Invisible Love Letter (4 page)

L
ate
November

Gravel scattered from underneath the tires as I shifted Leslie's car into park. The massive warehouse-looking building before me stared back, its windowless white walls seemingly endless. Popping the visor mirror open, I gave myself one last look over. “You need the money,” I reminded myself as I reapplied lip gloss.

My piece of shit car had broken down on me. A hose blew and the car was overheating, or at least that's what the mechanic said. He also said it would cost me over two thousand dollars to fix it. Of course, I didn't have that kind of money laying around. The radio station only paid enough to cover my half of the rent and utilities; it left me very little wiggle room. I needed cash quickly if I wanted my car back. I could call my aunt and ask for a loan, but when I left home to take a job in a different country, I’d assured her I could handle it. Calling her now would only result in the infamous 'I told you so.’ A second job was my only option.

Sparrows was a club we frequented almost every weekend; it was packed every night. Back Alley Sally bartended there and mentioned to Axel that they were looking for help. When I called him to ask if he knew a mechanic, I also asked if he knew somewhere I could find a second job.

I kicked the car door open, confident and ready for my interview with Leo. Frank, the bar manager, was waiting for me when I arrived at the front entrance. He gave me a quick tour of the facility, showed me the six different bars the nightclub had scattered throughout the two-story building, and then led me to the back offices where Leo sat on the far side of a glass table.

“Do you have any experience behind the bar?” he asked.

I sat with my shoulders upright. “Yes, I was a bartender in college.” That was a lie. I had bartended one college party that consisted mostly of beer.

“You'll have to work Fridays and Saturdays.” Leo squinted his eyes.

“That works for me.” Marc and I had stopped seeing each other when I got bored and called it quits, so I had a clear schedule.

“Be here tomorrow at eight.” Leo’s voice revived my distracted mind. “I'll pair you with Joann and she'll show you the ins and outs. Then I’ll need you to come in on a slow night so you can train at your own station.”

I stood and extended my hand for Leo to shake. “Thank you so much. I won’t disappoint you.”

I did a quick celebratory dance as I walked back to my car.

M
y first shift
at Sparrows was spent stationed with Joann. She had been working there for ten years and knew the bar like the back of her hand. What she had lost in those ten years was the ability to teach someone else to work behind the bar. She expected me to know how to place the bottles and which cooler contained the beer. After only the first hour into my shift, I was convinced it wasn’t the job for me—until a familiar face showed up.

Sally was wild, spunky and carefree. She took me under her wing and taught me everything I needed to know about bartending. And because Sally had a regular following, it was great for tips.

I’d worked at Sparrows for two weeks before I was given the bar to manage on my own. Tending to drinks was a lot harder than I’d originally thought. The variety of beers I had to learn, the names for some of the specialty drinks, and trying to remember what drink you were mixing while another customer shouted something different made it exhausting.

I stood near the cash register, my eye on the dance floor. It was a Tuesday night, and the house deejay was making his way through the same playlist he had played the previous two Tuesdays. It was a quiet evening, good to practice the bar and how the bottles went, but a wasted night in terms of tips. There was no way I would make any money tonight.

My cell phone vibrated in the back pocket of my shorts. I figured I was safe to answer it and slid the screen open. It was an incoming text message from Leslie.

Leslie: Staying at Harry's tonight.

Leslie was a sister to me, and I loved her, but her relationship with Harry was a mess.

I slipped my phone back in my pocket and noticed I had a new customer waiting with his hands crossed on the bar. I lifted my head to greet him and realized it was Weston.
Great
. Just the person I wanted to see. Last time I saw him I was walking towards Marc and he was going home with Blondie.

An eye for an eye, right?

I laid a paper napkin in front of him and exhaled. “What can I get you?”

A sideways grin appeared on his scruffy face. “Cranberry juice.”

“Nothing in it?” I asked. I couldn’t help but admire the way his fitted button down hugged his arms.

“Nope.”

I turned around to get a glass cup and felt my phone vibrate again. I ignored my cell and set his juice in front of him. Weston looked out to the crowd as he sipped on his juice like it was a smooth Macallan Whiskey. I quickly retrieved my phone.

Leslie: Are you mad? Don’t be mad, Em. He wants to talk.

No, he wants some,
was the immediate thought that popped into my head, but I wouldn’t say that to her.

Me: No, I'm at work.

I felt his eyes burning into me. I placed my cell on top of the pour station of the bar top and looked out to the crowd.

“You don’t look happy,” he said before bringing the glass of juice to his lips.

“I'm working on a Tuesday night, I have to be up at five am for another job, and it's dead in here.” I grabbed the damp rag and passed it along the bar top.

“Still, that doesn't give you a reason to be sad.”

“I'm not sad,” I retorted. I didn’t want to make small chat with him. The less I knew about Weston, the better.

“Can I ask you a question?” His face was serious. His eyes squinted a tad as he weighed what he was about to say.

“That
was
a question,” I pouted.

He shook his head, chuckling at my snarky remark before licking his lips.
Why did I find that to be such a turn on?
“Your dad was the lead singer of Vengeance, no?”

I assumed Axel had told him, but it was tough to talk about your parents in the past tense. My father had been a legend who musicians like Weston looked up to; idolized. But I was daddy's little girl and I didn’t have daddy anymore.

“Yep.”

“You grew up while he was on tour.” It was a statement rather than a question. “The places you must have traveled to, the people you met…”

“Yeah, it was great. I miss them, though.”

A customer walked up to the bar and placed his empty beer on the counter, signaling for another one. I left Weston and took another Stella out of the cooler, then rooted myself in the center of the bar, looking out over the crowd but not really paying attention because my thoughts were with the man at the other end of the bar. Weston stood at the very end to my right. I could feel his eyes on me. My skin was inflamed, goose bumps rising all over my body. He didn't look away when my eyes met his.

“What?” I mouthed and held my hand behind my ear.

He signaled with his hands for me to come over. The music was loud and I couldn’t hear him unless I was standing right in front of him. I fixed the stirrers so I wouldn’t have to meet his tantalizing gaze.

“Have dinner with me?” he said over the music.

I shook my head quickly. “No!”

“Why not?” He leaned in, the heat of his breath tickling my skin.

“I'm busy.”

His grin made my insides turn, a tease of an ache between my legs. “Not now. I know you’re busy now.”

“I'm always busy.”

“You don't even know the day I want to take you out.” It was getting harder to hear him because my heart pounded in my chest cavity at a rapid speed.

“I'll be busy then too.”

Taking another empty bottle and tossing it in the garbage I saw Weston take my pen from the edge of the bar and a napkin. His head ducked as he wrote something on the paper. Once he was done, he held it up for me.

Give me your phone number?
was written across the napkin eloquently across the frail paper.

I shook my head.

He took another napkin and ducked his head to write.
Email address?

“Nope,” I mouthed.

Facebook?

I laughed and shook my head.

AOL instant messenger?

I held my hands at my waist.

MySpace??

“I’m not going out with you!” I shouted.

“Now you’re lying to us both.”

I turned on my heels and walked over to the other side of the bar, fussing with a bottle to preoccupy myself. When I looked back he was gone, an empty glass and a twenty to pay for his juice. I felt disappointed that he had left so quickly.

Who orders juice in a bar?

E
arly December

There was a staff meeting at the station on the first Monday of every month. We had our department meeting weekly, but the monthly gathering was attended by the entire station; anyone who received a paycheck had to be there. The higher ups discussed where the station was headed, what marketing tactics were in place, and what we could expect for the future.

I hadn’t seen Weston since he’d stopped by Sparrows and ordered juice. My last two shifts I had messed up three drinks orders because I kept watching for him in the crowd. Even when I needed to pay attention to my meeting I thought about Weston, which was crazy because I wouldn’t date him anyway. That’s what I kept telling myself. I don’t know if I believed it anymore.

We all stood around the cubicles as John, the CEO, discussed the new venture Q143 was working with. “Our sister stations on the East Coast have recently started their Holiday Jingle tour. They started in Maine and toured almost every state on their way down the coast. The last stop is scheduled for Miami, right before winter break.”

John was an older gentleman, in his late fifties. His hairline receded, and his suit was snug around his waist due to his liking of sweet treats. “We’re looking to use this idea to target a bigger audience and grow as a whole. Starting in May of the new year, we will begin the West Coast tour. We’re in cahoots with some great artists who will be joining, but since we don’t have the popularity of the East Coast, we need all hands on deck. Natalie will explain more.”

Natalie, Director of Marketing, cleared her throat before she took over for our CEO. “Thank you, John.” She smiled. Her voice was mousy and her eyes small on her heart shaped face. “We have come up with a few different strategies, including advertising through social media campaigns and a couple of local events. Axel Arrington—” she said his name and my eyes bounced up from the legal pad “—has given us tremendous ideas on how to get the listeners involved and boost ticket sales. Emmy will send out an email by the end of the day that outlines what will be required from each department.”

Natalie continued to explain where the company was headed before she handed the meeting over to the Operations Director. Afterwards, I ducked between a few bodies and found Axel walking back to his desk.

“Psst,” I called.

“Hey, love.” He greeted me with a warm smile.

“Dude, that’s awesome that you’re involved in this.”

“I did it more for Elephant Room. I want to get my name out there so when I ask them for a favor, like playing our song, they’ll be more inclined to do it,” he whispered as a couple of people passed us in the hallway.

Axel always had a plan up his sleeve, and everything he did was calculated, down to his cascading blue hair. He looked more punk rock than businessman, but there he was with the director of a multi-million dollar company using his idea. I pressed my finger to the tip of his nose. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Don’t say that yet. I have a tedious task after work and I need the help of my dear friend.” He gave me a quick wink before he turned on his heel and headed back toward his desk.

W
hen Axel said
he had a tedious task, he wasn’t kidding. One of his ideas was to step away from our computer screens and meet the listeners. Go back to the original way people heard about events—simple word of mouth. He had drawn up flyers for a kick-off party at Sparrows with one of the artists who would perform on the tour.

We would target listeners by handing out flyers and giving them special VIP access to the kickoff party where Grammy nominated Venus Cara would hold a small concert.

After the staff meeting, Cinthia kept me so busy I was never able to send the company email. That evening, Axel texted me the location and time I needed to meet him. Why I’d agreed to help Axel out was beyond me.

After circling the parking lot for a good twenty minutes, I jogged to the Starbucks Axel said we would start at. “Sorry I’m late, Ax. Parking is insane,” I greeted him breathlessly.

“Nah, don’t worry about it, Emmy.” He held a cardboard box filled with flyers. “We’re still missing one.”

I noted that Bradley and Fin, Axel’s co-workers, were chatting while showing each other their cell phones.

Fuck
!

Weston. We were waiting for Weston.

I cracked my neck to release the stress from my body. The next few hours with Weston would only add more stress.

“There he is!” Fin exclaimed from behind me. I craned my neck over my shoulder, and my eyes landed on Weston.
Great
! To add to my annoyance, the woman glued to his arm was, of course, stunning. Her raven hair was pin straight, and her almond eyes added to her exotic look. She had dyed the tips of hair hot pink. Her black crop-top and hip-sucking pencil skirt looked like they were painted on her body. He kissed her on the cheek and she walked in the other direction.

I was already counting down the seconds until this night was over when I felt a warm breath on my neck. “Are you getting your hands dirty, Emilia? I didn’t peg you to step outside of your nine to five job. You know this is mundane, right?”

My shoulders shrugged as if to shake off his familiar scent. “Wow! That’s a seven-letter word for boring. I’m impressed.” I turned to face Weston. “And I wouldn’t say handing out flyers and asking people to come to a club is considered getting my hands dirty.” The words spewed from my mouth.

“Come on, guys, no fighting.” Axel handed me a stack of flyers. “It’s viral marketing. We need to get people talking about the radio station.”

“You’re right.” I took my pile and began to walk towards the first shop. Weston’s footfalls were right behind me. I glanced over my shoulder at his grinning face. It was going to be impossible to avoid him.

We walked through the mall, handing out flyers and asking people to come out the following Wednesday night. Most people seemed interested, especially since they had a chance to win tickets to the concert.

Two hours later we found ourselves sitting in a chain restaurant near the food court. The hostess seated us in a round booth. I was the smallest, so I scooted in first with Weston and Fin on either side of me. I stayed quiet as they talked about music, sports and, to my surprise, Back Alley Sally.

“She’s an easygoing person,” Axel explained to the table. Weston laughed and held his stomach as Axel poured his heart out. “And easy in all the right places,” Axel continued. “I don’t know what it is about this one, but I can’t bloody stop going back to the alley.”

Even I chuckled at his last statement. Sally was a sweetheart, but she was known to enjoy sex with random men. At least she wasn’t ashamed about it.

“Each girl is like a can,” Weston said.

“A can?” Axel questioned.

“Yeah, a soup can. Or a can of vegetables.” Weston held his hand up to demonstrate a can.

“That makes no sense,” I interjected.

Weston rubbed his hand through his hair. “It does.” He looked directly at me. “All girls have their flaws, but the one you fall for, the one you’re loyal to, is the one with the least number of dents.”

“Oh, my God.” The guy who had a different girl on his arm every time I saw him now had an opinion on our flaws. “You’re un-fucking-believable.”

“What?” He gave me a boyish grin. “Every girl has dents. Flaws. I haven’t been shopping for a girl yet, but when I do, I’ll make sure she has the least number of dents.”

Shopping? God, what an ass!

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How do you know what ‘dents’ people have when you’re too busy screwing a new girl every other day?” I knew it wasn’t my place to say that, but I wasn’t going to put this ass on a pedestal.

“That’s not true.”

“No?” I shook my head in disbelief. “Every time I’ve seen you, you’ve had a different girl on your arm.”

“Doesn’t mean I fuck them or bring them home to meet my mother,” he replied with his hands raised innocently.

I scoffed. “Sure, you don’t. Okay, what about me? What are my dents?”

Weston licked his lips. “Well, for starters…” He reached over and pushed my shoulders back so I sat upright. “You slouch.”

“Oh, shit.” Axel’s voice woke me from the rage streaming through my blood.

I pushed at Axel’s arm. I needed to move before I made a scene. “Screw you, Weston.”

Axel moved to let me by, but Weston grabbed my elbow. “Wait a second.”

“Get off of me.”

I yanked my arm from his grasp and shifted in my seat as I glared into his stormy eyes. I wanted to hit him, kick him, poke his goddamn fucking eyes out.

“It was the only thing I could find, Emilia.” My chest rose as I huffed, and my teeth clenched. Who did he think he was, pointing
anything
out in a woman? “You’re probably more like yellow gel.” He grinned.

“Yellow gel? What the hell is yellow gel, you arrogant ass? You don’t know the first thing about me.” I shook with rage as I shoved Axel to get up. Shifting off the booth, I stood. Axel and Weston were friends; they were in a band together. I would see Weston again probably more often than I wanted, so cursing him out now would not only be pointless but wasted energy. “Ax, I’ll see you later.” I tugged my purse high on my shoulder as I headed out of the restaurant.

I hated that my shoulders were upright as I walked away.