Page 87 of VOGUEish

“Ta-Tas’ got an attitude,” Lefty said. “I’ll tell you what. We’ll give you some peace and quiet, but if you want to sit in any of our chairs, it’ll cost you fifty bucks.”

This elicited a chorus of laughter from the others in the bar.

Isabella had had just about enough of being laughed at. “You clowns would really shake down a woman on the same day her big comeback moment fell flat on its ass?”

“Leave her alone,” said a woman coming out of the hallway that led to the restrooms. She walked up to Isabella and held out her hand. “I’m Cowgirl.” She pointed to the guy wearing the cowboy hat. “That’s my man, Mad Dog. The rest have names, but you’d be better off never learning them. Have a seat wherever you want. I’ll pay the cover and keep them at bay.”

“There’s really a fifty-dollar cover?” Isabella whispered.

“The money goes to a charity.”

On shaky legs, Isabella walked to the back booth all while praying she didn’t fall on her face in the process. Once she was settled in, she pulled out her phone and updated her blog. Not because she wanted to but because she needed something to do to make it look like she wasn’t freaking out on the inside.

February, maybe March. I’m too tired to remember.

“Hey Ta-Tas, I see your thumbs moving but my pocket’s not vibrating,” hollered Lefty.

Once Isabella figured out his comment was a lame pickup line, she rolled her eyes and continued. With that sexy accent, he probably did get by with opening his mouth and spewing nonsense.

When I started this blog, it was a way to work through my feelings. Tonight, I met my nemesis in a public situation. Said nemesis was awful. I stooped to her level and said things I’m ashamed of. Not that she didn’t deserve it. Or the others who piled on. But it was the wrong move for me.

I don’t like the person they brought out in me. To be honest, I haven’t liked myself for a while. I’ve been so busy trying to impress people I don’t even like that I’ve forgotten to stop and smell the Iced Ristretto, 10 shot, venti, with breve, 5 pump vanilla, 7 pump caramel, 4 Splenda, and poured not shaken that I ordered every morning on my way to work. Pretentious…right!

Isabella paused. What gossip could she share? What the inside of a biker bar looked like? Or maybe how hurt she was by Chloe and Chandler.

I have a new boss starting soon. She’s a real ice queen.

Frankie had accepted the position.

She will make my old boss, the dick, look like sunshine and puppies. I would quit, but I’ve signed a contract that keeps me there for at least one year. And to be honest, I’m tired of running. I think I’ll stay and plot and execute a new comeback moment. One that I will get right this time.

Blog of an anonymous chick—living in a borough—shaping her life one bad mature decision at a time.

Until next time,

Love, light, and laughter,

Anonymous in NYC

Within seconds of posting, she received two text messages.

We need to talk?—Chloe

I’m sorry. Can we please talk?—Chandler

She deleted both messages, dropped her forehead on the table, and went limp.

“You look like you could use a drink,” a woman said.

Isabella raised her head and discovered Cowgirl sitting across from her in the booth.

The pretty blonde, rocking a blond ponytail and a leather vest, pushed a beer toward Isabella. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Isabella took a long swallow before replying. “I sort of hate this guy. But I also sort of love him. But there’s no chance for it to work. Our future went to hell in a Gucci basket, and the only reason he’s sorry is because someone proved to him he was wrong.” Who had convinced him she hadn’t leaked the story? Probably Ryder.

“I hate when my Gucci saddles goes to hell in a basket,” Cowgirl said.

“Hey! Why do you get to talk to Ta-Tas and I don’t?” Lefty hollered this from across the room.

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