accounting printouts. I spot a contract with Diesel’s name and signature. His scrawl is dark and heavy, like everything about him.

This evening isn’t going anything like I expected.