Chapter 20
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Dinner consisted of burgers and fries, and in addition to the jazz quartet playing onstage, Fridays were also ladies’ night, which explained the overwhelming number of women in the crowd. The discount on the tickets didn’t cover alcohol, but beers on tap were only two dollars for ladies, and Joanne saw no reason to order anything from a bottle as long as her mug could be refilled so cheaply. She nursed one beer while eating, but once her plate was clear and all that remained was the heaping pile of french fries between them, she scooted her chair around the table to be closer to Edie and settled in to enjoy the evening.
The music was loud and brassy—Joanne wasn’t a fan of jazz, to be honest. She thought saxophones sounded like migraines put to music, but the tickets were free and the company was nice, and Edie’s hand had found its way back into hers again. Both rested high up on Joanne’s thigh, the warmth of their clasped fingers comforting in the busy hullabaloo all around them. This close to the stage, the music was too loud to carry on a conversation, so Joanne sat back in her chair, her shoulder resting against Edie’s, and tried to enjoy the band. Between songs, the crowd clapped wildly, but she didn’t bother.
Edie picked at the fries, and the waitress kept plonking down fresh mugs overflowing with foamy beer. By the third or fourth refill, Joanne knew she had to stop drinking if she wanted to drive home. Two dollars a mug sounded cheap enough upfront, but it would add up quickly, and she’d be feeling it in the morning, particularly if her brother called to ask her to come by and watch the kids so he could run errands or something.
So the next time the waitress started to unload her tray, Joanne stopped her. “No more for me,” she called out, shaking her head to get her point across, in case her voice didn’t carry over the music.
With a pretty little pout, the waitress turned to Edie. “How about you, hon? Another round?”
But Edie shook her head, too. “No, we’re good here, thanks.”
As the waitress slipped away into the crowd, Joanne leaned her head on Edie’s shoulder and shouted over the music, “Beer makes me sleepy. As it is, I’m probably too drunk to drive home any time soon.”
“If it wasn’t so loud, I’d fall out right here myself,” Edie admitted
Joanne laughed. “Tell me about it. You know what? I’ll be honest. I really don’t like jazz.”
Edie turned, an odd expression on her face.
“What?” Joanne asked, defensive. “The tickets were free…”
Suddenly Edie started to giggle. “Honestly? I don’t either.”
Joanne sputtered with laughter. “Then what the hell are we doing here?”
“I thought you were enjoying it,” Edie admitted, “so I didn’t want to say anything. But they aren’t all that good.”
“Yeah.” Joanne laughed into the last of her beer—might as well drink it all down, she’d have to pay for it anyway. Then, thumping the mug onto the table, she slid out of her chair and stretched as she stood. “You want to get out of here, go for a walk or something? Try to sober up some before we call it a night?”
Edie finished her mug, too. “That sounds like a plan.”
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8
Carytown’s unique shops and quirky boutiques lined one of Richmond’s most picturesque pedestrian streets, but almost all the businesses closed up by seven in the evening, weekends included. By the time Edie and Joanne strolled down Cary Street hand in hand, the fresh breeze clearing the alcohol still buzzing pleasantly through their heads, the only establishments still open were restaurants, bars, the emergency veterinary clinic, and the Byrd, a second-run movie theatre already showing its final film of the night. There was little to do except maybe stop for ice cream or frozen yogurt, and Edie’s stomach churned at the thought of eating anything else—her burger and fries were already sitting heavily at the moment.
But to be honest, she was perfectly content walking along with Joanne, even if their conversation had lulled to a comfortable silence. She enjoyed the other woman’s company, and she liked the feel of another’s hand in her own. As the blocks slowly disappeared beneath their feet, Joanne moved closer, her hand slipping from Edie’s to find its way around Edie’s waist. Soon they were bumping hips, arms linked companionably, giggling like old friends. The beer was long out of their systems—this was just the two of them now, and the more time Edie spent with Joanne, the more she liked the woman.