“They must be new,” said the guitarist. “We play here pretty often.”
“I think she only just started playing here this week. Anyway, thanks. You guys kick ass, keep it up.”
“Thanks! Here, hold on a second.” She went over to the guitar case and pulled out a flier. “Come check us out this weekend. We play shows here regularly. There’ll be food and art. It’ll be a good time.”
“Beasley Illustration Graduate Show,” the flier said. “Shadetree Collective.”
I wasn’t so much into the whole pretentious artsy-fartsy scene, but I folded the flier neatly and gave it a pat of acknowledgement before slipping it into my pocket. “Thanks,” I said, and as I left to patrol the rest of the Riverwalk, the two of them broke into a cover of Beyoncé’s “Crazy in Love.”
I walked the length of the Riverwalk promenade, but never once caught the sound of Kendra’s drums. When I passed Malabar, I caught the spicy aroma of their food and flashed back to our dinner. So, she hadn’t come to play today. She’d told me that she worked, so maybe that was why she wasn’t here. I felt surprisingly deflated.
Come back tomorrow, I thought. Talk to her then.
But what if she wasn’t here tomorrow? What if she decided street drumming wasn’t her thing? What if she decided to go somewhere else in the city?
Then you never have to worry about her again.
My ability to psyche myself up and mentally motivate myself through difficult situations was one of my strong traits. It was what gave me the ability to write software and start my business while finishing grad school with top marks, helping me to defeat the crippling self-doubt that prevented so many other, more talented peers from succeeding. It was the one thing I could count on when the going got rough—and it disturbed the hell out of me that it wasn’t making me feel any better right now.
I considered the possibility that maybe I’d just shut myself in for too long. It’d been a long-ass time since I’d gone on dates or hooked up with anyone, and it’d been even longer since I’d gone out with a friend. I’d practically cut off all non-business related connections when I’d decided to take on this project. Maybe that was all I needed.
When I got back to the condo, I pulled up the contact of an old friend from school—one of the girls who was on the same page as me and was always reliable for a fun time. She was straight, but had an uncanny ability to pick out the bisexual—or bicurious—and lesbian women in a bar and hook me up with them. I wasn’t looking for a wing-woman, but Denise was probably the best friend
I had. A little depressing, considering I hadn’t been in contact with her in one and half years.
“Hello, Denise Hoover speaking.”
“’Sup, girl. How’s it going?”
There was a silent pause. “Oh, shit! Is that who I think it is? Melany Crawford, it’s been a long time. I thought I’d never hear from you again after I lost my phone with your number in it.”
I laughed. She hadn’t changed, it seemed. “I know, I kind of vanished into thin air. I feel like shit about it, but you know how it is.”
“Right, right. I know your business got off the ground while we were still in school. I don’t blame you. Go with the money, as we used to say.”
“Yeah, the work really took me. So, how’ve you been?”
“Oh, good. Good. I’m still in Rosebridge, working for an import/export company.”
“Awesome. I’m glad you’re still in town, because I wanted to see if you’d be down to go out for a drink. Catch up.”
“Oh, bitch! You know I do.” She lowered his voice. “Actually, I just got engaged, so I gotta keep my head down. The fiancé doesn’t know about the rager side of Denise. But I got you. Just like the old days.”
I laughed. “Don’t worry about it, Denise. I just wanted to grab a drink and catch up, no booty chasing for me.”
“Damn,” she said, sounding surprised. “Really? Oh, I got it, you’re in a relationship too. Wow, Melany P. Crawford in a relationship. Things have changed.”
“No, still single. I just want to catch up.”
“Huh. Okay. It’ll be awesome to see you again, Mel.”
We made arrangements to meet that night at a bar downtown, and after we hung up I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. Denise Hoover, engaged? That was definitely a surprise for me. Denise was like me—she’d always been so focused on work and success, never bothering to make time for romantic relationships other than getting laid. She’d even told me once that she planned to die single in a bed of money, surrounded by a harem of the world’s hottest male models.
That evening I drove to go meet her, and found myself making a quick detour to check out the Riverwalk. Kendra wasn’t there.
“Stupid,” I muttered to myself, and went back to my car.
“There she is!” Denise jumped off her stool and pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s good to see you.”