Page 22 of Books and Hookups

“We want different things. It’s not a good idea for us to”—I glanced at Frank—“do that.” Again.

“You seemed to enjoy it last time, same as me.” She lifted her eyebrows.

“I…” I peered at the door, willing a new customer to come in and save me from this conversation, but it stayed closed. “I’m not interested.”

She narrowed her eyes like she could spot the lie on my face. Then she grimaced and pressed her hand into her belly. “Fine.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

She snorted. “Because I changed my mind about sleeping with you, I must be ill? I mean, the sex was good, Danny?—”

I waved my hand to shush her. Frank and every other patron in the bar didn’t have to know we’d slept together.

“—but it wasn’t so great that I can’t take no for an answer,” she continued like she didn’t care that the entire bar knew our business.

“Good,” I growled.

“Good,” she echoed.

“I don’t mind—” Frank began.

“Shut it, Frank,” Lucie and I said at the same time.

I turned my back to the bar and got out the first aid kit. I found a bandage and wrapped it around the cut on my thumb, then I pulled on a black latex glove.

“Hello, Michael Jackson,” Lucie said. Frank chuckled.

“What?” I said.

“Michael Jackson,” she said. “You remember, he used to wear one glove in his music videos. I danced along to ‘Black or White’ about a million times. No?”

“We weren’t allowed to watch YouTube unsupervised.”

“YouTube? Didn’t you watch MTV every day after school?” she asked.

“Nope. I had a bunch of little brothers and sisters to watch.” Turning back to the sink, I plunged my hands into the soapy water and scrubbed up the knives, more carefully this time. I was cautious not to look at Lucie, though I noticed when she scurried off to the restrooms.

She still hadn’t returned by the time I’d dried and put the knives away. I got an unpleasant prickly feeling in the back of my throat when I peered down the hallway to the restrooms. Finally, I asked our dishwasher to man the bar for a minute, then jogged down the hall and stuck my head into the office. “Hey, Barb, can you cover for a minute, please?”

She looked up from the computer screen. “Thank God. I need to look at something that isn’t a spreadsheet.”

As she wheeled to the bar, I hustled to the restrooms and knocked on the ladies’ room door. “Lucie, you in there?”

She coughed. “Yeah.” Her voice was hoarse.

“You alone?”

“Yeah.” She sounded terrible.

“I’m coming in.”

I pushed open the door. A gagging sound came from the first stall.

I was in front of the door in a second. “Lucie, you okay?”

“Not really. I think I puked up a minor organ.” The toilet paper roll rattled, then the toilet flushed. When she opened the stall door, her face was green and sweat curled the hair at her temples.

I grabbed her elbow and led her to the sink. I started the cold tap and held her wrists under it.

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