Page 7 of Ring My Bell

“Why don’t you have an ID? What’s your address?”

“Gimme!” He let me snatch my wallet back and cram it into my very snug hip pocket. It popped halfway out almost immediately. “Damn it,” I wailed, “my ass is too plentiful!”

Mathis made a funny sound, maybe a laugh. Or possibly choking on a cocktail onion he thought I didn’t notice him stealing out of my Gibson.

I might have been drunk, but I kept an eye on my drinks, damn it.

“Look. I mean. Listen. Okay, so, someone told me you know Raymond Montaine. You know? Raymond?”

Mathis stopped chewing the purloined onion and stared at me, the color draining from his face until he looked ghostly. The dark circles under his eyes made a stark contrast to the slow spread of red creeping up his throat towards his pale face. “Raymond Montaine. Are you… Are you one of his little toys?” A look of horror burst into bloom on his sharp features, and he recoiled. “Iggy! You’re fucking Iggy!”

“Lately, I’m the only person I’m fucking, so that’s very true,” I grumped into my drink.

“No,” he seethed, pushing away from the table to stand up only to lean back over me, forcing me to crane my neck back to see his face.

Though, to be fair, staring at his whole collarbone-throat area was nice, too, and not nearly as much work.

“You’ve already stolen from me, you asshole! I’m not going to help you anymore! Tell Raymond he can eat my entire ass, and if he tries to fucking say I owe him, remind him he still has my baby, and I can sue him to get her back!”

“Whoa, Raymond has your child? What the fuck? I never even saw a kid in his house!” I wouldn’t put it past Raymond at this point, though, I decided. He was comfortable ruining lives.

Mathis closed his eyes, his lips moving slowly.

“Are you counting? Why do people keep doing that?”

“I really can’t say,” he gritted out. “My baby is a piano. A classic Schimmel.”

“Oh! I’ve seen it! It’s in his junk room!”

Mathis gasped. “His what?”

“It used to be one of the guest rooms, but he’s started storing things in there he doesn’t want on display. Less prestigious awards, shit his mom sends him, pictures of exes…” I frowned, something bubbling through my Gibson-induced haze. “Wait. Do you think he keeps, you know, sexy videos in there?”

“Dude. Never make a sexy video with someone unless you’re getting paid for it.”

“Wait, Raymond and you… He didn’t, did he?” I sat back, anger taking the edge off my tipsiness. “I’ll kick his ass for you!”

Wide-eyed, Mathis stared at me. Then a small smile cracked his façade. “I’m good. Thanks for offering, though. And no, I didn’t make a tape with him. But if you mean, ‘did I sleep with him,’ yeah. We were…together… for a few years. Until he traded me in.” He tapped his fingers against the table, narrowing his eyes. “For you, actually. And I gotta admit, I’ve given a lot of thought to what I’d do if we ever met.”

Welp. There went the rest of my pleasant buzz. Leaning back in my seat, I did my best not to look nervous, pushing a cool glare to the fore. “And what was that, then? Kick my ass? You don’t think I made him ditch you do you?” Even as I said it, realization crept in and settled, hot and sharp, somewhere in my gut.

Or that might’ve been the second Gibson on an empty stomach. Or third? Probably third.

I’d been the other guy, hadn’t I? I’d believed Raymond when he’d said he was single, coming off a bad break up. He’d been such a kicked puppy about the whole thing and trash talked his heartless ex and… “I fell for it,” I muttered. “I fell for it and you got screwed over.”

Mathis’s jaw worked, and his brow pinched. It was unfair that he still looked good while making an angry face, I thought, then clapped my hand over mouth in case I said as much out loud.

He didn’t change expression, though, so I was probably fine. “I came out here to tell you off, at the very least. Maybe make a scene,” he sighed. “But I’m tired, Iggy. And I need this stupid job here, and if I tear into paying customers in front of witnesses, Dom won’t let me come back. So no, I’m not going to kick your ass or even tell you off like I desperately would like to. I am going to tell you to fuck off and that I will not be helping you with anything, no matter how much you swear it’ll help your career and what promises you make me. I’ve been burned by Raymond’s promises before. Burned to the ground, and the earth salted after, really. And sending you to get the last few drops of blood from me won’t change my stance: Raymond can eat a bag of rancid dicks.”

Gin snorted out the nose was great for clearing the sinuses, but it hurts like a bastard.

It also made Mathis laugh with a startled sort of cackle. He got me some cocktail napkins and a bottle of water from the crowded bar. By the time he returned, I’d mostly set myself to rights, but there was no hiding the wet patch on my hot-pink tank top or my running mascara.

Waterproof and long-lasting, my Aunt Fanny.

Though I supposed it made me look extra pathetic, which might work in my favor. As he headed back over, I rubbed my eyes, making them look just a little more puffy and pink, and gave an extra-loud sniffle when he neared the table.

“I guess I should start again,” I said finally, dabbing at my shirt. Mathis settled in across from me again, arms folded and his expression set in mostly the same lines as before. Maybe a little less stabby this time. “Okay so… I did work with Raymond. Or I thought I did.”

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