Page 24 of Reckless Chances
Chapter 9 – Charlie
Part of Charlie wasgoing to miss dealing with the mixed bag crowd at The Last Chance Tavern. There were the regulars that showed up after their shifts like clockwork, the ski crowd looking for an ‘authentic’ mountain town dive bar, and trashy local cougars like Stacy – who was currently leaning on the bar, miles of cleavage spilling out of her too-tight leopard print tank top. She had tried to go home with Charlie about a million times, but no matter how lonely he’d been, the hairspray and leathery tanning bed skin just aren’t his thing.
“Two cosmopolitans,” he smiled and slid the cocktails across the bar. Stacy and her friend Pamela smiled, and he swore both of them winked simultaneously as they sipped their red drinks. Charlie cringed at the cakey lipstick marks on the glasses that he was going to have to scrub out by hand.
“Thank you, Charlie,” Pamela singsong. Hers was a two-pack a day smoker’s voice, a little huskier than Stacy’s.
Charlie turned to empty the dishwasher, and the two women, the volume of their voices in direct correlation to the number of cocktails they’d had – four - started talking loudly. Charlie typically ignored the town gossip, but as soon as he heard ‘flower shop’, he started to pay attention.
“Not going to last a month,” The huskier voice mused.
Stacy snorted. “Who starts a flower shop in this economy?”
Charlie refrained from rolling his eyes. Stacy worked at the Dollar Dollar Dollar Shop, and last he heard, Pamela didn’t work at all. “I heard that she cheated on her boyfriend and stole his money,” Pamela said.
“No wonder she could afford that building.” Stacy shook her head. “That uppity bitch Billie Joe has priced everything so damn high in this town, she’s going to push out all the locals.”
Charlie took a deep breath and pretended like he didn’t hear the two women bashing the girl he was dating or his friend, Charlotte – who used to be known as Billie Joe Bunkman. Emma hadn’t talked about her past relationship, but then again, neither had he.
He dismissed the cheating rumor was just that, a rumor. It couldn’t be true, and there was no way that Emma would steal anyone’s money. Although, Charlie had to admit that he wasn’t the best judge of character in that department. He had moved to Chance Rapids with his girlfriend Karlie to snowboard and they had lived in his beat-up old Volkswagen van. Charlie shivered as he remembered the scene that had been burned into his brain. The day that his girlfriend had cheated on him. The curtains in the van’s window were closed and even as he reached for the handle, he knew that he shouldn’t be opening the door. He never forgot the way that his heart slammed into the bottom of his stomach when he saw Karlie in his bed with an Australian liftee. He couldn’t sleep in the bed without the vision of their rumpled hair, Karlie’s spread across the pillow, Aidan’s equally long beachy hair draped over his girlfriend’s tanned thighs. Charlie ended up burning the foam bed, along with all of her clothes when Karlie left town.
“Ahem.” He heard the husky voice behind him, and shook his head, thankful to get the imagery out of his mind.
He turned and Stacy was tapping her long index finger on the rim of the empty martini glass.
“Another?” he asked.
Stacy nodded and Pamela drained the last of hers and held up the empty glass. “Me too.”
“These are interesting...” Stacy fingered the bouquet of ditch daisies that Emma had left on the counter for him.
“Daisies,” Charlie shouted over the ice as he shook the silver cocktail mixer.
“Weeds.” Stacy plucked out one of the petals and let it fall to the bar top.
Charlie felt his cheeks redden. Yes, they were ditch daisies, but they meant a lot to him. Every time he looked at the simple arrangement he thought about Emma and her slender fingers as the picked them from the side of the river this morning before they left his house. “That’s in the eye of the beholder.”
He poured the drinks and slid the glasses toward the tipsy women.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Pamela’s eyebrow was furrowed.
“I was told that a weed is something you don’t want in your garden.” Charlie smiled, remembering Emma’s cute little saying.
“A weed’s a weed,” Stacy scoffed. “Maybe you should go give that poor new florist some business. Or better yet, get some plastic ones. That way you don’t have to water ‘em.”
Pamela laughed. “Fake plants are the best.” She took a sip of her drink. “Want to go for a smoke?”
Stacy stood up. “Don’t slip anything into my drink while we’re out there.” She winked again and the two of them teetered as they tried to walk seductively up the stairs to the door.
Charlie turned and resumed polishing the glassware, relieved that the two women were smokers, giving him a break from the small talk every time they left to go smoke cigarettes in the alley beside the bar.
He heard the bar stool squeak and prepared himself to return to the small talk, but before he could turn around a male voice shouted, “What’s a guy got to do to get a beer around here?”
Charlie didn’t have to turn to see who was there. He tossed the bar towel over his shoulder and reached into the beer cooler to pull out a bottle of his brother’s favorite beer.
“Jason.” He slid the beer down the bar, expertly missing the puddles around the two sweating cosmopolitans. His brother grabbed the flying bottle with a flourish and took a huge gulp. Charlie came out from behind the bar and the two of them hugged, the cold of the beer bottle freezing his ear lobe as his older brother squeezed him tightly.
“Chuckie got Lucky,” Charlie’s brother punched him on the arm. “Wow, where are the spaghetti arms?” He released his fingers from their fist and squeezed Charlie’s bicep.
