Page 5 of Make Her Mine

To her surprise, Esme’s eyes met hers and narrowed. “Esme Bloom. The owner,” and she emphasized the word, “of this establishment.”

A sudden hostility crackled off of her, and Nora nearly took a step back in surprise. Earlier, Esme had seemed gentle, worried, kind in demeanor. Now, she looked like she might reach across and slap Nora rather than shake her hand. Nora cleared her throat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The feeling is not mutual.” Esme pointed towards the door. “Please leave.”

Now, that really did rattle Nora, and this time she took that step back. “Come again?”

Esme’s finger moved to point at a neatly hand-lettered sign taped to the front of the cash register. She read it aloud, slowly, as if Nora were deficient. “Management reserves the right to refuse service to anyone,” she said, lifting her chin high. “This is me refusing. Goodbye, Ms. Hartley.” With a snort, she turned her back on Nora and walked away, lifting the bar passthrough and stalking off towards the Fairchilds.

Nora noticed she was wearing a long, full floral skirt. That answered that question, at least. Leah had also favored long skirts.

But Nora could see now that Esme was not Leah. Not even a little bit. Taking a deep breath, she gathered herself together and left the Lounge as she’d been asked, feeling like she’d just been run over by a semi-truck.

4

Four days and a number of disheartening Google searches later, Esme was still in such a thoroughly foul mood that nobody wanted to talk to her. She’d noticed Sasha and Natalie going out of their ways to not bother her unless they really needed help. There’d even been a day she saw them waving regulars off away from her. And normally when her open office door seemed like an invitation for everyone to come have a chat, for the last two days she’d been left alone to such an extent that she actually finished payroll and scheduling a week earlier than usual, an unprecedented feat.

It hurt her heart to know that she was exuding such a hostile air that nobody wanted to be around her. Esme prided herself on her welcoming spirit. She’d baked it into the walls of the Lounge; it was her entire ethos. But now the looming sale of the Fairchild Building had left her sleepless and out of sorts for two days and it did not appear that the black cloud over her head would be dissipating anytime soon.

Because the sale was looming. Inevitable, even. Oliver had confirmed it to her again when she approached them after this Nora person had walked out of the Lounge. Alexandra had rolled her eyes and simply left, and Esme was grateful for that. If she’d had to try and get answers out of her, Esme might have started pulling hair.

But Oliver, and even taciturn Matt to an extent, had both looked at her with sympathy as she pulled out the chair Nora had vacated and sat down herself, her hands in her lap. She didn’t say anything, only gazed at both of them steadily. It was a tactic that had paid off well for her in the past, and it didn’t fail her now.

“I’m sorry, Esme,” Oliver said, reaching over to pat her shoulder. “I think it’s going to go through with Nora.”

It was a hopeless thing to even think about, but she had to try. “How much are you all wanting for the building?”

Matt looked at her, an uncharacteristic pity in his eyes. Soberly, he pushed the long sweep of his bangs back from his face. “Esme. You’ve barely managed to profit the last few years.”

“Tell me, Matty.”

He sighed. “We’ve decided on a fifteen million dollar asking price.”

She had no way of raising that much money. The bar could have been fully profitable to an insane degree every year it had been opened and she’d still never be able to get her hands on fifteen million dollars. She certainly didn’t have enough of anything she could call collateral for a loan that high. Besides, what would she do if she could buy the Fairchild Building? She didn’t know the first thing about trying to rent out office space.

She was certain she was staring down the barrel of the Indigo Lounge’s closure. Someone like Nora Hartley was going to come in and wipe all of the last straggling tenants of the Fairchild off the map.

All Esme had ever wanted was to create a safe community space catering mainly to lesbian, bisexual, and queer women. Her nearly lifelong dream, and she’d achieved it, yet now some manicured shark in a designer suit was sailing in to take a sledgehammer to the walls.

She wanted to cry again. Instead, she’d simply gotten to her feet. “Thanks, boys.” With a curt nod, she’d turned and fled to her office.

Now, today, it was insane to her that something that was so, so important to her and so many others was now under threat because of money. It was so crass to her that the entire meaning of the Indigo Lounge was worthless next to cold, hard cash. The Fairchilds had no idea the blood, sweat, and tears that had gone into just creating the Lounge. No idea what they’d be taking away from people like Mia Cortés, whom Esme had supported until her now-agent and girlfriend Harper Nightingale had discovered her singing on the tiny stage here. Or from the people that Esme’s fundraising efforts helped—people with medical needs and no healthcare, women needing help to escape domestic violence situations, the soup kitchens in the LA area.

Ever since she was a sixteen-year-old runaway from Temecula, in shock after her parents had kicked her out for coming out, Esme had vowed that no one else who needed shelter, food, and community would go without as long as she could help provide it. The Indigo Lounge was so much more than just a café and bar, damn it. It was worth more in importance and sheer meaning than fifteen million dollars…

But money was what made the world go ‘round, as the saying went. Esme braced her elbows on her desk and thrust her hands into her hair so she could massage her aching head. Music drifted in from the Lounge through her cracked-open door; there was a folk-piano player from Kansas City who had come all the way to LA to do a week-long residency at the Lounge. An earnest twenty-year-old with glasses and a short, black and pink haircut, Chloe Riley had arrived with nothing more than a keyboard strapped to her back and a backpack in her hand. She was staying on Esme’s couch, and Esme was certain that she was the next big thing. Would she be the last lesbian breakout star that would be discovered on the Indigo Lounge stage? The thought made Esme’s stomach curdle like bad yogurt.

“E…” Sasha’s voice was all but a whisper, followed by a gentle rap of her knuckles on the door. She slipped through and held up a red plastic basket filled with an avocado mushroom veggie burger and garlic-parmesan fries. A Nalgene bottle full of what looked like pink lemonade dangled from her fingers. “I made you lunch. You’ve got to eat.”

Esme looked up and turned slowly in her desk chair. “I’m not hungry,” she replied, placing a hand over her churning stomach.

“You are, actually. You think you’ll be sick if you eat, but E, you’re going to be sicker if you don’t.” Sasha came around and carefully placed the basket and bottle on the desk in front of Esme. “Come on. Eat something for me. You’re no good to anyone, especially yourself, if you’re not nourished.”

Esme looked at the basket before her. This good old-fashioned comfort food was her favorite thing that Sasha made. And the sautéed mushrooms and grilled onions topping the burger patty did smell good. She picked it up and took a bite. This was the first real food she’d eaten in days.

Flavor exploded on her tongue. Esme let out a little groan and heard Sasha sigh in relief as she tore into the burger, demolishing it in just a few minutes. The fries, perfectly crispy and golden, followed in short order. She washed it all down with the perfectly tangy pink lemonade. At last, Esme leaned back in her chair, hand draped over her now-stuffed-full abdomen. “Okay. You were right. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Sasha smiled. “Couldn’t have you waste away on me. I need you in peak form if we’re gonna start talking about how to save this place.”

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