“Yeah, man, I don’t know any of those,” he admits. “But there is this one club downtown that’s got green beer.”
I sigh miserably. It’ll have to do. “Fine. Take me there.”
“Fair warning: the crowd hanging around that pub can be a little dodgy.”
“So much the better.”
“Aye-aye!” He gives me a salute and we start the drive into the city.
I pay attention part of the way. The city has a strangely manicured vibe to it. Like a middle-aged woman who’s got a lot of plastic surgery done. She’s still kind of beautiful, but you wish she’d just aged gracefully instead of plastering on all that fakeness.
I know I’m not inclined to be generous right now. Especially because my yearning for Dublin at this moment is deep.
So I decide to withhold my opinion of the city until I know it a little better.
Although, come to think of it, I don’t actually have to stay in L.A. I can do anything I damn well please. I don’t owe anything to anyone anymore.
* * *
The traffic is surprisingly bad, even at this time of the night. The streets are packed, too. And the buildings are dripping with so many different colored lights that it feels like it might induce a seizure if I stare too long.
I turn my gaze from the window and try to breathe through my new reality. It still feels like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
Who knew that wasn’t always a good thing?
“Here you go, man,” the cabbie says, pulling to a stop in a crowded section of the street. “It’s just down there. Byrne’s.”
“Got it. Thanks.” I check the meter before I pay him for the ride from the pile of cash my father handed me.
I get out of the vehicle and head straight for Byrne’s. I’m a few yards away when a young woman with a face caked full of makeup and a ludicrously short skirt steps up to me.
“Hey, handsome,” she says, giving me a salacious wink. “Need some company tonight?”
I survey her outfit. Tiny, neon blue miniskirt over fishnet stockings. Red heels at least three inches tall and a bralette with lace trim that highlights her small but perky breasts.
“Not tonight,” I grimace. “Not quite my type.”
Truthfully, I’ve never wanted anything less.
She sighs. “Shame. With that face, you’d have gotten a discount.”
“Better luck with the next john,” I mumble as I slip inside the pub. I head straight for the bar.
“For God’s sake, please tell me you serve a fucking Guinness,” I tell the bartender.
He gives me a weird sideways look, but he turns to pour me a dark, beautiful beer from the tap.
The bartender sets the glass in front of me without a word. He poured it like a jackass—way too much foam—but I grab it and drink it like I’m dying of thirst in the desert.
And just like that, I’m transported back to Dublin.
It’s both the best feeling in the world…
And the worst.
“Oi,” I call, getting the bartender’s attention again. I drop a couple hundred bucks on the bar top. “Keep them coming, mate. Don’t even think about stopping.”
* * *