Death Before Decaf (5 page)

I trudged up the rusty metal stairs that led to my pathetic hovel. The building looked like it had started life as a 1960s fleabag motel. All of the apartments had exterior doors, so it wasn't the safest place in the world for a single woman to live. But it fit my budget. Which was meager, to put it kindly. My plan was to move out of this dump as soon as I had enough money saved to get a real apartment.

The worst part, though, was that my neighbors were all college students, so it was not unlike living at a frat house. It was around one in the morning, and most of my young neighbors were still awake and making noise. I guessed it didn't really matter, since I probably wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.

I took a long, hot shower and put on my comfiest pajamas. I snuggled down in my futon, which was surprisingly comfortable, and played solitaire on my laptop (my one belonging that had thankfully been in my office when Scott the Dickhead cleaned out our apartment) until my eyes became heavy. Finally, I drifted off to sleep.

I was jolted awake by an incessant pounding. Someone was yelling as well, sounding like a wounded animal. In my semi-asleep state, I was disoriented and frightened. The pounding was coming from my front door, and as I awoke a bit and listened more carefully, I heard a male voice crying, “Christina! Christinaaaaaaa!” Finally calming myself down, I jumped out of bed and went to my door. Hesitating for a moment, I decided it would be easier to tell this guy to get lost than to hole up in my bedroom and call the police. I'd had enough police for one day.

Keeping the door chained, I opened it cautiously. The guy stopped knocking and started crying. “Christina, come on, let me in. Please? I love youuuuu!”

Oh, shit. He was wasted.

I snapped, “Hey, I'm not Christina. She doesn't live in this apartment anymore, so don't come back here.”

“What?” he gasped, smushing his face as far into the doorway as he could. “That's not possible! She was just here!”

“Well, not anymore. Christina's gone, and I live here now. So go away.”

“But…but…” he blubbered. “I can't go away. I live next dooooor.” He pointed to the apartment to the left of mine.

I closed my eyes. That was all I needed—a lovesick drunk living next door. “Look, dude. Go back to your apartment and sober up.”

“I
can't,
” he wailed, sliding down onto the ground.

Grimacing, I undid the chain and opened the door wide. “Well, you're not camping out at my front door.” I grabbed him by the back waistband of his pants and yanked him up onto his knees. He was tall but lanky, so he wasn't terribly difficult to manhandle. Hooking one of his arms around my neck, I gripped his waistband tightly and hoisted him onto his feet.

“Dude…wedgie!” he complained.

“Tough crap!” I fired back, stumbling with his added weight. “Oh, come on! Can't you help a little bit?” I half walked, half dragged him to his open apartment. As I stepped inside, I was met with a nasty odor. It smelled like beer and dirty laundry, but then again, that was what all college boys' rooms smelled like. I deposited him onto his couch. “Sleep it off,” I advised, but by then he was either already asleep or passed out. I let myself out and went back to my apartment, happy to be rid of Drunk Guy. After all of that nonsense, I fell straight to sleep.

Pete took me to a nearby coffeehouse for breakfast so we could do a little spying on the competition. Their food was good, but our coffee was better. They seemed to have about as much business as we did on a busy day, but since we were closed today, they could have picked up a few of our customers. As we were finishing, Pete got kind of fidgety.

“What's with you?” I asked.

He blew out a pent-up breath. “I really think I should go and visit Dave's wife. It won't be easy, but I think I owe it to her. I want to give her his last paycheck, plus a little extra to help get her through.” Pete was such a sweetheart. He wanted to take care of everyone. Looking at me with expectant eyes, he asked, “Jules…would you go with me? Like for moral support?”

Yeesh. I barely knew Dave, except for the two arguments we had, and I surely didn't know his wife. But if Pete had asked me, then it was important to him. I replied, “Of course I'll go with you.”

He looked relieved. “Thanks. Dave's wife kind of scares me.”

Wrinkling my nose at him, I asked, “So you asked me to go along to protect you, tough guy?”

He grinned sheepishly. “Something like that. You'll understand when you meet her.”

Pete drove us to an older neighborhood on the southeast side of town, not too far from the fairgrounds. The homes out there were a little worse for wear, but who was I to judge? When he knocked on the door, a woman's voice screamed, “What the hell do you want?”

We looked at each other apprehensively. Pete shouted back, “Charlene? It's Pete Bennett, Dave's boss.”

“It's open,” she replied unwelcomingly.

We stepped inside. The air was thick with cigarette smoke, enough to make my eyes water. A skinny, middle-aged woman with enormous breasts, barely contained by her tank top, sat on the couch watching TV, chain-smoking, and drinking a beer.

Pete approached the woman slowly. “Hey, Charlene. How are you doing?”

She dragged her eyes away from the TV and took a look at Pete. Her demeanor immediately changed. She purred, “Better now, sweet thing.” She patted the seat next to her. “Why don't you come sit next to me while we talk?”

Eww. Pete wasn't kidding about Charlene. I could see why coming to see her alone would have scared Pete. He walked closer to her but didn't sit down. “I'm so sorry about Dave.”

She shrugged. “Easy come, easy go, right?”

Pete cleared his throat and turned to me, his eyes pleading.

I ventured, “Hello, I'm Juliet. I work at Java Jive, too. I'm sorry for your loss.”

Charlene looked at me with what I took to be disgust. She took a long drag from her cigarette and blew a huge plume of smoke before answering. “I don't know why everyone's so sorry. He had it coming. The idiot was always poking his nose in everyone's damn business. It was just a matter of time before someone got pissed off enough to kill him.”

Before I could stop it, my jaw dropped. Hoping she hadn't seen my reaction, I quickly snapped my mouth shut and tried not to stare. Maybe my impression of Dave wasn't too far off if this was what his own wife thought of him. Pete was completely aghast. Poor guy. He had never been able to handle tough chicks very well.

Pete didn't look like he could form a sentence, so I jumped in for him. “Charlene, we came over here because Pete wanted to give you something.”

Charlene perked up and leered at Pete. “What is it, honey?” she asked him.

I raised my eyebrows at Pete and nodded encouragingly.

“Oh, right,” he said. He took an envelope out of his pocket. “This is for you. It's Dave's last paycheck, plus some extra to help you out.”

Charlene accepted the envelope and peered inside. A look of astonishment broke across her face, and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She leaped off the couch and threw her arms around Pete, pressing his face into her bulging cleavage. “Aw, now, aren't you just the
sweetest
thing?”

I tried desperately to choke back my laughter, but a little giggle escaped. I quickly covered it with a cough, but not before Pete heard it. He stared daggers at me, his face still smushed into her fleshy bosom. I had no doubt that Pete would need a stiff drink once he was done being violated.

She let him go, and he jumped back from her reach. Taking what I assume was intended to be a sexy puff from her cigarette, Charlene batted her eyes at Pete and drawled, “You know, Pete, now that I'm single again, maybe you should come back sometime.” She shot a dirty look at me and added,
“Alone
.
”

Oh, I was going to lose it big-time if we didn't get out of here! I had another “coughing fit,” and Pete choked out, “Well, Charlene, we need to get going. Take care.” He took two big strides and was out the door.

I threw a quick “Nice to meet you” over my shoulder and hurried out behind him. Pete had the car running, and started backing out before I even had my door closed.

I couldn't stand it anymore. I burst out laughing and couldn't stop. Pete glared at me and fumed silently as he drove. Tears ran down my face, and the more I looked at Pete, the harder I laughed. I couldn't help it. I deserved a little laughter therapy.

Once I quieted, he snapped, “Are you finished?”

That made me start laughing again, but I quickly stifled it and warbled, “Yes, mostly. I guess it's true that no good deed goes unpunished, huh?”

“No shit. I'm never doing anything nice ever again.” He shuddered. “Ugh! That was the most disgusting thing that has ever happened to me! I mean, her husband isn't even cold yet, and she tries to force me to motorboat her? Who does that?” His righteous indignation and the thought of forcible motorboating gave me the giggles again. “Knock it off, Langley.”

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You just should have seen your face all smushed up in her boobs. It was so, so sad. She turned every man's fantasy into a nightmare for you.”

“Yes, she did!” He shuddered again. “I need a drink. Let's go back to my place.”

“Drinking before noon, are we?”

“I'm traumatized!”

Pete had a lovely home near Music Row, where his studio was, so he also walked to work most days. His house was decorated in what I always called “manly rocker chic,” because everything was gray, black, or chrome, and there were all kinds of rock memorabilia on the walls. He ushered me inside and poured us both a rather large scotch on the rocks. He drained his fairly quickly, poor guy, while I sipped at mine.

He turned to me and asked, “Did you have time to try out your guitar, with all the craziness last night?”

I sighed happily. “Yes. I nearly ruined my fingers, I played so long.” I showed Pete my fingertips, which were still a little red and now were starting to peel.

“Ouch. You really haven't played in a while. I'm happy that you're back with it again, though.”

“Me, too. Pete, it is the nicest guitar I've ever played. You really shouldn't have—”

“I told you, that's what I wanted to get you. And you know there's no point in buying a cheap guitar.”

“I know, but still.”

He went over and grabbed his guitar off a stand in the corner. “I was going to ask you—I was thinking about doing ‘She's a Mess' for your birthday, but I couldn't remember the second verse, and I can't for the life of me find where we wrote it down. Can you remember?”

I loved that song, nearly as much as “You Are Mine.” “She's a Mess” was the first song we wrote together. I'd never forget that one. It was after finishing that song that Pete and I had kissed for the first (and only) time.

“Wait, back up. You were seriously going to sing ‘She's a Mess' to me on my birthday? That's harsh.” The song was about a crazy chick.

Pete chuckled. “Yeah, didn't really think that one through. I guess it was a good thing I couldn't remember it.” He started playing the introduction and then broke into song:

“I knew that girl was trouble from the moment that we met

Her crazy eyes were as crazy as they get

In her smile was a secret no one could know

And instead of a heart, there was only a black hole.

“She's a mess. You don't want her. She's a mess. You don't need her.

She'll break your heart right from the start

She'll get inside your brain

She's a mess. You don't want her. She's a mess. You don't need her.

She'll break your heart right from the start

She's anything but sane.”

He stopped abruptly and asked, “And then what?”

“You really don't remember?” I asked incredulously.

“I'm getting old, Jules. The mind is the first thing to go.”

I shook my head. “Sad. So should we commit you to the old folks' home now?”

“Please just put this old man out of his misery and help me with the damn song.”

“Keep your pants on, Grandpa. The next line is ‘She says she loves you, but you can't see that it's a lie.' Remember?”

“Yeah, but what's the melody?”

“Same as the first verse.”

He shook his head. “I don't think so.”

“The rhythm is a little different, but the melody is the same.”

Pete strummed through the line and absolutely massacred the melody.

I stopped him. “No, no, no. That's not it.”

“Then show me how it goes.” He started through the second verse and began sucking again, so I reluctantly jumped in with him:

“She says she loves you, but you can't see that it's a lie

She's gonna burn you, and then all you'll do is cry

I've warned you, man, but that's all that I can do

And now it looks like she just sank her claws in you.”

It was intoxicating to sing with Pete again. It wasn't until the second time through the chorus that I realized what I was doing. Holy crap, I was
singing in front of someone
. I stopped suddenly, my eyes wide.

Pete quit playing and looked over at me with a mischievous grin. “You're singing! I knew you could do it. I've waited so long to hear your beautiful voice again.”

I nodded, way too freaked out to say anything. Old memories started swirling together, and I thought back to the day we wrote this song.

It wasn't too long after I took the job at Java Jive that Pete and I started having our little jam sessions after closing time. It started out with us playing our favorite songs, but then one night we started improvising. Pete had been dating (to my dismay) a girl who turned out to be a little off her rocker. So as a celebration of him getting her out of his life, I strung a few lyrics together as a joke, even though the sentiment was completely serious. Pete then started playing a soulful chord progression on his guitar, and it all came together and morphed into an honest-to-goodness song. It shocked the crap out of us that we could actually come up with a real-sounding song together. In our excitement, an innocent hug and a peck on the cheek turned into a full-on kiss. I would never forget what he said to me after he pulled away.

“Jules, I am so sorry,” Pete whispered, his face flushed.

“You don't have to apologize,” I said, thrilled beyond belief.

“No, I shouldn't have done that. We're just friends.”

“Oh…yeah. Right.” Funny how it only took an instant for your heart to break in two.

“I mean, you're my best friend. I don't want anything getting in the way of that.”

I nodded, struggling to hold in my tears. “Absolutely. Me, too.”

“Hello…earth to Jules,” Pete said, snapping his fingers in my face.

I jumped, having been lost in thought.

“Where were you just now?” he asked.

I sure as hell wasn't going to tell him I was thinking about the time we kissed. That would be all kinds of awkward. I didn't know where my crazy thoughts were coming from lately. I
did
know I was having some seriously disturbing emotional issues, though. But who wouldn't after getting dumped by a fiancé, moving back to a city filled with reminders of a failed career, starting a new job managing a resistant staff, and finding a dead body? Maybe Pete
should
have serenaded me with “She's a Mess.” The shoe definitely fit.

Clearing my throat, I lied, “Um, I was wondering if we can get into Java Jive yet. I really want to get cracking on that kitchen.”

Glancing at his watch, he said, “We should be fine by now. Want some help?”

“You want to help clean the kitchen?”

“No, I was just being nice.”

I smiled. “Thanks for the offer, but it's not a pretty sight when I go all OCD on a kitchen. It's probably for the best that I go this one alone.” I headed out, looking forward to clearing my head with some mindless work.