Daisy
Why the hell didn’t Celeste shut this down? I’m caught in a drama that isn’t about me, feeling as if I walked into a theater in the second act, and instead of being allowed to take a seat, I got yanked onstage.
The game started fine. It seemed whatever issue Liam had, he was determined to save face by beating Tom at cards, and yes, that’s weird, but whatever. Tom seemed to be willing to go along with it. Let Liam restore his pride through a pointless game.
It is pointless, too. Liam proposed stakes, but Celeste vetoed that with a meaningful look my way, and Liam didn’t insist.
The drink situation doesn’t help. There’s that damn bottle of scotch. Tom tries to demur by saying he’d like something cold instead, and Celeste brings him a scotch and soda.
“You mixed eighteen-year scotch with soda?” Liam says.
“I gave my guest what he wanted. A cold drink. And as the scotch was a gift, it was mine to do with as I like, was it not?” She turns to me. “Coke, I’m guessing.”
“Plain soda, actually, please.” When she brings it, I wait for both her and Liam to look away and switch my glass with Tom’s. He mouths his thanks.
Celeste serves popcorn, and we settle into the game. After a few more hands, I decide that either Tom is terrible at poker, or—more likely—he’s pretending he is, refusing to rise to Liam’s implicit challenge.
Celeste plays decently but, clearly, doesn’t have much experience with it. Liam does, and so do I. Keith loved his Friday night poker parties, and when they were shorthanded, I’d step in, at first because the men all thought it was cute teaching me to play, and later because I became a formidable player, thanks to that teaching.
I’d enjoyed those poker nights, and I’d continued by playing with coworkers. That’s one thing I can credit Keith with. There are others, too. If I’m being snarky, I’ll say he taught me how to avoid guys like him, how to grow armor against charm and charisma, and how to keep my inner books balanced at all times. That’s true. Yet he also had some positive influence on me, teaching me skills my parents couldn’t, particularly business and financial ones. Life with a stepfather like Keith was not 100 percent hell. I don’t think life with anyone can be. Yet it feels as if we need to only remember the terrible parts or else someone will say, “See, it wasn’t so bad after all.” It was the worst four years of my life, and the fact that I got a few positive things from it doesn’t balance the negatives at all.
The game proceeds with Liam or me winning most hands, Celeste popping up with the occasional bit of luck and even Tom taking one or two, probably to avoid Liam realizing he’s playing badly on purpose.
The trouble starts right at the point where I’ve decided we’re out of danger. Did Liam sense everyone relaxing?
“Our Miss Daisy seems to have a hidden talent,” he says. “Any others I should know about?”
He could say this with sincerity. An honest compliment, paired with a friendly conversation starter where we could all divulge secret talents. He could also make it a lascivious joke, with an exaggerated leer, one that might not invoke a laugh in current company but could be brushed off as frat-boy humor. The way he actually says it . . . ? I can’t describe his tone. I only know that I feel he’s taken a legitimate compliment and used it to demean me. To remind me of my place in his world.
You’re a fine poker player, Daisy. But you’re still a woman, and I’m sure you have talents I’d appreciate a whole lot more.
I often worry I’m too sensitive to that. Working in construction, it’s a common refrain.
That architect does great design work, and did you check out her tits?
That engineer knows her stuff, and did you see her ass?
It’s like we can prove ourselves legitimate experts in our field, worthy of respect, but still cannot rise above our biological role.
So, yep, I might be overly sensitive. Even as I tense with Liam’s comment, I tell myself to chill. Except Celeste notices his tone, too, her brows rising in a way that says I’m not misinterpreting. But she only shakes her head. Boys will be boys. It’s Tom who reacts, his head whipping Liam’s way.
“What did you just say?” Tom asks.
“I asked if she had any other talents,” Liam says blithely. “Celeste mentioned she’s a good cook, too.”
Tom’s eyes narrow as he recognizes the trick women have dealt with forever. Call a guy on an inappropriate comment, and he pretends you’ve misunderstood, makes you feel foolish for overreacting.
“I can also wiggle my ears,” I say. “And I can sense snowstorms, which is completely useless in Florida.” I turn to Tom. “How about you?”
He relaxes and tosses me a grateful smile. “I am the best karaoke singer you’ll ever meet. Outside of karaoke, though, I can’t carry a tune to save my life. Celeste? Any hidden and useless talents?”
“Celeste is very talented,” Liam says. “But perhaps you already know that, Tommy.”
Tom meets his gaze with a level stare. “I’m afraid I don’t know Celeste all that well.”
“No?”
“No, Liam,” Celeste says. “If you doubt that, just come out and ask. But you aren’t actually asking. You’re just being an ass.”
She says it conversationally, as if remarking on the score of a game she doesn’t follow. Not the least bit concerned that she’s just been accused of cheating on her lover.
“I’m very good at being an ass,” Liam says. “I believe that is my hidden talent.”
“No, my dear, it isn’t hidden at all.”
Liam laughs and reaches for the scotch. He pours a finger for himself and one for Celeste, and then moves the bottle over Tom’s empty soda glass.
Tom pulls it away. “No, thank you. I’ve had enough.”
“Ah, got a problem holding your liquor?” He points at Tom’s tattoos. “Is that what put you inside?”
Tom lifts his gaze to meet Liam’s, and if I’d been on the receiving end of that look, I’d have retreated fast. I turn a look of my own on Liam, but he ignores it and shrugs.
“I’m a criminal lawyer, boy,” Liam says. “I know a prison tat when I see one.”
“Prison . . . ?” Celeste says, her gaze following Liam’s. “Oh, is that what that is?”
“Yes, darling, that’s what it is. You may have noticed it’s not nearly as pretty as the other ones. They give themselves those in jail to pass the time and indicate group affiliations.”
I’m not sure what’s worse—Liam’s patronizing use of boy or him casually explaining prison tattoos, treating Tom like a carnival-sideshow exhibit. Tom’s jaw sets, but he blinks, too, as if tired, before shaking it off.
“It’s getting late—” I begin.
“And the reason you need to know what those tattoos look like, Celeste, is so you don’t invite a man bearing them into your house. Or into your bed.”
“Okay,” I say. “That’s—”
“Whatever Tom did,” Celeste says, “I’m sure it isn’t cause for concern. I’m betting a youthful mishap.”
She smiles at Tom. She’s trying to be reassuring, but I bristle at that smile, as patronizing as Liam’s tone. Tom blinks again, as if he’s having trouble following the conversation. I discreetly motion at his glass. He catches the look and shakes his head. No, he didn’t accidentally get some scotch.
“Come on, Tommy,” Liam says. “Tell us—”
“Money laundering,” Tom says. “I did two years for money laundering. I was taking accounting in college and trying to make some cash on the side, and I did something very stupid.”
“You were laundering money, and that’s all there is to it? Just a college kid trying to make a few bucks?” Liam meets his eyes. “Is that really what you’re going with, Tommy?”
“Yes, because it’s the truth.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
Is it my imagination, or does Tom flinch?
“Liam,” Celeste cuts in. “Leave him alone. He obviously doesn’t want to tell us what he was in for, and it’s his right not to do so.”
“He is telling you,” I say through my teeth. “Liam can look it up, so there’s no reason to lie. Now, I really hate to break up this lovely evening, but I do have an early morning.”
Liam grins. “Well, well, our adorable kitten has claws. How many secrets are you keeping from us, Miss Daisy?”
Tom pushes his chair back, legs squealing on the old linoleum. He pauses, as if the sudden move surprised him. I watch him inhale. Then he calmly says, “I also need to call it a night. Regrettably.”
“Sit down, Tommy. You, too, Daisy. I will behave myself. In fact, I was just about to make a suggestion to shake up this game. Since Celeste vetoed cash wagers, I thought we’d lay something more fun on the table.”
His grin leaves little doubt as to what he’s suggesting, and Celeste rolls her eyes. “If you say strip poker, Liam, I am taking that scotch away. Clearly, you’ve had enough. We aren’t in high school.”
“I know, which is why I was going to suggest a more adult wager, for a more adult crowd.” He takes his keys and tosses them on the table.
“Your car?” I say, and I sit down. “Hell yeah, I’m in.”
Tom chuckles, relaxing as he lowers himself back to his chair. “Even I’ll wager on that.” He takes out his keys and drops them onto Liam’s with a smile of challenge. “My pickup is yours if you win.”
“I wasn’t betting my car,” Liam says. “I remember back when I was a boy, my parents would have parties, and all the husbands put their keys in a bowl. At the end of the night, the ladies picked out a set, and that’s who they went home with.”
Tom reaches for his keys with a disgusted grunt. Liam grabs his wrist so fast we all jump.
“Uh-uh, Tommy, you tossed yours in already. You needn’t worry. I plan to rig the game so you’ll end up with darling Celeste.” He turns to me with a teeth-baring grin. “I intend to discover all Miss Daisy’s hidden—”
Tom hits him. All I see is a blur and then Liam’s chair toppling. Then Tom’s on his feet, grabbing Liam by the collar, and I’m jumping between them—which, in retrospect, is never the smart thing to do when two guys decide to go at it.
Getting between them isn’t easy, with Tom gripping Liam by the shirt front. I manage it, though, wedging in with “Enough!”—my hands raised. Tom stops immediately. He wasn’t about to hit Liam again—he had him where he wanted him. Liam’s the one who’s swinging, and his fist glances off my shoulder. Tom lets go, and Liam thuds to the floor. He starts to lever up, going after Tom, but I’m right there, blocking him. Liam exhales, snorting like a bull, and gets to his feet, glowering at Tom.
Liam glances at Celeste, who is sipping her scotch, unconcerned.
“Don’t look at me,” she says. “You deserved that, and you know it.”
Liam rolls his shoulders and finds a smirk. “Seems someone can’t take a joke.”
“You’re angry with me,” Tom says. “So take it out on me. Insulting Daisy isn’t a joke. It’s an asshole move.”
“Well, like I said, he is an asshole,” Celeste mutters.
“I made a joke about playing for keys,” Liam says. “Teasing that I wanted Daisy to end up with mine. I think the real insult would be if I said I didn’t want her.” He turns to me. “Right?”
I let my eyes call him a jerk while my lips say simply, “As jokes go, I’ve heard better.” Then I turn to Celeste. “I’m going up to my room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Walk me out?” Tom murmurs as I pass. I hesitate, but his eyes beseech me, so I nod, and we head for the front door, leaving Celeste and Liam in the kitchen.