150 - Friends in Low Places

Dorothea stepped through the doorway into the darkened, dingy atmosphere of the bar. Gazing across the room, she observed several typical biker men and women, the man who had overstayed his welcome, a couple of loud and rowdy college kids, and the not-so-secret lovers off in the corner. Inhaling the familiar smell of deep-fried foods, burgers, and a hint of cheap cologne, she gazed around the room, just observing the people. The sounds of a few people who had one too many, a static filled radio and a sports game on the TV faded into the background as she crossed the floor, gingerly picking her way around a puddle of whatever was on the floor. 

The hazy room wasn’t unwelcoming. It was just a bit outdated, but in a good, familiar way. She felt at home here. Safe and calm. It was dark, but not so much that you couldn’t see where you were going. Several lights had gone out and the few that remained lit were merely wall sconces. Taking a seat on the stool covered in cracked red leather, she let her eyes rest on the familiar face behind the bar. 

 

After that debacle on the street, she was steaming more than a smokestack at a factory. She knew she couldn’t go home and have the kids see her like this. Instead, she hailed the next cab and instructed the driver where to go.  

 

Could you imagine if she hauled off and actually hit the bitch? What was she thinking? With her black belt expertise, not only would she have severely hurt the woman, but quite possibly have gone to jail for it. How could she be so stupid? Never in all these years had any reporter gotten under her skin that way. Why did she let it happen now? Was it hearing those words and having them hit too close to home? How on God’s green earth did the reporter know these things? Who was her source?  

 

All those questions and more were swirling around her head, and she wanted them to stop. So here she sat, hoping to drown every single one of them away by drinking her daddy’s favorite whiskey. Looking down at her empty glass, her fifth to be exact, she motioned to the bartender for another drink. Maybe number six would do the trick.  

 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”  

 

The bottle of Jameson clunked against the rim of her glass as he poured her another. He wasn’t expecting an answer; he knew better. After all these years, he knew just when to pour and shut his mouth. Usually after a few drinks, whatever it was bothering her would fade into the darkness and she’d be the funny, carefree woman he loved to spend time with. Not today. Today she was different. From the moment he caught a glimpse of her at the door, the corners of her mouth were cinched tighter than a Ziploc bag.

 

Draining her glass of the caramel-colored liquid, she slammed it on the warped wood and shot him a disapproving look. “Another.”

 

“No.”

 

“Fine.” she pushed back her stool and planted both hands firmly on the bar. “If you won’t serve me, then at least take me somewhere and fuck me into oblivion.” 

 

Scooping her glass up with his fingers, Bobby walked to the end of the bar, where his partner was tending to a group of uptown suits who just arrived for their usual pre-hockey game cocktails. Tossing the towel onto the bar, he whispered something into his ear and went to meet her out on the street. He barely cleared the doorway, and she was shoving her tongue down his throat. She obviously wasn’t in the right frame of mind, and he needed to end it before it got out of hand, so he firmly cupped her cheeks and broke the kiss. The look in her eyes nearly killed him. “Oh Dottie,”he whispered, brushing her lips softly, then took her hand and led her down the street to his apartment.

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

After spending the entire day locked away in their suite, Ariana finally convinced Jon that they should all go out for dinner. It had been a long time since they enjoyed each other’s company, London, as a matter of fact, and they all could use some ‘let the crazies out’ fun. Jon especially.  

 

The first leg of the tour was wrapping up, and his mind was working a mile a minute. The band was asked to christen the opening of the new Giant’s Stadium, known now as New Meadowlands Stadium. There’s three shows schedule at the end of May, though the logistics still needed to be completed. Part of the old stadium still stood in the parking lot and would not be torn down before the scheduled shows. Plus, the stadium wanted the band to add a fourth show. Schedule wise, it was a nightmare and a tight squeeze with them heading for London for the month of June. Both parties finally agreed to a night in July. All of which was making him antsy before he even had time to enjoy the next month off.   

 

So, after a little begging and a lot of eyelashes batting, he finally said yes. But suggested they stay close and maybe she call downstairs to the hotel’s restaurant. She teased and called him old and bor-ing, then shooed him into the shower, so she could arrange the small impromptu get together. Okay, so maybe seventeen people for dinner wouldn't be small, but it would most definitely be fun. After an hour later and some major name dropping, she secured a reservation at one of Miami’s finest Cuban restaurants. 

 

When they arrived at the restaurant, they were escorted to a small balcony. Far enough out of the way so they wouldn’t draw attention, but close enough to enjoy the beautiful sights and sounds of Miami nightlife. It didn't take long for four bottles of wine that were already on the table when they arrived to be emptied and, just like that night in London, Lema was up to his usual tricks. He was in the middle of telling a story while they waited for their next course to be served.  

 

“Now, now A.M., don’t go choking on me.” Ariana covered her mouth to keep from spitting out her drink. 

 

“Hey, fucktard.” Jon held up her left hand and pointed to her wedding ring. “It’s A.B. now.”

 

“Why thank-you, Sir Douche-a-lot.” David saluted him, “Like I didn’t freeze my nuts off at your wedding.”  

 

Fits of laughter erupted as Jon raised his middle finger and scratched his nose. They really were one big happy family… dysfunctional at times, but happy.

 

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

 

The darkened city skyline told her it was later than she had planned to stay out. She had promised the kid’s she’d be home in time for dinner. Gently tossing the covers aside, Dorothea set her feet on the cool oak wood floor and padded across the loft in search of her bag.  5:43 p.m. appeared as she swiped her finger over the screen. Sending a quick text to Stephanie telling her she was on her way and with dinner, she tossed her phone back into her back and sought to find her clothes. 

 

“Dottie, come back to bed?” Bobby pulled his knees up to chest and rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes.

 

“It’s late. I need to get home to the kids.”

 

“But we still need to talk about what happened.”

 

“It was nothing.” She dressed, stepping into her pants first, then pushing her arms one at a time through the silk sleeves of her blouse.

 

Pulling on his sweats, he walked to where she stood. “That’s bullshit, and you know it.”  

 

Brushing her fingers through his tousled hair, she smiled up at him. “I really have to go. I promise I will call you tonight after I get the kids settled and explain everything.”

 

“I’m holding you to that. Or else, I’ll be knocking down your door.”

 

“Still the protector.” She brushed his lips with a soft kiss. “Thank you.”

 

Hand in hand, they walked to the door and shared one last kiss before he opened the door for her and watched as she walked down the small corridor and disappeared into the waiting elevator.