Page 19 of All In
Because as luck would have it, I lost my job today. The small communications company I was working for went under. They announced it first thing this morning and told us we had two hours to clean out our desks.
Fun times.
I walked out with a tiny box full of what little things I had in my cubicle and immediately called Ricky as soon as I walked into my apartment. Which I have no idea how to pay for after today.
Two years ago, my life was in shambles. I lost Maria, and it felt like I was living in some kind of black hole. In time, I picked up the pieces again. But now … I’m jobless. It feels like I can’t catch a break.
I turn around and glance at the half-lit neon sign that hangs above the door of this dive I love.
Dexter’s.
The ‘x’ is completely dark, while the ‘r’ flickers on and off every few seconds. When I call this a dive bar, that’s being generous.
I have no clue who Dexter is, nor do I care. But he serves cheap beer and killer chili cheese fries, both of which I need to help me cope with the crap show that is my life right now.
And it seems I’m not the only one that needs a night out because this place is packed. People are streaming in as I stand and wait for Ricky.What is taking him so long, anyway? Whenever the white door with chipped paint creaks open, Garth Brooks’s crooning voice, mixed with very happy bar patrons, fills the night air. It’s the sound of fun, and I’m itching to get in.
Finally, Ricky makes it to my side. “Stupid meter won’t take my quarters. I’m probably going to get towed,” he says with exasperation, looking around, trying to decide what to do next. “I’ll meet you inside. I’m going to have to find another spot.”
With a nod, I reach for the door handle, ready to take on what lies on the other side. When I open it, a few people view it as a kind gesture and stroll inside. “Cool. I’ll meet ya at the bar.”
I’m already half-way through the entrance when I hear him cry out, “And you better have a honey on your arm when I get in there!” As I shake my head and grin at his demand, I glance around the crowded bar. It’s wall-to-wall people, which is to be expected on a Friday night. The dance floor is alive with the sound of boots stomping and glasses clinking as line dancers hold on tight to their drinks.
Not a single high-top table is available, leaving only one empty seat at the bar. Which I decide has my name on it. I weave through the crowd and sit down on the stool that has a huge tear in the plastic. Within seconds, Big C, my favorite bartender, makes his way over to me. And he is just that … big.
Big C (no clue what his real name is) is Samoan and used to be a linebacker for Georgia Tech before a blown-out knee stopped his career. He’s six-five and at least two-sixty of pure muscle. No one messes with Big C. Since I’m a regular here, Big C knows more about my life than just about anyone. The best bartenders listen and will take your secrets to their grave. Since getting to know him, I’ve discovered how awesome he is, and now we’re friends.
“Sam! My man,” he charges toward me from across the sticky, lacquered bar to give me a slap handshake.
“Big C. Huge crowd tonight.” My raised voice pierces through the noise and music so that he can hear me.
His eyes scan the dimly lit bar, taking in the various patrons. “No kidding. I haven’t stopped for longer than two seconds since I got here. The usual?”
I flash him a thumbs-up, and within seconds, Big C slides a Heineken over to me. I grab the bottleneck, and the chill from the glass is already making me feel better. So does the cold beer as the bubbles coat my throat. I turn around on the stool and rest my elbows on the bar as I scan the room. Maybe Ricky is right. I should try to meet someone and have some fun. I’m not looking for anything serious, but a few dances and friendly conversation with a woman could definitely brighten my day. The excitement of that being a reality gets my adrenaline moving.
I zero in on a table of ladies who look to be having fun. They appear to be my age, or a little older, which I’m not opposed to. That could work. I’ll wait until Ricky gets in here and we can approach together. Knowing Ricky, he’ll be okay with it.
As I scan the room for more prospects, I lift the beer to take another swig, but the bottle tip stops on my lips as my eyes land on …her. My heart stops. I slowly lower the beer because there she is, in the flesh.
My Maria.
Saddled up against some preppy-looking dude at the table in the far corner. His arm is tightly around her waist in almost a possessive way. I could spot her from a mile away, anywhere. Her blonde hair is still long, cascading down her back. She’s wearing a yellow cropped shirt, which shows off a sliver of her bare skin. Her long legs are on display with a black skirt, and she’s wearing black chunky sandals.
She looks incredible.
My stomach is in knots as I do a double take, then take another swig of beer before I rotate on my stool. I need to get my bearings because I haven’t seen or heard from Maria since I readThe Chadletter two years ago. Who would have thought a simple piece of paper could hold so much power, but it destroyed me with just a few words.
I glance over my shoulder to get another look, and as I study her, I notice something is off. Maria was always so full of light. She’s shy but could brighten any room with her smile. But the Maria I see right now is not the Maria I knew and loved.
Well …love, if I’m being honest with myself. Which the beer is helping with.
With her shoulders slumped over and her eyes locked on the floor, she seems to carry the weight of the world on her back. She’s not laughing. She’s not talking. She just looks … sad.
Preppy guy laughs at something one of his friends says. He removes his arm from her waist, wraps it around Maria’s shoulders, and pulls her towards him. She turns to look at him, and he slams his mouth onto hers.
I look away as I clench my beer.Is this the guy she dumped me for?
Chad.
