Page 70 of Hard Hitter
“The kind that needs a margarita. Not a bail bondsman.”
“Whew. You had me worried there. It’s, uh, not that relaxing here. Meet me across the street in the lobby of 220. We’ll go to Georgia’s.”
“Okay.”
It was a two minute walk, so she got there just as Becca was exiting her little building across Water Street from the pricey converted condo building where Georgia, Leo, (and Patrick) lived. “Hey!” Becca said, giving her a hug. “Is this latest news going to piss me off?”
“Probably.”
Becca looped her arm in Ari’s. “Come on then. You can tell me while we’re drinking.”
In the lobby of Georgia’s building, Becca began to explain to the doorman where they were headed. “We’re going up to...” she began.
But the doorman nodded, waving them up without a phone call upstairs. “Have a nice night, ladies.”
“I’m here a lot,” Becca explained.
When they knocked on Leo and Georgia’s apartment door, there were voices and TV noise inside. “Hey!” Georgia said when she pulled open the door. Then her face fell. “Tequila and a bakery bag? And Becca has her pedicure satchel? Oh, crap. Who died?”
“Ari is having a bad day,” Becca explained. “And my nephew is teething. So we came to your place.”
She looked over her shoulder and wrinkled her nose. “March Madness is on, and half the team is here to watch it.”
“Fuck,” Becca said.
“Well...” Ari cleared her throat. She looked past Georgia to count the players in the room, and did not find the one she was looking for. “I have an idea. Come with me.”
She led them to Patrick’s door and knocked. He opened up with a look of utter surprise on his face. “Ladies? Everything okay?”
“No, but Ari hasn’t given us the update yet,” Becca said, pushing past him. “We need your apartment. You can go watch basketball with Leo.”
Ari lifted her eyes to Patrick’s and found amusement there. “If you were going to stay in tonight, I can drag the girls back to my place. But I didn’t want to be alone there.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Dare I ask why?”
“Don’t tell him before us,” Becca argued from the kitchen area. “Doulie, do you have martini glasses? Hey—youdo!I’m astonished.”
Without comment, Patrick opened the door wider, ushering Ari and Georgia inside.
Becca rooted around in Patrick’s freezer, filling his cocktail shaker with ice. “Okay, Ari. Do your magic. I’ll open the tequila. You bought the big bottle. Damn. Is it that bad?”
“It’s pretty bad,” she admitted. “Can you check the fridge for limes?”
“I’ll do it,” Georgia volunteered.
Across the room, Patrick had taken a seat on a leather club chair, feet propped onto the coffee table, hands behind his back. He was watching the three of them as if they were a show put on just for him.
“Found one!” Georgia said. “Knife?”
Becca opened a drawer and handed one over.
“Cutting board?”
“Men never have cutting boards,” Becca explained.
“Not true!” Patrick called from the chair.
“No way,” Georgia said, opening cabinets until she came up with a lime green cutting board. “After Patrick leaves we’re going to discuss his ridiculously civilized apartment.”
