One of Us Is Dead(8)

“The bully forgets they’re a bully. The victim never does. Besides, she’s a has-been now. Divorced from her husband and her committee position. I don’t need any deadweight in my life, and I can’t deal with that sort of negativity.” Olivia pursed her lips.

I threw my napkin down on the table. Yes, there was a time that Shannon and Olivia did not get along, but I don’t remember it being that bad. It was like five years ago, right around the time I had Riley. Things got a little ugly, I think. I don’t really recall. I had my hands full with a newborn and running my business. But who holds on to something for this long? Olivia does.

I was about to storm out but had resisted because I hadn’t paid my check and because Crystal didn’t deserve that . . . just yet. I knew there was more going on here than Olivia and Shannon’s history that was causing Olivia to be upset. It was obvious. Shannon wasn’t much older than Olivia and her husband traded her in for a newer model. Her hatred toward her was laced with insecurity and fear. Olivia was clearly trying to ostracize Shannon because she feared becoming her. Fear makes people crazy. Insecurity makes them crazier.

“I don’t want to cause any problems.” Crystal looked at me. “I admire that you want to maintain your loyalty to Shannon and be sociable with me too.” She looked at Olivia. “And please don’t feel like you need to cut Shannon out because of me.”

“I’m not cutting Shannon out because of you. I’m cutting Shannon out because she fucking deserves it.” Olivia stood up with force. The chair fell behind her. She threw a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table (her specialty) and stormed out of the restaurant without looking back. She was always one for dramatics. This was Olivia’s insane way of showing Crystal two things: one, that you don’t mess with her, and two, that she’d do well to keep her close. Delusion is a powerful force. I rolled my eyes, finished the wine in my glass, then drank the rest of Olivia’s too.

Crystal crinkled her nose, dabbed her chin with a napkin, and took intermittent sips of water.

“You’ll have to get used to her,” I said with a laugh. It was true. Olivia grew on people . . . like cancer. She was never a person you’d like immediately, unless she wanted you to like her, and the only way that happened was if you could offer her something. I mean she was my friend, but I remember not liking her, and even then I often felt as though I was just tolerating her. Such was Buckhead.

My phone buzzed and so did Crystal’s. A message appeared in a group text from Olivia.

I’m sorry for my outburst. I’m under a lot of pressure with my new position as chairwoman, and what Shannon did to me five years ago is still so raw. Please forgive me. I’ve covered the bill.

Xoxo, Olivia.

“You’ll have to really get used to her,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yeah . . .” Crystal trailed off. The server asked us if we wanted anything else. I ordered two shots of tequila. They came with the wheels—lime, salt, and Olivia’s tantrum. We licked the salt, and before we took the shot, I gave us a toast.

“Cheers to Buckhead! I hope you make it out alive.” We tipped back the shots, sucked the lime, and laughed.





5

Crystal


I left the café feeling good, buzzed and better than when I arrived, thanks to Karen. She was a breath of fresh air, like Texas on an October morning. She reminded me of home—her honesty and how down-to-earth she was. Olivia was a different story. She was a bit of a loose cannon. Her flippancy toward Shannon surprised me. I wondered what Shannon could have possibly done to Olivia to upset her so much. There was a mention of some sort of past wrongdoing, but I was unclear as to what happened. To me, Shannon was the victim in all of this. I didn’t like that, and I know I helped cause it. I didn’t know Shannon, but I didn’t need to in order to know that I was wrong to take her husband from her.

Bryce’s campaign building looked like a mini White House. It was here before I arrived, but he had told me he had designed it himself and paid for the construction out of his own pocket. Apparently, a regular office building wouldn’t do him justice. I walked into the building, greeted his secretary, and waltzed straight into his office, carrying a sandwich and chips from a nearby café. I figured he’d be hungry and would want to know how it went with the women. It was he, after all, who encouraged me to meet with them. He was determined to fix his image and rise within politics, and he needed me and my cooperation to achieve that.

“Hey, hon,” I said.

He turned around from his window that overlooked a small green lawn and pressed a finger to his lips as he continued to chatter away on his phone. I sighed, unwrapped his sandwich and chips, and placed them in front of his chair. Taking a seat on the other side of his desk, I admired him as he paced back and forth. He was my ticket out of Texas, out of bartending, out of my past, and out of living a life I wasn’t proud of. I wanted more, and some of us aren’t capable of more without hitching a ride, like a tick burrowing its way deep within the warm skin of an unsuspecting carrier. But don’t get me wrong. I fell for Bryce. And I fell hard.

It was his perfectly dimpled chin, tall athletic build, and piercing blue eyes that drew me to him when we first met. Bryce had it all: looks, brains, money, and power. A local group of mothers even coined the unofficial tagline of his last campaign: “Bryce Madison, a smile so nice you’d vote it into office twice.” It never really took off, but I think it helped him win his reelection.