LITMIR.BIZ

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sat. Andy Lopez took up space next to Rhonda. He was on the small, slight side. But Cindy remembered him in the weight room, bench-pressing 320.

      Lopez said, “Actually, Brown said you did okay.”

      She focused her eyes on him. “That’s good to hear.” She wrinkled her brow. “So why do I feel that there’s an addendum to that statement?”

      Lopez stared at her.

      She said, “What else did Brown say?”

      “Brown’s sitting right over there.” Waters cocked his head toward the bar stools. “Why don’t you go ask him?”

      “Because I’m eating my dinner.” Cindy gulped down more beer. “What’d he say, Andy?”

      “Just that …” Lopez stole one of Cindy’s French fries. “You know …” His voice faded.

      “Perhaps he said something about me and frankfurters?” Cindy caught Jasmine’s eye, mouthing another beer. “I wasn’t hotdoggin’ anything!”

      “I believe you, Cin—”

      “It was a very tense situation. I was doing the best I could.”

      “Brown said you did good,” Waters answered. “What are you bitching about?”

      “Because Tropper’s pissed.”

      “Yeah, Tropper’s real pissed,” Lopez said.

      Cindy stared at him. “And?”

      Lopez ate another French fry. “Jesus, Decker, I’m just letting you know. Don’t kill the messenger.”

      Waters said, “Forget it, Decker. Tropper won’t do anything.”

      Almost word for word what Beaudry had said. “How do you know?” Cindy asked. “What? Is he afraid of my father or something?”

      Waters sipped his scotch. “Let’s just say he has a healthy respect for authority.”

      Jasmine came with a fresh brew. She regarded Cindy with concern. “You know, maybe you should eat a little. It’s good to get something in your stomach so it doesn’t go to your head.”

      Cindy took a bite of her sandwich. It went down like lead. She drank half of her suds. “I’m okay. Honestly.”

      Waters smiled. “And if you’re not okay, I can always drive you home.”

      “That won’t be necessary.”

      Hayley came back, freshly made up. Cindy thought she looked dynamite good. Apparently Waters did, too. His eyes lingered on her chest a bit too long. Marx glared and said, “Who let the riffraff in?”

      “I plead guilty.” Cindy raised her hand. Mother Jasmine had been right. After four-plus beers, she was getting a definite buzz and needed something in her stomach. She attempted another bite, but it came out a nibble. Andy was glancing at her sandwich with longing in his eyes.

      “You want some, Lopez?” Cindy asked. “I’m really not that hungry.”

      “Well, if you’re not going to eat it.” Lopez grabbed a half. “Why let it go to waste?”

      Suddenly, the smoky air was oppressive, constricting her chest movement. She felt short of breath but didn’t dare gasp. The current tension had been magnified by the residual strain from the afternoon. Combined with the liquor, Cindy felt as if she were climbing out of her skin.

      She needed out and right away. Quickly, she stood up. Just as quickly, the room started to spin. She slammed her palms against the table for balance.

      “You okay, Decker?” Hayley asked. “Sit down, girl. You look pale.”

      “No, I’m fine.” Attempting a smile. “I’m just tired.”

      Andy said, “Lemme drive you home, Cin.”

      She knew he meant it sincerely. And it made sense because she was woozy. But the thought of being alone in a car with him didn’t settle well. “Thanks, Andy.” Again a smile. “I’m really fine.”

      “I’ll drive you,” Rhonda offered. “Hayley can pick me up later—”

      “It’s not necessary!”

      Her voice sounded harsher than she had intended. “Really, Rhonda. Thanks, but I’m fine. I’ll see you all later.”

      She threw her bag over her shoulder. Knowing that they were studying her sobriety, she made sure to walk away on steady feet. But as soon as she got outside, she broke into a sweat. Her heart started pounding, her hands shook, and her vision blurred. She was drowning from the stress of conformity. Standing in the middle of the parking lot, staring at the sea of cars. Where the hell was hers?

      “Please, God,” she prayed. “Just let me get home in one piece, and I’ll never do it again.”

      She walked down one row, then another. The misty night air did little for her revitalization. But it did frizz up her hair.

      Finally, she spied it—her Saturn. She would have never noticed it except that she had parked under a light. Her car was that sparkly, neon green color that had been in vogue a couple years back. Now the tint was passé, and the coupe looked like an old, painted whore.

      She teetered over to her wheels and fumbled with her keys while perspiration poured off her brow. She managed to unlock the sucker, but then the world started spinning. She shut her eyes, but the reeling wouldn’t stop. She leaned against the metal, plopping her head against the thick cool glass, praying she wouldn’t upchuck.

      “Give me—”

      Cindy started, jumping backward, almost plowing into his chest. She turned and glared at him, sweaty face and all. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

      “Only if they’re felons,” Oliver answered. “Which is what you’re going to be if you drive in that condition. Give me the keys.”

      She was too sick to argue. She handed him her ring.

      “Can you make it around to the other side?”

      “I suppose I can if I walk slow enough.”

      Oliver opened the driver’s door. “Slide in.”

      “Thank you.”

      She managed to trudge her body from the driver’s side to the passenger’s seat, then threw her head back and closed her eyes. Everything was still spinning. She clutched her legs, hoping the tactile sensation would settle her stomach.

      Oliver reached over and fastened her seat belt. “Here. Chew these.”

      She opened her eyes and stared at the proffered cup. “What is it?”

      “Ice chips. It reduces nausea. When you left, you looked a bit unsteady … a little green.”

      She took the cup, biting her lip to hold down her stomach. “Were you spying on me?”

      He ignored her. “Where am I going?”

      “Philosophically?”

      “Cindy—”

      “Turn left at the first light—”

      “Give me an address.”

      “To my apartment?”

      “Yes, Cindy, to your apartment.”

      “It’s off Bagley. Three blocks north of Venice. You know the area?”

      “That’s near Culver City, isn’t it?”

      “Yeah. Exactly.” She crunched the frozen water between her teeth and gave him the number. “Sorry about this.”

      “S’right.”

      She let out a deep, beer-filled exhalation.

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