She met him when he was one of her students at a weekend class she’d been teaching at a boutique bar in Noe Valley on the art of making cocktails. She’d taken on the class before she bought a stake in Cubic Z; the class helped supplement her bartending income. And Dillon had been her finest student, his keen eye for detail giving him a leg up as he mixed and matched the perfect amounts.
“You, sir, concocted a most excellent margarita,” she told him.
He’d tapped the side of the glass, and said, “Someday I’ll be sipping this in Bora Bora or the Bahamas.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice. Sitting on a hammock in the sun with a nice cool drink.”
“Blue skies and mixed drinks,” he added. “A perfect getaway.”
One time, after everyone else had left, he hung back, raised his hand as if in a classroom, and asked. “I have a question. I know student-teacher relationships are generally forbidden. Does that apply to bartending school too?”
“Terribly forbidden. Violates all sorts of mixed drink laws,” she teased.
“Call me guilty then,” he said, then asked her out.
They’d gone to a Turkish restaurant in Russian Hill for the first date, then for a walk through that neighborhood. A photographer, he’d made a decent wage shooting interiors of homes in the city for realtors, so he showed her the outside of some of the homes he shot, including a rather tiny one that he’d made look palatial in a picture. He used to say that with the right angled shot, he could make any room look “spacious, open and well-lit.”
Later, after they became a couple, he was the one who had encouraged her to expand her role at Cubic Z, and to invest in the bar. She didn’t regret that decision, not one bit, though she sure as hell regretted him, and wished she’d gotten out sooner.
All his sweetness had leaked away by the end, and they were merely holding on. Until he left. The unraveling of that relationship wasn’t what hurt; it was the way it fell to pieces that stung like snake poison. The way she had to bear the brunt of the breakup and all he heaped on her, and she couldn’t even tell McKenna the specifics. Julia ached to pour out all the sordid details at times especially because her sister understood heartache. But McKenna understood happiness too. Newly engaged to a man who made her wildly happy, McKenna was in that haze of believing that every new relationship would turn out to be the one, so Julia fully expected a text asking her when she was going to get engaged.
Ha. As if Julia were ever going to do that.
She fumbled for her phone, unlocking the screen. McKenna’s name popped up and the first word she saw was size. She shook her head in amusement. She wasn’t sure if her sister was talking about ring fingers or other measurements, but before she could open the note another text flashed.
Where is the pretty bartender? She wasn’t at the bar last night. She should hope she’s not skipping town. I wouldn’t want to have to inquire with that other woman behind the bar. She seems like she might be preoccupied, and more so in a few more months…
Her blood ran cold. He’d noticed Kim and her pregnant belly.
She wanted to punch the screen. That slimeball had gone to Cubic Z for one of his pop-ins. Those were the worst, when she had to serve him, and act like she didn’t detest him as she poured his martinis. She hoped he hadn’t bothered Kim last night or her hubby Craig who was helping her out, or anyone else they worked with. She didn’t want him near her co-workers. She could only imagine how that would go down, especially when Charlie took out his knife and nonchalantly scratched his chin. Those gestures were meant for her – reminders of what he was capable of.
And he was capable of a lot more than just itching a scratch.
She’d gotten glimpses of Charlie’s cold-blooded nature through Dillon. He’d hinted of things he’d seen while shooting pictures of the limos. Punches thrown, knees whacked, noses broken, eyes blackened. Charlie was a man who got what he wanted by any means possible.
Her skin crawled as she imagined him shaking down sweet Kim, the true definition of an innocent bystander.
That was the real rub though. Everyone in her life was an innocent bystander, and she’d have to keep them innocent. The less anyone knew, the less they could get hurt. If they knew about her troubles they’d try to help her, and then they’d be in his debt somehow and his crosshairs.
She swallowed back all her anger, and replied quickly. Of course not. I have the weekend off. Don’t worry - I’ll be at the game Tuesday and I plan on winning big again.
Seconds later, he replied. That confidence is so alluring.
She sneered, then her heart beat faster at the next message. From Kim. You’ll be pleased to know there were no unsavory types here last night. Only the usual assortment of hipsters and VCs. So San Fran. Xoxo
If only Kim knew that there was an unsavory type there last night, scoping them all out. But she planned to be back at the poker table on Tuesday night, working on winning more to line Charlie’s pockets. Playing hard and taking down the marks to get out from under his yoke as soon as she possibly good.
She wrote back: Glad to hear Cubic Z is representing the city so well. Love you madly. See you soon.
She took a deep breath, reminding herself to push her troubles out of her mind for the weekend. She was far away from all her obligations, and she planned to enjoy her temporary break. She shut off the phone as Clay stirred. Good – he hadn’t seen her texting. He’d seemed perturbed last night when she was writing to McKenna, and she didn’t want any weirdness between them. She wanted only good times with Clay, only dessert. This weekend together was the frosting on a scrumptious cupcake. It wasn’t real, and that was A-OK. She sure as hell loved a cupcake, and right now she wanted another bite.