“Where do you want to go?” asked Andy.
“She Bar.”
That certainly dispelled all notions Andy might have had that Isabelle was straight and just hoping to use her for release. “You’re not serious?”
“Where else do you think I’m going to get laid tonight?”
Andy blanched at the crass words and the unspoken accusation in her voice. She glanced in the rearview mirror, gritting her teeth at Isabelle and the headlights of the black truck following them.
Jam had snuck them out, urged on by a promise that René would follow them in a second vehicle. Everybody was hoping and praying Kate and Claire wouldn’t find out about tonight.
Andy glanced at her watch. Eleven. “It’s early for a club. You may not find what you’re looking for.”
“Clearly you know the place.” Isabelle’s voice was mocking, angry.
“I’ve been there a few times.”
“For what? Anonymous sex with women who don’t expect anything from you?”
Isabelle crossed her legs. She wore a soft black dress that flowed to her ankles. Black stilettos that made her walk with a sway to her hips that made Andy’s throat go dry. Her hair hung loose and wild down her back, down an expanse of smooth, creamy skin the dress didn’t bother to cover. Didn’t cover too much at the front either.
It was a fuck-me dress and fuck-me shoes and Isabelle knew it.
Andy cleared her throat. “I gather you’ve been to the She Bar before as well.”
“No.”
“Any other similar bar or clubs?”
“You mean gay clubs? Once or twice.”
The realization hit Andy, followed by relief. “You’re not twenty-one. They’re not going to allow you in.”
“They will.”
“How? Do you have a fake ID? We can’t afford to have you arrested.”
“Will you please just keep quiet and drive? You made it clear that you are not interested in me.”
“It’s not that.”
“What is it then? Is there someone else?”
“No,” said Andy.
“Am I not experienced enough for you? We can fix that tonight, you know.”
“No. Just drop it.”
“Are you able to have sex? To climax? Or are you into kinky stuff? We can fix that too, you know. I don’t mind being tied down. And strap-ons are completely fine. I’m a quick study.”
“Will you…For fuck sakes. Let’s just get there.”
Andy wanted to thump the steering wheel. She had a bad feeling about tonight. A really, really bad feeling.
* * *
René slipped into the empty seat next to Andy. Andy was sipping on an ice-cold vodka, her gaze locked on the bartender in front of her. She wasn’t in the mood for sharing how she felt, and René had never succeeded at faking idle chitchat.
The bartender had a mop of curly brown hair and tits that she kept on pushing in Andy’s direction, offering a view of red lace every time she bent over.
Anything was better than looking at the woman flirting with Isabelle in the corner booth.
“If you drink one more vodka I’m going to have to drive Isabelle back,” René said.
“Fuck.” Andy slammed down the glass. “Sorry. You’re right.” She signaled the bartender. “Water, please?”
The woman frowned.
Andy shrugged. “I’m driving.”
The bartender shot a smile at her, then at René. René smiled back, ordered a beer, and slung her arm over Andy’s back. She was wearing her trademark low-slung jeans and white hoodie.
“What’s eating you, Bouchard? Your woman getting under your skin?”
“Girl. She’s twenty.” Damn bouncer didn’t even ask. Didn’t even bother to check her ID.
René turned to look at the booth. “No way.”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, but twenty is not the same for everyone.”
“Hmm,” Andy grunted.
She Bar was filling up, the noise levels increasing, along with interest in the newcomer in the black dress. Andy remembered the bar as a local hangout, but it had picked up in popularity since she’d been here three years ago.
The dance floor was small, the music picking up to an almost frenetic beat as the night progressed. It was Wednesday, the distant promise of weekend lingering in the air like something sweet and addictive.
“You can’t keep hanging on to her, you know,” René said without looking at her.
“Who?” She regretted the response immediately.
“Victoria.”
“Don’t. She’s gone.”
“No, she isn’t. You just don’t want to face up to it, otherwise you may have to go see her and admit that your mother isn’t the only one to blame here. Vic made her own choices. And you did the same.”
“Shut up, René. You’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
The bartender placed a bottle of water in front of Andy and a frosted beer glass filled to the brim in front of René.
Andy pushed the bottle to the side and ordered another vodka. The bartender looked surprised but didn’t say anything. “Why are you taking Kate’s side all of a sudden? I hear you’re challenging her in next month’s election?”
“Hey, whoa. I’m not choosing sides here. And what happened with you and Vic has nothing to do with me thinking things could be done more ethically at Ma Soeur. What happened to you was by the book. Painful and incredibly unfortunate, yes, but by the book. This here tonight is about you opening your eyes to reality.”
“What reality? Vic’s to blame? I’m to blame?”
“Maybe, yes. And what about the fact that you just up and left without saying good-bye? That hurt, man. I thought we were friends. Good friends.” René gestured over her shoulder. “And it’s also about her. Isabelle. I like her. Really like her. She’s got something special. Grit. Guts. And I think you could like her too, if you just allow yourself to feel something again. I mean look at her. She’s gorgeous. And damn smart. She’s watching and learning at an amazing rate. And you’d be stupid not to notice that she likes you. She can’t stop watching you.”
René drank her beer to the halfway mark. “And sometimes your mother knows what she’s doing. Not in the way she brought Isabelle here. In other ways. Like bringing you in to partner with Isabelle. You’re the only one with enough experience to work with her. And have you ever considered that Kate maybe knows something about you that you are not willing to acknowledge yet?”
Andy took a swig from the vodka. “There is nothing to know. Isabelle is too young.”
“You were young too, or have you forgotten that?”
They both watched as a woman with short, black hair, shirt sleeves rolled up to show wiry tattooed forearms, put her arm around Isabelle. She leaned in to whisper something in her ear. Isabelle laughed, a red blush traveling up her neck. She looked up and her gaze met Andy’s. Her eyes were an angry, calculated green.
The woman got up and held out a hand to Isabelle. Isabelle smiled at Andy, took the woman’s hand, and followed her down a dark hallway.