Chapter Twenty-Three: A Sort-of Date
NICOLETTE checked her watch nervously as she sat at Harry’s bar, sipping a coke. Any minute now, she expected Daniel to come striding through the door to pick her up. Giddy excitement and nervous trepidation warred for dominance as she contemplated being alone with him again. Throughout the day, starting with her morning shift at Coffee Beach, Nicolette had been struggling with her giddiness, a fluttery feeling moving through her every time she remembered she would be seeing Daniel that night.
The butterflies in her chest knocked around for a few seconds as she contemplated the prospect of spending time with him. Their previous meeting had been intense...quickly and unexpectedly transitioning from conversation to...other things. She desperately needed to touch base with him about that, and about her blackout afterward. Something in his attitude suggested that he might have been sharing similar experiences or dreams.
Or hallucinations, she thought with a shiver.
If I’m cracking up that’s one thing, but what does it mean if we’re both cracking up?
She shook the thought off; she was just scaring herself. No...If she was going to be nervous about something, she was determined that it was going to be Daniel and their...date? Meet up?
It can’t be a jam session, I don’t play an instrument and I doubt he sings, she thought, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.
She sighed, contemplating different labels that might apply, throwing herself into the problem, dredging up every obscure vocabulary word she could remember in an effort to calm her butterflies.
If you guys don't back off, I’m going to throw up. Is that what you want, butterflies?
She frowned as eucalyptus washed over her, momentarily distracting her from her giddy anxiety. She glanced down the bar, nodding to herself as she identified the source: Mr. Mendez. He was a regular, often coming in between the dinner rush and the evening meat market. Most times he settled at the bar, did crosswords over a double bourbon, neat, then left. Perhaps intuitively sensing her scrutiny, he looked up, his pale blue eyes startling in his craggy, bulldoggish face. He smiled as their eyes met, the lines of his face briefly softening as he nodded amiably at her, then returned to his crossword. Despite the fierceness of his resting physiognomy, some intuitive tickle always left her with the impression that he was kind. She briefly wondered what his story was.
As the smell of his aftershave once again teased her senses, she stared down into her watery soda, remembering the scent of
eucalyptus as she sat in bewilderment, listening to the fading crash of his footsteps through the undergrowth as he forced his way back to the main trail.
"What...?"
She sat up, the cooling afternoon breeze caressing her bare skin, the sun dappled clearing suddenly feeling cold and lonely. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling exposed and foolish. She felt a queer breathlessness steal over her as she realized he wasn't coming back.
"What just happened?" she murmured in bewilderment. She felt hollowed out as though a bomb had gone off in her chest.
She rose to her knees to pull her shorts back on, then searched the clearing, looking for her shirt, her vision blurring with tears.
The light in the clearing faded as a tattered patch of fog drifted past the sun. More would soon follow, gradually creeping in from the ocean until the sky became a dull grey blanket. She paused, struggling to draw breath, feeling as though crushing steel bands were tightening around her lungs. She hugged herself as she knelt, panting; she could still feel her skin tingling where he'd touched her, her wrists throbbing faintly.
Was this my fault?, she wondered, struggling to calm her whirling thoughts, flinching as bits and pieces of their afternoon replayed before her mind's eye: their desire; her fear as he lost himself in his pain; his expression as he lashed her with his grief.
Her temper began to rise as she thought acidly, He deserves sympathy and understanding, sure -- but does that entitle him to wreck everything else? To hurt me?
She found herself snarling through her tears, her certainty growing that she'd made the the right decision, that whatever had happened, he was in the wrong.
But maybe not wholly in the wrong, a secretive little voice whispered in the back of her mind. She ignored the little voice.
It started when he asked about my nose, she realized. She had been surprised that he'd remember that, what with the news of his father's passing so fresh. She was usually more careful than that, her caution second nature. But that day...
She froze as a new thought occurred to her -- something so obvious and yet unthinkable.
What if I just...told him?, she thought, her eyes widening. The cloud passed as she remained motionless, making the forest around her almost painfully bright. What if I told him about Mother, the belt...the other things. He surely already suspects, she thought, as she remembered his skeptical gaze at her glib lie about the fence.
She stared sightlessly down the sun-dappled forest path, an errant breeze filling the air with the secretive susurration of the forest and the strong herbal scent of eucalyptus. The idea shone darkly in front of her. As she thought about her home life laid bare, having to offer increasingly detailed explanations, the steel bands around her lungs suddenly tightened until she could barely breathe. It was almost unthinkable, even in the best of circumstances...but now...
He deserves to know, she thought, struggling to draw breath, her heart thundering in her chest.
But what if he can't... What if he breaks up with me?, she thought, despair pushing all the air out of her lungs until her gasping made her fingertips ache. She was angry at him, convinced that he had been in the wrong despite her compassion for his pain, but the thought of losing him hurt until black spots danced in her vision.
She'd be exposed and alone.
He's already got so much on his plate, she decided, abruptly pushing the thought away.
I'll tell him another time. Maybe when he's not so sad, she thought as she sank to her knees, suddenly finding breath.
He'll understand, she thought, hugging herself tighter. She tried to pretend it was Daniel holding her; it wasn't the same but for now it would have to do.
When things are more settled, she thought, as another heavier wisp of fog crossed the sun, bringing her more deeply into shadow.
She stared into her glass, the emotions still raw and fresh in her memory. Chris, the bartender, smiled at her as he paused in his duties, breaking into her thoughts as he asked, “No sign of your date yet?”
She glared at him, drawing an amused snort as he withdrew. They’d been having this argument in bits and pieces all night as their respective duties at Harry’s forced their paths to cross. Chris had been skeptical that it was just a casual meeting from the get-go, especially when she’d started to debate with herself in mid conversation what the appropriate label ought to be. After that, he’d summarily judged their incipient meeting ‘a date’ and no amount of growling and posturing would dissuade him. She knew better than to try and exchange barbs with Chris -- odds are, she’d be better off trading barbs with a porcupine; at least the porcupine would have the decorum not to smirk at her sputtery wounded pride afterward.
Well, what if it is a date? Does that mean anything?
She sipped her Coke, wishing it was something stronger as her excitement began to overpower her attempts to distract herself.
If it is a date, it means that maybe...
She hesitated as the butterflies jumped a size, feeling more like eagles as a queer breathless feeling stole over her. She felt a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to call Garcia, to let him know that her situation here was showing more promise than she’d hoped. Over the last several weeks, she’d found her parole officer to be surprisingly understanding and willing to listen to her updates. His interest, though professional, had seemed genuine. He’d even had a couple of helpful tips for expanding her job search, encouraging her to keep looking.
She snorted, shaking her hea
d in irritation at Chris’ smirk as he caught her eye from the other end to the bar.
So far you’ve had one disaster conversation with Daniel, one conversation that inadvertently nearly ended in sex -- which did end in hallucinations -- and one awkward conversation trying to act casual while standing naked in front of Daniel and his partner.
His ambulance partner, she added with a smirk, looking forward to teasing him about that.
Something in Chris’ expression at the other end of the bar momentarily drew her attention. She spun around on the bar stool, following Chris’ gaze to the waiting area of Harry’s where Daniel stood, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Nicolette slid off the bar stool, half turning to make a placating gesture toward Chris. The look he returned communicated his thought with perfect clarity: You’re going on a date with that jerk?
She frowned at his disapproving, skeptical look, then raised her hands palm up with a shrug for added emphasis, It’s complicated...what am I supposed to do?
He gave a half-shrug in response, then turned back to his work, clearly displeased; Harry’s Friday night meat-market was starting to come to life now that the dinner crowd was dispersing.
I’m going to have to give him more of the story, or he’s going to be a jerk about me and Daniel, she thought.
Her gaze followed her thoughts as Chris was promptly forgotten. Daniel was wearing jeans and a black button up shirt under a stylishly beaten up leather jacket. He smiled as their gazes locked, an odd tingle of warmth rushing through her in response. His five o’clock shadow added a rugged masculinity to his features that drew her eyes. Aware that Mr. Solis could put in an appearance at any moment, she forced herself into motion, despite her surprisingly wobbly legs. She surprised him with a hug, the smell of his jacket’s leather mixing pleasantly with his aftershave. She surreptitiously inhaled, filling her senses before pulling reluctantly away.
She hesitated, struggling with a moment of self-doubt as she wondered if she might have erred on the side of sluttiness in her efforts to look good for (him) the club.
“Hey -- let’s get out of here. Where’s your car parked?”
He smiled as he nodded in the direction of the door, “Double parked right out front.” He stepped back and promptly opened the door for her, unabashedly checking her out as she walked past, admiring her flatteringly tight jeans and the white platform stilettos she had chosen, the effect only slightly ruined by her pink puffy jacket.
Five minutes later, they were on the freeway, heading east over the mountains on the 92. Traffic at that hour -- close to 10:30 -- was relatively light, though Nicolette suspected it would get busier as they approached the city. She had texted Dane earlier in the evening; he’d been nonchalant, saying the club likely wouldn’t even awaken until close to 11:00. She was still wearing her puffy pink jacket; she felt naked underneath it in her club top, surprised that she felt so shy in Daniel's presence. Once they’d hit the freeway, he’d been content with their silence, but it was making her antsy and uncomfortable. Her shyness worked against her, making it a struggle to find small talk...not that she’d ever been particularly good at making small talk in the first place
She jumped slightly when he broke the silence, “I’m sorry I left you at the Sandflea. The evening is kind of hazy for me.”
Relief flooded through her as she looked at his profile, catching the flick of his gaze as he briefly studied her before focusing on the road in front of them.
“Really? Me too! After we talked, I remember...” she hesitated, her cheeks heating with embarrassment as memories briefly flashed through her mind. She coughed, then forced herself to continue, making an executive decision to jump over that for the moment, “I remember talking, then you calling out from the bathroom.”
His shoulders relaxed, a minute movement she would have missed if she hadn’t been studying him, “I remember that. I remember hearing you standing up and walking over.”
She nodded thoughtfully, her brows drawing together, “I did. And then...I don’t know what happened. I saw something...I don’t know. Something crazy. I had some kind of crazy dream or hallucination--“
Daniel glanced at her sharply, surprise filling his voice, “That happened to me as well -- I remember drying my hands, and then...seeing...I don’t clearly remember what -- something that was too bright to look at--“
“White and silvery!” she interjected, as relief and excited wonder filled her.
His jerked in surprise as he studied her, “Yeah. That’s close to what I remember, too. After that, I dreamed -- hallucinated, whatever you call that -- that I was in this crazy post-apocalyptic Half Moon Bay--“
“Me too!,” she responded excitedly, sagging against the passenger door as relief filled her; she hadn’t realized how much her anxiety and fear had been driving her thoughts. Her story poured our of her, relief shattering her inhibitions, in turn inciting Daniel to tell his story as well. He nodded in stunned surprise when she got to the part about Highway 1 and the banner in the road, her heart hammering in her chest when he described the banner she had seen to a T. Nikki glossed over the details of the Obsidian Alter, though she suspected some of the horror came through, momentarily silencing him, concern filling his features. Their conversation continued until she mentioned the girl with the silver eyes.
“She was in my dream also,” he interjected, “in my dream it was Audrey.”
Nikki stared back at Daniel in surprise, “I think it was Audrey in my,” she hesitated, deciding to use his nomenclature, “dream, also. I didn’t recognize her, but now you mention it, it seems obvious.”
They sat in contemplative silence for several minutes while Daniel navigated urban traffic.
Nicolette continued, “I had this other dream, the night you first visited Harry’s--“
She frowned as Daniel held his hand up and shook his head, “Stop. This is getting too weird. Too...I don’t know...coincidental. I have an idea.”
“What’s on your mind?” she prompted when he hesitated.
“Well...we should stop talking about it and write out our dreams before we speak about it any more. Then we can compare notes.”
She nodded thoughtfully, “Okay.”
A small smile appeared as he added, “That way we can focus on the club. Enjoy ourselves -- as a distraction from weirdness and drama.”
Drama? Step off, son! You don’t know the half of it, she thought as a memory of the dead man briefly surfaced.
As he pulled off the freeway and started navigating city streets, something occurred to Nicolette, eliciting a snort of surprise, “That was very slick, by the way.”
He glanced at her, innocently questioning.
“You just arranged for another date before we’ve even started this one.”
Shit...did I just call it a date? Did he notice? Is it a date?
His skillfully feigned innocence dissolved into an amused smile, “You liked that?”
An answering smile touched the corner of her mouth as she shook her head, “Yeah. I did.”