I was pulled from my pit of self-pity by the ringing of my phone, which was still in my hand. I recognized Whitney's number immediately.
“Hey, kid,” I said, answering quickly. “Hey, you okay, bro?” she asked. “Not really,” I said, suddenly subsumed with honesty. “Anything alcohol could fix?” she asked. “Worth a try,” I said, sighing in resignation. “O'Shea's in twenty?” she asked. “Sure.” I was about to tell her not to bring the she-devil, but Whitney had already hung up.
O'Shea's was a family tradition. Our granddad had come across the place when he first came to California from London. At that time, the feeling toward the British in America was fairly warm. It had been nearly two centuries since the revolution and memories of the Second World War were still fresh.
All pale ale and chip fat, the bar was as authentic as it was possible to get state-side. There was even a plasma TV set fixed to the wall showing Premier League soccer on satellite. It stood to reason, then, that the pub's main clientele was British, and occasionally, Indian ex-pats.
Far as I could tell, Whitney and I would be the only natural-born Yanks in the place. And even that was more of a matter of timing.
I was beginning to think the fake fiancée thing had been a bad idea. Particularly if it led Ashlyn and Katie to be harmed in some way. My mood wasn't greatly improved when I approached our usual table and saw that Whitney was sitting with Satan's emissary herself.
Looking undeniably slutty in little black dress that showed off every curve of her not-yet-thirty body, Etta twirled matching heels on her toes that were made to make her legs look even longer. It was an outfit that I knew well. It used to turn me on, now it was like a red flag in warning.
I was just about to turn and leave — planning to make up some excuse when Whitney called to check in — when I saw my sister waving, as though I didn't know where she was. She had seen me, and there was no way out of it now.
“Hey,” Whitney said, kissing me on the cheek. “What the fuck is she doing here?” I asked, staring daggers at Etta. The she-devil shifted on her seat, looking up at me innocently. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I was surprised and hurt. I didn't mean any of those dreadful things I said,” Etta explained, putting on a tone of sincerity I had never heard before.
I looked for her the usual signs that she was bullshitting to get her way but saw none. Either she had gotten to be an even better liar than she had been before, or she actually meant what she was saying.
“Please can Etta stay?” Whitney pleaded, giving me the puppy dog eyes she knew I couldn't resist. “Fine,” I said. “Just don't try and kiss me again.” “My lips are sealed,” Etta said, actually making me feel a bit better about the situation.
I could feel myself starting to relax. I was still worried about Ashlyn and Katie, apprehension which was only added to by Etta's reappearance, but at least that was one less thing to worry about. I would see if maybe some liquid courage would be enough to calm me down entirely.
“Where's Ashlyn?” Whitney asked out of nowhere, bringing the demons back to my door. “She has a headache and didn't want to leave Katie,” I said, my lawyer instincts not completely dulled. “That's too bad,” Etta said, patting my thigh tenderly, though not going for my cock as I would have expected. It was confusing to have Etta being so understanding and kind. I had built up a particular image of her since our parting and wasn't keen on having that challenged. I started thinking that maybe I had been too hasty, and Etta really did love me. She had been only eighteen when we broke up. She might have changed. I could still read her signs though, and the touch made it pretty clear she wanted to make me feel good.
My mind went back to how it had been with Etta, at least when we weren't fighting. The love, the attention, the absolutely mind-blowing sex. Lord only knew what new tricks she had picked up over the years. Maybe it was best to forget about Ashlyn and focus on the now. A task which proved more difficult with Etta gently stroking the inside of my thigh. I hadn't noticed her putting her hand there but tried to not mind.
“Do you know when you are getting the inheritance?” Etta asked, when Whitney went to the bathroom, leaving us alone.
“What?” I asked, snapping out of the enchantment. “Whitney hasn't heard, and I thought maybe you might know.” Without a word, I got up out of the chair, pulling away from Etta and headed for the door. Far too drunk to even think about taking the car, I called a cab to take me home to my silent apartment and crashed drunkenly onto the bed, going to sleep immediately. I woke up feeling like I had been beaten with rubber mallets. Rousing myself from the bed, I zombie walked into the bathroom and got into a cold shower — most of my clothes still on. Suitably recovered, I went into the kitchen clad only in my Chinese silk boxers and made about thirteen cups of coffee.
Trying to ignore the fact that my place was still feeling too empty, I fried up some eggs before heading into work, once again armored in my signature black Armani. Stopping off at O'Shea's, I picked up my car on the way.
The morning went by pretty fast. I got into work almost on time and distracted myself from worrying about Ashlyn — who still wasn’t answering her phone — by reviewing case files. Something that passed as normal for me.
At about ten minutes before lunch, there was a tap on my office door. “Come in,” I said, having a good idea who it was. “Hiya, buddy,” Ann said, leaning on my doorway. “Lunch?” I asked. “Lunch,” she confirmed. We didn’t have a lot of time, Ann having a bit case she was working on, so we went to a fish and chips place a few blocks from the Howell and Howell building. “How are things going with the hunt?” Ann asked after we had ordered. “Ann, please, I am trying to find a woman to be my fake wife-to-be, not a prized wild boar.” “Oh, sorry,” Ann said, actually blushing. “Anyway, it is actually going pretty well,” I admitted. “Or it was. I met a great woman with an adorable little girl who was willing to play happy family. She was having some trouble with her landlord, which I cleared up for her mostly by putting a scare into the landlord and inviting them to stay at my place.”
“Of course, you did,” Ann said coyly. “I am the best, after all.” “Don't need to tell me that, cakes,” Ann said. She only called me cakes when we were joking around. A nickname I got in the army when I was found to have brought almost a hundred packs of twinkies with me on deployment. I didn't know when or if I was ever going to see one again and decided not to take any chances. “You must have it really bad for this woman,” Ann observed. I tried to laugh it off, hoping she had been kidding. Though I couldn't help but wonder if she was right. Had I developed feelings for Ashlyn so quick?
Chapter Ten
Ashlyn
It was scary being on the street, at first. The shelter I found wasn't great but was better than sleeping out in the elements. Thankfully it didn't last very long. While we were at the shelter, I managed to find a daycare that I could afford on the savings I had. My phone didn't have data anymore, the bill going a bit too long without getting paid, but there was a library not too far away from the daycare with public internet terminals. I would spend the time that Katie was at daycare to look for a job. I didn't have many skills to speak of, aside from cleaning and waitressing. The call for waitresses was surprisingly slim and most of the ones that there were wanted someone who could speak fluent Spanish, which I couldn’t do. Switching my search to the janitorial sector, I found four postings that looked promising and applied for them all, with an appropriately tailored and subtly padded, resume for each.