“What are you doing here, Whiskey?”
I feel my eyes bug out at his question. “Um, I’m sorry that I came all this way to track down my husband.”
Ajay places his hand on my waist and directs me toward a dark hallway, through a door, down another hallway and finally outside to an alley.
“What’s going on?” I ask him.
He steps away and puts his hands into his pockets. His head shakes slowly, back and forth. “Jamie…” The tone in his voice tells me all I need to know. My marriage is over.
I reach into my bag, now thankful that my father forced me to see an attorney. I refused to believe Ajay would do this to me, to us. Not with our history. Not after we… not ever. I hand the papers to him. “Sign these.”
“What are they?”
“Divorce papers.”
He looks at me and doesn’t say anything as he pulls a pen out of his back pocket. He scribbles his name on the three marked pages and hands them back to me without a single word. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. He stares at the ground for the longest time before pushes off the wall and kisses me on the cheek. “This is for the best, Whiskey girl. I love you,” he says as he leaves me standing in the alley. The only noise I can make out is the slamming of the door behind me.
Someone brushes against me, muttering that they’re sorry. I look for the voice to find a beautiful brunette now sitting across the table. Ajay immediately turns his attention toward her, and a small smile
plays on his lips. I realize I can stand here and think about how much I hate him, or I can do my job.
“What can I get you to drink?” I ask in a sugary sweet, fake as fuck voice.
“Whiskey,” he says.
“You’re not drinking,” his babe of a girlfriend or wife says.
Ajay shakes his head. “That’s her name,” he points at me, but I scoff.
“Sorry, my name’s Jamie. I’ll send your waitress over in a minute to get your order.”
It’s been years, far too many to count, since I’ve heard him call me by my nickname, a name he gave me to tease me because my parents named me Jameson, after my dad. There were times when I longed to hear him say my name, desperate times when I would drive to Nashville on a bender hoping to find him, just to hear his voice say my name the way he used to when we were together. It took years of therapy to get over my obsession with him, and now here he is, in my bar calling me that name once again.
I tell Mary that her table wasn’t ready and head to the back to call Dhara. She picks up on the first ring and asks me what’s wrong and whether Evelyn is okay. “He’s here, D.”
“Who?”
“Who? Who, really? Ajay, that’s who! And he brought his wife or girlfriend in. Why would he do that?”
She jostles her phone and clears her throat. “Sweetie, listen. Fletcher called me this morning. Your father arrested Ajay early Sunday morning on an outstanding warrant. That’s why his band was in yesterday. Fletcher is the prosecuting attorney on this, and Harvey is trying to throw the book at Ajay.”
My mouth goes dry. “Arrested for what?”
“For some prank on Harvey’s house.”
I end the call and press my dad’s name on my phone. My call goes to voicemail. “Dad, next time you arrest my ex-husband, maybe you want to give me a heads up so I’m a little better prepared to deal with the sight of him as he’s sitting in my damn bar!” I press end again and lean my head against the wall. That’s when the tears start flowing… tears that I haven’t cried in a long-time stream down my face in frustration, longing and pure heartache.
7
Ajay
Of all my dumb luck I would pick the one place where Whiskey works. Not that I had many options to choose from but still, why did I have to run into her here? Why not the park or the bank or when I’m walking down the street and she’s walking toward me looking like she doesn’t have a care in the world? Why did I have to see her at all? Why couldn’t she be someplace else? Why couldn’t I? The pain, regret, confusion, anger, and the need to fucking pull her in my arms and tell her how sorry I am for what I did is overwhelming. And she’s standing here, watching me like I’m supposed to say something profound and I’ve got nothing. I can’t even get the words “hi” or “hello” to go from my brain to my lips. I only want to say her name and when I move my mouth to form the letters, I’m reminded of what she feels like when she’s under me, how much passion she has and how she used to make love to me with every part of her being. Then I’m back to the beginning, trying to say “hi” because that seems like the logical thing to say.
Whiskey jerks her head up as Elle steps by her and places a black duffel bag on the table which I slide onto my seat. My clothes. Elle doesn’t have to tell me I’m not leaving with her; I know I can’t, but having the proof in front of my face really hurts. I don’t understand why Foster is being like this. I mean I do… it’s revenge… but come on. He’s going to ruin my career. I glance at Elle and simultaneously want to strangle her for showing up at the wrong time and hug her for making this incredibly awkward moment less uncomfortable.
“What can I get you to drink?” Whiskey’s voice lacks the confidence I know she has. Me being here is upsetting her, that much I can tell by the way her lips pucker. I know she’s biting the inside of her cheek right now. What I don’t know is whether she’s about to scream or cry. I want to get up and leave, to find some motel on the edge of town and drink myself into a stupor so I can forget having seen her and put all of today behind me.
“Whiskey,” her name finally comes tumbling out of my mouth.