Two older punk rock guys sat smoking on a bench facing the water. Tired Mohawks drooped over their middle-aged foreheads, and their leather jackets had the ugly, dirty look of something they’d been wearing since punk was new. The blank expressions on their tan, slack faces made the whole scene feel even more desolate.
The swamp edging the two-lane highway had begun to overwhelm the asphalt, and the road just sort of petered out into swamp grass and mud. Luce had never been out this far in the river marshes.
As she sat, unsure what she’d do once she left the car, or whether that was even a good idea, the front door of Styx banged open and Cam sauntered out. He leaned coolly against the screen door, one leg crossed over the other. She knew he couldn’t see her through the tinted window of the car, but he raised his hand like he could and beckoned her toward him.
“Here goes nothing,” Luce muttered before thanking the driver. She opened the door and was greeted by a blast of salty wind as she climbed the three steps to the bar’s wooden porch.
Cam’s shaggy hair was loose around his face and he had a calm look in his green eyes. One sleeve of his black T-shirt was pushed up over his shoulder, and Luce could see the smooth cut of his bicep. She fingered the gold chain in her pocket. Remember why you’re here.
Cam’s face showed no sign of the fight the night before, which made her wonder, immediately, whether Daniel’s did.
Cam gave her an inquisitive look, running his tongue along his bottom lip. “I was just calculating how many consolation drinks I’d need if you stood me up today,” he said, opening his arms for a hug. Luce stepped into them. Cam was a very hard person to say no to, even when she wasn’t totally sure what he was asking.
“I wouldn’t stand you up,” she said, then immediately felt guilty, knowing that her words came from a sense of duty, not the romance Cam would have preferred. She was there only because she was going to tell him she didn’t want to be involved with him. “So what is this place? And since when do you have a car service?”
“Stick with me, kid,” he said, seeming to take her questions as compliments, as if she liked being whisked off to bars that smelled like the inside of a sink drain.
She was so bad at this kind of thing. Callie always said Luce was incapable of brutal honesty and that was why she got herself stuck in so many crappy situations with guys whom she should have just told no. Luce was trembling. She had to get this off her chest. She fished in her pocket and pulled out the pendant. “Cam.”
“Oh good, you brought it.” He took the necklace from her hands and spun her around. “Let me help you put it on.”
“No, wait—”
“There,” he said. “It really suits you. Take a look.” He steered her along the creaking wooden floorboards to the window of the bar, where a number of bands had posted signs for shows. THE OLD BABIES. DRIPPING WITH HATE. HOUSE CRACKERS. Luce would rather have studied any of them than gaze at her reflection. “See?”
She couldn’t really make out her features in the mud-flecked windowpane, but the gold pendant gleamed on her warm skin. She pressed her hand to it. It was lovely. And so distinctive, with its tiny hand-sculpted serpent snaking up the middle. It wasn’t like anything you’d see at the boardwalk markets, where locals peddled overpriced crafts for tourists, state of Georgia souvenirs made in the Philippines. Behind her reflection in the window, the sky was a rich orange-Popsicle color, broken up by thin lines of pink cloud.
“About last night …,” Cam started to say. She could vaguely see his rosy lips moving in the glass over her shoulder.
“I wanted to talk to you about last night, too,” Luce said, standing at his side. She could see the very tips of the sunburst tattoo on the back of his neck.
“Come inside,” he said, guiding her back to the half-unhinged screen door. “We can talk in there.”
The interior of the bar was wood-paneled, with a few dim orange lamps providing the only light. All sizes and shapes of antlers were mounted on the wall, and a taxidermied cheetah was poised over the bar, looking ready to lunge at any moment. A faded composite picture with the words PULASKI COUNTY MOOSE CLUB OFFICERS 1964-65 was the only other decoration on the wall, showcasing a hundred oval faces, smiling modestly above pastel bow ties. The jukebox was playing Ziggy Stardust, and an older guy with a shaved head and leather pants was humming, dancing alone in the middle of a small raised stage. Besides Luce and Cam, he was the only other person in the place.
Cam pointed to two stools. The worn green leather cushions had split down the middle, the beige foam bursting out like massive pieces of popcorn. There was already a half-empty glass at the seat Cam claimed. The drink in it was light brown and watered down with ice, beaded with sweat.
“What’s that?” Luce asked.
“Georgia moonshine,” he said, taking a gulp. “I don’t recommend it to start.” When she squinted at him, he said, “I’ve been here all day.”
“Charming,” Luce said, fingering the gold necklace. “What are you, seventy? Sitting in a bar by yourself all day?”
He didn’t seem obviously drunk, but she didn’t like the idea of coming all the way out here to break things off with him, only to have him be too trashed to understand it. She was also starting to wonder how she’d get back to school. She didn’t even know where this place was.
“Ouch.” Cam rubbed his heart. “The beauty of being suspended from class, Luce, is that no one misses you during class. I thought I deserved a little recovery time.” He cocked his head. “What’s really bothering you? Is it this place? Or the fight last night? Or the fact that we’re getting no service?” He raised his voice to shout the last words, loud enough to cause a huge, burly bartender to swing in from the kitchen door behind the bar. The barman had long, layered hair with bangs, and tattoos that looked like braided human hair running up and down his arms. He was all muscle and must have weighed three hundred pounds.
Cam turned to her and smiled. “What’s your poison?”
“I don’t care,” Luce said. “I don’t really have my own poison.”
“You were drinking champagne at my party,” Cam said. “See who’s paying attention?” He nudged her with his shoulder. “Your finest champagne over here,” he told the bartender, who threw back his head and let out a snide hacking laugh.
Making no attempt to card her or even to glance at her long enough to guess at her age, the bartender bent down to a small refrigerator with a sliding glass door. The bottles clinked as he dug and dug. After what seemed like a long time, he reemerged with a tiny bottle of Freixenet. It looked like it had something orange growing around its base.
“I accept no responsibility for this,” he said, handing it over.
Cam popped the cork and raised his eyebrows at Luce. He poured the Freixenet ceremoniously into a wineglass.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I know I’ve been coming on a little strong. And last night, what happened with Daniel, I don’t feel good about that.” He waited for Luce to nod before he went on. “Instead of getting mad, I should have just listened to you. You’re the one I care about, not him.”
Luce watched the bubbles rise in her wine, thinking that if she were to be honest, she’d say it was Daniel she cared about, not Cam. She had to tell Cam. If he already regretted not having listened to her last night, maybe now he’d start to. She raised her glass to take a sip before she started in.