Page 176 of Smooth Sailing

All of them leaned toward me in unison.

“Who the hell is that guy?” Mel demanded.

“Okay, don’t get mad—” I started.

“I’m not mad. I’m jealous as all hell, but I’m not mad,” Charlie said. “I mean that guy is like…whoa.”

He was definitely whoa.

“Why would we be mad?” Bernie asked. “Except for the fact you were persona non seena or hearda for weeks, and now you show up with beefy hot guy who kisses your neck before he leaves you.”

Bernie, by the way, was slim, Black, had no small amount of back, but definitely a small chest, so everything looked good on her in every color, and she changed her hairstyles more often than I changed my purses, and I changed my purses all the time.

Now she had very long, thin braids, half up, half down, with the up part being in a fabulous knot with braid ends sticking out at the back of her head.

She was kind of shy, kind of quiet, but not with her girls. When she was with her girls, she was outspoken and no nonsense.

Mel, on the other hand, was white, auburn-haired, petite, and totally together. She was the only one of us who had a guy, Gerard, who was Scottish and really into her (as far as I could tell, half the time, I couldn’t understand what he was saying, his brogue was so thick).

Charlie, as noted, was our hippie chick. She was a wedding photographer and keyboardist in an ambient music band (if you could call them that) who played tunes that I guessed worked, because they put me to sleep, though that wasn’t what you were supposed to do when you went to one of their gigs to hear them play.

Still, we all went to see her all the time because she was Charlie.

The waitress showed, and I saw on the table there was a mushroom, a lantern and a green vase with some spiked leaves sticking out of it along with an apple slice and some floating almonds, so I went for the Solis, because it was yummy, but it was served in a goblet, and I figured that would round it out.

Once the waitress left, I said, “Okay, so a lot has gone down.”

“Ya think?” Mel asked, and jerked her head of luxurious tresses toward where Hugger disappeared.

“Are your hatches battened?” I asked.

“Oh boy,” Charlie whispered.

“Hatches battened. Spill,” Bernie ordered.

I spilled.

And I kept doing it through receiving my cocktail, and it went on until I was halfway done with it.

“Holy Mahoney,” Charlie muttered when I finally shut up, indicating that by sucking another quarter of my cocktail up my straw because all I’d just shared warranted it.

“Bad guys might be after you?” Bernie asked.

“We don’t think so, but maybe. They used to hang out in the courtyard of my complex to provide a threatening presence, but we haven’t seen them in days. Though, Hugger isn’t taking any chances,” I replied, putting my goblet on the table.

“He’s in a motorcycle club?” Mel queried.

I wasn’t certain about the look on her face, but I answered firmly, “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell us all this was happening?” Bernie asked the million-dollar question.

“Well, first of all, a lot was going down, so I didn’t have the time,” I explained.

“I see that,” Mel mumbled.

“And second, so much was going down, with Maddy, Dad, Hugger, I didn’t have the headspace to get into it, because there was so much of it.” I spread my hands over the table. “But now, I’m getting into it.”

“I think we should start with your mom,” Bernie said.

---