Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(13)

I had been reminding myself of that unhappy fact through this whole experience.

“I can put this here on credit, no problem. Just pay it next time around. And if you got a new wallet, I’ll know why!” He started laughing as he handed me my bag of groceries.

I can tell you I was relieved. I forgot toothpaste and had lost my hairbrush. There were necessities in this bag that I needed immediately, as well as in the morning. Going without was possible, but not pretty.

However, I was not used to this. I stared at him for a minute, wondering if what he said was genuine. After I was sure it wasn’t a trick, I gave him a tentative smile, and a small step toward the door, just to give him time to yell at me or demand blood payment.

He gave me an encouraging nod.

I finally relaxed in a relieved, purely joyful smile. I could be mortified later. Now, happy.

Ronnie returned my smile with a weird stare. I hadn’t eaten anything in a while, but no telling what might be in my teeth. I decided it was time to get out of there quickly. Concern for the lost wallet would come later.

I clutched the bag closer and off I went. I barely heard the low, exotic drum of Apollo’s voice speaking to Ronnie. I might have ruined my chance with a man like none I found in L.A., but at least I could wash my face, body, and clean my teeth. Small miracles.

Whatever. Where there was one hot man, there were bound to be others. This was Texas, after all. Land of men. Men’s men. Real men. Men who made things with their bare hands. Men that had muscles from real life, not just lifting a barbell. Cowboys that had nice butts and cool hats and rode horses. I could find another.

I got back to my new home, put my stuff away, found my wallet on the coffee table where I left it, sighed hugely for an imaginary audience, then showered for dinner. I didn’t need a mental note to head to the store the next day to pay my bill. It would be etched in my memory forever.

Half an hour later an older white guy ushered me into a stately, though still low-key, parlor in Gladis’s impressive house. While it looked like a man picked all the furniture a score of years before, what with all the large, shiny wood and overbearing pieces, the accents and small details were relatively updated for this century, and hinted at a graceful eye for decorating. Scrolled sconces adorned the walls, adding flare to beautiful oil paintings. Exquisite oriental rugs protected parts of the shiny hardwood floor. Candles lent a feminine touch to a large mantel piece.

“Hello dear!” Gladis gracefully rose from a leather couch across the grand room.

“Hi Gladis.”

“Don’t you know better than to ring the bell? This is your house, too. Come in the back door, silly!” She waved her hand as she met me, immediately turning and leading me to the liquor cabinet. And a woman wearing all black standing guard.

Bartender? Or had my reputation preceded me?

“What’r you havin’?” Gladis asked.

“Do you have beer?”

“Beer? Oh honey, no! This is a house of sophistication. It is time for grown up drinks!”

Grown up, huh? Drink a bunch of hard alcohol, get sloppy, do things you’ll regret? I must have turned grown up at eighteen. Okay, sixteen, but don’t tell my mom—it was her alcohol I was stealing.

“Well....”

“C’mon, darlin. Lady here knows every drink you can think of.”

“Every drink? Really?” I looked at the middle-aged woman unfortunately named Lady. “Do you know how to make a German Chocolate Cake?”

I got a stern look for longer than an average moment. As a strange paranoia washed over me, she glanced back at the almost full bar behind her. Then looked at Gladis.

Why do I feel like I’m in trouble?

Gladis had a bemused expression on her face. “Well, Lady? You said you knew the drinks of young people. What do you think?”

“Yes, ma’am. It sounds familiar. Hmmm.” She turned toward the bottles behind her again, staring. Gladis gave me a wink.

“No, ma’am. It escapes me. I am sorry to disappoint,” Lady said, turning back to us. She meant it, too.

I quickly told the bartender, or maid, or whoever, how to make the drink. It was an easy drink to make and take; vanilla vodka and a chocolate liquor, which tasted like a real chocolate cake. How could someone not know that one?

When they were made—and by the way, they were shots, not drinks—I turned to Gladis. “Okay, this is what you do. You grab your shot. Grab your lemon coated in sugar—yes, that is an active ingredient. Now. Take the shot, swallow, then immediately suck on the sugar lemon.”

Gladis tilted her head to the side as if I’d started speaking Sanskrit.

“Gladis, this is a grown up drink. Now, c’mon. If you don’t have beer, you have this. Grab your shot, let’s get to it.”

I looked serious through the whole thing, because a smile would have given it away.

Gladis put a resigned look of determination on her face, grabbed the shot, clinked my glass, and we fired away. I really didn’t think she would do it. Welcome back to your 20’s!

When we were done, she gave me a hard look. Then a smile crept up her face like a slow moving beetle. “That does taste like German Chocolate Cake. Interesting... Now, Jessica my dear, please have Lady make you a sipping drink so we can chat.”

I would have asked for a Mojito, but didn’t know how to make it if Lady didn’t, and I didn’t think they stocked fresh mint, so I asked for a chocolate martini. Lady looked relieved at this one, made it quickly, and handed it over.