Page 1 of No More Heartbreakers

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Friday night

“The himbo hunt ison, ladies,” Mara announced, glancing around the crowded bar with a predatory grin on her hot pink lips.

“Whoo!” Kenley threw back her third shot and whooped, having left her normally demure personality somewhere between work and the Rock Bottom, our favorite local bar and the only real entertainment option in Peachtree Valley, Georgia.

I would be holding someone’s hair back tonight, for sure.

Kenley picked up another full shot glass.

“Okay there, sister, slow it down,” I said, taking the glass from her hand, sloshing the clear liquid over my fingers in the process.

“But it’s my good-bye party. I can drink if I want to.” Kenley laughed loudly, looking to Mara for encouragement. “That should be a song, right?”

Mara and I made eye contact, and I subtly shook my head. In complete agreement, she hugged Kenley and offered a high-five, distracting our overserved friend while I slid the tray of still-full shot glasses out of Kenley’s sight and motioned for our cocktail waitress.

She leaned down to hear me over the loud music blaring through the bar.

“Can you please do something with these? We didn’t order them, and we definitely don’t need any more here. And could we get some waters? Thanks.”

The waitress took the tray and disappeared into the crowd.

Friday was nineties night at the Rock Bottom, which explained the proliferation of forty-somethings filling the bar. It also explained the inordinate number of complimentary drinks being sent to our table.

Nothing brought out the generosity of unattached male bar patrons like the sight of a leggy blonde under twenty-five (not me), loudly celebrating with her raven-haired, olive-skinned and curvaceous best friend (also not me), and their… designated driver.

That’s me. Good old Heidi, raised to be a Southern lady and still living in the same area code where I was born. In fact, if I studied the faces in here closely enough, I’d probably recognize more than a few from my parents’ high school yearbook.

Between being on TV and living so close to home, I had to be conscious all the time of how my behavior might reflect on my familyandon my employer.

Kenley no longer had to worry about WPVG’s behavior policy. Word had spread quickly among the staff about her resignation and her engagement to her long-time hometown honey, Mark.

A lot of us went out on Friday nights after work anyway, but tonight had turned into a farewell celebration.

“I love y’all. I really love y’all, you know that?”

Oh boy. Kenley was getting teary. If she hadn’t been so smashed, I might have gotten emotional, too. As it was, the moment was more comical than bittersweet.

“You’re gonna be my best maid,” she said to me, slapping my back, “And you’re gonna be—wait, is it best? Maid of honor, that’s it. Andyou’regonna be myothermaid of honor.”

She threw a floppy arm around Mara.

“Okay, Bride-arita, sounds great. Maybe we should head out…” Mara looked at me, questioning.

“Noooooo. It’s early, and I’m having fun,” Kenley protested. “And the guys said they were coming by after the ten o’clock show. We can’t leave—I haven’t seen everybody yet. And we have to dance.”

Almost everyone from the station’s dayside crew had already come by to wish Kenley well. Everyone but Colleen. No one would miss her, though—none of the girls, anyway.

She was a reporter and one of those women who didn’t seem to have (or want) any female friends. She’d actually thrown a birthday party for herself recently and invited only the guys.

They went, too. With her pageant-girl looks, she never lacked for male attention.

I checked my watch. Another hour to go before the ten o’clock news ended and the nightside folks arrived. I hoped Kenley would still be coherent by then.

“Okay, girlie, let’s look at this menu. You’ve gotta eat something and start drinking some water, or you’ll be saying your goodbyes to your friends’ shoelaces. And the only dancing you’ll be doing is a Tango with your toilet bowl.”

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