Fool That I Am Read online

  Stepping in between the two snarling women, Irene calmly warned them, “Ladies, retract your claws or I will tell Dr. Williams that you two love working with her so much, that you want to take over my rotation on her service.”

  Both nurses immediately stopped glaring at each other and cringed. Connie stuck her hand out and said, “Truce?”

  “Truce,” Jessica agreed quickly, shaking Connie’s hand once.

  Billie rolled her eyes at their dramatics, well used to seeing them explode at each other one minute, then laughing and hugging the next. She’d never seen friends behave like that before, but it worked for them, so who was she to judge?

  “Ok, here’s how this is going to work,” Irene explained, taking charge of the situation, “I will help Billie pick her outfit, Jessica gets makeup duty, and Connie will fix her hair. While we plunder the closet, you two pour us some wine and put on some music. Move it!”

  The two younger women scurried to do her bidding, not daring to second-guess her authority. She was a natural leader and people instinctively followed her command due to a magic combination of confidence, wisdom, and charisma. Even at 61 years of age, she was a non-stop ball of energy. She worked all day on her feet at the doctor’s office, then taught yoga and senior’s aerobics at the fitness center three nights a week, and volunteered at the soup kitchen in E-town on Saturdays. She exuded the attitude of a much younger woman and didn’t hesitate to kick her heels up by drinking and dancing with the rest of them at least once a month.

  Flicking through the hangers in Billie’s closet, she asked, “Have you heard from Sam yet?”

  Billie didn’t even try to act surprised that Irene knew about what had happened. With a tight-knit group like they were at that office, there was no such thing as a secret and she had no doubt that all four of the women had already discussed and dissected her drama thoroughly. It was an unspoken rule that your business was their business, and vice versa. At the root of it all, they loved each other and were as close as family.

  “No. He hasn’t called or texted and I haven’t tried to contact him, either. As much as it hurts to say this, I think it’s probably better this way. I need to move on with my life and find someone who can love me as much as I love them. Sam can’t ever do that and I’m only making myself miserable by pining over him. It’s just better this way,” Billie repeated with false cheer as she inspected her favorite pair of skinny jeans.

  Pulling out a hanger full of colorful camisoles, Irene replied drily, “Keep telling yourself that, cupcake. You might actually believe it someday. I really hate it for you, but I think you’re doing the right thing. Life is too short to waste time on someone who can’t give you what you need. You’re young, you’re beautiful, and your breasts are still smooth and perky, so stop wasting time and find yourself someone who will appreciate all that.”

  Billie blinked rapidly and pasted on a bright smile. “That’s what I aim to do. But for tonight, I just want to forget all that and just have fun. I need some distraction and music. And maybe a cute soldier to feel me up while we dance to that new Flo Rida song.”

  Irene laughed loudly and agreed, “That’s the spirit, sweetie! Now, I think I’ve found just the outfit that will walk the line of sexy without falling over into slutty territory. You ready to see what I’ve put together?”

  Billie nodded eagerly, having full confidence in whatever Irene had chosen for her. It turned out that she was right to do so. To go with her skinny jeans, Irene pulled out a ruby red satin camisole with black lace trim that dipped down to give a peekaboo glimpse of her cleavage. The lace also framed the bottom hem. It looked like it belonged with a matching set of panties, but they toned down that vibe by pairing it with a cropped black shrug and her knee-high black boots that she picked up at the consignment store for $20 two years ago. Irene found Billie’s jewelry box and liberated a pair of silver cascading earrings, matching necklace, and a silver wrist cuff bracelet. The outfit was a little more flashy and sexual than she was used to, but she trusted Irene’s judgment.

  Next, she was ushered unceremoniously into the hallway bathroom where Jessica and Connie were waiting with their instruments of torture and Solo cups of wine for everyone except Billie. Irene, her part over with, lounged in the doorway sipping her Sunset Blush and offering unsolicited advice on color palette while Jessica artistically applied eyeliner, shadow, and blush to Billie’s face. Meanwhile, Connie was using a rat-tail comb and curling iron to section out Billie’s long hair and create loose, spiral waves that she fortified with generous passes of the hairspray can while she kept them all laughing with stories about her large extended family.

  Half an hour later, the three nurses stepped back and viewed Billie critically. Irene declared her “a total knockout,” Jessica exclaimed that she was “so jealous,” and Connie just pronounced her “Perfecto!” Billie actually agreed with them this time. Looking in the full length mirror, she hardly recognized herself. She was alluring and lovely and the clothing Irene picked maximized her curves by slimming her waist and emphasizing her breasts and butt. It was amazing what a little makeover could do to a girl’s confidence. Billie didn’t just look different. She felt different, too.

  “One final touch before we go,” Connie insisted, pulling out a tube of lipstick. Popping the cap off and twisting the stem, Billie saw lipstick the color of blood-red wine. Before she could protest, Connie gave her the evil eye and proceeded to make her gloss her lips with the color.

  Finally, the women drained their plastic cups of wine and piled into Billie’s car to head to the popular hangout, Cannon Fodder, a club opened by an ex-soldier that was honorably discharged from the military after being wounded. Since its opening two years ago, it had been the place for adults to congregate, drink, dance, sing, and have fun. It was located on a large, open spread of land on Dixie Highway right on the line between Elizabethtown and Radcliff, only a few miles down the road from Ft. Knox. It was a large structure. On one side was a huge room composed of a long bar and dance floor with an impressive DJ booth elevated on a small stage where it would overlook the crowd. The other, marginally smaller room, was full of tables, a bar, and a stage where local live bands could play or where karaoke was set up if there were no bands scheduled. The food there was simple, but delicious, like most bar food, but the main attraction was on the stage.

  Billie had been terrified the first time she got on the stage to sing at the insistence of her friends. At this club, the audience was not the passive listeners one would expect or hope for. The people eating, drinking, and talking were strongly encouraged to cheer or jeer whoever was brave enough to get up on stage, and the best and worst singers were even memorialized by having their pictures hung up in room. On the left wall was the Hall of Fame where exceptional singers were congratulated with a free drink, their picture, and the name of the song they sang to get there. The right wall was very similar, but it was the Wall of Shame. On this wall, the worst of the worst were captured for posterity by having their mug shot taken behind fake bars with the name of the song they had “murdered” listed along with their name and their sentence. The sentence for the Wall of Shamers was the length of time they were banned from being able to sing karaoke again and many of them were Lifers. Strangely enough, people were more eager to be on that wall than on the Fame wall and everyone loved to show off their mug shot to their friends.

  The first time Billie had gotten up the nerve to sing, she chose a song that she knew very well, No One by Alicia Keys. Then, she took a shot of tequila before she walked on stage. However, instead of the terror she had expected to feel, she instead felt alive and in control, especially once she started singing and the audience began to cheer. She was one of the few patrons who were placed on the Wall of Fame the first time around and many of them knew her by name and would begin to chant for her when they saw her arrive. It was a heady feeling to be so admired by people she didn’t know and it made her feel like she was walking on air.

  As t
hey pulled into the already packed parking lot at 8 pm, Billie felt the nervous excitement begin to flutter in her belly as she thought of what songs to sing tonight. She didn’t get to go out often, but when she did, she enjoyed every minute of it. Tonight, not only did she look like a million bucks, she felt like it, too. That still didn’t stop the rogue thought that flitted through her mind: I wonder what Sam is doing tonight. Then she shook that thought out of her head and resolved to not think about him again the rest of the night. But, she knew that was a resolution she would not be able to keep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  By 11 pm that night, Billie was exhausted and happy. She and her friends had split their time between dancing feverishly and laughing as they sat around a table listening to karaoke. They laughed, hugged, flirted with handsome men, danced with abandon, and, in her friends’ case, drank. Since they were missing their absent friend, Connie even drunk-dialed Shanay to tell her everything that was going on and rub it in that she was missing out on the fun.

  Billie had been up to sing three times already, which was unheard of on a busy night like this, and she was shocked when the DJ approached her to let her know that someone had put her name in as a special request. Chester, a hip and stylish older black man, was the DJ in charge of the new state-of-the-art karaoke system and had worked hard to make the program a success. Once a singer was on the Wall of Fame, they could turn in a list of songs that they wanted to sing, and he would make sure they were loaded in the system and filed under the singer’s name for easy retrieval.

  “Miss Billie Jean,” Chester greeted her warmly. Tonight, he was dressed in creased black slacks, shiny wingtip shoes, a flashy purple button-down shirt open at the throat, and a vintage newsboy cap on his head. “Some fancy-looking fella wants you to come up and sing again and even offered me $50 to make sure you got back up there again. Can you believe that?”

  Billie laughed lightly and replied, “I can believe you put that money in your pocket or you wouldn’t be standing here. Did this fancy man request a specific song or can I just choose from my list?”

  “I knew you was a good girl. I told him he could choose a song off your list, but he really wants to hear you sing Fever by Peggy Lee. You know that song, don’t you?” he asked her anxiously, afraid to lose his tip.

  Billie didn’t have to think long. Thanks to her dad’s love of old jazz and blues records, she had grown up hearing that song plenty of times. “Yes, I know that song, but I’ve never sung it before. I’d be happy to give it a try, especially if it means you get to keep your money!”

  Obvious relief passed over his weathered features as he leaned in to tell her, “You get up there and sing that song even better than Peggy Lee, missy. This fella looked like he had heavy pockets, if you know what I mean.” With a sly wink, he left her at the table with her friends who had been listening raptly.

  Billie turned around to give her friends an astonished look with raised eyebrows. Irene, cheeks flushed prettily after finishing her fourth Jack and Coke, raised her voice to be heard over the noise and told her, “You get up there and sing that song like your lover is watching you in the crowd. I love that song and I know you can do it justice!”

  Jessica, licking the sugar off the rim of her strawberry daiquiri, put in her two cents. “Oh, my God, Billie! You have a secret admirer! I bet he’s a billionaire!” A new thought struck her and she gasped dramatically. “He could be your very own Christian Grey from Fifty Shades of Grey!” she added, squealing excitedly.

  Billie’s nose scrunched in distaste. “God, I hope not. Those books were abominable. If that character was a real man, I would punch him in the nose if he treated me that way. If he’s a billionaire, I’d much rather he be like Tony Stark or Bruce Wayne. Those are some fictional characters to get excited about,” she countered with a dreamy smile on her face.

  “BEE-LEE!” Connie squalled over the pounding music. “Escúchame, por favor!”

  Billie couldn’t help giggling at the antics of her friend as she stood from the table and weaved drunkenly over to her side. “Ok, Con, I’m listening,” she patronized her friend.

  Connie intruded into her personal space and she could smell the sweet scent of tequila and cherries waft over her face as Connie counseled her. “This is your chance, mija! You get up there and you sing your heart out, okay? But you got to move your hips like this,” she continued, raising her arms up in the air and gyrating her hips to the beat of the music. It worked, too, because a nearby table full of men in uniform began to whistle and cheer for her.

  Flashing them a sultry smile, she promised Billie, “You get up there and act like you wanna hump the man you singing that song to and your body will follow along. Have fun with it, linda!”

  Billie acknowledged all the alcohol-soaked wisdom her friends bestowed by blowing them air kisses as Chester announced her name and told her to come to the front. Billie deftly navigated through the throng of people and tables until she was ascending the steps to the stage. Her stomach began the familiar flip-flop as she walked to the far side of the stage to retrieve the cordless mic from the DJ.

  Chester, using the control panel in his booth, dimmed the house lights further, and illuminated the stage with a soft, red glow. With his patented smooth growl, he announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, back by special request, please put your hands together for the lovely and talented Miss Billie Jean Hardesty!”

  The room erupted into applause and several wolf whistles split the air. But as soon as the low music began, Billie was in a world of her own. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began to move along with the beat. As the finger snaps in the soundtrack began, Billie’s hips took on a life of their own and she imagined Sam sitting in the audience watching her on stage. Heat rolled through her blood causing her voice to deepen with sexual energy as she began to sing:

  Never know how much I love you

  Never know how much I care

  When you put your arms around me

  I get a fever that’s so hard to bear…

  As the sensual words wove a spell around the audience, Billie felt transported to another time and place when Sam’s arms were wrapped around her and her body was flushed with longing. Abandoning all thought of embarrassment or watching eyes, she channeled every coquettish move, every sensual look, and every lingering touch that she had seen in movies and on TV. She felt sexy, desirable, and seductive all at once.

  When the song came to a close, she was jarred from her waking dream by the sound of thunderous applause, whistling, and even some people banging on the table tops. She could feel the heat rush up into her cheeks as she murmured, “Thank you so much” into the microphone before hastily delivering it back to Chester.

  When she descended into the audience, people called out to her by shouting compliments and offers to buy her a drink. She waved and smiled good-naturedly and eventually made her way back to her table where her friends were waiting for her on pins and needles.

  Jessica, squealing and clapping, pushed through the milling crowd and grabbed Billie in a huge hug. “Oh, my God! That was so awesome! You belong on a huge stage in concert. You should have seen the jaws drop on the men from the next table. You had them drooling!”

  Billie laughed delightedly at her friend as they made their way over to the table. Irene lifted her glass of whisky and soda in salute with a simple, “Well done, Billie!” and Connie was talking her up to the table full of soldiers like a well-intentioned mother hen.

  Eventually, after about ten minutes, everyone had calmed down except for Billie. Irene had wandered off to go to the restroom, Jessica was leaning across the bar to flirt shamelessly with the bartender, and Connie was now sitting on the lap of one of the soldiers at the neighboring table. Billie took a long drink of her diet soda to get her breath back and was just about to check her watch for the time when a low, masculine voice interrupted her.

  “Excuse me, Ms. Hardesty. Would you mind if I have a seat to speak with you for a few
moments?” the voice asked.

  Billie looked up, and up, to determine who was speaking to her. The gentleman had to be well over six foot tall and was dressed impeccably in a suit with the shirt open at the throat. The outfit looked perfectly tailored to his muscled frame. He was groomed with attention to detail, but without the slick polish of a metrosexual man. He exuded a calm confidence that spoke of ambition, wealth, and power that was hard-earned. He looked to be in his 30’s and his eyes were molten chocolate brown with hair that was dark brunette with hints of red undertones. He was classically handsome and reminded Billie of a darker, more intense Michael Fassbender. He was utterly gorgeous and Billie was utterly tongue-tied.

  “Uh, well, sure. I mean, of course you can sit down,” she stammered, as he nodded his head in deference before pulling out the chair next to her. He placed his drink on the table, unbuttoned his suit coat, and took command of the chair next to her.

  Silently, Billie was thinking that if Christian Grey looked like this man, she wouldn’t mind letting him tie her up and spank her, but she quickly squashed that thought as he offered his big hand and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Hardesty. My name is Daniel Petrosky.”

  Billie placed her hand firmly in his and shook his hand in return. Taking a deep breath for confidence, she replied, “It’s nice to meet you. Are you the one that requested that song?”

  A slow grin appeared on his face showcasing his straight white teeth and charming dimples in each cheek. Relaxing into his chair, he cradled his tumbler of amber-colored liquor between his hands and replied, “Yes, that was me. I had been listening to you sing and watching the way you interact with people all night, but that final song was more of a test, I guess you could call it.”

  Billie’s eyebrow arched in question. She was feeling a strange jumble of nerves, attraction, intimidation, and the desire to flirt. “A test? I just met you and you’ve already admitted to stalking me and testing me. I don’t know if I should be intrigued or worried.”