The Real(4)

In retrospect, the decision to approach her in her stupor was about as smart as sneaking up on a cat, and I’d gone down like the lightweight I was when she clocked me in surprise with the watering can.

Not many people could say they got their ass kicked with a watering can. I’m one of the lucky ones.

Because of my tenant’s need for company, I’d learned how to pretend to fix many things that weren’t broken. And because I was lonely most nights, I indulged her.

Tonight, I was thankful the downstairs lights were off when I unlocked my door.

Cautious, as always, I scanned the living room of the home I’d spent two years remodeling, just to make sure I was alone.

Dark original hardwood floors, two-toned gray walls, and bleached furniture with lemon and navy accents. It was exactly what I’d dreamed up when I’d started the renovation project and was now my reality. It was, in fact, perfect, and I was, in fact, alone.

All alone.

Suddenly I wanted to be anywhere else.

“What in the hell is wrong with me?” I asked the empty space.

Restless life syndrome.

My phone rattled in my coat just as I threw my purse on the couch.

Looking at my screen, I thanked God when I saw Bree’s name. She’d been gone far too long this time. I slid to answer and launched into her.

“You can’t leave me alone like this, Bree! Not for this length of time. I’m putting my foot down. I’m going through something close to a mid-life crisis because of your extended absences, and my imagination is in overdrive. I’m pretty sure my new neighbor started killing small animals in his youth. Seriously, he’s creepy. How was Scotland? Wait, don’t tell me. You and Anthony had sex in obscene places and you’re still glowing in the aftermath. I hate you right now, but I missed you so much, I’m willing to forgive you.”

“Wow.” Bree laughed in response to my breathless monologue. “Talk about passive-aggressive. You’re just bored, and you need to get laid. Your new neighbor’s name is Simon, and I already met him when I was waiting for you at your place when you lost your keys. He’s harmless and teaches Sunday school. Scotland was amazing, I have so much to tell you!”

To tell me?

“Anthony and I . . . ”

“No,” I shook my head, interrupting her. “Please, babe, no. You are my last partner in crime! Please, please tell me I’m not about to buy another bridesmaid dress!”

“You would be maid of honor at this one. And I was thinking silky jumpers?”

It was official. Always a bridesmaid, never the bride. I was seriously going to be alone now. All alone. I hung my head. “I love you. Congratulations.”

“Meet me at our place in twenty?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course,” I said, with a teary smile.

“Abbie, can you believe it?”

“Of course I can,” I said as I unbuttoned my coat. “You two are perfect for each other. That’s why I set you up.”

“I know. I never thought I would say this, but I’m saying it. I’m getting married!” She was choking on emotion, and I couldn’t wait to see it on her. I was sure she wore it well.

“I know, I know,” I said, pushing a tear away from my eyes.

Suck it up and be happy for her.

“I’ll see you in twenty.”




Thirty minutes later, I walked into The Violet Hour, a posh but hidden speakeasy on North Damen. The place looked like a wooden fortress on the outside with a graffiti block on the lower half of the building. You wouldn’t know it existed if you didn’t look for the gold door handle and the line outside of it.

Bree and I had been regulars since we moved to Wicker Park, and it was no easy feat to get a seat on the weekends. But because it was a dreary and wet Sunday night, I slipped right in. I’d changed into my most revealing dress, a long-sleeved crepe V-neck that exposed just enough cleavage to make it sexy. I’d let down my long, auburn hair and tamed it with a few curls. I felt stylish in my new knee-high black boots. I went heavy on the liner over my light blue eyes and colored my lips in a raspberry tinted gloss.

A single chandelier hung from the ceiling, dripping elegance but leaving the bar dim enough to be shrouded in mystery. Outrageously tall wingback chairs were arranged around the room and clustered together in pairs of two or four, intended for privacy, but close enough that you had little. Candlelight glowed upon the intimate, white granite tables between the seats. I approached Bree at the bar, and she waved when she spotted me.

“Holy shit, you look hot,” she said as she stood from her chair as I slipped off my coat.

“Thanks, babe. I haven’t had much reason to dress up lately. I needed the practice.” I pulled back from her tight embrace with the most genuine smile I could muster before we followed the host to be seated. I slipped into the green leather chair, and the tension in my shoulders relaxed a little. The sexy and forbidden atmosphere put me at ease. The Violet Hour had the feel of pure seduction, as if the interior itself was saying: Hey, it’s okay to be bad here. Take a souvenir home with you.

“Okay, let me see it,” I demanded, gripping her left hand only to see her finger was bare.

“He didn’t plan it,” she said with a serene smile as she squeezed my hand and let go. “And that’s why I said yes. He didn’t even ask me.”