Page 31 of Every Rose

They’d abandoned beer and someone—Matt vaguely thought it was a lawyer colleague of Harvey’s—had ordered a bottle of scotch. Oh, boy. Harvey was slightly less careful than usual as he waved his glass around, the amber liquid sloshing. “She was right over there, remember Matt?”

“I do.”

“Two hot girls sitting having a glass of wine at that table right there.” He aimed his finger as though it were a gun, though in his current condition he couldn’t have hit the side of a barn if he was inside the barn. “I thought she was cute, and she had this way of tossing her hair over her shoulder that made me think I had to get to know her.”

“But you were too shy,” Matt interjected, remembering the evening well.

“Not too shy. I was waiting for my moment.”

“You’d still be waiting if I’d left it to you,” he joked.

“So my best man here swaggered over to their table and next thing I knew, these two hot girls were sitting with us.” Harvey blinked rapidly. “I think it was love at first sight.”

“How did you know? How did you know that she was the one?” Even though Matt had been present he didn’t witness any fireworks, no sign from above. Harvey had done his Harvey thing, impressing the girl to the best of his ability, and she’d pretended to be impressed. He thought Theresa was a nice woman, pretty but not a great beauty. Why, out of all the single women out there, should she be the one? Why not her equally fun and attractive friend?

Or why would Harvey be the one for her? It was a mystery. He felt that there should be more choice in the matter of who a man fell in love with. After all, he was going to be stuck with her for a long time. It would be nice if he had a bit more control. But, according to Harvey and all the love songs, the movies, the plays and ballets, love was like a particularly nasty virus. You caught it and there wasn’t much you could do but ride it out.

“You’re a lucky man,” James said, raising his own glass of scotch.

“You’re coming to the wedding,” Harvey announced.

James looked more horrified than gratified at the invite. “No. Really, it’s fine. Happy to join the stag.”

“No, I mean it. You’re a good guy. Gonna be one of my inner circle, isn’t he Matt?”

“Harvey talks like he’s already the President when he’s pissed,” Matt explained. “There is no inner circle.”

Harvey snorted. “You don’t see it because you’re in it. James is one of us. Knew it when he got rid of Dave and Dawson so elegantly.” The word elegantly got tangled with the scotch, but Matt didn’t think he’d have managed any better. He was keeping his words to no more than two syllables to be on the safe side.

When the scotch bottle was empty, he was about to call the bus when two of the younger guys ordered a round of shots, James and Matt exchanged glances. He shrugged and put his phone away. An hour later, the ragged group staggered to the minibus. He reached the door, glanced back at the bar. He did not want to get on that bus and go home.

He said, “You guys go on. I have to do something.”

“You gotta take a leak? We can wait,” Harvey said.

“No. Have to make a call.”

James wasn’t in great shape, but he was better than the rest. “You need me to wait for you? We can grab a cab.”

He shook his head. “Private call.”

James grinned. “Tell Cheryl, ‘hi’.”

He watched them climb aboard the bus and saw the orange signal light flash before the minibus pulled out into traffic.

He headed back inside the bar, settled at a table in a dim corner.

Squinted at his phone. Pushed a button.

---