Page 182 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
I step out of the car and return her wave as she pulls off.
I count the few bills I have left as I enter Butterflies—a dark bar full of men and a fraction of as many women flocking around them.
Seven dollars seems like such a small amount as I tuck the bills back into my purse. Shane said I wouldn’t need money once I got here, but the insecurity only adds to my anxiety.
I don’t see him or any of his recognizable relatives among the faces in the crowd. I move deeper into the room for a better view, my heels sinking through a soggy carpet that too many drinks have been spilled on as I walk.
The music is so loud.
This isn’t my kind of place.
My hands clap over my ears as I get closer to the speakers. The loud beat drowns my thoughts and causes a pounding in my throat.
Men gawk at me to the point of discomfort. Women glare, staring at me with hatred and judging my reaction to this room, to the memory they know nothing about. Their fingers roam over their guys as they fight to keep their attention.
That’s fine by me. I do not want it.
I just want out of this place because Shane is clearly not here.
Edging back, I freeze in the doorway, greeted by a downpour of rain that has come from nowhere. I linger there, typing out a quick text to Shane.
Dollancie:
Hey, I’m at Butterflies, but I don’t see you here. Are you running late?
Little dots appear on my screen, indicating he’s typing.
Shane:
Why are you at Butterflies? The party is at Bluebells.
Dollancie:
But you told the taxi to bring me here?
Shane:
No, she must have gotten it wrong.
Dollancie:
No, because you also said Butterflies in your message yesterday.
Shane:
I’m sure I didn’t.
Dollancie:
Well, you can check, but the message says Butterflies.
Anyway, does it really matter?
Can you come and get me? This place gives me the creeps.
Shane:
I don’t have my car. Get another taxi or walk. It isn’t far.
