Page 7 of The Art of Dying

“No worries, Fred,” she said, smiling and pulling me inside as he held open the door.

The bare concrete floor was wet just inside from God-knows-what, the darkened room lit with hanging Christmas lights. A few high tops were open, but Alecia preferred the bar. Various liquor and beer posters framed local headlines, and neon-lit signs crowded the wood paneled walls, as well as clocks that didn’t work, dart boards that weren’t used, and a decade of dust accumulating on it all. Somehow, the ventilation kept the smoke over the pool tables to our left, but spending an evening at Ody’s always meant having to scrub the ashtray smell out of my hair.

Dani smiled at us from behind the long wooden bar as she dried a pint glass, every seat and glass in front of her filled. She was the head bartender and owner, but despite the bar’s appearance, she ran a tight ship.

“There’re two stools at the end, girls. Drinking the usual?” Dani said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Alecia said, turning to the right.

We sat at the last two seats available at the end of the bar. I was glad to be against the wall, as far away as I could get from any coming-or-going traffic and the juke box, a natural mode of attention for any single patrons. As if on-cue, Melissa Morrison sauntered over to the tall, glowing box, taking her time to scan through the songs.

“Good Lord, who’s gonna tell her about that wig?” Alecia murmured.

“Be nice.” I glanced back at the mess of frizzy extensions overwhelming everything else about her.

“Ladies,” Dani said, setting two opened bottles of Stella in front of us.

“Fine. I am now asking nicely why she’s wearing a leather mini skirt and skintight red tank top on a Tuesday.”

“Because she wants to; let her live.”

Alecia pouted. “We used to be friends.”

“You and Melissa? Do tell!”

“Last year, when Lucas and I were broken up, I’d heard from a few regulars here that they’d seen Lucas and Melissa talking at a table in the corner. When I asked her about him the next time we went for drinks, she played dumb. Said she barely knew him and she was getting back with her ex-husband. A week after that conversation, Patricia told me she saw Melissa and Lucas on a date. I asked her about it, but she assured me they just went out as friends and she wasn’t interested in him at all. She said a week or so later he was still calling her, but she assured me she’d told him to quit because she didn’t feel right about it. I find out later they’d kissed after their non-dates. Must’ve been friendly tonguing.” She rolled her eyes. “Once Lucas and I got back together, he admitted everything. They’d been talking the whole time we were apart, and she’d never once mentioned any concern for me or our friendship to him. She made complete fool out of me.”

“Normally, I’d say Lucas shouldn’t get a pass, either. Yeah, things end, but you don’t just move on that quick if you love someone. Besides taking the time to heal… damn. Don’t treat your ex like they never mattered. Don’t waste someone’s time when there is no way you’re ready for a new relationship. But…”

“He didn’t cheat.”

“He didn’t cheat. Still hurtful. And Melissa… wow. She lied to your face and pretended to be a friend all while going after the man she knew you loved. What a duplicitous slutbag.”

Alecia sighed in relief. “You get it. I knew you would.”

I glanced over at her and took a swig from my bottle of beer. “She looks like the Wal-Mart version of Dolly Parton.”

“Thank you,” Alecia said, taking another sip. “So… any word from your parents?”

I sighed. “We’ve talked on the phone a few times. They’re not really texters.”

“They’re still mad you left?”

“And mad I didn’t come back the moment I was single. They don’t understand why I stayed. They offered money for the move. But I… I have a job here. Friends. Mason’s gone. And how am I supposed to get a decent job if I quit in less than a year?”

“They can’t seriously be mad at you because you’re adulting. They didn’t expect you to live down the street from them forever, did they?”

I picked at the label on my bottle. “It would appear so.”

Dani returned, watching us expectantly.

“We’re not starting a tab tonight,” I said.

“I was just letting you know it was taken care of.”

“By who?” I asked, looking for Kitsch. He wasn’t there.

Dani shrugged one shoulder. “I was told not to say.”

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