“Follow me,” Charlie called back to us. I thought we’d have to push our way through the thick crowd, but it parted quickly as Charlie walked through, people reaching out to slap their hands on his shoulder, calling out greetings as he went by. Charlie nodded but barely spoke. His chin jutted out, and I could have sworn he was strutting.
“He’s like a god,” Paul shouted in my ear.
He was. Charlie was obviously in his element, and the people here respected him. It made me happier than I expected to know he had this and strangely sad that we didn’t know before. I wondered just how selfish we were to not know this about our friend. We were so wrapped up in our own lives that we missed this.
Charlie led us to a booth near the stage, the only one that was empty. There was a placard fixed to the wall with stark lettering:
RESERVED
IF YOU’RE NOT INVITED TO SIT HERE,
A WORD OF ADVICE:
DON’T.
—MANAGEMENT
Charlie motioned for us to sit down.
Vince pointed toward the sign. “But doesn’t that—”
“This booth is mine,” Charlie said.
“This is a really weird time to find out that I’m attracted to you,” Paul said. “Just in case you were wondering.”
Charlie snorted. “If at all possible, try and control yourself.”
“No promises,” Paul said and sat down in the booth. Vince followed him, and Charlie sat on the other side, moving over until he sat directly under the sign. I climbed in after him. We had a perfect view of the stage, as no one seemed to be standing in front of Charlie’s table.
“Have you murdered anyone?” I asked him.
He glanced at me. “Why do you ask?”
“Because everyone seems to be scared of you.”
“Not scared,” he said. “They respect me. There’s a difference.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
He leaned over until his mouth was near my ear. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”
“Yeah,” I said, swallowing thickly. “You and Nana have a lot in common.”
He laughed, shaking his head.
I kept waiting for people to approach the table. They looked like they wanted to. They kept glancing over at us, at him, but no one did. Charlie, for his part, seemed to ignore them. He handed eac
h of us one of the thin folders that had been stacked in the middle of the table. It was a drink menu. I wasn’t planning on drinking too much, given that I had work in the morning, but I figured one wouldn’t hurt. I heard Paul choke when he saw the same thing I did as I opened the menu.
The fourth drink down from the top was called THE CHARLIE. It was whiskey based (and therefore the bane of my existence). Charlie loved whiskey.
“You have a drink named after you?” Paul demanded.
Charlie shrugged. “So it would seem.”
“You’re so cool,” I breathed.
“I know,” he said. He sat back against the booth, crossing his arms over his chest, looking intimidating as all fuck.