Page 12 of The Space Between

“Okay,” Jeanie says quickly, standing up. “I’ll make the coffee.”

Vicki gives a whoop of joy. “There we go, princess! We’re gonna live a little.” She stubs her cigarette out in the blue glassashtray and assesses Jeanie through narrow eyes. “Okay, this dainty white number is sweet, but it’s far too virginal.” She sweeps a hand over Jeanie’s white cotton baby shower dress. “You’re always as cute as a bug’s ear, but do you have anything that’s a bit…sexier?”

Jeanie flushes at the wordsvirginalandsexier, but she knows what Vicki means: she dresses for the library, not the bar.

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a cute joint down by the marina where the drinks are cold and the men are hot,” Vicki says with a shimmy of her hips that sets her beaded dress to clacking again. “Here, let me give you something out of my closet.” She grabs Jeanie’s hand and tugs her down the hallway, pointing at the foot of her unmade bed. Jeanie sits.

“Let’s see what sort of costume we can cook up for you, my love,” Vicki says, sliding open her mirrored closet door with a flourish. “Let Auntie Vicki get you dolled up and ready to rumble.”

The bar at the marina is made of weathered wood and glass bottles: the bar itself has more bottles of alcohol behind it than Jeanie has ever seen, and on each table are various glass jars in different sizes and colors holding silver forks, spoons, and knives. The windows are big and round to mimic portholes on a ship, and the place is air-conditioned and cool. In stark contrast to the rustic wood and the communal silverware jars are white linen napkins at each place setting, a baby grand piano in one corner, and waitresses in black cocktail dresses and red lipstick.

Jeanie stands in the doorway nervously, looking around. The men are all older—much older—than she is. And she feelsconspicuous in the tight green dress that Vicki chose for her. It hugs her body and is a bit lower cut than Jeanie would choose for herself, and in order to make up for her lack of natural cleavage, Vicki had instructed her to go into her room and roll up two pairs of pantyhose to shove into her bra cups.

“Shhh, insider’s secret, princess,” Vicki had said, putting one finger to her lips. “If you ever find yourself in a compromising position with a man and you’ve got your falsies in, just excuse yourself to the restroom and pull them out.”

“Won’t he notice?”

Vicki had laughed—a deep, throaty chuckle. “Angel, once a man is horizontal, he wouldn’t notice if you left the room and came back with a whole new face. Trust me on this.”

So Jeanie had rolled up two pairs of suntan nylons and wedged them into the cups of her bra, knowing full well that she’d never find herself in a compromising position at The Hungry Pelican on a Saturday evening with a bunch of men who looked like they’d seen action in WWII. A couple of guys sitting at the bar might have even done tours in WWI.

“We’re going to get those two to buy us drinks,” Vicki says now, scanning the room. Her eyes have stopped on two tanned, middle-aged men in pastel polo shirts. One has a heavy gold ring on his pinky, and the other has a head of thick, wavy hair and a face like a newscaster. Vicki makes a beeline for their table.

“Are you two handsome men drinking alone?” Vicki asks as she sidles up to their table and leans one hip against the edge of it suggestively.

The man with the pinky ring drags his eyes up her body slowly, finally landing on her face. His friend is watching Jeanie, who hovers behind Vicki uncertainly.

“Look, she brought her daughter,” the newscaster says with amusement, tipping his head at Jeanie. “That’s cute.”

“Sit with us, ladies,” Pinky Ring says, standing up to pull out a chair for Vicki. Newscaster gets up and does the same for Jeanie, who sits down gingerly. Between the tight dress and the nylons stuffed into her bra, Jeanie feels like she’s acting in a play about a girl who dresses up like a woman. And she isn’t sure that her act is very convincing.

“What are you drinking?” Pinky Ring lifts a hand casually so that the waitress will come by.

“Sidecars, please,” Vicki says, setting her purse next to her elbow on the table. Jeanie watches her and follows suit.

"So are you actually mother and daughter?" Pinky Ring asks, his eyes grazing Vicki's ample cleavage.

"No, darling," Vicki says with mock scorn. "I'm not old enough to have a daughter this age. What kind of thing is that to suggest to a woman?"

"My apologies." Pinky Ring smirks at her. "I'm Patrick," he says. "And this is John."

"Victoria," Vicki says. "And this is Jeanette."

With the introductions made and the Sidecars ordered, Jeanie settles in, waiting to take her cues from Vicki.

"You gentlemen come here often?" Vicki asks, aiming her question at Patrick and his pinky ring.

"That's supposed to be my line," he says, sitting back as the waitress delivers the cocktails for the women. "'What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?' or something along those lines." He winks at Jeanie and holds her gaze. "Your big sister is a bit of a flirt, isn't she?"

Jeanie isn't sure what to say here; flirting and playing coy don't come naturally to her. In fact, far from it--she can't even remember the last time she went on a date, save for an ill-fated college romance, and so far during her time in Florida, she's been perfectly happy to work all day, come home to feedMiranda, and go for a swim in her condominium's pool before tucking in for the night with a good book.

Jeanie looks at Vicki quickly, and she sees an encouraging smile on her roommate's face. She glances back at Patrick. "She is," she says boldly. "An unapologetic flirt who flirts even harder with every drink you buy her."

There is a brief pause and then both men roar with laughter and John holds up his hand as if he's ready to order the next round.

"Oh, you're a little minx yourself," Patrick says, putting a hand encouragingly on Jeanie's shoulder. Under different circumstances it might have come across as lecherous, but in both of the men's faces Jeanie sees a little spark of fatherly amusement.

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