*** So far, Miranda Jessup Buckley has been jilted, fired and left to take care of her ex-lover's child.   Sent home from work after finding the weapon used to kill Ed Preston, Miranda calls her nemesis, Missy Toblerone to meet for a drink. ***

 

 

                   **************

 

The Sand Bar is an upscale place.  As soon as I walk in I can see in wall aquariums on at least two sides.  The seats at the long sleek bar are white leather.  Apparently, rich people aren't at risk for damaging furniture.

 

Missy fits right in.  Her outfit is right out of a magazine.  Her shirt barely covers her naughty bits and I can tell from where I'm at she isn't wearing any underpants under her thin skirt.

 

"Look at you," I say, awkwardly trying to disengage from her hug.

 

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you.  For a while I thought you were going to never speak to me after high school.  I'm glad you finally let that whole silly homecoming mess go."

 

"Well, we're adults now," I say.

 

"Sit.  I want to catch up."  She pats the table top with her manicured hand.  "How've you been since Dougie left you?"

 

"Believe it or not, I'm doing okay."

 

"I don't understand how a woman like you keeps losing her man.  First Farley and then Dougie.  You need to get a ring on your finger, girl."

 

The girl wastes no time, just goes straight for the jugular.  "To be clear, I left Farley.  Not the other way around.  And Dougie, I guess he thought the grass was greener elsewhere."

 

"When you were married to Farley, I used to have to keep myself from telling you about all the times I'd see him with other women."

 

"Why didn't you?"

 

She frowns, obviously confused at my question. "Why didn't I what?"

 

"Tell me.  Why didn't you tell me about Farley?"

 

She shrugs.  "I figured you knew. I mean, hell.  Everybody in the county knew."

 

Even though it was years ago, I still get that terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach when I think about what a trusting fool I was.  Every one knew, no one bothered to tell me.  What are friends for?

 

She reaches into the purse on the empty seat beside her.  "Look what I found this afternoon."  She spreads about fifteen photos on the table.  Pictures of us from high school.  "This was sophomore year.  Mr. Soto's class."

 

Mr. Soto is the teacher who compared me to the plastic bag blowing across the parking lot.   He was the kind of teacher who thought he was one of us.  He was a creep, in my humble opinion.

 

"He was great," she says.

 

I pick up the photo.  There is something odd about it.  I don't look right.  Then I notice a miniscule detail.  My eyes have been whited out.  I pick up another.  Same thing.  Every picture she brought has my eyes whited out.

 

"Um, Missy, what's the deal with my eyes?"

 

She grins and shakes her head.  "I was mad at you.  You never did stuff like that?"

 

I shake my head.  "No.  I can honestly say I've never done that."

 

I place the photos back on the table.

 

The waiter approaches and offers a Hollywood ready smile.  "Hi there, I'm Austin and I'll be serving you ladies tonight."

 

Missy leans back making sure he notices her tourist attractions.  "What are your specials?"

 

Austin does take note and smiles a bit more.  "We have a robust Chateau Kristoff pinot noir for eighty-nine dollars a bottle.  The house wine is a St. Michele chardonnay. "

 

Missy licks her lips slowly.  "Yummy."

 

I look away.  This is embarrassing.  She should be embarrassed as well.  Not only is she, at a minimum, ten years older than him, but the whole "yummy" comment is gross.

 

It takes him a few seconds before he remembers I'm sitting here.  "And for you, ma'am?"

 

"Coors light."

 

He frowns.  "We have several IPAs."

 

"You don't just have plain old beer?"

 

"No.  I'm sorry."

 

"How about a rum and coke?"

 

He nods, relieved that he can turn his attention back to Missy.  "Any appetizers?"

 

"Surprise us," she says then winks.

 

I wait until he's several feet away before speaking.  "He's a little young, isn't he?"

 

"Yes, he is." She smiles.  

 

Tucking the pictures back in her purse, she stands up.  "I'm going to go to the ladies room. I'll be back in a few."

 

She leaves her purse.  I watch to make sure she's gone then reach over and pull it towards me.  Maybe there is something in there.  In a perfect world, there would be a hand written confession to Jason's murder folded up.

 

I pull her wallet out.  There are several pictures in there.  Most are of her but one or two are of other people.  Not a single one of Jason. 

 

I don't find a note or confession so I slide the wallet back in.  The waiter hasn't brought our drinks and Missy hasn't returned.  I look around.  I'm out of my element here.  I just want to go home and have a beer on my porch.

 

I decide to go find Missy, feign a migraine and get the hell out of Dodge.  Why did I think this was a good idea?

 

I check the bathroom but she isn't there.  I follow the hallway back towards the men's room.  I hear noises, not normal bathroom noises.  No, these are guttural noises.  Primal and sexual sounds.  

 

I tiptoe closer.  And all I can see is a tangle of legs and arms.  And though I can't see any faces, I do see one very distinct thin skirt draped over the bathroom stall.

 

I rush back to the table and write a hasty note on the napkin.  

 

"Sorry,

Sudden migraine.  Thanks for the invite.  Hope you understand.

Miranda."

 

Missy is still Missy.  People like that never really change.  They just up their game.

 

To be continued ...